Memories of a Lacerated Heart (1971): A War Memoir (From East Pakistan to Bangladesh)

By Major Iftikhar-Ud-Din Ahmad (Retired)

Memories of a Lacerated Heart gives us a painful insight into one of the most brutal and historically under-reported wars, and its effects not just on the country but on the mind of a patriotic and unassuming army officer.
In 1947 the Indian subcontinent was split into two countries, India and Pakistan. East and West Pakistan were geographically separated by the larger nation of India and the country was ruled by martial law for the first 25 years after gaining independence. The governing of the two wings of the country, hundreds of miles apart, was a logistical challenge and the cultural, economic, geographical and language differences became divisive. East Pakistan had the larger population, albeit in a smaller area, but West Pakistan held the political and economic power. East Pakistan secured the majority of seats in the 1970 elections but, despite winning the majority vote, it was deprived of the right to govern. This lead to a bloody civil war that later escalated into a conflict between Pakistan and India.
This is the memoir of one Pakistani Army officer who witnessed the events first-hand and suffered as a consequence of being a patriotic young company commander who passionately wanted to prevent the break-up of his country. It is a formal collection of his diary entries documenting his experiences during the civil war, the subsequent conflict with India, and as a prisoner of war. While still a war memoir, it is also the raw and heartfelt account of a man separated by duty from his loved ones, and ordered, along with his young soldiers, to fight a pointless war ruthlessly orchestrated by generals and politicians.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781490781501

Major Iftikhar-Ud-Din Ahmad (Retired)

“That so many young men survived the odds stacked against them and came out of it unbroken, their values and dignity intact, will always remain a cause for hope in the face of despair.” Lieutenant General Tariq Khan (Retired)

Book preview

MEMORIES OF A

LACERATED HEART

1971

(From East Pakistan to Bangladesh)

A WAR MEMOIR

MAJOR IFTIKHAR-UD-DIN AHMAD (RETIRED)

©

Copyright 2017 Major Iftikhar Ud-Din Ahmad (Retired).

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-8149-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-8151-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-8150-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017903865

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Trafford rev. 09/13/2023

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DEDICATION

To all the martyrs who selflessly gave their lives in East Pakistan for the unity of the Pakistani nation, and especially the martyrs of Thirty Three (33) Baloch Regiment of the Pakistan Army who sacrificed their yesterday for our today.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

A Few Words from the Author’s Son

Preface by the Author

PART I: ELECTIONS AND CYCLONE

Chapter 1: 1970 – Elections and the Historical Cyclone in East Pakistan

Chapter 2: A Night in the Sundarbans

Chapter 3: The Disaster-affected Islands

Chapter 4: 1970 – The so-called ‘Free and Fair’ Elections

PART II: WAR

Chapter 1: 1971 – The Revolutionary Year. Return to East Pakistan

Chapter 2: Start of Action in East Pakistan

Chapter 3: The First Mission

Chapter 4: Departure from Chandpur

Chapter 5: Stay in Brahmanbaria

Chapter 6: Strange Story of the Survival of a Police Officer and a Bihari Hawaaldar

Chapter 7: Days and Nights in Ashuganj/Bhairab Bazaar

Chapter 8: Limited Action in Bajitpur Police Station

Chapter 9: In front of Agartala, India

Chapter 10: Meeting with an Indian Army Officer at the Border

Chapter 11: The Night of June 18th, 1971

Chapter 12: Looking into the Face of the Enemy and Death

Chapter 13: The Bloody Incident of Halda Nadi

Chapter 14: An Interesting Incident

Chapter 15: Some Temporary Peaceful Moments – As a Deputy Martial Law Administrator

Chapter 16: A Few Unbelievable Incidents

Chapter 17: Travel to the Border, Again

Chapter 18: Looking into the Face of Death, Again

Chapter 19: Same Border, Same Shelling

Chapter 20: The Suicide Mission at the Railroad Station

Chapter 21: The Visit of Foreign TV Anchors to my Company

PART III: FALL OF DHAKA

Chapter 1: Sickness and Departure from my Battalion

Chapter 2: The Same Chandpur Again

Chapter 3: Fall back from Chandpur to Dhaka

Chapter 4: The Surrender

Chapter 5: Oh Dhaka! Khuda Hafiz Dhaka!

PART IV: IN INDIA

Chapter 1: Departure for India

Chapter 2: In the POW Camp

Chapter 3: Plan to Escape

Chapter 4: Prison and yet another Prison

Chapter 5: The New Prison Life in Camp No. 61 – Our Lives Had Changed

Chapter 6: The Political Games of the Leaders

Chapter 7: The Return of the POWs

PART V: THE 195 SO-CALLED WAR CRIMINALS

Chapter 1: Departure for Agra Fort and Jail

Chapter 2: The Light of Freedom

PART VI: HOMECOMING

Chapter 1: My Last Day in Prison

Chapter 2: Salaam to the Mitti of our Land

Abu’s Fortitude

Abu’s Vitality

Diary of Major Iftikhar Bhatti

A Hard Rain

Author’s Biography

Book Review

Glossary

Appendix

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank both my parents, my wife, my children and my siblings, and my extended family and friends, for their support and love in helping to get this book published. I especially want to thank the following people who contributed to this publication in one way or another

Mohi-Uddin Ahmad, MBA

Rida Khalid Bhutta, BA (Hons., Literature)

Mohammad Tauqeer Baig, MPhil (Multimedia Arts)

Rahul Bhatnagar, MD

Maryam Hasan

Salima Hashmi

Shoaib Hashmi

Lieutenant General Tariq Khan (Retired)

Lieutenant General Tahir Mahmud Qazi, HI(M), (Retired)

Major Usman Arif Khan (Retired)

William A. Schneider, AISM, OPA

Naeem Tahir

A FEW WORDS FROM THE AUTHOR’S SON

Disclaimer: I promised my father that this book would be a true translation of his words. This is his book and I may or may not agree with the ideas and views mentioned in this book. No changes have been made to the course of events although I have divided the book into chapters, many with the same names as in his original writings. No event mentioned in the book is a personal attack on any religion, ethnic community, culture, society or country. It was the author’s wish that the readers be respectful to the deceased and honor their deaths, regardless of their cause, caste, culture, religion or creed during this conflict. The book consists of recollections from the author’s life as stated by him and in no way aims at inciting trouble against the families whose names have been mentioned and who helped the Pakistan Army during this conflict. Every effort has been made to correctly represent the names and places mentioned in the book, and the cities/towns/villages have been researched and verified wherever possible. However, some names may have been forgotten over time or inadvertently misspelt.

As far back as I can remember, my father Abu would settle at the corner of his bed at the end of every day, seize that particular year’s diary with a gold imprint of the year on the cover, and take up his pen ready to write. Whatever the circumstances, whatever the weather, every night Abu would sit in his room ready to recapture the activities of the day in his own dignified manner. As a child I would be fascinated at the thought of what was going into the pages of the diaries but, as a teenager, I grew curious about the words he had written. I often found myself sneaking into his room and touching his letters in awe and admiration. He was a candid man and would religiously record each and every incident of the day, recalling it in a story-like manner. I thought I was the only one interested in his diary but I later figured out that even my mother, Ami, and my siblings snuck in night after night to read it. We never really knew how he felt about that, though he often caught us with our noses stuck between the rustling yellow pages.

If I really began to talk about Abu this would turn into a book in itself, so I will struggle to condense him into as few words as possible.

When Abu returned from India in 1974 he brought with him an assortment of his diaries. I was nine at that time and when I read the diaries I often came across incidents and lengthy paragraphs erased or crossed out; Abu later informed me that this was to ensure they didn’t end up in the hands of the Indian army to be used against anyone. This deleted information identified the people who lost their lives during the bitter civil war and the names of the families who had helped the Pakistan Army in the conflict.

During his lifetime, Abu accomplished his dream of writing of his experiences in 1971 and an Urdu version was published in 2009. Though it was the result of Abu’s persistence, compulsion and many sleepless nights, I found myself not completely content with it. When I read it, I came across several errors and was unsatisfied with several things, such as the quality of paper used and the design and layout of the book itself. For me the book was an extension of Abu’s heart and I preferred it to be as close to flawless as possible. For me then it was a treasure, and it is now a remnant of his gloriously lived life. Even more significantly, the book historically represents a true depiction of South Asia at that time.

As I read the book I understood it to be something far more than just a war memoir. It was not just an amalgamation of Abu’s involvements. It was a personal and intimate voyage of love, hate, isolation, suffering, death, pain, loss, gain and, most importantly, a poignant journey of separation from loved ones. I wanted it to be open and accessible to the world and not just be limited to a handful of people, the ones familiar with the Urdu language. This was why I decided to translate it into English and share my Abu’s journey with a much more eclectic audience. I told Abu of my intention while he still physically lived amongst us, and the smile on his face when he heard it was all the affirmation I needed from him.

I didn’t just want the book to be translated into English; I wanted it to validate all the qualities it possessed as a heart-wrenching story, so I began my research. I asked around and got in touch with all the people I knew in the constituent parts of academics, publishing and even those who had some background in working with translated books. I received a lot of support and several people told me it was an undertaking I would be able to accomplish with a deep passion. I remember being told by one of my friends, Moeen, it is extremely difficult to translate a book especially if you want it to be close to the aesthetics of good literature. You are the best person to do it because you know your father well and understand the underlying emotions he had when he wrote the book. I remember laughing at my friend when he said that to me, because never in my wildest imaginations could I have foreseen myself taking up such a daunting responsibility; I never thought I had it in me.

For several years I kept researching, looking for someone responsible enough to translate the book with the kind of honesty and understanding I felt it needed. It was an early summer morning in 2013 when I was struck by a sense of unease that if I failed to find a suitable translator I would never be able to share Abu’s journey as I wanted. Almost impulsively, driven by the urge to share Abu’s precious words with the world, I began typing a rough translation of the book on my laptop, completely oblivious to my surroundings. I realized that within a relatively short space of time I had translated a handful of paragraphs into English. That is when I understood what my friend meant; with every line that I read and translated, I realized how natural it felt. Most significantly, with every word sinking into my soul I could vividly experience the emotions and thoughts Abu might have had as he wrote, much as if the words were my own. The forty-eight years of knowing my father began making more sense than ever they had before. When I felt a little confident about the English manuscript, I shared the translated words with my wife, Fauzia, and her encouragement spurred me on. I can honestly say that the rest of the book flowed from there on.

I am a professional and it became very difficult for me to juggle my work with the translation of the book. Nonetheless, I completed it over an intensive period of 18 months. I am so grateful that my father was still with us at the time because whenever I was confused about something or hit an impasse, I would just call him to check a detail I wanted to add. I would often disagree with his ideas but I kept my promise not to change anything as this was my Abu’s project. In January 2014, I showed my father the translation while I was finalizing it. As I held my laptop for him, he read a few pages, and then beamed a smile at me saying, Moeen, reading this plays my past like a movie in front of my eyes. This was the kind of endorsement and approval I was looking for and, by the end of it, I ensured that the translation remained honest to all the events, themes and ideas originally inscribed by my father.

I was six when my father was sent to East Pakistan for the second time. We lived in Model Town, Lahore at the time. Dressed in his uniform, he sat in his convertible military jeep. He kissed and hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear, Moeen, this time it might be a while before I see you again. Take care of your mother and your sisters in my absence. Those words, and the tears my expecting mother cried that day, have been etched in my memory ever since. Abu was right, we did not see him again for the next three years.

Those three years were really traumatic for all of us. Not only were we parted from my father, we did not know if and when he would return. As the only son at that time and very close to him, it was kind of the end of everything for a 6-year-old kid. My mother took on the role of being a father to us, and her strength never wavered, nor did her faith in her husband’s return. We received so much care from our extended family as well, the uncles, aunts and three grandparents. After three years of insecurity and waiting, we heard of his impending return but, before we could even rejoice at the news, his homecoming was cancelled and he was transferred to Agra Fort instead. This was far more painful than letting him go the first time. While Abu was away at war, Lahore was subject to constant blackouts because of the air attacks; that is still part of my childhood memories of 1971. My family and I were suffering severe separation anxiety and each passing day was just a repetitious cycle of sleeping, eating and breathing. We were all physically living apart from him, but it felt as though our hearts were with him while he was fighting the war and afterward in the Prisoner of War camps. I remember I was in the 1st grade at the time and my school principal walked into the class one day, looked at me and said Moeen, I’ve heard that the Indian army is cutting the fingers off the Pakistani army officers. What an awful thing to say to a 1st grader whose father was away. I remember bawling my eyes out to my mother that night as she comforted me while holding back her own tears.

I can’t forget the day Abu finally returned. I was nine by then and I still vividly remember him stepping out of the military bus. He was in his uniform with a big black ‘X’ sign on his back; in one corner his uniform read "POW". His Quran was hung around his neck. He was a lot darker than I remembered but strikingly handsome as always. Our tears could not be contained that day. He turned to hug me, and I still remember his smell, a distinct odor, Abu’s aroma. His arms were strong around me and I pressed my face against his chest, kissing him again and again after three long and painful years. He was reunited with my mother, my sisters and the rest of the family in an overwhelming display of excitement, passion and love. Once he had been thoroughly welcomed by everyone, he turned and said, Where is Moeen? I haven’t greeted him yet. He picked me up again and cuddled me with a strength much fiercer than a few minutes earlier. I still reminisce about this incident with my own kids; it was the happiest I had been in a very long time.

Our lives were re-established, the dreariness of our routine banished and forgotten. From then on, my life and my family’s lives have been sheltered by him, guided by him and inspired by him. I remember my father as an honest, simple, hardworking, loyal and passionate man; he loved his family, but also his people, including the people of East Pakistan, and his country with a fervor that I never fully comprehended. Despite his loyalty towards his country and despite being a thoroughly professional army officer loved by his coworkers, he was also victimized as he was not promoted beyond the rank of major because of his forthright, honest and sometimes undiplomatic attitude. He didn’t really care about that as his priorities in life were not materialistic. He will always remain a hero for me, my family, and a thousand others whose lives he touched.

I am so honored to be presenting this book – written by a man loved and adored by many, a courageous man who lived his life how he believed it should be lived. I don’t love him simply by default, for he was far more than just a father. The only unfulfilled wish I have is that he could not see my final work, but I am content.

Moeen A. Bhatti, MD

Gilroy, California, USA

February, 2017

Book%20Cover%20of%20the%20Urdu%20Book%20published%20in%202009-GS.jpg

Book Cover of the Urdu Book published in 2009

PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR

December the 16th has always triggered several powerful memories in my mind. It was on this date that Dhaka fell – a significant event in history. The lives lost might have been forgotten, but incidents retain their value for a long time. Several intellectuals and writers have written about the fall of Dhaka based on their limited perceptions of what happened. As a soldier and a non-intellectual, I have grappled with the decision of whether or not to speak my mind about the incidents in Dhaka. The fall of Dhaka is something that cannot be forgotten or become too distant a memory to recall.

There has always been a restless ache in my heart that urged me to overcome and lessen the burden on my soul. It has been approximately 30 years since the historic cyclone of East Pakistan, the national and provincial elections, and the civil disobedience movement initiated by our Bengali brothers in 1971. Those stressful times also include the military action in Dhaka in 1971, the 10-month long civil war fought between our own people, the disgraceful surrender followed by the eventual two and a half years that I endured in the Indian prison camps. I remember all these events as if they were yesterday. How I saved these bitter memories until my final release from India is an entirely different story.

Many writers and intellectuals have written, evaluated and expressed their countless and endless views regarding this incident, often blaming one other. The disturbing thing is how no one had in them the strength or courage to pose a question to the culprits responsible; a question that demanded an answer as to why East Pakistan was discarded like some personal property handed over as an heirloom. One’s duty is not fulfilled simply by making statements and remarks – why were the criminals, the responsible parties and individuals not punished for their heinous acts? Not only were the masses of our nation misinformed regarding the real scenario, they was kept ignorant of the numbers of the Pakistani Army soldiers, the actual conditions they were subjected to, and their perilous position in facing the enemy. Apart from instigating heated conversations within the confines of our drawing room walls, we failed to take a stand against such an extraordinary incident, such a massive disaster. The criminals of the time may no longer be alive, but there are still some such individuals who could be questioned. I am forced to assume that perhaps the reason for such an indifferent response can only mean one thing: everyone is and was at fault.

Despite the fact that the politicians and a number of generals in 1971 were responsible for the crime, how could the nation not have been informed about the criminals, how could no precautionary steps have been taken to avoid future calamities? I find it rather wretched that such a major incident in the history of any nation was ignored almost as if it was insignificant. A nation that initiates boycotts and processions for minor and petty issues remains oblivious, even today. I have not witnessed a single procession, or boycott, or civil disobedience movement on a national level that has demanded investigations by the government, demanded answers to the unanswered questions, or demanded to know the cause of Dhaka’s fall or why the criminals remained unpunished. An event of this magnitude befell our nation, and we refused to learn from it. Instead, we remained entangled in hatred involving provincial affairs, and lust for personal power, fooling the world in the name of Islam. Our leader’s chanted slogans that promised food, clothing and housing for the masses but remained obsessed in filling their own bellies. The landlords greedily built their own wealth as the leaders of the nation continued to put the nation’s interests in extreme peril. I wonder what else the leaders, politicians, and other so-called influential people could possibly want from our poor country. When will our eyes truly be opened?

Our history clearly records how we have forgotten the sacrifices made; closed our eyes to the statistics of the women raped, to the guardians of our nation taking on the role of looters and thieves; when the promises made to God were shunned and forgotten; when selling the interests of a nation and plundering became the norm, and when extravagant parks, recreations, malls and buildings were constructed on top of the crushed homes of the poor and destitute. Who will live in the monuments, when there is no life left to live? This is the law of nature and this is what our history indicates has happened.

The actors of the East Pakistan drama eventually met their fate; some were killed by their own guards and soldiers, some hanged in the same city where they once lived an ostentatious life; some were bathed in blood along with their family at the hands of their own communities and some, who had lived a life characterized by women and wine, met an abrupt end to their empty lives. I had hoped that the ones who survived would learn a lesson from the painful demise of others. But it is an unfortunate fact that those who live on earth as gods never learn a lesson from history.

For inevitable and unavoidable reasons, I was forced to keep these bitter and rather shameful memories suppressed in my heart. But now I have the courage to set them free for my nation. I solemnly swear that I will only recall events I witnessed and conversations I heard. I will also document my own weaknesses and faults, the downsides and positive points of the individuals involved, with honesty and integrity. The underlying purpose in writing this book is to present the events of 1971 to my people in the hope that it might impact their hearts as it did mine. At the same time, I pray to God that He provides us with an opportunity to seek His forgiveness for our sins, so that we may not repeat our mistakes and perhaps regain the grace and respect that we once had and lost.

There is no doubt as to the bitterness of the events I am about to recall, but there is hope that these occurrences might unite us all as a nation and touch our national sentiments. This country was birthed in the name of God; more than a million lives were sacrificed for its creation. Countless women were raped, people died en masse, families migrated from their birthplaces, homes, properties with this one aim and ambition of getting to a country that promised equality, social justice and an Islamic culture. But what we see today is the same country being looted by wealthy landlords, investors and military generals. If only they had the heart to share the blessings they are so busy hoarding with the individuals that make up the nation. Quaid-e-Azam once said that the ice always melts from the top; unless the leaders of our nation stand shoulder to shoulder with the common man, unless they find the earth to place their feet, unless they establish social justice and Islamic equality and begin to consider the ordinary man as they consider themselves, no problem will find a concrete solution. The fertility of a land has no value if its leaders are ignorant of it.

Fear should only be welcomed if it is in the name of God. It should be shunned if created by a dictator or worldly power. The people of a nation should be served instead of simply fulfilling one’s own desires. Such a simple change in approach can turn any nation into one that is exemplary and prosperous, especially if it is a country that has boundless resources and blessings as this one has.

Before I narrate the story, I want to apologize for any mistake that I made when in East Pakistan. I also pledge that I am writing only the truth. It took an immense effort to document this bitter memoir during the civil war in East Pakistan and later as a POW in the camps of India. As a serving army officer I had limited resources and could not publish my encounters, so many years have since passed.

The atrocious situation of East Pakistan did not occur in a few days, weeks, months or even years. The background of these events goes as far back as a couple of decades. It began with the birth of Pakistan because of the negligence of our own people and the conspiracies of our enemies. However, the chief role was adopted by none other than our own leaders, who brought about a rather gory end. These leaders were declared the Pride of the Nation and the Pride of Asia. I am dismayed to report that it is these very leaders who played the principal role in the drop scene story of East Pakistan; they enacted the darkest chapters in our Nation’s history.

It is also a fact that non-Muslims never accepted the breakup of India. Along with a few of our own selfish and incompetent people, the non-Muslims of East Pakistan and India also played a big role in this event. With a little assistance from India, they used all means available to directly induce hatred against Pakistan, the PML and Islamic values. The young generation of East Pakistan, where the PML was born and which had a majority Muslim population, was made the enemy of Pakistan and manipulated with liberal propaganda. I am dismayed to report that this mission was achieved with competence, dedication and diligence. There is no harm greater than one that is brought about by destroying the social, moral and cultural values of a nation.

Before this preface becomes a story in itself, I will end by mentioning a few things in direct correlation to the events of East Pakistan. Despite the existing transparency regarding the participation of non-Muslims and Indians in the incident, it is the participation of our own people that brings me the greatest grief. For example, the behavior and derogatory attitude of the civil servants towards the Bengali brothers, ones who were serving in East Pakistan and were from West Pakistan, was hateful and worse than the British. These officers, who aspired to be British, kept Bengalis at a distance and considered them inferior. This clear distinction was one I witnessed myself during the 1970 elections in Khulna Club when the civil servants allowed only the prominent and rich Bengali men and women to enter their residential areas or even come near them. Such a demonstration of loathing towards the Bengalis by our own people gave the perfect opportunity to the Indians to ignite the fire and succeed in producing a perpetually burning hatred between East and West Pakistan, such that each became thirsty for the blood of the other.

Based on the spiteful and demeaning attitude of the CSP officers, the Bengali brothers were eventually convinced that all of West Pakistan felt nothing but revulsion towards them. This was followed by the elections of 1970, which ironically our President Sahib declared as the most transparent and the fairest in the history of Pakistan. These elections gave the historic victory to the AL which was not given the legal right to form a Federal Government. As a result of this denial, more disgust was engendered in the hearts of the Bengalis, which was the sole doing of the leaders of West Pakistan. These elections were followed by the civil disobedience movement, a movement instigated by the aggravated East Pakistanis. The movement caused bloodshed on both sides of the nation, to the extent that it was declared unique in history. The communities that had subsisted together for 25 years craved the blood of the other. This is something we as a nation should ponder over – how easily we can turn our brothers into our enemies.

What little that remained between two brothers was obliterated by the military action of March 25th, 1971. The Bengali units of the Pakistan Army, the police and the EPR became rebellious. Brothers wanted the death of one another. The records of barbarism displayed by the Bengalis during the civil disobedience movement were probably less significant; there was more bloodshed after the direct armed conflict. The situation could have been alleviated by the politicians through comprehensive negotiations. Involving the military was an appalling decision. The leaders of West Pakistan were thrilled as their vision of Udhar Tum, Idhar Hum was being confirmed though only supported by half the country. Their opportunity to become the rulers was drawing nearer, which is why they made an immediate statement after the military action that Yahya Khan has saved Pakistan. No sensible person endorsed the military action and the result was civil war.

The Bengali military soldiers in the Pakistan army and all the other groups started destroying everything in East Pakistan. They approached India where they were welcomed by the Army; unfortunately their dreams were also becoming a reality. The Indian Army was ready to work with our ex-brothers and our new enemies to destroy facilities in East Pakistan. The Pakistan Army in East Pakistan had limited resources but they responded to the Mukti Bahini and the Indian Army by establishing resilient check posts along the border. Nevertheless the Indian commandos, with the help of Bengalis, penetrated deep into East Pakistan and began eliminating all that was left of law and order.

This dangerous and immensely critical situation demanded increased force from West Pakistan; two infantry divisions began arriving in East Pakistan without heavy equipment and ammunition. India had already dramatized the Ganga plane hijacking, blocking Pakistan’s air route over India. West Pakistan could now only approach East Pakistan through the longer route of the sea or over Sri Lanka. The vast land of East Pakistan was peppered with hurdles, hazards and difficulties, turning the long border with India into a challenge for the Pakistan Army. The resourceful Indian Army with the help of local Bengalis created a situation for the Pakistan Army that they had neither been trained for nor had any experience of. Despite the odds against them, the Pakistan Army remained patriotic and, through their excellent conventional war training, not only responded effectively to the Indian commandos but also kept the upper hand on all the war fronts.

From March 25th to the middle of November 1971, the Pakistani Army was deprived of additional soldiers, new ammunition and equipment, and had lost a great number of jawaans. Despite these immense and seemingly irreparable losses, they remained patriotic and did not allow their spirit or courage to fade. I believe it was faith that kept the Pakistani Army resiliently fighting to save East Pakistan. On the other side of the border, Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi traveled all over the world driving home the message that the Pakistan Army was ruthlessly killing the citizens and mercilessly raping the women of East Pakistan. This was India’s principal diplomatic and political victory which not only changed the world’s perception of the people of West Pakistan but also convinced them that the Pakistan Army was leading the atrocities in East Pakistan.

The ground reality was that the Pakistan Army was suffering as a result of limited resources, support and equipment. It was occupied in saving East Pakistan, and facing extremely harsh circumstances. The Pakistan Army, instead of being commended, was defamed. For this I blame the circumstances and the incompetence of our leaders and rulers. They were incapable of articulating a coherent response to the Indian propaganda. It is a clear fact that the Pakistan Army was striving to save Pakistan as a whole, whereas all of East Pakistan remained an enemy. Had it been some other nation, the bravery of the Pakistan Army would have been commended in monuments. It was only through the faith and bravery of the soldiers that Pakistan remained intact against an army which was stronger in every respect. It is with faith that they stood firm against the treason of their own brothers. It is this struggle to save the beloved country that remains a golden chapter in history. Although the moral character of the head of the Pakistan Army in East Pakistan was questionable and inexcusable, the sentiments, assurance and valor of the junior commanders and the jawaans, was worth praising. If such a great army could have been spared and this issue could have been resolved politically, this black chapter would not be a part of our history. Such incidents require an unbiased perspective and a just approach to truly evaluate the situation and its consequences, uninfluenced by the Indian propaganda.

Just for the information of the readers, I want to compare the Pakistan Army with the Indian Army. Based on my comparison, the readers will be able to better judge the conditions under which the Pakistan Army fought the enemy. Our nation has been deprived of the facts. Instead of a traditional and conventional war, one for which it was trained, the Army was forced and ordered to fight a political war. A similar war was fought between India and China in 1962 under the powerful pressure of the Indian Prime Minister as he sat in Delhi and faced disgrace. The Pakistan Army was also disgraced by the cowardice of the rulers and generals who remained in Islamabad. The courageous army whose bravery and skills were once praised by the entire world was forced to meet a reprehensible fate. As the Pakistan Army fought the civil war and battled the Indian Army, no political leader or general from Islamabad or the GHQ in Rawalpindi showed any signs of concern to defend the ground realities or even visit East Pakistan. They maintained their positions in Islamabad, releasing irresponsible, misguided and inappropriate statements that had the entire world mocking the nation. Had any general or political leader visited East Pakistan even once and witnessed the realities with their own eyes, this episode in history might have been very, very different. Today, I would humbly state that the Army should be asked to fight only traditional and conventional wars. It is the government’s responsibility to solve the political issues with responsibility, common sense and bipartisanship.

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A Rough Comparison of the Indian and Pakistani Armies

This comparison might not be completely accurate and the Indian Army might have been considerably larger than this estimate. The Indian Army jawaans and commandos who entered East Pakistan with the help of our Bengali brothers could not have been counted with any accuracy. Apart from this statistical approximation, the Indian Army was fully backed up by equipment and ammunition throughout. Its strength was reinforced by the Pakistan Army Bengali jawaans and officers who deserted, the Bengali police, volunteers, and the EPR, all of whom had joined forces with the Indian Army. On the other hand, any jawaans or officers in the Pakistan Army who were lost were never replaced. As a consequence, with each passing day, the Indian army gained strength and the Pakistani army diminished. This was neither a traditional nor a conventional war, and there was also no clearly-defined border. The Pakistan Army was literally surrounded by the enemy from all sides. In spite of this, the Indian Army didn’t have the courage to send the full strength of the country’s forces into East Pakistan until December 1971; whenever it tried to do so, they received a robust reply from the Pakistan Army.

I would also like to remove a misunderstanding that was created at the time and remains till today. Our so-called leaders and even educated elitist Pakistanis mention that 90,000 Pakistan Army soldiers surrendered in the year 1971. However, the truth of the matter is that the Pakistan Army soldiers and paramilitary personnel numbered a maximum of 45,000 to 50,000. They were kept under prolonged imprisonment as POWs for the political gain of our