Deshapriya (upon greeting Netaji who has preceded him to Heaven): Alas, our Mother India is now divided. She can no longer pride herself on the oneness of Her sweet children. The whole of India is drenched with the blood of Hindus and Muslims. Poverty, untold misery and catastrophe have become India's daily companions. My Mother Chittagong has fallen under the inexorable curse of division. The poisonous air of division-night is about to devour and destroy me completely. There is no food, no clothing; only birthless and deathless fear. Premature death, accidental death and unnatural death: this is what India's fate has become. Soon, Netaji, I shall visit Bengal again. My sole aim, like yours, is to unite India. We must uproot the separation-poison-tree!
(Excerpt from an imaginative play about India's revolutionary heroes originally written by the author in Bengali in 1948)