Seeing the friendly behaviour of Mashrafi, the couple relaxed, especially Kaysar.
They got inside the truck quickly as time was scarce.
The prime destination was Tanbazaar (the infamous red-light district), but their mission was to hire workers from there, as it used to be a meeting place for laborers—or should one say, an entertainment zone. Though it's not a situation where people can entertain themselves, the gathering shouldn't be stopped.
They reached Sadarghat. The street was filled with the hustle of trade—but it wasn't legal. Most of it was illegal.
Firearms of war, medical aid, foreign relief—even simple items that foreigners donated out of pity—were being sold at high prices, openly. Nobody cared about legality. There was no law anyway. If some foreign journalist took a photo, let them. Who cared? Would the foreigners stop sending aid if they saw this?
Most probably. But the government would just go door to door to donor nations and beg again—only to sell the aid at high prices and keep the lion's share. UK, Germany, France, India, USSR, even the USA (though politically reluctant)—every nation and their citizens provided Bangladesh with sufficient aid to survive the harshest times. The UN finally began doing its job—UNDP, UNICEF, WHO all launched massive post-war programs, bringing millions of dollars worth of aid and thousands of volunteers to initiate health and nutrition projects.
If handled properly, it wasn't difficult for Bengal to stand like a wounded lion and strive for glory.
But corruption had attached itself to the core of Bengali leadership. In the end, power and wealth simply shifted hands—from West Pakistani rulers to Bengali ones. Meanwhile, the condition of the Bengali people only worsened day by day.
Mr. Liton got out of the truck—not to buy looted goods, but to purchase information. In these times, information was valuable.
He talked with a few men, but no luck. This was a smuggling point and black market hub. Without money, no one would even flinch. Liton gave up. It would be a waste of funds, at least for now. Getting information from the military was easier than from these foxes.
During the journey, they noticed a huge crowd breaking into a government property. Upon closer observation, they understood—it was an agricultural supply depot. Seeds, fertilizers (especially urea), and small farming tools were easy to resell at high prices. So desperate people rushed in.
Suddenly, they heard gunshots.
People ran out of the warehouse, panic on their faces.
"What's going on inside?" Liton asked in confusion.
"Let's get out and see it ourselves," Jakaria said helplessly.
The four of them got down from the truck.
"Is it some local militia group?" Mashrafi asked, confused.
"Let's inquire with a witness," Rakib suggested.
A haggard man was running in their direction, sweat soaking his torn shirt. His face was dark brown, his eyes red with sleeplessness.
"What about the gunshots? Was it the military?"
"We just wanted to take some seeds... ha... haah... Those Pak bastards burned our crops and looted all our grains. We have nothing to eat or start with. We heard whispers that this warehouse stored farming equipment, so we rushed in. But an armed group we'd never seen before demanded we return what we took—and demanded a high price. Some men protested, and then..."
Nothing more needed to be said. Just another rogue group—no one knew if they were Mukti or Razakar—emerging to loot. Worst of all, they fired on unarmed civilians.
Rakib was conflicted. They too had stolen machines and raw materials to survive, but to shoot unarmed people? That was cowardice. It had to be stopped.
"How many of them? Were they heavily armed?" Mashrafi asked calmly, though his face betrayed a spirit of rage.
"Three in total. Each has one gun."
Mashrafi gazed at Rakib with determination.
"We can spare the time to take them out. They're just ragtags."
"But is it worth it?"
The man looked at Rakib pleadingly.
"I heard you boys. I don't have any fight experience, but I'll help however I can," Liton said honestly but with determination.
"I don't like this bullying. Just take them out and get out. It's not like anyone will care about some small fight," Mashrafi muttered.