The people of Bangladesh believed that with independence would come peace and prosperity. 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 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 cronies. Eventually, the military ruled the nation as they pleased, followed by internal strife and further military control. 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.
In his past life, he was just a jobless man—but he had high ambition. So, he 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 propaganda. The books were filled with political content, meant to brainwash the common people.
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 empty promises.
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—and still, they wouldn't be able to manage the situation. The cracks were already forming.
As Fayez walked down a dusty road, he looked around and realized he was in Gazipur, near the future entrance to the Dhaka Tomb. 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 government would emerge as the supposed savior of the national economy, but what it would really create was a diaspora of disillusionment: endless slums, rising crime, choking air, and institutional rot.
But now, the land was empty. Barren. Silent. A pin-drop silence hung over the countryside. Everywhere he looked, there was open space.
Most people had gone to Dhaka to witness the surrender ceremony. Others were in their villages, watching 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.