The four-legged heart of TSC
By the time most students notice him, Abhra is usually asleep.
Stretched out beside Swapan Mama's tea stall or curled up at Payra Chattar, the large, lazy dog spends much of his day dozing in the shade, seemingly indifferent to the endless stream of students, teachers and visitors passing through the Teacher-Student Centre (TSC) at Dhaka University.
At around 35-40kgs, Abhra hardly fits the image of an energetic campus dog. Walking appears to be more of a necessity than a preference.
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But that changes the moment a protest march begins.
As slogans echo across campus and students start moving towards the gates, Abhra quietly rises and joins the procession. Somehow, he almost always finds himself at the very front.
During the 2024 July Uprising, despite his age, weight and famously lazy nature, Abhra walked all the way to Bangabhaban alongside thousands of protesters. He could not understand the slogans they chanted or the political demands they raised. Yet, wherever DU students stood, Abhra seemed determined to stand as well.
For years, he has become one of TSC's most familiar faces, not because anyone appointed him guardian, but because he simply never left.
It would be unfair to call him just another stray dog.
Abhra belongs to TSC as much as its red-brick buildings, tea stalls, protest rallies, and late-night conversations. He has quietly witnessed generations of students arrive, graduate, and disappear, remaining one of the campus's oldest and most constant residents.
When the crowds thin and the campus falls silent, he takes on another role. The slightest sound of an unfamiliar vehicle is often enough to send him barking through the night, as though reminding outsiders that someone is still watching over the place. Without training or expectation, Abhra has become TSC's unofficial night guard.
Time, however, leaves no one untouched.
Over the years, Abhra has watched many of the campus dogs he once lived alongside disappear, one after another. Age has begun to slow him too.
At the same time, my own years at DU are drawing to a close.
These days, whenever I visit TSC, I often look for Abhra before I look for my friends. If I find him awake, I sometimes buy a small cake for us to share, before quickly reminding myself that, given his size, I probably should not be encouraging his appetite.
Soon, I too will leave this campus, just as thousands of students have done before me. New batches will fill the classrooms. Fresh faces will occupy the tea stalls. New friendships, movements, and memories will replace the old ones.
Yet whenever I think of TSC, Abhra will remain among the first images that come to mind.
Not because he was extraordinary in the way humans usually measure greatness, but because his quiet presence became woven into the rhythm of campus life.
Some residents never attend a single class, never hold a student ID and never utter a word.
Yet they become part of a university's history, its folklore and its collective memory.
For countless DU students, Abhra is one of them, the silent, four-legged heart of TSC.
