Chapter 3: Dilution

The people of Bangladesh believed that with independence would come peace and prosperity. The Economy would revive, farms would be filled with golden crops, mills and factories would be expanded, stability would come, and extortion and discrimination would eradicated.

But reality hit them hard. Even when they compared the post-independence situation to the pre-independence days, frustration loomed large.

Corruption, insecurity, extortion, high inflation, economic instability, and social disorder—these would soon reveal themselves one after another. And our so-called great leaders, whose only talent lies in manipulating public sentiment, would drive the country further down the path of self-destruction.

Some might compare the situation to the communist regimes of Russia, China, or Eastern Europe. But in a war-torn country like Bangladesh, it was far worse.

Everything lay in ruins. The economy had collapsed. A massive population needed to be fed, yet the nation's only source of income was foreign aid. The foreign loans that did come often came with strings attached, conditions that would backfire and come back to haunt us. For the nation, there was no hope in sight.

As for the hard-won independence—purchased by the blood of 3 million Bangladeshis—it ended up consolidating power in the hands of the ruling party and their peer organization.

 Eventually, the military took control overthrowing the communist regime, and ruled the nation as they pleased, followed by internal strife and further military coups. But that's a story for another day.

Fayez sat down to eat his lunch: a plate of rice crawling with insects and a bowl of lentils that looked more like muddy water than food. He didn't complain. The situation was quite tough back then—even spoiled food was better than going hungry. But he found himself struggling to eat it.

While eating the substance called food, he remembered the tasty food made by his mother. Even though it was plain rice, potato smash, lentil, egg, and veg, it always had given him fulfillment. Sometimes, he'd selfishly demand to dine in a restaurant or just some street food. But, The little demand had been felt as an immense burden to parents he knew afterward. His mom proudly used to say, 

"rayhan will be a respectable man with a high salary when he grows up. Then we don't have to struggle anymore. We'll dine in a restaurant once in a while."

But in the end, he turned out to be just a jobless man. He had high ambition, and dedicated his life to academics, believing it would one day pay off. But now, he sees it clearly—education itself was the biggest scam in his past life. The more he thinks, the clearer it becomes.

Even after studying for 17 years, he ended up as a skillless man holding a few certificates. The autocratic regime poured money into education not to build a future, but to spread their propaganda. The books were filled with political content, meant to brainwash the innocent children.

Thinking about his past life for a while, Fayez shook his head. It was time to concentrate on the present. He had been given the rarest of chances—a second life. And this time, he wouldn't waste it chasing the past.

Soon after the celebration, the new nation would find itself in total chaos. For nearly a month, there would be no functioning government. Even after forming a provisional one, it would take at least nine months to draft a constitution. Even after that, they wouldn't be able to manage the situation. 

As Fayez walked down a dusty road, he looked around and realized he was in Gazipur, near the future entrance to Dhaka, Tongi. In the years to come, this place would transform into one of the most densely populated and polluted areas in the country—perhaps even the world. The garments industry would emerge as the savior of the national economy, but what it would really create was a diaspora, slums, rising crime, choking air, and institutional rot.

The capitalists well-connected with politics would emerge as the final victor of industrialization. 

But now, the land was empty. Barren. Silent. A pin-drop silence hung over the suburb. Everywhere he looked, there was open space.

Most people had gone to Dhaka to witness the surrender. Others were in their villages, witnessing the change from a distance, waiting to see what kind of nation would rise from the ashes—if any.

Fayez took in a deep breath, enjoying the crisp, clean air. It reminded him of something long lost in his past life tranquility. But he was unaware that, just nearby, something deeply unsettling was unfolding. Something... hedonistic.

A loud scream suddenly pierced the air.