A haunting silence grips DU campus

As a former student of Dhaka University, I have always been captivated by the vibrant energy of the campus. The moment you step through any of its numerous entry points, you're instantly enveloped in an undeniable aura of zeal and dynamism. 

It feels like there's a pause in the usual liveliness. 

Aside from the occasional rallies or protest movements, the campus has been eerily "calm" since 17 July, when students were forcibly evicted from their dormitories by university authorities and law enforcement agencies, following the escalation of the quota reform movement.

Photo: Jannatul Naym Pieal

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say the campus has taken on a completely deserted look, reminiscent only of the extraordinary stillness during the coronavirus lockdown.

On Wednesday, I entered the campus after leaving the Dhaka Medical College Hospital gate adjacent to Central Shahid Minar, at around 11.45 am. A few rickshaws and CNG auto rickshaws were scattered about, to carry patients and their attendants. 

But the familiar faces were nowhere to be found. Instead, police check posts stood at every entry point of the campus—be it Shahbagh, Nilkhet, Chankharpool, Palashi or High Court—making it nearly impossible for both current and former students to enter. 

Photo: Jannatul Naym Pieal

This led me to experience things I never thought I would.

As soon as I reached the TSC bus stop on foot, several bedraggled dogs came rushing toward me, and formed a circle around me. One might think these were ferocious dogs, ready to bite for no reason. But the reality was far different. 

These dogs are quite friendly with everyone on campus. However, they had evidently been starving for nearly two weeks since the virtual closure of the campus, and they were only looking for some food and companionship from me. 

Unfortunately, I didn't have any food on me, and all I could do was pet them on the back of their heads. Even after several minutes, they were in no mood to let go of me. 

Photo: Jannatul Naym Pieal

A similarly slender figure, Md Abdus Salam, came to my rescue, shooing away the dogs. "When even we humans have nothing in our stomachs, you can imagine what these innocent animals incapable of saying anything are going through," Salam said with a faint smile. 

Salam had grown up as a canteen boy at Jagannath Hall and now pulled a rickshaw, still living in the same hall. "Due to the campus closure, my daily income has dropped to a third, as I don't usually go beyond the campus area. I don't know how long I'll manage to survive," Salam said, his voice tinged with hopelessness.

The more I wandered around the campus, the more hungry and desperate dogs I encountered. In total, I probably had to disappoint as many as 40 dogs. In contrast, there were hardly any people around, save for a few staff members from different departments.

Photo: Jannatul Naym Pieal

In front of the Aparajeyo Bangla sculpture, I met Hasib Mahbub, an office assistant working in the Social Sciences Building. He told me that despite the shutdown, they had been working in the office since last Thursday.

"Entering the campus means dealing with a lot of harassment from the police at the check post. They don't want to let us in, even after seeing our ID cards. I don't understand why we have to come to the office when there's not much to do," Hasib lamented.

The Campus Shadow area was also desolate. But things were slightly different at the Mall Chattar and residential areas. While two cars of the university proctorial body were patrolling to and fro, some BGB personnel were also posted there. 

A similar scenario was evident in front of the residence of the Vice-Chancellor, as well as at the entrance of Fuller Road, where three BGB personnel stood. They didn't have much to do, though. They were sipping tea and were hooked to a smartphone on one of their palms. 

From the sounds emanating from their phone, I could tell they were watching music videos of some popular Bollywood hits. The rare tranquillity and serenity of the campus provided a unique opportunity for them to enjoy some quality entertainment, it seemed. 

As I made my way back toward Ruqayyah Hall, I noticed a girl approaching. She was the first woman under the age of 40 I had seen on the campus since the morning. From the Dhaka University logo on the badge attached to her shoulder bag, I realised she was a current student.

She wore clear anger and irritation on her face. I asked if she could spare a few moments to talk. She hesitated at first, and it was understandable given the circumstances—an almost empty campus with no one around. Speaking to an unfamiliar man in such isolation wouldn't be the safest choice.

Eventually, she changed her mind upon seeing my press card and coming to know that I too was a former student of this campus. Despite this, I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt; it seemed unfair to put her in such a dilemma in the first place. 

She described the harassment she endured at Shamsun Nahar Hall, where she was a resident. She had gone there to collect some important documents and a few clothes, but encountered hostility at every turn. From the security guards to the hall provost, it seemed everyone was intent on making her life as difficult as possible with hundreds of "so-called formalities."

"I felt like I was passing through US immigration," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.

But that wasn't the only reason she was disturbed. She had travelled all the way from Mirpur-10 to the campus, only to be denied entry at the Shahbagh point. As a result, she had to make her way in through the Nilkhet entry.

"But the way the police personnel spoke to me and the way they scrutinised me was borderline sexual harassment. I also heard whistles being blown at me when I was near TSC," she shared.

"There was a time I used to think this campus was the only safe place for women in the city. Clearly, it's not anymore. Not since we were forced out of the hall on 17 July," she sighed.