TIME. MAY 3, 1971
DACCA, CITY OF THE DEAD
Within hours after launching a tank-lad offensive in Dacca and other East Pakistani cities on the night of March 25, the Pakistan army imposed a Virtual blackout on the brutal civil war in Bangladesh (Bengal State) by expelling foreign newsmen. TIME Correspondent Dan Coggin, who was among them, recently trekked back from India by Honda, truck, bus and bicycle to become the first American journalist to visit Dacca since the fighting started. His reports:
Dacca was always a fairly dreary city, offering slim pleasures beyond the Hotel Intercontinental and a dozen Chinese restaurants that few of its 1,500,000 people could afford. Now, in many ways, it has become a city of the dead. A month after the army struck, unleashing tank guns and automatic weapons against largely unarmed civilians in 34 hours of wanton slaughter. Dacca is still shocked and shuttered, its remaining inhabitants living in terror under the grip of army control. The exact loll will never be known, but probably more than 10,000 were killed in Dacca alone.
Perhaps half the city’s population has fled to outlying villages. With the lifting of army blockades at road and river ferry exists, the exodus is resuming. Those who remain venture outdoors only for urgent food shopping. Rice prices have risen 50% since the army reportedly started burning grain silos in some areas. In any case, 14 of the cities. 18 food bazaar were destroyed. The usually jammed streets are practically empty, and no civil government is functioning.
“Kill the Bastards!” On every rooftop, Pakistan’s green-and-white flags hang limply in the steamy stillness. “We all know that Pakistan is finished,” said one Bengali, “but we hope the flags will keep the soldiers away.” As another form of insurance, portraits of Pakistan’s late founder Mohammed Ali Jinnah, and even the current President Agha Mohammed Yahya Khan, were displayed prominently. But there was no mistaking the fact that the East Pakistanis viewed the army’s occupation of Dacca as a setback and not surrender. “We will neither forgive nor forget,” said one Bengali. On learning that I was a sangbadik (journalist), various townspeople led me to mass graves, to a stairwell where two professors were shot to death, and to scenes of other atrocities.
The most savage killing occurred in the Old City, where several sections were burned to the ground. Soldiers poured gasoline around entire blocks, igniting them with flamethrowers, then mowed down people trying to escape the cordons of fire. “They’re coming out!” a Westerner heard soldiers cry, “Kill the bastards!”
One Bengali businessman told of losing his son, daughter-in-law and four grandchildren in the fire. Few apparently survived in the destroyed sections-25 square blocks-of the Old City. If they escaped the flames, they ran into gunfire. To frighten survivors, soldiers refused to allow the removal of decomposing bodies for three days, despite the Moslem belief in prompt burial, preferably within 24 hours, to free the soul.
Next Prime Minister. The tales of brutality are seemingly endless. A young man whose house was being searched begged the soldiers to do anything, but to leave his 17 years-old sister alone; they spared him so he could watch them murder her with a bayonet. Colonel Abdul Hai, a Bengali physician attached to the East Bengal Regiment, was allowed-to make a last phone call to his family, an hour later his body was delivered to his home. An old man who decided that Friday prayers we re more important than the curfew was shot to death as he walked into a mosque.
About 1:30 on the morning of the attack, two armored personnel carriers arrived at the Dhanmandi home of Sheikh Mujibur ( “Mujib”) Rahman, 51, the political leader behind the campaign for Bengali independence. Mujib first took refuge beneath a bed when the Special “Security Group commandos began to spray his house with smallarms fire. ‘Then, during a lull, he went to the downstairs veranda, raised his hands in surrender and shouted. “There is no need for shooting. Here I am, Take me.”
–