15th Death Anniversary of my uncle Shah Abdul Mostafa .............................................................
Had he been alive today, Mostafa would have been famous for two things,
one is, his love for students and second one is charity for
rickshawpullers. Among the friends he was none but a teacher, though he
possessed strong moral character, hardly could he fight against poverty
what he inherited from his father. For a migratory life, Rafique, the
father of ten children of whom Mostafa was the third from the last,
never cared for amassing assets that was left by his grandfather Golam
Quader. So, a legacy of poverty started from Abdul Quadrer, a lazy son
of Golam Quader, that made the life of Mostafa, the great grandchildren
of Quader, more than hell. Yet Mostafa practiced charity with his meager
income. He used to donate money to his students and rickshaw pullers.
It was clear that needy students deserved financial help for meting
expenditure but it was not known why the working rickshawwallas who were
capable to earn money to lead their life, were treated as such. It was
anticipated that rickshawwallas developed special relation with him as
he was a regular passenger who used to pay more than normal traffic
fare. He was rebuked for many times by his brothers for such a lavish
charity, that is, giving extra money to rickshawpullers, yet he
practiced it without a stop.
Of his little income, a considerable portion was invested for providing fees and books for needy students. Once I was with him in visit to the shrine of a muslim saint and durbar of a living legendary peer at Chittagong. He was highly devotional to the sufi saints and used to sing naat e Rasul (sm) in the morning after fazr prayers. In the heart he took our Rasul Hazrat Muhammad (sm) and on lip his Daruds. Whenever, a matter appeared, love for Rasul (sm) had been of prime importance to him. So, it was quite normal that Rasul lovers were in his good book whatever Tariqah or spiritual system they belong. Having finished Jiyarat at the shrine, he along with me entered at the durbar and met the peer. The peer, reciting few Ayats from the Quran prayed for him to Allah so that no evil influence cast over him and might Allah showered mercy upon him. When he was about to come out of the company of the peer, a heavenly light was gleaning from his face. In the way back we came across a student of him who, once read at Maheshkhali, was in real jeopardy to maintain his educational expenditure at Chittagong. He called the boy to him, asked about his study, pulling his moneybag offered few notes and advised the boy to take study seriously. Though the boy was from Maheshkhali, he wasn't acquainted with me till he met us on that very day. Memories are still vivid of such events where Mostafa helped his students and I was there to observe it incidentally.
On the day he died of a massive heart attack, I was in the hall to take part in second year honours exam, and it was the first day in schedule. As neither a mobile phone nor a telephone was available to reach me, a messenger was sent to me at the campus. He was, Bahadur, the youngest brother of my friend Shafiul Alam. He got the message earlier and quickly reached at the campus but didn't tell me till my exam finished lest I might breakdown at hall. He had been standing in front of the door for three hours and only rendered the news that I had to go home for familial need, still kept the news hidden. I started the journey along with him, by then I assumed something wrong happened as he didn't let me travel alone. On the way I compelled him to expose what he had in store to tell me and said Mostafa, my uncle and mentor was no more. I couldn't withstand the pain, though I kept my emotion in control, but the more we were passing the way the more I was shedding tears and it was too late to reach Kasturaghat, the jetty at Cox's Bazar. Anyhow we could manage to have traditional woodmade boat to carry us at the night of around 9 PM and safely reached Gorakghata by 10 PM. We hired a rickshaw and asked the puller to take us home at Jagiraghona. As soon as he started to drive his rickshaw, he started to talk like any other usual topic they used to discuss with the passengers. What he was telling about was nothing but death story of my uncle, Shah Abdul Mostafa. We didn't tell him that I was his nephew and we were heading towards Mostafa's house. In the way, amidst his storytelling he started crying loudly. I was weeping then yet could not but ask him of the reasons of his torment. He, the rickshawpuller revealed that they never found such a kind personality who loves them.
Mostafa belonged to that breed of teachers who possess passionate voice and capability of highly inspiring speaking, for which students attracted to him at first meeting. A sheer deep glance by his large round eyes was enough to make naughty boys calmed instantly in a messy class. He had many students who didn't like to go to class regularly but used to meet him at the streets or at any other public places to have a contact with him. He wasn't a man of high calibre and for that matter not of higher academic qualification but his judgments of most of the things were of precision, which most of the educated men lack. The first lesson he taught me was a rhyme by Rabindranath Tagore, that is, 'Amader Choto nodi', the rivulet /Small river of ours, while I was reading in class one at Jagiraghona Govt. Primary School. In that day while I was in class, our class teacher Moulavi Shamsul Huda, was asking the poem to recite which I didn't learn by heart and my uncle did observe that through window when he was coincidentally passing by the street behind the school building. After my arrival from school he came with a bunch of leafy shrubs called 'Basakpata' to beat me up as he was highly disappointed by my performance at school. He made me learn the rhyme by heart in few minutes, and taught me how to prepare home work every day, thus he inculcated such a zeal in me that I stood first in every exam thereafter. His style of handwriting was so beautiful as was his uncle Moulavi Muzaher Ahmad's, who got his education from Darul Uloom Deoband, UP, India. In our childhood we read Arabic alphabet written by Muzaher dada with bamboo stick in white paper sheets.
The first time I got a toothbrush and a Hero fountain pen in 1986 when I was a student of class two and had completed reading the Quran at Maqtub, the elementary islamic seminary. It was Mostafa who brought brush and pen for me. In those days most of the people in our countryside used to brush their teeth with charcoals or toothpowder made from Neem ashes. The pen that I used to write before was a Hb pensil but I cherished a dream to have a cheap chinese wing sung fountain pen by which my teachers at primary school used to write. When I got a chinese hero fountain pen I was so glad that I started writing on every piece of paper I got and thus within two days my handwriting improved so much that whoever came across my handwriting he asked my name. In our school there was another student of merit and fame, and he was Rabiul Hossain, whose handwriting, speeches and recitation were praise worthy. Later he got first prize for public speaking and poetry recitation, more than once in local competition in those days. What Mostafa did for me at earlier period of my study was asking questions from grammar whenever he came at home. So, I had to appear for verbal exam frequently and had to listen his advices as to how I could develop my language skill. He also asked me to deliver speeches on 21 February or 16 December or any other issues we were asked to deliver speech in school competitions. Thus he ingrained an aptitude in me for a holistic grooming, and I never missed a chance to compete for or merely deliver on any issue of public speaking, for which I was awarded in later life for many times. Mostafa was highly regarded by us and we waited for his arrival in every weekend for his presence was always inspiring for me and my cousins.
Of his little income, a considerable portion was invested for providing fees and books for needy students. Once I was with him in visit to the shrine of a muslim saint and durbar of a living legendary peer at Chittagong. He was highly devotional to the sufi saints and used to sing naat e Rasul (sm) in the morning after fazr prayers. In the heart he took our Rasul Hazrat Muhammad (sm) and on lip his Daruds. Whenever, a matter appeared, love for Rasul (sm) had been of prime importance to him. So, it was quite normal that Rasul lovers were in his good book whatever Tariqah or spiritual system they belong. Having finished Jiyarat at the shrine, he along with me entered at the durbar and met the peer. The peer, reciting few Ayats from the Quran prayed for him to Allah so that no evil influence cast over him and might Allah showered mercy upon him. When he was about to come out of the company of the peer, a heavenly light was gleaning from his face. In the way back we came across a student of him who, once read at Maheshkhali, was in real jeopardy to maintain his educational expenditure at Chittagong. He called the boy to him, asked about his study, pulling his moneybag offered few notes and advised the boy to take study seriously. Though the boy was from Maheshkhali, he wasn't acquainted with me till he met us on that very day. Memories are still vivid of such events where Mostafa helped his students and I was there to observe it incidentally.
On the day he died of a massive heart attack, I was in the hall to take part in second year honours exam, and it was the first day in schedule. As neither a mobile phone nor a telephone was available to reach me, a messenger was sent to me at the campus. He was, Bahadur, the youngest brother of my friend Shafiul Alam. He got the message earlier and quickly reached at the campus but didn't tell me till my exam finished lest I might breakdown at hall. He had been standing in front of the door for three hours and only rendered the news that I had to go home for familial need, still kept the news hidden. I started the journey along with him, by then I assumed something wrong happened as he didn't let me travel alone. On the way I compelled him to expose what he had in store to tell me and said Mostafa, my uncle and mentor was no more. I couldn't withstand the pain, though I kept my emotion in control, but the more we were passing the way the more I was shedding tears and it was too late to reach Kasturaghat, the jetty at Cox's Bazar. Anyhow we could manage to have traditional woodmade boat to carry us at the night of around 9 PM and safely reached Gorakghata by 10 PM. We hired a rickshaw and asked the puller to take us home at Jagiraghona. As soon as he started to drive his rickshaw, he started to talk like any other usual topic they used to discuss with the passengers. What he was telling about was nothing but death story of my uncle, Shah Abdul Mostafa. We didn't tell him that I was his nephew and we were heading towards Mostafa's house. In the way, amidst his storytelling he started crying loudly. I was weeping then yet could not but ask him of the reasons of his torment. He, the rickshawpuller revealed that they never found such a kind personality who loves them.
Mostafa belonged to that breed of teachers who possess passionate voice and capability of highly inspiring speaking, for which students attracted to him at first meeting. A sheer deep glance by his large round eyes was enough to make naughty boys calmed instantly in a messy class. He had many students who didn't like to go to class regularly but used to meet him at the streets or at any other public places to have a contact with him. He wasn't a man of high calibre and for that matter not of higher academic qualification but his judgments of most of the things were of precision, which most of the educated men lack. The first lesson he taught me was a rhyme by Rabindranath Tagore, that is, 'Amader Choto nodi', the rivulet /Small river of ours, while I was reading in class one at Jagiraghona Govt. Primary School. In that day while I was in class, our class teacher Moulavi Shamsul Huda, was asking the poem to recite which I didn't learn by heart and my uncle did observe that through window when he was coincidentally passing by the street behind the school building. After my arrival from school he came with a bunch of leafy shrubs called 'Basakpata' to beat me up as he was highly disappointed by my performance at school. He made me learn the rhyme by heart in few minutes, and taught me how to prepare home work every day, thus he inculcated such a zeal in me that I stood first in every exam thereafter. His style of handwriting was so beautiful as was his uncle Moulavi Muzaher Ahmad's, who got his education from Darul Uloom Deoband, UP, India. In our childhood we read Arabic alphabet written by Muzaher dada with bamboo stick in white paper sheets.
The first time I got a toothbrush and a Hero fountain pen in 1986 when I was a student of class two and had completed reading the Quran at Maqtub, the elementary islamic seminary. It was Mostafa who brought brush and pen for me. In those days most of the people in our countryside used to brush their teeth with charcoals or toothpowder made from Neem ashes. The pen that I used to write before was a Hb pensil but I cherished a dream to have a cheap chinese wing sung fountain pen by which my teachers at primary school used to write. When I got a chinese hero fountain pen I was so glad that I started writing on every piece of paper I got and thus within two days my handwriting improved so much that whoever came across my handwriting he asked my name. In our school there was another student of merit and fame, and he was Rabiul Hossain, whose handwriting, speeches and recitation were praise worthy. Later he got first prize for public speaking and poetry recitation, more than once in local competition in those days. What Mostafa did for me at earlier period of my study was asking questions from grammar whenever he came at home. So, I had to appear for verbal exam frequently and had to listen his advices as to how I could develop my language skill. He also asked me to deliver speeches on 21 February or 16 December or any other issues we were asked to deliver speech in school competitions. Thus he ingrained an aptitude in me for a holistic grooming, and I never missed a chance to compete for or merely deliver on any issue of public speaking, for which I was awarded in later life for many times. Mostafa was highly regarded by us and we waited for his arrival in every weekend for his presence was always inspiring for me and my cousins.
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