The Ambassador's Club

By K. V. Rajan

In 1972, in what appeared a whimsical decision at first, Idi Amin, the dictator of Uganda, declared that all Asians holding citizenship of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh or the UK would be expelled from the country within three months. As he put it, mistakenly, 'Asians milked the cow, but did not feed it to yield more milk.' It was the beginning of a nightmarish five months for Niranjan Desai, who had been sent from India as officer on special duty to help tackle the crisis, as he tried to help people leaving possessions and attachments behind for an uncertain future, watched a country in turmoil where people vanished overnight, and was himself declared persona non grata and put at some risk to his life. But as he learnt from the experience, rules and regulations are secondary and merely a guide while helping people in distress. Sometimes, when there is no opportunity for the observance of diplomatic niceties, it is common sense that counts. The role of the Indian diplomat is a varied one, as Desai's and other'S accounts in The Ambassador's Club show, and Krishna V. Rajan, himself a skilful diplomat, has brought together, for the first time, a selection of experiences that shows the Indian Foreign Service in a remarkable new light. With a fine sense of observation and considerable writing skills, the contributions included here show the Indian envoy playing protector, negotiator and guide in places as far away as Chile and Fiji to closer home, in Bhutan and Nepal. Ranged here is the entire gamut of diplomatic duties, from putting forward the Indian viewpoint at tough negotiations on climate change to being the UN secretary-general's special envoy in Iraq in the time leading up to the war there; from being in a sensitive position as envoy in Fiji during a coup to being present as the Shimla Agreement was reached between India and Pakistan. 'It's a boy!' was the excited announcement of that accord. It is that same pleasure of accomplishment that runs through this anthology.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: May 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9789350294727

K. V. Rajan

Krishna V. Rajan is a retired diplomat and former member of the Indian Foreign Service. He has served in senior  diplomatic assignments, including as ambassador in France, the US, the UK, Zambia, Algeria and Nepal. He has also held senior positions in the Ministry of External Affairs, and served as the prime minister's special envoy. He is presently chairman of International Trade and Exhibitions India (ITEI).

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INTRODUCTION

Few careers offer the rich diversity of personal and professional experiences as does a life in diplomacy, and if one has the privilege of representing a country as unique as India, the opportunities for making a contribution to issues of war, peace and development, as well as for introspection, self-education and original insights are very special indeed. Unfortunately, the stories of former Indian diplomats are often never told. While in service, the official demands on a diplomat’s time are an undoubted deterrent; the Official Secrets Act (whether in or out of service) even more so. Indeed, for a retired Indian diplomat attempting to write a memoir, the element of self-flagellation involved in recollecting events of long ago only gets aggravated by the anxiety of not violating, either in spirit or deed, the OSA!

Thus, when HarperCollins approached me to edit a volume of autobiographical recollections of former ambassadors, I accepted with some trepidation. That the distinguished colleagues I approached for a contribution immediately accepted was a matter of agreeable surprise: I can only take it as a mark of their personal consideration for me, as well as evidence of the shared conviction in the ambassadorial community that the effort might be worth making, because there is indeed a story to be told.

All the contributors are retired diplomats; some are in their late seventies, eighties or even nineties – so their recollections, insights, reflections (and prognostications for the future) constitute a valuable addition to the sparse reservoir of ‘oral histories’ available with us, presented possibly for the first time within the covers of a book in this way.

The range of subjects covered is wide. Each writer was left free to decide which facet of a particular experience or event or professional challenge he wished to dwell on, and the style and approach to be adopted. The common thread connecting the very different styles is an unstated willingness on the part of contributors to open the doors of the ‘Ambassadors’ Club’ to a wider audience which includes non-specialists, to share some of the background, atmospherics, off-the-record interactions, personal details, assessments and conclusions which are rarely discussed in public. The reader is therefore likely to find quite a few ‘revelations’ embedded in the narratives, including on some sensitive issues on which diplomatic lips are usually firmly sealed. Some contributions might even resemble a piece of abstract art, to be interpreted one way or the other according to the reader’s inclination.

The contributions have not been grouped together under various heads, for this would have been difficult apart from being somewhat artificial. But if one were to attempt to give the reader some idea of what could be expected from this pot pourri of ambassadorial reminiscences, and the luxury of picking and choosing the piece to read, according to preference or mood, here is a rough and ready guide:

‘Transitions’ would sum up the recollections on Bhutan (A.N. Ram), Sikkim (B.S. Das) and Nepal (Krishna V. Rajan). India inherited from Britain and duly adjusted according to its evolving security perceptions, different treaty relationships with these three Himalayan ‘states’ when it became independent. Under new treaties, Sikkim was a ‘protectorate’, Bhutan enjoyed notional sovereignty and Nepal’s independence was made subject to certain limits. Preoccupation about China, which imparted to all three states their geopolitical importance for British India, only increased after 1947, but Nehru chose to deal with them in his own way, combining British Indian colonial strategic thinking with his progressive and democratic preferences. Calibration was the name of the game. Thus, ideas of the complete merger of Sikkim and Nepal with India were discouraged by Nehru even when they were feasible. Successive governments in New Delhi adjusted their policies, depending on the level of local sensitivity to its concerns about China shown by the regime of the day in Gangtok, Thimphu or Kathmandu – and also the degree of warmth or otherwise in relations between New Delhi and Beijing. Eventually, the linkages with India have followed different trajectories, and thereby hang some fascinating tales.

Ram had the distinction of several assignments in Bhutan, including one as part of the Bhutanese Permanent Mission in New York. He gives a fascinating (and necessary) reminder of how the shared vision of Jawaharlal Nehru and King Jigme Dorji Wangchuck, developed after an arduous and lengthy journey on horseback and foot by Nehru to Bhutan in 1958, resulted in the eventual ending of Bhutan’s traditional isolation and the emergence of a mature, friendly, fast-developing yet culturally very traditional neighbour in India’s sensitive northern periphery.

Das, a senior IPS (Indian Police Service) officer-turneddiplomat because of his own inclination, was utilized in the latter capacity by the Indian government for nearly fourteen years. He was given the unusual responsibility of being the chief executive of Sikkim. The mandate given to him will probably be forever buried several fathoms deep. But the sun did set (with India’s encouragement) on its ruler, the Chogyal, and Sikkim proceeded to embrace democracy and eventually opted to become an Indian province. I happened at the time to be the special assistant to Foreign Secretary Kewal Singh (described by Das as ‘the principal actor’), and can testify to the fact that the entire exercise was carried out with finesse and confidentiality in a manner which must be quite rare in the history of post-Independence India. A handful of officials (Kewal Singh, Mrs Gandhi’s principal secretary P.N. Dhar, the political officer in Gangtok K.S. Bajpai and later Gurbachan Singh) worked as a superb team and under the leadership of a clear-sighted prime minister who genuinely believed that the national interest of India coincided with the popular aspirations of the vast majority of the people of Sikkim, and approved and oversaw the implementation of policies which, in retrospect, can only be described as ‘successful’ – from the point of view of the people of Sikkim as well as of India.

The chapter on Nepal describes India’s relative success in defining and maintaining a certain direction in Indian policies, despite changes of government in New Delhi and Kathmandu, against the backdrop of a monarchy reluctant to adjust to a purely constitutional role, a democracy struggling to consolidate, stabilize and deliver, and an incipient Maoist insurgency committed to challenging state authority and ending Nepal’s special relationship with India. Just when it seemed that the two countries had developed a certain maturity in their search for a stable and mutually beneficial relationship, political turbulence took over, with the spectacular rise of Maoist power, the hijacking of an Indian Airlines flight to Delhi, the royal massacre and a palace coup against democracy. Could the subsequent unfolding tragedy in Nepal have been better anticipated by India and even prevented when there was still time? That is the troubling and unanswered subtext of the Nepal memoir.

‘Grand Stand Plus’ would probably well define the contributions by A. Madhavan, Prabhakar Menon, K.N. Bakshi and A.N.D. Haksar. Madhavan’s is a reflective flashback on one of the defining events of our time, the fall of the Berlin Wall. The backdrop to the tumultuous and unexpected people’s movement which led to the rapid reunification of Germany, and the implications of the latter for India and the world, are captured with imagination as well as objectivity. It was a time of turbulence and change: Gorbachev in the Soviet Union urging glasnost and perestroika; Tiananmen in China; the Wall as a symbol of communist dictatorship as well as a challenge to aspirations for unity and freedom; German reunification, elections, eventually the unravelling of the Soviet Union itself.

India’s efforts to retain the priority attention of united Germany were in some measure successful due to Madhavan’s efforts and the support he received from Rajiv Gandhi, President Venkataraman and Narasimha Rao; but the farsighted vision of successive Indian leaders going back to Nehru, who had asserted that the Wall was a historical absurdity and a symbol of united rather than permanently partitioned Germany, always underpinned the robust bilateral ties. (Madhavan reminds us that Western leaders, including Margaret Thatcher, were opposed to reunification when it looked imminent, with Thatcher even writing to Gorbachev urging Soviet intervention to prevent this ‘disaster’ from happening).

Menon’s analysis of the foreign policy of one of India’s enigmatic, successful and still underestimated prime ministers, P.V. Narasimha Rao, brings his foreign policy vision to life through a rare and hitherto silent insider’s account. It makes a compelling case for a better understanding of the achievements and services to India of Rao – a prime minister once caricatured as a ‘boneless wonder’ by a former foreign secretary for his alleged ineffectiveness as a member of Rajiv Gandhi’s cabinet, even characterized recently (by an eminent Indian journalist) as ‘India’s most ruthless prime minister’. Menon is clear that Rao ‘brought to bear on India’s foreign policy . . . a density of thought rarely seen in the conduct of India’s foreign relations’ and that ‘his novel approaches . . . made him a pathfinder through some of the less charted terrain of India’s foreign policy’.

Bakshi, a long-time Pakistan expert since his days even as a young member of the service, shares some remarkable insights on perennial India-Pakistan differences in his riveting memoir of the events leading to the Shimla Agreement. This was the agreement signed between Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Indira Gandhi after Pakistan’s military defeat at India’s hands, which was supposed to herald a new era of peace, and settlement of differences exclusively through bilateral dialogue. For Bakshi and his fellow professionals at the operational level, the agreement was a disappointment, representing a victory of the idealism of seniors and political masters over hard-headed objective understanding of the ‘psyche’ and indeed, the raison d’être of the Pakistani core establishment, which is to resist a comprehensive and irreversible state of normality in India-Pakistan relations. The fact that in the following decades, other Indian leaders have also tried to go the extra mile with Pakistan because of the same idealistic expectation, and failed because the fundamental strategic objectives of the ‘core’ in Islamabad remain unchanged, is a sad reflection of India’s inability or unwillingness to adjust to ground realities in its neighbourhood.

Haksar gives a brief, elegant and reflective account of the impromptu India-Pakistan summit meeting between Zia-ul-Haq and Morarji Desai during the funeral ceremony of Kenya’s Jomo Kenyatta, the unexpected degree of instant personal rapport struck between these highly dissimilar leaders, gently encouraging speculation as to why India might have been silent when Bhutto was executed by Zia the following year, and why Morarji has the distinction of being the sole recipient so far of both the Pakistani as well as Indian highest civilian honours.

A third category of contributions could be termed ‘Responses and Strategies’. Former foreign secretary and long-time strategic thinker (and China expert) Jagat S. Mehta, now in his nineties, reflects on the uneven course of India-China ties and prospects for the future, while recalling his own hands-on experiences in dealing with China, and incidentally questioning Nehru and his advisers in their judgements of Chinese intentions in the late 1950s/early ’60s. Could the India-China war have been avoided if Nehru had been a better judge, or better advised, and his devoted and overawed bureaucrats were not convinced that ‘Panditji knows best’? He is clear that India, warts and all, will ultimately triumph over China because of the former’s ‘global’ temperament as contrasted with China’s cultural conditioning to be chauvinistic and isolationist.

T.P. Sreenivasan describes his unusual experiences as India’s man in Fiji after a coup aimed at marginalizing the Indian-origin majority in Fiji’s affairs. Here is a good example of innovative diplomacy in a difficult and unstable situation. In his own words: ‘Contentious elections, change of governments, military coups, trade sanctions and expulsions are par for the course in diplomacy, but to face all these at one post and that too in a tropical paradise is extraordinary.’

L.L. Mehrotra arrived in Sri Lanka at a particularly difficult moment in 1989. India’s high-risk response to President Jayewardane’s request for troops to fight the LTTE had run into deep trouble under the new executive president, Premadasa, who was determined to secure the immediate withdrawal of the troops while following a policy of appeasement vis-à-vis the LTTE and the JVP in an environment of brutal large-scale assassinations perpetrated by both organizations. How the daunting challenges to Indian diplomacy in a tense, complicated and tragic situation were tackled is graphically documented by Mehrotra. Was Rajiv Gandhi’s risky military intervention in Sri Lanka, in a violent and unstable internal situation (caused in part by India’s ill-advised policy under an earlier government’s watch to harbour and support the LTTE’s activities from Indian soil), condemned to end in any other outcome than a humiliating withdrawal?

Not every Indian diplomat makes it to a multilateral organization. Multilateral experience is considered to be specialized, and it is sought after for more reasons than one. But it can be a rewarding as well as challenging – sometimes frustrating – experience. Chandrashekhar Dasgupta, one of the few acknowledged specialists who has been intimately involved with the tortuous route of international negotiations on climate change from the beginning, shares his recollections of the first breakthroughs achieved by India and the developing countries in their efforts to get the developed world to accept a fair share of responsibility in managing the threat to the planet on this score. Kant K. Bhargava, a former secretary-general of SAARC and one who has worked with steadfast zeal but not always with too much encouragement from his own government to making the regional grouping an effective and beneficial one, recounts his experiences, including post-retirement, over several decades (part of the training was to convince an EU interlocutor that papadams were different from spaghetti and hence entitled to duty-free treatment). And Prakash Shah reveals the disappointing episode of his appointment as the UN special envoy to Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, again without much support from his home government, and in the face of the determination of the US to ensure that Saddam Hussein should be toppled before sanctions were ended through a successful directly negotiated understanding between the UN and Iraq.

Three first-person accounts of the 1970s: of experiences in Kreisky’s Austria, in Allende’s Chile and in Idi Amin’s Uganda, complete this fascinating mosaic. K.L. Dalal describes his encounters with two women who were in the shadow of great Indian leaders, but melted away into anonymity after the leaders themselves died. Miraben was Mahatma Gandhi’s devoted disciple who abruptly left India and chose to retire in ashram-like austerity in a remote Austrian village; Emilie Schenkl, the widow of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose (who died in mysterious circumstances), cut off her Indian connections because of the Bose family’s reluctance to recognize her as his spouse. Dalal also contributed to removing the misunderstandings which had cropped up after the declaration of Emergency between Mrs Indira Gandhi and a close traditional friend of the Nehru family, Chancellor Kreisky. G.J. Malik, a veteran diplomat now in his nineties recollects the peculiar challenges confronting India’s ambassador in Allende’s Chile, including in the aftermath of the bloody coup that overthrew the president, in an era of deep suspicion about the CIA’s sinister activities against non-friendly regimes in developing countries. And Niranjan Desai paints in vivid colours Idi Amin’s Uganda, where he was sent as a junior officer from the ministry following the bizarre expulsion of the Asian community. Born and brought up in Tanzania, where he spent the first seventeen years of his life, Desai’s account of his personal travails as he tried to befriend the Indian community in its hour of need, ending with his being declared persona non grata, is of interest, not least because of the contrast with the aggressive pro-diaspora stance taken by the Government of India decades later in the aftermath of the Fiji coup, as described by Sreenivasan.

There has been a sea change that has occurred in the way India now treats its diaspora, but the basic dilemmas remain: how should India react if a foreign government mistreats people of Indian origin who are not Indian citizens (as in Malaysia)? And what is to be done if a foreign government is unable to provide security for Indian nationals against large-scale racist attacks (as in Australia)? As India assumes a high profile in global affairs and ‘Indians’ become more successful and prosperous, the dilemmas may only become more acute.

One hopes that this collection will be an eye-opener to anyone who thinks that the Indian Foreign Service is all about cocktail parties and luxurious living conditions. What comes across is the capacity of an Indian diplomat, by virtue of training and experience, for survival (physical and professional) in adverse situations, for objective assessment and analysis, for reflection and introspection, improvement and improvisation, understanding of and contribution to historical events of which he or she happens to be part – often in anonymity, and always with professional discretion and dedication.

KRISHNA V. RAJAN

A SINGULAR SUMMIT

A.N.D. Haksar

Summit meetings have become a standard feature of international diplomacy in the twenty-first century. Leaders meet each other with a frequency which is no longer unprecedented. Thanks to modern technology, the meetings can even be virtual, as exemplified by the hour-long exchange between presidents Hu Jintao of China and Barack Obama of the US while the latter was travelling in his airplane during the Easter break of 2010. Did they only speak on this occasion, or also see each other as they conversed, is a detail as yet unrevealed. But it points to future possibilities.

Frequency may dull their impact. Nevertheless the importance of summit meets in the conduct of world affairs remains unquestionable. They are the highest level for decision making on matters of importance, and also for enabling the decision makers to know and size up each other for the future. Apart from providing opportunities for such personal interaction, they are important for image building and moulding public opinion. They also have great symbolic value. But all these possibilities presume careful and often protracted preparation in advance of such meetings.

Sherpa is a word which accompanied the word summit into the language of diplomacy. It refers to the lower level workers who prepare a mountain path to the top for their masters. Rare indeed are summits not preceded by such sherpas engaging in hard-nosed negotiation on all their aspects: policy and protocol, issues and images, final options and fall back positions. The eventual result may often even depend on such preliminary efforts.

Despite the importance of preparatory groundwork, it is generally believed that the crucial aspect of an apex meet lies in the interaction of personalities. Prior planning may have a role even here, but the interaction can also take place without sherpa preparation or road-mapping. It is of course maximal in one-on-one meetings without the presence of aides, though their content can then only be surmised by others.

This is one part of the background to a singular summit meet here described by a witness to its start. Another part of it is the chequered history of summit diplomacy in India-Pakistan relations as a whole. While the Shimla Agreement stands out as its best-known achievement, it is still an open question if the personal chemistry between successive leaders of the two neighbour countries has contributed meaningfully to building good relations between them since they became independent.

Jawaharlal Nehru and the Pakistani leaders of his time carried too much historical baggage from the politics preceding partition to be able to establish any worthwhile rapport. Nehru’s successor Lal Bahadur Shastri and Pakistan’s first military ruler Ayub Khan, one a homespun Gandhian and the other a Sandhursttrained general, were too disparate in background to warrant much mutual understanding. The next generation of leaders, Indira Gandhi and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, signed the historic Shimla Agreement, the results of which have subsequently been questioned. But any definitive assessment of their personal equation remains unclear, clouded over by their personalities.

Legends also surround their children, Rajiv Gandhi and Benazir Bhutto, who met as prime ministers of their countries and were both assassinated when out of office. Prime Minister Narasimha Rao held no fewer than five summit sessions with his Pakistani counterpart, Nawaz Sharif. Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee had meetings with President Pervez Musharraf, including the long session at Agra which resulted in much speculation. Prime Minister Manmohan Singh also met General Musharraf and has continued summit meetings with Pakistani leaders after him. But all these are perhaps still too close to the present time to enable judgement on the personal interactions involved and the long-term effects on bilateral relations which continue on a zig-zag course.

A contrasting interlude within this scenario of rise and fall of relations is provided by the brief coincidence in office of Morarji Desai and Zia-ul-Haq. Both came to power at about the same time, one in the aftermath of the Janata electoral wave which unseated Indira Gandhi, and the other after toppling the elder Bhutto in a military coup. The Janata interlude was a comparatively cordial phase in India-Pakistan relations, despite or maybe because of its short duration. The relationship also featured what appears to have been a rather un-orchestrated summit, one between a new military leader and an old political veteran that was perhaps unique as much for its chemistry and spontaneity as for its lack of publicity.

The scene was the funeral of President Jomo Kenyatta of Kenya in the summer of 1978. Many foreign leaders had come to Nairobi to pay tribute to that pioneer of African independence. Among the prominent personalities who arrived at short notice were the prime minister of India and the president of Pakistan.

The two had never met each other before. The Kenyan authorities took care to give them due precedence in keeping with protocol, and seated them in the same row at the funeral ceremony. Possibly as a measure of prudence, they placed the Aga Khan between them

The obsequies and orations continued for several hours. The distinguished foreign mourners at first sat in dignified silence, but eventually began to engage in discreet chit-chat with those seated near them. Prince Aga Khan could be seen making small talk with Prime Minister Desai and President Zia on either side. Gradually their banter included all three.

To the distant but watchful eyes of India’s resident envoy, here the event’s chronicler, the first exchanges between Desai and Zia seemed brief and cursory. But after some time they got into a conversation and soon were talking directly, across the Ismaili chief sitting between them. At the end of the ceremony, when the envoy went up to his prime minister to escort him to his waiting car, he was told that the ‘General Sahib’ would be coming with them.

It is not usual for previously unacquainted heads of state and government to travel together so spontaneously in a third country. But, as the car proceeded slowly through the crowded streets to Desai’s hotel, the envoy, squeezed in with the general’s ADC on the front seat, could discern that an India-Pakistan summit had commenced in the back.

At the hotel the two leaders went straight to Desai’s suite where they remained closeted for a considerable time. Their respective delegations arrived and hung around the corridors, not knowing exactly what they were expected to do. Despite his protestations that the prime minister’s diet regime had been notified to him clearly and the president was observing the Ramadan fast, the envoy was persuaded to go inside and enquire if any refreshments were needed. This he did, but the summiteers engaged in relaxed conversation made it clear that they did not want any intrusion.

Eventually the two men emerged and were surrounded by their entourages. A smiling Desai accompanied a beaming Zia to the elevator, and saw him off with great aplomb. Although unaware of what had transpired at their meeting, the envoy could sense its friendly vibrations. In keeping with subcontinental traditions, President Zia extended a courtly deference to the eighty-two-year-old prime minister, addressing him frequently as ‘sir’ with a toothy smile which later became his trademark. On his part Prime Minister Desai shed his usually dour demeanour and responded with unexpected warmth.

What happened at their meeting may be known only through confidential records if any were made by the close associates of the two leaders. What seems clear is that both were still wary in 1978 of the much more charismatic and long-serving rulers they had recently replaced, even though Indira Gandhi had been politically discredited in the previous year’s election and Bhutto was already under arrest in Pakistan.

Bhutto was executed in the following spring of 1979 by the Zia government despite pleas for clemency from many leaders and governments around the world. One which made no such plea was India, the Desai government taking the view that the matter was an internal affair of Pakistan. Whether or not the previous summer’s summit had any role in this can only be a subject of speculation. A variety of political factors contributed to the relaxed relations between the new governments in India and Pakistan. Determining the part if any played by the interactions of Desai and Zia in this is an aspect for historians to investigate.

What is well known is that after Prime Minister Desai’s retirement President Zia presented him with Pakistan’s highest award, even before he was similarly honoured in his own country. Morarji Desai is thus the only recipient so far of the Nishan-e-Pakistan and the Bharat Ratna.

‘IT’S A BOY!’

The Making of the Shimla Agreement

K.N. Bakshi

It was around mid-day on the second of July, 1972. Senior members of the official delegations of India and Pakistan were meeting in a closed room, oblivious to the heavenly ambience outside. Equally oblivious to the surroundings were a few of us juniors, listlessly waiting outside, and expecting the worst. Discussions had not been going well for the last few days.

The door opened. Our foreign secretary, T.N. Kaul, emerged, looking somewhat annoyed and impatient. He walked towards us, threw up his hands in the air, and proclaimed, ‘Boys, it is all over,’ adding after a pause, ‘I am leaving for New Delhi.’ And so he did, in the next hour or so.

Returning to the hotel where we were staying during the much-hyped Shimla summit, I looked back at the last two and a half years of my life.

Towards the end of 1969, I was transferred to Karachi, as head of post, with the designation of assistant high commissioner. The post had been downgraded at the insistence of Pakistan from that of deputy high commissioner (my counterpart in the then East Pakistan still enjoyed that exalted title). So was the Pakistani post in Bombay. The Pakistanis felt that they did not have any special advantage in the presence of a senior official in Bombay. They had enough access in Delhi. Democracy, a free press, and the liberty to meet anyone they liked gave the Pakistani diplomats a natural advantage, as compared to us. In Pakistan, we were hounded by Intelligence, followed aggressively everywhere, and hardly had any contacts with the locals as Pakistanis were afraid even to be seen with us. However, the so-called ‘muhajirs’ or migrants from India were mostly settled in and around Karachi. That gave us some access to a section of the local population who still had relations in India and who came regularly to our post for visas and other consular services despite heavy surveillance.

The first military dictator of Pakistan, General Ayub Khan, had already been dethroned by a massive popular agitation. Amongst others, this agitation was by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, his one-time blue-eyed boy and foreign minister. Elections were held under Ayub’s successor, General Yahya Khan. This time, these were relatively free and fair. But the results disappointed not only the dictator and the army, but almost all political elements in West Pakistan. While Bhutto’s Pakistan Peoples Party won a large majority of seats in West Pakistan, Mujibur Rehman’s Awami League had swept the polls in East Pakistan, convincingly winning all but two seats. Since East Pakistan had a larger population, it also held a majority of seats in the National Assembly. For the first time, this opened up the possibility of a Bengali leader, heading a Bengal-based political party, assuming the office of the prime minister of Pakistan.

And that exposed the major ‘fault line’ in the arrangement. The Punjabis, who were a majority in the West, and who dominated the armed forces, the bureaucracy and generally the state of Pakistan, were totally unwilling to share, much less cede, power to the Bengalis. In fact, the Punjabis looked down upon them as lesser Muslims: they loved their language and its non-Muslim poets like the Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore; their women wore saris and ‘bindis’ on their foreheads like Hindu women; they were not a ‘martial race’ like their Western counterparts, and so on. How could they be allowed to rule over Pakistan?

Eventually, Bhutto succeeded in preventing Mujib from becoming prime minister. At one stage, he had threatened all the elected members from West Pakistan that their legs would be broken if they dared to go to Dhaka for a meeting of the National Assembly. He used his relations with the armed forces and the bureaucracy, and manipulated public opinion, to prevent any compromise from emerging. I remember we had gone to Dhaka towards the end of 1970 for a meeting of the heads of our three offices in Pakistan. The atmosphere in East Pakistan was highly charged. It was clear that if the aspirations of the people of East Pakistan, suppressed so far, were thwarted again, there was going to be a civil war. Perhaps, that is what Bhutto and Yahya wanted. That’s exactly what happened. In March 1971, the army began the ‘Rape of Bangladesh’.

Once the military crackdown spread from Dhaka to other areas, there was a massive influx of refugees into India, eventually reaching an astounding figure of over ten million. In fairness, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi tried to find a peaceful solution to this problem. She toured the world; she asked Pakistan’s friends to advise Yahya to work for a political compromise, in their own interest, which would also enable the refugees to return. Nothing happened. And then, on 3 December 1971,