The truck entered the Adamjee area, named after the tycoon Adamjee family who once owned the nation's most significant mill, "Adamjee Jute Mill," which was also the largest jute mill on Earth back then.
The once prosperous place now only whispered about its golden past. Like most others, it was founded by Pakistani capitalists in 1951. From then onward, millions of tons of jute arrived from across the country for processing.
The pleasant climate of Bengal is highly favorable for jute. Farmers across this blessed land cultivated it with smiles on their faces. The golden color of jute embraced the fields like fine jewelry. Farmers received money worth their endless hard work. Boatmen delivered the raw jute to factories, where it was processed and exported abroad, earning valuable foreign currency.
The place was eerily silent. Muddy roads made it harder for the truck, which jolted up and down.
Mashrafi noticed the river beside them.
A horrifying fragrance was coming out of the river. The red water terrified him. Hands, legs—even faces—were visible on the water's surface. Each carried its own story of pain and suffering. Most of them were factory workers, dumped here after the Pakistan Army established its camp inside the factory.
A woman's face was visible there—eyes wide open, lips as if trying to say something, and a big hole in the middle of her forehead.
"May Allah bless them with Jannah (Heaven)," Mashrafi whispered.
"Those bastards really painted the river red," Mr. Liton said.
Jakaria spoke up. "Is it a good idea to enter Adamjee Mill? Many people are vying for machinery. Won't we just jump into unnecessary conflicts?"
His concern was justified. Adamjee was the largest and most prosperous jute mill. Its machines were highly valuable. Even after being nationalized, officials continued selling off its parts.
"Let's just avoid this place for now. Our main goal is textile machinery anyway."
While crossing the jute mill, they noticed large groups looting the factory. Nearby, Mukti Bahini and a few Indian soldiers stood by. Everyone was getting their share of the pie—a win-win situation.
As for the factory itself, it was bound to doom. After nationalization, one couldn't expect it to make a profit. The situation would end up far worse than in the Soviet Union. The regime nationalized abandoned factories to consolidate power, but it would backfire. Corrupt politicians couldn't run a factory!
After nationalization, the national economy plummeted 84% compared to pre-war Bengal, resulting in the deaths of nearly 1.5 million people by starvation (no exaggeration). The dire situation made Bengal the poorest country, with 90% of its fiscal budget coming from foreign aid. From the granary of the East, we became parasites of the outside world. What a humiliation!
A brawl broke out among the looters. Not wanting to waste time, Liton said,
"There should be a textile mill nearby. Its name should be Gul or something like that. Drive there."
Many industries had grown near Adamjee Jute Mill, the main reason being the Shitalakshya River. It was just a sub-river but still wide enough to transport goods easily. Within 15 kilometers, it met the Padma, making it an easy transit point for export.
That's why, near Siddhirganj, the Adamjee EPZ would be built. The Adamjee belt was a crucial location.
In front of the factory, the truck stopped.
"There aren't many people here. It's better this way. Let's finish things up quickly."
The three of them came out of the truck. Jakaria stayed behind to look after it.
"You two go ahead, I gotta release pressure," Rakib said with an awkward smile.
Mashrafi and Liton didn't care and focused on breaking the gate.
Rakib went near the river and unzipped his pants.
Just when he was about to relieve himself, a scene made him scream loudly.
An innocent face of a small child—perhaps an infant—was floating. There were scars on its neck.
Rakib screamed, and the others rushed over.
"What's wrong with y—" Before Liton could finish, he noticed the child.
"God forbid," Mashrafi muttered as he gathered the courage to pull the child out.
"Did those Pak bastards not even spare an infant?" he said, his voice heavy with anger and resentment.
"No... it might be the child's mother who did it,"