Joy (right) with Abbas Mavvash andhis mother Lili (née Nosrat)

Part 1: 1959 – 1978

My parents, Carl and Joyce Card, started investigating the Bahá’í Faith in the autumn of 1959. They have told their own story, so I will limit my account to my personal experience of that time. My view of religion was that all the faiths were like paths up different sides of the same mountain leading to the same summit — God. I had gleaned this view from the teachings of the Theosophical Society that my parents had joined in about 1952, when I was six. Very soon after their first Bahá’í public meeting, mum and dad suggested I might like to go with them to a Bahá’í fireside. They invited my brother, Victor, too, but he, at the age of sixteen, was in the process of becoming a born-again Christian and refused to go. I was thirteen, and probably felt very grown-up going with my parents to a discussion evening. I was already very interested in science, and there were aspects of all the religions that I knew about that I was beginning to object to, particularly the things that I knew to be unscientific, such as the creation of the world (universe) in six days and the physical resurrection of Christ. Something else I objected to was the belief of the followers of many religions that they were the only ones with the truth. An example of this is the belief that non-Christians would go to hell after death and only Christians would go to heaven.I am quite sure that it was at my first fireside at 56 King George Vth Drive, the home of David and Barbara Lewis, that I heard that one of the teachings of the Faith was the fundamental oneness of science and religion. Also, very early, probably at the same first meeting, the principle of progressive revelation was explained. I was astonished. Here was a religion that instructed its followers to accept the findings of science and to view all religions as true revelations from one God. I was very keen to learn more. My dad investigated intensely for two weeks and then declared his belief in Bahá’u’lláh. I continued to join my parents in attending meetings, and the more I found out the more I liked. The so-called “twelve principles” were very much a part of how the Faith was taught in those days, and I liked every one of them. Mum became a Bahá’í six weeks after dad, so then we were a little Bahá’í family. My brother went his own way. One night there would be a nineteen-day feast in our house, another, there would be a Christian study group or prayer meeting in our front room—the girls putting hats or scarves on, to cover their hair, and remaining silent during the meeting because Victor had joined a group that took everything in the Bible literally, especially Saint Paul’s instructions to the early church.

I attended my first summer school in 1960. I was taken there by Marion Hofman, who with her husband David had a home in Cardiff at the time, although they were away in Haifa a lot of the time and hadn’t been in Cardiff when mum and dad were investigating the Faith. In fact, the Hofmans were on the Local Assembly, which my parents were also on soon after they had declared. The summer school was in Harlech in mid-Wales. Marion took her children, May and Mark, and Bahiyyih Nakhjavani, who was a pupil at Dr. Williams’ School in Dolgellau with May. We were all in the children’s class at the two-week school. In my memory it was like a very special summer holiday with lots of fun in a class with other children and then plenty of time to enjoy the nearby seaside. My parents came for the second week of the school and we all enjoyed it and went home together full of enthusiasm for the Faith and the future of the Faith in Wales. I still have a prayer card on the reverse of which I collected signatures of friends attending that school.

For the remainder of my high school years, I studied hard and also took part in as many of the Bahá’í activities as I could. These included weekend schools, the York Youth Winter School at Clifton Youth Hostel in York in 1961, National Convention in April 1962, Teaching Conferences, usually in Manchester in early January, and the Bahá’í World Congress in the Royal Albert Hall at Riḍván 1963, when the first elected Universal House of Justice was introduced to the Bahá’í World and the successes of the completion of the Guardian’s ten-year crusade were celebrated. A group of Bahá’ís from South Wales travelled to London together in a small convoy of cars. I was nearly seventeen and volunteered to help at the UK bookstall. I did attend some major sessions, including that at which the members of the Universal House of Justice were presented, and the talk by Amatu’l-Bahá Rúḥíyyih Khánum. London in April was pretty with the flowering cherry trees in full bloom. Our hotel was on one side of Hyde Park and the Royal Albert Hall where the Congress was held, was on the other, so we saw the beauty of nature in that big London park.

Having gained B grades in each of physics, pure mathematics and applied mathematics at A-level, I set off in October 1964 to study for a Physics degree at the University of Birmingham. There was a small Bahá’í community in this large industrial city, and I was the only Bahá’í at the university. This made teaching the Faith rather difficult, but I did what I could, mainly by joining a like-minded group, the United Nations Students Association (UNSA), and by supporting the local Bahá’í activities, including nineteen-day feasts and youth firesides. There are a few things that stand out in my memory from those three years in Birmingham. One was the lessons that Gloria Faizi held in her home about the book The Dawn-Breakers, another was a trip to Oxford to take part in a mock United Nations General Assembly that the UNSA organised. I played the role of the UN ambassador from Congo (Brazzaville) and had to learn as much as I could about the geography and politics of that country and of its neighbour, Congo (Leopoldville). Two Bahá’í ladies kindly offered me accommodation in their Oxford home, one of whom I remember was Elizabeth Chapman.

Although the Bahá’í community of Birmingham was quite small at the time, I don’t remember now who they all were. There was Gloria Faizi and her two children, May and Naysan, a young lady called Susan and two elderly friends, George Rowley and Monica Jarvis. Mr. Manzur Shah from Pakistan joined the community. Another feature of my Bahá’í life while in Birmingham was the youth firesides that I attended in Sutton Coldfield. These were at the home of Mary Brevitt and her mother. A warm loving hospitality awaited the youth, among whom were, as well as Mary and Susan, Jagdish Saminaden and Eddie Kollaart. On at least one occasion we had a picnic in Sutton Park, which I recall was only a short walk from the Brevitt’s home. Another memorable occasion was a group visit to Stratford-on-Avon to visit Phillip Hinton and his family. The plan was to picnic in the park, but we did not get picnic weather. Instead we ate our picnic in the Hintons’ home.

In July of 1965, at the end of my first year at university, I attended the Bahá’í summer school at Dalston Hall, near Carlisle in Cumbria. Among the many youth attending that school was Fu’ád Sabour. We fell in love, and during the autumn term in 1965 were able to meet on three weekends: at a weekend school at Coniston in the Lake District, held at the former home of John Ruskin, at a weekend school in Carlisle where Fu’ád was living, and a weekend in Birmingham. That Christmas, my brother Victor was married to Marian Jones in her home town, Aberdare. I persuaded them and my parents to invite Fu’ád to the wedding. Then, in January 1966, Fu’ád received news that he had been offered a place in a medical school in Pakistan to study pharmacy. Although he wished to study medicine, he was assured that the first year was the same in both subjects, and he could switch after one year, which turned out to be not true, but it swung his decision in favour of going to Pakistan. We got engaged in Cardiff on 13 January 1966.

I gained my upper second-class honours degree in 1967 and decided to study for a Post-Graduate Certificate in Education in Swansea. My idea was that as a qualified teacher of physics and mathematics I would be able to find a job in almost any part of the world. Swansea was nearer to home than Birmingham, and I knew the Swansea Bahá’í Community and wanted to support them. They included Alfred and Margaret Morse, Gladys Parker, Jeremy and Denise Fox and their children, Neil and Estelle Evans, Denise Dewar, and Hector and Vera Parvin who were very close to the community. Fu’ád was able at short notice to come to the UK. We decided that this would be an excellent opportunity to get married, and my amazing parents arranged the whole event in just a few weeks. The date was 16 December 1967, the venue was the Temple of Peace and Health, Cathays Park, Cardiff Civic Centre, and the guests were mostly my friends and relatives and the South Wales Bahá’í community. Fu’ád had to return to Pakistan a few weeks later.

At about that time there was a call for a pioneer to move to Llanelli to open the town to the Faith. I investigated the possibility; I would be able to commute to the university without much difficulty. Alfred Morse found me a bed-sit that was located very near to Llanelli railway station. I’m not sure when I moved in, probably sometime in February 1968, and I stayed until after sitting my university exams in June.

After obtaining my PGCE, I started arranging to travel to Dacca in East Pakistan to join Fu’ád, who was by then studying medicine at the Dacca Medical School. Again, Mum and Dad helped in many ways, including arranging the shipment of a cabin-trunk full of household goods and taking me to Heathrow airport. I flew on 24 August 1968. The breaking news that morning was the Russian invasion of Czechoslovakia.

In Dacca I found a small Bahá’í community. There were some local believers, some pioneers from India, an American couple, Sherman and Lillie Rosenberg with their two children, and Fu’ád and myself. We did our best to contribute to the life of the community, attending the feasts and Holy Days, and for Fu’ád, the Local Assembly. I taught the children’s class, comprising the children of three brothers who had pioneered from India: Amjad Ali, Danesh Ali and Akmal Ali, who between them had about ten children. We studied the book Bahá’u’lláh and the New Era, which I read in English and they read in Bengali. The older children were learning English and literally kept us on the same page. Lisa and Tani Rosenberg also came when their busy schedule as pupils at the American School permitted them.

Everyday life in East Pakistan was frequently disturbed by political upheaval. This affected university life, as the students were inclined to join in strikes. Farm View International School, where I taught general science and mathematics, was less affected. The overall effect on us was that Fu’ad and I rarely had coinciding holidays. One time we did, and we took the chance to go out of Dacca. We went to the sea-side resort of Cox’s Bazaar for a few days. The journey was by rail to Chittagong and then by mini bus. We stayed one night in Chittagong at the home of Mrs. Haghpajooh, Narcisse Haghighi’s aunt. There were other Bahá’ís in Chittagong also. There are enough anecdotes about our trip to Cox’s Bazaar to make a separate chapter.

The most memorable trip was a ladies-and-children-only journey to a Bahá’í village for a weekend stay. We were accompanied by the travel teacher who had taught the Faith to the villagers.

The journey was arranged to take place at supposedly the ideal time of year, after the monsoon but before the winter. During the monsoon the village was flooded. When winter came and the waters receded, the village became inaccessible because there were no roads to the village. The only means of transport to the village was then by bicycle or donkey. Reaching the village by boat was possible only when the water levels were at the right height. So, one weekend in October we set off with our overnight bags and boarded a vessel in Dacca to sail along a river to another river port. The monsoon was supposed to have ended, but it chose that weekend to have a final fling, and it poured with rain the whole weekend. At the second river port, we transferred into a country boat. The village we went to and the other villages around it were all islands, accessible only by boat. We saw among the mud and straw huts of the village-island we landed at, a small shapeless mound of mud and were informed that it had been the new home of a newly married couple. It had been too new to withstand the flood and had dissolved.

During the monsoon flood, the villagers had all moved to the one house in the neighbourhood that was built of bricks and had a second floor. They camped on the upper floor and on the roof. The house belonged to the local landlord to whom all the poor villagers naturally looked for help. The landlord came to see the Bahá’í visitors at the village where we were staying and was very impressed that educated young ladies from the capital city were helping the village ladies with the cooking.

In 1970, the Universal House of Justice appointed a Regional Teaching Committee to assist in the administration of the Faith in East Pakistan. On 7 December 1970, Pakistan held a general election and the Awami League of East Pakistan, the party of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, won an overall majority in the whole country and almost every seat in East Pakistan itself. I remember that to facilitate voting by illiterate people, every party had a symbol, and the symbol of the Awami League was the traditional Bengali boat[1]. A large model of such a boat was suspended across Sat Masjid Road near our house. Following the election result, a civil war broke out because the citizens of West Pakistan did not want to be ruled by the Awami League, whose support base was almost entirely in East Pakistan.

“The war began after the Pakistani military junta based in West Pakistan launched ‘Operation Searchlight’ against the people of East Pakistan on the night of 25 March 1971. It pursued the systematic elimination of nationalist Bengali civilians, students, intelligentsia, religious minorities and armed personnel. The junta annulled the results of the 1970 elections and arrested Prime minister-designate Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.”[2]

The following few weeks are a bit of a blur in my memory, as events progressed so quickly from one disaster to another. We heard about how the soldiers of the East Pakistan Rifles had been attacked in their barracks. We heard that many university lecturers were murdered, including some of the medical school professors. Our landlord’s son died, shot in the head by the army. They were supposedly firing over the heads of the crowd, but he was taller than average. Our landlord was Urdu-speaking, so his son’s death was particularly ironic. Fu’ád visited the landlord to express his sympathy. After leaving the landlord’s, he was accosted by a crowd coming out of a mosque who accused him of being English. The English were in particular disfavour because two English men had taken film footage of a fire at a Hindu property. The understanding of the people was that the footage was reporting on anti-Hindu activity and was seen therefore as being in turn anti-Muslim. The mood of the crowd was ugly, and Fu’ád was not sure how he was going to convince them he wasn’t English. Luckily someone in the crowd recognized him as being a student he had seen at the Medical School, and that started the process whereby the crowd began to listen and Fu’ád was able to explain that he was Iraqi. I remember him telling me that he had been required to recite some of the Qur’an to them before they became fully convinced.

It was on account of the anti-English feeling that we had already moved out of our little bungalow to stay with the three Ali family brothers. We perceived that we would be safer with them. The children of that family also had a narrow escape. They were accused by a crowd of being Urdu-speaking. Urdu was the principle language of West Pakistan and Bengali the language of East Pakistan. Many immigrants into East Pakistan from India at the time of partition just twenty-four years earlier had sent their children to Urdu-medium schools, of which there were a number in Dacca. Wishing to integrate into the local community, however, the Ali brothers had sent their children to Bengali-medium schools. This effectively saved their lives that day, as they were soon able to converse in Bengali with the crowd and satisfy them that they were not supporters of ‘the enemy’.

Events continued to unfold in rapid succession. Then, in April 1971, I was evacuated by the British authorities, but Fu’ád was not. The foreign students in Dacca were accommodated by the government, free of charge, in the Intercontinental Hotel for many months. Then they were told by the authorities that they would be given places in West Pakistan universities provided that they got themselves to West Pakistan. Fu’ád went to Chittagong and was able to travel as a passenger on a merchant vessel  going to Karachi. By the time he reached there, having sailed round India, India and Pakistan were at war. He had left a country in the middle of a civil war and arrived in another wing of the same country in the middle of an international war. India had joined the war on 3 December 1971. West Pakistan surrendered on 16 December and Bangladesh was created as a country separate from Pakistan. In April 1972 I was able to join Fu’ád again, who was by then at the King Edward’s Medical School in Lahore.

During my twelve months back home in Cardiff, I had no difficulty getting a job because, as is usually the case, teachers of physics and mathematics were in short supply. I was able to complete my probationary year of teaching and acquire official status from the Department for Education as a teacher. I learned that if I had not done that probationary teaching year within five years of completing my PGCE, that qualification would have become invalid, so one good thing did come out of all the heartache of having to leave Fu’ád behind in a war-torn country. It took me a whole year of earning the basic teacher’s salary to save enough to first pay back the British government for the cost of my flight to London, and then to save enough to buy a ticket to fly back. In those days flights were proportionately much more expensive than they are now.

In Lahore, I was struck by the similarities between East and West Pakistan, although they are hundreds of miles apart. The language was different, there was less abject poverty, fewer ladies wore saris—they wore the chemise-shalwar-dupatta suit instead—the climate was drier with more extreme temperatures but overall the culture seemed to be similar. This included the local architecture, the little shacks that were the corner shops, the social customs and the political tensions. The Bahá’í Community of Lahore seemed to be larger than that in Dacca. There were more local believers as well as more believers of Iranian origin. We met up again with Badiullah Sanai and Fariborz  Derakhshani- two Iranian youth to whom I had taught English in Dacca, where they had arrived at the tender age of 16—and Narsis Haghighi, who had been at the medical school in Chittagong and was now at the Fatimah Jinnah Ladies’ Medical School in Lahore. There were other young Iranian Bahá’ís in Lahore. Some of these had come as pioneers with their parents and had grown up in West Pakistan and some were themselves pioneers.

Fu’ád found me a job teaching mathematics and physics at the Cathedral School. This was a Church of England primary and secondary school located in the large grounds (compound) of the C. of E. cathedral where also was situated the bishop’s house, a deaconess house and some houses for other clergy as well as others for servants. The pupils were mostly the children of wealthy local Muslim families who wanted their children to have a good English education. There were some Christian children, mostly from poor families and on scholarships. A few of the teachers were British but most were local Christians.

When, in October 1973, I discovered I was pregnant, we decided that I should return to the UK to have the baby. Although there would have been adequate care for a normal delivery, I knew that my blood type was rhesus negative and that there were procedures being practised in the UK to prevent a subsequent delivery resulting in a ‘blue baby’ as the condition was termed then. These procedures were not available in Lahore, partly because they were recent and partly because the blood type, which is 15% in Europe, is only 5% in Asia.

I left Lahore in February 1974 and Narcisse (named after Narsis Haghighi) was born on 20th May. Fu’ád was still studying. The degree programme, which should have ended in 1972, had become two years longer than the usual six because of the many interruptions including student strikes, national strikes, civil war and the war with India. At one time there were three final year classes running concurrently. Fu’ád was in the class that was two years behind.

Fu’ád was able to join me and Narcisse at my parents’ home in Cardiff in April 1975. The stories concerning how he managed to come to the UK although his renewed passport was only valid in India, Pakistan and Middle Eastern countries; how he had to re-sit one of his final exams and was able to do that in Cardiff; how he was obliged to sit the exam for doctors with overseas qualifications because Pakistan had left the Commonwealth and the General Medical Council had immediately withdrawn its recognition of Pakistan’s medical colleges qualifications; and how he was allowed to do his medicine and surgery house jobs before sitting that exam would each fill a chapter. There were many twists and turns in each story, but most of all we were blessed with generous help from various Bahá’ís and friends of Bahá’ís who recognised that the difficulties facing us were due to various external factors caused mainly by international politics.

In March 1976 we heard that Fu’ád’s mum had been injured in a road accident in Baghdad a few weeks earlier. We desperately tried to see if we could do anything to help, but Fu’ád could not go to Iraq; he had entered the UK not on his Iraqi passport but on a Declaration of Identity issued by the British Consulate in Lahore. His father could not go back to Iraq because he would have been arrested. Most of the Iraqi Bahá’í community had been imprisoned by Saddam Hussein, and Aziz would have been among them, but by chance, on the night of the arrests he was travelling back to Kuwait, where he was pioneering and had a teaching post.  We kept getting news from Iraq weeks after events had happened, and finally we heard in May, just before Narcisse’s second birthday, that Fu’ád’s mum had died in April.

Fu’ád had been in the UK for more than a year when, on 1st August 1976, he was able to take up his first medical post, that of the House Officer in medicine at Llandudno General Hospital. We were lucky to get accommodation in a furnished hospital flat, as we had very little in the way of household goods. We travelled there by rail, and mum and dad visited us very soon afterwards and brought some things by car that we had been unable to carry on the train journey. The summer of 1976 will be remembered by those who lived through it in the UK as a long hot summer. In Cardiff in July I would make sure that our two-year-old daughter slept during the hot afternoon and would take her out to the park at about 8pm. Many other families did the same and the park was very busy until after 9:30 at night. In August in Llandudno, Narcisse and I were able to enjoy the facilities of that popular seaside holiday resort, including the beaches and sea bathing, while Fu’ád was hard at work. I remember clearly that the weather broke on 1st September when it poured with rain, after which there was no going back. The winter was characterised by wind, either rainy wind or freezing cold wind. The houseman’s routine was known as “one-in-two”. They were on call all night every other night and all weekend every other weekend; that is in addition to working a five-day week of 40 hours.

We tried to make the most of the one weekend in two that Fu’ád did not have to work by visiting the Bahá’ís in nearby towns, as there were no other Bahá’ís in Llandudno. This wasn’t very easy on public transport, but we did visit the Poveys (Ed and Vivian) in Bangor and Ada Williams in Abergele and I think we were visited by Gordon and Margaret Grant and family who lived on Anglesey. The Behi family were also living in Anglesey. The most memorable Bahá’í event that I remember was a public talk given by Dr. Derwent Maude, Lecturer in Physics at Aberystwyth University. It was called ‘Stone Axe to Space Shuttle’ and someone had designed an eye-catching poster and invitation leaflet. The talk was so excellent, to the extent that I still recall it and its effect on me, as a demonstration of the technological developments of humanity and its amazing acceleration since 1844.

After six months, on 1st February 1977, it was time to move to Llanelli for Fu’ád’s job as a House Officer in surgery at Llanelli General Hospital, and again we were given a furnished hospital flat. The Llanelli Bahá’í community had grown since I had opened it to the Faith and had lived there very briefly in 1968. I’m pretty sure that Hilda Black, Bruce Walker, Eric Fosbrooke, and Margaret Metcalfe were all there at the time, and Denver Morgan was in Gorseinon, between Llanelli and Swansea.

Fu’ád’s sister Nuha had come to the UK in September 1976 at the age of 17, and because we knew we would be in Llanelli from the following February for at least six months, we encouraged her to go to South Wales to start studying her choice of A-level subjects at a college there. Actually, I think we had suggested Llanelli, but she preferred Swansea as there was a larger Bahá’í community there. Not long after arriving in the UK on a student visa, Nuha was able to acquire refugee status because of Saddam Hussein’s persecution of the Bahá’í community in Iraq. By then, all Fu’ád’s immediate family members had left, his father was a pioneer in Bangladesh, his sister Suha had travelled to India after their mother had died, and the oldest sister, Maha, was married and living in Kuwait.

Fu’ád successfully completed his two house-officer posts and passed the exam for overseas doctors and started looking for his first post-qualification job. He concentrated on applying for jobs in towns that needed Bahá’í pioneers, one of which was Londonderry, Northern Ireland, and the other, Preston.The post in Preston was offered to him first, and November 1977 saw us making the trip north, this time with the help of Eric Fosbrooke, who drove a small van packed with our worldly goods. Fu’ád travelled with him, and Narcisse and I went by train. I couldn’t tell you how many people told us we would be cold in Preston. In fact, the climate in Lancashire is very similar to that in South Wales, mild and wet.

Our first home in Preston was a bungalow owned by Whittingham Psychiatric Hospital, on the outskirts of the town—really in the countryside quite far away from the town but near a small village called Goosnargh. The bungalow proved too expensive to keep warm because it had night storage heaters, so we were lucky to get yet another furnished hospital flat which was at the back of St. Margaret’s ward. The wards were all separate Victorian buildings scattered in a large mature park. Fu’ád had a house job in psychiatry, and after six months applied for and got a Senior House Officer (SHO) post.

Narcisse was three-and-a-half when we arrived in Goosnargh in November 1977. Just over a year later, Rosemary was born. Narcisse started school after the Easter holiday in 1979. That summer we felt settled enough to look for a house to buy, and found one that we could afford in Ingol, a suburb in the north-west of Preston, and we moved in in December 1979.

The Bahá’ís in Preston at that time were Christine and Jim Elliot, Penny Craig, and Alan Woodhurst. Penny’s husband Malcolm was not yet a Bahá’í. They had a daughter, Cheryl who was about 2 years old. Alan’s wife, Ann, belonged to the United Reformed Church. She and Alan supported one another in all their activities. We often attended Bahá’í meetings at their home. They had three children, the youngest of whom, Douglas, was the same age as Narcisse. Alan would hold children’s classes. Sometimes these were held at the home of Janet Jivani in Mellor. Janet also had three children, the youngest of whom, Shahnaz, was close in age to Narcisse and Douglas. Janet’s husband, Dr. Jivani, was a consultant paediatrician at Blackburn Hospital and belonged to one of the minority sects of Islam. Although the community was such a mixture, we all got on well. Fu’ád had been told when he got the job at Whittingham Hospital that he would have to learn to drive and get a car because he would be required to work shifts at a hospital called Calderstones, near Blackburn. Once we had a car, it became easier to join in the local activities, and when we moved to Ingol it was easier still. Fu’ád then had to commute to work, but that was fine.

In the summer of 1981 Marguerite was born, and we decided that our family was complete. We never moved again. I still live at the same house in Ingol, although from September 2008 to September 2012 and again from October 2014 to the present (2019), I have been serving at the Bahá’í World Centre.

In September 1981, Fu’ád’s sister Suha came from Bangladesh to live with us. She was very determined to become independent, and was able, with the help of a social worker, to find accommodation in a council flat and employment at a packing factory that provided jobs for people with various types of disability.

In 1986, Fu’ád’s father also came to us from Bangladesh. He was seventy and had had an accident and was quite unwell. His health improved a great deal once he was in the UK, and he lived to be ninety-five, passing away in 2010.

The Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of Preston was first formed on 14th May 1978. The details may be viewed on the Preston Bahá’í Community’s website. This seems to me to be a good point to end this account of the first 20 years of my Bahá’í life. The story of the history of the Faith in Preston will furnish the remainder of my Bahá’í story, dating from 1978 until 2008, when I went to serve at the Bahá’í World Centre in Haifa.



Joy Sabour

Preston, Lancs – January 2019

(Currently serving at the Bahá’í World Centre, Haifa, Israel)


[1]“The party also took the historic decision to adopt the traditional Bengali boat, which signified the attachment to rural Bengal, as its election symbol.” Hussain, Ahmede (31 July 2009). “Promises to Keep”. Star Weekend Magazine. The Daily Star.