Shagufta Tabassum Ahmad agreed to study law at the suggestion of her parents, even though she didn’t intend to become a lawyer. After her father’s murder, that all changed. Megha Mohan, BBC gender and identity correspondent, spoke to her about the 16-year struggle for justice against her father’s murderers.
My memories of the day Dr Taher Ahmed was murdered are both clear and incomplete.
The room is still there, but I can’t recall who was there. It was Friday, but I can’t recall the exact time. Although I do remember hearing the landline ring, I don’t know who picked it up.
It was my brother calling.
They have found him. He was killed.
Although I don’t know who relayed the words of my brother, that was the moment I realized that I had lost all control over my life.
My mother broke down in tears immediately. We sat stunned as we learned that my father had died in Rajshahi University’s septic tank. He was a professor in the department of geology and mining.
My brother was the host of our extended family, who had gathered at his house in Dhaka, Bangladesh’s capital. He was not there, because he had traveled six hours by car from Rajshahi (near the Bangladesh-India border) to search for our father the day before.
My family started to talk at the same time, interrupting each others.
How? Why?
He would be a great man to kill.
My father was the humble academic who preferred to walk or use public transport over buying a car. He was the husband who shared the cooking and grocery shopping while Bangladeshi customs were still being followed.
This would be just the beginning of our family’s nightmare.
My father had taken a bus from Dhaka, Bangladesh, to Rajshahi University two days prior.
The vibrant, bustling campus was a favorite of his. It had been my family home as a child. The university provided a small house for us to live in, and all we needed was close by. Sanzid, my brother, and I used to walk to school each morning. We would then spend the evening playing in the playgrounds with other university lecturers. Everyone on campus was familiar to us. We felt safe and happy in this part of the world.
Sanzid and me moved to Dhaka after we both graduated from high school. Sanzid started working as an HR professional for a multinational company.
My father advised me to study law at university. This was an incredible decision considering the future. I didn’t intend to become a lawyer. I thought that maybe I would go on to work for an international non-governmental organization or as an academic. My father knew what was best for my family, and he did so even before I started university. My mother moved in with me to Dhaka after I had settled down and I began university.
My father, who had been visiting us in Dhaka for a few days the week before his death, left Rajshahi for Rajshahi on Wednesday, February 1, 2006. My mother was notified by him that he made it safely. He called her again just before 9pm. He then made his bed. Later, the police found his pants hanging from the bedroom door handle.
He would be only alive for a brief time. Later, the coroner stated that he had been killed before 10 p.m.
My father returned to university to meet with Dr Mia Mohammad Mohiuddin, a colleague. My father and Dr Mohiuddin were once close friends. However, their relationship ended abruptly not too long ago. My father discovered numerous instances of plagiarism in Dr Mohiuddin’s work and had brought this up with faculty staff. The department had convened a meeting to discuss the matter.
My father didn’t show up for that meeting. He did not return our calls. Jahangir Alam, the caretaker, stated that he wasn’t at the house and added, curiously enough, that he hadn’t seen him arrive.
Alarmed, my mother requested that my brother travel to Rajshahi the following evening to find him. My brother discovered my father’s body in the septic tank in the garden of my university accommodation the next day. Now, this was a murder investigation.
My family was suddenly the center of attention. My father’s murder was a big story. It was a mystery. His face was seen on television and printed in newspapers. Local and international media looked for compelling details to tell a compelling story. Many questions remain unanswered. It was hard to believe that a respected professor at a university would be killed. It was a personal grudge. Hardline Islamists? What does it tell us about Bangladeshi society
My mother and brother were my inspiration in the midst all the chaos. They were quick to get involved. My mother joined my brother in Rajshahi for assistance with the police to create a timeline to go through all suspects. My father’s colleague, Dr Mia Mohammad Mohiuddin, was arrested within weeks. Jahangir Alam, the university accommodation caretaker and four other people, including Alam’s brother-in law and brother-inlaw, were also taken into custody and charged with the murder.
Jahangir Alam, his family, and others testified during the trial that Mohiuddin persuaded them with promises of money and computers to kill my father. Mohiuddin refuted the claims.
Four of the men were convicted at Rajshahi Lower Court in 2008 and sentenced to death. Two others were acquitted. The case should have ended then, but it didn’t. The case was referred by the High Court of Bangladesh to the four men.
My mother and brother worked tirelessly to get justice for my father. By contrast, I felt useless. I was still in my teens when the Lower Court judgment was rendered. My family had been there for me throughout my life and insisted that I should only be focusing on university. They were there for me financially and emotionally.
While I continued my studies and concentrated on my law books, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my future. My father’s murder case was brought to the High Court in 2011. Dr Mia Mohammad Mohiuddin was granted bail by the court. He was then released to continue the trial. His defense was going to be complex as he had already hired over 10 lawyers.
My future suddenly became clear. I knew what I wanted to do with my life. My law degree could be used to assist the prosecution in their case against my father’s murderers. Because I could cross so many worlds, I was in an unusual position. I was able to communicate with my family and translate legalese documents. I knew my father and knew all the officers. I also knew two of the defendants. I could play a crucial role in this case, to bring justice to my father.
In 2012, I graduated law school and immediately began working with the prosecution lawyers. There aren’t many women advocates for criminal cases in Bangladesh, but they saw my value and welcomed me into the team. This was where I spent my every waking moment. To be able to focus solely on my father, I turned down all other cases.
The High Court issued a judgment in 2013. The death penalty was upheld for Dr Mia Mohammad Mohiuddin (the colleague that my father had accuseded of plagiarism) and Jahangir Alam, the caretaker. Alam’s family reduced the death penalty to life sentences for Alam’s two relatives. They had assisted, but it was Mohiuddin Alam who orchestrated the murder of my father.
It was far from over.
My father was murdered by the caretaker and his family members. They all confessed to it, saying that Mohiuddin had approached them and paid them. Mohiuddin’s lawyers appealed to another court, this time to Bangladesh’s Supreme Court – which is the country’s highest appeals court.
I sat down and read through documents, organizing timelines, sketching criminal profiles, and talking to lawyers. This helped me keep my mother and brother’s spirits up. They were spent praying, even on weekends and Ramadans. In my 30s I was a determined lawyer on a mission and not the anxious teenage girl who had lost her world in 2006.
We were still bound to the court’s timetable. Eight years passed before the appeal was heard.
Mia Mohiuddin, a wealthy and well-connected man, is the brother of an influential Bangladeshi politician. He was well-equipped with resources and had a team of lawyers to assist him. They argued that he was innocent of any involvement in my father’s death, that he and my dad had been friends for many years and that there was no evidence against him physically. It was all circumstantial. It didn’t matter that three other men had given detailed confessions and that his behavior in the aftermath was not typical of someone who is close to our family. Mohiuddin, who was a familiar face in our lives, did not attend my father’s funeral. He was the only faculty member to do so. He also did not visit us to offer support.
Due to a backlog, the Supreme Court didn’t include my father’s case in its docket until last year. Justice Hasan Foez Siddique led the Supreme Court’s decision that Dr Mia Mohammad Mohiuddin was guilty for my father’s murder and upheld the death penalty.
I made a statement for my family after the judgment. I said that we were pleased with the verdict but not sure if “happy” is the right term. I have not yet found the right words to describe these 16 years for my family. It has been a time of immense pain. It’s a difficult question to answer, especially since my father died in the same way.
My adult life has been dominated by the struggle to bring justice to my father. People often ask me if it’s possible to settle down and start my own family. After my father’s murderers are dead, I might. It may then feel like it is over. My father was my entire world. He was such an intelligent, good-mannered, simple, and kind man.
It is hard to imagine what Dr Mohiuddin did to my father. But I will fight for justice and live a happy life for him.
