BIRTH OF A NATION – Enayet Mowla

BIRTH OF A NATION – Enayet Mowla

বিশেষ দ্রষ্টব্যঃ কপিরাইট সমস্যা যাতে না হয় সেকারণে সকল লেখা শুধুমাত্র ‘only Readable’, ‘non-downloadable’ ও ‘non-clickable’ রাখা হয়েছে। সংগ্রামের নোটবুকের সকল নথি-পত্রিকা-দলিল-সংকলন-বই থেকে নেয়া তথ্য-ছবি-ভিডিও শুধুমাত্র গবেষণার কাজে ব্যবহার্য। বাংলাদেশের স্বাধীনতা সংগ্রাম ও মুক্তিযুদ্ধ গবেষণার জন্য সংগ্রামের নোটবুক একটি অলাভজনক অবাণিজ্যিক স্বেচ্ছাশ্রমে গড়া প্রচেষ্টা।

Foreword
This is the history of a war the world has not known after the genocide committed in Nazi Germany during the second world war. Unfortunately, not much is known about it as it’s history was neglected by the contemporary historians and authors both though approximately four million men, women and children died in it. This vast number of casualty in a total land area of only fifty six thousand square miles is considered high and there were very few families in the country who did not lose any of their members during the war. The exact number is not known even to this day as many of them were buried in unmarked mass graves. Bones of nameless people are still being found lying scattered in open fields and bushes without anybody knowing who they were. Anybody using a computer can learn about the background of the war, but not how they died. Death in the field of battle is a normal occurrence, but when thousands of unarmed civilians were dragged out from their homes and shot, the word better suited for these actions is called genocide. Trudging on foot on impassable muddy roads, across marshes and rivers millions of others fled to the neighboring country India in their efforts to survive. Some of them perished on the way, while thousands of others died after they reached due to starvation and disease, as there was nobody to look after them. Most of them unfortunately died without knowing why they had to die. I happen to be one of the lucky ones myself who had survived. I had no interest in politics and was not a historian either. Somehow I got involved in the war like many others in those days and I am writing now what I saw, including my own experiences and day to day occurrences during those turbulent days. Many others have written about their first hand experiences during the war, but as far as I know none for the readers abroad.
The decision to write about the war was taken after a curious incident couple of years ago. I was present in a party in New York where a large number of people including grown up boys and girls of Bengali ancestry were present. Some of their friends from other nationalities were there too. Growing up and educated in US, not many of them could neither read or write in Bengali or knew much about the war either and except what they had been told by others, their knowledge about the war was very limited. Living abroad for a long time their parents also lost touch with their own country and did not have much interest in something that happened a long time ago. While introducing me to his other friends, one of the boys I knew, mentioned that I was a freedom fighter in my country once. People present there were in a party mood but the announcement suddenly changed the topic. I was feeling uncomfortable in their midst. Their talks about the war continued for some time but then a Pakistani boy came forward and claimed that the reports of the killings and devastations in Bangladesh during the 1971 war were nothing more than publicity stunt. According to him nothing happened worth mentioning in the war and he had books to prove his claim. I moved away silently as I had no intention to get involved in a serious discussion while the party was in progress as I did not have anything to prove different. Some of the Bengali boys confided later that they were interested to know about the activities and sacrifices of their forefathers that gave the country its freedom, but under the present circumstances they were helpless. They knew that hundreds of books were published after the war, but only in Bengali which they could not read. In fact, I wrote a couple of books myself in Bengali about the war. The wanted books in English, a language they knew. I kept thinking what the boy said and decided to help them if I could.
This is the history of the Liberation War of Bangladesh in 1971, as I saw it, and I guarantee full authenticity of the facts mentioned herein. Incidentally, after the publication of the first book I wrote on the liberation war in Bengali in 1993, the Army became interested in what I wrote and an independent enquiry was carried out by them to determine the authenticity of the facts. They went to places, interviewed people in this connection. Satisfied with what they found, they wanted to contact me but could neither find me nor my house Kakoli. They kept on searching until they found Khorshed, a boy who was a freedom fighter. Years had passed and by that time many changes took place. In order to repay my debts and to solve my financial difficulties I had to sell my residential house Kakoli and shifted my family to a small low priced apartment in the suburbs. It was a new and different life for us. One day we saw a big black army vehicle was moving up and down the street we live on stopping here and there occasionally, obviously to make enquiries. We had no particular interest as we had nobody in the army. The car suddenly turned around and stopped right in front of our building. A middle aged man came out of the car, waved at us and a few minutes later came up to our living room. I was surprised as I never saw the gentleman before. After introducing himself he explained why he came. He was a Colonel in the Army, stationed in the Halisahar Cantonment and came to see me in connection of an enquiry. Several weeks ago he received a book from the Army Head Quarters and was asked to submit a report enquiring about the facts mentioned in it. He pulled out a book from a black bag. It was my book, published a couple of years ago. We talked for a long time. The Colonel had many questions to ask and I answered as much as I could, until it was getting dark. He assured me before leaving that he was going to send his report to the Army Head Quarters and we might hear from them in the future. I did not. Unfortunately, I have forgotten the name of the Army Officer now who came to meet me. The boy Khorshed, who sent him to me remembers him well. He is no longer a boy though. As an elderly man Khorshed still lives in his own house in Nasirabad and could be found if necessary.
I am grateful to my good friend Mofidul Hoque, the renowned publisher in Dhaka, for the publication of this book. My first book on the liberation war written in Bengali was published by him too. Not being a full time author, I needed help and it would have been impossible otherwise to publish it without his help as I am living now in US. While talking over telephone I told him once that very few people living here of Bengali ancestry had any knowledge of the Liberation War. During his occasional visits in US he knew about that too and agreed that something should be done to address the problem.
I am particularly grateful to my friend Mary Miner who helped me to prepare the manuscript, as I can neither write nor type with my frozen fingers these days. There would have been no manuscript without her help. Then I asked for help and got it from my nephew Mahtab Haider too who took it upon himself to do a grand job of editing. It is needless to mention that my publisher Mofidul Hoque himself is also in the background, a dedicated man, always ready to salvage the history of the Liberation War from being lost forever. I admire him and wish him well.
Enayet Mowla
Houston, Texas USA

Prelude
I understand that very few people in the world know much about the small country in South Asia known as Bangladesh and before proceeding further I think it is advisable to write a few lines giving the background of the country. At one time before the war, Bangladesh was known as East Pakistan. Before getting independence from the British rule, there was a general election in India in 1946, after which India was divided in two parts. One part remained as India but the other part on the western side of India became known as West Pakistan, while another small part on the eastern side became East Pakistan. It was mainly populated by Bengali speaking people. This decision taken by the local leaders at that time to join Pakistan was a bad mistake and the people in East Pakistan soon found out that they had nothing in common with those who lived in the western wing. Because of these differences they soon began having disputes and continuous troubles in almost every matter. It went on like that until the situation came to a head in 1970, when a political party under the leadership of their Bengali leader Sk. Mujibur Rahman won the Presidential election by acquiring the highest number of seats. The President of Pakistan, General Yahiya promised and assured earlier that power would be handed over to the victorious party. The people in East Pakistan became jubilant hearing the announcement. The election result however was totally unexpected and absolutely unacceptable to the west Pakistanis. Under pressure from the local politicians in the west and the senior Army generals, the President began hedging. It was a peculiar situation. When the elected member in the eastern wing were celebrating the victory and getting ready to
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receive their West Pakistani counterparts to join them in a meeting in the National Assembly, the West Pakistanis refused to come. Meetings and dialogues behind the scene began between the leaders of both wings and continued for months, but without results. People in general were not happy. They did not know much but could guess what was going on and did not like any of it. Meetings, processions and protests began all over East Pakistan and thus the groundwork for the war was created. The West Pakistani leader Zulfiquar Ali Bhutto, whose party won a large number of seats in the west visited East Pakistan again and again, presumably to have talks, though it was never clear what kind of talks was necessary after winning an election and it was not understood by the people either. They remained in the dark and the conditions gradually deteriorated as the talks continued.
Though East Pakistan was a small country, it was densely populated and it was difficult to hide anything from the eyes and ears of the population. Always there was a leak somewhere. In the beginning of the month of February, 1971, big crates without any markings began to arrive from West Pakistan in large numbers for the Army garrisons. Workers in the port noted those crates. Almost at the same time the inter wing domestic flights of the government owned Pakistan International Airlines (PIA) from West Pakistan to Dhaka more than doubled. Flights came at all hours, but in spite of the increase of flights, people in general found it almost impossible to get a seat in any flight to travel. It was also surprising that after arriving from the west, the aircrafts in their return flights normally went back empty. It was reported further that the people who came in these flights did not look like normal travelers at all. There were no ladies, no old people, children or no baggage either. Only tough looking young men in civilian clothes came in as passengers. There were all kinds of rumors in the air and we learnt too late that regular soldiers were being brought in from the west in the guise of passengers to strengthen the army garrisons. We came to know also that the big unmarked crates in the port contained ammunition and equipments for the local garrisons. As political talks continued with the leaders, the army was getting ready for a war in East Pakistan. Evidently, the Pakistanis decided a long ago what action they would take in case the East Pakistanis did not agree to forget all about the election and the election results. They wanted power and they meant
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to have it in any way they could. To them, Presidential election was nothing but a farce. There is one point however which is not very clear in my mind even today. There were foreign embassies in Dhaka of all the big nations of the world and by the reports of their own intelligence services knew fully well what was going on. It is understood that they are not supposed to interfere in the internal affairs of a country, but a questionable action by any government ceases to be considered an “internal affairs” when their armies open fire killing hundreds of thousands of the country’s own unarmed citizens. It becomes a genocide.
As the West Pakistanis were getting ready for the war, the people on the eastern wing were busy in holding meetings and shouting protests. They also decided to go on strike. All the educational institutions, industrial establishments, offices including government offices, banks, railways with public transports, ports and everything else joined in the strike except the public utility services. Even the Police Department became inactive. The whole country was paralyzed. This strike was the first step taken by the people of East Pakistan to strike back and it was successful. People suffered but nobody came forward to protest. The strike continued on and on for weeks and the fateful month of March arrived at last. There were all kinds of rumors and some thought that the situation would ultimately lead to a war but very few actually believed it. It was unbelievable to think that winning an election could end up in war. There is another point to note. It was true that the Bengalis were too many in numbers, but they had no arms and neither had the training to use those. The people in general disliked firearms of all kinds. East Pakistan is a delta where the land is fertile with hundreds of rivers, both big and small and canals passed through it. The climate is mild. A weapon of any kind did not fit in with the kind of life they were accustomed to live. That was one of the reasons why they had to leave and go across the border to India later for learning how to use arms when the war ultimately came because they did not know how to use those even if they get those.
The first indication of trouble came soon. About 30 miles from Dhaka there was a small garrison in Joydebpur, where a smail contingent of new army recruits were stationed under training. On 20th of March a company of armed soldiers left the main Dhaka
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garrison to disarm the trainees at Joydebpur as most of the recruits were Bengalis. The trainees resisted and escaped with all the aims: they had before they were attacked again with more strength. People in the port city of Chittagong or elsewhere in the country, heard about this incident as a vague rumor. The second indication was in Chittagong right at our door step. A report came on 23rd that two ships arrived at the port fully loaded with war materials. The authorities tried to persuade the workers to unload the ships but failed. When it became known that the port workers were being forced to unload the ships at gun point, thousand of people ran towards the port. Others erected barricades on the roads to prevent them to bring the cargo of the two ships to the garrison. There were clashes when the people were fired upon and some died in their efforts. They were the first casualties of the war that began on 25th of March when the Army with their armored vehicles came out in Dhaka and descended upon the sleeping population at night. Tired day laborers after a hard day’s work were killed while sleeping on the pavements, sleeping push cart drivers died on their carts in the same manner, and so died many others by being burnt alive in hundreds of their thatched flimsy huts.
Only minutes before all these happened at night, a wireless message arrived from Dhaka announcing the final decision of the supreme high command of Awami League, the political party in power. According to the announcement, the East Pakistan was declared independent from that moment and was renamed Peoples’ Republic of Bangladesh. The military authorities tried to hide the background of the war including what was happening on the streets at that very moment. Their first action was to surround all the foreigners living in the country, take them to the airport and deport them immediately. Their plea was that the country was in a civil war and the Pakistan government was no longer in a position to guarantee their safety. Actually, the military authorities did not want them to see what was going on, but by that time most of them not only knew what was happening, but carried some photographs of the atrocities being committed on the civil population as well. In a day or two some of those photographs appeared in the newspapers of many countries of the world.
The Pakistan Government tried to divert the world attention in
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another direction by calling the protesting Bengalis as cessationists forgetting that if the Bengalis really wanted a cessation, they would not have participated in the election at all. According to them, a small minority unruly group of men were forcing the peace loving people of East Pakistan to do something they did not want, blaming them for the killings, lootings, burnings and all other devastations in the country. Thus the one sided war began on 25th of March, 1971 when people died in large numbers, as they had nothing with which to defend themselves. It took them a long time to get organized and as thousands of guerilla fighters became active all over the country, the situation slowly changed. The war ended ultimately on 16th of December, 1971 when more than hundred thousand regular soldiers of the Pakistan Army, in addition to the soldiers of other paramilitary forces surrendered to the allied forces of the Freedom Fighters and Indian Army. ..
One particular development worth mentioning followed after the initial Proclamation of Independence over radio on 26th of March. A large meeting was held on 17th of April in Meherpur, Kuthtia, a district on the western part of the country. The organized meeting was attended by all the senior members of the Awami League and hundred of others. large number of foreign journalists were also present there. The Proclamation of Independence was read again and an announcement was made regarding the formation of the new Government of Bangladesh in exile. Remembering the national hero Sk. Mujibur Rahman who was then in a Pakistani jail, Syed Nazrul Islam was named as the Acting President and Tajuddin Ahmed, the Prime Minister. People attending the meeting danced, roared in their happiness assured the government of their support. Whole proceedings of the meeting was relayed to us by the courtsey and efforts of some of our people who were connected with broadcasting before the war. Actually the whole cabinet was formed right there naming others as ministers in charge, including one Khondker Mushtaque, a black sheep in disguise in the family of freedom fighters. Because of his manipulations and intrigues, the founding Father of Bangladesh Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman and four leading members of the first government the country had, were murdered in jail few years later when the country ultimately became free.
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Part One

Chapter-1
Sitting on a chair in front of my house I was trying to read a book, but I found it very difficult to concentrate as a big procession, carrying banners and shouting slogans, was passing by on the road in front of me. It was not the only one that day. I was thinking of going inside to escape the noise when a boy ran up and told me that a meeting of the local ‘action committee’ was going to be held that evening at the residence of my neighbour Azizul Huq. I was asked to be present. I wasn’t aware that I was a member of any such committee and did not know how I had become one. I told him, however, that I would be there. Similar meetings in those initial days of March, 1971, were being held frequently everywhere. Normally I tried to avoid these as far as possible because I did not understand politics and did not like spending hours somewhere listening to others shouting their heads off. Also, I never saw these meetings come to a fruitful end, even once. Suggestions of agreements, disagreements, proposals, counter proposals, formation of committees or sub-committees followed one after another, and the meetings usually ended without any decision at all. Despite my aversion, I had to attend these meetings as I was new to this neighbourhood and I did not want the other residents to think that I was not with them or did not support them. After the construction of my new house was over, I had moved here with my family two years ago, but the locals and my neighbours, particularly the older residents, still considered me an outsider. I had to keep that in mind in every action I could possibly take.
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The meeting was already in progress when I arrived in Mr. Azizul Huq’s house in the evening. Looking around, I found that Azizur Rahman, an engineer who worked at the oil refinery, was seated in one of the back rows. I liked this man and therefore went over and sat beside him. We had many things in common and, like me, he disliked attending meetings. When I inquired about the agenda, he told me that there was none that he knew of. A discussion was ongoing to decide what actions we should take for our defence in case the Pakistan Army decided to attack.
I thought it over. I did not think we would be attacked, but if we were, there was virtually no defence.
The large army garrison was very close to the city on one side, and the navy had a big installation including a base on the other, guarding the port from any approach from the sea. And if they wanted to, they could crush any of our defensive manoeuvres in no time at all. Our friends here were convinced though, that sooner or later we would be attacked, but I couldn’t understand why these fantastic thoughts were being deliberated upon.
Every day we were being told on the radio and television by the Awami League high command that everything was fine and under control. The people should remain calm and not do anything rash. That we should allow our elected representatives to do what was best for us and the country. I did not understand what to believe. The meeting ended after a couple of hours; as usual without any decisions whatsoever, and I returned home.
I had bad dreams that night and did not sleep well.
I was sipping my morning cup of tea when my wife came and sat by me. My family was small. In addition to my wife, there were two children; our son, aged ten, and our daughter, who was eight. There were two other helpers, Shahidullah, and Mokhles – a boy of fourteen – who helped my wife cook, keep the big house clean, as well as help with gardening and other housework. There was another boy. My wife had picked him up somewhere and since then he had grown up with us as a member of our family. His name was Taher. All told we had seven members in the family. We had leased the upper floor of our house to a bank, and the manager lived there with his family. He was a man from West Pakistan, on leave at the time. One of his office peons, Ali, lived there at night as a
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caretaker. We loved our new home and named it ‘Kakoli’. It is the Bangla word for the sweet chirpings of birds or the noise that children make while playing. There was a fairly big lawn in front of the building, surrounded by flower beds, where not only our children, but those of our neighbours came to play. My wife was very fond of gardening and she supervised everything that was done there.
I remember some of the happiest and carefree times for our family as the political uncertainties of 1971 started brewing. Everything had changed suddenly, and there was no place for us to go and nothing to do, except occasionally visiting the residences of Azizul Huq, an advocate, and his brother in law Dr. Rabiul Hossain, a dentist, and the common topic of all our discussions was the developing situation.
The situation was a peculiar one. The people of East Pakistan were unhappy because of the step-motherly treatment they received from the West Pakistanis, who were always in control since the partition of India in 1947. The situation came to a head when the Presidential elections came up in 1970, and people of both wings of Pakistan lined up eagerly to vote, but the outcome turned out to be something that the people in the ‘west’ had not foreseen. When the election results were announced it was found that the Awami League, occupied the largest number of seats, beating all other candidates both in the East and the West wings of the country. The East Pakistanis were jubilant believing that for the first time ever, since the partition of India and the formation of Pakistan in 1947, the Bengalis would be asked to form the government and their representative Sheikh Mujibur Rahman would be the next president.
The incumbent president of Pakistan, the military strongman General Yahya Khan had promised earlier that he would hand over power to any party that won the national election, but he was silent now.
The Awami League leader Mujibur Rahman invited the elected members from West Pakistan to come over to Dhaka for the first meeting of the National Assembly, but West Pakistani leader Zulfiqur Ali Bhutto announced openly that ‘anybody who would go to Dhaka to attend the meeting would be liquidated on his return’,
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and his warning was published in all the national dailies of Pakistan. The political situation became more complicated as it gradually became clear that the West Pakistanis were unwilling to hand over power to an elected regime.
Failing to proceed in the normal manner, the East Pakistanis under full control of the Awami League adopted a policy of noncooperation with the federal government. All industrial establishments, schools, colleges and everything else were closed, except for the public utility services and hospitals. The banks were operating on part time basis, and the ports were clearing only selected items that the people needed. Nobody knew how long this situation would continue or where the country was headed.
There were all sorts of rumours in the air. Some said stray rioting had already started in some ‘Bihari’ areas. A large number of Urdu speaking people who had migrated from India at the time of the partition of India were locally called Biharis. It was reported that by and large they were sympathetic to the interests of the West Pakistani ruling elite and were helping them. The people, in general, were in a highly jubilant mood. As the offices, educational institutions, mills or factories etc., were closed, people were free to do what they liked and thousands of them came out on the streets carrying banners and shouting slogans.
Hundreds of meetings were being held daily everywhere where the political leaders were shouting themselves hoarse. I was working at a plywood manufacturing mill in those days, in the Nasirabad industrial area of Chittagong. Though the mill was closed, I used to go there sometimes to have a look because there were valuable machineries and equipment lying around and I was particularly worried for the security guards.
One day I decided to go to have a look to find out if the guards had also disappeared. I was surprised to find a large number of the workers at the mill premises, with the Bihari workers notably missing. The workers had no business being at the mill as it was closed. Seeing my car coming in, they gathered around me shouting “Joy Bangla” slogans. I talked to them, enquired after their well being and found them all in a happy but militant mood. They knew nothing about politics, but understood that after winning an election, the present government was trying to cheat them again in
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the same way they had done in the past. They knew, that after winning the election, our representative Sheikh Mujibur Rahman ought to be the next president of Pakistan, but the people at the top were hedging and wanted to shove the Bengalis out again. They had one common question: they wanted to know why elections were held at all if the people in the ‘west’ did not want to abide by the results. I had no answer to that. The same question was on the minds of millions of people in the country but I did not think that anybody had the answers.
A new road was being built near my house and was in the final stage of completion. This road would later be connected with the Arakan Road and yet later with a proposed highway, linking it with north Myanmar and maybe China. This road was not yet open to public vehicles, but to the consternation of those who came here for a peaceful walk in the mornings or evenings, they found it always occupied by learners who came in large numbers to practice driving their cars. With too many learners around walking on this road became a hazard. As there was nothing much to do, it became part of my routine to come here for walks, cautiously. One day while walking, I met another neighbour of mine, Nazrul Siddiqui, who gave me startling news. He told me that large crates had been arriving to the Chittagong harbour jetty for some time from West Pakistan earmarked for the Army garrisons. There was a rumour that there were arms, ammunition and military hardware in those crates and the Bengali workers working there were getting more and more suspicious. There was another piece of news: the PIA (Pakistan International Airlines) had increased their daily flights from the airports in West Pakistan to Dhaka. Instead of regular passengers, soldiers in plainclothes were coming in large numbers to increase the strength of the local garrisons. When I enquired about the source of the information, he smiled and replied “horse’s mouth”. So, here was another rumour. There were so many rumours around, it was becoming impossible to separate the ones that might have an inkling of truth. Siddiqui, however, felt that this particular news rang true. He had come to know that most of the additional flights came at night when there were few people in the airports to see what was going on. As for the clearance of arms and ammunition in the port, it was an open secret, “common
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knowledge”. A heavy crate had reportedly broken open at the port revealing military equipment inside, but nobody knew what they should do about it. I came back home thinking that the country and the people backed the Awami League, but the Army did not, and there was no way of stopping them from doing what the people did not like.
The information was reported to the local Awami League authorities and that was all. The leaders did not themselves know what they should do about it or what should be the correct procedure for handling a situation like this. The older people suggested restraint, but the hot-headed younger generation felt that they had had enough. They began pressing the leaders to declare independence. I sat glancing through the pages of the newspaper one day after breakfast. There was nothing new. Our political leaders were still continuing their discussions with their visiting Pakistani counterparts, but the local people, particularly the students, were getting impatient. People believed that the leaders from West Pakistan came to Dhaka just to divert our attention. What they actually wanted was sufficient time to stockpile their garrisons with more armaments, and many said they were buying time by lengthening the talks. I heard the same opinion from many sources and though considered a rumour, it was spreading fast. Someday soon, when they were fully prepared, they would remove their masks and show their true selves, and it might be too late for us by then.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a metallic clang at the gate of my house, which was being pushed open by a large group of boys, mostly teenagers, coming in. They were carrying hunting rifles and shotguns. I got up to meet them and enquired what they wanted. One of them shouted back that they were collecting arms of all kinds for the defense of our city because they were going to fight the Pakistan Army if they attacked. They had heard somewhere that hunting was my hobby and I had some rifles and guns in my house. I was amused. Looking at the way they were carrying the shotguns, some 0.22 and a few heavier rifles, it did not take me long to understand that they were not used to handling guns and knew nothing about which guns were suitable in warfare. I was a hunter and I did have some expensive guns and good quality
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rifles, but I did not want to lose them. I decided to be tactful and replied in a jovial manner that they were doing a good job. Fighting for the defense of their country was patriotic, but did they know how to use the guns they were collecting? Looking at each other they were suddenly very quiet. God or some angel in heaven must have smiled at that question of mine, as that single question ultimately got me involved with the war effort. A young boy weighed down with several guns shouted from the back to attract my attention. Pushing through the crowd he came in front of me and addressing me as ‘Uncle’, said that he knew that I was a good hunter and had won trophies in shooting championships on many occasions. They badly needed somebody to teach them how to shoot: they wanted a coach, and they all believed that I was the right man. For a few minutes they talked among themselves and went to my living room inside. Leaving all the guns and rifles they had collected on the carpet they left, assuring me that they would be back with more later. As I was to be their coach, it was my responsibility to keep the arms they had collected. Standing where I was I could only stare as they filed past. They returned the following day carrying more guns and brought some of the local leaders with them this time. The leaders expressed their gratitude to me for agreeing to train the boys in handling guns for the defense of our city, though I did not remember having agreed to this arrangement. In any case. I told them that I would try to do whatever I could, but the arrangements for the training must be made by them. I did not like the big pile of guns in my living room which, according to them, would be getting bigger and bigger, as they were still continuing with their efforts to collect more arms from the public. I asked them to get some policemen to guard the arms and ammunition lying in my living room. The elderly gentleman with whom I talked nodded and telephoned somebody. Five minutes later a Sub Inspector of Police from the local Police Station arrived on a motorcycle. That was the first time I saw a police officer taking orders from a politician and half a dozen policemen arrived soon to guard the armoury. It was another inconvenience I had to face. I did not like their way of guarding, trampling all over the carpet with their dirty boots and using my house as if it was their own. However there was nothing I could do.
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I was informed later in the evening over telephone that two public buses would arrive in front of my house next morning fully loaded with those who wanted to learn shooting firearms. It seemed childish, but there was nothing I could do. My job was to train the boys so that they could fight the attackers with the weapons they had collected. There were about two hundred shotguns and 0.22 bore rifles and a dozen hunting rifles with a limited number of shells.
The next morning, the buses arrived on time with a large number of people of all ages, shouting all kinds of slogans. The majority of them were young, but there were some older men too and all were in a jubilant mood. Some of the local leaders, including Azizul Huq, his brother-in-law Dr. Rabiul Hossain and others also came and joined them. I followed them in my own car. I was told that our destination was Kumira, a small place in the hills not very far from the city. We had to go slowly as the roads were choked with people and processions carrying banners. Ultimately about half way out we had to stop. Our leaders said something and sent some of our boys to talk to the people on the road so that we could pass through. I saw them talking pointing at our buses and the road was cleared magically. When I enquired what the magic word the boys had used that persuaded the other people to clear the road so quickly, Azizul Huq replied with a laugh that they’d said that we were going to the hills for arms training. Pointing at me he had added that an expert trainer was with them and he would train them to fight the Pakistanis. I did not like this. The main reason for our coming so far was to keep our efforts secret and giving it such open publicity in my opinion, was nothing but foolishness. We arrived at Kumira soon. It was a horticulture farm, a nice place with many tall trees around to give us shade and shelter from the hot March sun. The boys were eager to get started but they were soon disappointed when they saw that I had brought only two shotguns and two rifles with me in my car with a limited number of shells. I did not want anybody to die an accidental death on my very first day. I tried my best to do what I had gone there for. I taught them how to load and unload rifles or guns, how to take aim etc. I did not expect much from them as most of them had never handled a gun before. It takes a long time to train a man to handle
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a gun and even longer to make him a soldier. Their performance was not much to speak of but I was amazed to see their eagerness to learn. After spending the whole day in the hills of Kumira we returned in the evening. I did not believe that they had learned much, but their spirits were high. I asked the same question to our leaders who accompanied us. Most of them shook their heads. Their opinion was that they had learnt nothing, but in case there was a war, most of them were determined to find ways to learn more on their own and fight the war in their own different ways. They did not know before what to do in case of a war, but they knew now.
Our arms training program in the hills of Kumira continued for another week. There were some developments during this time. Our national leaders were still busy talking to their Pakistani counterparts in Dhaka without any noticeable result, and in the meantime several serious clashes with the Biharis were reported in different places of the country. Some dead bodies were found in Chittagong, but the Awami League authorities again failed to take any action as the Police Department was virtually inactive. The feeling that prevailed among the public was that something serious was going to happen now, but nobody could guess what it could be. There was a difference of opinion among our leaders who organised our arms training programme in the hills of Kumira. Most of them thought that it had gone too far and now it was no longer necessary to play hide and seek. There was a small hillock right in front of the houses we lived in and they decided that our arms training program would be held there in the future. Ours was a new residential area with a few scattered buildings and open grounds on all sides. They thought that by arranging the training inside the city, the problems of transportation and midday meals could be avoided. I did not like this idea, but my lone voice objecting to this arrangement was against far too many and I was outvoted. Our training program began again and this time right on our door step with elaborate arrangements. Women came in large numbers, and being a good shooter, my wife was elected to take charge of the women. Along with large gatherings of curious onlookers, newspaper reporters also came to watch. In a day or two photographs appeared in the local papers showing me and my wife
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training others to handle arms in general. As a result, other training camps cropped up in the city too. Unfortunately, like many other countries of the world at wartime, we also had our share of quislings in the country. I came to know later that everything we did at the time was reported to the military authorities in detail, and my house and I automatically became targets. I knew nothing about it at the time.
Our arms training programme in the city did not continue too long. The leaders became busy elsewhere doing what they considered more important, rather than supervising our arms training programme. The policemen kept as guards in my home departed, leaving a large pile of arms and ammunition on the carpet of my living room. I did not like having so many arms lying unguarded in the house, but there was nothing I could do. The boys came at all hours with questions that I could not answer. As far as I can recall, the date was around the 20th or 21st of March. There were frequent reports of clashes between Bengalis and ‘Biharis’ all over the country. Talks were still continuing in Dhaka with the West Pakistani representatives, the local people were still being advised to remain calm with assurances that we were making progress. Nobody knew how long this situation would continue or when it was going to end. Rumours came in that the Pakistani Army had tried to disarm the Bengali soldiers of a paramilitary force known as East Pakistan Rifles (EPR), stationed in the garrison of Gazipur, near Dhaka. The attempt had failed because of the resistance of the Bengali soldiers and they escaped with all arms they had. I received a sudden summons to attend an urgent meeting in the evening, as usual in the house of our neighbour Azizul Huq. I found the house full with many others wandering outside. The spokesman was short and curt. He said that two fully loaded ships had arrived at the Chittagong Port carrying a cargo of a large quantity of arms, ammunition and many kinds of equipment required by the army in warfare but the port workers had refused to unload the ships. Our people had approached the local people directly this time and with their help they were now erecting barricades all along the roadway. The idea was to prevent the Army from carrying the arms to their garrison, even if they could manage to unload the two ships at the port. This information was passed on
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to the leaders of our area as well as to all other areas through which the Army vehicles would have to pass. It was a tense moment and there was not much talk in the room. The meeting ended soon when everybody agreed to do what they could to erect blockades on the direct road to the garrison that was only twenty feet from my house. I returned home in a thoughtful mood. Minutes later, some of the leaders, who had been at the meeting, came to my house and asked me to take them to the Port in my car. They wanted to see how the barricades were being made. I took them out, but could not go very far. Only half a mile from my house a couple of trucks with the wheels removed were lying on the road completely blocking it. Leaving my car we began walking and found other trucks and buses in the same condition blocking the roadway. In other places piles of rocks, bricks, big logs and a lot of rubbish were piled up blocking the road. We had to return two or three hours later in a foul mood. I was not very happy. There had been too many barricades but they had all been clearly put up in a hurry and I thought they were completely useless. It would not be very difficult and would not take much time to remove all those if a couple of bulldozers were to force their way through. Intelligence, and even common sense, were lacking in the way the blockades had been erected.
Hearing loud shouts and a commotion outside I got up early next morning and found hundreds of people on the road, some carrying sticks of bamboo in their hands. One of them told me that they were going to the port to put a stop to the Army’s efforts to transport the arms to the local garrison. Half an hour later a group of local boys arrived. They said that they would fight if necessary, but they would never allow the Pakistani soldiers to carry the cargo from the two newly arrived ships to the garrison. To fight they needed arms and they wanted all the guns and rifles that had been lying with me. Not knowing what to do I telephoned some of the leaders, but they were evasive in their replies. I understood. Under the prevailing conditions they were as helpless as I was. I sat there looking, while the boys gathered and carried most of the arms away. Most of the weapons they had were shotguns and some 0.22 calibre rifles. I tried to stop them. I tried to make them understand that a battle could not be fought with trained soldiers using the guns they had,
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but nobody listened to me. As far as they knew, guns were guns. I was told later that they had actually fought with what they had and some of them died fighting the Army in the Port area. In the afternoon I saw later a long line of heavy army trucks proceeding towards the Port with a contingent of fully equipped soldiers, along with some bulldozers. Sporadic chatter of automatic gunfire floated down to us in the evening and throughout the whole night, but that was all we heard. We had been waiting to see what would happen next, but the day next day was more or less quiet, except that the trucks that had gone to the Port the day before returned with more armed guards. Unable to sleep at night I came out and was sitting on a cane chair near the gate, when I saw somebody running towards me. He was a local boy. He said that a very important message from Dhaka had been received by the local authorities. The discussions at the top level had failed and our leader, the head of Awami League, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, had declared our country independent and the declaration had come through the wireless. It was about eleven o’clock at night. So what we expected all along had finally happened. Unfortunately, it took the people at the top a long time to recognise the situation for what it was. As the boy left running again, I stood up and proceeded towards the house of Azizul Huq. He was awake and had received the news over the phone too. The next morning I saw thousands of crudely designed green flags of the new nation flying from the tops of houses all over the city. The question that weighed on my mind was: ‘Now what?’
As I remember it, the date was 25th of March, 1971, when all our miseries began. In the morning I went out to have a look. There was virtually nothing or nobody on the normally busy road outside. Except for a few rickshaws, not a single man or any kind of vehicle could be found anywhere. There was only silence, but the silence was not natural. I thought that something must have happened the night before. Some of my neighbours came to meet me later into the morning. They told me that the cantonment area was surrounded by thousands of men trying to prevent the army from getting out and the army had opened fire on them using all kinds of automatic weapons that night. Casualties were heavy, but the Army was still there inside the garrison. I made a telephone call to my
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mill to find out if the workers were still there. They were. They assured me that they would leave when necessary, but not before, They had guts alright. Some of us went for a short walk to meet our other neighbours but returned soon as it was too hot in the sun. We were preparing to have lunch, when a boy came in and reported that three men in khaki shorts and sweat shirts were sitting under the shade of a tree in front of my house. They looked like Bengali army men. I went out immediately and found them there, but as I was approaching, one of them suddenly broke into tears and began weeping. They were in a bad shape. Their story was that they were members of a contingent of Bengali soldiers in the Chittagong garrison. Approximately, a total of three hundred Bengali soldiers were in there. They had been trying to escape for a long time but found it impossible as they were always carefully guarded. Last night after dinner as they went to their beds, they were all rounded up by armed West Pakistani soldiers. In the chaos that followed in the dark, many of them had tried to escape. Some succeeded, but a large number of them were caught and shot. Some of them were locked up but they did not think that they would last very long. Though these three had managed to escape they had no idea where to go now. I brought them in. The table was set for our lunch. I told them to have a wash and eat first. Some of my neighbours walked in as they were eating. They considered the escaped army men valuable, as apart from a very few EPR and policemen, we did not have any trained men to help us. Trained army men like them could help us organize our own defences in a more satisfactory manner. When the escaped army men finished eating my neighbours took them away, but before leaving one of them turned around and thanked me for the lunch. He advised me to leave this house immediately and go somewhere in the city for the time being, as our house was directly on the route of the Army’s advance. I stared at their departing figures. For the first time it struck me that if the war came, I would be affected too.
The road in front of our house was completely vacant the next morning, but later a continuous flow of pedestrians from the north kept growing. Carrying bundles, small boxes and many household commodities, men, women and children were moving away from the Cantonment area. Safety and security were foremost in their
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minds, and many didn’t even know their destination yet. In the afternoon, we got quite a few of them in my house too. About a mile from my house, a railway track crossed the road that went directly to the Cantonment. I had a small factory of my own near the crossing with a few small presses and other equipment for making small items from tin plates. I gave this factory to an exmember of our household staff called Habib. He lived there with his pregnant wife and a younger brother, they worked together in the factory and earned well. They came to my house with their belongings to stay, but after the warning already given to me, I was not sure if they could stay there long. I went to the house of Azizul Huq in the evening and found Rabiul Hossain there too. I told them about the warning the army man had given in urging me to move out to a safer area inside the city. They listened to what I said but only nodded in response. Nothing much happened that day. At night however, the Navy on the other side started bombarding the city with their naval guns, completely disregarding where the shells fell. It continued for half an hour and then stopped. There were many casualties but there was nobody to whom we could go with our complaints. We were informed over telephone that soldiers from the naval Base were trying to break into the city, but our blockades and the determination of thousands of determined civilians held them back. There were some natural advantages in defending the city as it was hilly, and the defenders were using their advantages fully.
I received a telephone call from the mill workers the next morning. It was a surprise to find them still at the mills premises. They informed me that they could see some tanks about five hundred yards away from the mill gate. The tanks were not moving, but they wanted to know if they could do anything to stop the tanks if they advanced. I thought it over. I was not an army man and decided to solve the problem my way. The road in front of the mill was a secondary fifty feet wide road running parallel to the main road. For some reasons the tanks were trying to avoid using the main road. About fifty yards from the main mill gate there was a concrete culvert and a small but deep creek passed underneath. I told them to dig up the road on both sides of the culvert. The ground was damp and soft and I knew that the tanks would pass
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eventually, but the dug up road would cause delay. We had no further talks, but I found later that the workers did such a good job of digging that the tanks took one full day to cross it. While digging they had diverted the flow of the creek water on both sides of the concrete culvert, transforming the whole area in a swamp thus giving the city people more time to escape. The workers ran away after finishing their work, but the soldiers took revenge. Breaking the main gate they entered the mill compound and burned the mill down. They had quite unnecessarily fired a couple of rounds of shells from their tank guns at point blank range completely destroying a section and a side wall of the building.
Another bad news was passed on to us. We came to know that a big contingent of soldiers were advancing towards Chittagong from the Comilla garrison with tanks and all kinds of armoured vehicles with them. There was an appeal for help and thousands of civilians, including some EPR, Police and army people ran out to prepare a defence line. The place they chose was across the main highway at Kumira, where we had had our arms training before. They hurriedly prepared a defence line but it did not last very long, though it gave ample time to those who wanted to leave the city with their families. The date was the 26th of March. By this time the local radio station in Chittagong began to operate introducing itself as ‘the voice of independent Bangla’. Initially we heard nothing except gibberish, but the first important news that came through from an untrained voice around three in the afternoon announced that “by the proclamation of our leader Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, our country is now independent.” Though the fact was known to some of us, it was the first public announcement made openly to the general public over the existing broadcasting system regarding the independence of the country, naming it The Peoples Republic of Bangladesh. We came to know afterwards that this announcement was made by a journalist named Abul Kasem Sandip. It was later followed by two more announcements of the same nature by the local leader M. A. Hannan and Major Ziaur Rahman. Besides me, my family and thousands of others heard the announcements, but due to the important positions of the other two claimants, and for political reasons, nobody came forward to rectify the mistake. Abul Kasem Sandip’s name has now been
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struck off the list.
As time passed we could hear that the fighting was getting closer and closer. Along with heavy booming explosions, the continuous chatter of machine guns were now plainly audible and we decided that it was now time to shift our families. Azizul Huq suggested that we should go to his chamber in a congested area of the city. He had two rooms there. It would be uncomfortable to accommodate our three families in two small rooms but we thought that we could stay there for a day or two somehow. We thought we would put up there for a short time only until the situation settled down slightly and we would be able to return to our homes when it was calmer. In the afternoon we got into our cars taking only what we might need, and shifted our families to our temporary shelter. The rooms as we found out were very small, but somehow we managed to push ourselves in along with all the baggage that we had brought with us. These rooms were used by Azizul Huq as his chamber for his law practice. There was nothing to spread our beddings on and no arrangements for cooking meals. Having seen the conditions of the rooms, we decided that some of us should go back. The women and children would be safe here but the available space was not enough for all of us and we thought it would be more convenient if the male members of our three families spent the nights in our own homes. After all Taher, Mokhles, Shahidulla, Habib and his brother were still living in my house. It was also decided that we would spend the daylight hours with our families and leave to sleep in our own homes at nights. Accordingly, leaving the women and the children in Azizul Huq’s chamber, we went back. This arrangement seemed to be satisfactory as we thought that by sleeping on our own beds we could at least get a good night’s sleep. But to our consternation we found out that sleeping at night was not very easy as the noise and the sounds of fighting were coming steadily closer. We maintained contact with our families over telephone. Next morning my wife gave me a new list of some additional items that she needed, particularly one or two mosquito nets as nobody had been able to sleep the night before because of mosquitoes. We heard a special radio broadcast at night from Dhaka. General Tikka Khan, the East Pakistan army chief was sworn in by the Chief Justice B. A. Siddiqui as the Governor
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of East Pakistan. Earlier the Chief Justice had publicly refused to attend this ceremony. He had to do it later at gun point.
We got up very early next morning as the sound of gunfire was getting too close for comfort. Rabiul Hossain and Azizul Huq were up too. We found machine gun bullets ricocheting in all directions. Standing in front of my house I saw a heavy fight going on inside the Police Lines about three hundred yards away. It did not continue too long and soon all firing from the defensive positions stopped, possibly because of insufficient ammunition and I saw about twenty policemen coming out with their hands raised. Standing there we witnessed the most shockingly tragic scene right before our eyes. When the policemen came out and surrendered, all of them were lined up and shot. I stared as if hypnotized and came back to my senses only when the doctor pulled my hand. I had never seen people shot like that before. Under the circumstances I did not want to bring my red car out as it would invariably attract attention and decided to walk instead. Leaving everybody there I took only Taher with us this time to help us carry whatever things our families had asked for. The distance was not much but we decided to take another way through alleys and by lanes avoiding the main roads. We chanced upon another gruesome sight when we were in front of the Medical College Hospital. A wounded truck driver was trying to manoeuvre his truck through the narrow gates of the hospital. His truck was carrying about twenty blood soaked bodies. None of us had really had any idea about what we would have to face if the war came and we never believed that unarmed poor civilians could be shot down like this. We were not feeling well when we arrived. Our families were not expecting us so early and they got busy arranging breakfast. We were also impatient to get back because we wanted to reach our homes before the army advanced to our area. About an hour later when we were about ready to go back, a phone call came for Azizul Huq. The caller was one of his friends and when he learnt that we were about to go out on the road, his friend strongly advised against it. He said that the Pakistani soldiers were now everywhere and they were shooting everybody on the road. Our plan had to be changed now. I telephoned my house and had a talk with the people I had left behind. They said that there was not much activity in our area and
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they were safe. I instructed them to take off the new flag of Bangladesh flying atop our house and forbade them to leave the house under any circumstances. That was my last contact with them. I tried to phone frequently later but never got through. I was not particularly worried though because a large number of phones were already dead by that time.
Sitting together, we were trying to make out a plan for our future actions. We had thought before that the disturbances would be over in a day or two and then we would be able to get back to our individual homes. It was clear that we had guessed wrong and now it seemed that our problems were far from over. While talking, we suddenly heard airplanes outside and ran up to the roof to have a look. A small plane was flying slowly over the city, possibly an observation plane. Some shooters began firing with their guns but the plane was too high up, out of range. It flew over us slowly disregarding all the firing below. Sometime later we were preparing to take a midday nap because none of us had been able to sleep much last night, when we heard aircraft engines again. We ran to the roof immediately and saw two war planes zooming fast across the sky this time. After a few minutes both the planes started diving and the heavy booming sounds of bombing came to our ears. We couldn’t make out what part of the city was being bombed. Azizul Huq said it was somewhere up north. We learnt soon that the planes had bombed the radio transmitting station outside the city and after half a dozen dives both the planes had disappeared. The ‘voice of the independent Bangla’ radio was silenced and there would be no further broadcasts from there. When we turned round and came down from the roof, we were not in a mood for talk. Innocent people were being slaughtered by gunfire, mortar shells rained down on heavily populated areas with absolute disregard for human lives and now they were being bombed from the air too. We never thought that that the military administration would go that far. We had a short talk among ourselves because the women were unwilling to remain here any longer with the children. We must move again somewhere where there would be more space for all of us. Azizul Huq made a phone call again and had a talk with somebody who agreed to give us a temporary shelter for a day or two. His friend was living alone in his house as he had sent his
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family to his village home. It was then about four in the afternoon and as none of us were willing to stay here another night, we began to make hasty preparations to change our shelter again. We were ready in a short time, but there was the problem of transportation. Except for a few rickshaws, there was nothing on the road. Fortunately Taher was with us. He went out and after a long time managed to get four rickshaws. Four was not enough as there were too many of us; Habib’s pregnant wife was with us too. We decided to leave all our luggage behind, loaded the women and the children into the rickshaws, and when they started moving, the rest of us followed them on foot. Keeping a sharp lookout on all sides we proceeded slowly. We had been informed that the soldiers were now all over the city and we did not want to meet them face to face. Ultimately we arrived after a couple of hours. The owner of the house was also a legal practitioner and a close friend of Azizul Huq. Unfortunately I have forgotten this gentleman’s name. It was a big two storied building and we found that there would be no shortage of space here. We thought that we could rest here recovering the sleep we had already lost during the last few days. All we wanted then was some rest and a few hours of sleep, away from all the killings, fighting and excitement. We went in with the women and children, but Taher had to go back to bring in the things we had left behind.
Our satisfaction did not last long. Discussing the present situation, our host told us that his house was located near a ‘time bomb’ of sorts, which might go off at any time. Explaining further he said that we were now sitting within seventy yards of the Kotwali Police Station, an important target of the Pakistan Army. About hundred yards away a good number of policemen and local people had taken up a defensive position in the big court building located on a hilltop. It was sure to be attacked sooner or later and there was a further possibility that the attackers would take punitive actions against the people of the surrounding area. We knew all this all along, but hearing it from his lips, the words left an alarming impression. Looking at Azizul Huq he went on to speak further. He said that Azizul Huq was a well known man and a leading Awami Leaguer in Chittagong. It would be advisable for him to disappear and stay away from the city for a long time. It was my turn now.
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He looked at me and said that though I was not a politician, I had become a known face by getting involved with the arms training programme. My photos had appeared in a number of newspapers. He suggested that I should also disappear for the time being with Azizul Huq. We sat for another conference in the evening, and this time Dr. Rabiul Hossain, the youngest among us, took over the leadership. The doctor’s suggestion was short and simple. He said that the river Karnaphuli was only half a mile from where we were. He suggested that all of us should leave by boat, crossing the river next day for a distant village somewhere. We could stay there for some time and decide what to do next. I knew nothing about the area he proposed we should move to and therefore kept my mouth shut. He wanted to send somebody to make enquiries and hire boats for our three families. There was nobody there and then I remembered Taher. He had left about three hours earlier to collect the belongings we had left behind and had not returned. He should have returned by this time.
Taher came back when it was almost dark without any of the things for which he had been sent. Just by looking at him I realized that something serious must have happened. When I approached, he silently took me outside. After a few minutes he fell down on the ground and burst into tears. Sobbing uncontrollably he said that his friends, Habib, his brother, Shahidulla and Mokhles were all dead. The caretaker of our rented out upper floor, a young man named Ali, who was with them was seriously wounded, but still alive. It took him a long time to tell me the whole story. Soon after the last conversation that I had had over the phone with my boys, our house had been attacked. The soldiers had entered the building by breaking doors down and had shot everyone inside. Ali was shot five times, but fortunately none of the shots were fatal and he was still alive. The soldiers had ransacked the rooms, taken whatever valuables they could find and left. Ali was losing blood. Leaving the house he had crawled about two hundred yards or so and found another twenty or thirty dead bodies lying near the main road intersection. He was fortunate the second time as well. A truckload of soldiers had arrived when he was near the dead bodies and he remained still pretending to be dead. When the truck passed on he resumed his crawling again and this time he was seen by a rickshaw
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puller from a distance. He was picked up and taken to the address of Azizul Hoque’s chamber where we had been staying before shifting to our existing shelter. Ali was unconscious by then and as the rickshaw puller was making enquiries, Taher arrived to collect our belongings. Taher took him to the hospital in the same rickshaw. There was virtually nobody there except for a few attendants. They said that the after the army men shot an attending doctor and a couple of nurses on duty, all of them left. According to them, Ali’s injury was not serious and though he lost blood, he would live, provided the doctors returned soon. Right now Taher was coming directly from the hospital. I was thinking that I was the man who got them all involved. They were in this situation because of my actions and I realized that I would have been dead too if we had gone back as we had planned to do, but only our luck saved us. Habib’s pregnant wife was still with us. She did not know that her husband was already dead and she was a widow now.
Ali survived his injuries and I met him a couple of months later. He gave me a vivid account of what happened at my house on that fateful day. After I left Kakoli for the last time with Azizul Huq and the doctor, they received a phone call from me and that was their last contact with us. They were in a good mood though as there was no firing anywhere and the situation seemed calm. They saw a middle aged man running towards their house. He was dirty and dressed in torn clothes like a West Pakistani tribesman known as Pathan. As the man was struggling to open the locked front gate, one of the boys went out to let him in. The man was thoroughly frightened and weeping when he came in. Groveling at their feet he asked them to save his life. He came to East Pakistan to find a job and to make a living for himself and his family. If they did not save him, the local people would kill him for sure. The boys raised him on his feet and assured him that they were not killers and he would survive if they did. Ali had a suggestion. He said that they might have to leave the house on a short notice sooner or later. He took the man upstairs and told him that the floor was empty and he could stay there as long as he wanted. He also showed him a
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window through which he could leave as there was no iron bar or grill. He locked the front door from outside and came down to join the others. The house was attacked half an hour later and the boys were all shot. The man who was given shelter on the upper floor saw every thing but did not try to save them. Months later he met Taher when he was living alone in the house as a caretaker himself and admitted that he was sorry for not being able to save the others, but neglected to mention why. Being a West Pakistani tribesman he could easily tell the army men not to kill them because they saved his life. Months later, one day the same man was seen chasing another older man, with a gun in his hand. To save his life the old man jumped into a roadside pond. It was a small pond and as he was trying to swim away, the Pathan kept on shooting until the old man was hit on the head and went down.
‘I had an opportunity of visiting the tribal areas several times where the Pathans lived, in the north-west mountainous region of Pakistan near Khyber Pass. Most of them were illiterate, aggressive in nature and normally joined the army, security organizations or other menial public services. I found some peculiar contradictory qualities in Pathans. Some of them were very loyal and good men, but many were exceptionally wicked. They were experts at handling firearms, and killing a man or two meant nothing to them. Tribal wars were common incidents in their area. Many of them came to East Pakistan looking for jobs. Taking advantage of the war and the unsettled conditions in East Pakistan, more came who were in the wanted list of the West Pakistani Police and instead of arresting them, the military government began using them for their own purposes when the war began. Couple of years before the war I met such a man myself. One day when I was leaving the mills in my car I found a Pathan outside the front gate. He was in the moneylending business and he lodged a complain that one of the mill workers borrowed money from him and was not paying back. I tried to make him understand that my job was to look after the mill only. I was in no position to help him and if he wanted to get his money back, and he should go to the police or file a law suit against him. He tried to meet me again and again but I avoided him. Wearing a uniform he began looking for me as soon as the war began. I was not there but he showed a large machete to the Bihari
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mill workers and told them that he was going to use it on me if I did not pay him the money now. His reasoning was that I could have easily persuaded the borrower to refund the money if I had only tried. I did not try, therefore I would have to pay now. He made it a routine to come to Kakoli regularly and promised Taher that he would find me some day. That was a big mistake he made.
Heavy bombardment from mortars resumed the morning after the massacre at Kakoli, especially on the Court Building and the Police Station behind us. Continuous machine gun and small arms fire was also going on and it was clear that the defences under these conditions would not last very long. There was, however, no way to leave quickly. Early that morning Taher went to the riverside to arrange boats for us. He got boats but was told to go to the riverside at twelve noon, not before. By common consent, we left the house a bit early as firings grew heavier, and that was another mistake we made. After our arrival to the riverside, we found it was impossible to leave immediately. The tide was going out fast leaving the boats resting on mud banks. Machine gun bullets were splattering all around us, but did not reach us possibly because the gun was positioned on top of a building somewhere behind. We had to wait until the tide turned and the boatmen were as eager to leave as we were. When we were in the middle of the wide river, we saw the big Court House Building ablaze and a dense cloud of smoke rising high up in the sky. Crossing the river, we entered a narrow canal on the other side which would take us to another big river about thirty miles away. This canal, though small, was of considerable importance for small boats. It was the only passage for them to reach where we were going without going out to the open sea. I was surprised to find that everything looked normal on the other side of the river. People were moving around and children were playing as if nothing had happened. It was possibly the ‘bazaar’ day. We found men and women were milling about buying what they wanted without care for what was happening on the other side of the river. This is the country where cyclones, tornados, high floods and tidal waves are frequent occurrences. They were used to calamities and devastation and one more of another kind possibly did not matter to them. We stopped here to buy some food. We bought only what was available but nobody liked those, not even the children and as
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a result we had to go without food that night. We spent the night in our boats and reached the other end of the canal around three in the morning. The next big river we came up was the Sangu. Only a couple of miles from the river mouth, the banks here were wide apart. A strong wind was blowing and the river looked very rough. There might have been a moon behind the clouds that made the atmosphere hazy and spectral. Visibility was limited and nothing could be seen on any direction. The other boats seemed to have vanished in the gloom too as soon as we came out. I could never understand how this boatman of ours or others like him steered their boats in the right direction. There was no moon, no star or no light anywhere, and except a luminous hazy glow there was nothing. It would have been very easy to get lost in the wide expanse of water or allowing the tide to sweep us out to the sea. The boats Taher got for us are locally called ‘sampan’ – oddly shaped and rounded on all sides. Sampans bounce up and down, rolling sideways simultaneously, but do not capsize even in the open sea. A sampan ride is never comfortable in any condition, but now in the windy night our discomfort increased as big breakers came in from the sea our boat began to roll and dance. Adding to our torment, the children began screaming at the top of their voices. We could do nothing except pray and waiting for the morning to come.
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Chapter – 2

Rafique was sitting in his room in one of the students’ barracks of the Dhaka University Campus, and was in a rotten mood. He did not understand at all what was going on around him. He was a student and had no interest in politics and had ambitions to go high up in life, but now he was thoroughly confused. All of his friends and others in the barracks were talking about a war to make themselves free from the clutches of the Pakistani administration. In fact the whole administrative set up in the country was completely paralyzed and in its place only the directives of Awami League, the party that won the election were being carried out. The other parties and the public in general fully cooperated with the party. The three wings of the Defence Ministry however were directly under the federal government, that meant the West. Under the present complicated situation he did not know if the military would obey government orders, or go along with the election results and help the people. He had no idea how the people intended to fight the mighty army of Pakistan without arms of any sort, in case the Army followed government orders. Almost every day he saw truck loads of armed soldiers moving for unknown destinations. Last week he saw some big tanks passing on the road in front of their barracks. Looking at those his only thought was that any effort to fight those huge iron monsters without any weapon was not only impossible, but sheer madness. There was a meeting somewhere this afternoon. Most of the students in the barracks went there to attend the meeting but he did not go. There were all sorts of rumours. Somebody told him that in Dhaka’s
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Pallabi, Mirpur, and several other places, the Biharis meaning the Urdu speaking immigrants from India, were on a warpath and killed many Bengalis in a riot. He also heard a rumour that they were helping the Pakistan Army because they wanted the country to remain as Pakistan. There was another rumour that the Army already had several clashes with the Bengali soldiers of the EPR (East Pakistan Rifles.) somewhere. He was confused and did not know what to believe. All he knew that their leader Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was in talks with the West Pakistani leaders somewhere to settle their differences amicably, and as far as he heard they were making progress. He did not want to believe that people were being killed unnecessarily. They were not at war with anybody and killing unarmed peaceful people was too fantastic to believe. With all these unpleasant thoughts in his mind Rafique was deeply troubled. He lived on the second floor of a big building and decided to go out on the veranda in front of his room for a little fresh air. It was getting dark and the campus lights were coming on. Except for a few scattered people here and there, the big playground in front of the barracks was empty too. It was unusual, as at this time of the evening, small groups of students were always found either playing or sitting in groups. The road outside the fence was also deserted except occasional cars. There is something in the air that he did not like. The date was 24th of March. He heard many rumours, both good and bad, but had no idea what to believe and did not know either what he was going to hear on the next day. At a distance, a loudspeaker was blaring and a few dogs were barking, and that was all he heard. He had a room mate but he was away somewhere. If he was here Rafique could talk to him but he was not. He went out in the morning and did not return. Standing on the veranda and leaning on the railing he was wondering how long this situation would continue because the university was closed and his studies were suffering. Slowly he saw the stars coming out on the darkened sky and he decided to return to his room. It was time to go below to the dining hall for dinner, but he did not feel hungry and was about to turn back when he saw that someone approaching. It was his room mate returning. He tried to talk to him when he came closer but found him in a highly excited and emotional condition. He went straight to the room, packed a small bag and
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was about to leave when Rafique stepped closer. Rafique wanted to know why he was leaving and what was happening outside but instead of replying his friend said that Rafique should also leave now and without delay. Not understanding anything, the boy stood there looking at his friend’s back disappearing in the shadows.
Rafique came back and lay down for some time and tried to sleep, but could not. There were too many thoughts in his mind, none of which he could understand. He came of a family not very well off financially and came to Dhaka mainly for higher studies. His father was an aged retired Government employee and the family’s only income was the meagre sum his father received as pension every month. That was not enough for the family of four, consisting of two brothers and a sister. He knew what poverty was. Their home was in a small village in the district of Chittagong, far from the city. All of them grew up there and finished their schooling in the village school. When he came to Dhaka, he was determined to do well in his studies, so that he could get a good job somewhere. Another face came in his mind often. It was a girl’s face whom he knew and liked. She was still in the village. Some day when their problems would be over, he would get a good job and when their financial conditions improved, he would marry her and bring her home. He had responsibilities too for his younger brothers and sister. His father was an old man and next to his father he was the eldest member of the family. Everything was going on nicely, but now in this situation he did not know what to do. Many other relevant and irrelevant thoughts were coming in his mind and thinking of those he did not even notice when his eyelids grew heavy and he fell asleep.
Rafique sat up suddenly on his bed. The overhead light was still on and he did not know how long he slept. He heard heavy vehicles moving on the campus grounds below intermingled with loud shouts of voices and sporadic gun fire. Getting up hurriedly he switched off the light and ran to the veranda to look down. There were five or six army trucks on the field moving around flooding the whole area with the head lights. A horde of armed solders were running in all directions and the barrack was completely encircled. Gunshots could be heard on all sides, some came from the floors below but he did not understand who was shooting whom. He saw some soldiers bring out about fifty or sixty boys from the barracks
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kicking them from behind. Rafique was completely paralyzed. He heard some activity on the floors below. Occasional shouts, screams and gun shots came from there too. He, however, recovered when he heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. The stairs to the roof was only a few feet away and he did not hesitate. Without thinking he ran up to the roof, but where should he go now? The roof was completely bare and there was nothing he could hide behind. He looked on all sides, but except a few four or five foot high large water tanks made of galvanized iron sheets there was nothing on the roof. As he was walking towards the tanks for a closer look, he heard boots on the stairs coming up. Terrified, he ran, climbed up and slid down in a tank on the back row. The opening was big enough for him to go in. There was a little metallic sound as he pulled the hinged lid back on top but it was drowned by several loud gunshots. Rafique was now beyond thinking of any possibilities and his mind was numb. All he could feel was that he was in a very uncomfortable position in the tank, with the water level reaching almost up to his nostrils. The tank was nearly full, but being taller, he could not stand upright and had to crouch low adding to his discomfort, but he decided to remain in the safety of the tank as long as he could. He heard the sounds of heavy boots outside, leaving in a few minutes but he did not come out. About an hour later he raised his head and took a peek but could not see anybody outside. Remaining in the tank slowly he stood erect pushing the lid up with his head. It was fully dark on the roof and he could see nothing and there was no sound either. After another half an hour he came out from the tank and almost immediately stumbled on something soft. Feeling it with his hands he realized what it was. It was a dead body. Another boy possibly tried to escape to the roof like he did but he was pursued by the soldiers and shot there. He shivered. Taking a few steps forward he went then to the staircase and looked down. Nothing could be seen there and he could hear nothing. There was possibly nobody on the floor below where his own room was. Keeping his head low he moved to the low parapet surrounding the roof and saw that the military trucks were still there on the other side of the field but did not understand what they were doing. Rafique came back and sat down near the stairs. There was a chill in the air and as he was feeling
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cold he took off his wet shirt, squeezed water out off it and put it back on. Unless necessary, he did not want to go back to the tank again. He was sure to hear if anybody tried to come up and by this time he knew well the sounds that army boots made.
After a couple of hours Rafique was shivering uncontrollably and feeling weak. It was not a cold night and a cold bath should have revived him, but it did not. For an unaccountable reason he was feeling very cold. He knew he was in trouble. For the time being he was safe, but he could not remain here on the rooftop indefinitely. He would have to leave and try to escape, but how? The ground in front was quiet but he did not know if the soldiers were lurking somewhere in the dark. He could still hear sporadic rifle and machine-gun fire on all sides, punctuated by occasional heavy booms of exploding mortar shells. Their barrack was not the only students’ barrack in that area. There were other barracks and he listen intently for clues of what was happening in the neighbouring areas. Apart from students, many university teachers also lived in the campus in their separate living quarters, with families. Some sounds were coming from the other parts of the city. Three big fires were blazing a long way off somewhere, and the dark sky took a crimson colour where the fires were burning. After about half an hour he heard heavy engines accompanied by clanking sounds on the roadside and a couple of huge shapes appeared from the gloom. Two tanks accompanied by several smaller vehicles came up and stopped in front of the gate. Rafique ducked low as a bright beam of light suddenly leapt out and flashed slowly over the entire length of the building. Who were these brave solders of Pakistan fighting, Rafique wondered. Without notice or ultimatum the whole strength of the mighty army of Pakistan had descended upon the unarmed civilian population to slaughter them mercilessly while they were sleeping. It would not take them much time to flatten the whole city with the tanks they had. But why? What did we do except win an election? Was that a reason to annihilate the entire population? There was nobody to give an answer.
The eastern sky looked pale and the morning was not far off. Rafique was thinking that he should have tried to escape when it was still dark. Now it was too late. He however thanked himself
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for his first decision not to try anything foolhardy. When the visibility improved half an hour later he saw some soldiers appeared on the field. They were possibly hiding somewhere in the ground floor waiting for the other boys of the barrack to return. An hour later couple of army trucks came in carrying more soldiers and breakfast for those who were here last night. Rafique saw them walk around talking to each other and eating. They were enjoying the work given to them and obviously having a pleasant time. Some of them were embracing and slapped each others back. More time passed. Rafique sat up when he saw a group of soldiers came out from the barrack herding a flock of fifty or sixty boys. They were taken out in the middle of the field and found most of them in a bad condition. Some of them were being helped by others and were weeping. He realized that the boys were kept here in captivity last night and thought that they would be taken away somewhere now. The soldiers however were in no hurry. They were walking around talking to each other. Another ten minutes later some soldiers approached towards where the boys were standing. Suddenly couple of boys tried to run but they did not go very far. The soldiers opened fire and both of them fell. Their fire, once started did not stop. It continued, until the whole group lay dead scattered on the ground. The soldiers walked around and examined the bodies with the toes of their boots to find out if any one was alive. They used their bayonets on those who were. The soldiers did not remain long after that. Rafique was trembling and virtually had no control over his body or mind. He thought he was going mad. Had he actually seen what had happened, or was it a bad dream? He knew that if he repeated the story of what he saw, nobody would believe him. It was too fantastic, too unbelievable. Unknown to him, one of the teachers residing in the university campus recorded these killings in his 8 mm movie film. To avoid detection he was using his camera through the glass of his closed window. The pictures were not very clear but unmistakeable. Much later viewers both in the country and abroad saw this movie on their television screens. Most of these boys who died there were in their early twenties, came for their higher education, and like others knew next to nothing of what was going on. They were all dead now though none of them knew why they had to die. There were
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many others in the barracks. Were they dead too? He didn’t know.
He remained sitting in the same place until the sun came up overhead and it became too hot. He looked up but there was no shade anywhere on the roof. Bending low he approached the tanks and remained there until the sun went down. His brain and neither his mind was functioning properly. He could never have imagined that he would see so many of the boys, some of those must have been his friends, butchered right before his eyes. As it was getting dark he thought that he would have to make an attempt to escape. If he did not try he would never get out alive. When he thought that it was about ten or eleven at night, he stood up. It was now or never. There was nobody around, and except a few occasional bursts of gunfire, there was no sound. He went to the stairs and slowly descended. His own room was by the side of the staircase and he stopped when he saw the doors wide open. It was only a few feet away he wanted to have a last look inside before leaving. The room was in the same condition when he left and when he was turning away, he noticed a small black bag lying under his bed. On an impulse he picked it up. There was some money in the bag. He saw a packet of crackers and the remains of a loaf of bread in his own open desk, and remembered that he had not eaten for many hours. Surprisingly he did not feel hungry. Munching on the dry bread he entered the bathroom and drank deeply from the tap. It took him only two minutes to finish doing all these and then he was running down the stairs. He was more cautious when he descended to the ground level. There were bodies around but he had no time to look. He crept down along the side of the building and came down on grass. The night was dark and he knew that if he moved slowly he would not be noticed in the dim street lights outside. Few minutes later he reached the short boundary wall topped with iron spikes. Remaining inside he ran to the opposite side of the grounds. He was getting a little confidence back now. He noticed that after dark the soldiers always moved in their trucks, not on foot, and if they came now he would surely hear them coming from a long distance. He began moving in short spurts, always taking shelter behind roadside trees and shrubberies, seeing nobody so far, neither soldiers nor people on the road. After an hour or so he came upon a burnt out area; the charred odour of smoke was
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overpowering. Only the black skeletons of scattered huts were standing without a single living soul anywhere. The city looked dead and he seemed to be the only survivor in a dead city. After crossing a couple of hundred yards he stopped behind a bush and tried to control his panic. He would have to leave the city, but how? After a few minutes of thought he decided to reach the riverside about five miles away and try to reach the other side somehow. He thought it should be safer there. He could not decide however which route he should follow because he had no idea what conditions he would find next. He began running now in short spurts, stopping frequently to examine the roadways in front. He decided that if he was satisfied with what he saw after crossing a certain distance, the direction he was following would remain unchanged. If not, he would veer either to his right or left and run on. Half an hour later he came upon another burnt out area where fires were still burning. Though there was nobody around he avoided these places. The smell of wood smoke and burning were all over the city, but very heavy in some areas. On several occasions he came upon bodies lying on the road side. These were areas where poor people or day labourers lived and the army seemed to have concentrated most on these people. He decided to change his direction slightly and proceeded in a wide roundabout away, where there were more buildings where rich people lived. The damage was not much in these areas and though the distance to the riverside increased, he felt better and safer on this new route. This feeling however did not last long. As he was passing through the Rajarbagh area, he came upon the thoroughly devastated buildings of the police lines and barracks. It was done by heavy weapons, possibly by tank guns. He ducked back again to the smaller lanes and narrow alleys.
It took Rafique a long time to reach the riverside during the early hours of dawn. Except a few dead bodies and a few partially burnt and charred buildings, he did not find anybody around. He wanted to get as far away as possible from danger and cross over to the other side immediately, but there was no boat. He decided to wait huddled in a corner. He managed to survive and came this far, but where would he go now? His home in Chittagong was too far. He needed money for food, for all kinds of expenses en route and
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some extra clothes, and the meagre sum he had in his bag would not last very long. What then? He remembered that he had an uncle living in a place called Daudkandi, in the Comilla district. He would try to reach his uncle’s place first. He hoped to get shelter there and a little financial help, before attempting to go further. If he got what he expected, the rest should not be very difficult. The eastern sky was becoming pale and the sun would appear soon. He crept closer to the water’s edge and hid behind a pile of bricks. Suddenly he saw a shadowy figure appear from somewhere in the darkness, going down to the river. He was drinking. Rafique stood up and called him in a low voice and immediately the figure bolted. Rafique shouted louder this time and called him back. The figure stopped. When he came closer, Rafique saw that he was another boy like him. They embraced each other and in a few minutes they were friends. He found soon that the other boy escaped from another similar mass killing in another students’ barrack, and had a similar story to tell.
Rafique’s new friend was standing on the first floor veranda when he saw military trucks arrive. Leaping out of the trucks, the soldiers scattered on all sides immediately and began dragging screaming boys out from the building. Not very far from him he saw a boy was weeping uncontrollably and the soldier who was holding him was having difficulty to control him. The boy was bayoneted on the spot. He did not understand at first why the soldiers were behaving in this manner, but after seeing the boy bayoneted he was thoroughly frightened. Another group of boys were gathered in the playground. Most of them were pulled up from their beds and some wore nothing but their sleeping clothes. Firing began half an hour later and when he saw the bullet riddled bodies dropping on the ground, he had an idea. It did not take the soldiers long to finish their job and when it was over, they began walking around laughing, talking and slapping each other’s backs. The night was dark and at a suitable moment when nobody was very close, he sprinted a short distance where the other bodies were lying and dropped down on the ground pretending to be another dead body. Lying there he carefully pulled and pushed some of the other blood soaked bodies around him. The soldiers returned after some time and bayoneted those who were still alive. He escaped
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notice possibly because of his lack of movement and his own blood soaked body. The soldiers left after their job was completed. He was thinking of getting up leave but then another group arrived, loaded the bodies in an empty truck, including his own and drove off. It was still dark and there were not much light on the road outside. The truck stopped on the road when another truck came up from the other direction and he heard both the drivers laughing and talking to each other. Carefully he slipped out of the truck and rolled in a roadside ditch. Soon the two trucks proceeded on their separate ways and when those were out of sight, he got up and ran.
By the time Rafique’s friend finished his story of escape, the light grew brighter and they saw one or two people coming out one by one from wherever they were hiding. Most of them were searching for their near and dear ones who might have escaped in the dark. Rafique looked up and looked closely at his new friend. He was only wearing a shirt and an underwear. He thought earlier that friend was wearing dark clothes, but now in the brighter daylight he found that the boy was fully smeared with blood, not his own. Rafique thought that his new friend must have been a brave man. He advised him to take a bath in the river and wash the blood off his clothes before they met others. His blood soaked clothes would only attract attention.
The luck of the boys seemed to have changed after a difficult night. It was still very early in the morning when a long fishing boat came forward gliding slowly close to the still dark river bank and stopped almost in front of them. A small family of some men, women and children appeared from somewhere and climbed aboard, obviously for crossing the river. Rafique and his friend went forward and requested to take them across. At first they refused, but seeing their conditions an old man told them to get in quickly. While crossing the river Rafique and the other boy introduced themselves and told them about their experience. The kind hearted old man told them that they were going north and therefore could not take the boys all the way. He however gave them some money they badly needed and parted on the other side of the river leaving for their different destinations.
Both the boys embraced each other after crossing the first hurdle of their long journey and looked back. The sky over the city was
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covered by dense smoke like a dark cloud and both of them thanked God for helping them to escape in time. The sun was coming up and they met some people around them. They were uneasy but very few of them knew what actually was going on in the city on the other side of the river. They thought that what was happening would remain in the city only. The boys did not know what to think. They were hungry and entered a nearby shop to eat something. The shopkeeper came out hearing them and opened his shop, but there was nothing for them to eat as it was too early. While the shopkeeper was busy preparing some food for the boys he enquired about the conditions in the city. Except a few booming noises he heard nothing and had no idea what was happening there. Both the boys tried to tell him what was going on but the shopkeeper only looked at them and shook his head. Obviously, he did not believe them thinking that they were running away from something. Food was ready after sometime. Remembering the small amount of money in Rafique’s bag, they decided to go easy. The other boy had nothing with him. After eating they came down on the road and began walking. They had a long way to go and their destinations were different, but during the first phase of their journey up to Daudkandi where Rafique’s uncle lived they would be together
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Chapter – 3

After a night of torment we arrived at our destination around eight o’clock next morning. Before arrival I did not know though where we were going or what our ultimate destination was. We were only following the other boats. The weather was calm and the sun was up and we saw both of our other boats were tied to the river bank. There was a long whitewashed building close by. As soon as our boat stopped some people came running, followed by Azizul Huq and Rabiul Hossain. They arrived an hour earlier and were getting worried because of our delay. The name of this place was Choudhury Haat and the building was the office and rest house for the WAPDA, an acronym for the Water & Power Development Corporation. It was not a village and except the Sub-Divisional Officer (SDO) and a few of his subordinates, nobody lived here. It seemed strange why such a big building was built where there was virtually nothing, except a few thatched shops half a mile away and some huts belonging to the fishermen and their families. That was all of Choudhury Haat. The surrounding area was miles of open vacant land on all sides where there was no cultivation. On the west about half a mile from the fishermen’s huts was the mouth of the river Sangu and the Bay of Bengal. Couple of miles on the eastern side however there was a long line of low hillocks covered with scrubs and small trees. Most of the villages were near the hillocks and the nearest village about a mile away was connected with Choudhury Haat by a dirt rod. It was a beautiful place. At any other time, a short stay for a few days would have been very enjoyable. A medium sized pond with clear
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water was close by and some of the children were already in it splashing water. I was told that this pond was the only source of sweet water in this area. An effort was made earlier to sink a tube well, but the water was not good for drinking. The gentleman who was in charge was the SDO himself and he was very helpful. He gave three fully furnished rooms including stoves, pots, pans, dinner plates and all other materials required for cooking and eating. He had the rooms cleaned for us and assured us of all kinds of help as long as we remained there. We thanked him. With Taher greeted with the news of the Kakoli massacre on his trip back to Azizul Huq’s chamber earlier, he could not bring many things we needed.
I was slightly worried but felt better when I found that that the rooms were fully furnished with everything we needed. Even then there were many other things we missed. Particularly, none of us had any spare clothes with us. At the time, however, there were more important things to think about, as none of us had eaten during the long and uncertain river journey. The SDO himself sent the caretaker immediately to the village to get us something to eat and all of us ate when the man returned.
As our hunger subsided all the families became busy to determine our immediate needs. My wife was preparing a list of items she needed for cooking and other things, but I remembered, to my distress, that I did not have much money with me. I had my wallet in my pocket but after paying off the boatman who brought us here, there was not much left in it. When I left home I had no idea where we were going or for how long. I was not, in any case, prepared for a long absence from home and did not get any opportunity to get more money from any other source. For the time being I decided to be silent though. The SDO sent two of his men again with our lists to buy the items we needed. The ladies became busy with their cooking when they came back. The SDO had something to do elsewhere and left us on our own. We were sitting out on the front veranda in the afternoon when the SDO returned accompanied by a dozen villagers following him. They were curious and wanted to know what was happening outside in the city. Living here they heard only rumors but no dependable news. There were some radios in the village, but they were no help, as all
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they could hear over the radio was what the Military Governor wanted them to know. The people came closer and crowded around us as our spokesman Azizul Huq began talking. When he finished, the listeners remained standing quietly and then moved away slowly one by one. Some of them were living here in connection with their jobs but their homes were in different parts of the country. They wanted to go back home to join their families including the SDO himself, but after they heard what Azizul Huq said about the conditions outside, they were in a dilemma. The question that was uppermost in their minds was would they be able to go back to join their families?
The people in the rural areas of our country had one favourable pastime and that was gossip. Anything new or unusual was a good subject for talk. It did not take us long to find out, to our consternation that our arrival here was known to almost everybody living in the villages. We did not like that, because whenever the Army or their people would come here next, it would not take them long to find out where the new arrivals were hiding. An elderly local man named Zakir Hossain came to meet us next day. He was a big man in the area, a big landowner and the president of the local Awami League. Azizul Huq knew him well and they began talking politics immediately. The visitor Zakir Hossain, wanted us to move to his house but we declined mentioning that we had other plans. Azizul Huq and Rabiul Hossain indeed had other plans. Both the families stayed in the rest-house for two more days only, and then departed for some other destination further to the interior. They invited us to go along with them but this time I decided otherwise. I did not want to increase their burden and responsibilities by taking us along. We parted company one morning when some rickshaws came for them. Standing we kept waving at them not knowing if we would ever meet again. Thinking about them I did not sleep well that night as we were together during the most difficult times of the war. They were not with us now and we missed them. We had a touch of panic that night. I woke up in the middle of the night hearing a heavy throbbing engine that seemed very close. At first I did not understand what it was. It was coming from the west, from the direction of the sea. We ran up to the roof of the rest-house to have a look and found almost hordes of people there on the roof
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top. A big ship, possibly a warship with all lights on was proceeding southward slowly charting the shore line and a powerful search light was probing the shore. Suddenly a machine gun opened up and continued to fire for a minute and stopped. Nobody had any idea what the ship was firing at. Gradually the ship disappeared in the south and we returned to our beds.
I was beginning to have some problems. As I did not have any spare clothes with me, I had to take bath in the pond wearing the only pair of pants I had on, allowing them to dry on me later. My wife also had the same difficulties. I was not in a position to go to the market and buy what we needed as my funds were very limited. I did not have any shaving kit either but I could not allow my beard to grow long. We would have to get back to the city some day, and I did not have any intention to go back looking like an ape. I had given some money to the caretaker and he bought some cheap clothes for the children. At least, they would not have to run around naked, but what about us? I had to tell the SDO about my problem after a few days and gave him some money to buy something for us to wear. He took the money silently and left. In the evening he handed over some of his used clothes and a cheap sari for my wife, all wrapped up in an old newspaper. When he returned the money too I looked up in surprise. He told me gravely that he did not need so many clothes as he was not going anywhere, but I might need the money. I was so choked with emotion that I could not even thank him for what he did. In any case, it was of primary importance to keep on paying for groceries, and our funds were dropping to dangerous levels. After a short discussion one day we decided to send Taher back to the city for getting money from any source he could find. It was clear that we would have to remain here for an indefinite time, but we needed money for that. I did think about sending him much earlier, but remembering what had happened to the others, I hesitated to send him. But there was no alternative now. I knew nothing about this area but Taher said that he did. He proposed to walk about ten miles to reach the highway and catch a bus to reach the city, provided there was a bus. It sounded very simple and he left one morning. That same day my wife told me in the evening that my daughter was running a fever. We waited two days for the fever to subside, but it did not. The
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SDO told me that there was a doctor in the village and volunteered to send somebody for him. The doctor came in a rickshaw, examined my daughter and prescribed some medicines for her. He also said that he was not sure of what kind of ailment it was without a blood test, but if the fever did not go after taking the medicine, then she must be taken to a hospital for a check up. The doctor went back on his rickshaw promising to send back the medicines along with his bill. The rickshaw retuned an hour later and handed over the medicines, his bill and a short note. The note said that I could pay him after the war ended. I wondered if the angels from the heaven had descended to help the people, or had the war turned people into angels.
Fortunately, my daughter’s fever subsided on the fourth day and our fears were allayed to some extent. Our other worries were not over though, mainly because of Taher. He left for the city a week ago to ‘beg, borrow or steal’ some money from somewhere, but there was no sign of him. My wallet was almost empty and we could not depend upon the charity of the people too long. After all we needed money to go back too. Zakir Hossain came to meet Azizul Huq one day, but finding him gone he sat for an hour and talked to me. I was amused to find him treating me like a young man, though I was in my mid forties in those days. Being a politician he began talking politics but it did not take him long to catch on that I was not interested in politics at all. We discussed the war for some time and then got up to leave. Before leaving he invited us to come to his house one evening for dinner. He assured me that he would keep in touch with us, which he did. Two of his sons arrived a day or two later with several containers of well cooked delicious food and we had a grand feast.
The sky was cloudy during the last few days and suddenly the rains came one afternoon. It was a light shower initially and the first of the season. I liked rain and the pungent odour that normally comes out from dry soil after the first rain. The children ran out and my wife joined them after a few minutes. Seeing them together getting soaked I came out too and took our bath. After half an hour it started to drizzle but became a heavy downpour again. After changing our clothes we came out to sit on the veranda as the visibility became less. I was thinking that the fully mechanised
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Pakistani Army might not find this natural defence of our country too easy to shove aside like another blockade. The rest-house at Choudhury Haat was a nice place with beautiful views on all sides. Living here, it was difficult to believe that there was a war elsewhere and people were dying because of it. During our stay, we just twice saw war planes zooming across the sky. That was all. Every morning and evening I used to walk around for miles, sometimes following the river banks up to the sea only half a mile away. There was a dirt road about a mile away in the east that went southwards and most of the villages were situated on both sides of the road. The villages had nice names too, the nearest was Sadhanpur and then Banigram, Kalipur, Jaldi and so on. The ground was higher with a long line of hillocks stretched southwards, parallel to the coast. I walked toward these villages sometimes but always avoided going in. Sometimes I went towards the small village where the fishermen lived, dried their fish and nets. There was a pungent odour in the air from the drying fish. Far out in the open waters they caught fish in their long boats and brought them back. They often offered me fish but I declined as neither was the kitchen fully equipped for cooking fish nor was my wife in the mood to handle raw fish under the circumstances. By now, some of the WAPDA staff had left leaving only two people in the rest-house. They were here because they had no place to go. The first one was the SDO who came from a distant village far to the north, very close to a place dominated by Biharis. The other one was Hashem, the caretaker of the rest-house. He had a good voice and we used to hear him singing often, even when he was working. I liked this man. When he had nothing to do, he used to come to sit on the veranda in front of our room for small talk. He was a good talker too and talked about his family often. He had a small hut of his own on his own land, about a mile outside Comilla city. His wife was there taking care of his two sons, both young. It was one of Hashem’s primary duties to send money every month for their expenses, and particularly for the schooling of his sons. He wanted them educated and hoped that they would go to colleges for higher studies some day. He was proud for his sons and did not want them to grow up like him. Hashem did not know what was going on outside and did not care much. Engrossed in his dreams
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while he talked, I wondered what the future had in store for this man. Habib’s pregnant wife was still with us and did not know even to this day that her husband was dead.
Taher returned after nine days. It had become a habit of mine to take a short nap after lunch and I found that it was easier to kill time by sleeping. I was sitting on a chair outside when I saw a rickshaw approaching. As the rickshaw came closer I was wondering who it could be. I stood up as Taher leapt out from the rickshaw and ran towards me. I went ahead to meet him shouting for my wife to come out. The way Taher started blabbering I could understand nothing of what he was trying to say. I stopped him, forced him down on my chair and told him to catch his breath first. Habib’s wife brought him a glass of water he drank and then told us his experiences.
While traveling by bus Taher found many Army Camps and check posts all along the road and armed soldiers checking the buses up and down. Occasionally, they were dragging out passengers from the buses and he did not know what happened to them later. Taher himself was dragged out in one of the check posts but was allowed to go. He saw devastations on both sides of the road, burnt houses and in some places whole villages. Very few people were travelling these days and there were only a few public transports on the road. Initially there was no bus, but later by the orders of the Army administration, vehicles registered as public transports were forced to come out. After his arrival in the city Taher went first to the house of one of my non-Bengali friends who lived close to our house. Taher was known to them and was given food and shelter but told him to inform me to stay away from the city for the time being. They also sent an invitation to live with them when we returned. They were friendly and I kept their invitation in mind. Next day he left for another house in the congested area of Nasirabad proper where he was well received. Most of the people he met enquired about me and wanted know if we were well. They had been anxious to hear our news. Taher was told that the people of Nasirabad were keeping a watch on my house to prevent further looting and a Bihari was kept there as a watchman. An attempt was made to take my red car out from the garage, but without a key they did not succeed, as the steering
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wheel was also locked. They tried to push the car out but failed again. The people there wanted to know in what condition we were living and where, but Taher did not tell them anything. He was also told that the soldiers were making enquiries about me in the neighbourhood and wanted to know if anybody knew about my whereabouts. A number of local men and boys were rounded up on one pretext or another and were taken away. Some of them came back but the others did not. Nobody knew what became of them. The soldiers were always searching for teenagers and lifting young people without any reason from roads, market places and sometimes from their homes became a common practice. Raids were being conducted encircling big areas. Possession of ordinary shotguns and sporting rifles also was considered an offence and having a valid license did not help. The people of the whole neighbourhood were terrified now and nobody wanted to leave the safety of his home unless there was something urgent. The whole city, particularly the area where we lived, looked completely deserted. In fact, the city itself looked deserted as more than half the people who lived in it fled to their village homes. Some of the local boys took Taher to try and check the state of our home, one day. He saw the building only from a distance. Taher was told that the soldiers broke most of the doors of the house on the very first day and nobody went in since then. Wooden cross pieces were nailed on the doors to keep those shut and Taher saw the Bihari watchman too.
Taher went to see our friend Nazrul Siddiqui the day before his return. He asked the usual questions and wanted to know about my welfare, but at the same time he also told Taher to tell me that in his opinion I should return to the city now. It would be more easy to hide somewhere in the teeming population and congested areas of the city than in a village. With my city background I neither looked like a villager nor could talk in the local dialect either. The Army had now finished whatever they were doing in the city and now in all probability they would concentrate to the rural areas now. In his opinion, I should return before that happened, because in any village I would stand out like a sore thumb. I kept thinking about that while Taher took off his shirt and extracting a bundle of bank notes handed it over to my wife. He got the money from
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Siddiqui and it was a great relief that I would not have to think about money any more. Before going to bed that night I thought what Siddiqui suggested about my going back. It was true that being of larger stature than the average villager, I was sure to stand out. I looked different in all respects. I grew up in India and was educated there and could speak a number of languages fluently, but unfortunately, I never learnt to speak my own language in the local dialect. It would be difficult to hide among the limited number of people in a village because of that. Siddiqui could be right. I had a talk with my wife but could not arrive at any decision. In the meantime, overcoming all resistance the Pakistani Army was advancing steadily towards the unoccupied rural areas killing, looting and burning villages and habitations one after another. Smoke could be seen going up plainly during daylight hours, and bright red glow appeared in many directions at night.
After the first rains, the grounds outside became soft and it became slightly inconvenient to walk. I used to spend my time normally sitting out on the veranda. I was sitting on a chair on the veranda one day when I saw a rickshaw approaching. Somebody was coming here to meet me, but I could not think who it could be. As the rickshaw came closer I was surprised to find Mahmudullah, one of the timber suppliers to our Mill, sitting on the rickshaw and he came up to me with a big salaam. I told him to pull up a chair and sit. I was not only surprised, I was flabbergasted to find him because he was the last man I expected to find here. I knew that he lived somewhere in the south, but that was all I knew. He told me that his village was about twenty miles further south. He heard about my coming here few days ago but due to the prevailing problems in travel he could not come earlier. That meant that the news of my arrival in the exact location where I was living travelled twenty miles to those who were interested. When I wanted to know how he found out that I was here, he laughed and replied: ‘they are villagers aren’t they? Living in a village, nothing can be kept a secret’. I did not understand what he meant. He brought a number of packages and bundles with him containing food and fruits and went down to the rickshaw himself to bring those up. We talked for an hour and then he turned to leave. At the last moment he pulled out a fairly thick bundle of money from inside the folds of his
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clothes and handed it over to me. I was surprised yet again. I remained standing on the veranda with the money in my hand, thinking that if he had come a few days earlier, it would not have been necessary for Taher to go back to the city at all. I was naturally glad for the money and the other things that he brought, but I was also a worried man. I was supposed to be hiding here, where I was not known, but somehow these people were not having any difficulty in finding me. I had no idea how they were doing it, but if it was allowed to continue, some day other unwanted men or the Army may follow them in. I recalled the advice my friend Nazrul Siddiqui gave to Taher. He wanted us to go back, but I was hesitating to take a final decision on it because I was not very sure if it was the right time to go back. The rest-house and the people here gave us what we needed most, safety, accommodation and all kinds of help. Leaving all these, would it be advisable to proceed towards uncertainty now under these conditions?
The month of April was coming to an end but I was still undecided about my future plans. I was out for a walk one morning when I decided to meet Zakir Hossain in the village to discuss this matter with him. He was a local man and much older than me and I wanted his opinion too. I did not know where he lived, but on the way I found some people gathered in small groups talking to each other. They directed me to his house. One of his sons came out to receive me, talked to me nicely and confided that his father was away and he did not know where he was. I spent a few minutes talking to him and returned wondering whether Zakir Hossain had also gone underground now. Another surprise was waiting for me. When I reached the rest-house, I found my office peon, Siddique talking to Taher. Like others he had also found me hiding here, but how he found me remained another mystery. He looked excited and after a preliminary exchange of greetings he told me that if we do not leave this place immediately by tomorrow at the latest, we should all be in trouble. The Army had advanced almost up to our door step and established a camp at Satkania, on the highway, not very far from here. There was a direct road for coming here and if they wanted they could reach here in half an hour. Whether they would come or not was another question, but if they did, they were sure to find us here in the rest-house, as we were the only
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occupants here. The army men were judging people on the principle that only the guilty fled from the city. There was no law, no appeal nothing. Anybody caught in our situation, away from their own home, was being shot on the spot. When I enquired how he came to know about us, he answered cryptically that everybody knew we were here. That was not the answer I wanted, but I had no further questions. The decision was taken out of my hands and this time I did not hesitate. We would be leaving tomorrow. That was our last night at the rest-house at Choudhury Hat. After about a month we were now going back to the city, but did not know if we should go to our own home or stay at some other place. I did not know if I was a wanted man either. If I was, then many families might not agree to give us shelter as giving a shelter to a wanted man was a serious offence. Unable to sleep at night I came out on the veranda and looked over the dark outline of trees at a distance. Villages were burning in the north turning the dark sky crimson in places.
Both Taher and Siddique had arranged the rickshaws we would need in the morning. Rickshaws were hard to come by in the villages those days, and ten miles was a long distance for the ladies and the children to walk. We did not have much luggage and therefore did not need much time to pack when three rickshaws arrived next morning. Before leaving, we bade good bye to the only two people we were leaving behind, the SDO and the caretaker Hashem, thanking them both for their help and assuring them that we would be back to meet them again when the war ended. There were too many of us for only three rickshaws and therefore it was decided to put the ladies and the children on the rickshaws. Rest of us started on foot for our next destination Satkania, ten miles away. We did return after the war but could not find either the SDO or Hashem. We found there was a new SDO and a new caretaker on duty, and like many others they were lost too.
After the villages we came up on a dirt road that proceeded towards Satkania in a serpentine course through small hillocks. There were patches of forests and in some areas green fields on both sides of the road. Most of those and the fields remained uncultivated. It was hard going for us as there were too many ups and downs, and in some places the road was muddy because of the rains. Those of us on foot, tried to help as much as we could to
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push the rickshaws up the slopes until we came out on the plains after a couple of hours. Immediately we saw plumes of smoke about a mile in front of us. We stopped there for a few minutes staring at the view of a village or somebody’s house burning. The rickshaw pullers were hesitating, but I decided to push through. Half an hour later we saw two jeeps with armed soldiers coming at us. I told the rickshaw pullers to move on one side of the road giving room to the jeeps to pass through. On an impulse I raised my hand and waved at the passing jeeps. Grinning, one of the soldiers waved back. We passed a few burning thatched huts by the side of the road and three dead bodies were lying there. We left the place hurriedly. I knew that my peon Siddique was a clever man but I personally did not know him that well. He proved himself that day. We were walking together and when we were on the outskirts of Satkania he stopped us and told us to wait until he returned. He was a resident of Satkania himself and his home was not very far from there. I thought that he was taking us to his house, but he suggested that it would be better if we stayed in the local rest-house for the night, where only important people could stay in those days. He however needed a clearance from the local leader Muzaffar, in this connection. He was known to be a very powerful man of that area in war time. I was wondering how a man like him from a small insignificant party became so powerful in war time so quickly but decided to remain silent. Leaving us on the road side Siddique left on his errand as we waited for his return. Satkania was a small township in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by small villages and forests on all sides it grew mainly because of its location by the side of the Chittagong-Cox’s Bazaar highway. A number of fairly wealthy people lived in this neighbourhood and one of those was the Muslim League leader Muzaffar himself. Siddique returned soon waving a white sheet of paper, our permission to spend the night in the rest-house. We went straight to the rest-house and gave Siddique some money to buy some food for us. Later at night he told me the mystery of the white paper he was waving around like a magic wand. He said that he practically grew up working for Muzaffar and his family since he was a small boy and Muzaffar loved him and considered him as his own man. When he approached him to help us he could not turn him back. From all
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these I understood that this man was helping the Army as their right hand man. It was not the time to ask too many questions and therefore I decided to keep mum. We got up early next morning, had a light breakfast and arrived at the bus stand near the Army camp. Some soldiers came to ask questions, but Siddique again came forward waving his white paper and we were allowed to leave. That man of Siddique must be helping the Army a lot for such a first class service. Half an hour later a half empty bus came along, and all of us got on it.
I was looking out sitting on a window seat of the moving bus. It seemed as if I was seeing a movie. Scene after scene came to my view and went past and I felt like a spectator. There was not a single person anywhere on the roadside, not even a dog or a bird, except miles and miles of vacant land. All the roadside villages, small shops and other human habitations were burnt on both sides turning the trees and the green vegetations reddish in color due to excessive heat. Only piles of black ash remained where villages had been, some still smouldering. Our bus was moving at a slow speed as I was looking at the complete devastations of the whole area. We were on the Chittagong-Cox’s Bazaar highway and soon came upon a small town named Patiya. As we were entering Patiya, we saw a big ditch on one side of the road. The bamboo huts on all sides of the circular ditch seemed to have blown out. I did not understand what it was but an old man sitting by me whispered that fifteen days ago it was a market place. On a busy day a fast war plane came up and circled overhead several times. The people below never saw such a fast plane before. Curiously they stood looking up at it, when a single bomb dropped. Immediately, more than fifty men, women and children were vaporised. There were Army check posts on the road, but we did not have much trouble as both my wife and myself could speak their language Urdu fairly well with good accents. Siddique was also there with his pass or whatever it was that Mozaffar gave him. The soldiers thought that we were Urdu speaking people ourselves, who got caught out of our home when the war began and were returning now. Some of them even wanted to know if we had too many difficulties living away from home.
According to our previous decision we went to the house of the same non-Bengali family where Taher went first during his visit to
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the city. Only three people lived there, brother, sister and their mother. The sister Arzoo received us when we arrived and treated us well. My own house was nearby and we could see it from where we were, but we decided not to go there now. I thought it would be wise to make a few enquiries first before coming out in the open as I was not sure about my own status in the city. I wanted to find out if I was a wanted man. Taking Habib’s wife, both Taher and Siddique left for my house for spending the night. Habib’s wife remained there until Habib’s father arrived ten days later and he took her away. Taher arrived when I was sitting and talking with my hosts after lunch and gave him some instructions before he left again. I told him that I wanted to move out from there as soon as possible, but there was a problem. Most of my friends would receive us, but if I was still a wanted man and in case I was found there, it might prove costly for the family who would take us in. Some of them might not even agree to give us shelter and I did not want to put anybody in trouble. Taher would have to find a place for us to stay and decide himself where we should go. We were finishing our dinner at night when Taher returned. He did not tell me anything but I could tell that he was successful in his errand. He gave me another useful information. He received an unexpected phone call from Dhaka last night. Somebody was making enquiries about me and my family’s whereabouts. Taher was told that the members of my family and friends in Dhaka were trying frantically to get in touch with me for a long time as they were worried. When Taher replied that we were away, but now we were back and well and staying in another place for the time being, there was a joyous shout at the other end. He was told that he should inform me immediately to contact the Managing Director of our company by telephone and all arrangements for our return to Dhaka would be made by him. Everybody thought that I had perished with my family during the early phase of the war. Some of the people of our own neighborhood in Chittagong had the same idea too, when they found the dead bodies of my boys lying in a pile. I thought that information was important. If the army authorities heard that, they might feel that it was no longer necessary to keep the file of a dead man open.
Next morning, according to our plan, we left for another house in a congested area in the city. The owner of the building was a
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friend of my managing director, and a retired employee of the same company where I was working now. He was a friend of mine too, an elderly man and straightforward in all his dealings and speech. He was glad to receive us, but told me outright that he would take care of my family as long as they wished to stay, but I would have to live elsewhere. I was expecting that and did not mind, but the arrangement for my own stay with another family living nearby was also made by him at the same time. I got busy with the telephone immediately to contact my boss in Dhaka. It was very difficult to get a long distance call through. Ultimately I got through in the evening and my boss was glad when I talked him. He advised me to sit tight. In a day or two he would be sending somebody to take us to Dhaka with airplane tickets. I learnt from him that my own people in Dhaka were extremely concerned about me. Failing in all his previous enquiries and efforts to find me, my boss phoned Mr. McDonald, the resident director of the Duncan Brothers company, the sales agent of our company, for help. Being an Englishman he did what no other person could have done in those days. He drove direct to my empty house, saw the broken doors and went around the ransacked rooms and searched eighteen dead bodies lying nearby one by one. When the gentleman did not find my body he went back and reported what he saw and gave his opinion that I must have escaped. I was relieved but decided not to leave the house until I knew more about my own position. I ate, slept and played ludo with the children until Zahed, an Urdu speaking employee of our Dhaka Office arrived with our air plane tickets. His job was to take us to Dhaka with him, but at the last minute my host intervened. He told Zahed to take my family with him leaving me behind as his idea was not to get my family involved in my affairs. I could always follow them separately in another flight. I agreed, as it was a sound advice. There were too many eyes in the airport keeping watch on people who wanted to leave the city in a hurry. Zahed told me with a smile, that dressed differently, with a month’s growth on my face and a black cap, very few people could have recognised me, unless they knew me well. I looked at myself in the mirror, and as a final touch I decided to add a walking stick in my hand and a little limp while walking. The results were fantastic.
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Chapter – 4

Zahed came again to receive me at the Dhaka airport and was waiting for me when my plane landed. I was looking out as the car sped towards the city. It looked like a different city with Pakistani flags flying on all house tops. There was nothing on the busy airport road except a few vehicles and all of those including our own car were flying small green Pakistani flags, evidently to inform all outsiders that only Pakistanis were living in Dhaka, and not the trouble makers. I was taken directly to my managing director’s house. He received me laughing and told me that unless Zahed brought me here, he wouldn’t have let me in because I looked like a wild man. He wanted me to stay at his house for a few days before shifting, but that was not possible. I came alone without any baggage, without even a change of clothes or a razor to shave off the beard I was sporting. I had my lunch with him after a wash and spent a few hours in the afternoon talking to him. I told him about my own experiences in Chittagong. Surprisingly, he was the first man to tell me that my Plywood Mill was completely destroyed and burnt. I knew nothing about that and guessed it was a retaliatory measure taken by the advancing Pakistani army when their advance was stopped in front of our mill gate. He reminded me though that I was still the man in charge of all company affairs in Chittagong. After resting in Dhaka for some time with my family, I would have to go back to Chittagong again for repairs, he said. According to him, the fighting was over and the mill would start operating again as soon as possible. The rebels got what they deserved, he added. I stared at him and kept my
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mouth shut, wondering what his reaction would be if he came to know that it was because of me that the mill was destroyed. If he lost his faith in me he might have probably chosen another man for the repairs. I left his house in the evening as my family was living at my brother Murshed’s house. It was not very far from there.
As the news of my arrival spread, many of my relatives and friends came to meet me. They were happy as most of them never imagined they’d see me alive again. Correct news based on facts was very hard to get in those days and occasionally facts were distorted due to one reason or the other. Though it was a small country, people in Dhaka knew little of what we had to undergo in Chittagong, except from rumours. Similarly I knew nothing about the army actions in Dhaka during the first phase of the war. I told them what I saw. Fighting actually began in Chittagong on 23rd March, when people resisted the unloading of arms and ammunition from the two ships that arrived at the jetty. It gave the local people time to prepare defensive positions and blockades everywhere particularly in the hills. The Army ultimately did come through but it took them time. The people used it to their benefit fully and escaped. In Dhaka the situation was completely different. When everybody was sleeping on the night of 25th March, the Army walked in with their instruments of destruction. There was no resistance because nobody was expecting the massacres. Their initial three targets were the EPR Headquarters, the Police Barracks at Rajarbagh and the students’ barracks near the university. The EPR headquarters and the police barracks were razed to the ground, while hundreds of sleeping students were roused from their beds, taken out to the open grounds outside and shot. Even the teachers living in the campus were not spared. The Army evidently had a plan prepared beforehand and they were following the plan accordingly. People sleeping to catch their late trains in the railway station, station coolies, labourers, rickshaw pullers, push cart drivers, all died while asleep or while working. The soldiers later scattered all over the city on area basis and continued their killings and devastation all night. A curfew was imposed for an indefinite period, but nobody heard the late night announcement. When they came out next morning they were shot. They came to know about the curfew much later when there were
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no people on the roads. That possibly did not suit the soldiers either. They began setting fire to houses. When the people ran out to escape, they were shot as violators of the curfew. It continued for two days and nights and then the curfew was lifted on the third day. There was not much respite even then. People came out of their houses in large numbers to buy what they needed, mainly food and groceries. Only a few shops were open and they had to remain in long lines to get what they wanted, when the soldiers stood watching. They often picked up younger people from the lines and took them away and nobody knew what happened to them afterwards. When the curfew was lifted, all the foreigners living in and around the city were collected, taken to the air port and were forced to leave. On their way out they took some photographs showing what was happening but their cameras were forfeited at the airport. Some of them however were clever enough to remove the films before handing over their empty cameras. After arriving at their destinations they spoke to the media. What they said and the photos they took were published, making headlines in all the important newspapers of the world, and that was the first time the world came to know what was happening in this country. By lifting the curfew, an opportunity was given to the people to come out from their houses and hideouts to escape. It was also a pre-planned action. Many of them came to the riverside and crossing the river came to a place called Jinjira. All they wanted was to run away with their families from the city and maintain a safe distance from the army, but they did not run far enough, as a day later army men surrounded the whole area and shot them all. How many died there was only a matter of speculation. Some of them who escaped said later that the machine gun fire never stopped.
Murshed, my other relatives and friends gave me plenty of new information. There was a strong common rumour that the country’s foremost leader Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was arrested and was taken away to Pakistan, but the other leaders managed to escape. This rumour was later found to be true. The army commander General Tikka Khan was the Governor of East Pakistan now, pretending to be the head of a civilian government. I remembered that before I escaped from Chittagong, he summoned the Chief Justice to swear him in as the Governor but the Chief Justice
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refused. Immediately after the Army action began, he was brought forcibly at gun point and the oath taking ceremony was held before TV cameras and microphones pronouncing him as the Governor of East Pakistan. Because of his cruelty and ruthlessness, General Tikka Khan was a well known name in the Pakistan Army and was known as the Bomber of Balochistan. We all remembered that during trouble in Balochistan, one of the western provinces of West Pakistan, instead of negotiating, he used bombers to bring the Balochis to their knees and drive them to the mountains where most of them perished. The same man was here now to prove his merit. Murshed gave me another news that I thought alarming. Attempts were being made now to divert the attention of the public from real facts, and to some extent the administration was succeeding. Instead of mentioning anything about the general election and its results, it was now being announced that the Army came to save Islam. Influenced by the Hindu culture, the Awami League was trying to destroy our ‘Islamic heritage’. The public were being told that they should not be afraid of the Army because the Army was their friend and came only to help them. The people therefore should now stand by their side and help the Army to find the Awami Leaguers hiding in their midst. Using money, threats, a little brainwashing and a lot of promises, they managed to convert some of our so called religious leaders and some of them had joined the aggressors already, welcoming the actions of the Pakistan Army. The majority of the people in East Pakistan belonged to the labour class, partially or totally illiterate. They were simple folk without much knowledge of what was going on or why. Not knowing what to believe, many we5re now thoroughly confused, and I became a worried man too. It was not difficult to understand that similar distortion of facts may lead to many other confusing and harmful complicated consequences, and it did not take an intelligent man to foresee what might happen ultimately. Illiterate and simple men always looked to their religious leaders for guidance. If such a leader became a favourite man of the Army somehow, he would only have to point his finger at somebody he did not like, and the man would disappear in a day or two. On the other hand, some of the followers would also realise that they were in a good position to become big men in a very short time by taking
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advantage of the situation. Sooner or later, a lucrative scheme to realise money from innocent people, threatening them with unpleasant consequences if they didn’t pay, was inevitable. It was found later that this reasoning was not baseless. In financial matters, neither literacy nor much intelligence is required to tell a man what is profitable for him.
My brother was a man with strong social connections and had many friends. They used to come normally during daylight hours and I knew most of them myself. Among them there were Dr. Rabbi and his wife, also a doctor. They lived close by and came often to Murshed’s house to talk and to spend some time. Nobody in those days liked going out in the evenings unless dictated by urgency because if they did, they would have to cross one, two or more check posts invariably. The checking itself was not that bad, but the behaviour of the soldiers and their questions were. It was not beyond them to detain somebody unnecessarily for an hour or two just for fun. Dr. Rabbi was interested to know about the resistance the people in Chittagong had organised. I told them everything I knew, omitting the facts of my own involvement in it. Murshed knew, but he expressly told me not to talk about it, particularly forbade me to discuss these with the MD of our company because he was supporting the Army actions openly these days. He was not a politician, and as far as I knew, neither any money nor any position in the future government was promised to him either. Why he supported the Army is not clear to me even to this day. He used to send his car for me almost daily and wanted to know all that happened in Chittagong and why our plywood mill was targeted in particular. I told him that I lost all touch with the mill after our area and my own house was attacked and became too busy in saving myself and my family. He reminded me often that after my rest period in Dhaka was over, I should go back soon. He was fully convinced that ‘the trouble was over now. He told me on another occasion that he would get some papers for me from the Army Headquarters, so that I could move around and work freely in Chittagong. If necessary, I could approach the local Army Base for help too. I disliked this line of talk, always referring to the necessity of my going back, but tactfully kept my mouth shut. I was summoned to his house one day to meet a colonel from the Pakistan
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Army, and as we shook hands during introductions he promised to help if he could. He kept his promise and in a couple of days my papers arrived. Opening the envelope, I found two sheets of papers inside, with seals of the Military Headquarters on top. One was a pass that would enable me to move freely, and the other one was an open request to other military establishments to help me if I needed help, and since then I was under considerable pressure to go back to Chittagong. I was hesitating but I had to agree as I was a working man after all.
I heard an amusing story in Dhaka. Amusing stories or incidents were very hard to come by in those days, though we needed some to raise our spirits. Millions of people were then fleeing from villages, cities or wherever they lived to save themselves. There was no transport of any kind to take them across to the Indian border where they hoped to get a sanctuary. Most of them were on foot with their families, carrying their belongings on their shoulders across the country. By this time the rainy season started and the grounds became muddy. They had to avoid the main roads and habitations because of Army patrols and many of them perished on the road. When the situation was like this everywhere, an amusing condition prevailed in Pabna, a northern district. I met a young man when I was working in the broadcasting service Radio Pakistan during the early fifties. He was a university student and worked on part time basis. His name was Nurul Kader. After his graduation he studied Public Service and became the Deputy Commissioner of Pabna. He was there when the war began. When everybody was trying to flee across hundreds of miles on foot, he calmly requisitioned a whole railway train with dozens of compartments and boarded the train with his family, his subordinates with their families and all others who wanted to leave the country with him. Many of the railway employees joined him with their families too. They carried their belongings and sufficient food for the journey. The train decorated in many colourful flags proceed carefully and slowly reached the India border in two days. The members of the Border Security Force on the Indian side was so surprised and amazed to find the train that they did not know what to do with them because neither the decorated train nor the passengers in it looked like refugees at all. They stopped the train,
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kept it in the same position for one whole day and only after the intervention of the higher authorities agreed to allow it to pass through. I met Nurul Kader only once after the war. When I wanted to know about it, he laughed gleefully and told me all about it.
Leaving my family in my brother’s house, I flew back to Chittagong after remaining in Dhaka for a couple of weeks. Road communications between Dhaka and the port city of Chittagong were closed as a number of road and railway bridges were blown up and the only route open was by air. I do not remember the exact date of my return, but I think it was during the middle of May. Before leaving Dhaka I telephoned another officer of our company Nurul Huda, who was also a friend. I had no place to stay but Huda invited me to stay with him and it was so arranged that during my stay in Chittagong I would live with him. He assured me that neither of us would be inconvenienced in any way as he was living alone. He had sent his family to his village home before the war began.
Huda was waiting for me in the air port. He was a tall, dark complexioned, handsome, soft spoken man and a good friend. I was surprised to find my car there with the diver Shamsu. It was a nice reunion. Going back to the city I got my first opportunity to check the merit of the papers given to me in Dhaka. There was a check post about ten miles outside the city. We were ordered to get out of the car. Getting out I showed them my papers and immediately we were not only allowed to go on our way, but I earned a salute too. The guards on the check post did not know us or what was written in English either, but they recognized the seal. Huda was surprised and when he enquired about it, I told him about the papers and how I got those. Huda laughed and said that the soldiers on duty did not salute me, they saluted the embossed seal on the papers.
Huda was living in a comfortable apartment on the top floor of a four storied building with nice views on all sides. The rooms were spacious and fully furnished. There was another man who cooked, washed and cleaned for him, working more or less like a housekeeper. He lived there too. After our arrival both of us sat down on the spacious front veranda and talked for a long time. I remained with him in this apartment, worked together and helped
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each other for many months afterwards during the turbulent days of the war. In his opinion, the situation had not improved much. People were still being rounded up occasionally and taken to unknown destinations never to return. All offices, particularly the government offices had to be opened as an ultimatum was issued to all the senior officers who fled leaving their jobs. Some of them returned but again some officers were picked up from their offices during working hours, only to disappear. I personally knew three of them myself. The superintendent of police, the harbour master and the executive engineer of the port authority were picked up from their offices on the same day. After a couple of days their dead bodies were found in front of the police lines, not far from my house. The harbour master of the port was a cousin of mine. Houses belonging to persons known to be rich were often raided at night. Instead of doing anything openly the authorities were now doing all their dirty work under cover of darkness. Ordinary foot soldiers had their own way. They were given license to do whatever they liked and now it was becoming difficult to keep them under control. Dead bodies lying on the roadside or heavy automatic gun fire at night were common occurrences. An administrative office was set up at the Circuit House and it was announced if the people came to know of any injustice or had anything to complain, they must go and lodge their complain there. It was also rumoured that the people who went there initially to lodge their complaints did not return. Nobody went there now. I wondered if this situation could be called an improvement.
Huda gave me an interesting piece of news. There were some Bihari workers at the mill who remained absent when the trouble began. They came out after the army action and began searching for me. Knowing that I was friendly with Huda, they came to him several times also, making enquiries. I thought that they wanted me because they wanted to resume the repair work of the mills immediately but came to know the actual reasons a long time later. I grew up and was educated in India and lived there during my younger days for many years. It was in India where I learnt Urdu and Hindi both and returned to my own country after the partition of India in 1947. While talking to the Biharis I always spoke in their own language Urdu and they knew too that I came from India.
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It was not surprising therefore that the Biharis thought that I was one of their kind, an immigrant from India myself. After the raid on my house some of them thought that I was dead but they continued with their search as my body was not found. I told Huda about my present assignment and my job now was to inspect the damages and assess the finance required for repairs and reconstructions and the Head Office would arrange funds for the work to be done. Considering the circumstances it was a big task and I discussed with Huda how I should go about doing it. I disliked the idea of going to the industrial area where our mill was located because it was being fully controlled by the Biharis. I was not sure if the papers given to me by the authorities in Dhaka could save me here if they had a definite complain against me in Chittagong. I had a long talk with Huda that day. I told him everything and wanted to know about his opinion if I should come out in the open now to do the job for which I had been sent back. Huda, however, thought differently. He advised against the idea of my going out immediately, but as the situation was changing so fast, he did not think that the authorities were still searching for me. The army people were busy with current events, not the past.
My car driver Shamsu had no place for to stay and I invited him to remain with us. Next day I sent him to bring Taher who was living in Kakoli as the care taker with his younger brother Nizam. Taher arrived soon with a big smile and gave the best of all news I received so far. He told me that soldiers came to Kakoli searching for me twice. They looked on all sides, inspected the rooms and when Taher enquired what they wanted, they demanded to know my whereabouts. Taher told them that I was staying in Dhaka with my family as Kakoli was looted and I considered it unsafe to live with my family here. He was only taking care of the house for the time being to prevent further looting. Some of the Bihari workers of our Mill also came enquiring about me few days later. Taher gave them the same story and they were glad to know that I was alive and not dead, as some of them thought. Taher was told to inform me to return here immediately. That was the first time I came to know of their belief that they considered me as one of them, a refugee and an immigrant from India. They also assured their help to rebuild the Mill and do whatever I wanted. Their
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opinion was that I made a mistake by not going to the Cantonment for my safety, instead of running away to Dhaka. I was aghast.
There was another piece of satisfactory news. Enquiries had been made several times at the mill too to find out if I was helping the militants, as claimed in some reports. The Army claimed that they had proof that I was helping the militants, but the Biharis denied all these charges vehemently. They said that somebody must be trying to put me in trouble by spreading lies. It was a totally false accusation and according to them I was a good man and a good executive. The Biharis came back several times later to find if Taher was having difficulty in living here alone and offered to send a couple of Biharis to live with him for additional security. Taher declined. I became slightly worried when Taher gave me another information. Some boys in small groups of two or three were coming often to make enquiries about me too. One or two local boys were with them, but Taher did not know the others. They never said what they wanted. All they wanted to know was where I was living or how they could get in touch with me. Taher told them nothing.
I became fed up with the routine of sleeping, eating, and doing nothing, for several days. I thought that I would have to visit the Mill to assess the damages some day, so why not now? I decided to go one morning and as I was leaving Huda came down and joined me laughing. Shamsu was waiting for us. The road leading to the industrial area was totally empty and our car was the only car on the road, except for a few army vehicles that passed us. As we were nearing, I was trying to see the high tin roof and the tall boiler chimney, but none of those were visible as the silhouette of the mill had completely changed. I was looking for the big mill gate that should have been there too, but it was not. The car came to a sudden stop. There was a culvert in front and there were a couple of big ditches on either side of the culvert. I remembered that it was by my own orders that these deep and wide ditches were dug when the workers reported that they could see tanks coming. I found that they did a very good job at it. The ditches were deep and wide and waters of the stream that used to flow under the culvert was diverted through the ditches. The tanks were delayed here for one whole day giving the people more time to escape. That could also
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be the reason also why they set fire to the Mill. The Biharis fortunately were keeping themselves away at that time and knew nothing about my part in it. Both the ditches were partially filled as the tanks and other vehicles passed through, but it was still difficult to cross. I decided to leave the car near the culvert as the factory gate was only about fifty yards away. Actually the opening of the gate was there but not the iron gate itself. We were noticed immediately as we came in. Somebody shouted and the others came running and flocked around us. I talked to them and it did not take me long to understand that there was no danger here, as I was fully accepted by them as another refugee from India. After answering their questions I entered the Mill with them after some time. It was difficult to move around inside the building. The walls turned black, and evidently the mill was shelled before setting fire to it. A section of the building wall was down and there was rubble everywhere. The entire tin roof of the building collapsed inside the walls covering everything underneath. Nothing could be seen or done until the tin and rubble was removed. The boiler seemed to be intact, but the shed was gone and the chimney was down. It was also clear that it would take a long time to finish the job without mechanical help, with the limited number of workers I had. I had a short discussion with them and they promised to bring some more Biharis from their neighborhood for removing the rubble and the burnt tin. For cleaning and repairing the machines, the Biharis advised that I should try to get some of our trained workers back. I got a chance to talk back and I used the advantage. I told them that I would try, but if the local workers came, the Biharis would have to look after them so that they did not come to any harm. They agreed. It took me time and a lot of effort to get in touch with the other workers and managed to convince some of them about our intentions. I was happy when a dozen of them came a week later and I took them to the mill myself, reminding the Biharis that if they failed to work amicably for their bread and butter, there would be no future for anybody at this establishment. In the meantime I kept in touch with my Dhaka Office and reported over phone about the condition of the mill.
My visit to the mill, discussions with the Bihari workers and the information that I was not on the wanted list, helped me to gain
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some mental strength. I never thought of myself as a brave man. I was just a family man like many others and somehow got involved in the war. From that day I used to go to the mill regularly for inspections that helped the workers too. Once, while going there I was stopped by a military jeep not very far from the mill gate. An army Captain came down and wanted to know what I was doing there. He was talking in English, but I decided to reply in Urdu. As we were talking some Bihari workers saw us and came running. The Captain left soon. Returning from the mills one day, I decided to go to my house Kakoli to have a look. I had never been there since I left it with my family about three months ago. Taher and his brother Nizam came out as soon as my car stopped in front and took me in. I looked around from room to room and found many things missing, possibly looted after we left. All the doors were broken including the shutters of wall cabinets and the iron safe. Couple of air coolers, a medium sized chandelier in the living room, my favourite outboard motor and many other articles found inconvenient to carry were smashed. Evidently the looters took only small and valuable items, avoiding the bulky ones. Important documents, papers and books from three book cases were all over the floor. Taher did what he could and now the rooms at least looked clean. While I was talking to Taher and his brother, another boy of their age came in. I was surprised because I did not know that except these two, another person was living with them. When I enquired, Taher said that he was a local boy. For some reasons he was unable to return to his own home and Taher took him in giving him temporary shelter. He told me later that he was a local boy and was one of those who took training in handling arms under me. Many of his friends had already been picked up. There were others who were staying undercover enquiring about me, he said. After the disappearance of the local leaders, the only other person they knew of was me, and they wanted to contact me for guidance. I did not know what to say as I was neither a political man nor a leader of any kind. I had no idea how to handle a group of boys under these conditions either. That night I had a short discussion with Huda. Huda’s answer was specific and short. According to him it was my duty to help the boys if I could as I had already gotten myself involved with
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the war. But how? What could I do to help them?
As my visits to the Mill gave me courage, I thought about visiting my friends and some of my neighbours in the evenings. Most of them thought that I had perished, during the early phase of the war, along with my whole family. They had heard the news of my return to Chittagong, but some of them still thought that it was another rumour. Azizur Rahman, who was working at the oil refinery and lived with his family was very glad to see me. I spent about half an hour with them and then both of us walked down to meet Nazrul Siddiqui. He was one of the top organisers of the arms training program before the war, and could not imagine how he survived when most of them were rounded up by the army. Hearing my voice he rushed out and took me in a strong embrace as he was a close friend and we met after a long period of turbulent days. He was also the man who visited my house for the first time after the attack, closed the broken doors by nailing cross pieces to prevent further loss, and arranged for Bihari guards. We had long talks about the present situation or how it was going to end. He told me that about fifty people were picked up from the Nasirabad area alone during the combing operation that followed after the first attack, giving particular attention to the buildings where the Bangladeshi flags were flying. In addition to attacks, two such buildings were completely demolished. Nobody knew if the people who were arrested during the combing operation were still alive or dead. This operation was still continuing, but under cover of darkness at night. He gave me some important information I did not know. According to him, thousands of young boys who escaped the military roundup, fled to India across the border. They were returning now with arms. Looking straight at my eyes he said that some of them arrived in our area too and they were searching for me now. The boys thought that it was I who showed them what they should do in case there was war. Now the war had come and therefore they wanted me to help them again. I decided to speak this time. I told him that the word reached me too, but I had no idea how to help them as I was neither a military man nor a politician. He nodded without giving any reply. Surprisingly, the first information about the armed boys entering the city was given to me by the Bihari workers of our mill. They mentioned it casually and
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I did not realize its full implication at that time, but now I did. Evidently, Siddiqui had some contact with the boys who were coming in with arms.
Siddiqui told me a tragic story that day. During the early days of the war one of the common problems of the people was food shortage, as the shops and markets were closed. One day Siddiqui came out with a shopping bag in his had to find out if he could buy something for his home. He did not want to take his car out and decided to walk. Before he could go far, an army truck came along and he was picked up. With about fifteen or twenty others he was taken to a military camp presumably for interrogation. He kept on waiting and had no idea where the others went. After three hours or so, an army officer came along and enquired why he was sitting there. Siddiqui explained that he was brought here but did not know why. Looking at his white hair and stooped stature the officer told him to go home and return next day. He did as he was told and came back to the camp on the following day. It was full of soldiers talking and shouting at each other. Sitting on the veranda Siddiqui waited and waited, but nobody came for him. After a long time an officer ultimately came and when he enquired, Siddiqui told him why he was waiting. The army officer was in a good mood. He took him in and offered him a cup of tea. He also told him that Siddiqui must be a good man, otherwise he wouldn’t have returned after being allowed to go back the day before. He could go home now. Siddiqui was in no position to refuse the tea offered to him or try to leave while the captain was talking. He sat there listening. The officer told him a sad story and Siddiqui understood that the army officer’s conscience was bothering him for doing something that he did not like. He said that a truck load of of young boys were brought there a week ago. After interrogation some of them were released and the others were shot. He liked a young boy among them in particular. His age was about twenty two or three and was studying in a college somewhere. Evidently, he came of a well-todo family with good looks and clear cut features, but very arrogant. The captain wanted to release the boy. Instead of questioning the boy he asked him to say “Pakistan Zindabad” (Long live Pakistan), but every time he said that the boy shouted “Joy Bangla”, the war cry of the militants. Despite all his efforts he could not persuade
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him to change his mind. “The officer stopped talking and silently smoked his cigarette,” Siddiqui said. Meanwhile he getting impatient and when he asked what happened to that boy, releasing smoke through his nostrils the captain replied that the boy was ultimately shot with the others. He agreed that in the line of duty as an army man he had to do many things, but he did not have to like those. Orders came from his seniors and it was his duty to obey, as he would be court-martialed if he did not. Returning from the camp Siddiqui made enquiries and tried to find out who the brave boy was. He could not.
It was early June when things began happening. I went to the Mill with Huda one day to have a look at the progress being made. It was hard and heavy work for the limited number of workers working to remove rubble, tons of twisted and burnt iron sheets from the roof, broken or damaged machineries and many other things. Without proper equipment it was slow work. After spending the whole morning with the workers we returned late and were having our lunch when we heard a knock on the front door. We were not expecting anybody. Huda went out to have a look and returned soon with a worried face. He reported that a couple of boys wanted to talk to me. I was surprised. I could guess who those boys could be but I did not know how they found out I was living here with Huda. Taher and my car driver Shamsu could have talked. On the other hand, from what my friend Nazrul Siddiqui said the other day, I had the impression that he had some connections with the boys working underground. He could have given them my address too. In any case, I wanted to meet them and they were here. No harm done in that, but I was irked to find that they did it so easily. If they could find me so fast, others could too. Both the boys stood up when I entered. They were in their early twenties and I found that I knew one of them. He was Alam, a dark skinned boy from my own area Nasirabad and took training in our arms training program. Evidently, it was he who brought the other boy with him. We had a long talk, but when I wanted to know why they were searching for me, his replies were very clear and specific. They were looking for me because I was the only man available while the others were not. There were plenty of boys to do the actual fighting, but there was no one to guide them or to tell
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them what or how they should do it. The boys elected me for the job. There was another urgent necessity. They had eighteen boys in their group and their group leader was a boy named Lokman. There were eleven other similar groups already in the city and more were coming in. Accommodation and normal day to day expenses for these boys were becoming a big problem. They could live easily in any house or with any family in the city, but the boys did not want that, because they knew that if anybody was caught and if they talked, many families would have to suffer severe consequences. Alam wanted my permission to use my house Kakoli in Nasirabad as their camp or a temporary hideout, as I was not living there. In addition to that they needed some financial help too. It would be of much help if I could arrange funds for them through my own contacts and friends because they needed money for food and their own expenses. The boy Alam was a good talker and came to the point clearly and I understood that because of his abilities to talk he was sent to me. I listened to him attentively without making any commitment and told them to send their leader Lokman with Taher. I was in a perturbed state when they left. Although I was never interested in politics, I was now getting more and more involved. Actually my position was similar to many others during the war. My boys were murdered in my own house only a few months back and I survived only because at that moment I was not there with them. It was an accident but because of that accident I lived and they died. The question that naturally followed was that, if they were not guilty of any crime, why did they have to die? Punishment for an offence people did not commit often turns into a boomerang, as terrified, fleeing, people sometimes turn back for a confrontation beyond a certain point of oppression. It was bound to happen sooner or later.
It was apparent by this time that the military government of East Pakistan was trying to make it look that everything was peaceful in the country. The headlines in the newspapers all over the world and their adverse comments had effects on the local situation. Killings or kidnappings were still going on in a limited scale but undercover. After the boys left I remained sitting there and thought how the administration would react once the guerrilla activities began, as violent retribution would attract the world attention
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again. According to the local TV and radio news, East Pakistan was the land of peace. There was no problem in this country, but the people knew the truth and never bothered to listen to these news services and for dependable news they tuned either to the BBC or Indian media. Because of the foreign observers and under pressure of the world opinion, the Pakistan military government decided to change their administrative policy to some extent. The Chief Martial Law Administrator of East Pakistan was removed and a Bengali quisling was brought in as the Governor, the head of the civil administration. He was often heard over TV and radio approaching the people for help and claiming that the people accepted his appeal. According to the TV reports and photographs published in the local newspapers, the government claimed that in response of the governor’s appeal thousands of people were now returning from India. His appeals, however, did not have much effect on the local situation as too many people had already died by this time due to army actions.
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Chapter – 5

Taher came in the evening with a tall young man and introduced him as Lokman. So, this was the leader of the msquad Alam talked about this morning. I liked the looks of him. He was slightly older and unlike the other boys talked slowly and intelligently. To my amazement he addressed me as “Khalu”. I became a common uncle to all the boys who participated in our weapons training program months ago and it seemed that it stuck. He repeated what Alam told me and at the same time confirmed the information I had heard before. He said that being unable to stop the activities of the armed occupiers of the Pakistani Army, thousands of our boys fled to our neighbouring country India, where they were promptly arrested, but there were too many of them. When millions and millions of refugees arrived at the same time across the border in search of safety and shelter, the India Government realised that arresting all of them was not a practical solution. The refugees found nothing there and due to lack of food and exposure many died in large numbers. The Indian authorities knew what was going on but they waited until our own leaders arrived for talks. The problem was too big for the India Government to handle alone and they instigated such an uproar at the international level that it attracted world attention again. Some help arrived after the United Nations extended a helping hand. There was another development. In consequence to the discussions our leaders had with the India Government, a separate program was taken up to train up our boys for guerrilla warfare. In a short course they were taught how to attack the enemy and leave, avoiding
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frontal combat. They were told that if they wanted to liberate their country, they would have to fight for it themselves because the Indian soldiers would never take any active part in the fighting. Finishing a short training course, Lokman and a few other groups entered Bangladesh for their activities last week, while hundreds of other groups were being trained on the other side of the border. They would also come in to join them eventually when they were ready. He did not know though how many groups had entered already. In response to my question, Lokman said that he had only six 0.303 bolt action rifles, two revolvers, about ten lbs of plastic explosives and half a dozen grenades for the whole group. He mentioned with a grimace that the Indians did not trust them very much. They were told before leaving that the boys would get nothing more unless they could prove themselves.
It was not a very satisfactory beginning. A short course of weapons training cannot turn a student or an ordinary man into a soldier, and sending them to face an army with modern automatic weapons was nothing but sheer murder. If or when they needed further supplies, particularly of ammunition, they would have to go across the border again to get it. That was not easy either. Anybody who wanted to go to India from the Chittagong side had to pass through a narrow territory, a short neck in between the sea and impassable high hills and forests on the other side. There was a railway bridge over a river that was demolished in the beginning of the war to stop army movements. Repeated attempts were made by the Pakistanis to rebuild the bridge, but failed. As a result there was a fairly big army camp there now. Their presence and their razakar helpers made it very difficult for those who wanted to pass through. They were using another route now. Far down from the demolished bridge, the river mouth widened to about three miles near the sea. It was a difficult place to cross since, save a few channels, the river was completely silted up and there was virtually no depth anywhere. Only fishermen and some local people knew where the channels were. During the low tide if a man standing on one side looked towards the other side, he would only see a number of treacherous mud banks and sand bars. Nothing else. Even when guided by an expert, boats often got stuck in mud and had to wait hours for the high tide to float loose. The difficulty, however, was
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not one sided. Chasing was equally difficult for the other side, using powerful speed boats. Because of these problems, the army increased the number of army guards and razakars on both sides of the river giving them clear orders to shoot if they find anybody trying to cross. It seemed that our boys had too many places to cross. The river crossing itself was bad enough but finally they had to cross to the other side of the Indian border. They would have to do it every time they needed supplies.
It was getting late and the time of the nightly curfew was getting near. When Lokman began talking about his needs, I stopped him short and told him what I could do for him and his group. I told him that they could use my house Kakoli as their camp for the time being and could expect some limited financial help from me, as much as I could afford. They would have to be very careful in their activities though. Any irresponsible behaviour or careless movement by anybody in his group might invite a raid and consequently they would lose their camp and my help permanently. I told him frankly that being a family man I could not afford to get directly involved in their affairs too much. I told him too that I did not have much faith in the intelligence of the younger generation. My name and where I was living therefore must not be revealed to anyone at any time and I should always be referred to as “Khalu”, not by my name. I did not want anybody to come here under any circumstance either, except Lokman himself and all further contact with me should be made through Taher who would remain in Kakoli with them and would look after them to the best of his abilities. Lokman agreed as Taher had already been accepted as a member of the group. Before leaving, Lokman made another request. Most of the boys in his group were local boys like himself. They knew the city well but as they were not here when the trouble began, they might need relevant information occasionally. He wanted my help to select targets on priority basis and my advice for preparing operational plans.
I thought about what Lokman told me for a long time after they left and was beginning to understand that I was getting into something about which I knew nothing. I had some discussions with Huda too, and he suggested that they should be given some softer targets initially, so that the boys could understand the
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problems they would have to overcome later. It was necessary to raise group morale first. There were a number of roadside check posts manned by army men and razakars. The latter were a new breed of monsters created by the Pakistan Army to help them. They convinced some of the religious leaders of the country that Islam was in trouble and the Pakistanis came to save the local Muslims from losing their religion. Few believed them, but then a lot of money changed hands and once again money became an important factor in the war. With the help of the so called religious leaders, the Army recruited some people as their helpers, paid them well and named them razakars, and ultimately, they became more dangerous as they knew the people, and their way around. The army always used them as their guides. Both of us went around the city next day, located half a dozen suitable roadside check posts and sent word to Taher for Lokman. When he came I told him what we did and told him about the locations of the check posts. A few days later Lokman came in grinning and gave his report. His boys had successfully attacked three check posts the night before, with grenades. There were heavy casualties as the attack was unexpected. He also added grimly that out of six, he had only one grenade left now. Somebody would have to go across the border again for more grenades.
It was unfolding to me slowly that we were now entering a new phase of the war. It was totally one sided at one time, when only the Army was doing the attacking and we were dying, but we were hitting back now. From then on hardly a night passed when we did not hear heavy explosions of bombs going off in the darkness, or rifle shots. Usual targets were the power plants, the gas stations, check posts and the houses where people helping and collaborating with the army lived. Close to where we were living, a house was attacked one night where two razakars were permanently on duty. One morning, the whole family including the Razakars were found dead. A bullet-riddled army truck in another area was found burnt. One day another army truck was blown up by explosives in broad day light near a market place. Some Naval Officers used to live in a building at the edge of the city. It became a habit of some of the boys to fire shots through their open windows. These shots did no actual damage, except to the morale of those who lived there.
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Nobody liked to be a potential target for sniping at all hours of day and night and the officers shifted their living quarters to their Base. Occurrences like these were happening frequently all over the city and it was becoming apparent that the table was turning. More strong points and roadside bunkers were constructed and more soldiers and more Razakars were now sitting behind those on guard. The number of checkposts in the city also increased, increasing the number of guards who did the checking more rigidly. The army, however, did not react as violently as we expected. They often surrounded big areas and began house to house searches, but never found anything. That did not stop them from lifting some unfortunate people from the neighborhood but any punishment they received were not given publicly. The world opinion of what they had been doing had a delayed effect on the government.
The month of June was coming to an end. It was at this time there was an incident that had a profound effect on our activities. Huda had a friend named Rahim. He was a junior officer working at the Naval Base and used to come to meet him sometimes. I did not know how he survived the initial thrust and still managed to remain attached to the Navy. I did not like this young man but Huda assured me that he was a straightforward man and was not harmful. One day when we were sipping tea sitting on the veranda in the afternoon, there was a knock on the door. Huda got up and opened the door. Rahim came in followed by another tall middle aged man with greying hair who did not look like a Bengali at all. My immediate thought was that Rahim must have given us away. I got up from my chair and shook hands with him as Rahim introduced him as Lt. Commander Masood of the Pakistan Navy. My mind was reeling with worries of what was about to follow, but I tried not to show my feelings on my face. Huda was also frightened. Masood seemed to be a jolly talkative man, laughed a lot and was a good talker. Using his sailor’s language he abused the military government in general for employing murderers and killers for their normal duties. It continued for a long time. Both Huda and myself were sitting speechless in surprise, as he kept on talking. I did not expect it from a man wearing the uniform of Pakistan Navy to talk like that, condemning his own people. When he ultimately
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left with Rahim after an hour, I turned to look at Huda. He was as confused as I was. Both of us thought that the Navy man was playing a role. By abusing his fellow men, he wanted to bring our own feelings out inviting us to join the conversation with him. In that case it would be easy for him to make his own deductions. But why us? We never met before. We decided not to give him any opportunity by talking about the war at all if he came again. To our discomfort, Lt. Commander Masood’s frequent visits to our apartment became a regular affair. Returning from his office in the Naval Base, he normally came in the evenings, remained with us for a couple of hours and talked a lot before leaving. His favourite topic was the war, but once he enquired about my personal background too. He wanted to know why despite having my own house in the city I was not living there and did not bring my family from Dhaka. He volunteered to live with us in case I was afraid to live in my house alone. He confided one day that he was glad that underground movements were beginning, but in his opinion it should have started earlier. Only throwing a few bombs here and there would not help us much. He gave us some new information. A patrol boat fitted with a machinegun was ambushed a week ago killing six men and the boat was found with the bodies in it. He mentioned another incident. Outside the city limits and close to the Naval Base, a group of razakars and a couple of navy men were returning from somewhere in the evening when they were ambushed only half a mile from the base. Because of the proximity to the base, this incident was not known to the public, but it created an uproar within the rank and file of the navy. I noted his comment that throwing bombs did not have much effect and decided to have a talk with Lokman in this connection. Lokman would have to think of doing something else and revise his activities. The only thing that I thought important then was to find out more about this man Masood. I asked Huda to talk to Rahim and find out why he was regularly bringing this naval officer here. At a convenient time Huda did have a talk with Rahim and he was told a surprising story. Rahim came alone one day and repeated the same story to both of us. Lt. Commander Masood was of Indian descent. After the partition of India in 1947, he migrated to West Pakistan with his family and joined the Pakistan Navy. Living there
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he knew nothing about the actual problems in East Pakistan, except what he was told by his seniors and the government. He came over with the others to take up his duties in Chittagong and, only after his arrival, he found out that the Pakistan Government was using the armed forces to attack the civilian population to solve problems which were basically political. He did not like what he saw. He was a fighting man but did not want any part in the senseless massacre of the unarmed public.
Masood was stationed at a transit camp of the navy in the southern part of the city when the war began. Till then he knew nothing about the intentions of the government or what was about to happen, nor had any personal knowledge of the mass killings of Bengali soldiers in the cantonment the night before. He knew though that about hundred and fifty disarmed Bengali soldiers were taken directly to the jetty to unload the two ships that arrived carrying a cargo of arms and ammunition from West Pakistan. Two more trucks came later carrying about fifty heads, but instead of taking them to the jetty, they were confined in a room in the transit camp, under Masood’s care. Knowing nothing about the intentions of the military government, he looked after the captives and assured them that they would come to no harm. An army captain turned up the next day and relieved the commander of his responsibilities. All the captives were taken by truck to the jetty and shot. Lt. Commander Masud saw everything and became a deeply disturbed man after this incident, Rahim claimed. That was the first time he understood what was happening in this country and felt bad because despite his promise and assurances he could not save the soldiers. He protested and as a result, he was immediately removed from his duties and imprisoned in a small tanker for fifteen or twenty days. When he was released he was demoted as a Store Officer and was told to leave the Base where he was living. His office was still there but, but he was living in the city with his Bengali assistant Rahim. He must have been a lucky man too. Among his other officers he was considered to be an unbalanced man, and because of that, his views on the military government were not reported to the authorities. If they had, it certainly would have meant a court martial. I remained silent for a long time after Rahim finished his story. The only thought that came in my mind was that surrounded
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by a vicious circle, this man possibly needed more help than we did.
Masood said something very interesting one day. He was in a jovial mood as usual, laughing a lot and abusing his own men for what they had been doing. He wanted to know one day if we knew anybody in the Port. I avoided answering him directly, but actually we had none. According to him, Chittagong was the only big port of this country and it was actually a river port, not a sea port, and he thought that if we could somehow make the port inoperational, we could stop the war. Without understanding what he was talking about, both Huda and myself stared at him. Had he gone mad? He explained further. The main requisite of modern warfare was oil and a continuous supply of all kinds of petroleum products. Oil came in tankers for further processing in the local refineries, and the refineries here were situated by the side of the port. No oil meant no war, and if the supply could be disrupted for some time, it was bound to have a tremendous effect on the war. He thought that it could be done without much difficulty. The port of Chittagong was a river port, situated about sixteen miles upstream by the side of the river Karnaphuli. As the northern part of the Bay of Bengal is very shallow, a long deep trench was dug for miles into the sea to enable medium sized ships to come into the port. Even then, ships could come in or leave at high tide only. He thought that the best possible way to close this port for a long time was to sink a ship across this channel and also suggested a suitable place for sinking a block ship. About five miles down the river and almost by the side of the navigation channel, the skeleton of another ship could be seen in low tides lying embedded deep in mud. Nobody knew when the ship sank or why. An attempt was made earlier years ago to remove the ship from there as it was partially blocking the navigational channel, but the attempt was abandoned and the channel was dug around it. In his opinion that was the ideal place for creating an obstacle and if another suitable ship, preferably fully loaded with cement was scuttled across the channel, the Port would sure to stop functioning. The Naval authorities would not find it very easy to remove either of the two sunken ships from the channel. It could be done, but with the facilities available locally it would take a long time. When the
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Commander left an hour later, both Huda and myself stared at each other in stunned silence. We were both landlubbers with little knowledge about plans like this one. We discussed this for a long time ourselves trying to decide if we could do what he suggested. Our foremost requirement was a man who knew ship handling, a crewman who would be willing to do this job, a ship large enough to fulfil our needs with or without the owners’ permission, and a big sum of money. There were too many ifs and buts but we decided to make some enquiries before taking a decision. We made some enquiries and found to our surprise that the project was not as difficult as we thought at first. A suitable coaster was found including a man willing to do the job for us. We contacted a few wealthy people in this connection too and they were willing to pay if the result was satisfactory. We were however finding it very difficult to proceed because the project was too big, involving too many people, and there was always possibility of leaks. When the situation was like this, some guests arrived from our Agartala camp in India. I tried to discuss this matter with them but they expressly forbade me to proceed further because another plan was being prepared right then for a direct attack on the port. I shall come back to it later.
Days were passing slowly and now it was the middle of July. Lokman often came for talks and reports. An unfortunate incident took place when two separate groups fought a short battle with each other one dark night with casualties on both sides. In a dark night it was not easy always to determine the identity of the other group. To prevent similar occurrences in future, Lokman contacted other group leaders and came to an understanding with them, dividing separate areas for their operations by my insistence and agreed to help each other when necessary. Bombs were now exploding all over the city. A couple of gas stations were blown up and three more check posts raided successfully. Lokman received another supply of twelve grenades and some rifle ammunition brought in by two couriers, but the third boy sent for the same purpose did not return. Due to the difficulties in getting supplies, Lokman was now trying to use his rifles more often, conserving the grenades but the results were not satisfactory. For the type of work they had been doing grenades were more suitable against those who sit behind
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walls of sand bags. In one of his attempts to attack a check post with rifles, he lost one of his boys when the fire was returned. He wanted some small sub-machine guns for his work. Several other groups that arrived after them had sub-machine guns with them. Lokman was worried, as worried as a Group Leader should be, but by this time I was getting worried myself for another reason. Lokman promised earlier not to give my address to any of his boys. I told him before that I did not have much faith in his boys as most of them were in their early or mid twenties and it was considered to be the age of irresponsibility. Being young they would always talk among themselves and with others and thus information considered to be confidential, would ultimately become common knowledge. Something like this must have happened as after Lokman’s first visit to our place, a couple of boys arrived grinning, seeking my blessings and despite my protests, their comings and goings did not stop. The only thing I could do was to change my address for a hideout, but after a talk with Huda I decided against it. There was another reason. I had to maintain open contact with the outside world in connection with the repair work still continuing in the Mill. I had to go there regularly for supervision and also to show that I was not on the wanted list. My connection with the Biharis was also important to me as they helped me considerably in the past. They came to me often for many reasons and my sudden disappearance might make them think differently. I did not want that.
After an early dinner both Huda and myself was preparing to go to bed when there was a knock on the front door. Both of us were alarmed. We were not expecting anybody and it was too late for a sane man to leave the security of his own house at this hour. Huda got up to open the door. It was Taher with another local boy from my neighbourhood. I was about to give them a scolding for coming so late, but the boy Khorshed stopped me. He told me that he was coming directly from Agartala with two important visitors. The people with him came on an important mission and wanted to talk to me as soon as possible as they did not have much time. He came here leaving the visitors in Kakoli. I was surprised and could not guess who could come to meet me at this hour from Agartala. Khorshed either did not or could not tell me anything. Both of them left when I agreed to meet them next morning.
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The visitors came early next morning and Khorshed introduced them one by one. Both of them were engineers by profession. The older of the two was Afsaruddin Mohammad Ali and the other one was Siddiqur Rahman. After the introduction was over their spokesman Afsar came straight to the point. They wanted a map of the Chittagong port showing as much details as possible immediately. A group of specially trained commandos would attack the port soon in near future and the success or failure would depend on the map. He added that his time was very short and he must return to Agartala in five days. I remained silent because I had no idea how to get a copy of such a map. Neither Huda nor myself knew anybody in the port who could help us either. The Port Authorities and the Navy had maps but getting a copy was impossible. The thought of approaching Commander Masood came to my mind, but I discarded it immediately. Surprisingly, it was the boy Khorshed who came forward with a suggestion. He said that we should have a talk with my neighbour Azizur Rahman in this connection. He was a senior engineer of the Oil Refinery situated in the same area and he might be able to help us. That suggestion rang a bell. He might indeed. He was a good man and a very good friend of mine. I was sure that he would do it if it was at all possible, but there was no way to contact him now as it was a working day and he must have gone to his office by now. We could meet him in the evening, but that meant the loss of one day. There was nothing we could do about it but wait and I told Khorshed to bring the visitors to the residence of Azizur Rahman from my house in the evening and I would go and join them there. Before they left I asked them another question. I wanted to know how did the people in Agartala know my name or where to come for the map. They smiled and said that they knew all there was to know about me. My house was known as a registered location for those who needed help, shelter or food, and Mokhles was only their guide. I sat thinking after they left. What an awkward and inconvenient position I was in. My house now seemed to have become a public property like a hotel or something, though I had to pay from my pocket to keep it going. The expenses were a constant headache for me and I had to beg and borrow everywhere for money.
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We reached the residence of Azizur Rahman in the evening as planned and Khorshed arrived with the guests almost at the same time. Aziz remained seated quietly for a long time after I told him what we wanted. He was our only hope. His comment after a long wait was that it could be done, but it would take time. I did not like that. We all knew that it was a difficult job and might require more time to do it, but it must be done within the specified time. Our visitors also pointed out that it would be no good to us unless they get the map before they go back. Aziz thought some more and wanted further discussions but I stopped him. How he would do it was his own affair but the map must be delivered on time. Thinking some more he uttered only one word quietly: “alright”. I was relieved. Aziz was a man of few words but he was a reliable man. We sat there talking for another half an hour and left. The map was delivered to our visitors on another evening two days later, when all of us assembled again at his house. My driver Shamsu picked them up from my house the next morning and took them to a place named Mirsarai, from where the India border was not very far. There were check posts on the road and they were stopped several times. Fortunately at the second check post an army officer wanted a lift and got in the car. That helped because seeing him on the front seat, the car was never stopped when the other check posts came up and both of them crossed the border at night. Aziz told me later how he managed it. He had a talk with one of his colleagues Matin and both of them went to sick leave and copied a map they stole from their office. It was not an easy job as it was a big map and it took them many hours to finish it. When the job was finished, they put the original map back in the same place from where they removed it earlier. I still do not know how they did it because all the Bengali Officers and other employees used to be thoroughly searched in those days before going in and coming out of the premises. A navy commodore was the top man in the refinery. In the very beginning he summoned all the Bengali officers and other employees and told them clearly that if there was any problem in the refinery, they would have to suffer. If the map was found, both of them would have probably been shot.
Reports of general uprisings were coming in from everywhere. Some came from the
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BBC or Indian Radio news broadcasts while others came from local sources brought in by the boys themselves. Reports of sudden attacks and ambushes on the army contingents were coming regularly from other cities and the rural areas. The movements of the Pakistan Army were restricted mainly to the cities, but the villages, open fields, swamps, network of thousands of rivers and similar other areas were beyond their reach. It was now the rainy season in Bangladesh when it rained so hard that it turned the whole country into a quagmire. Miles and miles of open land went under water where free movements of any of vehicles became difficult, in some cases impossible. As a result, the army gradually became victims of what were unfamiliar conditions. The common occurrence was that their heavy vehicles were bogged down in the middle of nowhere, miles away from their camps or metalled roads. They were often ambushed when they tried to walk back leaving their trucks in the mud. Attempts used to be made to recover the trucks, only to find those burnt or damaged. The climate and terrain worked against them. In frustration they burnt villages and shot men, women and children alike, but the attacks continued. A new name was now given to those who took up arms to fight the insurgents. They were called the Mukti Bahini meaning “the liberators’. This situation applied a tremendous pressure on the military authorities, as leaving their tanks, armoured carriers and trucks in the city areas and hard top roads, they were then required to fight the Mukti Bahini on foot, and the results were not satisfactory for them. The limited number of soldiers who came from West Pakistan initially could not cope with the situation as they were now spread very thin on the ground. More soldiers came but the demand kept on increasing. During the first part of the war the soldiers used to move around according to their will but this became impossible after July. If they found it necessary to go somewhere, they had to send a big contingent.
I got an unexpected offer of a short lease for the upper floor of my house that was lying vacant. It was leased out to a Bank before but nobody turned up to live there after the war began and the tenancy agreement was ultimately cancelled. I tried to get another tenant. Failing in my attempts to get a tenant, I tried to get a caretaker or a guard instead, but nobody agreed to come to take
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charge of a house where a number of people were killed. It was considered to be a bad area with widely separated empty buildings where nobody lived. Very few people could be seen there even in day time. It was not advisable in those days to leave a house without anybody to look after it as the army officers often occupied vacant buildings for their nefarious activities. When I was getting almost frustrated, the boys came and occupied the ground floor of the building making it as their camp. I was satisfied and stopped looking further. About a month later Lokman came one evening with a couple of his boys for a short conference. Both Huda and myself were busy talking to them when there was another knock on the front door. I told the boys to go and remain in another room until I could find out who the visitor was. It was Taher and as he came in another young man I didn’t know entered behind him. As Huda opened the door, the new comer stepped forward and began talking fast before Taher could open his mouth. He introduced himself as Ashfaque Choudhury and in one breath told me that he was the Manager of one of the branches of the Muslim Commercial Bank. He needed a place to live in and wanted the top floor of my house. He was not married and would live alone with a servant to do the house work, if he could find one. He also mentioned a small amount as monthly house rent and could move in next day if I agreed. I was aghast. I wanted to pay money myself to hire a guard to look after the house but failed. Now this man wanted to move in and was willing to pay me, instead of my paying him. I could not believe that anybody in his right mind would want to live there now. Thinking about the boys in the ground floor I was hesitating. At this time Lokman came out from the back room where he was hiding and he seemed to know the other man. Claiming to be my nephew Lokman took part in further discussions, accepted his offer on my behalf and told him to move in next day. Lokman told him that he himself was living alone with Taher in the ground floor, but he might not find him there always. After my new tenant left, Lokman looked at my worried face and assured me that he knew the man well. He was a harmless good man and might be useful to us later. As the entrances of both floors were on opposite sides of the building, he would never find out what was going on in the floor under him. I hoped that being a responsible and educated
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young man Lokman knew what he was doing. I nodded giving my consent. Though the arrangement seemed risky at first, it was not actually bad. I needed money as it was gradually becoming more and more difficult to arrange funds for my own and the boys’ expenses.
Slowly the month of August came. The repair work in the Mill was still continuing and I had to go to for inspections, but not as regularly as before. A contract for the construction of the broken building walls and the fabrication of a new roof was given to well known builders directly by the Dhaka Office. Seeing that both Biharis and Bengalis were working together peacefully, more workers arrived and they were all busy in cleaning and repairing damaged machineries. I noted too how the workers of the two communities working together side by side without any complain when a thought came in my mind. People of both the communities were fighting tooth and nail outside, but here there did not seem to be any difference between them. They were all workers working and helping each other, but when they were not working, they were completely divided. ‘Bihari’ was the generic name given to non Bengali immigrants who came to live in East Pakistan after the partition of India. Due to some reason they could integrate well. Once while working on a heavy machine, a Bengali worker was injured. Though the injury was not serious, the Biharis took him to a clinic and arranged for his treatment themselves. I came to know about the accident after three days. I was kept busy by other relevant matters though. I was asked by my office to submit an application to the insurance company for fire damages, claiming that the fire was due to an electric short circuit. I had to go to Dhaka frequently too, either to attend conferences or to meet my family. I disliked flying in those days but the only open route to Dhaka was by air and the airports were under strict scrutiny of the military authorities. I was detained several times myself for interrogation and missed my flights twice even after showing the pass I received from Dhaka earlier. Our friend Lt. Commander Masood came over as usual and abused the military authorities for what they had been doing. He was also critical about the role of our boys in the underground. He thought that throwing a few grenades or killing a few soldiers once in a while would not help them much.
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They must try for something bigger, different. In his opinion now was the time for a big attack, but the attack should be made from within as the soldiers were spread out all over the country in hundreds of camps and guarding the borders. He gave us another piece of news that we did not know. The city of Chittagong and the port area now were directly under the control of the navy, and not the army. We kept on listening to his one sided talk, until one day a couple of boys wondered aloud why the commander did not help us if he thought the Pakistani soldiers were carrying out an injustice. It was a good question and I had some discussions with Huda about the possibilities myself. We knew that the moment we would ask help from the commander, we would give our own position away. We knew that we would be benefited if he helped. But if not, both of us would be arrested and shot. It was a risk and we decided to take it at a suitable time if necessary, but we thought that the time was not now.
One day, I received a phone call from my managing director to go to Dhaka for some official work. Air travel in those days meant filling a number of forms, obtaining permissions here and there and considerable delays in getting a ticket. I was trying to finish the necessary formalities when one evening Taher and Lokman both came over. A message came directly from Agartala, that a group of about fifty specially trained commandos would arrive soon for an operation on the Chittagong port. I had been asked to arrange their shelters and help them in all possible ways. All other dependable boys should help them too as it was a big operation. I remembered the two engineers who came last month to collect a map of the port and the surrounding areas. So the effort was now bearing fruit and I was glad, but at the same time worried because I would not be here to supervise the arrangements. I had a talk with Huda as he was the only man I trusted who could take charge in my absence. Fifty boys could not stay in my house without attracting attention. Arrangements for some of their accommodation therefore would have to be made elsewhere. Huda agreed to do what he could but the main problem was finance. A lot of money would be required not only for their food, conveyance and other expenses. I noticed on many occasions that these boys often came even without any change of clothes, and I had to buy clothes for them. I had to
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go out again on the unpleasant errand of begging, borrowing or collecting money for the involved expenses. It was a very unpleasant job because there were some people who always asked too many questions. They knew why I wanted the money but most of them thought that their willingness to pay also gave them the right to know everything that was going on and did not understand the importance of secrecy or security. I handed over all the money I had collected to Huda and left Chittagong around the 11th of August by the morning flight. Before I left, all I knew was that a commando unit was coming across the border in a day or two for an attack on the Chittagong Port, but how they would attack or what their target was, I did not know. It seemed to be a difficult job because the port and jetty were spread over a large area. I requested Huda therefore to keep me informed and phone me at Dhaka as soon as the commandos arrived.
A company car was waiting for me at the airport. A non-Bengali officer of the Head Office was there to receive me to ensure that there was no trouble in my getting out of the airport. I was told that that the MD was waiting and I should go meet him first, but I proceeded to my brother Murshed’s house instead to see my family first. I assured him though that I would meet the MD in the afternoon, as his house was not very far from my brother’s house. The airport road was supposed to be busy with people and cars, but I found it lifeless. There were a few cars on the road and covering about half the distance, an unpleasant view came to my eyes. I found half a dozen blood soaked bodies were lying piled up on one side of the road. The driver immediately sped up and crossed the place as fast as he could. I looked at my companion but he was looking straight ahead and seemed to avoid the topic. I was told later that this was a common sight in Dhaka in those days.
Nobody knew if these people were shot there or the bodies were brought from some other place and left on busy roads for others to see. The bodies would remain there for hours, sometimes for one whole day before being moved out. Nobody knew what was the idea behind it, but the people thought that by displaying the piles of dead bodies in the open, the military government was warning the people in general that the next piles may include their bodies too if they did not cooperate. I was thinking what a nice place Dhaka
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became for simple people like us to live in. There were a few check posts where our car was stopped and I had to show my airplane ticket and the pass to convince those on duty that I was coming from Chittagong on official duty and would go back soon.
Though Murshed was actually my cousin, we were very close and we grew up together from childhood. Everybody came out to receive me as soon as I arrived and I spent the day with them. My wife and my brothers had too many questions to ask regarding the conditions in Chittagong. They knew about my part in the arms training activities before the trouble began, but nothing about the developments that took place later. To maintain secrecy and not to get them unnecessarily involved I never told them much. I went to see my MD the on the evening of the following day. He was fuming because of my failure to go to his house directly, but calmed down when I told him about the progress that had been made so far. More than half of the machines had been reassembled after cleaning, oiling, greasing and changing the damaged spares. I told him that all the machines would be operational in another six weeks or so. I said that only to make him happy but personally I thought it would require more time. Some machines were crushed under a side wall of the building and were beyond repair. What I guessed about the reason of my visit here, however, was correct. There was no urgency, nor was there any meeting and the MD only wanted to hear a satisfactory report from my lips about the progress being made in Chittagong. I spent a couple of hours at his house, had my dinner him and returned to my brother’s house late. A message was waiting for me. Huda telephoned that some guests arrived in the evening couple of hours ago and they were being looked after properly.
Expecting another call from Huda I did not go anywhere next day and remained in the house, but no call came. I was tense and that probably showed on my face. My brother Murshed and my wife both thought that I must have received a bad news and kept on enquiring about it. They did not believe when I said that there was no bad news and they did not press further. The day next also passed in the same manner. All day long I remained close to the telephone, when calls came but none for me. When we were having dinner together in the evening the phone rang. My brother received
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the call and handed over the receiver to me mentioning that it was for me. I jumped up knocking over the chair I was sitting on. It was Huda from Chittagong and I did not understand anything at all of what he said or meant. He was talking about messages in two parts in an oblique way that had something to do with the Indian news bulletins and so on. He would phone again to inform me when there was something to report. When I left the phone I found everybody staring at me silently but I returned to my seat to finish dinner. They were still looking at me in an odd manner when I moved out to the living room for a smoke. My brother Murshed demanded to know what was going on, what was so important that somebody had to phone me at all odd hours. He wanted to know if I got myself involved with the uprising in some way again and reminded me that I was not facing an official enquiry. My wife was sitting silently on one side but now she also began to apply pressure in her own way. I tried to avoid answering the questions but failed and had to tell them in short what was happening in Chittagong including my own part in it. I asked them not to mention any of this to anybody because that might put all of them in danger. When alone, I could always escape a roundup but escaping might not be very easy for Murshed. He was a family man himself, and now with the addition of my family, too many people were now depending on him. He must therefore think about their safety and security as well. They remained silent for a long time after I finished. My wife remained quiet but Murshed suddenly became excited. He stood up and came over to the couch where I was sitting and patted me on my shoulder as his voice was choked with emotions. He cleared his throat and said that he thought that the Bengalis were all dead. Dead bodies were almost daily found all over the city, but after hearing all that was happening in Chittagong, it seemed that at least some were alive after all and hitting back. I reminded him again to be as happy as he wished but he must maintain the secrecy as any leak could jeopardise the future of his whole family. Awaiting developments none of us could sleep that night.
Next phone call from Huda came around ten next morning. He told me in a few words that the first part of the message came though last night and they were now waiting for the second half.
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The inspectors were all here and right now they were taking up their positions. He asked my permission belatedly to use my car for carrying them to their destinations with their instruments. He kept talking in such a roundabout way, that I did not understand fully what he said. I understood only that the commandos received only half of their signal, but they would have to wait until they received the second half of it. This part of the signal would give them clearance to proceed further. According to their arrangement, the expected time to get the last signal was tonight. I did not know what the commandos were really after, but both Huda and myself guessed that they probably intended to attack the ships anchored in the jetty. I did not know though how they were going to do that as there were too many armed sentries and machinegun posts around. It was a big question in our minds if a handful of commandos would be able to finish their operation successfully in a situation like this. It was decided among us therefore that while talking to me over telephone Huda would name the port as a boiler and the ships as boiler tubes, both big and small, meaning big and small ships. When I came out to have breakfast next morning, I found the whole family around the table with faces paled in fear and swollen eyes. None of them could sleep the night before. My brother complained that he was having indigestion too. He was wiping his red and swollen eyes. When he raised the same topic again while eating I stopped him pointing out that the subject was not for discussing day and night. Now that he knew all there was to know, he must keep quiet and watch further developments, reminding him not to communicate these information to anybody. If there was a leak, the results would not only put them in danger and jeopardise the whole program
Knowing when to expect my next call from Chittagong I decided to meet my MD that morning, as it was only a short walk from my brother’s house. The MD had many things to tell me about the present political situation, how the fanatical young upstarts were being taught a lesson and so on, but the only important question he asked was when I was returning to Chittagong. I was actually keen to go back as soon as possible, but I needed his help. I had a return ticket but getting a seat in any flight was difficult. He promised to do what he could. When I left my brother’s house earlier in the
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morning there was an atmosphere of tension and everybody looked strained as none of them were used to dealing with the uncertainties of this nature. I was surprised to find that the conditions looked different when I returned a couple of hours later. The ladies were busy in the kitchen and the aroma of good food was in the air. The living and the dining rooms were being cleaned as if guests would come to visit us soon. Not understanding what was going on I proceeded to my room and my brother walked in as I was changing. He was pottering around, straightened my bedcover, placed the pillow properly on the bed, picked up a book I was reading from the bed and placed it on the shelf. I stared because he was behaving in an odd manner. It seemed as if he had something on his mind and he was getting ready to tell me, but due to some reason was hesitating. I was not wrong and ultimately he blurted it all out. He said that three of his closest friends would be coming here this evening with their families for dinner. I kept on staring blankly. I understood what he said but it did not explain why he was behaving in a guilty manner to give a simple information like that. It did when my wife came in later. She told me that his closest friend Dr. Rabbi who lived very close to our house telephoned after I went out this morning. They had some friendly talks when my brother told him that I was here and I was expecting a big news of mutual interest tonight. He made it sound so big and so attractive that Dr. Rabbi wanted to come with his wife to be here when the news would come. My brother realised his mistake when two more calls came from his other friends during the next half hour. He had to invite them too but cautioned them to keep it to themselves. He apologised for this. According to him, living their solitary lives in Dhaka, far from all actions being taken against the military rule, people had forgotten how to live like free men. Any action taken by the people against the government was considered a big day for them. The women also wanted to celebrate the occasion and engaged themselves to arrange a feast.
We expected three, but five families turned up around seven for our unorthodox feast, but fortunately without children. All of them were in high spirits, laughing and shaking each other’s hands and I was the hero of the occasion. They came to me asking many questions as they had been only told that something was going to
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happen in Chittagong tonight and the report would come to me over telephone. I decided to remain silent as I did not know myself if the attack of the commandos would be successful or when the phone would ultimately come. There was also a possibility that the attack might end with a disaster, and in that case phone calls might not come at all. I decided not to tell them anything more than they already knew. The guests were in a good mood but after waiting a couple of hours in the crowded living room, they became fidgety. Some thought that it was getting late and others remembered that they would have to get back through a number of check posts. The ladies complained that the dinner was getting cold. They could wait if they wanted to but the dinner should be finished. An atmosphere of tension was creeping in again. Suddenly, the boom of a heavy explosion followed by machinegun fire broke somewhere nearby, when most of the guests began to feel that it was a mistake coming here. I was thinking myself that the phone call might not come at all, or it might come next morning. Murshed was feeling guilty and embarrassed.
The loud ringing of the phone in the silent room startled everybody when almost all of our guests had already left. Murshed hastened to pick up the receiver, listened for a minute and beckoned. It was Huda. He began his report cautioning me that he was phoning from a phone outside and he would be very short. He added that the inspectors went to examine the boiler earlier this evening and found it in a bad condition. Two big and at least six smaller tubes were badly damaged. He wanted to send a further report with details at a more convenient time but I forbade him to do that and left the line. Faces of the remaining guests and the members of our own household were turned towards me and there was pin drop silence in the room, but when I told them the news there was a tremendous uproar. According to Huda, two big and six smaller ships were either badly damaged or sunk in an attack on the Chittagong port. They began jumping up and down, dancing and upsetting chairs, behaving like children. They came to embrace me one by one causing more delay and by twelve, they were all gone, except Dr. Rabbi and his wife who lived close by. They spent another half an hour with us. He embraced me too before leaving and that was the last time I met Dr. Rabbi. Only a few days before
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the war ended he was picked up from his house one night and his bayoneted body was found in a ditch outside the city limits. We certainly enjoyed that evening at my brother’s house, but at the same time I knew that many people now knew about my involvement with the underground movement. I had a talk and warned my brother again that he should be more careful next time pointing out that if his friends who came here spoke of what they learnt, his own position would not be very safe. Knowing the people who came I did not think that there was much risk, but small indiscretions like this had resulted in tragedy for many families. This situation, though an undesirable one, helped me in another way. I carried a lot of money on my return, their contribution for my expenses in Chittagong. Incidentally, Huda’s report was confirmed by the India and BBC’s news broadcasts next day.
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Chapter – 6

I returned to Chittagong three days later. Huda was waiting for me at the airport. As a result of the last attack on the port, the security arrangement seemed to be tighter now. Many new check posts cropped up overnight. The soldiers on duty raised their eyebrows listening to my Urdu but did not fail to check the car or our bodies doing a thorough job. We were following a road on our way back that passed very close to the jetty and Huda pointed out two big Pakistani ships hoisted up by a number of big cranes. The ships did not fully sink as the depth was not enough. Unfortunately, the attack came after the ships were unloaded, otherwise the loss would have been greater and it would have been more difficult to lift the ships from the river. Of the two coasters and three gun boats sunk in deeper water there was no trace. We were looking out through the car window and slowed down as a loud shout came from the other side of the road. When we stopped, some armed guards approached led by an officer. With their weapons levelled at us the officer asked belligerently who we were and what we were doing there. Considering the situation I decided to be a little belligerent myself. I showed my pass and told them that I was returning from Dhaka where I had gone on duty. At the same time wanted to know roughly in fluent Urdu that it was easy to stop us civilians in broad daylight, but why couldn’t they stop the rascals who caused all this damage here? The officer was taken aback. He did not expect such a reply and had no idea who I was either. To him I was obviously not a local Bengali, as my Urdu was too good. Lowering the guns he replied shamefacedly that they were taken by
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surprise as they did not expect an attack from the river and assured us that it would never happen again. He waved as we left and we waved back proceeding on our way. My ability to speak good Urdu saved me on many similar occasions in those days. Sitting by my side Huda laughed but did not say anything.
After our arrival Huda told me all that happened during my absence. It was a beautifully arranged plan of attack and everything went without a hitch. The commandos arrived on the same day I left Chittagong. At first, a messenger came to Kakoli at about three in the afternoon with the information that the commandos were hiding in an abandoned village on the sea beach near Kumira, about fifteen miles from the city. They needed help and wanted some of the group leaders to meet them there to guide them in. The time was short. Lokman could contact only three other leaders and left immediately to meet them on the beach. After a short conference, the big group of newcomers was divided into three smaller groups. Each group led by one of the leaders entered the city separately at different points of the city in order to avoid attention. Arrangements were made earlier for their stay in different areas. Lokman himself took the leader of the commandos Wahed Choudhury, a well built young man, to Kakoli with sixteen other boys. They were tired and hungry after their long march. Taher began preparing food for them but Wahed wanted to leave immediately because he did not know how much time he had for his own preparations. He wanted to meet me too but Lokman informed him that I was in Dhaka, but was assured that in my absence, my assistant Huda would look after their needs and would make all the arrangements to their satisfaction. There would be no difficulty because of my absence. There were none.
Wahed was a man from another district and did not know much about the local conditions. He asked Lokman to take him to the nearest point of the river Karnaphuli, so that he could inspect and select suitability of the places from where they would cross the river initially. It was considered important because the main attack on the port would be launched later from those predetermined positions. They inspected a number of places that night on the near side of the river and returned very late. Next morning Lokman took
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Wahed to meet Huda and had a long talk with him. Surprisingly, their requirements were not much. Except a little financial help and a few used wearing apparels for one or two boys, Wahed only needed two or three trips in a car for the safe transportation of his boys with their arms and equipments. Huda immediately offered him my car parked below in front of the building. I was not there, therefore they could use it. He assured him that he would find another car for them which should not be very difficult either. Lokman intervened at this stage and suggested that while carrying arms, it would be more convenient if they could get some ladies too, because cars with only ladies as passengers were not normally checked very rigidly at check points. Huda remained silent because he didn’t know where to get the ladies from. Wahed informed him that he would have to finish all of his preliminary work by the next day. And at present his only other requirement was a radio set for listening to all the news broadcasts from India and, if possible, he wanted it now. Not understanding why Wahed wanted a radio, Huda told him that he had no spare set, but if Wahed wanted one Huda would get one for him soon. Wahed laughed and explained why he needed it and assured Huda that he would get the set back as soon as his job was finished. The date for the attack was kept confidential for stopping all possibilities of leaks. He was told before coming here that the exact date of attack would be communicated to him at the last moment only. It was necessary for him therefore to monitor all the late night Indian news bulletins at ten, because in a day or two, the final date would be announced at the tail end of a bulletin, but in two phases. It was essential for him therefore to listen to all the news broadcasts carefully every night. Huda got up wordlessly, brought his small radio set out and handed it over to Wahed. On their way back, Lokman took Wahed to the residence of Azizur Rahman, only a short distance from Kakoli. It was a working day, but he was informed last night about the arrival of he commandos and expected them this morning. They found him waiting. Wahed brought out a copy of the map of the jetty area drawn by Aziz and his friend Matin about a month ago and discussed some relevant matters, and particularly about the security arrangements of the area. Aziz said that no civilians normally went to the port at night and so far there was no disturbance there either.
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As far as he knew, the security arrangement of the port area should not be very tight at night. While going or returning to and from his office at the refinery, adjacent to the jetty, he did not see any military camp or anything of that nature on the other side of the river. Except vacant land, there was nothing there. While talking, he also offered his car for carrying Wahed’s equipments to the destinations according to their requirements. Aziz’s wife was present and listening. In a reply to a question from Lokman she volunteered to accompany her husband in the car, promising to try to collect some of her friends also for similar jobs if needed.
Their next day passed in a frenzy. Accompanied by Lokman, Khorshed, and several other group leaders, Wahed left Kakoli early next morning. They searched and selected three different safe places where they wanted the equipment transferred consisting of limpet mines, frogmen suits, a few grenades, and some quick firing automatic guns. After the selection was made, Khorshed was sent back to inform Huda and Aziz that the cars would be needed in the evening. In case Wahed did not return in time, Khorshed was given the responsibility to supervise the shifting of their equipments and armaments. A small boat was hired and all of them crossed the river together. There was nothing on the other side except open ground and a few abandoned huts here and there. There were some small villages further down, but they had no plan to go that far. On the city side, the jetty was about five miles away and they walked the distance examining the jetty from the other side. Ships, big and small, were moored there. There were about half a dozen gunboats too anchored in a cluster separately. There did not seem to be any difficulty at all and they returned satisfied. Their plan was a simple one. The commandos would be divided into two groups. In between high and low tides, a time came when there was no current in the river. About two miles upstream at a pre-determined point the swimmers would go in wearing flippers, with limpet mines tied to their midriffs. Their job was to swim towards the ships berthed on the city side, fix the magnetic limpet mines fitted with water soluble fuses on the ships of their choice and leave immediately. The swimmers would get about half an hour time to cross the river again to another point downstream before the mines began to
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detonate. As the swimmers could not carry any weapons while swimming, the second commando group would wait there, fully armed, for their protection. The local boys would takeover from there and help to bring them back to their separate camps in the city. Both Aziz and Huda were waiting at Kakoli with their cars when the party returned. Shifting of their equipments was finished that night. The stage was set for the final climax and all of them flocked together around the small borrowed radio, but no message came for the commandos that night.
Next morning Huda came to Kakoli, had a talk with Wahed but he had heard nothing new. They would have to wait. Huda visited the mill next to see the progress made there. He had a talk with the Bihari workers and returned home. The repair work of the mill was nearing completion, but nobody knew what would happen afterwards because very few in our Dhaka office realized that the mill could not be operated at all, unless the war ended. Our friend the commander came in the evening for his usual chat, enquired about me and left an hour later after his usual cup of tea. Huda was restless. He wanted to go to Kakoli but decided against it. After dinner when he was preparing to go to bed, his telephone rang. Wahed was on the line informing him that the first part of the message came through after the late night Indian news broadcast and it was expected that the second half would come at this time tomorrow. They would proceed immediately on their errand if it did. Huda could not sleep that night. Early next morning he went to Kakoli, but except Taher and his younger brother, nobody was there. He received a call from Wahed at about three in the afternoon intimating that everything was going well and there was nothing to worry about.
After an early dinner Huda pulled a chair up on the roof and sat there waiting. He did not know that a simple job of waiting could be such a torture. He was looking at his watch again and again as the hands did not seem to be moving at all. The sky was slightly overcast that night. Except a few widely separated street lamps and a bright glow of the port lights, nothing was visible. There was no car or any other kind of vehicle on the road, and except an occasional noise of military trucks passing, it was quiet. Wahed told him that underwater explosions of the mines would be muffled,
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not very loud. For the benefit of the city people therefore he would place a couple of mines near the water line of a ship, so that they could hear the blast and understand that something was happening in the port. He assured that these explosions would be very loud indeed. The port area was not very far in a direct line from where Huda was. Sitting on top of his four storied high building he could see the lights of the ships berthed on the jetty. Huda was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he actually missed a few sounds initially and literally jumped up from his chair when a loud explosion came shattering the night air. He became more attentive. After several more muffled sounds, he heard another loud bang, followed by different kinds of kinds of noise. Sirens, ship whistles, even fog horns of the bigger ships, joined by a continuous chatter of machine guns. The whole port area was in an uproar. So, Wahed had done it after all. He came down after half an hour as it was time now to receive a phone call. Wahed promised to call him as soon as it was over, and he did. Huda told me that as a retaliatory measure, the naval units from the Base descended upon the villages on the other side of the river next day, setting fire to the small villages, and shooting men, women and children indiscriminately. Some of the dead bodies were hung up on trees, upside down, to warn others that the same fate would befall them if anything happened again. The whole area became a barren wasteland as nobody lived there now.
Both of us left for our lunch when Huda finished his story. I was hungry because I missed my breakfast that morning. While eating I enquired about this boy Wahed, as he seemed to be an interesting character. That was another story. Wahed was a member of the crew of a Pakistani submarine Ghazi. While the fighting was continuing in East Pakistan, the submarine was anchored in one of the European ports on a goodwill mission. There were some Bengali crew members in the submarine, and they came to know what was going on in East Pakistan belatedly. At a convenient time Wahed and six other Bengali crews escaped from there and managed to arrive in India after a couple of months. They were sent immediately to the camps where our boys were being trained and Wahed was chosen to lead the first commando attack on the Chittagong port. The commandos stayed for another two days and
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left the city in small groups. Incidentally, the Ghazi was destroyed near the Indian coast during the later part of the war.
Azizur Rahman received me beaming when I went to his house in the afternoon and embraced me for our first major success against the Pakistani military government. He was a happy man to see that his map of the port helped us to do such a fine job after all. We chatted together for some time and then we walked together to the house of Nazrul Siddiqui who lived close by. We found him very happy too and he addressed me as commander. I pointed out that I was not even here when all these happened, but he replied with a laugh that the real commanders never are. Their job was to direct operations remaining somewhere in the background. Somehow, this title also stuck and many people I met later addressed me as a commander too. I spent another hour talking to them before returning. I found a boy in Siddiqui’s house I had never seen. When I spoke to him, he told me a sad story. His name was Rafique. He was a student of the Dhaka university and used to live in one of the student’ barracks when his barrack was attacked on the 25th of March. The whole building was surrounded and most of the other boys were shot, except a few who could escape. He was one of those who escaped and was also an eyewitness and saw everything that happened there that night. Walking all the way, it took him about six weeks to return to Chittagong on foot, where his family lived in the railway quarters. He did not find anybody in his father’s quarter and the house was vacant. One of his neighbours told him that after the sudden disappearance of his father, his mother left for their village home with her two younger children. Nobody knew anything about his father but there was a rumour that the Biharis kidnapped and killed him. Rafique was in considerable difficulties as he neither had money nor a place to live in. He stayed with one of the neighbours for a week and then had to leave. Nazrul Siddiqui found him in a desperate position and picked him up. Rafique was living with his family since then. I did not like what I heard. I had a long talk with Rafique and listened to the grim story of his escape and survival. I advised Siddiqui later that instead of keeping him here, he should sent him to Kakoli, under the custody of Lokman. Siddiqui agreed. My reason for advising Siddiqui to send this boy away, however, lay deeper. I
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came to know before my departure to Dhaka, that the military administration had formed a new militant group named Al-Badr. The members of this group were young, some of them were students, and their main job was to infiltrate into the groups of our boys operating in the city. They were more dangerous than the Razakars because they were literate, could talk well and because of their age and appearance were accepted by every body. Al-Badr groups had a few undercover camps in the city already. Under these circumstances I did not want an unknown boy to live with Siddiqui’s family just because he gave us a sad story. In those days many boys were moving around with similar sad stories to tell, but all of them were not destitute or reliable and only pretended to be destitute for reasons of their own. I gave strict instructions myself to all concerned that any unknown boy should not be accepted only on his say so. Any boy who wanted to join us should be investigated and must be kept under close scrutiny for a reasonable time.
On my return from Siddiqui’s house I was told by Huda that the commander came and waited a long time for me. He knew I was coming back from Dhaka that day and left word before leaving that he would be back next day. Sitting on the veranda after dinner I talked with Huda late into the night. Both of us were of the opinion that the time had come now to do something to determine our future relationship with the commander. He could certainly help us if he wanted to, but would he do it? Or he was simply playing with us, giving us rope to hang ourselves? When he arrived next evening according to his promise, he was abusing the Pakistani military government as usual for their inhuman activities, and expressed his own admiration for the local boys for their bravery. He was very enthusiastic, praising the commandos after their attack on the port. In fact, he wanted to meet the boys after the attack and asked Huda to arrange a meeting if possible. By this time he had an idea that we were involved with the underground movement somehow but Huda tactfully avoided his request. We went to bed very late that night, but neither of us could sleep. I knew that in order to get help from the commander, a direct approach would have to be made some day. If he accepted, we would get his help and he would be considered one of us, but if he did not, our future would be
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bleak. Taking a decision either way was difficult. I was still in a thoughtful mood when I sent my driver Shamsu to Kakoli early next morning to bring in Taher and Lokman. When Huda came out I told him about the decision I had made. He listened quietly but did not make any comment. Taher arrived half an hour later alone as Lokman could not be contacted. I wanted to know if Taher could make arrangements for a first class feast in Kakoli for all of us in the evening. If necessary, he could hire a good but reliable cook. He thought for some time and then nodded. I told him that we shall reach by eight in the evening with a few important guests and dine with the boys who were living in Kakoli. I gave Taher some money for his expenses. I was satisfied in my own mind that I was doing the right thing, but there was another complication. My tenant Ashfaque Choudhury was living on the upper floor. He knew nothing about what was going on the floor below, but if he walked in when our party was in progress…I decided to stop thinking about the eventualities. The chances of his arriving at the wrong moment were not much, but if he did, then we would have to do something as the situation demanded.
As I was feeling extremely restless, I decided to visit the mills for an inspection, because that would at least keep my mind away from nasty possibilities. Seeing my car coming in, the workers came out and surrounded me. The workers also had a common question to ask. They wanted to know when the mill was going to be reopened to resume production. I knew it was impossible but did not want to tell them that, and after giving them a few vague answers I left again. On my way back I decided to go to Kakoli to have a look at what was going there. There was nobody outside, but I found a different scene when I went in. A number of boys were running around washing dinner plates, dishes, fruit bowls, cutleries and doing many other things. Another group was busy in cleaning the living and dining rooms. The other rooms were locked up. Some boys were helping the cook. After having a look what was going on, my wife’s face came into my mind imagining what her reaction would be if she knew how the boys were handling her favourite crockery. I was doubtful myself if all of those would survive intact. As I stood there looking at the busy scene, Taher came forward with a bearded man and introduced him as the cook.
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He was a professional man and hired for the occasion. I did not want to interfere and left soon with a word of caution to Taher. I told him that the boys who would dine with us tonight must leave Kakoli immediately after dinner, so that in case there was a raid afterwards, nobody would get caught. I enquired about Lokman again, but Taher did not know where he was. Lokman came to meet me in the afternoon. I told him about our plan and who our guest would be and told him to make sure that the boys behaved politely and decently while talking to our guest. I reminded him again that they must disperse and stay away from Kakoli for at least one week after our departure in the evening. He listened quietly and asked only one question. He told me that they would certainly leave Kakoli, but what about us? I told him that a risk had to be taken as there was no other way. He stood silently for a few minutes but suddenly behaved like a military man. He stood straight, and giving me a stiff salute went out.
Returning from his office in the Naval Base, Commander Masud arrived earlier than his usual time. He hailed in a loud voice and congratulated me for the unexpected achievements of the boys in their recent attack on the port. He lovingly called them ‘Bichhus? the Urdu word for scorpion. We found him his usual self, laughing and talking in a jovial manner with a thousand questions about the commandos. After he had his cup of tea I told him that all of his questions would be answered tonight. I suggested that he should go home now to freshen up, and to change his naval uniform and we would pick him up with his assistant Rahim around eight o’clock tonight. He was surprised and wanted to know where we were going. I assured him that we would only be going to my home and have our dinner there tonight. He was startled, but I reminded him that as my family was in Dhaka, he once offered to cook a good dinner for us himself in my house. He would not have to cook now as all arrangements have already been made. He thought it was a joke at first, but when I refused to answer any more questions he agreed and left shaking his head, not knowing what to believe. Huda looked worried and wanted to know again if I was doing the right thing. I did not know that either, but only time could tell.
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On our way to Kakoli that evening we picked up the Commander and his assistant Rahim from their residence. When we arrived at my house half an hour later, the commander looking at the brightly lit building seemed surprised. I was a little surprised myself because with all the other neighbouring houses dark, the contrast would catch the eyes of any passerby. Taher seemed to be overdoing his duties as I did not want any other people to come in here to find what was going on. I was particularly worried about my tenant Ashfaque Choudhury who was living upstairs. I was told that he was not in. As far as we knew, the commander himself was not in the good book of the military authorities. Taher and his brother came forward to receive us as we came in. With the help of his other assistants Taher did a good job in cleaning the rooms. Everything looked sparklingly clean in the overhead lights with all the sofas, couches or chairs placed in the right places. Instead of sitting down, the commander went around looking at the framed photographs of my family and a few paintings hanging on the wall. Most of the time he was silent, but at the end his only comment was why on earth was I living with Huda when I have this house to live in. He wanted to go around to see the other rooms too, but that I did not want because I knew that the boys must be in there somewhere. I told him that as the doors of the other rooms were broken earlier by the looters, those were closed using nails. There was not much talk and it was getting late. I was feeling uncomfortable and the silence in the room was getting on my nerves. Taher came back and wanted to know if he should serve dinner. All of us got up ten minutes later and proceeded towards the adjacent dining room. Noticing a fine aroma of good food in the air the commander looked slightly startled and when he came upon the table full of gleaming tableware with many delicious items his face changed. With a wide grin he wanted to know how I could manage to do all these in such a short time. He was going around the table inspecting every item one by one. He told me frankly that he did not expect a dinner like this when the lady of the house was absent. He had, however, another question. Noticing a big stack of dinner plates on a side table he wanted to know why there were so many plates here for the few of us. I replied that there were a few other guests. Taher was looking at me and left the room when I
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nodded.
Couple of minutes later my boys came in laughing and joking with each other. According to my previous instructions they ‘salaamed the commander respectfully and behaved as if they were meeting one of their own senior members. Commander Masood suddenly went stiff, possibly with a touch of panic, but he recovered quickly. I thought that the decent behavior of the boys lessened the shock of their sudden and unexpected arrival. Not knowing what would be the outcome I went tense myself but decided to go ahead as planned. I introduced them saying that they were the boys whom he fondly named ‘bichchus’ and invited them here so that they could get acquainted with the commander, whom they considered as their friend. They were college students but now fighting the trained army of Pakistan. The commander was quiet for a few moments, then getting up he shook hands with every one of them. He wanted to talk too, but due to some reason his voice failed and it took him some time to get it back. After the initial shock they chatted freely with one another and I thought for the first time that my efforts to bring them together was successful. Rafique, the boy who escaped from the students’ barracks in Dhaka, was sitting by his side. He had a long talk with him and listened attentively about the story of his escape. They were busy in talking for a long time and it was quite late when we decided to leave. I called both Taher and Lokman outside and reminded them again that all of them must leave Kakoli immediately after our departure from there and stay away until I gave them a clearance. On our way back we dropped Commander Masood and his assistant Rahim at their house. Just before leaving the commander suddenly caught my hand in his grip and told me “I thank you for your trust in me Mr. Mowla. I assure you that you will have no cause to regret it.”
Over the next few days both Huda and I were in a mental state akin to torture. Not being sure of the commander’s reactions, even after his last assurance and a hand shake, we were not sure of our fate. The commander now knew everything about us and could easily give us away. The spies of the military government, particularly the newly formed Al-Badr group helping them were very active too. They were dangerous because they were all local
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boys and knew where to look. Living on the top floor of a multistoried building, the possibility of an escape was virtually impossible, if they came for us. Sleeping at night became difficult too because we knew that the victims were usually picked up at night when people slept. The big iron gate below squealed loudly whenever anybody came in or went out. Those sounds never bothered us before, but now the sounds seemed much louder than ever, expecting the arrival of the Al-Badr members to pick us up. There was no sign of our friend commander Masood for the next few days, and that was unusual. He was possibly trying to make up his own mind now. Ultimately he came about a week later in his usual jovial mood and only then could we relax, realising that he had taken his time to come to a decision and made up his own mind too. He was our man now. He asked some questions and I answered as clearly as I could to make him feel that he was now actually one of us. Subsequent events proved that I did not make a mistake in my own estimation of the commander. On numerous occasions he gave valuable information that helped us during the last part of the war.
One of my standing instructions to the boys was not to carry any arms if they came to my residence, I was very strict in this respect, but sometimes I had to violate my own rules. One day a couple of boys arrived when I was talking to the commander, seated on the front veranda. By this time, our relationship with him improved and he knew much about my connection with the underground. I told the boys to go to the back room and sit there. When the commander left, I called them in. One of them said with a sheepish smile that they were discussing a problem that they could not solve. He went to a small town on a mission, deep inside the Hill Tracts and returned from there only a few days ago. Rangamati was a small town completely surrounded by forests and connected with Chittagong and other places with narrow roads. He saw enemy trucks packed with troops, sometimes large convoys passing unmolested, as arranging an ambush was difficult on the narrow roads. The roadside bushes were so thick that visibility at a distance was virtually nil and anybody trying for an ambush would have to stand right in front on the road. He added with a laugh that they were talking about a weapon that could be fired with a remote
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control mechanism. I did not laugh because being a big game hunter myself those days I remembered how the poachers shot tigers and leopards using gun traps in the jungle. The remote control mechanism was nothing more complicated than using a few feet of fishing line tied to the gun trigger. The same method could be followed for dropping a single or a couple of grenades taped together, from an overhanging branch of a tree. This method could be very useful in jungle trails. I tried to explain but they did not understand. I told them to bring a sten gun (a small sub machinegun) to me, so that I could show them what to do. They returned next day with a sten and I showed them what to do. They left and I nearly forgot all about it myself. After about a month or so there was a sudden rush of boys. They descended on me in large numbers with many requests and problems, most of which were impractical and impossible to solve. I learnt later that after a few initial futile attempts, a large troop carrying a convoy was ambushed on the Rangamati road with my improvised remote control system. When the magazine of only a single sten, tied to a road side tree was emptied on the first truck, the truck behind jumped forward to escape with a sudden burst of speed, pushing the first truck with all the occupants down the hill hundreds of feet below. Not realizing what was going on in front, the soldiers of the other trucks joined the melee, opening fire on both sides of the road. Only two boys on a tree at a distance of nearly hundred and fifty yards gleefully saw what happened to the enemy trucks.
I solved one more problem for them. They had some anti tank land mines with them and the mines would explode under a direct pressure of 250 lbs or more. There were no tanks in the city and therefore they were unable to use those. The Army, however, had many heavy trucks and the boys tried to use mines for trucks but truck wheels always missed the mines, sometimes by a few inches only. Knowing the theory of load transfer, I solved it by placing a concealed cross piece of heavy timber crosswise on top of a mine. The mine under these conditions would certainly explode even if truck wheels passed within a foot from it. The boys tried to do it in their own way and on one occasion the experiment was found successful, but unfortunately the truck owner was a local man and
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there were four local laborers on the truck. All further attempts of using mines on roads were stopped since then. At this stage Huda advised me one day that I should go somewhere or leave this place for an undisclosed destination for a few weeks. If our apartment continued to be as busy and as crowded as it was now, with so many regular visitors it was certain to be raided sooner or later. I understood and used this opportunity for my personal benefit. Without telling anybody I left for Dhaka, spent a few days with my family and when I returned, the rush was no longer there.
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Part Two

Chapter – 7

Half the month of August was over but the rains were still continuing. Under pressure of the world press, as the United Nations began to take notice of what was happening, the military government of Pakistan decided to change its policy to some extent by easing a little pressure here and there. They wanted an air of normalcy. It did not work because by this time they had gone too far down the road of genocide and too many people had died already. By then ordinary Bangladeshis never believed anything they said, suggested, or promised, and knew the path they themselves were on. About fifty miles from Chittagong there was a railway bridge over the Feni river. The bridge was blown up during the early phase of the war and since then many attempts were made by the army engineers to rebuild it, but due to the activities of the underground groups they did not succeed. Every time they tried the bridge was destroyed again, and to the utter frustration of the builders the only road connection from Chittagong to the rest of the country was severed. Ambushes and sniping continued everywhere. Even small children threw rocks at passing army vehicles on the road. Explosives were being used freely, demolishing other river and road bridges and destroying power lines everywhere. People suffered but they did not complain. Hardly a night passed in the city when there was no sound of exploding grenades or sporadic gunshots. One of their main targets was the water supply connections to the naval base and the army cantonment. On one night the main supply line to the army base was blown up in three places at a time. Truck loads of army men
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came for repairs when one of the trucks was blown up by a land mine. The army men gathered up some people from the areas nearby and they were taken in for interrogation. All of them did not come back. Some dead bodies with bullet holes were found later placed in piles on the places where the supply lines were blown up. Majority of the smaller military units tried to concentrate in the rural areas but failed again. Many of their units were scattered over the country side and they were having a bad time trudging on muddy stretches on foot in the incessant rains. Expecting attacks from the Indian side, a major portion of the army was stationed around the border to repel attacks. Attacks never came but the soldiers had to be kept on the borders resulting in a shortage of manpower in the inerior. According to the reports given from time to time by our friend the commander, many of their officers were grumbling and were not happy to be posted here. They had expected their job would be over in a month or two, but now it seemed to continue open-ended. The rainy season in particular was not to their liking at all. Arriving here from a dry country, they were not used to the conditions they found in East Pakistan and were having difficulties at almost every step because of hundreds of rivers, canals overflowing with flood waters and muddy impassable dirt roads. Our own mental condition was no different. We wanted the war to come to an end quickly so that we could live our normal lives again.
I was under pressure myself from my office in Dhaka. Hardly a day passed when I did not receive a phone call either from the managing director himself or from his office, enquiring what arrangement I was making to resume production after completion of our present work. The MD knew that the mill was almost ready, but living in his own dream he could not understand that it was impossible to start production at this stage, unless the conditions were more settled. We needed a large steady supply of timber to operate the mill. Normally we depended upon the suppliers to fulfill our needs, but all of them had disappeared. Because of his insistence I contacted some of them but they thought I was mad. Nobody was willing to go to the forests where there was no security
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for anybody. The Bihari mill workers living here understood my difficulties but my office never did. Immediately after the army action they were happy, but now they were not so sure. They never expected that the Bengalis could continue with their resistance and keep on fighting the mighty Pakistan Army for such a long time. Most of them thought that it would be over in a month or two. I did not visit the mill as regularly as I used to because there was nothing for me to do there at this stage. One day when I did, a man came and told me that many leaflets were found one morning scattered in the areas where Biharis lived. The leaflets were printed in Urdu informing them that some day in the near future the war would come to an end, and when it did, the Biharis would have to answer for every crime they committed during the war, every man they killed and particularly those who actively helped the Pakistanis to do what they did. The army would go back some day, but they would be here.
During this period about a dozen new groups of armed boys arrived in the City. With Lokman’s help I wanted to establish contact with them but I heard some rumors which made me want to err on the side of caution. There were all kinds of boys with different backgrounds among them. Some came from good families and most of them were students, but there were also others who came from the streets. I was not an expert in handling armed boys in a situation like this, but it was gradually becoming clear to me that all of them did not join the movement or take up arms because they were patriots. Some of them had other intentions and their own plans. Considering the overall situation and in the absence of all agencies to enforce law and order, they could do almost anything. The political motivation was also different as some parties wanted to take advantage of the prevailing situation for their party’s benefit. Because of the conditions and the necessities, any boy who wanted to join had to be taken in, without giving much time to enquire about his background. Boys like these were trained and were given arms but some of them were unfortunately found to be totally unfit for the selfless job they had been entrusted to do. I found many similar boys with aggressive dispositions who thought that they knew everything there was to know. As a result, there used to be clashes among the boys occasionally and I heard that at
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times boys from one group opened fire on another because of minor differences that could be settled easily. Young immature boys should never be trusted or depended upon and should not be given arms either, but under the present situation there was no alternative. Our leaders on the other side of the border could not afford to be choosy, as they had to accept everybody who came forward. I did not like it, however, and avoided most of them as far as possible. I still remember a short conversation I had with the leader of a group of about twenty boys. He heard about me after his arrival in the city and came straight to meet me. Instead of asking for my advice or help, he began with a lecture telling me what I should or should not do, and gave me a list of his requirements. The item at the top of his list was money. Not knowing much about these problems, many families gave them food and shelter and ultimately suffered because of their negligence, irresponsibility and lack of common sense. Most of them thought only about their own safety and not the safety of those who were giving them food and shelter, risking their own lives and the future of their families. One day some boys I knew well came to meet me. They were laughing when they came and told me that I was under an investigation myself for a serious crime I committed. Surprised, I wanted to know what did I do or who was investigating me, they told me a story. Last night Lokman was invited by some members of other groups for a conference. They knew that Lokman maintained a close touch with me and they demanded to know everything about my background or if I was a reliable man myself at all. They came to know from their own sources that a Pakistani naval officer was seen to visit my residence regularly and they made a plan to kill him on his way in or out. Maintaining a close and friendly relationship with a Pakistani officer was considered an offense in those days and they intended to do something about it. It took Lokman a long time to explain the situation and to obtain a promise from them not to harm the commander at any time. It saved the situation, but our relationship with the commander was now an open secret. Fortunately I made a wise decision earlier when I met him first. I always made it a point to introduce him to other boys as Lt. Commander Masood of the Pakistan Navy. It was not his real
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name. It was a wise and timely precaution. Some of our boys were apprehended later in their activities and to prove their innocence they began clamoring immediately mentioning commander Masood’s name. An enquiry revealed that there was no such man in the Pakistan navy. To this day, only two people other than me know his actual name: Huda, and his assistant Rahim. I never mentioned his real name at any time or anywhere, as I did not want him to suffer because of us and for the help he gave us during the war.
Many different kinds of problems from different sources kept cropping up disrupting my normal activities. One day a couple of boys came in the evening carrying a medium sized shopping bag containing some leafy vegetables. I stared open mouthed as they opened the bag, pulled the vegetable out and extracted two repeating sten guns (small sub-machine guns) with two loaded magazines and a revolver with extra shells for me and Huda. They told me that Lokman sent those for our safety with an advice that we should keep those close at all times from now on. There were some boys in the city who thought that I was misguiding the boys and actually harming the entire movement. I did not understand what they were talking about and sent them back with the arms as I had no intention to keep those with us. I never tried to hide and was moving around doing everything openly, and I thought that was possibly one of the main reasons why our residence was not raided so far. In case there was a raid in the future, I did not want the search to reveal hidden arms in my residence. I was, however, having a real problem of a different nature at this time. The Pathan money lender whom I had refused to help in recovering a debt from one of my mill workers was searching for me in a determined manner. He tried to find me in the mill. Not finding me there he started coming to Kakoli. He had lent money to a mill worker before the war, and the worker had fled without paying him. He came to me with a complain but I told him that it was not my job to do what he wanted and suggested that he should go to the police or file a law suit against him. He was not satisfied with my advice because he thought that I could easily help him to get his money back and did not do it out of spite. As a result he thought I was responsible for his loss, and when the war began, he was searching
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for me and wanted me to pay for his loss. He kept on coming to Kakoli almost every week threatening Taher with dire consequences if he did not convey his ultimatum to me. Taher got in touch with me but I did not understand what to do with this man. His peculiar warped mind was functioning in a manner that had nothing to do with reasoning. That Pathan made the mistake of coming too often to Kakoli when the boys were there. One day, they unarmed him, bound him tightly with a rope and kept him hidden in the kitchen. When it became dark in the evening they took him out a mile away and shot him. I heard about this incident couple of days later. One of the boys told me later that he arrived in Kakoli at a wrong time and saw too much.
I had been hearing another name frequently from the boys during this period, someone who was conducting his own underground activities successfully in the city. I came to know that he was giving guidance to the individual groups and helping them successfully in all possible ways. He was commonly known as Moulavi Syed. It was an assumed name and I did not know what his actual name was or where he came from. All I heard was that he was a senior university student and was very popular figure particularly in the leftist groups. I did not try to probe into his affairs or his background either, but knew that he had been investigating me. He knew all about me and what I was doing, but did not interfere either. I liked what I heard. He was good at the work he was doing and wanted to do it independently, without any interference. That was alright with me. Immediately after my arrival from Dhaka a boy came to meet me from his camp to congratulate me on his behalf for the successful port operation of the naval commandos. Many attempts were made to trap him by the military administration, and his constantly shifting camps were raided again and again but he always managed to escape. As the government did not trust the local police, some policemen and all the senior officers of the Police Department were brought in from West Pakistan. That did not help them much and on many occasions the local policemen tipped off Moulavi Syed’s camp before a proposed raid. Unfortunately a few months later when the whole nation was celebrating the victory over the Pakistani invaders and the mobs were dancing on the streets, Moulavi Syed
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came out from his hideout in the open and was shot by another misguided Bengali boy because of their political differences. A short time before the war came to an end, the assistant director of the local broadcasting station was also shot in his car as he was coming out of his residence. His fault was that he did not leave the country as others did during the war. They did not realise that it was not possible for everybody of fixed income groups to leave their homes, if only because of their families. Similar occurrences like these were not rare and the reasons could only be attributed to the combination of guns and immature hot headed young men on whom the complexity of lives and circumstances was somewhat lost.
Another big problem was looming over my head at this time. Sitting in Dhaka and doing nothing, my wife was getting restive. I could not tell her much over the phone, but she always came to know somehow, belatedly though, what was going on. She had been clamouring for some time to come back to Chittagong to join me. I did not like this idea at all and tried to persuade her to change her mind. Alone, I could disappear in the crowds whenever necessary, but with her and the two children along it would be difficult. I phoned my brother, and spoke for hours with her but she refused to listen to my advice. Instead of phoning me directly, she sent word through a different channel that she was arriving with the children on a certain date and I should go to the airport to pick them up. There was nothing I could do as my whole family arrived in Chittagong on the predetermined day, according to her plan, and I had to bring them over to Huda’s apartment where I was living at the time. Immediately there was a noticeable change in the household affairs. As she took charge, the quality of our food improved, to Huda’s delight. Our friend the commander met her and they got along famously. Previously, whenever he came he was always satisfied with a cup of tea, but he made it a practice now to have his dinner with us at least twice a week. And lunch too sometimes. Boys who came occasionally, frequented now in slowly increasing numbers to meet their favorite auntie. Some of them heard that she had trained the local women to handle firearms for the defense of their families, before the war began. This fact started circulating and naturally more and more people became curious
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came to meet her. Both Huda and the commander, as well as the boys were very happy, but I did not like the crowds in our apartment at all. Contrary to the general mood, I was a worried man. To my dismay the boys in particular came in increasing numbers and there was nothing I could do about it.
It was early September when I received a couple of visitors one morning. They had arrived at Kakoli the night before from Agartala, India, looking for me. As both Lokman and Taher were busy elsewhere, our local boy Khorshed brought them to me. I often wondered how our leaders in India came to know my name or address. I was not a political man, without affiliation to any political group, nor had any political ambitions of my own, but they always contacted me whenever something came up. This time they informed me that another group of naval commandos would arrive in Chittagong soon, for another attempt on the port, but no specific date was fixed. My job was to select targets for them, arrange their shelters and do everything for a successful completion of their mission. They also mentioned that our leaders on the other side of the border were satisfied and they were very happy for the help the commandos received earlier. They got up to leave after giving me the message. I told Khorshed to locate and send both Lokman and Taher to meet me this evening as I wanted to discuss this matter with them. The operations within the city had fallen back into a lull at the time we were not very happy about it. Except a few snipings, stray bombings of army vehicles, and occasional heavy explosions at night, nothing more was happening in the city. During this period, the prospect of a new attack on the port would certainly raise the spirits and morale of our boys. If the attack was as successful as the first one, it would help the people too. I came to know something about our boy Khorshed that I did not know before. I knew him as only a pleasant 24-year-old who lived close to my own house, but never knew that he was appointed as the vicecommander of the first group of commandos that attacked the port last time. I was told that Khorshed was given a direct order from the top when they came that in case his commander Wahed was wounded or captured by the Pakistanis, his primary duty would be to shoot his commander dead. The high command thought that he must not be allowed to be captured alive under any circumstance so
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that he could not divulge any information under torture. Once when I enquired about it, Khorshed only nodded indicating that he did not think about it but he would have done it. I thought about it and shivered. I was glad for not being in the army or the navy.
Lokman, Taher and Khorshed arrived in the evening late. I wanted to talk to them about our new assignment of finding suitable targets for the next group of commandos, they expressed their ignorance. It seemed that they knew nothing about the prevailing security arrangements in the port area themselves except that it was very tight now. The port was out of their normal operational areas. I thought of contacting Azizur Rahman again as he was the only man I knew of who, as a senior engineer of the refinery, had to pass through the port daily for attending his office and must have seen and noticed things we wanted to know. I phoned him and he agreed to meet us in the evening next day. It was a working day and therefore he would have to go to his office in the morning. Before leaving Lokman gave me another information about Rafique, the boy he collected from Siddiqui and was given under his custody. He was a quiet boy when he came and was of mild nature, but due to some reason he had changed and Lokmam was worried for him. In my preoccupied mind I only told him to be more careful about him. I should have enquired more, but did not. Azizur Rahman was waiting for us with Lokman and a couple of his boys when we arrived in the evening. Our mutual friend Nazrul Siddiqui was also there. Aziz did not waste time when we arrived and told us what he wanted to say. It was very disheartening. We knew that we got away with the last commando attack on the port successfully mainly because the naval units and sentries posted there never thought of or dreamt about an attack from the river. The situation had completely changed and it was almost impossible now to get anywhere in the port unnoticed either from the river or overland, as there were countless checkposts and sentries on guard duty 24 hours a day. Similarly, there were camps, machine gun posts and many searchlights on both sides of the river at regular distances. Even river crafts were forbidden to come near the port after sun down without a written permission, and the sentries had orders to open fire on any unidentified floating object on the river. In addition to those, there were a couple of frigates and half a dozen
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gun boats anchored right in front of the naval base. They would certainly join in the fracas if there was any and now the total fire power would be too high against a few swimmers in the river. In fact, the people who lived close heard machine guns chattering almost every night. The river Karnaphuli was about 350 to 400 yards wide near the port. That meant that the swimmers would have to remain afloat in the river quite a long time before they could place their limpet mines on the anchored ships, and might not get enough time for their escape. He was not sure if the commandos could do anything as the whole area at night now was as brightly lit as day with a number of search lights on both sides of the river, without a shadow to hide behind. We remained sitting silently thinking our own thoughts. Lokman said that he would like go for a recce himself and would have a talk with a few other groups in this connection. The area was too big for him and therefore he needed help. Siddiqui was until now sitting quietly, listening to our conversation and the atmosphere of the room was gloomy. Just before we left, his only comment was that our attempts should be restricted to find other ways and means for doing this job and should not be finalised until we talk to the commandos themselves. In his opinion, the boys who were going to put their necks on the chopping block should also know beforehand what they were getting into. We knew what the conditions were, but they didn’t, and under these circumstances he did not want them to go blindly to their death and having their blood on our hands. We returned late that night thinking about what Siddiqui said. Being civilians, our reluctance to take a risky decision plagued us always.
Lokman accompanied by a couple of other group leaders came few days later and gave their first report on the conditions they found on the other side of the river. They crossed the river three or four miles upstream and walked downwards. They were dressed in dirty shabby clothes pretending to be jobless field workers. Except some charred remains of half burnt structures or blackened poles indicating that at one time there were villages. At the moment there was nothing and nobody was living there now as the whole population was driven out. There were camps on the riverside occupied mostly by naval units with machine gun posts and searchlights. The boys were stopped again and again before they
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could proceed far. At one point the sentries were very rough and told them brusquely to go back wherever they came from. There was no job for them there. One of the boys protested and asked why didn’t they give them some work themselves? They were not only out of work, they were hungry too. The sentries laughed at that and gave them some food to eat. While eating they heard the sentries talking to each other and realised that more of them came in the evenings for guard duty. It seemed to them that doing anything from the other side of the river would not be easy.
Huda and I were both increasingly becoming tense as the days passed. The commandos might arrive any day but we failed to decide upon any suitable target for them so far. We visited Aziz’s house several times and had discussions with him, but without results. Our friend Commander Masood used to visit us on his way back home from the office, as usual, had his cups of tea or dinner and enquired about his favourite “scorpions’. There was nothing I could tell him. One day I was sitting alone on the veranda with all kinds of thoughts in my head when the commander arrived. He gave us an interesting piece of news. He told me that a big tanker carrying crude oil had arrived at the outer anchorage and was waiting in the bay before coming in. He wanted to know if our boys could do something about it. There was an oil shortage in the country because of heavy consumption in the war. If we could manage to sink a few tankers carrying oil somehow, the war would certainly come to a grinding stop. East Pakistan was not an oil producing country and every ounce of its requirements had to be imported. After a loss of a tanker or two, the military government would find it very difficult to charter a tanker to bring oil here. He left soon, not knowing that he had casually given us a key to the door we had been trying to break down for weeks. I was highly excited when Huda arrived and I told him the gist of what the commander said. It was true that because the berthing area of the river port of Chittagong was very small, many ships had to wait outside in the bay for a few days before coming in. The port was well guarded, but out there in the bay there was nothing, no security arrangement or no protection of any kind. If the boys could go there, they would be like wolves among a herd of sheep, but the question was could the boys reach that far into the bay?
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Two days later as we were preparing to go to bed at night, when there was a knock on the front door and Lokman with a couple boys came in. I knew one of them. He was the leader of another group working with Lokman, but the other one was unknown to me. He was short, and quite effeminate, and could not be much over twenty. I was surprised to see such a delicate looking young boy with the other two, but I was more surprised when the boy was introduced to me as Faruque, the commander of the newly arrived commandos. This was his second visit to Chittagong; his last one with the team under Wahed Choudhury in the operation that sank the ships at the port. We were expecting them but did not know that they had arrived already. Farruque himself took over and explained. A couple of boys were sent several days ago to inform us about their date of arrival, but both of them were caught and shot when they tried to escape. He had twenty boys in his group now and all of them were staying at Kakoli. I did not like the idea of keeping the whole group in one place. It could attract attention, and I advised Lokman to send some of them to other shelters. I was particularly worried about my tenant Ashfaque who was living on the upper floor of Kakoli. At one time I thought of terminating his tenancy agreement but Lokman voted against it. He said that Ashfaque lived in the upper floor of the building alone and never returned home before midnight. He knew him before and, according to him, he was a simple man, interested in outdoor games only. After the preliminary introductions were over, we got around to the problems they would have to face. Lokman had already told him about the present situation and I told him the rest. There were tankers and many other unguarded ships in the outer anchorage for them to sink, but they would go to have a look with their own eyes to decide if they could reach that far into the bay to do the damage. He was sitting quietly listening to what we had to say and then got up to leave. He assured us before leaving that he would go to have a look at the ships in the bay and would let us know about his decision in a day or two. My gaze followed the boys as they left and the door closed behind them. Faruque was small in size and did not look tough at all but I liked him. He was a quiet type and did not talk more than necessary.
Knowing that Aziz would not be available in the morning as it
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was a working day, I went to his house in the evening. I wanted to discuss the plan I had in my mind. To my surprise I found his small house crowded to the limit. According to my advice, last night, Lokman shifted some of Faruque’s boys from Kakoli to his house for a few days. He lived only about a hundred yards away from Kakoli and therefore it would be easy for all them to keep in touch, but I did not like it as Aziz was a family man living there with his wife. After my arrival, I sent my driver to bring in Lokman and Siddiqui here. I wanted their presence to finalise our plan, provided Faruque agreed to go for it. Siddiqui arrived soon, but as Lokman could not be contacted, Taher and Khorshed were brought in his place. When they were all seated I told them about the plan I thought of. It was difficult to attack the ships in the port now, but there were many ships and tankers in the outer anchorage waiting to come in. There was no security arrangement for their defense in the sea and most of those ships could be sunk in deep water if the boys could reach that far. As there was no other way, they would have to either swim or reach there by boat. The choice was theirs. Being a cautious man Siddiqui voiced his objection first. He thought that the ships in the outer normally anchored at a distance of about ten miles in the sea. In his opinion, the distance was too much for the boys to swim or to reach there by small boats at night, even if the tides were favorable. It was a good point because I never thought of the tides myself. In response, I told Siddiqui that the final acceptance of the plan would ultimately depend upon the group leader Farruque, and wanted to know if he had any alternative plan in his mind. He hadn’t and there the discussion ended. I asked Aziz to keep his eyes open and note if any changes were made about the local security arrangements. Before leaving, I asked him to check particularly about the new factor that was omitted earlier, the timings of the high and low tides. I knew that a tide chart was maintained at the refinery for convenient berthing of oil tankers at their own jetty. I noted while talking that Aziz and his wife were having a very uncomfortable time in their small house with the addition of the boys and decided suddenly to take three of them off their hands to stay with me during the next few days. Assuring myself that the arrangement was of purely temporary nature and only for a few days, the decision was
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impulsive and without any thought whatsoever.
There was nothing more for us to do except wait for Faruque and Lokman’s return with their reports. They came back three days later in the evening. Lokman was in high spirits but Faruque was calm and quiet as usual. While all of us were nervous, tense, and excited all at once, Faruque’s calm attitude was beginning to get on my nerves. He had a bland expressionless face on which his inner feelings never reflected. According to their reports, they crossed the river disguised as fishermen in a fishing boat with nets and all, with half a dozen genuine fishermen along. About half way out, they were stopped by a gunboat, but allowed to leave. The fishing net, stink of rotting fish in the boat and the presence of real fishermen convinced the gunboat crew that there was nothing wrong. They landed on the other side of the river mouth looking out at the sea and saw distant silhouette of ships and tankers in anchor. According to their estimate, the distance was about ten to twelve miles. The sea was calm with a mirror like surface and their venture did not seem to be very difficult. After a whispered conversation, Faruque decided to come out in the open and told the fishermen who they were and what they wanted. He wanted their help to take him and his party in three or four boats near the ships at one night and return to their village, leaving them in the water. That was all. Though he talked nicely and tactfully the fishermen were afraid, but Faruque and Lokman convinced them eventually that there was no chance of their getting involved in subsequent developments. To avoid any misunderstanding they told the fishermen repeatedly that they could return immediately after taking the boys out near the ships, and that was all they would have to do. They were good swimmers and they would swim back when their job was done. Lokman added that they would be paid handsomely if they agreed. They did agree ultimately. One of the fishermen told them grinning that going this distance by boat was nothing for them as in good weather they normally go out about thirty or forty miles in the sea for fishing. He however wanted more time so that he could talk to others and arrange more boats. That was all. Both of them were supposed to go back again next day to find out the results. Lokman was a realist and being a practical man, thought that it would be a good idea to pay them
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some money at this stage. There were all kinds of men in the world after all and patriotism did not mean the same thing to everybody. I paid them whatever money I had with me and they left.
They returned late next evening with two more leaders of other groups tagging along behind them. They were all in good mood, even Faruque smiled occasionally. He told me that all the necessary arrangements had been finalised with the fishermen. He wanted my car the next day for the transportation of his boys and their equipment in half a dozen different predetermined places on the riverside. There was nothing complicated about their plan. They wanted to cross the river, go to the other side and spend a night there before the actual attack on the third night. Avoiding the camps of the sentries, they would have a long way to go in small groups. Four boats would take them as close as possible to the ships anchored in the bay and there the boats would turn back leaving the commandos swimming. The boys would have to decide their individual targets of convenience and choice and swim back fast after placing the mines. Armed shore parties would remain on guard on the beach helping and locating the swimmers as they came up. The night would be dark and moonless, but there was no chance of getting lost because all the ships in anchor were well lit and could be seen from all directions. I was listening quietly but somehow I was not as happy as I should have been. I saw that there were some gaps in their plan where anything could happen, but I decided not to say anything at this stage. The boys went themselves and saw everything there was to see, talked to the fishermen themselves and finalised the arrangements according to their satisfaction. I did not want to say anything different now, but I cautioned them about the tides though. I told them repeatedly that they should leave the shore in low tide and must reach the ships before the tide turned. During this period of inaction they could take rest holding either the anchor chains or something. The mines should be placed at the last moment only immediately before they turn around for swimming back. Efforts must be made to leave the area as fast as possible because the mine explosions would surely bring all the gunboats and other navy ships on them. It would not take the boys too long to reach the shore in high tide, but otherwise it might not be possible at all. Faruque listened and nodded. I was
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deep in thought when they left and I had a bad premonition about all this. They knew the timings of the tides. Apart from that, they were being taken by fishermen who lived by the sea and knew all about tides. There should not be any trouble, but who knew? Living close to the sea I had a fair idea that it was virtually impossible to proceed against strong tidal currents.
Next day was a hectic day for my driver Shamsu. He went out with my car early next morning and spent the whole day carrying the commandos and their equipment to their riverside shelters. Three of the boys staying with us also left with Shamsu. It was an extremely risky job but Shamsu had done similar jobs before and knew well what to do in case of an emergency. My standing instruction to him was that he must not be caught under any circumstance. If stopped, he was to drive fast and disappear in the crowd, abandoning the car somewhere. The authorities would eventually get my name after checking the registration, but that would give me ample time to disappear too. There was another disadvantage. My car was a new eye catching crimson colored Toyota that could be easily noticed and the color in particular gave me a lot of trouble later. When Shamsu returned late that night he confirmed that the shifting job of men and materials were completed satisfactorily. The commandos would cross the river tonight and the attack on the ships would take place on the night next. I went to bed after dinner but sleep wouldn’t come. All kinds of nasty possibilities and unpleasant thoughts were crowding my mind and the night passed virtually without sleep. The most important thought that was coming back again and again was that the plan was basically mine and in case of any undesirable accident, I would at least be morally responsible for the lives of these young men. Siddiqui was against it, and the biggest critic of the plan was my wife herself. I knew that a loss of a life or two in a war or in a guerilla operation of this sort in occupied territories was acceptable in the military code, but I was not a military man. Leaving my bed when I got up in the morning I had a heavy head and was feeling nauseated. I did not go out anywhere the next day and, sitting on the arm chair on the front veranda, the whole day passed with many bleak thoughts in my mind. I was feeling dizzy. Our friend, the commander dropped in on his way back home. Finding me in a
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worried state he sat talking with my wife for some time and left. I kept looking at the wall clock, but the hands did not seem to be moving at all. Aziz phoned in the evening. I told him that everything was going on as well as could be expected. He understood and left the line.
The sun went down slowly and disappeared ultimately behind the tall buildings in the west. It was getting dark. My wife brought and placed a cup of tea on a small table nearly an hour before I took the first sip. The tea tasted cold and bitter. Feeling restless, I went up on the roof to have a look, but there was nothing to see and came down after a few minutes again. I knew that there was nothing for me to do except waiting and praying to the almighty for the safe return of the boys. I had an early dinner and climbed up to the roof again carrying a chair. I wanted to remain there on the roof awaiting developments because I was in no condition to go to sleep. I knew that the outer anchorage was too far from where I was but the brightly illuminated port and the jetties were not. From the top floor of the four storied building I could see everything, the ships, the gunboats and the work in progress. The distance was not much. Any sudden unusual activities in the port area, particularly the movements of the gun boats would indicate an assault on the ships in the outer anchorage. At least that was what I thought. It was a dark moonless night and with a shawl around my shoulders I waited and waited, but there was no change in the activities of the port. I must have fallen asleep during the early hours of the dawn and the eastern sky was pale when I looked up. The waiting was in vain. At about ten o’clock in the morning I received a phone call from Lokman from somewhere. The commando attack had to be postponed last night because the fishermen and their boats did not turn up. Faruque and all of his boys were still on the other side of the river hiding in an abandoned village and he was trying to find out why the fishermen did not come. He was now trying to make a fresh arrangement with them for tonight. Lokman left the phone before I could ask any question. I was under severe mental pressure and wanted to talk to somebody. I phoned Aziz and arrived at his house half an hour later. Siddiqui was there too. I told them what had happened and Faruque’s plan for a fresh attempt tonight. I expected them to say something, but to my utter frustration both of
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them remained quiet. I had a nagging thought that they were blaming me. I know now that they didn’t say anything simply because there was nothing to say. I expected some help or at least some sympathetic suggestions, but there was nothing. The tension broke to some extent when Aziz’s wife came in. I was feeling restless and decided to go to Kakoli on my way back. Only Taher and his brother Nizam were there and they could not tell me anything either. I realised that there was nothing more I could do than wait. My wife understood my tension and tried to divert my attention to other matters. The only thing I needed then was sleep because I had missed two consecutive nights. After a light lunch I went to bed and slept for a few hours. The sun was nearing the horizon when I woke up.
After dinner I went up to the roof again for another long wait. The addition of many powerful lamps and searchlights made the port area as bright as day. The visibility was good, but it could have been better still if I had borrowed a pair of binoculars from somebody. I looked up towards the sky. No star was visible and the sky was dark and slightly overcast. The rainy season was over but a shower or two at the tail end of the season was not unusual. I only hoped that the rains would not come tonight. It would make the difficult job of swimming in the sea in a dark night more difficult for the swimmers if the rains came. I was wearing a watch strapped to my wrist. Time passed as my eyes almost unblinkingly stared at the jetties to detect any sign of activity. There was none. The night began with me waiting on the roof and ended at about two when I decided to come down. According to the chart given by Aziz, the high tide was about to turn back now and if there had been an attack on the anchored ships in the sea, I would have certainly known it. It meant that the commandos failed again. I tried to sleep but it was impossible as many unpleasant thoughts were crowding my mind. I had my cup of tea in the morning and went out to sit on the veranda. After a late breakfast I dressed to go out to Kakoli to make some enquiries. It was about eleven when I arrived and found Taher, Nizam and another boy. They could not give me any information and I turned back as I could not think of any other place to go. Five minutes later when I was about two hundred yards from Kakoli, I saw four or five truck load of soldiers coming fast
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from the opposite direction and passed me. Shamsu commented that somebody was going to be in trouble today. Huda was not there when I arrived. I enquired if there was any phone call or message came after I left. There was none. I expected that somebody would phone me and tell me what had happened last night, but no phone call came either
The rest of the day passed with me sitting on the chair. Waiting for this news became unbearable as it started to get dark and I decided to go out again. I had a headache and picked up my driver Shamsu to drive the car. The roads were almost deserted as usual with very few people around. The Nasirabad area was almost totally dark. Except a few street lights here and there, nothing could be seen. At the time, the Nasirabad Residential Area was new and recently developed with very few and scattered buildings. Most of the buildings looked like haunted houses as no lights shone inside. One of those was my own Kakoli, but there should be lights in my house. I was surprised because people had been living in that house and it should have lights. The front gate was wide open and as Shamsu was turning in to the driveway I suddenly sat up and told Shamsu to stop the car. I could see in the head lights that many household materials, clothes and other things were lying scattered on the front yard and the driveway. It looked as if a tornado had passed through and understood that something must have happened there. Immediately I told Shamsu to turn around and leave quickly. As Shamsu stepped on the gas I saw a man running towards us in the shadows waving his arms. We stopped again and when the man came closer, we saw that it was Ali, the only survivor among others killed in Kakoli at the beginning of the war. There was no suitable or safe place for parking at this hour As there was no time to talk to him here, I pulled him in the car and Shamsu sped up again to get away, driving in a wide circle aimlessly for another fifteen or twenty minutes giving me time to talk. Ali said that he was coming to Kakoli this morning when he saw me coming out from the building and leaving in my red car from a distance. A few minutes later some navy trucks arrived fast and many troops ran out and surrounded the building. He stopped and hid behind another building about a hundred yards away. Soldiers went in but there was no sign of further activity. Half an hour later he saw three boys
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were brought out to the road side. They were being kicked and beaten mercilessly. He recognized Taher and his brother Nizam, but the third boy was unknown to him. Fifteen minutes later when they were about to leave, there was another development. My tenant Ashfaque suddenly arrived in his car. Coming out of his car he stood staring at the troops and their trucks. He possibly did not understand what was happening. He was also given a sound beating and was bundled in their truck with the other boys. It could only be his misfortune. It was a working day and being a banker he never came home at this hour. Anyway, that was all Ali could tell me. Ali ran away after the trucks left but returned later in the evening and was hiding to warn others in case they came.
I knew that a situation like this would arise sooner or later and, in fact, was expecting one. Dropping Ali off I was wondering where to go now. I needed a shelter for myself now. I could only think of Aziz’s house and arrived there. He lived very close to Kakoli and thought that he might have more information, particularly about the planned commando attack. I left the car there and told Shamsu to go and warn my wife and Huda about the developments. Both Huda and Shamsu could do what they wished to save themselves but the three boys who were living with us must leave immediately. They must not be found there. I was hoping that my wife, being the mother of two small children would not be bothered or mistreated much if there was a raid there too. Aziz came out to receive me but talking was difficult as his house was full of guests. Some of them would stay overnight. He looked like a worried man himself. He took me aside and I repeated what Ali told me, but he could give me no information about the proposed attack on the ships. He was also surprised to know that I was not informed at all about the raid on my house. It took place in the morning in full knowledge of all the people of the whole neighborhood. He himself was in his office then, but the others were here and they should have informed me. I stayed there for half an hour talking to Aziz and his guests and then left. I would have to find another place for myself now to sleep tonight. Siddiqui’s house was only a short walk from there. Siddiqui was expecting me but he was equally surprised when I told him about my ignorance of the raid on Kakoli. I was fuming but understood later what
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actually happened. Everybody thought that someone else had informed me about the raid on Kakoli. It was a common enough mistake but this oversight could have had serious repercussions on me and my family. It was Siddiqui who always came forward to help me when I needed help most. Next morning he had a talk with some of the elders and arranged for guarding Kakoli again to prevent another looting, as neither Taher nor his brother were there. It was also necessary to get in touch with my wife too who was living alone with the children now. The only boy I could think of who could help was Khorshed who lived nearby. My wife knew him well, trusted him and would agree to talk to him. As far as I knew, he was also included in the armed group that would assist the commandos and perhaps he would know the reasons why the attack on the ships failed again. On my request Siddiqui sent somebody to bring Khorshed here to meet me. He was at home and came soon.
Khorshed told me what had gone wrong. While talking to me suddenly he became emotional and began to weep. On that fateful night the commandos and the shore party assembled on the predetermined location where they would find the fishermen’s boats. It was low tide and their instructions were that they must leave the shore at least one and a half hours or two hours before the tide turned. They waited and waited but neither the fishermen, nor their boats came for the second time. Faruque was running around jumping up and down in frustration. It was getting late and when it was almost too late, they decided to swim to reach the ships. That was a mistake. I had cautioned them myself repeatedly, that it was impossible to swim against strong sea current, but due to their enthusiasm particularly because of their age, they felt invincible. It took courage to swim out to the sea on a dark night, as there was nothing to see except the lights of the distant ships on anchor. When they were about three miles out, the tide turned. Even then they could return very easily with the tide behind them, but instead of doing that they tried to go forward and soon became too exhausted. Most of the boys returned somehow, but two boys were missing. He did not know if the boys were alive or dead. Khorshed began weeping uncontrollably now. So, the failure to get boats at the last moment was the reason of their failure. They could have waited
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another day, taken actions against the fishermen for violating their agreement and forced them to bring their boats the next day, on time. Instead, being immature boys, they ran out of patience and did something foolish. This single mishap confirmed my instinct not to trust a young man to do the right thing in an emergency, because somehow he will definitely manage to make a few mistakes, complicating the situation further. When Khorshed finished his story I asked him to go to find out the how my family is, as there was also a possibility of another raid there. Khorshed nodded and left.
Khorshed had another story to tell me when he returned in the evening. He found my wife alone with the children in the apartment. Being a brave and a strong willed lady, she was facing the situation as well as could be expected. Both Huda and Shamsu moved away as soon as they got the news, but they assured her before leaving that they would remain close, keeping an eye on her. She gave him another piece of news. Around ten next morning she heard a loud knock on the front door and found our friend Commander Masood standing in his full naval uniform outside. He looked excited and angry and wanted to know where I was. When she replied that she had no idea where I was, he seemed to be relieved. He told her that arriving in his office this morning he heard that a dead body was found floating face down in the river in front of the jetty. He was wearing a swimming trunk with rubber flippers and a circular limpet mine tied to his midriff. Immediately, a number of search parties went out in different directions and another boy was found hiding near the sea beach, wearing the same kind of dress. He was taken in for interrogation. Knowing my own involvement in these affairs, Commander Masood left the base, leaving his own car thre, took a cab and arrived at Kakoli as soon as he could. Taher was not there, but he found two boys sitting outside on the lawn. He did not know them, but as there was no alternative he had to tell them that one of their boys was dead and another one was caught. He advised that they must leave this place immediately and give this news to others as there was every possibility that there would be a raid on Kakoli soon. Later I made enquiries but could not find out who those boys were. Getting this warning they escaped in time but failed to pass on the vital
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information to others. Because of this negligence, Taher, Nizam and another boy were apprehended and nobody knew if we would see them again. Leaving Kakoli, the commander came straight to my wife to enquire about me. He gave another advice to my wife. He warned us not to use my red car for some time. It should be kept out of sight somewhere because the authorities came to know that an unidentified red car was involved in the underground activities. Fortunately, knew neither the make nor the number of the car, save the color, and now all red cars were being stopped and searched on the roads. Before leaving he assured my wife that he would try to help both Taher and Nizam if they were still alive. His voice had an ominous tone, my wife said.
After Khorshed left, Siddiqui and I remained seated for a long time quietly thinking about the events of the last few days. Actually we had nothing to talk about. It was only then I realized how narrowly I had escaped being caught. I had been to Kakoli in the morning myself and left only minutes before the raiders arrived. I even saw the naval trucks coming and passing my car while I was returning.
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Chapter – 8

I stayed with Siddiqui for a few days only. I was supposed to be hiding there, but when a surprising number of people began coming to meet me, I decided to leave. Siddiqui was a family man and I did not want to get him involved in my affairs. I found hiding or to remain hidden somewhere was a real problem. I never thought it necessary before, but now that it was necessary I found myself in difficulties. I had heard a story that if somebody wanted to hide, he should enter a hole and cover the hole after him. It sounds good in a story but in reality how does one do it? After leaving Siddiqui’s house I changed my hideout several times. I wanted to live quietly for a few weeks, away from the boys and other visitors, but I was perplexed to note that on every occasion people always located me in a day or two. I had no idea how they were doing it. I was told by a police officer after the war that they knew all about my movements and could catch me any time if they really wanted to. They did not want to do that and therefore I survived. Through Siddiqui, Aziz and a very limited number of boys I kept in touch with my family. Huda and Shamsu also maintained a regular contact with them, and our friend Commander Masud came almost daily to enquire about her well being. The behavior of the Biharis however surprised me most. When they heard about the raid on Kakoli some of them went and met my wife, showing their willingness to help and went to the market on several occasions to buy groceries and other items she needed. They never believed that I was working against the solidarity of Pakistan and thought I was falsely implicated due to a
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misunderstanding or someone’s treachery. They thought that somebody was trying to get rid of me by implicating me in this affair. Another enquiry was conducted by the authorities among the mill workers but none of them had a complain against me. When the situation was like this, my wife took a sudden decision. According to the suggestions of the Biharis, she agreed and shifted her place of residence to another secluded area. It was a bold step. The Biharis came and supervised the shifting, brought all the necessary items from Kakoli, including furniture, beds, crockery etc., cleaned the whole apartment and helped her to move in. To show her gratitude she cooked and fed the Bihari workers herself on the first day she moved in. They did expect some sort of gratitude for what they did, but not that. They returned very happy. When she was still busy with her own work in the evening, our friend the commander walked in as usual, as if nothing had happened and did not stop coming even for a day. On her enquiry, he laughed and replied that he had his own way to find out what he wanted to know
I was having a bad time in my hideout. Wherever I went I had all the comforts I needed as a guest but I was getting bored as I was not used to living a solitary life. One day Lokman came with Khorshed and another boy. I was glad to see them, but at the same time a little surprised because I had an understanding with my host that he would not let anybody know that I was living with him, but in spite of all precautions they found me again. I wanted to know how they did it but instead of giving me an answer they told me that I had remained hidden long enough and it was now time to come out. Some of my friends and associates were also of the opinion that my hiding was no longer necessary. Because of the behavior and hard line taken by my Bihari mill workers, the enquiry against me did not continue and there was no indication either that the authorities still wanted me. Lokman went and met my wife in her new apartment before coming to meet me and had a talk with her himself. It was her opinion too that I should go and join the family. If I agreed, the boys came prepared to take me there now. I was getting fed up with the solitary life I was living and promptly agreed. After a period of nearly three weeks living alone in hideouts in different places, they took me to Sabzazaar, a new
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housing complex to join my family. Sabzazaar seemed to be a nice place to live in. There were about a dozen of two and three storied buildings in a big area on a grass covered hillside. It was shady too as there were many mango and jack fruit trees around and looked peaceful. My two children were playing in front of a four storied building and both of them came running when they saw me coming.
I was thinking of resuming the life I left off before going underground but found that was not to be. When my boss came to know about the raid on my house and learnt that I ran off to avoid arrest, he asked one of his local friends to look after the mill management with explicit orders to resume production as soon as possible. Though the conditions looked otherwise, my boss also thought that I was a victim of circumstances and did not believe that I could actually be associated with the underground movements. What he thought of me however was not the main consideration in this case and it did not stop him to from taking actions he thought best. As far as I was concerned, I was out of my job. Initially the thought of being free of all my official responsibilities and away from the activities of my boys was attractive enough, but that was not to be either. A group of boys came one evening with a proposition. Losing Kakoli as their camp and an important base of operations, they were having difficulties and wanted my help to arrange another similar place somewhere. They did their home work well and explained what they wanted. As the local boss of a big industrial establishment they wanted me to rent a small house somewhere nearby on a short term lease. It was meant to be used for residential purposes of the company employees, but instead of the mill workers, the boys would live there and continue with their activities. They found a house also which would be suitable for their needs and now they wanted me to take care of the financial side to finalise the arrangement. Similar to a few sentences written in fine print in all contracts, there was something else, as always. They needed approximately twenty five ID cards in the names of the boys with photographs under my signature and the company seal. As I stared my wife who was listening to their proposals suddenly jumped up and shouted at them to leave us in peace for a change. It took me quite a few days to calm her down. I did not like the idea myself of issuing ID cards with my signature. If any
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of them got caught, the authorities would come for my head and I might not get any warning at all. Just for the sake of argument I tried to tell them that I was no longer in the employment of the company, but that got me nowhere. In any case, the boys got what they wanted. They got their shelter about half a mile away from Sabzazaar and their ID cards too. In the mean time, I made a separate arrangement myself so that I could escape fast in case of a necessity. The Purchase Manager of the Glaxo Laboratories, Shamsul Kamal was one of my close friends and he was living close by with his family in the same area. Explaining why I suddenly needed a shelter now, I had to tell him much more than I wanted to. He welcomed me.
After my return to join my family in Sabzazaar, I was given reports of the events and occurrences that took place during my absence, when I was spending my days in hiding. Two occurrences among them were important and worth mentioning. The first one was unexpected and a good news, but the other one was not. IN fact, the latter one was downright painful. I heard that failing in his first attempt, Faruque and his commandos made another assault, directly on the jetty this time. Only three boys entered the river far upstream and came down swimming without a shore party or anybody to help them in case they were in trouble. It was a reckless attempt. Floating down separately very close directly under the shadows of the river bank they placed their mines one by one on a Greek cargo ship AVLOS and two other trawlers. They often saw armed sentries above them talking to each other or laughing as they passed within fifty feet of them. The kept on swimming and when they were about a mile down stream, the mines began to explode one by one, sinking all the three. There were sirens and a tremendous hue and cry in the port, but the swimmers continued to go down. When they reached a secluded spot near the river mouth, they came up and escaped. In my absence, Comander Masood came and reported the sinking of the three ships to my wife gleefully. All of us thought that the security arrangement in the Port area was such that an assault was impossible, but the boys did what they were sent to do and did the job without any help from anybody. Faruque and his commandos returned to their base across the border soon, fully satisfied.
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I mentioned earlier how a student of the Dhaka University named Rafique living in one of the students’ barracks, had escaped a mass killing during the early phase of the war. He had come down to his hometown in Chittagong in search of his family, but found they had disappeared. Siddiqui had found him and brought him to his house. Later, according to my advice, the boy was given Lokman’s custody. I was told that he was a good boy, a willing helper and always accompanied Lokman’s group in all their missions. Lokman, however, was not very satisfied and thought that Rafique was slightly deranged or a little mentally imbalanced. On several occasions Lokman tried to bring it to my attention several times but not knowing much, I did not understand and did nothing. In fact, I couldn’t have done anything even if I had known all the facts as my resources were very limited. One day Rafique went out with a concealed sten gun under his arm, without telling anybody where he was going, covering his upper body with a shawl. He did not attract any attention as he looked like another pedestrian on the road. Rafique walked about three miles and reached an intersection of two important city roads. It was a busy shopping area full of pedestrians and traffic. Standing in one corner he waited until a military truck with soldiers appeared and suddenly he opened fire in broad day light from a distance of only thirty feet. In the melee that followed, nobody could say what actually happened afterwards, but two soldiers were seen dropping from the truck on the road. His fire was immediately returned and Rafique fell bleeding on the spot where he was standing. He did not make any attempt to escape. Opening fire he remained in the same position until the magazine of his sten was empty. He obviously came prepared to die and wanted to take as many soldiers with him as he could. Siddiqui did not say anything when he heard about this incident, but looked at me with accusing eyes as if I was to blame.
Across Bangladesh, the weather is very pleasant in October. Immediately after the rains the air was cool, but not cold. Finishing my breakfast I was glancing through the newspapers. I was actually reading the headlines only. It was a habit of mine. A breakfast and a newspaper came together every morning. Being relieved of my official duties I had no place to go. Except occasional visits of a limited number of friends and the boys, I was living an idle and
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inactive life. In the evenings both my wife and I used to go for a stroll on the grounds of the Sabzazaar, meeting new faces and acquaintances. It was quite pleasant. My car was still locked up in the garage, as the authorities were still searching for the red car that was involved in many nefarious activities. My car driver Shamsu had no duties either and as he had no place to go, I gave him another room to live in. Couple of boys arrived one morning as I was getting up after finishing my breakfast. They told me that they were going across the border and enquired if I had any message to pass on to our high command. I had none and they left. Not being interested in politics, I did not know any member of the group of people across the border whom the boys always referred to as the “high command’. I knew a few names only, but never met any of them. I was surprised to see the boys back in the evening again and this time they had a message for me. Before crossing the border, they met another group of boys coming in led by Musharraf, an important man who went on to become an MP in independent Bangladesh. Musharraf himself sent the boys back with a message for me. According to that message, he came on a very important mission and wanted to stay with me for a week or so until his mission was finished. He also wanted me to send my car to bring him to my residence. I was speechless and then became furious. They knew very well that my residence was not a safe place to live in for an important man like him. I pointed out too that if I sent my car, the chances of Musharraf’s safe passage were minimal as the authorities were still searching for it. Both the boys knew all this very well, but I had no idea why they neglected to mention these to Msharraf. He knew nothing of my problems, but the boys did. Small negligence and idiocies like these often give rise to many long lasting misunderstandings unnecessarily. I told the boys to hire a taxi cab at my expense to bring him to the city. Unless he had some other place in mind, he could stay in the small house I recently took on lease. I told them explicitly to inform Musharraf that after his arrival in the city, he should get in touch with me as quickly as possible, as I could give him some important information about his target. The boys had informed me that Musharraf’s target was the oil refinery and I had some homework on the feasibility of an attack on the oil refinery myself. There were certain problems
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he should know and I wanted to tell him what I knew. Immediately after the first attack on the port, it became clear that more attention should be given to sinking oil tankers. The government imported crude oil, in chartered foreign tankers, for further processing at the refinery but it would be hard for them to hire tankers if we could manage to sink a couple. There was another alternative. Our friend Azizur Rahman who was an engineer in the refinery informed us that the impact on the war would be equally severe if we could stop the refinery. We had long discussions with Aziz and his friend Matin in this connection. Their opinion was that the job would be very difficult because the refinery was spread over a large area. Even an aerial bombing might destroy some storage tanks with oil, but the oil processing would continue. There was only one vital place. A couple of high powered pumps were installed in an underground cellar of a small building for pumping in crude oil directly from the tankers. If a way could be found to destroy or damage those pumps, the refinery would certainly stop functioning for a long indefinite period. Neither Aziz nor Matin could, however, suggest how that could be done. With our meager resources, we thought penetrating the outer defenses of the refinery was not possible. I came to know much later that Musharraf wanted to do the same thing that we thought of. He and his group brought a couple of recoilless rifles with them with the intention of bombarding the refinery from the other side of the river. If they had done it, there would have been superficial damage of some storage tanks and a loss of oil, but that loss would not have stopped the refinery. On the other hand, it was also obvious that when this plan was made, nobody thought of consulting the naval commandos who came and operated in the same area twice before. If they had done that, they would have known that bombarding from the other side of the river was not feasible either. They did not know that there were dozens of camps and a large number of sentries with search lights on guard duty to prevent such attempts. I wanted to give these facts to him before he tried to make his attempt, but unfortunately he never contacted me, possibly because of my refusal to give him a temporary accommodation when he wanted.
I went out with my wife for a walk as usual in the evening, one day. There were others and the atmosphere was like a park. We
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talked to each other but the conversation was not pleasant as the common question in everybody’s mind was when was the war going to end. Nobody knew the answer. One evening, returning from our stroll we found to our amazement that Taher was busy playing with the children. We were naturally glad to see him because we did not expect to see him alive again. We asked him many questions but he could not tell us much. After they were caught during the raid on Kakoli, all the three of them were taken to a naval camp where they were mercilessly beaten and interrogated. Taher told them that as I was in Dhaka and both he and his brother Nizam were living in Kakoli as caretakers in my absence. The third boy was only an aquantance. As far as he knew, he came to locate his missing elder brother and Taher gave him only a temporary shelter for a day or two. That was all he told them and both of them stuck to it without deviation. After a week, both Taher and Nizam were transferred to a jail and when released this morning they came directly to Kakoli and met some of the boys there immediately. As all the rooms were very dirty, all of them together cleaned the house putting everything in order as much as they could and leaving Nizam there he came to meet us riding his bicycle. He did not know what happened to the other boy who was caught with him. We were very fond of Taher. We were not related but he came and joined our family years ago when he was very young and now we considered him as a member of our family. During our talks I noticed him looking at his watch often and he seemed to be in a hurry. When I enquired, he answered with a smile that he wanted to go to meet Musharraf’s group in our new camp. The boys he met this morning gave him the news of Musharraf’s arrival and his group on a new assignment. I understood but did not like his impatience to get involved again so soon after release. He was a lucky boy to get out alive, but if he was caught again, he might not be so lucky for the second time. I did not like the idea of forcing luck. In any case he did not have far to go as the new camp was only half a mile from Sabzazaar. I told him, however, to go carefully, mentioning that I did not want him taken in again. He laughed and left on his cycle. I was sitting near the open window when my wife came and reported that dinner was on the table. As I was getting up, a couple of heavy blasts
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reverberated, followed by a few scattered rifle shots. Bomb blasts or rifle shots were not uncommon in those days. I thought that the only place near us where bombs could be thrown at was a small sub-station of the Electric Supply Authority, guarded by a few sentries. Some of our boys must be practicing before tackling something more difficult. I decided to ignore it and finished our dinner.
Couple of hours later we were on bed trying to sleep which was getting more and more difficult these days. I was dozing but my wife pushed me up. Somebody was knocking on the front door. I tried to ignore the knocks at first but as the knocks became more and more insistent I had to get up. I disliked the thought of opening doors for midnight callers. I found Taher was standing outside in wet clothes. He was thoroughly dirty from head to foot. I pulled him in quickly and wanted to know what had happened. It took him some time to talk as he was completely out of breath. He, in fact, came here running as fast as he could all the way to my apartment, narrowly escaping from being captured again. His luck still seemed to be favouring him and told me the story after catching his breath. It took him only fifteen minutes on his cycle to reach the new camp. It was a small single storied whitewashed building with its door in front. Leaving his cycle outside he knocked on the door and went in as the door was opened by a boy he knew. The front room was crowded. There were about fifteen people in the room including Musharraf himself leaning over a map of some sort. Taher was told that they had a plan of going into action on the next night and this was the last time they were meeting for a discussion. As Taher did not have anything to do with it and was not in their party, he proceeded to the next room and found all their armaments were piled up on the floor. Suddenly he heard two loud explosions somewhere near. Before any of them could react, all of them heard a commotion in front of the building outside. Somebody was talking in a loud voice giving orders in Urdu and it did not take long to understand that it was a raid. Taher didn’t know what to do as there was only one door to leave and that was blocked, but he noticed a sudden rush of everybody towards another room in the back side. He followed them and found them escaping through a window that had no bars or grills. There was a wide and deep drain
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under the window and all of them jumped down one by one quickly. It was a long drop of about ten or twelve feet and fully dark. They ran on slipping, falling, and rolling, inside the slippery drain but kept going and ultimately escaped. Taher had no idea where the others went. Kakoli was a long way off and if he tried to reach there, he could have been picked up on the way. He lost his cycle too as he left it outside before entering the camp. He decided to come to Sabzazaar instead and ran all the way. He stayed with us that night.
Headlines appeared in all the city. papers next day mentioning that a den of the insurgents was raided last night and huge quantity illegal arms were recovered. There was a photograph of the seized weapons. I tried to find if my name had been mentioned anywhere or anybody was arrested in that connection. No name was mentioned but that did not mean anything. I did not forget that the house was taken on lease in the name of my company. They might come any day to take me in. For the first time since the war began I was feeling only uncertain about my own fate, as if I was being pressured from all sides. My wife advised me to leave the house and stay with my new friend Shamsul Kamal of Glaxo for a few days. I talked with Kamal and told him to expect me soon, but decided not to leave immediately. Commander Masood came in the evening, grave-faced. One thing I must say about this gentleman: he never asked a question or never wanted to know anything that he was not required to know. He took part only in general discussions when a topic was raised. He knew all about the raid last night and also knew that I was involved with it somehow, but all he said was that I was getting too rash in my activities these days. A dead man could not help his country more than one who was alive. He suggested that I should take a trip to Dhaka and spend a couple of weeks there. The change would do me good. He gave me some information too. He told me that the Chittagong city with the suburbs were now under the full control of the Navy. The Army was hard pressed in the border areas resisting intruders from coming in. Fighting was continuing all along the border, almost in every sector. This was the right time to start something big from within.
Lokman came one day with two of his boys. He looked thin and
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tired and was wearing a bandage on his left arm. I did not see him for a long time. We talked about the general condition of the city. He gave me some information about Musharraf that I did not know. Lokman surveyed the other side of the river earlier and knew the difficulties. He advised Musharraf himself that his plan should be changed because no attack was feasible on the refinery from the other side because of the present security arrangements. He thought that in a way it was better for all of them that the attack was not made at all in the end. Some of the boys would have certainly been killed otherwise. Musharraf was hurt while jumping down the window during their narrow escape and had difficulties in reaching a sanctuary that night. Three days later the whole group crossed over to India, but before crossing they were nearly caught by an army patrol. We talked some more about the border crossing, which was becoming a risky job. About fifty five miles from the city, the Chittagong Division is connected with the rest of the country by a narrow neck. This area was known as Mirsarai. On one side of the neck was the sea, while on the other side there were high hills and impassable jungle. To keep the two parts separated all that the military government had to do was to tighten its hold on the neck. By increasing the number of troops and razakars they tried, but could never stop the traffic and anybody unfortunate enough to get caught was shot on the spot. It was a bad place for the boys but they had no choice. For their supplies and to maintain a regular contact with our own command in exile, boys had to pass this area again and again. While talking with Lokman my mind was suddenly distracted. Sitting in another room, the boys who came in with Lokman were talking to each other on the same subject and they were discussing their own escapades. One of those boys suddenly came up with a suggestion. Referring Musharraf’s narrow escape, he said with a laugh that if he pretended to be a Razakar from that area, he would arrest all the boys immediately after their arrival. It would be a simple job to take them near the border and push them into India. It was meant to be a joke, but it got the cogs turning in my brain.
After the boys left I kept on thinking about this. The idea suggested by the boy as a joke seemed to be a very good one and we could certainly be benefited if we had some Razakars in that
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area loyal to us. Arresting our boys and transferring them openly to hand them over to an army camp should not be a difficult job. Only difference was that instead of taking them to an army camp, the boys would be taken to the border. I thought and thought but did not find any flaw in it. I was told that a senior man named Zafar was in charge of the Mirsarai area. He was a good man and was doing his job well, as well as could be expected. I thought that I should get in touch with him somehow and persuade him to recruit some loyal Razakars there. I would have to send somebody to Zafar to carry my message and to explain the reasons, but who could go? Boys won’t do. The message would have to be sent verbally and for that a senior man was required who could explain and make Zafar realise our needs. Lokman and other group leaders were busy with their own affairs and I did not want to send them to a risky area either. I was eating breakfast one day when I heard some tinkering metallic sounds coming from the garage. Somebody was trying to start the car but it wouldn’t start. The car had been lying there unused for a long time and the battery was probably down. It was my driver Shamsu trying to start the car. Hearing his name I suddenly remembered that Shamsu’s village home was in Mirsarai, the same area where Zafar was operating. He was in his early fifties, a reliable man and could certainly be depended upon. I decided immediately that he would be the right man to carry my message to Zafar. Poking my neck out through the window I shouted for him to come in and had a long talk with him. I told him what I wanted and explained what he was required to do. He knew Zafar, as he lived not very far from his own home. He agreed to go because it would give him an opportunity to see his family. Shamsu left a couple of hours later.
On the fifth day after his departure Shamsu returned. He reported with a grimace that he was questioned twice while traveling in the bus and after arrival he was stopped and searched again. Possibly his advanced age saved him from further harassment. He had difficulties in locating Zafar initially because he was hiding and always changing his hideout. He told Shamsu that he heard about me and would like to meet me some day. Shamsu gave him my message. He was silent for some time and replied that he would like to think about it. It would not be very
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easy to arrange but if it could be done, it would certainly help. He could try to persuade some of our boys to approach the military authorities and accept the job of razakars, provided they agreed. Otherwise he could not force anybody to agree to our proposal. He promised, however, to let me know in case he succeeded. I understood. Nobody in their right mind would have liked to be branded as a Razakar in those days. I received a similar proposal myself one time. I was told at one time to try and get acquainted with some of the senior leaders of the army administration to open up the possibility of kidnapping them. I did not want any part of that. I told the group leaders later about the arrangement I was trying to make with Zafar and all of them agreed that they would be benefited if Zafar really could manage to do it. Boys from all the groups had to pass through Mirsarai again and again because of their supplies and other reasons. There were very few groups in the occupied territories that had not lost some of their boys while passing through Mirsarai. Zafar’s promised message, however, did not come. I heard after a month or so that some razakars were actually operating in the Mirsarai and helping our boys to pass through. They were actually freedom fighters, our boys disguised as razakars. So Zafar did what I suggested. I was happy, but a tragedy that I would never have anticipated lay waiting in the wings. Three months later when we gained our independence, millions of people who fled earlier to escape genocide rushed in from India. Law and order was totally absent. The freedom fighters who were already inside tried to do what they could but they were overwhelmed by the onrush of people. Some of them wanted to settle down without delay but most of them wanted revenge. Hundreds of people who helped the Pakistanis were killed overnight, and so died the twelve valiant boys of Mirsarai who despite being freedom fighters themselves, died at the hands of the local villagers, who knew them only as Razakars. The only man who could save them was Zafar, but in the confusion that followed he could not be found when the boys needed him most. I still feel that I was responsible for their untimely death and have their blood on my hands.
Taher came and reported one day that my tenant Ashfaque Choudhury was searching for me everywhere to avenge himself.
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Ashfaque was arrested on the same day with Taher and the others, when Kakoli was raided and he was released on the fourth day without much trouble. He was very angry with me now because though he was living upstairs in the same building, he was never told what was going on in the floor below. His point was that he should have been told. He had tried to get in touch with Taher who also avoided him somehow. Last evening he came down and cornered Taher and made such a row that he was forced to give him my address. He came to warn me that he might arrive here at any time in the evening on his way back from his bank. I liked Ashfaque and was actually sorry for him. He was a well behaved, polished young man with a slightly childish personality. The day of his arrest, he had arrived at the scene at the wrong moment. I told my wife that Ashfaque was coming over and in order to pacify him she should therefore get ready to offer him tea with snacks immediately and perhaps invite him to have dinner with us later. I knew that good food always helped an irate man to calm down quickly. Ashfaque arrived as expected and I heard his running footsteps outside. His arrival could only be described as a pandemonium. I remained sitting quietly as he jumped around, shouted his protests and mentioned many things I should have done, but did not. It was like shadow fighting, fighting an adversary who was not there and after some time he got tired of it. Smiling sheepishly he came forward and sat down on a couch in front of me, as my wife came in. She was carrying a tray with tasty snacks and hot tea for all of us. She also told him not to leave because he was going to have his dinner with us tonight. Ashfaque forgot the promises he made earlier that he was coming here to break my head or neck or something. Since then Ashfaque became almost a permanent guest in our household, remaining always present at our table at dinner time. He volunteered to work for us too, but not knowing what work I could give him I told him to wait.
I was sitting on my usual seat near the open window after breakfast when I saw a light green car approaching. I recognized the car. It belonged to my next door neighbor Dr. Rabiul Hossain. After escaping from the city we had parted company Choudhury Haat months ago. We remained where we were, but the doctor and his brother in law Azizul Huq decided to leave with their families
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for another destination further up. Since then we never met and had no idea where they were. I got up from my chair to receive him. He looked thinner and pale in his fawn colored suit. The strain of living through the turmoil showed on his face. Sitting together we talked for a long time and exchanged information. Hearing his voice, my wife came out and wanted to know about his wife and children. Leaving his own home he was living now in a rented house inside the city and his brother in law Azizul Huq’s family was also with him. We were glad to see him after a long time. After returning to the city he made enquiries but nobody could tell him about my whereabouts and came to know about my present address by accident only. A boy went to his house and approached him for financial help. While talking, the boy inadvertently mentioned their previous camp in Kakoli and in that connection my own name came up. When the doctor enquired about my whereabouts, the boy asked him a few questions and when satisfied he gave him my address with a request. He was asked not to reveal my address to anybody. As a known political figure and a local leader, Azizul Huq did not consider it safe to return. He walked a long way and with local help crossed over to India. The doctor told me that Azizul Huq wanted to return now, but he was having difficulties to find a suitable safe place live in. For obvious reasons he would not be able to join his family either. He requested me to give him a temporary shelter here by allowing him to live with my family for a short time, until a suitable place could be found for him. Both my wife and I asked that her be brought to live with us, assuring the doctor that Azizul Huq could live with us as long as he wanted. If we could live through it alive, so would he. Thanking us, the doctor left. Before leaving he told us that our guest would be arriving in three or four days and the exact date and time would be communicated later. Azizul Huq arrived one evening with Dr. Rabiul Hossain after a couple of days. Wearing a shabby torn dress he was limping laboriously. We embraced each other and took him to a room kept ready for him. He was to stay with us until the war ultimately came to an end. After his arrival, he was put in charge of a couple of refugee camps in the eastern sector, where more than fifty thousand people lived in tents under horrible conditions. In spite of the help of the Indian and International Red Cross, large
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number of people were dying regularly due to disease and malnutrition. Heads of many organizations visited the refugee camps promising aid and supplies of medicines. Food grains and other supplies did increase, but were not enough. Azizul Huq was not accustomed to seeing conditions like these and decided to return.
When the war began, the Pakistani military junta had thought that mass killings, torture, and oppression would see a quick end to the resistance, and it was announced openly that Pakistan wanted only the land of East Pakistan, not the people on it. They never expected a resistance and never thought that the peace loving people of this country could rise up and take up arms against them. To them it was unthinkable. By now though, most of them had doubts in their minds and some of them were openly grumbling. World opinion had a tremendous pressure on the Pakistani leaders. Meetings were being held in the UN General Assembly regularly and many nations denounced the army action on the civil population of the country, but majority of our local population, mainly the people in the rural areas had no idea what was happening around them. Nobody listened to the news services of the government controlled TV or Radio Pakistan. Our only sources of information were the BBC, All India Radio and the broadcasts of an underground radio station named Sadhin Bangla Betar Kendra (voice of independent Bangla). Keeping the volume low millions of people listened to their late night news bulletins and every night they heard what was happening in every corner of the country in detail. We came to know that fighting was going on now virtually all along the border and our soldiers consisting of freedom fighters, ex-army, EPR and police personnel had liberated a big area in the north eastern side. The successes were not big but it was a good start as these helped us to live through another day. Our own source of information was Commander Masood and he often gave us news of many incidents not covered by the radio broadcasts. Bangladesh is a delta and there are hundreds of rivers, inlets, canals, creeks and marshes everywhere. Inspired by the successes of the naval commandos, shooting up or sniping on patrol boats became a common occurrence. Due to insufficient developments in the rural areas, there were very few metalled roads in the country. There
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were dirt roads, but after the rainy season most of those roads were not suitable for heavy army vehicles and therefore army movements were restricted to the developed areas only. For all practical purposes the rural areas became free where the freedom fighters moved around openly and went wherever they wished. Commander Masood’s own personal opinion was that it was impossible to fight a war if the whole population was against it. There were very few Bengalis still in the army, but instead of helping the Pakistanis they were engaged in sabotage. Many of their vehicles were found in inoperative conditions these days because of sand in the gas tanks.
Our guest Azizul Huq was trying to adjust to living within the four walls of his room. He was an active man and being in politics, he loved to talk. Talking, however, was difficult without a listener and that made him unusually quiet. I understood his problems. I used to visit his room often to talk, but he knew that my knowledge of politics was rather limited. One day I was in his room when I heard a loud knock on the front door. I had to get up to see who was there. When I opened the door I found two Bihari mill workers standing outside and one of them handed me a letter. I recognised the handwriting on the envelope. It was from my MD in Dhaka and it was his first contact with me after I was relieved of my duties. I wondered what he wanted now. The Biharis told me that five Pathans arrived last night from Dhaka to join the security staff with a letter from the Dhaka Office in my name. They wanted to come here too to meet me but the Biharis kept them waiting and brought only the letter. I was curious and opened the envelope to read. It was a short letter and I was amazed when I finished reading it. I was instructed by the MD to include the Pathans in the payroll of the company immediately for the security of the mill. Four of them would do their usual duties in the mill, whereas their leader, an older man, would remain with me for the safety of me and my family. I did not know what to make of it. I thought I was relieved of all my duties and being out of my own job, I did not understand how I could employ others. Apart from that, I was fed up with all Pathans and did not like the idea of keeping one of them in my residence at all. My wife heard me talking and came out. When I was about to drive them all out, she intervened. She was an intelligent lady and she was of the opinion that the most important
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thing we needed now was our safety. Nobody would bother us if a Pathan stood outside guarding our front door. Getting a new job was equally important to me and difficult at the same time. It seemed that my boss wanted to forget his own decision to drive me out and wanted to make amends by hinting that I should return to my previous position again. I was in a dilemma but my wife thought differently. The Biharis sensed my hesitation and supported the views of my wife and as a result I had to agree. The Biharis brought another man in the afternoon wearing a turban. He was an aged man but in his loose clothes and turban he looked strong and big, almost gigantic. Bending low he gave me a big salaam and introduced himself as Yasin Khan.
After Yasin Khan joined his duties at my residence we began to have a very peaceful time. Unusually peaceful and quiet, because all of our local neighbors stopped visiting our apartment as his huge bulk sitting outside the door discouraged everybody to come in. Those who we used to meet outside in the evenings avoided us too as they did not understand what they saw and some of them became extremely suspicious. Questionable people including Biharis visited us at all hours and now a Pathan was standing guard on the front door. They saw everything not knowing what to believe. I was sitting on my chair as usual near the open window one day when I saw a couple of boys coming. I knew them. When they did not arrive after a long wait I shouted for Yasin and wanted to know about the boys. He replied gravely that they ran away. I had not foreseen these difficulties when I allowed the Pathan to join us. Some problems arose in my domestic affairs too. As there was no extra room, I put Yasin in the same room where Shamsu was living alone. Immediately Shamsu came out with a protest, refusing point blank to live in the same room with that monster. There were more. My guest Azizul Huq who was living alone in a room could not adjust himself to the idea of living in the same premises with Yasin. He used to get up to leave for his room whenever Yasin came in. One day my wife came in with a protest herself. As there was no other person, my wife alone had to do all the work in the kitchen, while Yasin Khan was getting bored sitting outside doing nothing. One day he entered the kitchen and busily engaged himself in preparing our day’s food. My wife wanted to throw him out, but
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he would not go. She flatly refused to enter the kitchen again unless that huge and smelly character left. I reminded her that it was she who recommended to bring him here. I began enjoying the situation. It took a little time to solve the problem. Yasin Khan loved to cook, but he did not like vegetable, fish or goat meat. He wanted big chunks of beef for lunch and dinner and chickens for breakfast and snacks. His menu was too much for us. After a long discussion it was ultimately decided that Yasin would neither enter nor interfere in my wife’s normal activities in the kitchen, but he would have a free hand to prepare our meals two days in a week. He was happy with that. I was satisfied with the arrangement myself but my satisfaction did not last long.
Because of my past experiences there was no reason for my loving a Pathan tribesman, but I liked this man. Unlike others, he was absolutely straightforward and found very loyal to his duties. He came from a mountainous region known as North West Frontier Province of Pakistan, very close to the Afghan border. The rocky dry soil was not suitable for agriculture or anything of that nature. Their main occupation was to join the army and he was a retired army man himself. All his sons and son-in-laws were in the army now and they would remain in the army until their retirement. While talking about his own tribe he told me once that Pathans knew nothing except fighting. When I wanted to know what they do when there was no enemy to fight with, his prompt reply was that they fight among themselves. Now that he was old, his main duty was to pass the time with his grandchildren and he enjoyed taking them out to the hills for long walks. He wanted to know one day if I had any arms in my residence. When I said that I had none, he assured me not to worry because he had one and it was his job to look after me and my family. Entering his room he brought out a small submachine gun and began cleaning it, giving me some news at the same time, Yasin told me that before coming to my residence, he went to the local army camp in the Circuit House. As an ex-Army man he reported his presence there and mentioned that he was now employed by me with four others for my own and the mill’s security and left my name and present address at Sabzazaar where he could always be contacted, if necessary. He got his submachine gun from there too for his own and my protection. I was
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and became extremely upset. The authorities now knew where I lived and they could pick me up any time they wanted. But would they do it if Yasin was now standing guard at my door? Another question naturally occurred to me. While guarding me from the outsiders, he would be able to keep an eye on my activities too. The most disturbing thought from a third man’s point of view was that I seemed to be riding a fence, neither on this side nor the other. I could not blame anybody if they thought that I was a traitor always hobnobbing with Biharis and Pathans. Among all of my neighbors, the only person who wanted to know what was going on was my friend Shamsul Kamal of Glaxo. When I explained how it happened and the position I was in now, he only shook his head and could not give me any advice either. My biggest critic was Lt. Commander Masood who did not like Yasin at all. His opinion was that no Pathan should be trusted. Though he came regularly, he was a little hesitant these days. There was always a chance of his visits being reported to the authorities but he always came wearing plain clothes and never in uniform. To prevent such a possibility I introduced him to Yasin mentioning him as one of my closest friends, a businessman living close by. I sent Yasin to Kakoli for Taher one day as there was nobody I could send on an errand. I told Taher to find and bring in Lokman and a few more Group Leaders here as soon as he could. Next day when I saw them coming from my window seat, I got up and went out to receive them outside myself. Hurriedly I explained the situation I was in, and brought them in. Yasin Khan looked on as I introduced them as my nephews living elsewhere in the city and they should always be allowed to come in. In case I was not here, my wife would talk to them in my absence. Yasin quietly nodded and left. The boys began to come again as they did in the past. Sitting outside on a chair Yasin saw them all but never interfered. One day he commented that I seemed to have a lot of nephews in the city. I understood, but decided to ignore it.
The air became slightly chilly in the mornings and evenings as the month of November came. In the dim lights the open grounds of Sabzazaar looked misty in the evenings. It was not cold yet, but the heat was gone. By this time my neighbor Shamsul Kamal had a talk waghast ith some people who lived in the other buildings of Sabzazaar
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and persuaded them not to think of us as something to avoid stepping on. We met them again in the evenings as before and speculated once more on when the war was going to end. All of them had their own opinions. Siddiqui used to visit us sometimes and he had his own views too. It was in the news that the Prime Minister of India, Mrs. Indira Gandhi, was on a world tour for talks with other world leaders explaining her own difficulties because of the war. Millions of Bangladeshis were now living in India as refugees, posing a massive burden to the Indian government. Though all kinds of help were being sent by many countries and the International Red Cross, the situation became too complicated to handle and the needs were too big. The India government announced flatly that they were not in a position to cope with the situation indefinitely and that should not be expected by the world powers from India either. Siddiqui thought that there might be other reasons for Mrs. Gandhi’s world tour that had not been declared. Some of us agreed but what those could be? It was, however, clear that the situation was coming to a head. There was something in the air. I was informed by Commander Masood that all the officers of the army, navy and air force, who had their families with them, were directed to send them back to Pakistan. They must be expecting something big too. Our boys who were always on the move reported that the border situation was being tightened considerably and was changing. The forces of our Liberation Army, consisting of regular soldiers, EPR, police and thousands of civilians freedom fighters had now occupied more areas in the occupied territories and the new green national flag of Bangladesh with a red circle in the middle were flying atop houses of the liberated areas. With help from the local villagers our boys were attacking weak positions, avoiding frontal encounters as much as possible. They were getting all kinds of material help from the Indian Army, which always remained on their side of the border as observers, never appearing on the field.
I was surprised to find Zahed in the evening among the crowd on the grounds of Sabzazaar one day. He lived in his own home on a hill top not very far from Kakoli, at the end of Zakir Hossain Road, named in honor of his father Zakir Hossain, former Governor of East Pakistan. Zahed was his eldest son and I did not
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expect to find him here. I heard that when the Pakistan Army entered the city through a Bihari colony during the early phase of the war, all the family members, including the aged Mr. Zakir Hossain himself, were dragged out and lined up in front of his building for execution. Some soldiers were already in the house either for looting or checking and at the last moment one of them rushed out carrying a framed photograph in his hands. The execution was immediately stopped as the photograph showed that, as the Governor of East Pakistan, Mr. Zakir Hossain was shaking hands with Ayub Khan, the former President of Pakistan. It was touch and go. An officer came forward with an apology and they were released. Before they left, a sentry was posted in front of the gate and he was kept there for a month or so to prevent similar unpleasant occurrences. Zakir Hossain was an old man and he might have received some kind of shock due to his rough handling. He died about a month later. I was under the impression that the family was safe in their own hilltop house. When I enquired, Zahed replied with a grimace that the protection of his family by the Pakistan Army was an old story as the sentry was no longer there. Fresh blood was coming into the Bihari camp and they had no respect for the solitary house that the sentries no longer guarded. They did their killings regularly and in order to publicise their achievements, they would hang the dead bodies upside down from tree branches or on bamboo poles. The distance was not much, and Zahed and all of his family members saw the display daily. It was too much for them.
Lokman was no longer a regular visitor to our apartment. I was actually surprised when he turned up with a couple of others one evening. I knew one of his companions, but though the face of the other looked familiar I could not place him. He was an older man. Seeing my confusion he laughed and introduced himself. He was Afsaruddin Mohammad Ali, an engineer by profession and came here several months ago for a map of the Port area before the naval commandos came for their first mission. I remembered him then. He gave me another introduction. He arrived this time with a different mission and unless recalled or relieved, he would be with us permanently now. He came now as the top man with command over all the group leaders in the city and his primary duty was to
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coordinate the underground activities. It was a tough job and he wanted my help. We had long discussions in this connection and I wished him well before their departure. It was indeed a difficult job. I remembered that there were some groups and their leaders in the city whom I did not encourage to come to me because of their mentality and activities. We had our differences. In those days we had only one aim and it was to continue fighting and gain victory as soon as possible, but it seemed that some of them were sent here on different missions for completely different purposes. I did not like them because they were more interested in the political aspects of the war, not in the war itself. Instead of fighting, they were always busy in discussing what to do after gaining independence. Afsar was an educated and a capable man but I did not know how he was going to handle these boys because they were armed too.
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Chapter – 9

The month of November was an eventful month. Many things happened during this month, all of them bad. According to my previous decision I tried to avoid further involvement with the boys and their underground activities. Too many families had already suffered because they gave shelter to and helped boys who often were negligent or indiscreet. I never blamed the boys though because I knew that they were too young and immature to play the role they were playing, but I did not want to sacrifice myself and my family because of some casual indiscretion. The situation however took a wrong turn soon and despite my decision I found myself again at the center of activities. About half a mile away on the other side of Zakir Hossain’s hilltop building, there was a small lake surrounded by a wooded land named Foy’s Lake. A railway track passed near the lake connecting the city with Dohazari, a small suburb, about thirty miles away. This area was mainly populated by Biharis who lived in half a dozen colonies near the lake. All others except the Biharis avoided going there. Emboldened by the stray killings and displaying of the bodies on the other side of Zakir Hossain’s hill, the Biharis became more violent. One November morning they stopped a train coming from Dohazari and forced all the passengers to exit the train. They were brought near the lake where all of them, men, women and children were slaughtered. They mainly used swords and knives mostly and saved their ammunition. Before the news spread, another train appeared from the other side and was stopped in the same place and all passengers of the next train were killed in the same manner. A
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grim eyewitness account of what happened there was given by a lone survivor. A boy of about sixteen was going home to Dohazari with his father. When their train was stopped near the lake, neither of them understood why, but they soon did as the killings began. His father pushed him in a bush and whispered for him to run but as there were many armed Biharis around he could not go far. Hiding in a nearby bush he saw how the throats and bellies of the people around him were being ripped open by knives. One particular man tried to flee. Others gave a chase, caught him and kept him in standing position as another man came up to slit his throat. With blood running down his body, the man screamed, gurgled and ran around erratically in a circle for a minute or two until he collapsed on the ground, still kicking his feet. Shivering in panic the boy remained there all day and left when it became dark. All train services were stopped after these incidents and when no other train came their way, the Biharis concentrated on the homesteads and families living around their colonies. Similar attacks and killings continued for three days. The military government was using the Biharis for their own purpose and gave them weapons and full support. They did not mind stray killings, but could not allow a wholesale massacre at this late date. They had to intervene and ultimately the killings were stopped. To this day, nobody knows how many people died during those three days.
I came to know about the massacre on the first day immediately after it happened. Lokman came in the evening and told me about it. It was difficult to believe. Leaving India as refugees Biharis came here to live with the Bengalis, eating the same food and breathing the same air. Such a ghastly behavior towards the people who gave them shelter and shared everything with them was unthinkable. Actions of an individual could be viewed in a different manner or could be examined from another perspective, but it is difficult to explain when a whole community gets involved in mass murder and arson. Nothing could be done for those who were already dead, but I thought that something should be done to prevent further occurrences for the safety of those who were still living around the Bihari colonies. I suggested that four or five armed groups should take up positions as soon as possible to stop them if they attempted again to enter areas where Bengali families
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lived. We had a long talk that night finally deciding the places where the four groups should be positioned. The Bihari colonies and the railways tracks were only half a mile from Kakoli. Lokman suggested that one of the groups should move over to Kakoli right now and take up their position later tonight near the railway tracks, on the other side of Zakir Hossain’s hill. He justified his suggestion by saying that unless stopped right there, the Biharis could easily move into the congested areas of Nasirabad. I did not like their idea of occupying Kakoli again but under the circumstances could say nothing. The Biharis did try to enter into Bengali localities several times afterwards and retreated when they were fired upon. Unwilling to face resistance the Biharis went back. The boys remained in their positions for a few days more and returned. When the war was over, many of us inspected the area around Foy’s Lake and the railway tracks, where we found mass graves. Hundreds of people were buried there and we found skeletons of small children too. By the side of the railway tracks we found bones and skeletons scattered among the bushes, most of them with severed heads. A report was given by us subsequently, but immediately after the war there was virtually no government or police force and our report unfortunately was lost somewhere. There are many big multistoried buildings by Foy’s Lake now, constructed over mass graves, and many unidentified people buried during the war.
Though the location of the Sabzazaar was in the middle of the city and was a beautiful residential place, nobody knew much about it mainly because lack of publicity. When we came, we found a number of apartments and buildings lying vacant. Not now though. It was crowded and during our evening stroll we found new faces almost daily. Evenings were the only pleasant time when we met each other exchanging greetings, news, views and discussing the present situation. Families used to visit each others’ apartments too, but very few of them came to ours. I knew it was because of Yasin who always stood guard at the front door. My friend Shamsul Kamal came occasionally, sometimes with his wife and children. He told me one day that he received an order from his office transferring him in West Pakistan. I told him to forget all about it as this was not the time to go anywhere. Our only two other regular visitors were Commander Masood and my tenant
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Ashfaque. Whenever Masood came, he talked for a while and left, but not Ashfaque. On his way back from his bank, he would have his tea and snacks, wait for dinnertime and left for Kakoli after finishing his dinner with us. It became a routine. Ashfaque was actually a grown up man, still a bachelor and was working in an important position, but he behaved like a boy. I liked him though and knew why he was after me. He wanted me to give him something to do. I thought that unlikely, but his ambition and his chances to join the freedom fighters came very soon.
I was sitting by the side of an open window as usual when I saw Ashfaque’s car coming very fast. I was surprised and looked at the wall clock. The time was about three o’clock in the afternoon, too early for Ashfaque’s usual visit. I heard his footsteps outside. Coming inside he pulled up a chair and sat down facing me. He seemed excited about something and his face was flushed. Before I could open my mouth he began talking fast. He said that he had found out at last what he could do for us. He probably expected me to ask questions, but knowing him I decided to remain silent. He came all the way here to tell me something leaving his own job during working hours and therefore I would have to listen to him now whether I wanted to or not. I was startled though when he told me what he came to say. I knew that an attempt was made a few days ago by some boys I did not know, to loot the American Express Bank in another part of the city. They were facing difficulties due to severe financial problems and therefore decided to loot a bank. The attempt was thoroughly mismanaged. Except a small amount of loose cash they got nothing. Ashfaque’s proposition was similar. He wanted to know why didn’t I make an arrangement to loot his bank? He was the Manager of the bank and if the time was given to him beforehand, he would keep everything ready for the looters including some sacks to carry the looted the money, so that they could getaway with a large sum of money. All he wanted was, while looting, some of the bank officials, including himself should be manhandled. I was aghast. Our boy Ashfaque came through with a good proposal at last. Ashfaque was still talking but I stopped him. I was trying to think. The idea had both good and bad points. Personally I disliked the idea of looting, but I also knew the financial requirement to keep our underground
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activities going. There were hundreds of boys in the city and somebody had to pay their expenses. Money had to come from some source but the important question was if we should allow them to rob rich individuals or insured banks? I told Ashfaque that I was not the man to give him a final answer now. Afsar was here controlling the operations of all the groups in the city and I was unable to commit anything without his consent. I promised him, however, that I would inform him about his proposal later after a consultation with Afsar.
It was a difficult job to contact Afsar. He gave me three telephone numbers to contact him once. I tried all the numbers and left messages but got no response. In the mean time, Ashfaque came daily to enquire about his proposal, but I could not tell him anything. When I almost gave up hope, I found Afsar waiting for me in my apartment one day when I returned from an evening stroll. I was slightly annoyed and told him so, but he apologized and told me that he was away and did not receive my message in time. I did not press and told him about Ashfaque’s proposal of looting his bank. He was surprised. He thought about it and told me that he would like to think some more before giving me a final answer. About a week passed but no call came from Afsar. In the meantime Ashfaque was getting impatient and pressing me. I telephoned Afsar again and got through immediately this time. He told me that he had made up his mind and asked me to inform Ashfaque that he could expect his boys at three o’clock in the afternoon next day. He should also see to it that the boys were not delayed for any reason at all as they must escape immediately. Ashfaque was sitting by my side when I talked with Afsar over telephone and I repeated what Afsar replied. He was a happy man and told me that the money was his contribution to our war efforts. Next day Ashfaque came looking very angry and demanded to know why the boys didn’t visit his bank, though he kept a large sum of money ready for them. I did not know why and had to phone again. I was told that the boys were busy doing something else and therefore could not go. He however promised to send them next day at the same time. The boys did not come next day and in spite of Afsar’s assurances they failed to come on two more consecutive days. Ashfaque was getting impatient and so was I. It
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was too much. I phoned again and angrily wanted to know what game Afsar was playing with us unnecessarily. If he did not want to do the job he should tell us frankly, but why this runaround? He was not being forced to do it anyway. Asfaque was listening to our conversation sitting by my side. Afsar listened to what I said and promised to come to meet me in the evening. Ashfaque and I were waiting when Afsar arrived. He looked grave and promised to send his boys to the bank the next day if we really wanted him to do the job, but he had one question to ask. He wanted to know who was going to keep the looted money? The amount would be obviously big and somebody would have to take charge of it, but who would do it? My wife was listening and shouted back from the other side of the room. She did not want the money to be brought here in our apartment under any circumstance. Ashfaque slowly shook his head thoughtfully and said that if the money was kept in Kakoli, somebody would come and slit his throat on the very first night. Afsar added with a thin smile that he did not want it either because it would not only create a bad precedence, but might divert the attention of the boys to other directions. We sat silently with a problem that could not be solved, and ultimately decided against it. So instead I requested Ashfaque to approach his reliable friends and collect their contributions for our expenses. He did, and the money he collected was a big help for all of us.
Our friend Commander Masood came as usual with his reports. According to him, our liberation forces were doing a good job and had occupied more areas along the borders. The Pakistan Army was having problems because our forces, always avoided frontal combat, and were changing their targets frequently. Actually they did not have any fixed target at all. After attacking one position they suddenly shifted and concentrated in another area for some time, selecting the weakest targets. According to them it was a war of attrition, in which the Pakistanis were suffering by losing both men and materials, and it was not expected to continue too long. As a confirmation, we got first hand information from one of our boys who went to India to get in touch with the High Command. While returning, he found and accompanied a contingent of about two hundred armed members of our liberation force. Being helped and guided by the local villagers through uninhabited hills and
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forests, they arrived at a sector where there were several widely separated Pakistan Army camps about five miles inside the border. They attacked, and after destroying the first camp, they moved towards the next and so on. We were told that as long as our boys remained in the occupied territories, they had no worry of getting food as the villagers fed them always. There was something else too. The relationship between India and Pakistan which was never good at any time before plunged to its lowest levels. There was a tension in the air and the common people began talking about the possibility of open war between the two countries. According to the radio broadcasts, the Foreign Minister of Pakistan Mr. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto accused India of not only helping the local insurgents by arming them, but that regular Indian soldiers were now fighting the Pakistan Army, side by side with the secessionists, who wanted to cut Pakistan in half. He had also been claiming for some time that India was trying to interfere in Pakistan’s internal affairs in an effort to occupy East Pakistan. Most of the representatives of nations present in the UN did not believe him though because of the reports and photographs published in the third countries of the world.
It was apparent by this time that something was going to happen. A change was coming for sure, but we didn’t know if we would live through it. Some of the Biharis realised it too but there were others who did not. I had stopped going to the mills when I learnt about my removal from the position and had no contact with the mill workers for a long time. Four Biharis came to meet me one morning. I found them feeling uneasy. They wanted to know many things and asked many questions but I had no answers. They were worried too as many rumors were circulating. I heard some and some I didn’t, but there was one I heard from them that I hadn’t heard before. I was told that the 7th Fleet of the US Navy was coming to help Pakistan, in case there was open war with India. I did not believe it, but the possibility could not be ignored as Pakistan was an important Cold War ally of the United States of America. It one thing that that the weapons and armaments the Pakistan Army were using against us were manufactured in the US, but direct participation of the Americans in a conflict of this nature was something else. After all, we were fighting to survive and to
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avoid getting killed. I had long talks with my guest Azizul Huq and later with Siddiqui, but they did not believe it and thought that it was another rumour, or a hoax. Having arrived in bad shape, Azizul Huq regained his health and spirits in a short time, but became a quiet man. He used to spend most of the time in his own room and never came out unless necessary. Siddiqui used to come often to talk to him and tried to bring him out of his shell, but there was no change and I was getting worried for him. Surprisingly, our guard Yasin also became a quiet man. He did his work well. By this time he knew most of the visitors who came here but whenever a new man or an unknown face came, he would stop him for a few questions or to consult me before allowing him to come in. He was never rude though. Normally, he was a jolly old man and spent most of his time playing with my children. He told me once that while playing with them he saw the faces of his own grand children living far away in the hills of Pakistan. His only other friends who came to meet him occasionally were the other Pathans working now as security guards at the mills. I wanted to know what they talked about and tried to overhear sometimes, but that didn’t work. When together they always talked in their own Pushtu language. I did not know their language. There was one thing, however, I did notice. They looked startled at my sudden arrival at times when they were talking, as if they had something to hide. Evidently, they also felt that a change was coming.
I had always heard the stereotype that the Pathans, growing up and living in the arid mountainous areas under difficult conditions in the NWFP of Pakistan, made rough, boorish men. Some of my own past experiences had confirmed this stereotype. Now, I felt this was harsh judgment. True, combat or the taking of a life came to them naturally. At the same time they never thought twice to defend what they believed in, or to die to protect somebody they liked. They were big hearted people and lived according to their own code, but because of my own past bad experiences with them I had no cause to love Pathans. My intention was to stay away from them, but then Yasin Khan came to join our family. I liked him, but despite that I was always cautious in all my dealing with him. I saw from my window one day that Yasin was walking under the shady mango trees with my six year old daughter on his wide
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shoulders. Though I knew he loved her, I decided to go out and join them. I found Yasin in a different mood that day. We were talking on many topics of mutual interest, particularly about his country. I knew his country too as on some occasions I visited a number of places in the western half of Pakistan myself. He changed the subject suddenly and said something that I did not expect. He said that before coming here he heard that Indian agents and infiltrators were creating disturbances in East Pakistan. Actually he came to find a job as he was doing nothing, but after his arrival he found out that he was misinformed and he did not like what was going on. After the first election in 1947 when India was divided, this place became known as East Pakistan, because the people who lived here decided themselves to make it a part of Pakistan. Nobody from the western half came here to do that. Now, whatever the reasons were, the people here wanted this country known as Bangladesh. He did not understand why they were being oppressed and prevented from doing what they wanted. It was their country after all. It was not clear to him why the army was in it either, because it was not the army’s job. He should know, because he spent his whole life in the army. I was surprised because I did not expect to hear all these comments from an almost illiterate man like Yasin, but kept my mouth shut. It was interesting though to note that in spite of being an illiterate man without any education at all, Yasin had the ability or sense enough to realize something that the top leaders of Pakistan did not.
The month of November was coming to its end slowly, more quietly than the city was ever before. Stray bombings and sniping were still continuing. Boys came to me occasionally for casual chats but there was nothing important. Afsar also visited us several times. Being the head of all the groups operating in the city he was in a very important position but he did not have any idea either what was going to happen or what we should do next. He tried to contact his high command but no specific order came. One day I was pottering around as I had nothing to do. I remembered my car and went to the garage to start it but failed. It wouldn’t start as the car was lying unused for a long time and the battery was down. I did not like the idea of keeping it in that condition. I still remembered that in spite of having the car in the garage, I could
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not use it when I needed it most, when we had to leave Kakoli in a hurry because there was no gas in it. Gas stations were all closed and we had to walk about miles with my wife and children carrying many necessary items on our shoulders to get away. I did not want that to happen again and told told Shamsu to check the car and make it ready for our use. Conditions were changing fast and I did not think that the authorities still remembered my red Toyota car as they had many other important things to think about now. When the car was ready my wife used it often to go out to visit her friends or for buying what she needed occasionally, but I did not go out much. I enjoyed the evenings on the grounds of Sabzazaar when people gathered to talk, exchanged pleasantries and to speculate. Because of Yasin, it took them a long time to accept me as one of them, though nobody could understand what Yasin was doing in front of my apartment or why he was there at all. Due to the persuasions of my friend Shamsul Kamal, some of the residents were silent these days, but I knew that they did not forget him and his name might come up again some day. I talked with Afsar but he took it lightly and laughed. He replied that nobody in his right mind could think that I was a collaborator. If necessary, he would place a guard in front of my door after the war. I was not satisfied with his reply. Nobody in his right mind commits murder or votes for war, and yet we have plenty of that happening around us.
Azizul Huq always remained in his room and as he did not like to come out, I gave him a radio set. He was happy with it and listened to all news broadcasts. He came out of his room one day though looking very excited and told me that the Indian prime minister Mrs. Indira Gandhi was going to attend a public meeting this afternoon in Calcutta where she would deliver a speech. All India Radio would broadcast her speech and her speech would be relayed by all the stations in India simultaneously. Announcements were repeatedly being made asking the people to tune in and listen to her broadcast. A prime minister’s broadcast was not a daily occurrence. I phoned some of my friends and received some calls myself. We were hoping that Mrs. Gandhi would tell us something important which we did not know, or at least give us an indication of what our fate was going to be. Immediate reaction on the city was noticeable. Shamsu went out in the afternoon to buy
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something. When he returned, he reported that that the streets were nearly empty, but the shops selling radio sets were crowded. People were buying sets like mad. Looking out through the window I found the grounds of Sabzazaar was not that crowded either and only a few people were in sight. Realising our inconvenience, Azizul Huq brought the radio set from his room out and placed it on a table in the living room, so that sitting together all of us could hear the Indian prime minister’s broadcast. My wife brought a small time piece and placed it down by the side of the radio, so that we could check the timings. There was a tension in the air. We had been waiting for a long time to know if there was going to be a change in the situation and now we would probably know what kind of change it was going to be after Mrs. Gandhi’s broadcast. As the time of the broadcast came nearer, the port city of Chittagong became like a ghost city, and the entire local population sat crowding around radio sets in every corner of the country waiting. Ultimately the time came. Sitting in the living room we listened till the end of Mrs Gandhi’s speech with growing disappointment. She did not tell us anything that we did not already know. Mrs. Gandhi promised to help the people of Bangladesh more and would continue to help us in the future. We heard the same words and the same assurances daily from the Indian and other news broadcasts from many other stations of the world. There was nothing new and the reason for our disappointment was possibly because we expected too much from her. It was not her war after all. A couple of telephone calls came from friends to enquire about what I thought of Mrs. Gandhi’s speech. There was nothing I could tell them. Switching the set off we got up, finished our dinner and went to our rooms, but sleep wouldn’t come. With our hearts already heavy with too many thoughts and many other possibilities, I was lying down on my bed, when, around midnight, the telephone rang. I tried to ignore it but the phone kept on ringing. I was extremely annoyed and was about to give the caller a piece of my mind, when I heard Siddiqui’s voice at then other end of the phone. He was highly excited and there was an urgency in his voice. He told me to turn my radio on again and left the line. The radio set was still lying in the living room. I hurried out to turn it on and immediately heard Mrs Indira Gandhi’s voice again. I did not understand at first
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but after listening to Mrs. Gandhi for a few moments, I did. I jumped up in excitement and ran to Azizul Huq’s room. I found him sitting on a chair and pulled him out. Shouting, I called my wife too. After attending her public meeting in Calcutta, Mrs. Gandhi went back to Delhi and now she was speaking from there. It did not take us long to understand that the time of our waiting for something to happen was over because Pakistan had attacked India in the west and now India was at war with Pakistan. It was a short speech that ended soon, but it was impossible to go to back to sleep. More telephone calls came with all the callers in a jubilant mood. Turning the radio off I began talking with Azizul Huq about the future possibilities and our own future as well, as sounds of heavy reverberating explosions came from somewhere. Both of us jumped up again and ran to the nearest window to look out. We saw some areas in the port ablaze and there were bright flashes of detonating bombs. We heard sounds of airplanes above us too but could not see anything in the dark sky. Heavy anti-aircraft fire of all kinds were going up from many directions and it looked like a beautiful display of fireworks, not a war. The realisation dawned slowly that the port was being bombed, and that meant that India had opened another front in the east for her war against Pakistan. We stood side by side looking out through the window. In the dim light and against a slightly lighter sky, we saw dark shadows of people standing on house tops in nearby buildings. We were not the only people in Sabzazaar watching the bombardment of the port. About half an hour later, we heard another sound coming from somewhere. We did not understand at first what it was, but the almost inaudible sound gradually grew in volume and came from all directions. It took us a few minutes to understand what it was. Hundreds of thousands of voices were shouting their battle cry “Joy Bangla”. We embraced each other.
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Chapter – 10

The night was nearly over but nobody thought of going back to bed again. The sky became pale in the east slowly, and the visibility improved. In the dim light we saw all the occupants of Sabzazaar dancing on their housetops. We went up too. In a direct line, the port and the jetties were not far from Sabzazaar, but we could not see the port clearly as the whole area was covered by smoke. Some warehouses and buildings were on fire. We saw a couple of aircrafts zooming over the port dropping occasional bombs and through the dense smoke the flashes of exploding bombs could be seen. My wife pointed out that more planes were circling overhead and a lot of smoke was rising on the northern side too. Because of the higher hilltops and trees, nothing could be seen, but it was our guess that the army garrison was being bombed. Flying very low we saw some of the planes returning came over Sabzazaar. Fascinated, we stood near the window a couples of hours more and then returned to sit in our living room. We were feeling dizzy as the whole night passed without sleep. My wife ran to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for us and we thought of getting some rest afterwards, but that was not possible either. A group of my neighbours suddenly came in joyously laughing, shouting and clapping their hands. This was the first time so many of them came here. I looked around for Yasin, but he was nowhere to be seen. My guests came for a short time only, but before the left they advised us to turn the radio on and to keep it on. It was a good advice and because soon as I switched it on, an announcement came from the military government of
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Pakistan. Curfew had been imposed in the city and anybody seen outside their living quarters would be shot. Nobody took it very seriously because we knew this order could not be enforced due to the lack of manpower. We could hear occasionally military trucks going fast somewhere, but that was all. The army was busy at the border and the navy was fighting for survival as the Naval Base was very close to the jetty.
Sleep, it seemed, was wishful thinking. After my neighbours left, we were thinking of going to bed again but Lokman and two other group leaders appeared with half a dozen grinning boys, openly carrying rifles and other weapons in their hands. They came out to inspect the camps. After exchanging a few pleasantries Lokman handed over a sack to me. There were two short barreled sub machineguns in it with two fully loaded magazines. I was about to protest but he raised his hand and told me that we must keep those handy at all times now. At one time I refused to keep any kind of weapons with me, but he insisted that the situation was different now and we must keep those ready for our own protection. It was necessary. The Pakistanis and their pets were running around like mad dogs looking for hiding places and anything could happen at this stage. Looking at his serious face I decided to accept the sack. Lokman promised to come here from time to time to enquire about us and left. I handed over one of the sub machineguns, locally called sten guns, to Azizul Huq and kept the other one for myself, though I did not understand why I needed these weapons if the war was almost over. We stood near our window watching our boys leaving the premises under the mango trees. One of them turned around and waved and we waved back. When they came close to the front gate of Sabzazaar, suddenly they stopped and scattered in all directions, hiding behind trees and bushes. Moments later a couple of army vehicles came in through the front gate. The truck in front was towing a trailer or something that looked like a platform on wheels and a long barreled gun, presumably an anti aircraft gun of some sort was on the trailer. Climbing up the hill slowly both the trucks proceeded towards the building occupied by Zahed and his family. The soldiers accompanying the trucks unloaded the gun and positioned it very close to the building where Zahed was living. When the soldiers were busy, I saw Lokman’s
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boys slipping out and disappearing one by one. I was feeling uneasy about the gun. It was in an exposed place in full view of any aircraft flying above, but the gun position was so close to the building that any attempt to bomb it was bound to end in a disaster. Half an hour later I saw a couple of planes coming towards us and immediately the gun began firing. One plane left on its course but the other one turned around but it flew past too without bombing or firing. The pilot understood why the gun was placed within twenty feet of a building in the middle of a residential area. It was deliberately done. Many aircrafts came from time to time and were fired upon, but I saw only once when a plane opened a quick burst of machine fire on the gun position. There was never any bombing. We were not feeling comfortable with the soldiers so close right in the middle of Sabzazaar.
Very few people came out for our usual evening stroll that day and Zahed was one of those. He had some problems with his legs. It was getting dark but when I saw his limping shadowy figure coming I recognised him. He was in a vile mood and told me that he was leaving the building as it was impossible to live in there. The big gun with its muzzle only twenty feet from his bed room window had already shattered all the window panes and most of his crockery with its tremendous blasts. They were having problems with their ears too. He contacted one of his friends living nearby and arranged another temporary shelter for his family. The soldiers objected to their coming out now because of the curfew but when Zahed pointed out that Sabzazaar was a private property, not a public place and therefore should not come under the curfew regulations, they were allowed to leave. Leaving all his belongings behind, Zahed and his family were leaving now for another building behind ours. It was not far and I accompanied them, talking all the way. I remembered Lokman’s warning to keep the weapons he gave us ready always for eventualities and decided to have a look. I had seen many but never used one of those automatic guns myself before. I was busy examining the complicated mechanism of the sub machinegun when there was a knock on the front door. Normally it was Yasin’s job to see who it was or what they wanted, but as he had disappeared somewhere, I had to go to find out who it was. Due to the sudden excitement and
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developments during the last 24 hours I forgot all about him, but opening the door I was surprised to find it was Yasin standing outside with his companions. Yasin extended his hand towards me and shaking my own hand gravely told me in a few words that so long he was here, he did his duty as well as he could, but now the time had come for them to leave. He wished us to remain happy and safe with my family. I stood staring as I did not understand what he meant. Understanding my confusion he smiled and explained now that India was in the war too, it would be over soon. They would like to leave now and wanted my permission to do so. I was struggling with myself to give him a suitable reply and managed to ask him a question. I wanted to know where they would go in the dark so late. He laughed and said that there would be no difficulty as they many of their own people in the army. He would go and join them and go wherever they went. Before leaving he laughed again and added that when he came here he was told to keep an eye on me. He did that, but he was not told what to do next. So he did nothing. Rooted to the ground I looked at their wide backs with mixed feelings as they slowly disappeared in the gloom. I realized that we could not deceive the old man. The old man knew well what was going on here and all about my nephews. He did not report because he was not asked to. My children missed him most. So did I, but my driver -Yasin’s room mate – Shamsu was very happy. According to him, he could never sleep at nights peacefully in the same room with Yasin without bad dreams. After their departure I went straight to the table, ate mechanically whatever food was there and proceeded to my bed. I was moving around like a drunk without the sleep I needed badly. I was roused from my sleep the next morning by my wife and learnt from her that an army vehicle was ambushed last night only hundred yards from Sabzazaar. There were plenty of noise, but I slept through it like a dead man.
During the days that followed we felt that as if we were seeing a movie. Sitting comfortably we saw what was going on outside, like spectators. It seemed to be an action packed drama and we never felt bored. We pulled up some chairs near the window, by the side of our living room, and sitting there we saw the furious bombing raids on the port gradually slow down. The view was a
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good one. After the first two or three days we never saw Pakistani fighter planes in the air, and except ground fire there was nothing to stop the Indian bombers to fly in and drop their bombs wherever they wished. Leaving his den Azizul Huq used to come out to sit with us too and enjoyed the view with us these days. My wife came to sit when she felt like it, but she was having another problem of her own. The kitchen was her domain and her responsibility, but she was running short of groceries. When some of the boys came one day, she cornered some of them and sent them out with a big list. Lokman gave us another news I did not know. Another group of naval commandos under the leadership of Shah Alam, a medical student arrived only the day before the bombing began. As it was neither possible nor necessary to go anywhere near the port at that time, they concentrated on ambushing military vehicles on the city roads and were making short work of this. The city of Chittagong was directly under the control of the navy, but as they were too busy saving themselves from the bombing raids, it became impossible for them to keep an eye on the occurrences in the city. There were very few men in the heavily bombed naval base or the garrison, and they could not follow when their attackers fled. After his arrival Shah Alam wanted to contact me but when he learnt about Yasin Khan, the Pathan guard, he decided to approach Azizur Rahman instead for advice and help.
We were worried for our friend Commander Masood who had not visited in the last few days. We knew though that as he was living with his assistant in the city, and thus must have escaped the punishing bombardment of the base. But where had he gone? On the fourth day we saw his tall figure walking up the slope towards our apartment. He did not look like his own normal self at all, with an unshaven face, wind blown hair and a crumpled shirt and pants. Beginning of an all out war evidently had some effect on him too. We got up and received him as he came in. He looked tired. My wife ran to the kitchen immediately to prepare his usual cup of tea and some snacks. After a few minutes of rest he told us why he could not visit for the past few days. One day, when he was alone, his house was attacked by a group of boys he did not know. Most of the boys with Lokman and several other group leaders knew Commander Masood, but there were many boys in the city who did
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not, and knew nothing about the contact we had with him. Some of them came to know that a Pakistani naval officer was living at the house and went to shoot him. Commander Masood protested and mentioned our names, but the protest was ignored because they did not know us either. It was almost touch and go. One of the boys suddenly remembered hearing somewhere that one of the Pakistani naval officers was helping us and decided to phone his group leader. The house phone was right there and fortunately their leader was also available. The boys left with an apology. It was a miracle that Commander Masood escaped unharmed that day. We thought about the possibility of similar occurrences but there was nothing we could do. Commander Masood insisted on walking around alone even when Rahim was not there. The same thing could have happened at any time on the roads outside when he was walking, where there was no phone to verify his claims. He could talk only in Urdu and English and did not look like a Bengali at all. We tried to caution him many times but he would not listen to us.
In addition to his own personal bad news, he gave us some good information too that we never heard in radio broadcasts. About twenty miles out from the port of Chittagong, the Indian Navy had taken up a position in the Bay of Bengal with a number of warships, including an aircraft carrier Vikranth, completely blocking all ship movements effectively. Their main job was to stop any Pakistani ship from the port to escape. The bombing attacks on the port and all other targets around Chittagong were carried out from the planes of the carrier Vikranth. In addition to these planes, bombers from the air base at Bagdogra in the north, were going to Dhaka for bombing raids. As far as we knew, the Pakistan Air Force initially had only two squadrons of fighter-bombers in the eastern wing and by this time almost all of them were destroyed. There could have been one or two more hidden somewhere, but the airfields were completely destroyed by this time and unsuitable for use by all kinds of aircrafts. Except ground fire, the Indian aircrafts were not facing any resistance now and they had the full control of the skies. Comamander Masood was in a difficult position now. He knew that he was required to attend his office regularly but as his office was in the naval base, he could not do it. Few public transports were plying on the far side of the city and he tried to hire
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one but nobody agreed to take him anywhere near the Base. The distance was too long for walking. Most of the telephone lines to the Base were down. They could be contacted by radio but he had no radio at his residence. After trying for hours he managed to contact the Duty Room once. He was totally out of touch with his office now and did not know what he should do. He however promised to continue with his efforts and collect as much information as he could for us. He wanted to go back immediately but we detained him on one pretext or another until it was almost dark. Shamsu took him and left him at his residence. I cautioned him not to go out alone and in case he wanted to come here, must phone me provided our phones remained in working condition. I promised to arrange something to bring him here.
According to Radio Pakistan, everything was going well in the eastern front of the war and never mentioned anything about their conflicts with the local Liberation Army at all. To them, it was a war with India as India was trying forcibly to occupy East Pakistan. The gist of their news was that the aggressors failed in every sector because the East Pakistanis were fighting side by side with their West Pakistani brothers to resist the Indian invasion. We had other sources of information too. It was one of our regular duties to tune into all news broadcasts from All India Radio, BBC, Voice of America and many others, including daily reports from our own Shadhin Bangla Betar Kendra. We learnt how the Pakistan Army was retreating and how our Mukti Bahini and the Indian Army were steadily advancing together towards Dhaka, the capital city. It was thrilling to hear how the individual battles were being fought and particularly the roles played by the guerillas in the occupied areas behind enemy lines. There were literally thousands of rivers both big and small, in addition to a network of smaller canals, inlets and marshy lands, where advancing or retreating were both equally difficult. Under these conditions, the guerillas demolished gleefully all the road bridges behind the retreating Pakistanis to slow them down. There were few good roads in the rural areas, where the common means of communication or transportation was by boats. Persuaded by the guerillas, the villagers sank their own boats and pushed or pulled the other ones out of sight. When the Pakistanis arrived, most of them were on foot, failed to cross to the other side
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and either died fighting with the pursuers or went in another direction following the river banks hoping for help that never came. Without food and water, and without guidance they normally reached wrong places, where they were either captured or died in combat. In contrast, when the allied army arrived, the villagers rushed out, fed them, pulled their hidden boats out from the river and ferried them across. I was told by some Indian solders after the war that on many occasions hundreds of villagers carried their heavy equipments and even field guns on their shoulders for miles through impassable marshy lands. Demolished road bridges could not be repaired overnight, but summoned by the local guerillas, thousands of villagers living nearby arrived with their shovels, baskets and other handy equipments. It did not take them long to do landfills in the demolished bridges and convoys of the advancing army passed through. I was told that they received similar helps everywhere all the way to Dhaka. When I told our friend Commander Masood about these, his comment was that it was indeed a people’s war. Each and every person in this country was fighting it in their own way. It was impossible for an aggressor to win a war of this nature.
Early next morning I heard a loud knock on our front door. As Yasin was no longer there to open doors I had to go to find out who the early caller was. I was surprised to find Commander Masood standing outside. It was an unusual time for him to come. Apart from that I forbade him only last evening to come alone, yet he was here. I was annoyed but before I could say anything he came in pushing me aside impatiently and wanted to know if we had a wireless somewhere to send a message. He looked excited and his voice was trembling. I was about to say “no” when I suddenly remembered a conversation I had some time back with Afsar when he came for the first time after taking charge of all the underground operations of the city. During our talks he told me that he did have a wireless set including an operator for sending messages. I did not pay much attention to it at that time as I did not think that I would ever need a wireless for the job I was doing. As I was not sure if it could satisfy the Commander’s needs I told him without making any commitment that I never tried to send a message out at any time before, but I could try if the message was important. He looked out
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of breath. He sat down on a couch and taking a deep breath told me what it was all about.
A sudden declaration of war and the resumption of bombing caught the port authorities flat footed. He had come to know last night that two fairly big Pakistani cargo ships were now lying in the port. They knew that any attempt to escape was not possible because of the blockade of the Indian war ships in the bay and prepared a new scheme. Both the ships had been repainted in different colors and would leave tonight at high tide showing Japanese and Canadian flags. Unless the Indian war ships in the blockade were informed beforehand about the nature of disguise, they would allow the two ships to pass through. It was my job to communicate the information to the right place. After a light breakfast and a cup of tea he left because he was expecting more information. I understood the importance of the information but also knew how difficult it would be to contact Afsar. I did not know either if Afsar would be able to send it to the proper place in the short time we had, but I would have to try. I tried the phone numbers he gave me but nobody answered. I thought and decided to ask for help. I had no idea how to get in touch with Lokman or his boys at this moment because they were always on the move changing their hideouts and contact numbers frequently for their security. I suddenly remembered my friend Kamal who might be able to help me now. I got dressed quickly and left for his apartment. It was only a short walk. Kamal was surprised to see me so early. Avoiding his own questions I pushed him in from the doorway, explained the situation and mentioned that he would have to go out personally and immediately to find the addresses I gave him. His job was to locate Afsar and communicate the information to him to pass on. That would be Afsar’s job, not ours. Kamal was still standing staring at my face when I was about to turn back. He looked stunned. He told me much later that he had no idea that I was involved with the underground movements so deeply. After seeing Yasin standing guard in front of my apartment, he was not very sure of the kind of man I was and could not make up his mind if I was actually supporting the movement or helping the Pakistanis. He was confused, but he knew better now. Kamal was a very senior executive of the Glaxo Laboratories and had limited knowledge of
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the small lanes, bylanes and alleys of the old city. He assured me though that he would try his best and he would find him if he was in Chittagong. I returned in a thoughtful mood. He met me again in the afternoon with a big smile on his face. His mission was successful. After a long search he found Afsar and delivered his message direct to him. He also asked him to phone me.
I had been successful in my efforts so far, but new worries were coming in my mind again. The time was too short and I was not sure if Afsar would be able to transmit the message to the proper place in time. The Pakistani ships would leave the port in the high tide, around one o’clock in the morning. There was no way we could find out what the results were, except by waiting. I had a very disturbed sleep that night. Next morning I switched the radio set on for monitoring the news broadcasts. All sorts of news were in the air, but all we wanted to know was the whereabouts of the two Pakistani ships. Had those been caught? There was nothing in the news. The first information about the two Pakistani ships was brought in by our friend Lt. Commander Masood. We had been waiting in frustration until this gentleman suddenly arrived in a rickshaw around twelve noon. Jumping down from his rickshaw he came in running and I was surprised to find him behaving like a teenager. He seemed to be a completely different man. Laughing and clapping his hands he shouted in Urdu “Sala log pakra gaya”, meaning both the ships had been caught by the Indian warships in the bay. So our message did get through and reached the Indian warships in time. Immediately I phoned Kamal and asked him to come here and introduced both of them to each other when he arrived. We laughed and felt happy after remaining in suspense for a long time. Commander Masood had more information to pass on and he did so when we were having our lunch. Five gunboats were lying hidden side by side in the jetty right in front of the Base. The boats could not be seen from above because many trees and shrubberies were placed on top in such a manner that from the aerial view, it would look like a big bush. If bombs were placed on top of the bush, all the boats would be destroyed. I looked at Kamal in consternation because it meant that he would have to run to find Afsar again. Kamal laughed in merryment and told me that expecting similar eventualities he asked Afsar to contact me daily
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once or twice and he promised to do it. Afsar would certainly phone me later in the day. He did phone in the afternoon, but I did not want to say anything over telephone. I told him to keep his handyman ready and asked him to come here immediately for more work. When he arrived an hour later, I passed on the new information and was a very happy man to learn that his earlier efforts proved successful. Nobody, except the few of us knew anything about this affair till then, but the BBC and All India Radio confirmed the capture to two Pakistani ships in the bay in their late night news broadcasts. After a long time I slept soundly that night.
War with Pakistan began on 25th March, 1971, when their army attacked the unarmed civilian population of this country with their tanks and a variety of weapons of destruction. It was still continuing, but the war was no longer going their way. Initially, they had their way for a few months but now they were in defensive positions everywhere. All of us felt good to know that the Indian Air Force was also acting on the information sent by us. Forgetting about our breakfast Azizul Huq, my wife, and I ran up to the roof of our building to see if the attack we were expecting against the gunboats would come at all. Sinking a few small gunboats was not considered a big affair when two countries were fighting a war, but to us it was very important and we did not want to miss it. There should be an attack if they had received our second message. We saw Kamal and his wife on their housetop too. They waved at us and we waved back. Air attacks on the port had slackened considerably these days as there was nothing more to bomb. Further attempts would have only increased unnecessary destruction that could increase our difficulties and might prove expensive for us after the war. As a matter of routine, aircrafts came and flew around completely ignoring the ground fire and left, and that was all. We remained on our housetop waiting though the morning sun became hot and we became hungry too as we had not eaten our breakfast, but our expected attack did not develop. A couple of planes came in at about eleven and began circling over the port. We were not sure if this was the attack we were expecting. Other planes came earlier this morning but they left without bombing. We saw while one plane kept on circling overhead, the other one suddenly dived down almost vertically and we saw a lot
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of smoke come up. We heard the heavy boom of the exploding bomb a few seconds later but except some flying debris and smoke we saw nothing. It was too far for our naked eyes and we were not sure if the bomb actually dropped where we wanted. As the first plane came up, the other one dived and more smoke and debris came up as another bomb exploded. Both the planes then circled for a few minutes and left. There was no way we could find out if the bombing was carried out to destroy the gunboats or for something else we knew nothing about. We waited another half an hour and came down when no other plane came. In the afternoon we heard the sounds of some heavy vehicles outside and looked out. The big anti aircraft gun positioned behind Zahed’s house was being dismantled and removed. Towing the heavy gun on a trailer with the gunners aboard, the trucks left soon and we felt a relief. We did not feel comfortable at all with the soldiers so close looking down on us day and night.
Commander Masood informed us later that evening that both the bombs were placed right on target, sinking and destroying four gunboats. The fifth one, however escaped the night before with some senior naval officers on board, headed for Burma (Myanmar), our neighboring country. We learnt after the war that three of those boats were totally destroyed, but the other one sank without much damage. It was salvaged after the war and was annexed to the Bangladesh Navy. He had another piece of news for us to communicate this evening. Because of heavy aerial bombing on the army garrison, the control room of the Army was shifted to the Railway Headquarters Building in the city. He gave detailed directions to the control room because the building was very big and on a large area. Instead of phoning Afsar, came himself this evening. He was waiting with us when the commander came, and heard first hand about the next target. Afsar was a very happy man as the full credit of all these successes were going to him. The big Railway Building constructed with red bricks was very close to our Sabzazaar and it was visible from my window. We were looking through it as two planes came next morning, bombed and left. Lots of debris and as cloud of red dust rose high in the air, but this time we had no way of knowing if the bombing was successful or not. In the following days, Commander Masood continued to give us
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valuable information to pass on, but the results were not known.
Our boys did not have any particular program of action during those days and did only what they could think of. Many were busy with sniping on stray soldiers, while others tried to disrupt road or railway communications or planting mines on the main roads outside city limits. There was virtually no car, let alone public buses, on the roads, save military vehicles, and the boys concentrated on those gleefully. I placed a ban on using anti tank mines during the early days when one or two local trucks were blown up. Now there was nothing on the roads except army or navy trucks. Two boys were walking along when they saw a couple of army trucks parked nearby. As there was no sentry around they decided to pour fistfuls of sand into the gas tanks before leaving. Despite receiving news of our successes in the field we did not feel very happy. We knew that the war would be over shortly but had our doubts if we would live through it. We heard every day from the news broadcasts that our allied armies were advancing steadily in every sector liberating new areas and the Pakistanis were retreating. Along with the good news, we heard some alarming news also. It was reported that just before leaving an occupied position, the Pakistanis made it a routine to invite the important people of the district, including all the senior government officials to attend meetings. Instead of having meetings they shot all the people who came and their bodies were found later by our advancing armies. These actions were considered similar to a ‘scorched earth’ policy. It seemed that the Pakistanis decided that if they had to leave, they would leave this country totally devoid of intellectuals and people with professional competencies. I did not know what definition of a war has been given in the United Nations Charter. I read somewhere that there were rules binding civilised nations of the world when they were at war, but I do not know if the rules allow slaughtering unarmed civilians. There were too many gloomy thoughts, but at the same time the successes around us were also many, and that made it easier for us to live through the anxiety. Everyday we heard radio broadcasts about the achievements and advance of the allied armies in all sectors liberating new areas, or how the local villagers guided and helped them. Their progress in one sector in particular became very much
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interesting to all regular readers like us. Entering the occupied territory on the north eastern side, one particular army group was advancing from the other side of the border and reached a well forested area named Madhupur, where they were received by another large group of freedom fighters under Kader Siddiqui. The history of the struggle of common people that ultimately led to the liberation of the country can never be completed unless his achievements and exploits are included in it. This is his story.
At the beginning of the war, Kader Siddiqui an ordinary man in his mid thirties did not like what he saw. Instead of going to India for help like others, he organised a small group himself right there in his own home district inviting others to join in. His group slowly got bigger and bigger when the people saw that he was honest and sincere in his efforts. At one time Kader Siddiqui decided to enter the forests with his people for safety and, living in camps, he concentrated on training his recruits to handle whatever guns he had. He had nothing worth mentioning except those allowed to the civilians by the Pakistani government in those days, and he used those to loot banks and extort a sort of war-tax on rich non-Bengalis living in that area. He needed money to feed not only his own people, but the villagers who lived in nearby villages around him, earning their love and respect thereby. They in turn helped him in many ways and gradually he became known as a Bangladeshi equivalent of Robin Hood. His reputation grew and more people came to know of his intentions and many ex army or EPR men who escaped, came and joined his group, some them with arms. Kader Siddiqui decided now to collect proper weapons required for fighting in a combat. He began attacking small army camps, small convoys not properly guarded, ambushing army patrols and succeeded to build up a good stock of weapons. The military authorities tried repeatedly to catch him and conducted combing operations repeatedly everywhere but they never found him. He was always on the move as the local villagers always informed him timely about all army movements in his region and forced the army to keep a larger army contingent near the forests on permanent basis. It had a big impact on the local situation. As a result of substituting smaller camps with bigger camps, it became necessary for them to keep more men tied up denying their needs elsewhere.
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By August Kader Siddiqui had more than a thousand men in his militia, but was still short of suitable and sufficient weapons and ammunition. These difficulties were over soon after a dramatic incident.
Kader Siddiqui came to know somehow that three fully loaded big motor launches were coming up the river Jamuna carrying a large cargo of arms and ammunition for the northern sectors and he decided to intercept those with his followers. The river was about a mile wide at the place where he planned to intercept, but very shallow and full of sand bars. There was a narrow channel for navigation of smaller vessels but no man wanted to take his boat up there except those who knew the exact locations of the channels and how those passed on their serpentine course. There was no floating buoy, no markers for navigation or anything to guide a boat through the right passage. When Kader Siddiqui decided upon the place of interception, he took these factors into consideration. He expected that there was no knowledgeable or experienced man in the crew of the launches who knew about the navigational problems of Jamuna in that particular area. Only the local men knew that and he thought it was unlikely that a local man would be guiding the motor launches up here, as Pakistanis did not trust them. Subsequent events proved he was right. Immediately, hundred well armed reliable men left their camps. Their job was to fight and loot the cargo of weapons carried by the launches. Another bigger group of several hundred men followed behind them as helpers. It was a big job to transfer the entire cargo from the launches for hiding in the jungle by the side of the river. It would take time and he was not sure how much time he would get to finish the job manually. There was also a possibility of interruptions including air raids and it was for this reason he took almost all his men with him. His plan was to transfer and hide as many crates and boxes as he could in the jungle before the interruptions came. After their arrival the trained men dug in on both sides of the river with the only two machine guns they had, more rifles and a couple of two inch mortars brought in by the EPR men. They opened up as soon as the launches reached the shallows. An attack in the middle of a wide river in broad day light was the last thing the Pakistanis expected and because of this the security
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for the cargo was slack. Another mistake on their part was that all the guards were in one launch. As mortar shells began dropping and exploding, the launches scattered in different directions. The boat carrying the guards swerved on one side to avoid mortar shells and immediately got stuck. Trying to escape, the other two boats sped up and at a distance of about a mile from their guards’ boat got stuck almost side by side. Immediately hundreds of men ran in from both banks to unload the stranded boats. The fight was over as soon as it started and the entire cargo of the two boats was carried out to a number of hideouts in the jungle in a few hours, fortunately without interruption. The soldiers on guard duty were too far away to do anything about it. They did not fire even a single shot and neither did Siddiqui’s boys. It was a truce of convenience by mutual consent. Kader Siddiqui now had what he wanted, with sufficient arms and ammunition for his boys to become a power to confront the Pakistanis in combat. Kader Siddiqui received the advancing joint armies of our freedom fighters and the Indians when they reached his area and remained with them all the way up to the outskirts of Dhaka. People of his area were proud of him and gave him a new title. They named him “Bagha” Siddiqui meaning Tiger Siddiqui. The name stuck. A full report of his fights and other activities was published after the war. Unfortunately he became involved in partisan politics later. He was unanimously accepted and respected as a great fighter and a successful organizer, but it is a pity that his image as a politician became sullied in the years after the war.
Many other similar groups came up under different individual leaderships all over the country. In between the Bay of Bengal and the main land lies a long strip of dense mangrove forests called Sundarban. As there was a network of hundreds of interconnecting rivers, canals and inlets both big and small, this area was particularly suited for guerilla fighting and not the mechanised armies of the invaders. Driven out and pursued from all other places many people came down here and organized their own groups, and among them one particular group became famous for their activities during the war. They procured a small motor launch from somewhere and with the help of local people they were successful in avoiding all attempts from being captured. Hiding in
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places they knew well they always attacked targets of their choice at will, and successfully. It was suggested at one time to declare that motor launch as the first vessel of the Bangladesh Navy. Unfortunately at the tail end of the war when full scale warfare began, an Indian aircraft mistook the boat as a Pakistani vessel and bombed it. Twenty three gallant boys died on the boat that day.
We were sitting together one evening waiting for the news bulletin from the All India Radio, when we suddenly heard a rough voice on the radio. It was a message from the Indian army chief intended for the Pakistani General Rao Forman Ali Khan, and it was an invitation to surrender. The voice further said that the Pakistani Army was now completely surrounded, and further resistance would be useless for them. It would only lead to unnecessary bloodshed of the civil population, nothing else. In case of his acceptance, Rao Farman Ali Khan was requested to communicate his decision immediately. The date was eleventh or twelfth of December, 1971. We were stunned. So, we had reached the last stage of the war and were still alive. One thing, however, was not very clear to us. The Pakistan Army Chief General Niazi was in command and General Farman Ali, only a step below him, was looking after the internal affairs only. The invitation to surrender should have been given to Niazi, not to the other general. We had no idea why the latter was intended to be the recipient of this message. The recorded message could be heard repeatedly after every three or four hours, again and again. There was nothing for us to do except wait. According to the BBC and the Voice of India, there were more than hundred thousand Pakistani infantrymen in the country, in addition to other members of some paramilitary forces. In the densely populated cities like Dhaka or Chittagong, continuation of the fighting could easily lead to hand to hand fighting in the lanes, bylanes and alleys. There would certainly be a bloodbath and we shuddered to think what would happen if the advancing army units had to progress house to house fighting all the way. It was not a very pleasant thought. Reporting the situation, our own radio was very callous and blunt about it all. We were advised in open broadcasts that if we had to die, we would die, but we must take some of the aggressors with us.
Commander Masood, however, had a different opinion about
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the situation and did not believe that it would deteriorate that far. Though he could not attend his office at the Base, he was maintaining regular contact with some of his friends living there. Fortunately his phone was not dead. His friends at the Base had an additional advantage of getting more information from the Admiral’s office in Dhaka over wireless. Their general opinion was the situation would be tackled more intelligently and more carefully by military authorities. They did not like what was going on. The Indian Army was fighting the war according to the rules of war laid by the Geneva Convention and there was no reason to believe that they would deviate from those. It would be completely different if the situation was allowed to deteriorate further, involving the total population of the country. If it came to that, the Pakistanis would have to deal with millions of maddened desperate people, not bound by any convention or rules of war. Many of the civilians would die for sure, but no Pakistani in that case would be able to return to Pakistan alive either. There was already a rumour in the air that many groups of soldiers already vanished while retreating from the border areas. The common question in every man’s mind was: where did they go? As the discussions continued a bell rang in my mind. An idea was struggling to get out but as it was still unclear I decided not to talk about it.
I had been trying desperately for a long time to get in touch with Afsar and Lokman. I did not want us to be caught flat footed again for the second time if the conditions deteriorated. I still remembered the days before the war when we were being regularly assured by our leaders that everything was going well and spent our time in talking and holding meetings only. I did not want that to happen again and therefore wanted to have a talk with the group leaders in this connection. In spite of what we liked to think would happen, we should be prepared for the eventualities if the war entered the city. A discussion with them was necessary but they seemed to have disappeared. I was almost frustrated when one day both Afsar and Lokman arrived. Both of them looked pale and thin. I was about to give them a piece of my mind but raising his hand palm outwards Afsar stopped me. He told me that he already heard what I wanted to discuss with him from other sources and was busy doing the same job himself in a different way, the best way he
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could think of. I was surprised but remained silent. Afsar told me that he already had a meeting with all the group leaders in the city and arranged to distribute them in different areas but not in one or two fortified positions. They were trained as guerilla fighters and preferred to fight on a hit and run basis. Half of his boys would be kept in reserve elsewhere and would not join the fight initially, and would only go to help where help was needed. Afsar knew that his total strength was not enough to resist the Pakistanis in frontal combat, and the only source of help would be the Indian army. He came to know that a large number of Indian soldiers landed from the sea a few days ago at Cox’s Bazaar, about a hundred miles south of the city, and according to the reports they were only about thirty miles from the city now. He decided to send a couple of his boys with a request for help. With local help it took the boys one whole day to reach the Indian Army position, but they were immediately arrested because of the arms they were carrying. The boys did not resist and calmly explained why they came and offered to remain with them to guide them to the city through forested areas and bypassing Pakistani strongholds. They also mentioned that the local guerillas were guiding the Indian soldiers in all other sectors. Under the circumstance they wanted to know why they cannot do the same for them too and offered to guide them to the city. An officer came and released both of them. He gave them refreshments, talked to them politely and enquired about the local conditions, but regretted his inability to do anything on his own initiative without orders.
Though nothing was gained, I had to admire the independent attempt made by Afsar and had to agree that it was a good one. My respect for him went up a notch. It was because of these qualities, that he had been placed over the heads of all the group leaders here. One of his other reports, though, made me thoughtful. While talking on other matters I suggested that Afsar should now try to persuade and help the small families, particularly women and children to leave the city because they would suffer most if the war entered the heavily populated city. Afsar replied with a grimace that soldiers were guarding all the exit points and nobody was being allowed to leave the city now. I was startled because I never expected that the Army would go that far. It was clear that the
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Pakistanis wanted to keep us hostage.
A period of stalemate continued for a few days when nothing much was happening in the field. It was our guess that the Army high command on both sides were busy in negotiating the terms but considering the situation we did not think that the Indian army and our own people would agree to anything else other than unconditional surrender. The Pakistanis were trapped. In the meantime there was nothing for us to do except sit at our living room window discussing the developments. Except a few occasional bomb blasts or gun shots at a distance, the city was quiet. We would sometimes see one or two aircrafts fly over the port to casually observe the conditions below, but bombing was totally stopped. The sky overhead was dark with smoke as fires were still raging at some warehouses in the port. The message to General Rao Farman Ali Khan to surrender continued over the radio, but now a time limit was given, indicating that if the Pakistanis did not surrender before the expiry of the given limit, attacks would resume. In the evenings, one or two of my friends came in for chats mainly for passing the time. Shamsul Kamal, my neighbor and friend, brought one or two others with him occasionally. There was only one topic and that was what we should do if the war came and house to house or hand to hand fighting began. Ashfaque, my tenant in Kakoli was one of the regular visitors, as usual, who always had either his lunch or dinner, or both with us. Not being married he was considered a lucky man among us. He came with a proposal one day. He wanted a weapon for himself. He shook his head when I wanted to know if he knew how to handle one. I suggested that he should approach Lokman for a weapon and learn how to use it first. He left grumbling. His approach reminded me about the two small sub machineguns given to us by Lokman some time back. I brought those out and examined, cleaned and reloaded the magazines. Both the guns were unused and in good condition. I gave one to our guest Azizul Hoque and kept the other for myself. Both of us were determined that in case of an emergency we would use those if we had to. I was getting bored with sitting and talking only and one day I decided to go out to Nasirabad to meet my old friends Nazrul Siddiqui and Azizur Rahman. Siddiqui was not at home but Aziz
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was and he was glad to see me after a long time. Actually I lost all contact with them after I went to live in Sabzazaar. I saw a new boy there whom I never met before. Aziz introduced him mentioning that he was Shah Alam, a medical student and the leader of the last group of naval commandos who arrived only the night before the India explicitly joined the war. The boy came forward to meet me and told me that he knew all about me and heard many things from the boys who came here before on their own missions. He was living with Aziz but he thanked me for accommodating all the other boys of his group at my house. I sat up in surprise and when I looked at Aziz, he began laughing and explained. The boys arrived without any previous intimation, as usual, and Aziz found himself in difficulties for arranging food and accommodation for them. He wanted to contact me or Huda for help, but could not as his phone was not working. The only place he could think of was my house which was lying vacant, except for a few of Lokman’s boys. He met Taher and when he agreed to take the boys in, Aziz sent them there. I was thinking that Kakoli was occupied again without my knowing and more than thirty boys were living there right now. I thought about dropping in there for a few minutes on my way back, but changed my mind. With the Pakistanis busy trying to save their own skins the boys in Kakoli should be safe enough.
According to the late night news broadcast, immediately before retreating from their positions in a northern district, the Pakistani army commander summoned all the senior administrative officers in a meeting. There was no meeting and those who came were shot. Forty seven dead bodies were found a few hours later by the advancing army units and the dead bodies were identified by those who did not come to attend the so-called meeting. Similar news was coming in from other fronts almost daily. I was trying to sleep but with these thoughts in my mind, sleeping became difficult. Now that they have blocked us from leaving the city, turning us into hostages, the Pakistan Army may try to do the same thing in Chittagong too and there was nothing we could do to stop them with a few boys of our own. I thought that it would be much better if the war came here involving all of us in house to house fighting. That would give us at least a chance to hit back, and that would be much better than dying like those unfortunate souls getting shot by
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the Pakistanis as they retreated. Fortunately, Chittagong city and the port area was under full control of the navy and the responsibility lay with them, not to the Army. Initially, both the branches of the armed forces were equally bad, but as the situation changed during the latter part of the war, we felt a little restraint from the naval personnel. We had no knowledge of what was going on in the base but according to the reports given by Commander Masood, all the senior officers were unhappy. One of them confided to him that after what they had done to the local population, it might be difficult for them to return to Pakistan alive. Retribution had to come sooner or later. All kinds of thoughts were intruding my mind and in the chaos they created, it became difficult to derive at any clear conclusion. Years ago Commander Masood came from an area in the southern part of India before the country was divided into two in 1947. He migrated to Pakistan and joined the Pakistan Navy. Many senior officers of the Pakistan Navy seemed to have come from the same area in the south of India. I remembered that the Flag Officer stationed in Chittagong, and the Vice Admiral Sharif in Dhaka, two of the senior-most naval officers in East Pakistan, also came from the same district. In comparison Commander Masood was much junior than the other two but, I had been told that outside official formalities, all of them were closely known to each other. A possibility of a solution lay somewhere in this if I could put them in a systematic order, but I failed and I passed a sleepless night. Just before dawn I finally decided what to do. In order to cope with a situation like this a drastic action was required and I decided to do just that. It was not a solution but it may save thousands of lives if I could carry it through.
I was waiting for the commander but he arrived grumbling when it was almost dark. He was fed up with walking several miles from his residence daily as public transport was still off the road. My wife brought him some refreshments as usual and I gave him a few minutes to regain his breath. When he was ready I told him without hedging what I had in my mind, clearly mentioning that I wanted a straight answer from him. He was surprised at first and wanted to ask some questions himself, but when he understood the seriousness of what I was telling him, he became quiet and listened
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attentively. I told him that we had been meeting each other for a long time now and became good friends, but still we were on opposite sides of the fence with our separate duties. I told him in short what we had been hearing in the news broadcasts about the killings in all sectors before the Pakistan Army’s withdrawal from the front lines. Death in combat was normal, but killing unarmed civilians when the war was nearly over was not only unnecessary but immoral too. It should not happen here at this stage and I did not want that to happen in this city, in particular. I told him that I wanted some sort of an agreement, a gentleman’s agreement in this connection to prevent similar killings when the soldiers returned from the front lines. I reminded him that the city was under full administrative control of the Navy and therefore the understanding had to be with the Navy. At this stage the commander looked up and said quietly that he was not in a position nor had the authority to sign an agreement with anybody. I pointed out that he was not required to sign any document, but as a representative of the Pakistan Navy he could always point out certain facts to the high officials he knew personally. People like us had been dying all through the war. More of us would certainly die if the killing began here and I might not be alive myself, but I did not think the Pakistanis could kill us all. We were too many and I could assure him of retributions from the survivors after surrender. There would be a bloodbath and not a single Pakistani soldier would return to Pakistan alive. All we wanted was an assurance from the naval authorities that there would be no unnecessary killing in the area under their own control. I assured him too that no counter measures would be taken against them if they agreed to our proposal.
I was bluffing. Azizul Huq and my wife who were present and listening, knew too that I was in no position to make an agreement with anybody, but the commander did not. He had a reasonable ground to believe that I was a big man controlling underground activities in the city. I was hoping that he would at least try to talk with his seniors in this connection and a solution might come out of this mess. In any case, we had nothing to lose. Commander Masood was listening attentively with his head low. Suddenly he looked up at me and enquired how would he explain how he, a Pakistani naval officer, came to know about this proposal? I replied
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in the same manner looking straight at him that I had given him the proposal myself just now, didn’t I? I pointed out that he was a senior member of the Navy and did he want to disregard it? He shook his head and after a few moments asked again if I knew what might happen to me in case the authorities did not accept my proposal. I nodded silently. I knew. My home might be raided, I might be arrested or shot, but I would risk that. I was ready to take a chance that might prove to be beneficial for all of us if he agreed to do his own part in it. He remained seated for a long time, silently, and then stood up. His only reply was that he needed more time to think it over and left. My wife was about to call him back, but I stopped her. I realised that he needed time to think over what I proposed. In fact, I would not have believed him if he gave me an immediate answer. Both Azizul Huq and my wife pounced on me as soon as the commander went out through the door. They were frantic in their accusations and demanded to know if I had gone mad. On what authority did I want to have an understanding with the navy anyway? Was I trying to get us all killed with my fantastic ideas? I remained seated silently as I did not have the answers. Later, I tried to explain the reasons but was not sure if they really understood why I did it.
I knew the problems the commander might have to face if he wanted to proceed with my proposal. He was not a civilian like us and the navy was his career. There was a very good chance of his facing a court martial for his involvement with us. Because of his connections with the senior officers, there was a chance of his going free, but one thing was certain. His naval career would certainly be finished. After the commander’s departure I was sitting on my favorite seat by the side of a window thinking about all that happened, when I saw someone approaching. When he came closer I realised it was my driver Shamsu. What was he doing on foot at this late hour in the dark? Where was my car? I got the answers when he came in. As neither of us went out much these days, my wife sent him out this afternoon to buy groceries she needed for the kitchen. Leaving the car outside, he entered a grocery store. When he came out, he found a Pakistani army captain standing by the side of the car. As Shamsu stood there holding the bag of groceries, the captain wanted and took the car keys from him and drove away
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leaving him behind. I was aghast. The realization dawned that in addition to many other things, I had now lost my car too. I found it later in front of a police station a couple of months later, after the war, with all of its removable parts, including the engine gone. Most of the boys who got involved in the war in 1971 are in their sixties or more now, and some of them published their own books about their own experiences and exploits during the war. They remembered the red Toyoto car no CTG-KHA 215 and wrote more about it in their books than me. It was a big loss for them too and they regretted the loss as much as I did. It was interesting to note that many among them who used the car on different occasions for their needs never met me or never knew my name either. I was always referred as Khalu by everybody.
Commander Masood did not turn up the next day, nor on the day after. We sat by the side of our open window watching occasional war planes flying lazily overhead and the gunners on the ground made half hearted attempts to shoot them down. I never saw one falling though. There was nothing to do except waiting and I was getting bored. My friends and neighbors came over sometimes and we talked aplenty as we had nothing to do. They had their own ideas and views about the things that were going to happen. There was too much time in our hands and by talking we could pass it more easily than by eating and sleeping. When nobody came, we talked among ourselves. Azizul Huq thought that Commander Masood would not return. His opinion was that I behaved like a mad man requesting him to do such a delicate thing that anybody in his right mind would never think of it. Whatever his opinion about the war was, Masood was a Pakistani and not a traitor. My wife suggested that we should contact him ourselves to find out where he was, or if he had done what I wanted him to do. I did nothing. It was my idea that he should be allowed to do as he felt right and did not want to interrupt his thinking process or influence his own decision with phone calls. We only hoped that his ultimate decision would be favourable for our purpose. There was nothing new in the news broadcasts. Messages and ultimatums to General Rao Farman Ali Khan were still continuing over the radio repeatedly every few hours but in stiffer language now. The Pakistanis were given a fixed date and it was being announced that they must
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surrender within the specified time, or else… Afsar came twice and told me about the preparations he made in the city in case hand to hand combat started in the city. Except only a few fortified positions, he scattered all of his boys over a wide area to enable them to move around according to necessity. I listened to what he said, but my mind was not in it as I was constantly thinking about Commander Masood and the proposal I gave him. If I could only learn about the decision he had taken, it would have been more easy for us, but unfortunately there was no sign of Commander Masood.
The Commander ultimately turned up after three days. My wife was in the kitchen busy cooking and our guest was in his room as usual. I was sitting alone in my chair with too many thoughts and a feelings of despair engulfing me, when I heard a knock on the front door. I had to get up to see who it was. I disliked visitors early in the morning. Opening the door I found Commander Masood standing outside with a weak smile on his face. I pulled him in quickly and took him to a couch to sit comfortably. He must have walked fast to cover the whole distance to come here and looked pale and out of breath. Sipping from a glass of water I placed before him he remained seated quietly for some time, and then blurted out the information I had been waiting for. My message had been passed on to the highest authority, the Navy chief Admiral Sharif, through the flag officer of the Chittagong Base, in a direct confidential communication. Twitching his hands nervously on his lap he mentioned that it was his job to pass on my proposal to the higher command and he did that, but he had no idea what the results would be. He was sure of one thing though. His career in the navy was finished. Holding his head in his two hands he looked like a thoroughly miserable man. He gave us another important piece of information. He said that the base had received a signal from Dhaka for a ceasefire. I was about to jump up from my seat but seeing the condition he was in, I checked myself. Commander Masud looked like a man totally wrecked by conflicting circumstances and emotions, unlike anyone I had ever seen. He did not stay too long after that and declining my wife’s offer for breakfast and lunch he left on his long walk back to his residence. It was not difficult to understand that ceasefire was only half of the news. Ultimatum was given to the Pakistani military
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government for a total surrender, and that meant the ceasefire was the first step before surrender. Looking at the retreating back of this tall middle aged man I failed to understand why I was not as happy as I should have been. After the loss millions of lives, too many wrecked families and indescribable horrors, the war was coming to an end! Incidentally, despite numerous efforts and many enquiries we could not find any confirmation from any source later about our mutual unofficial agreement or understanding of nonviolence we made with the Pakistan Navy in Chittagong. We do not know even to this day if an order, unofficial or otherwise, had actually existed anywhere and passed on to the junior level to avoid killing unnecessarily. On the other hand, though many people including doctors, college professors, journalists, and prominent and influential people, in Dhaka and other cities, were rounded up and murdered by the Pakistani killing squads only days before the surrender, there were no organized killings in Chittagong.
After the Commander’s departure, I ran and phoned as many of my friends as I could think of, to communicate the news. They were overjoyed to learn that the war was over but advised me too not to do anything foolish at this stage. Celebrations could wait until it was confirmed by radio broadcasts. It proved to be good advice. Taher came from Kakoli in the afternoon of the following day and reported that he saw truck loads of soldiers were going back towards the garrison. Now that the fighting was over they were possibly returning to their base before surrender. He had a bad experience when he went out to buy something that morning. When he was walking back, he heard the sounds of heavy engines behind him and saw some trucks with soldiers coming up. The road was empty except for another boy of his own age walking about hundred feet in front of him. He felt uneasy with the soldiers behind him and decided to enter a narrow alley. He saw the trucks passing from there and suddenly heard a single rifle shot. When he came out after a few minutes, he found the boy who was walking in front of him lying dead on the roadside. He was shot in the back. Only his instincts saved Taher that day. Reports of similar incidents from other sources came later, but fortunately not too many. Full news of the surrender came in the news bulletins in the evening. The ceremony would take place in Dhaka on 16th of December
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next when the Pakistani Army Chief would surrender unconditionally to the joint armies of India and Bangladesh, Immediately after the news, a roar went up from thousands of voices all around us shouting “Joy Bangla”, Long Live Bangladesh. We heard in our own and many other news broadcasts, full reports of the ceremonial surrender of the Pakistani General Niazi to the joint command of the allied armies. Full reports were given on how the civil population of Dhaka welcomed the Indian Army and their tanks with flowers, and how the returning Pakistani soldiers on their way back to the garrison opened fire on them in frustration killing more than a dozen of them on the spot. In spite of these stray incidents, millions of happy jubilant people came out on the streets laughing, dancing and shouting. For the people of Chittagong, the waiting period was not over yet and the local people had to remain indoors, because the advance units of our own armies entered Chittagong two days later on 18th December.
Actually there was no possibility of escape for the Pakistanis from the city or the suburban areas of Chittagong division. About seventy miles north of the city there was a narrow strip of land between the well forested high hills in the east and the Bay of Bengal on the west. Our Liberation Forces and the Indian armies converged in this position and began their advance together, but instead of entering the city, they took up positions about twenty miles outside to wait. Some of our boys went to invite them in but they did not want to leave their positions until the ceremonial surrender was completed in Dhaka. Ultimately when they did, people went mad in jubilation. Living indoors for a long time for fear of their lives, thousands and thousands of laughing men, women and children came out on the streets. Our boys came out too from their hideouts in the open and joined them, firing their guns at the sky. I never saw grown up men and women behave like that before. I went out with some of my neighbors to have look around but found the streets too crowded for us. There was a public meeting in the circuit house premises with an Indian general on the platform and a large crowd around him. It was clear that the general was not used to addressing public meetings and was not having a comfortable time. Commander Masood came later with a weak smile on his face and carrying a box of sweets in his hand.
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Handing over the box to my wife he congratulated us and said “You have your freedom now and an independent Bangladesh. Your wishes have been fulfilled and your people certainly have paid for it. May God bless you.” We embraced each other. I had difficulties sleeping that night. The war was over but our minds were not used to the conditions that came with the present situation. The chatter of machineguns and the deafening bomb explosions were gone. Instead, the unfamiliar sounds of cheers and shouts of thousands of jubilant people rejoicing on the streets day and night engulfed us. Many thoughts, glimpses of many faces and of occurrences came to my mind, including recollections of those who died in my own household. I had no idea how many others had to die for this expensive freedom of ours, not till then.
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Chapter – 11

As long as he was with us, our guest Azizul Huq rarely came out of his room and never went anywhere. But he suddenly disappeared on the day when the armies entered the city. We were not worried though as he was a local man. We saw him again the next day when he came in with another elderly gentleman and introduced him as Mr. Hannan, one of the top local political leaders in Chittagong and a very important man. I knew who he was but had never had the opportunity to meet him before. He made himself famous for another reason. When the war broke out on 25th of March, 1971, this gentleman was taken to the local radio station next day where he read out the Declaration of Independence on behalf of the popular leader country Sheikh Mujibur Rahman and his voice was heard all over the country. This announcement was followed by others but many people claim that they heard Mr. Hannan’s voice for the first time declaring the independence. We were getting ready for our midday lunch when they came, so I invited both of them to join us. There was nothing much on the table and we shared with him what we had. Mr. Hannan told me that he heard my name many times during the war and wanted to know how I got involved with it. He was slightly disappointed when I told him the truth, that I was not a political man. Both of them stayed with us for a couple of hours and left us together in the afternoon.
The loss of my car at the last moment before the war finally ended, had an inconvenient effect on my movements. I wanted to visit my friends, particularly to meet Azizur Rahman, Nazrul
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Siddiqui and others. I wanted to go to my house Kakoli also to see the condition it was in. After the departure of Mr. Hannan I telephoned Siddiqui and asked him to come over to my place. We left together when he came and went to Kakoli first. I was under the impression that the house was empty but saw quite a few boys moving around when we reached. Two of them came forward and wanted to know belligerently what we wanted. Fortunately Taher was behind them and he shooed them away. I was irritated and told Taher to ask them to vacate the premises. The war was over and now they must go home or find another place for themselves. We walked around, found the rooms in filthy condition. Many soiled clothes were lying scattered on the floor with the remains of uneaten food, including unwashed dishes. I decided to have a talk with Lokman. The boys must clean the house properly before moving out, so that we could go back without too much cleaning.
It was getting dark and Azizur Rahman was about to leave his house with another man in his car when we arrived. He told us that he was going to have a look at the jetties and the warehouses around the port. Having arrived at a wrong time, the third group of naval commandos remained inactive during the last few days of war, as the port was being heavily bombed then. Their group leader Shah Alam was using his boys now for another purpose that was equally important. Along with others he positioned his commandos to prevent wholesale looting of damaged warehouses and for some reason he asked Azizur Rahman to meet him there this evening. He was told that Shah Alam could be found in front of Jetty No. 3. Aziz was his only contact in the city and therefore he probably wanted to contact him either for advice or to discuss his report. Both Siddiqui and myself decided to tag along to have a look at the port ourselves. Through there was not much traffic, it took us nearly two hours to reach the port as the roadways were choked with crowds. Every street corner or intersection was jammed and it seemed there were millions of people on the streets. There should have been more lights at the port but most of the lights were out due to the recent bombings and the atmosphere looked gloomy. There was also a pungent odour of smoke and burning in the air. It was fully dark when we ultimately reached the jetty gate. We saw
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some shadowy figures of armed sentries moving around in the half light and proceeded towards them to enquire about Shah Alam. Except a few, almost all of them were in plain clothes. Leaving us behind near his car Azizur Rahman walked ahead to make his enquiry. Suddenly we heard a commotion and a shout followed by abuse in a filthy language. To our utmost surprise we found Aziz staggering back and saw one of the sentries fumbling with his rifle. It looked as if he was trying to load his rifle to shoot, as other figures converged on him. Standing near the car I was furthest from them all and failed to understand what was going on. I wanted to proceed closer but a loud voice shouted roughly in Hindi to clear out and leave this place immediately. He must have been from the Indian army and posted there on guard duty with our boys. On our way back to the car Aziz could tell us nothing and he was as confused as we were. He told us that he only asked the nearest sentry how or where we could find Shah Alam. The sentry whom Aziz approached was a local boy and due to some reason he suddenly became excited and would have probably shot him, if the others had not intervened. The whole incident was totally confusing.
. We were still talking about it half an hour later in Aziz’s house when we heard the sound of a car stopping outside. Moments later, Shah Alam walked in dragging a man with him and forced him down on his knees in front of us. He looked furious but his voice was low. The man he brought was the same man who was going to shoot Aziz at the jetty earlier in the evening. We did not understand what was happening but the situation cleared up after a few questions. The man Shah Alam brought in was employed as a junior grade clerk at the refinery and knew Aziz well. He was a member of our liberation army and was on guard duty this evening at the port. Somebody told him that Aziz was a very bad man and helped the Pakistanis by assisting them to run the refinery. In his book, any man who did not leave his job was a collaborator and should be punished. We were aghast upon hearing this. I asked the boy a few questions myself but standing erect with his head down he remained silent. Evidently, he was a thoroughly brainwashed character and a very dangerous man. In spite of our many questions he did not tell us if he had any direct order to shoot anybody. We
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came upon a number of similar characters and heard about many unpleasant occurrences later that took place all over the country. Living through the war in the occupied areas, we knew nothing about the mental state of those who were living on the other side of the border. Some of them were involved in actual fighting, while millions of others took shelters in refugee camps and had no contribution to the war efforts at all. After the war, all of them considered themselves superior in all respects and more patriotic than those who stayed back. There seemed to be a clear division dividing the whole nation in two groups, separating the people who left the country from those who did not. It would not have made much difference if the thoughts remained in their minds only, but it became a very difficult situation to solve when their thoughts were reflected in their practice too, particularly when some of them decided to take up the job of punishing others they thought to be collaborators. Only a few months ago the assistant director of the local broadcasting station and a friend of mine, was shot in front of his residence. The only complain against him was that instead of resigning, he was continuing at his job. They did not understand that being a family man, fully depending on his salary, he could not go anywhere leaving his wife and some small children behind. I did not know that in a few days I was going to be one of their targets myself.
I was walking aimlessly on the streets. I was feeling bored and after breakfast decided to go somewhere, anywhere, to beat my boredom. Along with the war, my self imposed duties with the resistance had come to an end. Friends were busy with their own affairs and the boys who used to come at all odd hours stopped coming. Above all I did not have a job. I was not a rich man. I was hoping to find a taxi or a three wheeler rickshaw but decided to walk instead. There were many happy, laughing people on the streets outside celebrating their victory over the occupiers, and particularly for being alive. There were processions, meetings at street corners and slogans. I found myself not very far from the Circuit House and decided to go there. During the war this building was the military administrative head quarter at the city, and now it had become the main office of the joint command of the liberation forces. I was told that somewhere in the building, a couple of
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rooms had been given to the local political leaders as well. It looked crowded as hundreds of people were milling about and important people were always coming and going in their expensive cars. It was an old building constructed approximately a hundred years ago in the middle of sprawling green grounds, during the British colonial era. The building looked beautiful with some tall teak trees on the eastern side. Avoiding the crowd I went towards the trees. At a height of about five feet, the trunks of all the trees were pockmarked with small bullet holes. The holes had their own stories to tell. People brought to the Circuit House for questioning were judged and disposed off without much delay. They were forced to stand in front of the trees when they were shot, so that the bullets passing through flesh and bone were stopped without going further. Bodies were no longer there but the holes in the trees remained.
When I returned home tired and hungry, my wife gave me a white sheet of paper with something written on it. It was a short letter addressed to me from somebody named Ibrahim, informing me that “Moni Bhai” and “the General” were here and they wanted me to meet them at the Awami League office this evening. “Moni bhai” probably was the nephew of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, a very important political figure in those days, but who “the General” was I had no idea. My wife told me that some people came in a jeep and left the letter for me. I did not go. Involvement with the war was my own decision, but I was not interested in getting associated with the aftermath. That was the job of the politicians.
I was extremely depressed. We thought that all of us would be happy when the war was over. The war was over now, but none of us were happy. Why? There was nobody outside on the grounds of Sabzazaar. Many families came to live here temporarily and now that the war was over, they were going back to their own houses elsewhere. I asked Taher to get Kakoli properly cleaned as I wanted to go back too. My next door neighbour Azizul Huq who was my guest during the war was living with his brother in law Dr. Rabiul Hossain now. I wanted to contact him to fix a date when we go back to our own houses together, but I did not have the phone number of the place where he was living. I was busy with many such thoughts in my mind when I saw a green SUV approaching
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and wondered who that could be. Very few people came here these days as most the boys who used to come to me had disappeared. I saw it was Afsar in the jeep. Afsar apologized for not being able to keep in touch with me as he was a very busy man these days. Afraid of punishment and expecting reprisals, the bulk of the police force including senior officers ran away. Those who remained had no idea whom to take their orders from. In the meantime the law and order situation in the city was deteriorating. It was bad news indeed. Under these circumstances, as the senior most underground operator, Afsar had been asked to take up full charge for law enforcement. He had done so already and placed some of his selected group leaders at different police stations, but they were not trained for the job. They were trying to do the best they could but the results were not at all satisfactory. I understood the difficulties he was in and could only hope that the policemen would return to their duties soon.
While talking to him I noticed a group of men walking on the grounds outside and a couple of them were carrying small sub machineguns. Carrying arms openly was a common sight in those days and I did not pay them much attention. Suddenly there was a hard knock on my front door. As I was getting up to see who it was, the door flew open and the whole group I saw outside came in. Both Afsar and myself looked up in surprise. I recognized two of them as my neighbours, but the others were unknown. Afsar looked at me enquiringly but I shook my head. We remained seated but one of them came forward and standing right in front of us began to ask questions. He wanted to know who I was, how long I was living here, what I did for a living and so on. Pointing a finger, he accused me of harbouring and entertaining Pakistanis in my apartment when we were at war with them. Did I know what would happen if the reports they received against me were proved? He continued with his accusations as we remained seated in surprise because of this and unexpected development. Actually I was feeling amused but I also knew that the situation would have been completely different if Afsar had not been present. In his enthusiasm the spokesman, who could have been the leader of the group, went too far. He suddenly pointed his finger from me to Afsar and roughly enquired in a
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very unpleasant voice who he was, “another collaborator?” He was going to say more but raising his hand Afsar stopped him and said quietly “You have said enough and now I shall tell you who I am. My name is Afsaruddin. On behalf of the Bangladesh Government I was in-charge of all underground operations in the city, and now I am acting as the Superintendent of Police.” Pointing at me he continued “This gentleman here whom you have accused as a collaborator just now was the only representative we had in the city before I came. He spent money, gave us shelter, including his own house, lent his car for our operations and ultimately lost it too. He has lost his job as well. He directed commando operations on the port and subsequently helped organise the aerial bombings in and around the city as well. Now, tell me who you are.” Hearing all this, the whole group in front of us seemed to shrink a little. The did not expect a family man like myself to be involved in the war or that a man of Afsar’s physical stature could be such an important man. They came here to catch a collaborator, never expecting a situation like this to develop. Everybody in the group looked at each other and their spokesman who was in front began stammering. Afsar made it easy for them. He told them that he knew well that they did not belong to any of his groups in the city, and thus could presume that they came out only when the war was over. They must refrain from similar activities in the future, Afsar said, and should report to the nearest police station if they came to know of any law and order issue that needed addressing. It was not their job to catch or punish anybody. Relieved, they left soon and my two neighbors who came with them followed them out. It was my guess that it was those two who brought the others here. I came to know later that Huda also had to undergo the same kind of harassment, but more serious than mine. He was picked up by a group of armed boys from his residence one day and was taken somewhere for interrogation. The allegation against him was the same: hobnobbing with the Pakistanis in war time. He could not contact any of the local leaders by phone and the boys knew nothing about Commander Masood. He was ultimately released when one of the boys who came in later recognised him.
Cursing the Pakistani captain who stole my car for the
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thousandth time I left the house one morning. Because of the loss it was difficult to move around freely, as hiring a transport was not very easy at that time. I wanted to go to the mills to have a look. The Biharis and the Pathans were looking after it during the war, but now that the war was over I doubted very much if anybody was still there. The buildings and the machineries were fully repaired, but there was a possibility of that valuable spare parts, the electric motors and many other equipments had been looted. If the mills remained unguarded too long, it would certainly attract attention. All of my friends and their families had their own cars but they were busy looking around the city to see the damage during the bombings or other changes made during the war. It just did not feel right to ask for a car from somebody. Ultimately, I borrowed a car from Kamal and went to the mill one morning. I found to my surprise that a large number Bengali workers were already there at the mill premises and I was surrounded immediately by them. They had thousands of questions to ask but unfortunately I had no answers. Their main query centred on when the mill would be operational again. They wanted their jobs back so that they could earn money, as their families were starving. I tried to explain that I was in no position to help them until the Head Office in Dhaka opened, but they did not understand and gradually became violent as the war had its effect on them too. I had to tell them at last that I was not the right man to listen to their grievances because I was no longer under the employment of the company as I was thrown out by the management and was not in a position to do anything for them now. Immediately they became quiet. They told me later that they were informed that I did not try to hide and lived in the city peacefully all through the war. I did not have any financial problem either as large sums of money kept coming to me regularly for repairs. They understood that they were misinformed when they learnt that I was out of my job myself. They tried to contact me but failed. Not knowing what to do next, they tried to contact the managing director, other directors and the other senior officers in the Dhaka office themselves, but none of them could be traced. On my way back I was feeling sorry for the poor workers. The war was over but the problem of earning their bread still remained. I came to know later that the MD was not available because he left
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the country for Pakistan by the last flight leaving Dhaka after the bombings began.
I had some discussions with our political leaders regarding the future of Commander Masood. As a member of the Pakistan Navy, he was required to report to the Naval Base in person to surrender, but some of our seniors thought that in appreciation of what he did for us during the war, we should offer him the nationality and keep him here. It was not a practical solution because his family was still in Pakistan but the discussions continued. One day Rahim, his assistant rushed in to report that Commander Masood left early that morning to surrender to the nearest army camp at the Government Circuit House, without informing anybody about his intentions. That did not suit us at all. We knew that sooner or later he would have to surrender but we did not want him to leave like that. Fortunately some of the local leaders were present when Rahim came and we left immediately for the Circuit House to find him, and found him sitting on a bench outside. We wanted to take him back but the officer-on-duty, an Indian major, objected and refused to hand him over to us. It took us some time to convince him that we had no bad intentions in our minds. He helped us in many ways during the war and now we wanted a few days with him only to express our gratitude. He was released when the commander did not object and we came back together. We agreed to give him a hearty sendoff but we did not have a clear idea how or in what manner. In the meantime Commander Masood requested us not to do anything that would attract unnecessary publicity. He saw and understood during the war that the Bengalis never received a fair deal and tried to help us as much as he could. There was still a possibility that a publicity of his activities might be reported in Pakistan, and he might have to face a court martial there as a result. We did not want that and cancelled all plans we made. A date was fixed accordingly, I think it was 21st of December, 1971. A big group of about 150 people including local leaders, freedom fighters and senior army men arrived at the Circuit House early in the morning. Everybody cheered and standing in a line the army men shook hands and saluted as Commander Masood, wiping his eyes went forward and entered a car, provided by Dr. Rabiul Hossain, to take him to the Naval Base, where he would join the others. He
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also gave him a suitcase to carry his personal belongings with him. That was the last time we saw him. A group of Indian army officers were standing on one side watching what was happening. Some of them commented later that they never saw or heard of a prisoner of war being given such a hearty send off before.
I was getting homesick and so was my wife. We wanted to get back to Kakoli, but we were not sure if it would be advisable to go to that secluded locality where all the other houses were still unoccupied. I tried to phone my neighbors but could not contact them as they were living elsewhere. I got in touch with Azizul Huq somehow but he was reluctant to return so soon, as in his opinion the law and order situation was not very good. One day a big group of boys led by Lokman and two other group leaders arrived at my apartment in the morning. I had not seen them for a long time and wondered what they wanted now. They had a plan and all of them were in high spirits. Lokman as their spokesman came forward and told me that I gave them my house on a short time lease during the war but they wanted to give it back to us and wanted us to return to our own home now. It certainly was a very attractive idea but I thought that could not be done immediately as we needed time for packing, and transports were needed to carry the many things we had in this apartment. The rooms of Kakoli were in extremely dirty condition when I saw last and would have to be cleaned too before we could move in with our children. I mentioned about the security problems too. The boys obviously had something in their mind. Most of them were smiling when Khorshed, our local boy assured me, grinning, that their boys under the direct supervision of Taher were busy in cleaning our home right now. They would prepare our midday meal too, and would be ready for us by the time we reached. A car was arranged to pick us up to bring us to Kakoli with our personal belongings and all we would have to do was to agree to go along with them. As I stared, he added that it was their responsibility to arrange for the shifting of the other things we had at this apartment. They arranged a truck for this purpose also. He assured us that no thieves or looters in their right minds would bother us at Kakoli as long as they were alive. I was thoroughly overwhelmed and did not know what to say as the offer was totally unexpected. Obviously, they thought that I was displaced
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because of them and therefore it was their duty to take us back to our home again. My wife agreed to their proposal immediately. A car and a truck both arrived in another fifteen minutes. I had no idea where they brought those from because I saw two boys I knew well at the drivers’ seats.
A big crowd was waiting for us at Kakoli, including my tenant Ashfaque, and all of them began cheering, welcoming our homecoming. Some of my neighbors were there too. I walked around with my wife and found all the rooms and all the corners of the whole building thoroughly cleaned and tidy, with all the chairs, tables and all other articles placed in their positions. My wife examined the door and window screens, bedsheets and crockery. They looked washed and shiny. With so many helpers working under Taher’s direct supervision, it possibly did not take them much time to do the job, but it was clear that they must have made their plans days ago. More surprises were waiting for us, most of those were pleasant, but we found some problems too. After the last raid, Kakoli was supposed to be lying vacant. During my wife’s room to room inspection she found a large quantity of arms and ammunition cached under the beds and bathrooms in particular. There were too many grenades, mines and explosives lying around. Evidently, despite my instructions the boys never left and had been using Kakoli all the time without informing me. Had I known I would certainly have refused to come here with my wife and children. Neither Taher nor the boys had any answer when I wanted to know angrily why these were not removed before our arrival. Immediately I summoned the boys and engaged them to shift all the armaments to my garage and lock it when it was done. I called Lokman and told him that he should see to it personally that all these were removed as soon as possible, but it took them nearly two months to do it. Another cache of half a dozen grenades were found by my wife about a year later in a plastic bag buried under a rose bush, and that led to a further search that continued for a long time. Freedom fighters or not, lending a house to a group of boys created some unwelcome problems too.
There was a vacant plot of land behind our house where I found a large gathering of boys who were also part of our homecoming
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party. Some boys were busy cooking in large pots or vats. They must have brought those from somewhere because we did not have so big cooking pots in Kakoli. One of the boys picked up a piece of meat and handed it to me for tasting. It was hard and rubbery, but I could not tell him that. I remembered another occasion few months ago when I invited Commander Masood to have his dinner here when another group of boys made similar arrangements and cooked his dinner. I understood their mentality. After the rigors, tensions and uncertainties of the war, the boys were happy, but being young they wanted to do something that they missed. Bringing me to my home and arranging all these for us was their way of enjoyment and fulfillment of what they wanted to do. Hearing some shouts I came out and saw a truck carrying the rest of our belongings from Sabzazaar arrived. It was unloaded in a short time and under the supervision of my wife and Taher everything was carried in and placed in proper positions. Walking around a curious object caught my eye. I saw that it was the new national flag of Bangladesh, recently washed and hung outside in the sun to dry. Taher told me that his companion Habib hid the flag somewhere before he was killed, but Taher saw him doing it and knew where it was hidden. He brought the flag out this morning for washing. Looking at the small innocent looking green cloth with a red circle in the middle, I felt a lump in my throat. Innocent looking yes, but millions of people died during the war for this flag. I took it in my hands and saw that the cloth was wrinkled and there was a hole in it. Moth-eaten, and it needed ironing. I was still holding the flag in my hand when Taher came and reported that our lunch was ready. I looked at my watch, it was three in the afternoon. Sitting on the grass outside we had our lunch together with the boys. The meat was still tough but we enjoyed the food.
I was feeling tired and tried to rest awhile in one of the bedrooms. Gradually I became drowsy and fell asleep. Sabzazaar was a nice and comfortable place but here in my own home it felt different. I was not, however, allowed to sleep as my wife came in and shook me up. She told me that I was wanted on the roof and disappeared promptly without telling me why. I felt a little irritated. I looked around for the children but could not
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find them either. Another surprise was waiting for me when I climbed up on the roof. A big crowd had gathered below from somewhere and they all cheered as soon as they saw me. Many of them were carrying arms. Some of them probably came from the neighboring Nasirabad area, as the houses around Kakoli were empty. The boys evidently had a plan of their own of which I knew nothing and they were proceeding according to that but it took me a little time to understand what they wanted. According to official records I was the owner of the building, but the boys felt that for the time being, at least, Kakoli belonged to them. It not only gave them shelter, it was from this building a big part of the operations against the Pakistanis in the city were planned and carried out, and now they wanted to raise the national flag on top of the building ceremonially. I agreed to that gladly. They had a right to do what they wished, but I had a different opinion about the rest. When they asked me to hoist the flag, I suggested that the honour should be given to Taher. All of his companions in this building were dead and he was the only survivor among them. He was arrested once himself and tortured mercilessly, but in spite of all that, he did not leave and stayed here all through the war helping the boys. If anybody had a right to raise the flag I thought the man was Taher, not me. So Taher was brought in and with a shy smile on his face he hoisted the flag. It was the same wrinkled flag, still wet from a recent washing, with a hole in it, kept hidden by a boy who was now dead. Immediately, a hundred rifles roared and fired shots in the air. Automatic weapons continued firing sporadically for some time but the voices of those present were louder. They were shouting their favorite slogan “Joy Bangla”.
This is my story of the liberation war of Bangladesh in 1971, a war that was imposed upon a people whose only ambition was to live peacefully. The war was over now and we got what we wanted, an independent new country named Bangladesh, – the birth of a new nation. Unfortunately, during the process of winning the war we inherited many other unwelcome changes we did not want. There was a general tendency of using weapons for settling personal differences. By this time most of them knew how to use weapons and many of them had one or two kept hidden somewhere.
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Attempts at peaceful negotiations or settlement of difference. across a table were totally absent. It seemed that the people had forgotten to be decent and courteous. An appeal was made to the public by the authorities, requesting them to hand in all kinds of firearms, but that did not have much effect. My friend and house guest Azizul Huq went and surrendered the weapon I gave him and obtained a receipt for it, but I decided to keep mine. The law and order situation was such that I did not want to depend on a third party for the safety of my own family. Some police men returned, but they were still suffering from an inferiority complex. Most of them did not have much confidence in doing what they were required to do, or to whom they should go for guidance and orders. Senior police officers came back after some time but they also found themselves in the same kind of difficulties. Immediately after the war all police stations in the city were being controlled by the senior freedom fighters themselves. Political leaders were reluctant to bring back the policemen too soon as they did not trust them, but the conditions did not improve as they knew nothing about peace keeping. Due to inexperience in handling these matters it took the authorities a long time to bring the real policemen back to their jobs. Even then confusion continued for a long time in every section of the administration because of a total reshuffle. Dancing on the streets and the jubilation gradually subsided as the people began to take notice of the conditions around them and what they had left after winning the war. The war was over but the aftermath remained.
As far as I was concerned, I became a famous man in a very short time. All my friends and local leaders used to invite me to meetings with a chair for me on the dais. While giving speeches, they pointed their fingers at me and told the people what a grand job I did during the war and my sacrifices etc., turning me into a show piece. Oratory was not one of my strong points and my job was to sit on the dais as a decoration only. After some time I decided to put a stop to it. By this time I was under tremendous financial pressure as I neither had an income of any sort nor money in the bank. Whatever money I had was completely exhausted fighting the war. The construction of my house was finished in 1968, for which I borrowed large sums of money from various
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sources including banks. They began reminding me now about repayments, but I had no idea how to do that in my present condition. Despite knowing that it was impossible to get a new job at this time, I kept on trying but got nowhere. I was a family man with a number of people to feed, and I needed money for that too. Ultimately I found myself in a position when I had only one alternative left, and that was to offer my house for sale. When the transaction was completed, the name KAKOLI was removed and the building becoming a school for small children, under the care and management of the YMCA. Before shifting my family to a smaller low priced apartment in the suburbs, I looked at the house painfully for one last time, thinking that the name was now lost forever, but fate had one more surprise up its sleeve.
I was living a lonely life in my small apartment as many years passed slowly and people were beginning to forget that once there was a war in the country. My ‘boys’ who fought in the war grew older and became busy in their occupations. One or two of them came occasionally, to meet me and to talk about the old days. One of them was Jan-e-Alam. Immediately after the war, he left for the Middle East, stayed there for a long time and returned as a rich man. He used to come often and I came to know that he was building a house for his own family in Nasirabad. I received a phone call from him one day inviting all of us to come to his new house in the evening. As his new home was now ready for occupation, Jan-e-Alam would move in ceremonially with his family and wanted us to be present at the occasion. I was told many of his other friends would also be there. I was very glad. We found that it was a fairly large building and beautifully decorated with colored flags and lights for the occasions. Many people were moving around, some of them I knew and some I did not. Alam himself ran out to receive us and took us in. I enjoyed that evening thoroughly as I found many of my old ‘boys’ there with whom I lost contact. After dinner when we were getting ready to return, Alam took me and my wife outside near the gate and told us that he wanted to show us something we missed. We did not understand what he meant, but when we looked up we saw that the name of the building was written in bold letters clearly visible in bright lights.
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The name written there was KAKOLI. Speechless, both my wife and I stood there staring at the name. Alam told me later that he and many of his friends were shocked when my house had to be sold. They were not in a position to do anything about it then, but it was decided among them a long time ago that whoever built a house among them would give it the same name where they lived and fought during the war. I could not say anything as my voice was choked with emotions but I took him in an embrace instead. I lost my building but the name KAKOLI remains to this day.

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