Russel, Russel, where are you? Mother calls to Russel, "Come, aren't you going to eat? Come eat." Ma, Ma, Ma, where are you, Ma? Where did Ma go?—Russel doesn't want to sleep without Ma. At bedtime, he has to fall asleep holding his mother’s neck. He used to call her "Ma, Ma," and sometimes he would call her "Abba" as well.

Right after his birth, Abba had to go to jail. The Pakistani rulers imprisoned Abba for giving the 6-point demand. Russel was then just a little over a year and a half old. Naturally, he didn't even have the time to properly recognize or know everything. Russel was the dearest to all of us; being the youngest, there was no end to the affection he received. If he ever got hurt even a little bit, it felt as though the pain belonged to all of us. All of us siblings always kept a watchful eye on him, making sure not even a scratch appeared on his body. What a beautiful, soft, and tender child! Whenever you looked at him, you just wanted to pinch his cheeks and shower him with affection.

Russel was born on October 18, 1964, in my bedroom at the house on Road No. 32, Dhanmondi. The second floor wasn't finished yet. You could say Mother was building the house room by room. The construction work was ongoing bit by bit. We lived on the ground floor. The north-eastern room belonged to me and Kamal. Russel was born in that very room at one-thirty in night.

Abba had gone to Chittagong to conduct an election meeting. Fatima Jinnah was the presidential candidate. The All-Party United Front had formed a coalition against Ayub Khan and entered the election. All political parties stood against President Ayub Khan. In those days, mobile phones didn't exist; landlines were our only reliance. Arrangements were made so that the news would reach Abba at night. The moments leading up to Russel's birth were filled with immense anxiety. Me, Kamal, Jamal, Rehana, and Khoka Kaka were at home. The elder paternal aunt and middle paternal aunt were with Mother. A doctor and a nurse had also arrived. Time simply refused to pass. Jamal and Rehana would sleep for a bit and wake up, while we stayed awake with sleepy eyes, waiting to hear the news of the new guest's arrival.

The middle paternal aunt came out of the room to give us the news that we had a baby brother. We were beside ourselves with joy, wondering how soon we could see him. Auntie said she would call us. After a little while, the call came. The elder paternal aunt lifted Russel into my lap. His head was covered in thick black hair, and his cheeks were soft and tender. Russel was quite large at birth. His hair felt a bit damp, so I started drying it with my own orna (scarf). Then I took a comb to brush his hair. The middle paternal aunt stopped me, saying the scalp was very tender and a comb shouldn't be used just yet. I tried to part his hair using my fingers.

Among us five siblings, Russel was the youngest. After many years, a little child had come to brighten our home, and a wave of joy was flowing through it. Abba was a great admirer of Bertrand Russell; he would read Russel's books and explain them to Mother. Mother became such a fervent admirer after hearing Russel's philosophy that she named her youngest child Russel. Little Russel was gradually growing up. Mother would lay Russel down on the bed while doing household chores, and when school was closed, I would lie beside him and read books. He loved playing with the braids of my hair. I would place my long braid in his little hand, and he would giggle while moving it around, finding it immensely amusing whenever the strands brushed against his face.

From the very first day of his birth, I used to take his pictures; the camera was always in our hands. How many pictures we took! I made a separate album for him where pictures of his birth, his first month, and every three-to-six-month interval were neatly arranged. The tragic part is that during the 1971 Pakistani occupation forces looted that photo album along with all our other belongings. We lost many rare photographs of our dearly loved little brother, captured with such immense care.

There was a small lawn right in front of the house, filled with green grass. My mother took great care of the garden. In the afternoon, we would all sit in the garden. A mat would be spread out, and little Russel was allowed to play there. A small bamboo stick was tied on one side, and Russel would try to walk by holding onto it. He had just started crawling. We would try to help him walk by holding his hands, but he wouldn't want to walk at all. His health was very good—quite a chubby little baby. All of us siblings would always hold his hands and help him walk.

One day, he was walking while holding my hand. It seemed his desire to walk had grown immensely. He walked all the way from the back veranda to the front veranda, going around several times, holding my hand throughout the house. Amidst this walking, I occasionally tried to let go of my finger so he could walk on his own. But he would get annoyed and sit right down, refusing to walk without holding a finger. As I walked along with him, I kept trying to see if he would walk by himself. Suddenly, while walking on the front veranda, he let go of my hand and started walking on his own. He kept walking and walking, and I followed closely behind. That was when he first started walking. I thought he would walk a short distance and then grab my hand again. But the more I walked, the more I saw that he wasn't taking my hand anymore—he just kept going, walking straight through the middle passage to the back veranda. I was so overjoyed that I started calling out to everyone, announcing that our little golden Russel had learned how to walk! I had never seen any child learn to walk like that in a single day; babies usually learn step-by-step.

• But everything about him seemed exceptional. We found proof of his high intelligence in many ways. He used to call me "Hasupa." He called Kamal and Jamal "Bhai" and Rehana "Apu." He never used to say Kamal and Jamal's names. We tried very hard to teach him, but he would just smile sweetly, shake his head, and say "Bhai." Day after day, as we kept trying, he finally blurted out "Kammmal," "Jammal"—though he always addressed them as "Bhai."

He was quite cautious in his movements yet brave, never easily frightened by anything. Whenever he saw big black ants, he would try to catch them. One day, he caught a large ola (a big black ant) and was bitten instantly. His tiny finger was cut, and blood came out. Medicine was applied immediately, and his finger swelled up. After that incident, he never tried to catch ants again. However, he gave that ant a name of his own. Ever since he got bitten, whenever he saw a large black ant, he would call it "Bhutto." He came up with that name all by himself.

I used to record Russel's talking and crying on a tape recorder. In those days, tape recorders were quite large. Sometimes, we would play his crying back to him. The funniest thing was that whenever he started crying for some reason, we would turn on the tape, and he would instantly go quiet, looking completely astonished. One day, I recorded Russel's crying and kept playing it back repeatedly. Mother was in the kitchen; hearing him cry, she rushed over, thinking he was all alone, only to find me playing the tape and playing with him. What could Mother say? First, she scolded me because she had been deeply worried, thinking he was by himself. Then she burst out laughing upon hearing his recorded crying. I used to try to make him speak and record it on tape.

When Abba announced the 6-point demand, he was promptly arrested. The smile vanished from Russel's face. He would wander all over the house looking for Abba. Russel had just learned to walk and speak in broken words when Abba was imprisoned. Mother became busy managing Abba's court cases, as well as keeping in touch with leaders and workers of the Awami League and Chhatra League organizations. She also had to spare time to keep the organization active and drive the political movement and struggle forward.

I was studying in college while actively engaging in political work. Kamal finished school and enrolled in Dhaka College, joining politics as well. Jamal and Rehana went to school. Ever since Abba's arrest, Russel's eating habits practically stopped; he refused to eat anything. We would often take him to my younger paternal aunt's house. When we went there, my younger paternal uncle would sit with him and make him eat. The uncle would serve him egg poached with sugar, or flatbread with okra fry sprinkled with sugar, feeding Russel along with him. There was a domestic help named Ambia's mother at our house who loved Russel dearly. She would carry him around and feed him while walking.

Our house had a pigeon coop, built quite high up, housing many pigeons. Mother would wake up very early, take Russel down in her arms, and feed the pigeons with her own hands. When Russel learned to walk, he would run after the pigeons himself and feed them with his own hands. We also had pigeons at our village home. Pigeon meat was consumed by everyone, especially during the monsoon season when most of the land went underwater, leading to a shortage of vegetables and fish. Eating pigeon was a frequent practice then. Parottas and braised pigeon meat were everyone's favorite for breakfast. Moreover, if anyone fell sick, pigeon meat broth was given to them. Feeding small children pigeon soup was believed to increase blood count, so children were regularly given pigeon soup.

Whenever Russel was offered pigeon meat, he would never touch it. How such a tiny child sensed it remains a mystery. We tried every possible trick; even when brought close to his mouth, he wouldn't eat it and would turn his face away. Despite trying a hundred times, no one could ever make Russel eat pigeon meat. Every fifteen days, we used to go visit Abba. Whenever we took Russel along, he wouldn't want to come back and would cry profusely. He was told that Abba's house was a jail and that we were just visiting Abba's home, and that we would return to our house. It was with great difficulty that he was brought back home. We could easily understand what state of mind Abba was in. When Russel cried for Abba at home, Mother would comfort him and teach him to call her "Abba." He even started calling Mother "Abba."

On January 18, 1968, Abba was implicated in the Agartala Conspiracy Case and transferred from Dhaka Central Jail to be imprisoned in the Cantonment. For six months, we had no contact with Abba, nor did we even know how or where he was.

Russel's health deteriorated, and he grew even more stubborn about eating. The tiny child couldn't express the sorrow in his little heart out loud, nor could he bear it. We could deeply feel the agony he harbored inside.

After finishing college, I enrolled at Dhaka University in 1967. Mother was busy with Abba's court cases and the party, frequently having to go outside and attend court hearings. To intensify the movement at Dhaka University, we formed the Student Action Committee, and by 1968, everyone was busy with the 6-point and 11-point movements. The struggle had intensified, and we couldn't give much time to Russel. Ambia's mother always looked after him. He wouldn't usually want to eat regular meals, but when everyone sat down to eat in the kitchen, he would join them. He loved sitting on a low wooden stool (pidhi) in the next room, eating rice from a plate painted with red flowers alongside the domestic workers.

We had a pet dog named Tommy, who was very friendly with everyone. Little Russel also played with Tommy. One day while playing, Tommy suddenly barked loudly, startling Russel. He came running to Rehana in tears, complaining that Tommy was "scolding" him. Hearing that, we burst into helpless laughter—how on earth could Tommy scold someone? But looking at Russel, it was clear he took the matter quite seriously. He simply couldn't accept that Tommy had scolded him because he loved Tommy very much. He used to feed him by hand and always shared his favorite foods with Tommy. Naturally, getting scolded by that very dog hurt him deeply.

On February 22, 1969, when Abba was finally released after nearly three years through a mass uprising, Russel had crossed four years of age. However, because he had grown extremely thin, he looked even younger. We noticed another behavior in him: amid his playtime, every little while he would run downstairs to check on Abba. Abba used to work from an office on the ground floor, while we had moved upstairs. Russel would play downstairs all day and go check on Abba every few minutes, perhaps harboring a silent fear that he might lose Abba all over again.

In March 1971, when the Non-Cooperation Movement was underway, processions would march past our house, and police vehicles occasionally drove by. Russel would play on the upstairs veranda, and whenever he saw a police car passing, he would shout, "O Police, tomorrow is a hartal (strike)!" Even though his tiny voice couldn't reach the ears of the police, Russel insisted on announcing the strike. Standing by the veranda railing, he would shout "Hartal, hartal!" and give slogans like "Joy Bangla." We would all discuss political movements at home, and he would listen to everything and repeat the slogans himself.

At midnight on March 25, 1971, when the Pakistani occupation forces launched an attack on unarmed Bengalis, Abba declared independence. Right after the first light of March 26, Abba was arrested and taken away. The next day, our house was attacked again. Mother and Jamal took Russel and sought shelter at the neighboring house, while Kamal went and sheltered behind our house at the Japanese Consulate residence.

Kamal left to join the Liberation War. My mother was taken prisoner by the Pakistani occupation forces. They confined us to a single-story house on (Old) Road No. 18 in Dhanmondi. Little Russel began living the life of a prisoner. There was no proper food, no toys, no books—what a wretched period of hardship began for him.

While in captivity, we had no news of Abba. We didn't know where or how he was. On the first day, Russel cried profusely for Abba. On top of that, not having his beloved brother Kamal around was another heavy burden for him. How was he to suppress the sorrow in his heart or express it? Tears constantly welled up in the corners of his eyes. If I asked, "What happened, Russel?" he would reply, "There's dust in my eye." At that tender age, he tried hard to conceal his pain. Sometimes he would share it with Roma, who had lived with us since childhood and played with him; her family had served in our household across generations. He would occasionally tell her his sorrows. Whenever I saw tears in his eyes and asked about them, he would give the same excuse about dust in his eye. It felt astonishing how such a tiny child learned to hide his own suffering.

We lived in constant anxiety inside captivity because the Pakistani soldiers frequently came to search the house and taunted us with various remarks. They told Jamal, "We will catch and teach you a lesson." They were also deeply worried about Rehana. Joy was born around that time. After Joy's arrival, Russel seemed to find a glimmer of joy. He stayed by Joy's side all the time and cared for him.

When the war broke out in December, worries centered around little Joy because bunkers had been constructed on our rooftop with machine guns mounted on them, firing day and night. The noise was deafening. It was difficult to put Joy to sleep; being only four months old, the infant would tremble at every burst of machine-gun fire.

Then air raids began. Sirens would sound during attacks. Russel was extremely vigilant about this. Whenever a siren wailed or a roaring sound filled the sky like thunder, Russel would run and stuff cotton balls into Joy's ears. He always kept cotton in his pocket. There was also a severe food shortage at that time, and none of his favorite foods could be provided. Being locked up day after day without any playmates or desired food—it is unimaginable how much suffering a little child had to endure day in and day out.

Russel was exceptionally bright. The Pakistani soldiers would clean their weapons, and he would stand by the window watching everything. He learned the names of many weapons. During air raids, when the Pakistani soldiers ran into bunkers, we got the chance to step out onto the veranda and watch dogfights between warplanes in the sky. Whenever a plane came into view, Russel would clap his hands in delight.

On December 16, 1971, the surrender took place, Pakistan lost the war, and Bangladesh was liberated. We didn't get our freedom that day; we were freed on the morning of December 17. The moment we were liberated and the Indian allied forces captured the soldiers guarding our house, people began arriving in droves. Amidst all this, Russel put a helmet on his head, and Tito wore one too. The two of them put on helmets and started playing war games.

We were overwhelmed by the joy of freedom on one hand, yet consumed by anxiety for Abba, Kamal, Jamal, and countless others—not knowing who was alive and who wasn't. We celebrated victory carrying the heavy weight of uncertainty. Tears in our eyes, smiles on our faces—these moments carried a strange mixture of feelings, alternating between laughter and crying. Whenever Russel saw us cry, it made him sad. How much of the pain in his little chest could we possibly fathom? Meanwhile, Kamal and Jamal returned from the battlefield. Russel was overjoyed to have his brothers back, but his eyes were filled with sorrow, and he didn't speak much out loud. Yet, those two eyes constantly kept searching for Abba, which I could deeply feel.

The house in front of the one we stayed in was rented because so many people were visiting that there wasn't even space to sit. Meanwhile, our Dhanmondi Road 32 house had been ransacked by the Pakistani soldiers, who left the bathrooms, doors, and windows broken. We had to stay put until repairs were completed.

On January 10, 1972, Abba returned, freed from captivity. My grandfather took Russel to the airport to bring Abba home. A sea of millions of people had gathered that day; Abba went first to his beloved people and then arrived at the house. We moved into the large front house. The small house where we had been imprisoned was constantly visited by journalists and photographers from home and abroad taking pictures. It had only two rooms, with no space or furniture for Abba to stay. However, everything was hastily gathered.

The happiest day of Russel's life arrived when Abba came back. He didn't want to leave Abba's side for even a single moment, hovering around him constantly. Many toys had already been brought for him, including a small bicycle, but every few minutes he would rush right back to Abba.

In February, we returned to our home on Road 32 once the house had been repaired. A smile lit up Russel's face as he stayed busy playing all day. Meanwhile, Ganabhaban had also been repaired. The old Ganabhaban (presently Sugandha) was used as the Prime Minister's office. Now, operations began at Ganabhaban and the adjacent Prime Minister's office, connected by an internal pathway so one could walk directly to the office.

Abba would come to the office every morning, rest at Ganabhaban during lunch, and eat there. He would take walks in the afternoon and work from the office there. Russel came to Ganabhaban every afternoon along with his bicycle. He loved fishing, though he would catch fish and immediately release them back—catching and releasing was his game. Once, all of us went on a tour to Uttara Ganabhaban, where he remained busy catching fish all day long.

Russel was enrolled in the Dhaka University Laboratory School. However, he occasionally raised objections about going to school. He didn't want to study under the teacher we had studied with since childhood; before he was admitted to school (an incident from before independence), his favorite was Omar Ali, who hailed from Bogra. Omar Ali had given his voice to ads for The People newspaper and read English news on television. Whenever he visited our house, he would bring many comic books for Russel and read them to him.

Anyway, after independence, a gentlewoman was appointed as Russel's tutor. Teaching Russel was no simple task; the teacher had to listen to what he said. Every day, the tutor had to eat two sweets, and if she didn't eat them, he wouldn't study. Consequently, the teacher had to eat them. Moreover, he constantly made sure the tutor faced no inconvenience. He loved entertaining people very much.

Whenever we went to our village home in Tungipara, he had many playmates, gathering the village children around him. He had dummy wooden guns made for them—he was the one who made the guns—and made them march with those weapons in their hands, buying snacks for everyone. Clothes for Russel's "mini army" had to be purchased from Dhaka. Mother would buy clothes and take them to Tungipara, and Russel would distribute those clothes to his little army. Mother always kept clothes stored in the wardrobe. Nasser Kaka would give Russel bundles of one-taka notes, and Russel used currency to buy biscuits and lozenges for his mini army, distributing money to them even after parades ended. He played with this mini army right in the courtyard of the house. If anyone asked Russel what he wanted to be when he grew up, he would reply, "I will be an army officer." He had a strong desire to join the military, a dream that originated right around the time of the Liberation War. Whenever Kamal and Jamal returned from the war, he would pester them to tell all the stories, listening with intense curiosity.

Russel followed Abba like a shadow, refusing to leave Abba's side at all. Abba took him wherever it was possible to bring him. Mother had a prince suit made for him because whenever Abba wore a prince suit, Russel wore one too. From a very young age, he had his own distinct taste in clothing, but once he liked something, he refused to let go of it.

He possessed a distinct personality of his own, had deep faith in his own choices, and wanted to live life on his own independent terms. One had to marvel at the sheer firmness of character in such a small child; there was no doubt he would grow up to be someone special. An invitation for a state visit arrived for Abba from Japan. The Japanese people had supported our liberation war, and Japanese children donated their tiffin money to help refugees and the children of our country.

When Japan extended that invitation, they invited the entire family, specifically mentioning Russel. Russel and Rehana accompanied Abba to Japan, and the Japanese government arranged a special itinerary for Russel. He enjoyed that tour immensely.

Yet, staying anywhere away from Mother was hard for him. Though he stayed very busy all day, he slept beside Abba at night, and that was when he missed Mother. Whenever thoughts of Mother crossed his mind, he grew sad. He also accompanied Abba on various domestic tours. When Abba went to naval events to commission ships in the sea, he took Russel along, and little Russel thoroughly enjoyed it.

Once, Russel suffered a major accident. Even today, my skin crawls just thinking about that day. Russel had a small mopeds motorcycle and a bicycle, and sometimes he rode his bicycle out onto the streets. The boys from the neighboring house—two brothers named Adil and Imran—played together with Russel. One day while riding the moped, Russel fell off, and his leg got trapped against the hot exhaust pipe of the bike. He suffered terribly with his leg. Upstairs, I was in the room with Joy and Putul when I suddenly heard Russel's cries. I rushed out to the north-west open veranda and shouted for everyone. Amidst the chaos, I saw someone carrying him in their arms. A large area of his leg was burned, leaving a deep wound. A doctor came and applied medicine. He suffered with that leg wound for a long time.

Meanwhile, Abba fell ill and traveled to Russia for medical treatment, where Russel's leg also received treatment, though it took a long time to heal. Our dearest little brother—I remember his early days when he was so cautious, and now he was suffering so much. In July 1975, Kamal and Jamal got married. We had a lot of fun during the turmeric ceremony and weddings. There wasn't much outer extravagance, but inside, we relatives shared immense joy, especially on the turmeric day when everyone played with colors. Russel played with colors alongside his peers and stayed right beside his two brothers throughout the weddings. Both brothers got married close to each other—Kamal on July 14, 1975, and Jamal on July 17. Russel hovered around his new sister-in-laws constantly, paying close attention to everything they might need.

On July 30, I left for Germany to join my husband's workstation. Russel was very sad because he used to play together with Joy. The funniest part was when Russel wanted to take a toy from Joy, he would offer Joy a chocolate; getting the chocolate, Joy would hand over his toy, especially cars. Russel would play with the car, and once Joy finished his chocolate, Joy would say, "Chocolate is finished, give my car back!" Then Russel would retort, "Give my chocolate back, and I'll return the car!" This would occasionally spark arguments and crying between the two of them, and Mother would always take Joy's side.

Russel found it immensely amusing. For playing with dolls, he had a tiny toy pram; he would remove the play dolls, seat a real doll inside, and push it around. The doll was so small that it sat quite nicely in the toy pram, and Russel had a blast playing with Joy and the dolls. When I left for Germany, I took Rehana with me. I wanted to take Russel along too, but he contracted jaundice and fell ill, which is why Mother wouldn't let him come with us. If only we had taken Russel with us that day, we wouldn't have lost him.

• On August 15, 1975, assassin's ruthless bullets snatched away little Russel. They made Russel walk past the lifeless bodies of his mother, father, two brothers, sister-in-laws, and uncle before executing him in cold blood at the very end. Did that little chest freeze with grief, agony, and pain back then? What must his state of mind have been upon seeing the motionless bodies of the very people who had raised him with such warmth, affection, and laughter lying before him?

What unimaginable pain he must have endured!!

Why, why, why did cruel hands snatch away my Russel, inflicting such torment? Will I ever find the answer to this "Why"?

Author: Sheikh Hasina, politician, five-time elected Prime Minister of Bangladesh, President of the Awami League, and daughter of Bangabandhu.