TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY KHAN MUHAMMAD SIDRATUL LABIB SHAKKHOR
Dhaka, Bangladesh
I’ve always aspired to be like my grandfather, Dr. Abdul Quader Khan—an unseen hero who passed away 16 years before I was born. Though we never met, I feel deeply connected to him through our shared bloodline and the countless stories of his outstanding behaviour, moral values, humour, and pious nature. This bond extends to a lineage of remarkable ancestors, including Abdul Latif Khan, Hujjat Khan, Shamser Khan, Kusha Khan, and Nobu Khan, my seventh known ancestor. Beyond them, the stories blur, but the pride in my heritage endures.
In 2020, I visited my ancestral hometown of Kathalia in Jhalakathi District, Bangladesh—a journey that became a walk through the history and memories of my grandfather. His younger brother, Master Abdul Hamid Khan, then nearly 80, showed me a treasured postcard: a letter written by my grandfather in 1949. I was overwhelmed with emotion as I held the postcard in my hands. I remember reading it a few times, amazed that his younger brother had lovingly preserved this memory for nearly 73 years.
The postcard is about 5.5″ x 3.5″ in dimensions. It has a stamp of 9 paisa at the back. (above the recipient’s address). If you observe closely you’ll see the time of posting too. There’s a round black seal beside the stamp which reads “26 Mar 49 , 8 AM , Comilla”. That means it was posted at 08:00 am, 26th March, 1949, from the post office in Comilla.
Dr. Abdul Quader Khan was born on December 1, 1927 to Abdul Latif Khan and Fulmon Bibi in “Khan Bari” (the House of the Khans), a village in Kathalia under the Perozpur Subdivision of Backergunge District in East Bengal (now Kathalia Upazila in the Jhalakathi District of Bangladesh). He experienced the devastating Bengal Famine of 1943, a catastrophe that claimed countless lives and devastated Bengal’s agrarian economy when he was just a student in fifth standard. Witnessing the widespread loss of cattle and economic collapse left a deep impression on him, inspiring his decision to pursue Veterinary Science to address such challenges and prevent similar tragedies.
After the 1947 Partition, he enrolled in the inaugural batch of the East Bengal Veterinary College in Comilla, East Pakistan. Upon graduating, he joined the Higher Livestock Services of the East Pakistan Government as a 1st Class Gazetted Officer. He was posted as a Livestock Officer and Veterinary Surgeon to the Bera Administrative Circle in Pabna District. He later married my grandmother, Serajun Nesa Khanam Chobi, the granddaughter of Haji Abdul Karim Khan, a highly respected and well-known figure in the region. Together, they shared a love for service, compassion and care towards others.
My grandfather, Dr. Abdul Quader Khan, coloured photograph from 1970s
In 2020, I didn’t have the courage to ask Hamid Khan Dadu for the letter. During that visit, we shared family stories and warm conversations. As I was leaving, he set a condition: if I wanted anything of my grandfather’s, I’d need to visit Kathalia repeatedly—a gesture reflecting his warmth and hospitality.
Two years later, in May 2022, during my semester break, I returned to Kathalia, determined to convince him to entrust me with the letter. Over those two years, the letter often occupied my thoughts. Its connection to the 1952 Language Movement, a pivotal moment in Bangladesh’s history, intrigued me, and sharing its photos with friends always sparked amazement. Finding a quiet moment alone with Hamid Khan Dadu, I shared my deep appreciation for history and his older brother. As I was leaving, he called me aside and said, “Please preserve it, son, with all the care and emotions you have. My soul will be at peace if you do that. Even if we don’t meet again, remember my words. Khuda Hafez.” In that moment, an inexplicable thought crossed my mind—that this might be the last time I would see him.
In July 2022, just two months after my visit to Kathalia, I received a shocking phone call: “Master Abdul Hamid Khan is no more.” With his passing, I lost not only a cherished figure but also the warmth and affection of a grandparent’s love—a connection I had found in him.
The letter is now in my possession. My grandfather wrote it to one of his maternal uncles, Master Tanjer Ali Mia, during his second year at East Bengal Veterinary College in Comilla, East Pakistan. In the letter, my grandfather detailed the progress of their ongoing movement against the government and wrote, “The government has compelled to accept all our demands.”
At the time, my grandfather was actively involved in the growing Language Movement, which culminated in the historic events of 1952. Although Bengali was the majority language, it was marginalised when the government declared Urdu as the sole state language. This decision sparked widespread protests by university and college students, starting in 1948. On February 21, 1952, the government imposed Section 144 to suppress demonstrations, but students defied the order. Police opened fire, and several students became martyrs for the cause of their mother tongue. This remains a singular event in human history, where lives were sacrificed to protect a language. Today, February 21 is observed as International Mother Language Day, honouring the sacrifice of the students.
The letter also served as a thank-you note to my uncle for lending him money. Tanjer Ali Mia, then a first-year ISC student, lived in the Mafij Uddin Lodge Boys Hostel on Bagura Road in the historic town of Barisal. Despite being younger, he shared a close, almost fraternal bond with my grandfather. Toward the end, my grandfather also mentioned, “Due to the hotness, we’re joining at college in the morning,” referring to how their classes were held early in the morning to avoid the excessive heat.
Over the course of his career, my grandfather was transferred to various regions. Between 1957 and 1963, he served in Mathbaria Thana of Pirojpur District. Recently, while exploring the storeroom of my ancestral home, I discovered some of his old medicine bottles dating back to the late 1950s-60s. Remarkably, one of the containers still had traces of its original label, which revealed a manufacture date of July 2, 1963.
Many of the medicines and chemicals he used were from May & Baker Co., a renowned English pharmaceutical company founded in 1834, which no longer exists independently. I also found a heatproof glass syringe with a stainless steel piston, which my father confirmed dated back to the 1960s, when such syringes were commonly used by doctors.
Surprisingly, my grandfather’s convocation took place in 1968, 17 years after he graduated. This was because the East Pakistan Agricultural University, which evolved from the old Veterinary College, only held its first convocation that year, allowing earlier graduates to join. Unfortunately, all his documents and certificates were lost when our house was burned during the Liberation War of 1971.
During the 1971 Liberation War, my grandfather faced persecution, forcing him to move repeatedly with his family—including his wife, eight children, and in-laws—in an effort to ensure their safety.
Despite the hardships of the war, he returned to his duties. After the war, he resumed work, initially in Ishwardi and later at Atgharia Thana in the Pabna District. His time in Atgharia was marked by outstanding service, earning him deep respect from the local community. In 1982, he was transferred to Pabna Sadar Thana as a Thana Livestock Officer. Tragically, he passed away just before being promoted to District Livestock Officer for Pabna District. Even today, people in Pabna and Kathalia (greater Barisal region) honour his legacy for his dedication, responsibility, and integrity as a first-class government officer.
This letter highlights his connection to history and his role in shaping a key moment in our nation’s story.