Who betrayed them?

“There’s a famous saying in Bengali, ‘Mir-Jafari Korish na’ means don’t betray like Mir Jafar”…

​The East India Company that came with seemingly business interest grew political ambition and started colonizing India through Murshidabad. Murshidabad is 200kms (120miles) away from Kolkata formerly known as Calcutta, the present capital of West Bengal in India. However, Calcutta did not even exist in 1700s and Murshidabad was at the highest of its glory. Nawab Siraj-ud-Daulah lost the battle of ​Plassey (‘Palashi’ that is how we call it in Bengali) in 1757 to the British due to the betrayal of one of his trusted commanders ​Mir Jafar. Mir Jafar was promised the throne of Murshidabad in lieu of him not fighting the battle along with his troop. ​The East India Company thus won the battle on the basis of a conspiracy that was hatched with Mir Jafar. He got the throne, however, little did he know​ how it​ would be like to sit on that ​under British rule. He was soon removed for the ease of the British lords. ​The Battle of Plassey was a decisive battle that started a 200-year colonial rule of India by the British. I never forgo​t this important piece of history,​ no matter how much I hated the subject as I have fond childhood memories of the place.

Murshidabad, a name that reminds me of many good things but the first and foremost is that the mighty river Ganges flew​ right in front of our ancestral home, in which boatmen rowed in the dark of the night and singing melancholy tunes that made you long for your home even if you were in your home. The soft lights of lanterns in the boats at a distance used to mesmerize me the most in those dark and sweaty nights. Days in and days out we used to jump from the boundary walls, play with other girls and boys from the village and run around the mango orchard until elders​ gave us an ultimatum to return home for a ​bath or food.

Whenever we visited our ancestral land full of History it used to be a lot of ​fun with cousins and children of same age from the village. My young eyes noticed one thing in particular. Most of the children especially the little girls in dusty frocks I used to play and run with couldn’t tell which class they were studying in. I used to wonder whether they have failed in the classes and therefore hesitating. However, I never enquired much as I was no good in studies too. Therefore it was better to keep the​ school out of the topics of discussion during those vacation days.  Later when the visits became more infrequent and we were seriously discouraged to play outside in the mud, because they said, "tumi boro hoye gyachho" (you are not a kid any more) and I tried to inquire​ about them from the window of our house,​ I got to know most of them got married and already ​had their babies. I was still in my middle school. I of course did not realize how fortunate I was to be doing that. I was just sad I lost my friends. ​

Many years passed in between and Murshidabad is just a reminder of our holiday breaks during our childhood. Then in 2014, ​I got a ​chance to meet Soma, ​who works in the area and came to know about their struggle to fight the stigma around rescued trafficking victims.  Another important issue Soma’s team comes across is abandoned young married girls with children. Soma said, “The practice is wide spread in the region. Men marry young girls from poor families, get them pregnant and leave in search of job in the cities. Most of the time these men do not come back or send any money home. They marry again or have ​their own ‘live in’ ​families in the cities and do not care to see what happened to his young pregnant wife in the village.” Often these young mothers become the easy target of traffickers who lures them with good job, a better living for their children in cities. One of Soma’s team member said, “There’s no brothel in the country which doesn’t have a girl from our region”.

I wonder if the same happened to some of my childhood playmates from my village? I wonder who betrayed these young girls like Mir Jafar - parents, families, husbands, traffickers, politicians or we all? Is there anyone who can show that soft lights of hope to these girls like those boats in the dark? Can anyone be the boatman for these girls to ferry these young lives to safety or to help them to ​cross the river in​ dark singing​ songs of struggle and hope?

P.S. To confirm my fear, here's a blog post on a direct interaction with one such young mothers in Murshidabad 
html http://ladybugfieldnotes.blogspot.com/2012/11/of-love-and-other-demons.html