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Novel By: Fahmid

(1971) Three Pakistani soldiers were camping in the forest of Sunderban. A soldier checked out that one of them were killed. The others jumped out when the other soldier announced the death. When they were about to run away they heard a strong cry. Then the darkest animals like wolves, owls, tigers and other creatures were after them. The soldiers were killed and the news were set in newspapers, telegrams and letters. A student named Dhrubo learnt their deaths and thought for victory. He was alone until his strange friend, Niloy came by. The killings of the Pakistani armies were increased.... Who is Niloy? A Vampire? A father? or a spirit of a freedom fighter who was killed in 1952 Student Protest Language Movement? It is a horror, action-packed split into two parts for the accounts of history of the 'Real Bangladesh'.
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Submitted:Jun 3, 2011    Reads: 205    Comments: 12    Likes: 4   



This is my humble request about a controversy of my previous novel 'A JOURNALIST'S FUN HOUSE'. The first three chapters might be copied from a Bollywood film but I tried something else there. It is like; I went to a site about 'how to make a comedy novel?' Then the answer said that copy the comedy scenes and change the topic. Somehow this story is about the actual Bangladesh and a horror story about a relationship.

This novel is dedicated to

Enrai Manarko, Kelsey Beehler and all other Facebook friends: Rezaul Hasan (my father), Farhana Azad Tithi (my mother), Fariha Hannan(my aunt), Tisha Azad (my uncle), Sabuj Ahmed (my teacher), Nawveed Newaz (my maths teacher), Farhana Farha (my aunt), Sharmin Jarin (my aunt), Fahmida Mazumder (my aunt), Syed Muhammad Alif (my friend), Mohsina Syed (my teacher), Afra Anjum (my sister), Irfan Ahnaf (my best family friend), Sudipto, Pragon, Saleh, Faiyaz, Jacks (the little neighbor friends), Sanjid Rahman (my wise brother), Rumaisa Firoz (my friend neighbor), Rafid Ahmed (the special one in customs quarter), Jawad Mushwabir (MY BROTHER FRIEND NEIGHBOR), Rufaida Firoz Dorothy and others.


19th February-1952, East Pakistan, (summer)

Dear Sultana,

Death is knocking at the door. I wish if I were here, I might take care of you. I learnt that a child of mine is born. I am so happy but at the same time our country became a war-loving country. I do not know, if you are alive or dead but I just want to say I love you.

The mystery should not be told to our son. Take him to my mother safely before I protest these people. You will get shot, we have to strike. The others will be fine. I will be there later. Even I am in Dhaka, you have to go to Chittagong. It is a very quite place. I really loved you but, I am doing this for your safety. I have to die and I have no choices and I do not want to see me like this.

21ST February, 1970, East Pakistan

Dear Child,

There are mysterious past that cannot be unveiled. I might not get to know you well. Somehow, I did my best to take you to safety. But I do not know what will you end up to be? Take care of yourself, someday; you will be a successful man. Hope the future will be bright. All these years you have to struggle your life in an unsafe place you are in.

I hope, Bengal will be victorious in your hands. I hope you will not betray our people. These curses have to be broken my child. Now it is up to you to open the secrets yourself. I wish I would be alive.


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