Sometimes, the night sky of Bangladesh sparkles with stars. Their light is not just brilliance—it carries a message of truth. One of those stars was Bibhuranjan Sarkar. His pen was not merely a vehicle for words; it was a beacon illuminating the darkness of society. Yet, that very light seemed to bring waves of danger to his life.

Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s pen was like a magician’s mirror—reflecting the face of society and the state. Sometimes soft, sometimes sharp; sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping. That mirror shattered, drifting away with the currents of the Meghna River. On the day he went missing, his last column, “Open Letter”, was sent, in which he wrote:
"You may publish this as my final writing."

It seems that open letter became a premonition of his death. Just as the river carries and sweeps away rafts, the pen of journalism flows—it drifts, it never stops. His writing reflected personal grief—the twenty to twenty-two thousand taka monthly cost of medicines, the despair of a son unable to find work, the misfortune of a daughter failing her exams. Yet within these personal sorrows, one could see the reflection of society. He wrote:
"Speaking the truth means taking risks with courage. Responsibility did not allow me to stand for personal pleasure."

These words read like a manifesto for journalism. The ideal journalist wields a courageous pen. But nowadays, journalism seems trapped under invisible forces. Some cannot speak what they want to say, cannot write what they want to write, cannot publish what they want to reveal. TV channels are shut down, journalists lose jobs, news is manipulated—all orchestrated by invisible hands.

Imagine a circus stage—performers walk on ropes, spectators scream, some laugh, some turn away. Yet the brave voice of the pen keeps the light alive. Those invisible forces, attempting to extinguish the pen, spread both silent and overt threats. Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s death involved these silent killers. Toward them, we feel not just hatred, but profound condemnation.

Through his pen, he exposed inequality, poverty, corruption, and mismanagement. The edge of his pen was his greatest weapon. That very edge likely created the wave of danger that led him to peril. But the pen was not merely a symbol of risk; it is a force that illuminates society. His death marks a chapter of integrity in the history of journalism.

Now a question arises—will the state deliver justice for this murder? If not, people may ask—"Is the state itself responsible?" The killers, who sought to extinguish the light of the pen, aimed not just at a human life, but at the very spirit of truth. Our hatred toward them must blaze like a fire. Condemnation, intense condemnation—it mirrors their deeds.

Courage to speak the truth, the edge of the pen, the voice of the silent—these collectively teach us through Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s writing that no matter how much the oppressors try, the light of truth does not fade. Even in death, his pen’s light burns in our eyes. No matter how fierce the circus teeth threaten, the pen’s light breaks the flow of history. Like a river, the current of journalism flows endlessly toward truth and knowledge.

If the state remains silent in the face of this murder, its responsibility will also be questioned. Law and order seem to be in intensive care. Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s death prompts us to ask—can an independent press survive in a society that cannot punish murderers? The state must take effective action, visibly punish the killers, and protect courageous voices. A brave pen leaps through history and keeps the light of integrity alive. Through Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s pen, we learn that speaking the truth is the highest duty. And those who try to block this path—let their eyes burn with the fire of hatred and condemnation. The state’s duty is to keep that flame alive; otherwise, it cannot escape its responsibility.

No matter how powerful the invisible forces are, we will eternally condemn their violent acts. The killers, who sought to extinguish the light of the pen, deserve perpetual hatred and condemnation. Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s pen proved that even if the body perishes, true courage cannot be swept away by any tiger or river current. It is as if he proved in his final act—he did not die; his writing will live on eternally. For those like him, death does not end their legacy.

The river of journalism continues. The light of the pen never dies. Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s pen teaches us—death can erase the body, but a courageous voice is never silenced. History will always remember that voice with humble respect.