A Sector Commander Remembers Bangladesh Liberation War 1971 | Quazi Nooruzzuman

A Sector Commander Remembers Bangladesh Liberation War 1971 | Quazi Nooruzzuman

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।

Preface

On the second of April, 2001, at about 10 a.m., Naeem Jahangir telephoned me, saying he wanted to see me. I was delighted at his eagerness and told him I would be happy to meet him. He must have been nearby, because he arrived within minutes.

After some small talk, I asked why he had wanted to see me. He said he was concerned about freedom fighters. He told me that the members of the Mujib Bahini (Mujib Force) had held a grand convention at which they had publicized their role in the 1971 war. The event had been covered widely in the media. Naeem did not want the Mujib Bahini to create the impression that no other freedom fighters had any contribution, that it was only they who had brought independence. Naeem was worried that, left unchallenged, they would distort the history of the Liberation War. Only the members of the Mujib Bahini would be identified as freedom fighters. The role of nearly 100,000 freedom fighters – and the participation of people in general – would be belittled. Naeem wanted to prevent this happening. He suggested that a meeting be called, where well-known freedom fighters would remind the people of the sacrifices made by each and every freedom fighter. He asked me to convene the meeting.

I listened carefully. I could see how anguished he was and also how his love and devotion for the freedom fighters still burned bright. There was no question of disagreeing. The discussion turned to practical matters. What kind of a forum would our freedom fighters speak from? When and where could the meeting be held? Again, would freedom fighters rally to us? We largely agreed about which freedom fighters might hesitate. We discussed the questions thoroughly.

It is fair to say that the original freedom fighters had become divided into two broad groups. One group was well-established. They had forgotten their ideals about social progress and had come to terms with the current political order. They were interested only in material gain. Money and wealth, business and commerce: these had become their aims and objectives. They were not interested in criticizing the government or the party in power. The other group

was neglected and wandered about like beggars from place to place, hoping to get a certificate for participating in the liberation war.

Naeem went on and on about it. Finally, we agreed that, instead of calling an assembly of freedom fighters right away, it would be better to first sit and talk with a dozen or so prominent freedom fighters, and then decide about the assembly. On leaving, Naeem said that by the fifth or sixth of the month he would have spoken to his circle of friends and would then arrange a meeting at my house. We would see how things went.

Meanwhile in Chittagong, Farooki Azam had been having the same thoughts. Farooki Azam was a very likeable fellow, and I’d had a similar discussion with him. He had called a regional conference for the eighth of April and invited freedom fighters of all parties to attend. I told Naeem to get in touch with Farooki. I even gave Naeem Farooki’s telephone number. Naeem left, assuring me he would contact Farooki.

On the evening of the second of April, I telephoned Farooki and told him of Naeem’s plans. He was happy to hear it, but regretted that he had no contact with Naeem and did not have his telephone number. I said Naeem would contact him by the third or fourth.

I had not been able to speak to Naeem subsequent to our meeting. Though Naeem had given me a mobile number, I had been unable to reach him. I thought I would keep trying. We’d see how it ended.

It was hard to say if there would be a meeting in Dhaka as Naeem wished. In the meantime, I didn’t want to sit on my hands. I thought I should say something about what I saw of the Mujib Bahini in ’71 and how I came to regard them. I didn’t really want to be critical of them. I just wanted people to know how this force was established and what its agenda was. I wanted to start writing immediately lest I lose interest if I put it off.

I never saw Naeem again. However, I have had several conversations on the phone with Farooki Azam. On the ninth of April my wife Sultana read to me from The Daily Star that Farooki Azam’s meeting of freedom fighters had taken place the day before. The news item further disclosed that Farooki Azam was forming a regional committee and that in about three months he would announce the formation of a political party. In reply to reporters’

questions, he said that the party’s ideals and objectives would be revealed later.

I phoned Farooki at nine in the morning to congratulate him. He said the meeting had exceeded expectations. It went on for two and a half hours. Almost two hundred and fifty freedom fighters of Chittagong had given their registered signatures. That day, there had been a one-day exhibition cricket match between an Asian eleven and a World eleven. People of all classes, all over the country, were glued to the TV screens. So the good turnout at Farook’s meeting was particularly creditable.

Why am I writing about my experiences in 1971? Because I believe that I should write the history of this war with a clear conscience. This war was a great event for the entire Bengali race. After the horrifying genocide that began on the night of March 25, the people of the land took to the battlefield spontaneously, even though the political leadership had no preparation for war. And during the war, the political leadership revealed such apathy towards the people, that the true history of the Liberation War will remain incomplete if it is not told.

Should these incidents be revealed? Would it besmirch the liberation war? Would I be writing the history of the Liberation War from a narrow perspective? Should I hide the truth? Would revealing these truths be good for the nation and its new generations? All these days I have struggled with these questions. But not any more. I have decided to write only what I have seen and heard myself. If I can finish this writing, then my readers can decide for themselves if the material is necessary or important.

As a child, I heard tales from history. I grew up to read history and still do. In 1971, I saw history written. I was lucky to be able to take part in the Liberation War. I saw things firsthand and I met some people who played important roles in the war. I spoke to them and heard their views.

For a long time I’ve been pestered by family members, relatives, friends and well-wishers, all wanting me to write an account of the Liberation War based on my experiences. I had once asked General Osmani to write about his experiences during the Liberation War. He said he would, but did not. All these days later, at this advanced age, I can see why General Osmani didn’t write his story.

questions, he said that the party’s ideals and objectives would be revealed later.

I phoned Farooki at nine in the morning to congratulate him. He said the meeting had exceeded expectations. It went on for two and a half hours. Almost two hundred and fifty freedom fighters of Chittagong had given their registered signatures. That day, there had been a one-day exhibition cricket match between an Asian eleven and a World eleven. People of all classes, all over the country, were glued to the TV screens. So the good turnout at Farook’s meeting was particularly creditable.

Why am I writing about my experiences in 1971? Because I believe that I should write the history of this war with a clear conscience. This war was a great event for the entire Bengali race. After the horrifying genocide that began on the night of March 25, the people of the land took to the battlefield spontaneously, even though the political leadership had no preparation for war. And during the war, the political leadership revealed such apathy towards the people, that the true history of the Liberation War will remain incomplete if it is not told.

Should these incidents be revealed? Would it besmirch the liberation war? Would I be writing the history of the Liberation War from a narrow perspective? Should I hide the truth? Would revealing these truths be good for the nation and its new generations? All these days I have struggled with these questions. But not any more. I have decided to write only what I have seen and heard myself. If I can finish this writing, then my readers can decide for themselves if the material is necessary or important.

As a child, I heard tales from history. I grew up to read history and still do. In 1971, I saw history written. I was lucky to be able to take part in the Liberation War. I saw things firsthand and I met some people who played important roles in the war. I spoke to them and heard their views.

For a long time I’ve been pestered by family members, relatives, friends and well-wishers, all wanting me to write an account of the Liberation War based on my experiences. I had once asked General Osmani to write about his experiences during the Liberation War. He said he would, but did not. All these days later, at this advanced age, I can see why General Osmani didn’t write his story.

I am not a historian. I dont know if it would be right to reveal everything I saw, heard or did. Shouldnt I consider the consequences? Shouldnt there be some purpose to it? This land began its independent journey with the Liberation War of 71. Many things happened. What are the consequences for the people and for the generations to come if everything is revealed? How will they be affected if the Liberation War is belittled, even in the slightest. And if the truth remains hidden, the foundations of the history of the Liberation War will be unstable. So, I face a dilemma.

Maulana Abul Kalam Azad wrote his famous book, India Wins Freedom, about India’s independence struggle. Thirty pages of the manuscript were left out of the first edition, and restored thirty years later in a new edition. My writing may not have as much national importance as Maulana Azad’s, but it does touch on various social topics such as people’s character, nature, conduct, ethics, conscience, etc. It may create confusion among people if these are revealed. My opinion may be offensive in many cases, even iconoclastic, and I have always thought it would be wrong to do that in the early days of independence.

There were two incidents on the eleventh of September, 1996, one in the morning and the other in the afternoon, that I found striking. These incidents made me think I should go ahead with writing what I saw of the Liberation War. History was being distorted and I felt it was my duty to stop that.

I was in the military hospital on that day. A gentleman came to visit me. I couldn’t recognize him at first. He introduced himself as a lieutenant and freedom fighter. He said he had fought under me. Towards the end of the visit, speaking in a loud voice and laughing uproariously, he spoke of a mistake I had made in ordering mortar fire on a Pakistani BOP (Border Outpost). At that moment it all came back to me. For 25 years I had asked around for news of this person, with no luck. I would go through the newspapers to see if he had been promoted to colonel, brigadier or general.

He informed me that he had taken retirement in 1995 and was now doing well in business. His office was in Banani. He got 80,000 taka per month in rent and owned a gas station too. And he had met General Manekshaw and had lots of discussions with him about the liberation war.

As I said, I hadn’t been able to recognize him at first. It all came back to me when I realized who he was.

“You’re that lieutenant,” I said, “the one who refused to fight? And in whose place Zakir Khan Choudhury went forward with me?”

As soon as I said this, he immediately remembered an urgent appointment and made his exit from my room. For 25 long years, I had been keeping an eye out for this person. I have never seen such a coward in uniform. I had more questions for him. Was he writing a history of the Liberation War? And did he get a medal for his bravery?

After I went home from the hospital that afternoon, I was told that a freedom fighter had been looking for me and had just left, disappointed not to find me. The gatekeeper was able to send him word of my arrival and he was soon back.

I couldn’t recognize him at all. It had been 25 years. He had been out of Dhaka, with a small job at BSCIC (Bangladesh Small and Cottage Industries Corporation). He came to see me on his return.

During the war he had been in Kushtia, a student in tenth grade. He took part in an operation to blow up a culvert. In another, he helped to capture a police officer who had been terrorizing people, and brought him to my camp. Apparently I had praised him and, in his words, been very affectionate. That was the memory that brought him to see me. Not to get anything, just to fulfill a longstanding wish to pay his respects.

I had forgotten Fazlul Haque. There were many young men like him who showed great courage and patriotism in the war of liberation. They all seem to be lost now. I haven’t had the time to write down their stories of bravery.

Who should I write about in these stories of the Liberation War? There are many who succeeded in politics or business on their claim to have been freedom fighters. Writing about them would be irrelevant to the Liberation War itself. The ones whom I would rather write about are not just lost, they have never even been properly recognized. Nor have they demanded recognition. They are not writing histories or memoirs. They aren’t writers and they don’t want to be. I should have done it.

I should have kept a diary, but was too lazy or tired. It’s unforgivable. The best I can do now is to write down what I do remember.

Let the history of the Liberation War be told truthfully. I should write whatever I can remember of those who had supported the Liberation War from their hearts; who had given it their all, with no thought of reward or recognition. It was they who made this land free.

At the same time, unpleasant truths should also be written. There were those who just waited to enjoy the fruits of the Liberation War, claiming the right without having fought. They should be exposed.

The War of Liberation is not over, it is often said. We are in the second stage of the Liberation War, for progress and prosperity. Just as in “71, the people must be united and prepared to make sacrifices, each according to his ability. This work can’t be left to the pretenders. The people must know the truth about the war, as well as the lies.

Various writings and speeches about the history of the Liberation War contain many imaginary claims, with no material basis or proof. I can’t see how a distorted history can be helpful. Those who try to distort history are living in a fool’s paradise, because history itself proceeds unopposed, victorious with the passage of time, crushing untruth. History cannot be influenced by any particular polity. History only accepts the distilled essence of collective opinion and reality. These writings will be judged by history, at its own pace.

There are persistent differences of opinion about who was the first to announce the War of Liberation, and the phrasing of it. My opinions will become part of the debate. I should write what I have seen and heard.

Chapter One

 

Meeting the Mujib Bahini in 1971

In April 1971 I was in Agartala. I had yet to be given any duties. Khaled Mosharraf, Shafiullah, Ziaur Rahman each had his own battalion. They were doing their best to organize the young men who were flocking to them. The Indian authorities had promised help, but so far these three battalions had not yet received any actual help. Osmani Saheb had spoken of sending me to Tura, in the Indian province of Assam, but I had been just sitting around at his headquarters. One day in April he called me to his office. There was good news: The Indian authorities would give military training to a number of young men. He asked me to select suitable young men. I started on the selection process that very day. Of course, there were many young men who had taken refuge in Agartala or who had joined the forces of Shafi, Khaled and Zia and needed military training. The responsibility of selection wasn’t mine alone. The selection board included Rab Bhai (who later became Major General Rab), Sheikh Fazlul Haque Moni and a number of student leaders who were also staying in Agartala, among them, Abdul Quddus Makhon as well as another student leader, most possibly A.S.M. Rab. The young men were eager for military training. I decided not to focus too much on physical build and size to form my opinions and recommendations about them, but to give more importance to education, awareness, intelligence, smartness, etc. I sent list after list of the best boys to Colonel Osmani. But in the end, I was never told how many of them were called, where they were assembled, when they were sent to Calcutta. I came to know later that many of the boys selected were sent to Dehra Dun. I now think that the student leaders probably had a hand in finalizing the lists. I know that those selected were not all Awami League workers. They were typically patriotic, confident, dynamic, and eager to fight. After the selection process itself, I had no further contact with the potential trainees. I understood later that the Mujib Bahini was made up from these recruits. However, it needs to be explained that there was no force by this name during the liberation war itself.

The Indian authorities took sole responsibility to train the cream of the crop. They were trained as political commandos, in some forested area near Dehra Dun, by Major General Oban. Military training aside, political training was the main objective.

While the liberation war was going on, in India the leftist Naxalite movement was making its influence felt under the leadership of Charu Mojumdar. This influence reached and strengthened a faction of the left movement in what was then East Pakistan. College students were attracted to this faction. The Indian authorities realized that many college students with leftist ideas would join the liberation forces and possibly help to build a leftist ideology in Bangladesh. The political commandos were established to neutralize such a possibility. The intention was to disarm the purely-motivated freedom fighters and put power in the hands of the government in exile, once victory had been achieved.

Having received the training, political commandos found it embarrassing to identify themselves as products of the Indian authorities. So they gave themselves the name of Bangladesh Liberation Force (BLF). After December 16, because of their atrocities, the people of Bangladesh gave this force the name “Mujib Bahini.” I know of many commandos who were traumatized by their own conscience and would hesitate to call themselves freedom fighters.

In July I took command of Sector 7. Not a single one of the trainees selected in April was in my sector. I had quite forgotten about them.

Elsewhere, in the Naxalbari town of Panighata, the Indian army was training a relatively ordinary group of freedom fighters. During October and November, they began to join my sector. There were about 14,000 freedom fighters in Sector 7. These fighters were divided into seven sub-sectors and were managed by us from a border camp, in accordance with orders from Colonel Osmani.

At some point I went to inspect the Mohodipur sub-sector commanded by Mohiuddin Jahangir. There was a disturbance going on. Some armed Bangladeshi youths had made camp and started

——————-

Mohiuddin Jahangir was killed on December 14, 1971, fighting bravely, and was honoured with the title of Bir Shresthho. operating on their own, towards the rear of the sub-sector. When Mohiuddin Jahangir’s sub-sector tried to contact this group, they got no cooperation. We managed to learn, however, that they were under the command of an Indian major.

There was a heated exchange of words. I warned our boys not to allow the situation to escalate to physical violence. I called them together and said that we were all working towards the same goal. So we must avoid a physical clash by any means. I also said that I would ask Brigadier Prem Singh, Charlie Sector Commander of the Eastern Sector Command, about this unknown force and try to get the two forces to work together.”

Later I brought up the matter with Prem Singh. He was silent for a while. He even seemed to smile a little. He said he knew nothing about the new force. I told him about the Indian major being in charge of the force and said that he had to be aware of that. He admitted he had communicated with the Indian major, but higher authorities had instructed him not to obstruct the major’s activities in any way. This struck me as being extremely odd. I began to have doubts about this force. Why were they carrying on in my area in this secretive way? What did they want?

About a week later I returned to the sub-sector and found a commotion going on. A young armed Bengali had been lurking around suspiciously. Our boys had surrounded and nabbed him. They identified him as a Pakistani collaborator and decided he should be shot dead. The young man was frightened and could not give a straight answer to any of the questions asked. I arrived at just that

point.

I told our boys that we were engaged in a war against the Pakistani aggressors. There are international rules of war that must be followed. If a suspicious person is arrested, he can’t just be killed, but must be immediately handed over to the investigative department. That is the rule. I saw the boy was blindfolded and had his hands tied. I let it be known that I would take the captive youth to

——————–

2. Second Lieutenant Qayyum Khan’s explanation: After India agreed to support the Liberation War, the Indian Army created various sector headquarters, organized as brigade headquarters. Their task was to provide operational and logistic support to the Mukti Bahini. The sectors were named Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, etc. The Charlie Sector provided support to Sector 7.

Torongopur headquarters for interrogation and then hand him over to Prem Singh’s brigade headquarters.

I had the blindfold taken off the young man and had his hands untied. The boy seemed to be a calm and peaceful type As I took him back to headquarters, I asked him a few questions as we drove along. From his answers, I understood that he was not a Pakistani spy. He had been trained by the Indian authorities. His force was not trying to obstruct the activities of the sub-sector. He was captured unexpectedly and repeated that he had not come to the sub-sector with any premeditated motive. The one thing he did mention was that it was his duty to establish the Awami League in power after victory had been achieved.

This was how I got my initial impressions about the Mujib Bahini, first hand.

After the incidents at Mohodipur and Torongopur, there were no further incidents with the Mujib Bahini, worth mentioning, in our sector. But there was talk among the freedom fighters. I learned that the BLF got to eat well, were well taken care of, and were welldressed in shirts and trousers. In contrast, the Mukti Bahini boys were content with their lungi, plain T-shirt and gamchha (large bandanna). Our boys were always saying how few automatic weapons or machine guns we had by comparison with the BLF, which was heavily armed. They would also say enviously that many of the members of the Mujib Bahini had pistols and gun-belts, something that even I did not have.

After December 16, I stationed the members of Hamzapur subsector, under Captain Idris, in Bogra town. They stayed busy repairing roads and bridges in the locality. At about 10 or 11 at night, at the beginning of January, I got a phone call from an excited Idris. I asked him to calm down and speak slowly.

That evening, soon after sunset, an armed group, calling themselves freedom fighters, surrounded the main market in Bogra and started ransacking the place. The local business owners and residents were shocked. Knowing that freedom fighters could never do such a thing, they ran to Idris’ camp and complained. According to Idris, not a single one of his members had been outside the camp after dusk. So he knew that the looters were probably members of some other force.

As soon as he got the news, Idris quickly took his boys to the marketplace and surrounded it. The looters started to run away the moment Idris’ boys appeared, but about ten of them were caught. There was no exchange of fire. Idris took the captives back to camp and imprisoned them. He had phoned me to get permission to “bury” these criminals. His use of the word “bury” worried me somewhat. Idris was a courageous fighter and a patriot. He couldn’t put up with the dishonour to freedom forces. It was also to gain the support of the people that he wanted to sentence to death these dacoits who called themselves freedom fighters.

I told him that the Liberation War was over now. An independent government had been established in the country. Law and order had been imposed. So he should seriously reconsider the idea of imposing a summary death sentence on the dacoits captured by his fighters. I assured him I would arrive at his camp first thing in the morning and decide what to do. He should not do anything on his own, before I got there.

In a couple of hours, soon after midnight, Idris phoned again. He sounded desperate and overexcited. He seemed to be accusing me of something. I gathered that he had released the captured looters and this had created waves among the boys of the camp. He asked why I had ordered the dacoits to be released. I was astonished. I had not given any such order.

He explained everything all over again. That night, soon after he had phoned me, Colonel Osmani phoned him directly and, as Commander-in-Chief, ordered him to immediately free the ten looters and hand them over to the local Awami League leaders. Idris protested and said that if such looters were not immediately punished, similar incidents would occur in other parts of the country as well. He also told Colonel Osmani about his discussion with me on the matter. At this, Colonel Osmani snapped at Idris and told him that he had discussed it with me and had informed me of the decision. Idris’ complaint to me was that I had agreed to the decision without hearing him out. He couldn’t believe I would do that.

In fact, I did not have any discussion with Colonel Osmani. He did not telephone me, nor did he inform me of his instructions through anyone else. I was astonished at hearing about it from Idris. Under army rules a superior officer cannot directly issue an order to

5

an officer without the knowledge of the officer’s immediate commander. This rule is followed even in civil society. I was extremely disturbed at Colonel Osmani’s behaviour. I felt troubled about the future of the freedom fighters.

Why do I mention this incident? It was never proved whether the captured armed looters were members of the Mujib Bahini or not. Investigation was required. Why were they released without any investigation? And why were they released into the hands of local Awami League leaders? If they had been released for political reasons, then these looters must have been related to politics.

There was another incident which illustrates the tension and mistrust between the Mujib Bahini and the Mukti Bahini.

Immediately after December 16, 1971, freedom fighters of Sector 7 camped in two main locations: Bogra and Rajshahi. The camp in Rajshahi was in Zoha Hall, a residential hall of the university. After March 26, 1971, with the re-occupation of Rajshahi by the Pakistan forces, Zoha Hall had become the main Pakistan army camp in the area. A huge amount of looted goods were stored in this hall by the Pakistan army. It also had a sizeable amount of military stores and other supplies. In December, as more and more freedom fighters converged on Rajshahi, they were directed to the Rajshahi University campus, where they eventually occupied three residential halls. The choice of Rajshahi University as a camp was a good one because it was outside the city. It afforded very few opportunities for the freedom fighters to leave the camp, thus facilitating easy enforcement of discipline.

Some time in the second week of January 1972, I heard that Mr. Kamruzzaman, who hailed from Rajshahi and was a minister of the Government of Bangladesh, was coming to visit Rajshahi. There was no official word, just news from the grapevine.

On a beautiful January Sunday, while I was having breakfast, I heard that Mr. Kamruzzaman, whom the locals called Hena Bhai, would arrive shortly from Dhaka by helicopter and would land in the university campus. Since I had not been officially informed, I did not join the reception party. Sunday being a holiday, I was going to take it easy. Since the beginning of the Liberation War I had never rested. Today was going to be a rest day for me or so I thought. Outside 1 could see many freedom fighters walking about leisurely, enjoying the weather

I heard the helicopter’s rotors around 10 in the morning. The helipad was nearby. I saw the helicopter land. Suddenly I heard a lot of shouting and saw people running helter-skelter suggesting that some kind of commotion had broken out. I dispatched Second Lieutenant Qayyum Khan to investigate what was going on and to control the situation if need be. Qayyum came back after about 30 minutes and reported that there was an altercation at the helipad between the members of the Mujib Bahini and the Mukti Bahini which had led to chase and counter chase by both parties. The incident started immediately after the helicopter landed. After Mr. Kamruzzaman emerged from the helicopter, he was whisked away by members of the Mujib Bahini, who had organized a motorcade for the minister. Hundreds of Mukti Bahini members had gone to the helipad to greet the minister, but they could not even get near him.

The minister did not know about the waiting Mukti Bahini members. During his drive to the city someone informed him about the disappointment of the Mutki Bahini at the helipad. On hearing this Mr. Kamruzzman ordered his convoy to return to the helipad so that he could talk to the Mukti Bahini boys. When he returned, he found that the Mukti Bahini members were offended. They were in no mood to talk to him, and they started raising slogans against him. At one point a member of the Mujib Bahini drew his pistol from his holster. However, as soon as he did so the weapon was snatched away by the Mukti Bahini boys and an altercation started. In the melee, Mr. Kamruzzaman had to flee the scene, and the fellow who drew the pistol received serious injuries in the scuffle that followed.

This was an undesirable incident. As it is there was considerable tension between the Mujib Bahini and the Mukti Bahini, and I did not want the situation to deteriorate further. I decided to call on Mr. Kamruzzaman at the Circuit House. I went alone without any escort. When I saw the minister, he seemed visibly shaken although he remained calm when I greeted him. I explained to the minister that the Mukti Bahini boys were hurt that their sacrifices were not recognized by him and that he had instead chosen to be with the Mujib Bahini boys who, for most of the past nine months, had not been anywhere close to the fighting. I invited the minister to come to Zoha Hall the next day for a darbar with the

Mukti Bahini. I gave him my assurance that no untoward incident would happen.

The minister came to Zoha Hall the following day and the darbar went well. During the darbar the minister asked the members of the Mukti Bahini what they wanted from him as a gift for Eid-ulAzha. The boys responded with a request that the minister join them for a meal on Eid day which the minister did after a few weeks.

Much has been written about the activities of the Awami League’s student organization and leadership during 71. Writers, both national and international, particularly Indian, have commented on them. Today, almost 39 years later, I can say that the way the Awami League authorities indulged the student leaders is unforgivable. A political party, instead of building up its popular basis, remained completely beholden to its student organization.

—————–

1.The incident was reconstructed with the help of Second Lieutenant Qayyum Khan.

8

Chapter Two

The Night of March 25, 1971

I participated in the liberation war voluntarily, along with my wife Sultana, our daughters, Naila and Lubna, and our only son, Nadeem. We took this decision as a family, on March 26, 1971. On the night of March 25, we had been very upset by the crying and screaming of women and children coming from the direction of the East Pakistan Rifles (EPR) headquarters. Our house on Road 13/a in Dhanmondi was perhaps a furlong northwest as the crow flies from the EPR headquarters. My family all seemed to have the same question for me. Being a professional soldier, was I not going to avenge the killing of innocents?

Earlier that evening, apprehending that the talks between President Yahya Khan, Zulfikar Ali Buhtto and Sheikh Mujibur Rahman were not going well and hearing rumours of army action, the students had set up barricades at several points At about 8 or 9 p.m. in the evening I left home with my wife, in my Volkswagon, to go to Major Amin’s house. I was forced to a stop on the road a few yards west of what is now the PG (Post-Graduate) Hospital building. I saw that a group of young men, seemingly students, were trying to erect a barricade on the street. I laughed inwardly at the appearance of the barricade. It was so inadequate that the army would have been able to remove it in minutes. My wife got out of the car too. We wanted to give some suggestions to a few of them. They did not appreciate my opinion of the barricade. They were rude. They asked us if we were West Pakistani. To keep things from getting worse, we did not linger there but returned home.

The young men had a premonition that the army would take to the field that night. On the way back I had an odd feeling that there was something unusual about the city. Similar barricades were being built in various other places. I didnt know who had told them to build barricades.

There were also barricades along Satmasjid Road, which Road 13/a met at a right angle. Around ten that night, we heard the movement of an army jeep accompanied by calls to remove the barricades and bring down the flag that people had hoisted on

rooftops in support of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s call for noncooperation. We tried to use the telephone, but the line was dead. Later that night we heard the booming of guns mingled with cries of pain, and saw an orange glow in the southeastern sky. Perplexed and stunned at the sounds and sights, we went up to the roof, trying to understand what was happening.

Soon after we all went up to the roof, Nadeem went back downstairs. Some of his friends had come for him. When we returned to our apartment, we found that Nadeem had left the place. We were very worried but there was nothing to be done. Army trucks were patrolling the streets.

The fact that there was no preparedness was confirmed years later, in 1980-81. I was the chairman of the Muktijuddho Kendriyo Command Council (Liberation War Central Command Council) at the time. A young man from Sylhet, Zakir Choudhury, a banker, was a member of the command council. While reminiscing about 1971, he mentioned an incident that had taken place on the evening of March 25. According to him, he was at the Awami League office when a subedar of the EPR came and asked to meet Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. Nobody gave him any importance at all. However, his extraordinarily distraught manner was conveyed to the inner sanctum, and eventually Colonel Osmani emerged to speak to the subedar. The subedar said that in the late hours of the night there might be an attack on the EPR by the Pakistani forces. He wanted the Awami League’s instructions on how to prevent the possibility of a massacre. Colonel Osmani angrily replied that the EPR force ran on instructions from the provincial government. He and his fellow Awami Leaguers were busy with politics at the national level. Apparently, Colonel Osmani added in English that violence was not Awami League policy and he asked the subedar to leave. So, who had instructed the young men to make barricades?

Mohammed Toaha and Badruddin Umar came to see me that evening. When the army crackdown started, they were stranded at my house. They would not be able to return to their homes till March 27.

Our telephone was disconnected sometime before midnight. We all went up to the roof to make some sense of what was happening. The skyline of the area of Road 32 was visible from our

house. We heard gunfire from that area and at one point saw three Very lights. These lights are multicoloured signals used by the armed forces: red, green and white. They signal the beginning or conclusion of some planned action. I understood that something was going on there or had already happened.

Our house was also about two to three hundred yards from the north gate of the EPR headquarters in Pilkhana. Starting at midnight, we heard gunfire from that direction for several hours. Between the sound of gunshots came the screams of pain, from men, women and children. It was frightening. My wife and children kept asking me what the screaming and shouting was about. I knew that a massacre was going on in the family quarters of the EPR jawans, but I could hardly say that to my family.

A part of Dhanmandi Lake was on the southern side of my house and, a few houses away from the road on the northern side, was a footpath to the river. In both directions, from midnight till dawn, EPR jawans, in ones and twos and in small groups, ran towards the river. They were in lungi or shorts and almost all of them were barefoot. I opened the gate and went out. I stopped a few of them to ask what was going on. None of them gave me any answers. Some of them even pushed me aside.

I wasted a lot of time by the telephone that night. I grew ever more anxious at not being able to find out anything. I tried to peer over the walls on each side to ask after the neighbours. Some of the houses were without lights, silent and still. I don’t remember how long I slept that night, but I was woken with a start by gunfire from just outside the gate. Through the crack of a window, I saw a corporal walking along, shooting blanks from a sten-gun. Obviously, this was being done to scare people.

By the time Nadeem got back, his clothes dirty and ragged, it was after 3 a.m. He seemed strangely transformed. He was no longer a fifteen-year-old boy.’ He was carrying his mother’s .22 rifle. He said that four of his friends had also gone out with their fathers’ guns, to Road 32 to protect Sheikh Shaheb. His friends had realized that Sheikh Mujib’s house had been attacked at around 11 p.m. when they heard the gunfire.

—————–

1.Nadeem Omar was born on October 7, 1955.

These schoolboys had gone to war on their own, without the declaration of a liberation war. So there could be no question of my doing otherwise. However, as a battle-trained soldier, it would not have been sensible for me to rush out with a .22 rifle.

There was a two-storeyed house next to ours on the east, facing Satmasjid Road. The tenant was a foreigner. In the morning I managed to get in touch with him. He introduced himself as being from Yugoslavia. When I asked him if I could watch the main road from his house, he readily took me up to the attic. I saw a few APC’s (Armored Personnel Carriers) on the road. I was surprised that these vehicles were being used. They are for defence against enemy fire. I wondered if they were afraid of armed resistance. I began to hope.

The gentleman offered me coffee. He tried to reassure me. He told me that during World War II he had fought with Marshal Tito’s guerillas. In his estimation, the occurrences of the previous night indicated a popular uprising. I dont know if he was a political person. He wished me courage. He said that during the initial stages of a guerilla war people suffer, but they are ultimately victorious. He said that in a guerilla war there is never any shortage of weapons. He was sure that we were armed. I climbed back over the wall and told my wife and children about this encounter.

I dont remember all we talked about that day but one bit is imbedded in my heart. My children asked me many times, “Abbu, you are a professional soldier, won’t you avenge this killing?”

12

Chapter Three

We Hear an Announcement

The next day, just after lunch, Naila and Lubna rushed up with a transistor radio and said that there was a broadcast from somewhere, about Bangladesh. The reception was very poor, but we could tell that a Major Zia was announcing himself as President of Bangladesh and calling for a struggle for independence. This was the best news. The seeds of the Liberation War had been sown.

Since the announcement had been made by a major, it was clear that Bengali soldiers had taken to the field. But who were they? And where? It became my duty to find and join them.

There is a lot of controversy about the announcement of independence. We learn from the writings of Mr. Moyeedul Islam, General Shafiullah and Belal Mohammed of Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra, that on March 26 Bangladesh’s independence was announced in a brief 5-minute programme.

According to Belal Mohammed, the speech, signed by Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, began, “Today, at 12 p.m., the barbaric Pak forces carried out surprise attacks in the Dhaka areas of Pilkhana and Rajarbag Police Lines, without warning. Hundreds of thousands of Bengalis have been martyred. War prevails. In this situation, I declare the independence of Bangladesh. Joy Bangla.”

The announcement uses the phrase “today at 12 p.m.” That means the announcement was written after 12 p.m. Hundreds of thousands of Bengali shaheeds are mentioned. How did Sheikh Mujibur Rahman learn about that with his telephone line cut? Sheikh Mujibur Rahman himself told everyone to leave his house and seek safety. In Moyeedul Islam’s words, “Behind these announcements from Chittagong Radio, there was no political sanction, nor any particular political plan or organizational preparation.”

In late April 1971, I accompanied Mr Tajuddin Ahmed on an inspection of Major Jalil’s Sector 9. This has been written about in one of the volumes of the fifteen-volume history of the Liberation War. Mr. Tajuddin asked me, “How did you come to join the Liberation War, after having retired as a major?” In reply, I spoke of the announcement made by Ziaur Rahman. I mentioned that Zia had presented himself as President. He did not respond and changed the subject.

Earlier, on April 10, I had met Major Rafiqul Islam at Teliapara Tea Estate. I was fascinated by his description of the initiatives and preparations for battle that he began from March 22 or 23. He spoke about how he drew Ziaur Rahman to his side. He said that since Ziaur Rahman was the senior-most among the revolutionaries, Rafiq had suggested that Zia should make the announcement from the radio station. He didnt specify the time, date or wording of the announcement. That was not the subject of our discussion. We were talking about the future of our struggle.

According to Rafiqul Islam, on March 27, there was a broadcast from the Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra, a clandestine radio station located at Kalurghat, which claimed to be the voice of Free Bengal. Just before the broadcast, Belal Mohammed of the radio station asked Ziaur Rahman to speak and to write down what he would say. At first, Zia wrote, “I, Major Zia-ur-Rahman, do hereby declare independence of Bangladesh ….” Later, he amended this to read, “On behalf of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman….” I believe that on March 27, at noon, Zia spoke for himself. That announcement was arranged by Major Rafiq, but not the wording.

For a few days in mid-April 1971, I shared a room with Mr Zahur Ahmed Chowdhury of the Awami League. When I asked him about the announcement of independence, he said, “What you heard is all I heard.” I didn’t pursue it further, because at the time it was secondary to the main issue of the future of the struggle.

Let’s say it was Ziaur Rahman who was the first announcer of independence. What does it matter? Does this announcement belittle the Awami League or Sheikh Mujibur Rahman? Not in the least.

Ziaur Rahman’s announcement was an inspiration to me and to thousands of soldiers, EPR, police, and members of the Ansars. Zia was an officer in the East Bengal Regiment. I was not bothered by his claim to being the president. His call for independence and liberation war inspired us all.

—————-

1.Rafiqul Islam has discussed this in detail in his account of the Liberation War: A Tale of Millions (1974; second revised edition, Dhaka: Muktadhara, 1981).

We should end the debate about who announced the Liberation War. It’s a waste of time. We should be working towards the ideals that guided Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s call for a liberation war.

I would ask researchers to investigate. It’s better that the truth be told. We can’t let false information be preserved as truth. Given the situation on March 26 and 27, there is no particular importance in who made the announcement and what words they used. The important thing is that the announcement was made. The people of the land knew and understood the political origins of the announcement. Ziaur Rahman was not a political person. The people accepted his announcement, not to glorify him, but from historical necessity.

Chapter Four

Why I joined the Liberation War

The duration of the Liberation War was the supreme period of my life. I consider myself fortunate to have been born at such a time as to be able to take an active part in the Liberation War. Nothing else can be a matter of greater pride. However, there is more of a background as to why my family and I decided to join the liberation struggle.

Like every freedom fighter, I was motivated by patriotism and duty to society. However, my earlier experiences seem to have propelled me to becoming inextricably involved with the Liberation War. These need to be written down too. My friends and family should know what were the root causes of my actions and choices. I was repeatedly pushed towards the struggle for independence by incidents in my life.

On June 6, 1943, at the age of 18 years and three months, I joined the British Indian Navy. It was a time of political awareness and activity. The Quit India Movement had been launched in August 1942 calling for immediate independence of India. All politically aware students were actively anti-British. On joining the Navy, I saw the domination of the British officers. These foreigners had only malice and contempt for Indians. We had discussions, debates and arguments about the conduct of Indians.

I would ask British officers not to speak ill of Indian political leaders. At the time, the Hindu-Muslim divide was not pre-eminent. As native officers we were more concerned with the independence of India. We could not remain silent when our British officers insulted our leaders.

While I was in the Navy, twice the arguments with British officers went to the stage of a court martial offence. However, I was fortunate not to be court-martialled. Once, however, as punishment, I was transferred to Mandapam Naval Base in southern India.

In an independent Pakistan as well, my rebellious streak came to the fore, especially when I saw how West Pakistanis denigrated Bengalis. A few face-to-face incidents with Ayub Khan influenced my army life in the Pakistan Army as well. In 1949 I was assigned as

platoon commander for the Joint Services Pre-Cadet Training School (JSPCT) in Quetta. Along with the Iranian ambassador and a few high-ranking officials, both national and foreign, Ayub Khan, Adjutant General at the time, was also present at a ceremonial dinner hosted by the school. The school commandant introduced me to Ayub Khan. His first question was, “Where are you from?” As soon as I mentioned East Pakistan, he turned to the foreigners and remarked that after the partition of India he had been the first GOC (General Officer Commanding) of East Pakistan. With no logical connection, he added that he had not found any “good” families there, other than the family of the Dhaka Nawab. I became very angry at this and retorted that only people from a good family can recognize others from a good family. The foreigners smiled at my comment and Ayub Khan’s face turned beet red. I made a hurried exit.

Subsequently, in my capacity as unit commander, I was invited to a lunch given by General Umrao Khan, commander of Dhaka’s fourteenth division. Zaker Hossain, former IG of East Pakistan, was present and conversing with Umrao Khan and Ayub Khan. Somehow, the topic of Mr Ismail, another former IG of East Pakistan, came up.’ Both Ayub and Zaker Hossain were very critical of Mr Ismail. Their language was unforgivable and their remarks were indecent. Zaker Hossain remarked that Mr Ismail was unfit to be in the police service. They noted that during his police service he had done research on pornography and written a book on venereal diseases. Later I learned that Mr Ismail had written about 40 books on different subjects and even won literary awards. At one point Ayub Khan said, “I wouldn’t have given Abul Hasnat the importance of a lance corporal in my army.” Roars of laughter erupted all around. This bothered me a lot. I saw with my own eyes, at firsthand, how the Bengali agents groveled to the West Pakistanis. Ayub’s talk showed disgust and malice for Bengalis. I was embarrassed, but Mr Zaker Hossain seemed to be enjoying himself,

——————

1 Mr Shah Abul Hasnat Mohammad Ismail wrote profusely on a variety of subjects, including Bangla orthography. However, he was perhaps best known for a book on sexual science in Bangla, In 1984, he was awarded the Independence Day Award for Literature laughing in agreement with Ayub. I acquired a revulsion for this sort of Bengali bootlickers.

My third face-to-face incident with Ayub was at my artillery unit in Dhaka Cantonment. Ayub was pleased with his inspection of the unit. Even though he was the Commander-in-Chief, he was very congenial with everybody. At one point he spotted a small jackfruit in the garden and talked about eating the fruit at its green stage and described a recipe for cooking it. I invited him to a cup of tea or coffee with my officers. He said it was not possible because he had an invitation for coffee at the Governor’s House in an hour. A little later he called his ADC and told him to let the office of the Governor know that he was held up at work and could not attend. Then he told me that instead of having coffee in the bamboo hut we had for an office, we could sit on the lawn and chat. Everything was going wonderfully. Even the coffee arrived. Suddenly he asked me where I came from.

“Sir, I am a son of this soil,” I said. As soon as he heard this, his face was completely transformed. He picked up his chair, turned it around 180 degrees and sat facing away from me. I, my officers, the general of the 14th Division and his staff, were all greatly astonished.

“I’m leaving. I have to leave now,” he said a moment later.

I couldn’t fathom how my being East Pakistani could be held against my unit and my officers.

Ayub Khan’s manners were abrupt, indecent and insulting. The incident was witnessed by Lieutenant Shamsuzzoha, who later became Bangladesh’s ambassador to Yugoslavia.

My last experience with Ayub Khan was not face to face. In 1958 I was at the Staff College. Some time around the middle of November a notification came from the administration: General Ayub, who had just taken power by military force, had sent a confidential letter for the officers attending the Staff College to read and sign. Everybody was lining up to add their signature. I, however, read the letter carefully. It asked all officers to express personal loyalty to General Ayub. I registered my objection and left without signing. A little later I learnt that Major Salahuddin Mohammed Amin of the Second East Bengal Regiment had also refused to sign the letter.

The college authorities told us that our conduct was improper. Nothing more came of the incident. But, as it turned out, within three years, both Major Amin and I voluntarily retired from the army.

Brigadier Tikka Khan expressed his particular disapproval at my taking early retirement. He met with my wife at the Great Mall Hotel in Rawalpindi, where we were staying, and advised me not to retire immediately but to agree to a transfer to a civilian organization

Brigadier Tikka Khan would do me another favour without my asking.

In 1961 I was transferred to the EPIDC. I never returned to the army.

In 1966 I was General Manager of Narayanganj Dockyard when I was visited by a lieutenant colonel from the army headquarters in Rawalpindi. He had a letter from General Tikka Khan, which he asked me to sign. The letter was an application for a plot of land in Dhaka Cantonment. As I was reading the application, the officer laughed and said that the plot had already been allocated to me and announced in the gazette,

Observing Pakistan’s politics during my career in the army, I could see that the differences between East and West Pakistan would grow increasingly complex. On top of that, I had a growing realization that I wouldn’t go far as a member of the armed forces.

After I returned to East Pakistan, I tried to follow the people’s movement under the leadership of Bhashani.

In 1970 I had a difference of opinion with the EPIDC authorities. I resigned.

At the time the Six-Point Movement was in full swing. After the general elections of 1970 this movement was transformed into the non-cooperation movement. I took no part in this movement as I was busy trying to establish myself in business, but I can say I was in full support of it.

During the non-cooperation movement there was a rush to express solidarity with Sheikh Mujibur Rahman from all kinds of organizations. Retired army officers had an organization too, which is now known as RAOWA (Retired Army Officers Welfare Association). At some time in March 1971, the retired army officers came out in a procession and announced their support for Sheikh Shaheb. Somehow or other I was left out of it. My absence was noted by many of my friends and acquaintances. They warned me that the outcome would not be good for me. However, during the liberation struggle of 1971, not a single one of the members of this organization was seen in the battlefield. This shows that there is no consistency between the words and actions of the Bengali middleclass society. I have seen many such examples, and see new ones in society and politics to this day.

In March 1971 I was trying to establish myself in business. I wasnt involved with any political party. But, as the saying goes, any self-conscious person is a political being. I had been influenced by the message of socialism in Maulana Bhashani’s movement and I was in support of the movement.

I wont go into a detailed description of the meeting of March 7. Close to a million people had gathered to hear Sheikh Mujibur Rahman speak. There were many farmers, holding ploughshares, with red ribbons tied around their heads. I was there with friends. We had all hoped that independence would be declared that day. This wish of ours was emotional and controversial.

After winning the elections, the Awami League was preparing to join parliament and form the cabinet. That was the proper democratic process. In his speech, Sheikh Mujib spoke vociferously against the oppression by the Pakistani rulers and said, “If a single one of my people is fired upon, then ….”

Why did he say “my”? That would include all those in East Pakistan who desired independence. It included Bhashani’s supporters, leftists, bureaucrats, businessmen, everybody. No one objected to his use of the word “my,” but nobody had bestowed on him the privilege of using this word. In the process of leading the movement for independence, he had acquired the right by default and become recognized as the undisputed leader.

Sheikh Mujib ended his speech on March 7 saying “Pakistan Zindabad.” That was not wrong by any means. Pakistan was still politically undivided. A democratic struggle was going on to realize the demands of the people. Therefore, the way he ended his speech was politically correct. There was no protest from the gathered multitude. Of course, a few moments after ending his speech, he returned to the mike – on the advice of the student leaders – and said

“Joy Bangla,” to the delight of the crowd. There was no unpleasant consequence to his saying “Pakistan Zindabad.”

However, nowadays, Sheikh Mujib’s speech on March 7 is heard without the words “Pakistan Zindabad.” They have been erased. Why? I believe this tampering with the speech diminishes Sheikh Mujib’s political efforts. An even greater harm is that people have lost faith in those who did so.

I have already mentioned the announcement made by Major Zia at noon on March 27. With the foreigner’s encouragement, my family’s urging me to fight, and Zia’s announcement, I was being repeatedly inspired to join the Liberation War.

On March 27, curfew was lifted from dawn to about noon. I went in my Volkswagon to New Market, and to visit a few friends. I clearly remember the horrifying sights on the way, and the look of fear on people’s faces. They were in turmoil.

The market was busy as well. The big question was, who was Major Zia? Where was he? And what steps had been taken by the battalions of the East Bengal Regiments located elsewhere? I don’t remember who, but someone gave me the news that a battalion stationed in Joydebpur had started north, possibly towards Tangail.

The other thing on my mind was where to keep my family safe. Speaking to some relatives, I learned that many of them were getting ready to leave for the Syed homestead in Karatia, a village in Mymensingh. A brother of mine endorsed this plan. The Syed homestead was the home of the brother-in-law of Shejo Bhai, my third brother.

Returning home about mid-day, I found an American couple, Bob and Nancy Simpson, there. Nancy had become friendly with my wife who was also a student of psychology. They insisted that we take shelter at their house. I told Bob that I was a retired Pakistan Army officer. Why should Pakistani soldiers kill me? He said that I was in greater danger for that very reason. I did not know Bob well. He worked for the USAID. I did not approve of that organization. I couldn’t accept his offer of shelter.

I could make no sense of the genocidal acts. It is well known that military force is the last resort of a political dispute. How would the military action save democracy? What did the action say about their judgement? I had been a professional soldier myself, and had

given it some serious study. How could the Pakistanis think it would work?

I was reminded of the months of June and July in 1943. A couple of hundred yards from the Gateway of India in Bombay, there was a naval officers mess in a building named “Dhanraj Mahal.” It was a lot like a transit camp, with many officers passing through, from Kashmir to Kanyakumari and from Assam to the North Western Frontier Province. The officers would make fun of the different ethnic types in India. For example, if I walked into a discussion I would be greeted with, “Yoo, hoo, Bengali baboo, I love you!” Punjabis would be called “All brawn and no brain.” During 26/27 March 1971 I realized that Punjabis had been correctly characterized in 1943. These genocidal acts could not have been committed by anyone with the least amount of brains.

I had another problem. Where was my family to go if I joined the liberation struggle? We had lived in the Chakdah area of Nadia in India for about five hundred years. Our family was held in great respect by the people of the area. About fifty families lived within a single boundary. They did not want for food or shelter. After the partition of India, however, the neighbouring Hindus threatened to kill members of our family who were resident in Chakdah and ordered them to leave within twelve hours. They were all forced to leave with just the clothes they wore. They settled as refugees in Joydebpur, north of Dhaka.

The problem of my family was that we had no place of refuge in India. We would have to fight from within the borders of the country. But where were we to go? Was there a liberated area, created by the Awami League leadership or by the rebel soldiers of the East Bengal Regiment? I decided to send my wife and our daughters, Naila and Lubna, to Karatia.

On the morning of March 27, I heard from many that the Pakistani forces were picking up young men and killing them. My close friend Major Amin had a son, Chinku,“ 20 or so, just beginning to show his genius. My son Nadeem was 15. Amin and I decided that we would entrust Nadeem and Chinku to Toaha and Badruddin Umar.

—————

2.His proper name was Alauddin M. Zaheen.

I’m not going to tell the story of these two boys’ quest for shelter. I’ve heard that Badruddin Umar has written a little about it and has said he would write more. However, I should say that both Nadeem and Chinku, in their search for shelter, came to be identified as “Urduwallas” by the people of the locality where they sought shelter. Nadeem managed to get back alive in April. Chinku was not so lucky.

23

Chapter Five

I Leave for Tangail

 

On March 28 I sent off my wife and our two daughters to Karatia, with other family members. Shejo Bhai, my third brother, had married into a Karatia family. His brother-in-law, Syed Mohammad Shafi, lived in Karatia. Our family had no village home where we could take shelter. I knew the Bhashani NAP leader Saidul Hasan quite well. He knew that we had no village home where my family could seek shelter. He endorsed the idea of sending them to Karatia.

My son, Nadeem, was not with us. He would return a few weeks later. Like Chinku, his friend, he came to be identified as an “Urduwalla.” However, Nadeem was fortunate and somehow managed to return home with his life intact. In late April I arranged to send Nadeem to Mejo Bhai, my second oldest brother, who was in Karachi at the time.

After I had sent my wife and our two daughters on their way, Saidul Hasan wouldn’t let me stay at my house but took me to his. There I kept trying to get word of Shafiullah’s forces. I learned that Shafiullah was in the vicinity of Tangail. Planning to go from Karatia to Tangail, I spent the night of March 29 in Karatia, with my family.

There were about a dozen families in Karatia who had just fled the city. They didn’t know what was going to happen next. I requested Shejo Bhai to look after my family while I went to look for the East Bengal Regiment. No one tried to stop me.

I want to mention a small incident in Karatia before I write about joining Shafiullah. It happened a few days after I left. According to my wife who was in Karatia, some Pakistani troops were trying to get to Mymensingh by way of Joydebpur. At Karatia they ran into a barricade erected by the local people.

The Pakistani troops opened fire randomly, aiming for neighbouring homesteads. They used mortars, and a few mortar shells fell in the vicinity of the Syed homestead and created a panic. Most of the residents – including those who had sought shelter in what they had assumed was a safe place – fled. They began to run further into the fields, with no destination, each running as best he or

she could. My wife and daughters were among them too. There was a canal along the way. They don’t remember how they crossed the canal.

You think only of yourself when you run for your life. And the ability to run is different for young and old, men and women. After running for a while, my wife felt she had come to a safe spot and she turned around to look for her daughters, but couldn’t see them anywhere. The others around couldn’t say anything about the whereabouts of these two girls either. Of course, in a couple of hours they were all reunited in the next village.

This shows how terrifying war is. You can only think of saving yourself. I have seen it before too many times..

In August of 1945, in WWII, two days after Japan’s surrender to the Allied forces, my navy ship reached Port Sweetnam, in Malaysia. Getting off the ship, I met a Sikh gentleman who spoke Hindi. He said that the Japanese soldiers, while retreating towards Singapore, had committed atrocities on the local people. The local people reacted by running away into the jungle. Mournfully, the Sikh gentleman said that he had lost his family. My wife had been in a similar situation. That war is frightening, and that its fearful impact falls mostly on the civilian population, is never kept in mind by the military and political leadership.

On March 30, Shafi arranged a jeep to take me to Tangail. My maternal cousin and brother-in-law, the architect Muzharul Islam, accompanied us. We were stopped many times on the way by people wanting to know the latest news.

We stopped several times on our own as well. We saw groups of young boys holding sticks and parading on the roadside. The supervisors of the drills were mostly old, retired, soldiers and policemen. Learning that I was an ex-army officer, they asked about how to make barricades on roadways. I was not in favour of barricades. An effective barricade needs to have armed soldiers around it. Otherwise the enemy can easily remove the barricade and then terrorize the local people.

When we got to Tangail, we learned that Shafiullah’s battalion had left for Mymensingh two days ago, so I decided to proceed there. By the time I got to Mymensingh, it was two or two-thirty in the afternoon. There was no one to be seen on the way into the town. We

asked around, and managed to get the address. Reaching the place, we saw no soldiers about, and we entered the building. Inside, they were all lying down, in full battle gear. Everyone looked exhausted. When I asked for Major Shafiullah, they named another building. We took the jeep there. It was the Mymensingh Teachers’ Training College. There was a sentry posted at the gate. I introduced myself and asked to go in. He hesitated. Then I wrote my name on a piece of paper and asked him to take it to Major Shafiullah. After quite a while an officer emerged. He agreed to escort me in but said that my companions could not go in. I was struck by the excessive precautions.

I was taken upstairs to a broad verandah, where food had been laid out on a large table. There were some officers there along with Major Shafiullah who was surprised and delighted to see me. Early in the conversation he asked me to take command of his battalion. I took it as a polite gesture. I replied that I was a retired artillery officer and I had come to serve as a foot soldier in his battalion.

When I asked permission for my jeep and companions to enter, he said that the jeep should not come in, for security reasons. I felt that they had become fearful and psychologically weakened. One officer spoke up and said they had two options: to die fighting or to be caught by the Pakistani forces and be hanged as rebels. They spoke as if they were cut off from everything and didn’t know what to do. However, they did say that the DC of Mymensingh had assured them of his cooperation.

I told Shafiullah and his officers about the groups of young men doing drills on the roadside, and said that the people were looking to them for leadership. Shafiullah and his officers seemed reassured that they were not alone, that the people were with them.

In Mymensingh, Shafiullah was busy with the local defences. He had taken some defensive measures against the danger of a Pakistani air attack. He took out a map and explained his plan. I was glad to see that they had not taken shelter in Mymensingh just to save themselves. One company had been sent to take up position northeast of Tejgaon Airport, within range of a mortar attack.

I didn’t like the plan, but it was wrong of me to criticize it because the company had already left for their objective. I felt that instead of attacking the airport, it would have been better to attack

the fuel dump at Godenail, on the bank of the Sitalakhya river in Narayanganj. As imported fuel was stored here, destroying the storage facility would have disrupted the movement of planes, tanks and army transports. But Shafiullah could do nothing at that point.

I spent a few nights at Mymensingh, with Shafiullah’s forces. I met the DC while I was there. Shafiullah had also sent for a highranking Awami League leader to talk about how to make contact with India. Shafiullah proposed to send him to represent Bangladesh.

It was probably the day after I reached that Shafiulah left to inspect a company of his that was stationed in Bhairab Bazar. He took me along. We travelled by train in the dark, without lights, with one bogey and the locomotive engine. This transport was not supposed to stop anywhere, but, for technical reasons, we had to stop at a few darkened stations.

We were supposed to keep our journey secret. Still, at the two places that our transport halted, crowds had gathered. They kept repeating the “Joy Bangla” slogan. There were no lights in the station or in the train compartments, but the people started tossing sacks and bundles of provisions into our compartment. Later we found these to be full of rice, puffed rice, brown sugar, gourds, pumpkins, etc. Why these gifts? Why the shouts of “Joy Bangla” in the night? Didn’t it show that the people wanted to fight? We were overwhelmed and inspired.

We reached Bhairab at about eight or nine o’clock. The station was deserted. We learnt that the station master was a Bihari, but our sympathizer. It didn’t take long for us to realize our mistake.

Around noon, a Pakistani fighter plane kept flying overhead. At one point it came towards the station in an attacking dive. Shafiullah took up position with his Chinese rifle by the last pillar of the station. Being unarmed, I took shelter between two goods trains and watched Shafiullah. I was sure that the plane would bomb our train and that Shafiullah would try to shoot it down. In the end the plane didn’t drop any bombs, and Shafiullah didn’t shoot either.

I saw another thing at this time. Shafiullah’s company had taken positions about a thousand yards away, in a residential area. When the fighter plane seemed to be preparing to attack, there was a great deal of unnecessary shooting from them. Shafiullah tried to signal them to stop shooting. He was angry. Later he regretted the

wasted ammunition and how it depleted their fighting capacity. He was right. I thought to myself that the company was not battletrained. How could we fight the Pakistanis with such men?

While in Mymensingh I accompanied Shafiullah to Kishoreganj, where Shafiullah had a small force. At Kishoreganj Shafiullah was busy with them and members of the police and ansars. The SDO of the place was actively cooperating. I noticed a few dozen boxes of currency stored at our workplace.

A novel sight presented itself in Kishoreganj. Four or five youths had fled Dhaka and taken refuge in Kishoreganj. Among them, I remember the names of Badal,’ Samad, Bodi and Masud. They had fled Dhaka on March 28. Many such groups must have left Dhaka, looking for Awami League’s secret location.

In this group, I knew Badal well. He was a fellow student of Belal Baaquie, my wife’s nephew, and was studying physics at Dhaka University. Like me, they had all heard the rumours in Dhaka, that the killers were targeting young men, and so they had chosen to come here.

They wanted training in arms, which was not possible then and there. I heard later that they had been given four rifles and some grenades. I wouldn’t have given them anything. Without training, weapons are nearly worthless.

Major Khaled Mosharraf had sent a messenger to Shafiullah in Mymensingh that they should join their forces. Of course, this was extremely necessary. Shafiullah wasted no time and took his party via Brahmanbaria to Khaled Mosharraf’s headquarters in Teliapara Tea Estate

While I was in Brahmanbaria, someone informed me that Colonel (retired) Salahuddin Mohammed Reza (Shishu) was there. I went to see him and found him wearing a shirt, trousers and Kabuli shoes, drilling 20/25 young men. He was very surprised to see me and asked me my plans. I asked him to come with us to Teliapara. We agreed to work together.

—————-

1.For an account of Shahidullah Khan Badal’s experiences in 1971 see “The Bellbottom Guerrillas of ’71.” Available on-line at http://www.newagebd.com/dec 3rd03/ 161203/victoryday/band.html.

A senior officer of the East Bengal Regiment. Not to be confused with Nurul Islam (Shishu).

I have to say here that I was a guest in Shafiullah’s force. Shafiullah and his officers showed me plenty of respect. We would have discussions, but it was natural that my relationship with them would be complicated, without meaning to be.

Shafiullah introduced me to Khaled Mosharraf in Teliapara. That was the first time I saw him and I was heartened to meet him. However, after the two battalions merged, my connection with Shafiullah was disrupted. It seemed that Shafiullah and Khaled could neither exclude nor include me.

I met Brigadier Pandey at this tea estate. Pandey wanted to know if the army, police, ansar, etc. had only rebelled to save their lives after the massacre of March 25, or whether the people had spontaneously risen for independence? He couldnt resolve the dilemma, but hundreds of young men were streaming into Teliapara, on their own. They asked for training and weapons. Their numbers rose so high that at one point they were told to go back and return in a few weeks.

One morning, Brigadier Pandey arrived in his jeep and asked me to go with him to Brahmanbaria. We had proceeded for about 5 to 7 miles when the local people stopped our jeep in various places and opened up to us. Everyone asked for weapons to fight. I didn’t have to explain the true nature of the uprising. He realized that the war of independence had begun.

I was very disappointed at a small incident in Teliapara. The mess-bearer of the Bengal regiment would bring tea for me where I slept on the floor. One morning when I returned from my morning constitutional and went to roll up my bedding, I found that someone had stolen my wristwatch from under the pillow. At this time of peril, when we were all busy preparing to fight, it was disheartening to see that some soldier had such a propensity.

My relationship with Shafiullah was disrupted after we arrived in Teliapara. He became preoccupied with his battalion and Khaled Mosharraf. I did get to talk at length with some of his junior officers at his headquarters, including Major Nurul Islam. They were all anxious. We did not talk about families, but they were worried about the future. Major Nurul Islam and one or two others – whose faces I can recall but not their names, all agreed that guerilla warfare would be the best strategy It was probably on April 3 that someone introduced me to Major Ziaur Rahman. I had not seen him before this. He looked quite smart, even though he had grown a beard. I congratulated him for his radio announcement on March 27. He kept quiet about it. After an exchange of polite inquiries, I asked him about the whereabouts of his forces. His answer was short and abrupt, since the connection between us was unclear. Khaled Mosharraf had an open and cheerful manner, but Zia had a serious look. Unlike Khaled, he could not open up to me easily.

I met artillery Captain Rafiqul Islam at Teliapara. He talked about starting to prepare for war on March 20. I was impressed by his straightforwardness and political awareness. He explained one point in particular: Major Zia did not give him much cooperation up to the night of March 25. However, on the night of March 25, he was able to persuade Zia not to proceed to Chittagong Port. As Zia was the senior-most of the “rebel” soldiers, he arranged for Zia to announce independence. We did not talk about from where or in what words this broadcast was made, and I did not think it was necessary to talk about it either.

Colonel Osmani made a sudden appearance one day at Teliapara Tea Estate. He had crossed the river into India with the help of a Bengali officer of the Signal Corps. He himself brought up the topic of his moustache. People might not recognize him but they would recognize his moustache, so he had shaved it off. This was quite true, even though it was said in fun. We could barely recognize him.

We had a meeting, led by Colonel Osmani, probably on April 4. Shafiullah, Khaled Mosharraf, Ziaur Rahman, Shafat Jamil, Nurul Islam, Fit. Lt. Reza and many others were present at this meeting. I remember two points of the discussion. Zia proposed that all the rebel forces be collected together to cut off Chittagong from the rest of Bangladesh and proclaim the area liberated. The proposal got a lot of criticism, much of it based on how long the area could be kept liberated, realistically.

Colonel Osmani’s proposal amounted to an endorsement of Zia’s plan. Osmani suggested that all the available troops be used together to capture Comilla Cantonment. He asked me specifically to prepare a “fire plan” for the mission. This was unrealistic because we

did not have logistical support. Flt. Lt. Reza too was against the proposal. There was quite a bit of arguing back and forth. Some agitation was apparent. Reza’s situation was like mine. It’s not possible to be a commander without troops, such commanders don’t get heard.

We were in the midst of our discussion, talking about getting Indian help and starting guerilla warfare, but we had to stop when a junior officer entered. He informed us that, according to signal reports, five fighter planes were coming to attack the tea estate. On getting this news, Colonel Osmani left the estate, promptly and quickly. Our discussion remained unfinished.

In the first week of April, Khaled and Zia wanted above all to strengthen their positions. Shafiullah was the most cooperative. He agreed to send one of his companies towards Ramgarh, to help Zia.

Major Chittaranjan Dutta’ had been leading a busy life. I tried to get word of him. I could only find out that at the time of our April meeting, he was busy in the tea estate areas of Sylhet, gathering together rebel police, ansar and other forces. But nobody mentioned him at our meeting. I think the officers who were in active service had misgivings about the senior officers. We lacked foresight that day. The commanders of the East Bengal Regiment were preoccupied with themselves.

I remember another incident at Teliapara Tea Estate. An engineer of Shahbazpur Power Station came to see us and said that if he was permitted he could disrupt power production in such a way that it would be hard to repair. I was the senior-most officer at this discussion, and I gave him permission. A few hours later, Colonel Osmani arrived at the tea estate, asking what was going on. I mentioned that I had given that permission. He lost his temper and lectured us loudly for several minutes. The gist of it was, how would factories and workshops run without electricity, where would the workers go, and what would they eat, etc. He added that he had some valuable guns and rifles at his house. The Pakistani authorities had directed citizens to deposit their firearms. He had sent word to a CSP nephew of his to comply with the directive.

————–

3.Chittaranjan Dutta was subsequently promoted to major general

We were speechless. Not having been able to carry my own rifle and pistol with me, I had buried them at my Dhanmondi residence. We found it incredible that having gone to war against the Pakistanis, how anyone could think of depositing their firearms with the occupiers. On top of that, we should have been trying to disrupt the running of occupied Bangladesh. I couldnt understand why Colonel Osmani stopped us that day.

Colonel Osmani instructed me to immediately send a letter retracting my permission to put the plant out of order. The incident clearly proves that the Awami League leadership had no plan for a war of liberation. They could have still have been waiting to come to terms with the Pakistani authorities, or, maybe Osmani alone was of this state of mind.

From the tea estate, the troops of the East Bengal Regiment moved out to their various positions, according to their plans. I left for Agartala and an uncertain future. In Agartala I saw Awami League leaders and workers of different levels. There were also many well-known war correspondents and representatives of news agencies. These were daring reporters and correspondents with experience of various battlefields all over the world. I was amazed that they could arrive so quickly at an unknown and isolated spot like Agartala

I learned that they were speaking to the Awami League leaders hour by hour, and that they had discussed the political situation with Khaled Mosharraf, and possibly Zia and Shawkat as well. But because of indecisiveness all around, they were unable to send conclusive reports to their destinations in London, Paris, Washington etc. They had held up their reports because they were sympathetic to our cause. Somehow they found me to be the most senior army officer present. They surrounded me and told me about their dissatisfaction.

According to what they had learned in the 48 hours they had been in Agartala, the people’s uprising of Bangladesh was extraordinary and extremely significant. In their opinion it was a national uprising and an example of a war of liberation. They would not call the East Bengal Regiment rebels. They were looking for the Government in exile.

The political leadership was going on and on about announcing the establishment of a government, but could not find a single leader who could take this responsibility. The leaders were double-minded and indecisive. The journalists advised me to establish a government with the military officers who were present. I thanked them for their enthusiasm and support and promised to decide after talking it over with Khondokar Mushtaque Ahmed.

I had known Khondokar Mushtaque since 1935. I told him about what the journalists had said about establishing a government. He listened to me seriously, but said that it was not possible for him to take any decision. Tajuddin Ahmed was supposed to be coming to Agartala. It might be possible to take the decision collectively with Tajuddin present.

One of Mushtaque’s remarks bothered me. If they formed a government, the wealth and property of the Awami League leaders would be appropriated by the Pakistan government. I was at a loss. What about the fate of the members of the army, police, ansars? Would we be identified as mere mutineers? Anyway, I let the foreign news correspondents know that, with the arrival of Tajuddin Ahmed, the decision to form a government would soon be taken.

33

Chapter Six

At Sylhet

Mr. Tajuddin Ahmed soon arrived. The Awami League leaders met behind closed doors at nine or ten in the morning. The meeting went on for several hours. I waited with the journalists for the announcement. We could hear raised voices and even some crying. We had no idea what the crying was about.

Finally we were told from the door that a proposal to form a government had been accepted and that it would soon be formally announced, elsewhere. I’m not sure how the foreigners took it. Obviously their analysis and reports would be in line with instructions from the owners and editors of their publications. (1 never saw any freelance journalists in Agartala.) The ones I did meet could see that the uprising of March 25 was popular and national in scope. They probably didn’t twist the facts that day, but I haven’t had a chance to read their reports.

I found myself in some distress after being cut off from Shafiullah’s battalion. Not that Colonel Osmani ever asked after me – and this was someone I had met in 1948, when he was at the Staff College in Quetta, Baluchistan. Bengali officers were few and far between at the time, so I used to visit Major Osmani as he was then. He claimed that his father had been in the Indian Civil Service. He, himself, had studied at Aligarh University. That might explain why he spoke to me in Urdu, English, and broken Bangla. His English was fluent and his accent quite British. And I wanted to talk only in Bangla.

My relationship with him never developed because this incident stayed with me, at least sub-consciously. I lost touch with him until 1959, when we met again in Rawalpindi, after he had left the infantry. He had been assigned to the Military Planning Department as a colonel and was doing well in his new capacity.

The senior Pakistani officers couldn’t tolerate him, much less accept him as one of them. Rather, they would make jokes about him being a Bengali while mimicking the British in speech, dress and manners. He did have a friend in Brigadier Wasiuddin. Osmani was working to build up the East Bengal Regiment. Wasiuddin was taking steps to form a Bengali artillery force.

came forward to help me in my distress. Zahur Ahmed Chowdhury was a prominent leader of the Awami League, but it never dawned on him that he should care about me, even a little.

At the BSF headquarters, a temporary military office, endorsed by the Indian authorities, was set up to provide some expert supervision for Bangladesh. Brigadier Pandey was associated with this office. Many officers began to arrive here from East Pakistan. Group Captain A.K. Khandakar of the Pakistan Air Force also showed up here. There were also several members of the Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra (Free Bangla Radio Station). They were in a pitiful situation. They had come loaded with all kinds of equipment to set up a radio station but had had no room for personal necessities.

At one point Brigadier Shabek Singh paid a visit as well. At this time, a furious battle was raging between the forces of Khaled Mosharraf and the Pakistanis, at the Agartala border. Enemy artillery could be heard around the clock.

The Bengal regiment commanders pleaded with the Indian military command for weaponry, because they had trained some of the young men and wanted to send them into Bangladesh for guerilla activity. The Indians had nothing to give but a few grenades and daggers. Our demands were real, but so was their inability to meet the demand, in the absence of a political decision.

Towards the end of April, Colonel Osmani held a meeting with various commanders. He assigned the commanders by areas. Assigning duties to me for the first time, he told me to get ready to leave for Tura, in Assam. He didn’t specify what for, saying it would be better to keep it a secret for the time being.

During the meeting, he got into an argument with someone. He flew into a rage, announced his resignation, and asked me to take charge of the Liberation War. He would often announce his resignation in this way.

—————–

1Air Vice Marshal A.K. Khandkar describes the short training that early guerillas were given before being sent across the border in May and early June armed only with daggers, pistols, and grenades. Most of these young men were killed in The role they played in 1971 is unknown and unrecorded. See A.K. Khandkar, Maidul Hasan, and S. R. Mirza, Muktijuddher Purbapar: Karhapakathan (Before and after the Liberation War, Dhaka: Prothoma Prokashan, 2009), p. 41. See Appendix I.

Sometime in the first half of April, while I was waiting to leave for Tura, Colonel Osmani told me that Shafiullah’s forces were losing control over Sylhet. They were retreating and Shafiullah was busy with other things. Captain Azizur Rahman’s company had been cut off from Shafiullah’s command. Colonel Osmani asked me to go to the Balaganj area, by way of Moulvibazar, and help Captain Aziz.

I crossed the Khowai river into Moulvibazar, Sylhet, and contacted the local Awami League leaders, to get in touch with Captain Azizur Rahman’s company. They arranged for me to stay at the Circuit House. I was astonished at some of their behaviour and attitudes.

There was a stock of rice, lentils, potatoes, eggplants, onions, etc. in a house on a hillock near the Circuit House, The local Awami League leaders were quarrelling over who would be in charge of this stockpile. They asked me to mediate.

At Moulvibazar I met Muntaquim Choudhury, a handsome young man, who had been elected MNA from this area. I liked what he was saying. I took him aside to speak in private. I told him that while it was possible for me to mediate, he should take responsibility for resolving the dispute. I don’t know what happened in the end. I never tried to find out.

I’m not clear on the dates of the incidents in Sylhet district. Colonel Osmani did not give me anything in writing, or even specific verbal instructions. I was just told to help Charlie Company of Shafi’s battalion. I heard that various operations were going on in the area between Surma Bridge and Douki, Sylhet.

As far as I can remember, we were trying to keep Sylhet Airport in our hands. An order had been given to keep Pakistani troops from entering Sylhet. Next came an order to keep the Pakistanis from crossing the Surma river. When I reached Moulvibazar, Charlie Company had retreated from the Surma Bridge and was positioned on the Sylhet-Moulvibazar Road.

Retreating on the Sylhet-Biswanath Road, the company took up position at a ferry landing. Here I saw a JCO (Junior Commissioned Officer), with one arm in a sling, setting up defences in a capable and energetic manner. There was a captain and a second lieutenant present as well. I told the captain that it wasn’t enough to keep an eye on just the road to the ferry. The approaches to the ferry,

upstream and downstream, and on both sides of the river, had to be patrolled, and some troops had to be kept in reserve in the rear.

After midnight I got news that a fire-fight was raging at the ferry landing. The captain had been seriously wounded and was being taken to Moulvibazar. My presence was needed. I proceeded towards the ferry-landing in a jeep, with a driver. I could hear gunfire long before I got there. Getting a little closer, I saw soldiers in ones and twos, retreating. They looked exhausted and told me not to go there.

As I was talking to the soldiers, I saw Very lights going up, about a mile and a half west of the ferry-landing. I learned from the soldiers that we had no troops at that place. It was clear that Pakistani soldiers had crossed the river and had taken positions. In the dark of night, without a guide, I went looking for the JCO with the injured arm, with just the driver and the jeep. I asked him why and at whom we were firing. The JCO slapped his forehead.

“I’ve told the soldiers a hundred times to stop firing, but they won’t listen,” he said.

The ferry landing was lost. Charlie Company retreated to a new position. I spoke to the JCO about where and how the new position should be taken.

I returned to my own station and, in about an hour, at the time of the dawn prayer, went back and found that Charlie Company was in the command of a second lieutenant. However, not a single one of the company’s sections had been deployed at the designated spot. When I took him to task, he said he had not completed a Junior Officer’s Leadership Course or even a weapons course. The job was being done with the help of some JCOs and a havildar.

Not only had the job not been done, the retreat had been disorganized, and the troops had been broken up into different groups. After completing the deployment, I told the lieutenant to go forward in a jeep and observe the positions of the Pakistani soldiers. The gentleman refused and said he wasn’t up to it. I was astonished and furious. I took over his jeep and sat in the driver’s seat.

Just then, a young man came up to the front of the jeep and said, “I’m not letting you go alone.”

This young man was Zakir Khan Choudhury. He was a banker. He had no military training. I was stunned at Zakir’s statement. I asked him if he could drive the jeep. We proceeded for about a mile and a half on the paved road, left the jeep behind a tree at one point, and went a few yards further and watched the Pakistani soldiers through binoculars for almost half an hour. I estimated their strength to be about one company.

We went back and I told the senior members of Charlie Company that there was no cause for fear. The enemy weren’t many. I tried to reassure them that their advance could be halted if we took our positions properly. I made some adjustments to the positions of the sections and told them to dig trenches. I added that there were many armed men under the Awami League MP, Manik Choudhury. We could strengthen our defence with their help.

While I was engaged here, I got an urgent message that Brigadier Pandey was at the Tea Research Centre in Srimangal and wanted to see me. I finished supervising the defences and went to see him. He said he didn’t know where the honorable MPs were, with their forces. That afternoon Brigadier Pandey and I went to inspect Charlie Company’s position. Before we reached Moulvibazar, we saw the lieutenant of Charlie Company heading towards us. He said that the company had abandoned their position without a fight and had retreated. The two of us were astounded. He couldn’t even say where the new position was. He had left the JCO in charge.

Brigadier Pandey and I decided to check out Charlie Company’s new position and asked the lieutenant to show us the way. He led us at five miles an hour. I got angry and told him to follow us.

I realized we wouldn’t be able to defend Moulvibazar and Srimangal for very long with Charlie Company.

A few days later I went to Agartala Hospital to see the commander of Charlie Company who had been injured that day. The doctor on duty took me aside.

After Charlie Company was cut off, Zakir Khan voluntarily took the responsibility to find food and shelter for them. He later became chairman of the Muktijoddha Sangsad (Freedom Fighters Association). He was minister for some time under President Ershad. I have written about him in an article, “Shotto o Oshotto Obosthan” (True and Untrue Positions). I was impressed by his courage and patriotism “Sir, this is a court martial case,” he said. “It is a self-inflicted injury.”

I begged the doctor to keep it quiet. It would do us great harm if it came out. It would be better not to report stories of cowardice at the very start of the war.

I have since heard that the captain was decorated for bravery and became a general.

I would often travel to different places in Sylhet with Awami League leaders, since I had no specific duties there. There are many tea estates in Sylhet. They had stopped work because the Bengali managers supported the Liberation War. Their vehicles were being sent across the border into India to be used by the Mukti Bahini.

At this time, I met Chitta Dutt. He was setting up defences at the entrances to some tea estates, using irregular forces. I had known him since 1949. We talked quite a bit. Chitta expressed regret that the irregulars had no discipline and that he had not been given any officers from the regular forces. He was also disappointed that he was not getting any information from Osmani at headquarters. He had heard that I was trying to take part in the war on my own.

At Srimanagal I also met an MP, Manik Mia, who said that he was trying to maintain a force of 50,000 irregulars. He had got hold of a pistol, and had it hanging on his belt. Brigadier Pandey had been impressed by him. Somehow he had acquired the title of “commander” and always used it. He became known as Commander Manik even after December 16. All I remember is that whenever I asked him for armed fighters, he always had some excuse. In fact, his force was a band of looters.

Charlie Company was gradually retreating towards Srimangal. I moved out of the Circuit House and took shelter at the guest house of the Tea Research Institute. Late one night, a few days after I had moved in, a group of low-ranking Awami League workers woke me up to tell me about a big problem at the Moulvibazar government bank. The bank had been destroyed with the help of Indian engineers. I wasn’t able to find out who gave the order.

According to the workers, the vault had been blown up. scattering jewellery and money all over. Looting had started. They wanted my help to stop the looting.

I didn’t know how I could help, but they kept begging me. So I got dressed, got my Chinese rifle, and went to the scene. There I saw men in khaki uniforms filling sacks with the loot. As soon as I arrived, they started to scatter.

I walked into the bank and slipped. I was walking on a carpet of money. I noticed some gold jewellery as well.

After discipline had been restored, I told the workers to collect the money and jewellery in sacks and hand it over to the local Awami League leaders. Later, I heard that about half a dozen trunks full of money had been handed over. I also learned that the person in charge was Mr. M. R. Siddiky, an Awami League MNA.

In Sylhet, I met an Indian officer, Colonel Limia. We asked for help from his battalion to defend Sylhet Airport, but he never got around to it. Limia didn’t use his army jeep, and drove around in a brand new four-wheel drive jeep that he had got hold of.

While I was staying at the guest house, I had a meeting with local Awami League leaders, including M. R. Siddiky. They wanted to know if Srimangal could be defended, and, if not, how long we could resist the Pakistan army’s advance. I advised them to give up the town, because I had plenty of doubts about the capabilities of Charlie Company of the 2 East Bengal Regiment.

Soon after that meeting, Pakistani planes attacked Srimangal. Some bombs landed near the petrol pumps. After this attack someone told me that there was a big store of rice and wheat in a warehouse in Srimangal and asked what should be done about it. I told them to open up the warehouse. Soon we saw crowds of workers from the tea estate carrying away sacks full of grain, balanced on their heads. The warehouse was quickly emptied. I was glad that the supplies had not fallen into enemy hands.

The workers at the tea estates and their leaders were not always enthusiastic about the Liberation War. They were resistant at times, and sometimes cooperative. It is a different world in the tea estates.

The workers themselves were not Bengali. At one time, almost all the owners were British, and they had brought the workers by force, from other parts of India. The British used the workers to their purposes.

The workers weren’t prosperous by any means. Most of them were in rags. The native owners treated the workers in the same way as the British had. The workers themselves had come to us for help.

During my stay in Sylhet I met some local people. I feel obligated to write about them. There was a member of Parliament named Farid Gazi, an Awami Leaguer from a young age. He had once thrown a shoe at President Ayub’s car. Gazi’s enthusiasm for the Liberation War was no less than ours, and he cheerfully performed other duties as well. It was flood season north of the Surma river and he would deliver mail for the military, through chest-deep water.

At one stage Brigadier Pandey decided to pull back the troops. There was a broken bridge on the route. Muntaquim Choudhury, took charge of making it fit to be used by motorized vehicles. He talked about repairing bridges as if he was a civil engineer, and for a long time I thought of him as one.

At company headquarters I met a young man named Akkas who, I assumed, belonged to Charlie Company. Later I found that he lived in Balaganj. When I first met him, he was reporting back to headquarters after a reconnaissance mission. He had been given the job several times. His words and deeds showed courage and patriotism. He was with the company for quite a while. Subsequently I got to know him much better.

Some of our troops were positioned to defend Zakiganj. Some Indian BSF troops were used to help them. News came that Pakistani troops were approaching to clear the way. Immediately the BSF troops started running away, in just their boots and underwear. The Bangladeshi troops retreated too, but in good order. Golapganj fell to the Pakistanis.

I only heard about the flight of the BSF troops. I was not an eye-witness there, but there were other instances where I did witness the cowardice of BSF forces.

42

Chapter Seven

I Go to Agartala

After Charlie Company retreated into India and encamped in Ashram Bari, I left for the Bangladesh headquarters in Agartala. Osmani wasn’t there. Perhaps he was busy at the Calcutta headquarters. However, he turned up in a few days, for his inspections. There were also some meetings with commanders but nothing much happened in them except that at almost every meeting he would fly into a rage and threaten to resign.

At Agartala I would occasionally run into Colonel Rab, who later became Major General. He was a Supply Corps officer. He consciously avoided taking charge of military operations. I had known him since 1949. He had been staff captain for Ayub Khan. Rab was open-minded, courteous and cultured. He had a Sylhet accent and was an elected MNA as well. I would ask him if Colonel Osmani had any intention of making use of my years of military experience. He would say, “It will all happen, and soon.”

At this time I was visited by a stranger who introduced himself as Mahbubul Alam Chashi. He had long retired from the Pakistan Foreign Service and had joined the Liberation War. He said he had spoken to D. P. Dhar’ and Triguna Sen and been informed that Indian authorities were taking steps to train freedom fighters. We needed a recruiting policy. There would be a meeting about it at Dharamsala.

I expressed my astonishment. Recruitment policy is an important part of military policy. It should have been discussed with Colonel Osmani. Nevertheless, as he had asked me to go to the meeting, I did. I was at the right place at the right time, but found that there was no meeting. I returned disappointed. A few days later I saw him again and he told me the meeting had been held elsewhere. He apologized for not being able to inform me of the change. With a smile, he told me the results of the meeting.

Durga Prasad Dhar (1918 – 1975), was a prominent Indian politician. He negotiated the 1971 Indo-Soviet Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation and played a significant role in India’s military intervention in East Pakistan in 1971.

An agreement had been reached between the Awami League leadership and the Indian authorities. The Awami League leaders had been given the job of recruiting fighters for the Liberation War. I was dumbfounded. I said it wasn’t right. The job should have been given to the military. He replied with some arrogance that the Awami Leaguers had taken the responsibility to ensure that leftists were not recruited.

And I had thought that patriotism would be enough qualification for recruitment!

In 1943, while in the navy, I saw that people of all different classes and political leanings were allowed to fight for Britain. No particular party had a monopoly on patriotism. It is apparent now that our society paid a price for an improper recruitment policy.

I met with Shafi and Zia at Agartala. We discussed the war situation and how to give it more impetus. The commanders in the eastern region were almost cut off from the Bangladesh military headquarters. They were unable to communicate their problems and needs. This was a real problem. We agreed that the over-all command should be divided into two parts, with eastern and western headquarters.

I wasn’t particularly confident about depending on Shafiullah and Zia. They proposed that Colonel Osmani be elevated to Defence Minister and the command be divided. I was to take the proposal to Mr Tajuddin Ahmed. I went to Calcutta for the purpose. There were quite a few officers at headquarters, with different duties. They approved of the proposal.

In Calcutta I was put in a difficult position. The officers at the headquarters had two questions for me: 1) Why had I taken charge of Charlie Company under Shafiullah? and 2) Why had Group Captain A. R. Khandakar been made DCOS (Deputy Chief of Staff) even though I was senior by far?

My reply to the first question was that it would be wrong to create divisions about seniority. I had been ready to serve as an ordinary soldier in Shafiullah’s battalion even though he had suggested that I take command. The chain of command should not be disrupted.

To the second question I replied that Khandakar was an Air Force officer. It would be a mistake to give him a battlefield command in a land war. I knew him well. He was a capable Air Force officer and had a calm and steady nature. I did not have a good professional relationship with Colonel Osmani. Khandakar was more suited to deal with him and it would be better to send me to a sector where I could direct operations.

These topics were not mentioned again. Officers should be posted where they can be most useful.

A liberation war is a people’s war. One should not be thinking of promotions. So one day, when I ran into Colonel Osmani at headquarters and he addressed me as Colonel Zaman, I corrected him. I was Major Zaman. He laughed and said that sector commanders had been promoted to lieutenant colonel. I was astounded. The thought of promotion had never occurred to me. The Indian authorities showed me plenty of respect even though I was only a major

I had gone to Calcutta with the proposal of establishing two headquarters. First, I was going to talk it over with Colonel Osmani. I was unable to get an appointment for two days. He was always too busy, and that pushed me towards the Prime Minister’s office. There I was given an appointment in two hours.

Tajuddin Ahmed was all smiles when he saw me. We were slightly acquainted. Once, just the two of us had gone to inspect Major Jalil’s Sector 9. Soon after exchanging pleasantries, I explained the proposal. I stressed that we wanted to add impetus to the Liberation War.

All of a sudden he asked if there was a preoccupation with promotions, among the officers. I said that my proposal had nothing to do with promotions. I let him know that as soon as the Liberation War was over, I was going to return to civilian life, and I could give him my resignation in advance. He would only have to add the date. Dr. Faruk Aziz Khan, who was secretary to the Prime Minister, witnessed this incident.

Tajuddin Ahmed assured me he would discuss the proposal with his colleagues. He kept his promise. However, Osmani did not accept the proposal. He was absent when it was discussed by the Prime Minister and the commanders. He threatened the Prime Minister with his resignation. It was an important issue and he could have explained why he thought the proposal should be rejected – which it was.

I was in Calcutta for a few days. Colonel Osmani asked Wing Commander Mirza and me to select officers for the Bangladesh Army. The two of us travelled from Calcutta to Siliguri, visiting sectors and sub-sectors. There were plenty of applications and many of them were well qualified. Many corporals and lance corporals of the Bengal regiment applied.

I would ask almost everyone if they smoked marijuana. I thought that it showed honesty to be able to admit it. There were some who did admit it, perhaps a little sheepishly. They showed fitness and responsibility afterwards.

On this tour, I went to Major Najmul Huq’s sub-sector near Dinajpur town. I thought he was doing a good job. Even though he was an artillery officer, he was supervising infantry operations quite satisfactorily. He was a man of few words but courageous and calm. I was impressed by his straightforwardness.

I returned to Agartala after finishing the job of selection. There I met a few officers from the State of Tripura. They had been taken aback by the flood of refugees coming into Tripura from East Pakistan. They feared that things would turn chaotic, but that didn’t happen.

They told me that the population of Agartala had been doubled by the refugees, but there had not been a shortage of food. Nor had there been a problem with rising prices. Apparently, supplies were coming in from East Pakistan.

I got news that my fifteen-year-old son, whom I had sent to Karachi, had returned on his own and joined Khaled Mosharrafs forces. He was there with Jahanara Imam’s son Rumi’ and some other friends. Later, when I became commander of Sector 7. I brought him to my sector.

Returning to Ashram Bari, I saw that Charlie Company had retreated further from the border, to a new camp. My bedding and suitcase had been properly packed, but when I opened the suitcase, I

2 Jahanara Imam (1929 – 1994) is remembered for her efforts to bring those accused of committing war crimes in the Bangladesh Liberation War to trial. She is popularly known as “Shaheed Janani” (Mother of a Martyr) as her son Rumi, who went to fight in the Liberation War, did not return alive. She wrote an account of 1971 in Ekattorer Dinguli (1986), later translated by Mustafizur Rahman into English found that my binoculars had vanished. In Moulvibazar many people had filled their pockets with money from the bank vault. The binoculars had been found there and an Awami League worker had given it to me as a present. The jawans of the East Bengal Regiment must have thought my suitcase was full of money.

I had not heard from my wife and two daughters, whom I had left in Karatia. Khaled Mosharraf’s freedom fighters had rescued a few families from Dhaka. I got in touch with them and met a young man named Ziauddin. I had known his family since the thirties, and he seemed to be a smart young man. He agreed to help me rescue my family,

From Dhaka he contacted my family, but, in the process, too many people got to know about it. So, instead of bringing them back himself, he arranged for my wife and daughters to be sent with Wahidul Haque. They were able to reach Khaled Mosharraf’s sector, overcoming many problems and avoiding many dangers. I made arrangements to send them to Calcutta, with the help of the government of Tripura.

————

3.Wahidul Haque (1933-2007) was a renowned Tagore exponent and played a leading role in the Tagore birth centennial celebrations in 1961. The same year he founded Chhayanat, now one of the leading cultural organizations in Bangladesh.

Chapter Eight

I Take Charge of Sector 7

Colonel Osmani had told me to prepare to leave for Tura, in Assam. However, as there was no progress, instead of waiting around in Agartala, 1 left for Calcutta. There Colonel Osmani asked me to take charge of Sector 7. I told him that Major Najmul Huq was doing a good job in that area. Sector 8 was under Abu Osman Choudhury, a Supply Corps officer, while Najmul Huq was Artillery. I suggested that I be sent to Sector 8. He refused to accept my suggestion and insisted that I go to Sector 7. It’s possible he didn’t want me to be too near where he was. Anyway, I agreed.

 

I went to Torongopur, a deserted mango orchard, in the Indian district of West Dinajpur,’ to take charge of Sector 7. Artillery Major

—————

1.In 1947 the former Dinajpur District of the province of Bengal was divided into Dinajpur District, which became part of East Pakistan, and West Dinajpur District, which became part of India. In April 1992, West Dinajpur District was divided into North Dinajpur District and South Dinajpur District.

Najmul Huq knew I was coming and was to take charge. As soon as I arrived, he told me that there was a message for me. I was to go immediately to meet with a Brigadier Prem Singh, who was in charge of helping this sector. I felt a little awkward at the situation.

I left my small suitcase in the tent assigned to me and went to see Prem Singh. I spoke to him for a couple of hours. He had received a British Indian commission during World War II, and was close to retirement. He was delighted to hear that I had completed two courses at the Indian Military Academy in Dehradun. He named quite a few of the officers who had taken those courses and were now brigadiers. I was able to remember many of them.

There were no troops at Prem Singh’s brigade headquarters, just some staff officers and necessary manpower. Major Bannerjee, a Bengali, was brigade major and Major Kohli was Deputy Assistant Adjutant and Quarter Master General (DQ). I don’t remember any other names.

The responsibility of the brigade headquarters – set up in tents – was to support the sector headquarters in all matters, such as supply of weapons, ammunition, food, etc. Brigadier Singh said many good things about Najmul Huq, but also that Huq couldn’t properly oversee the operations in all the sub-sectors. He advised me particularly to take charge of operations.

In fact, there was a slowdown of actions by the Mukti Bahini during the months of June and July. After the surprise attack on Bengali soldiers in the cantonments, the Bengali soldiers of the EPR in Pilkhana, and on the police lines at Rajarbag on March 25, some of the units that had Bengali officers in charge were able to escape. However, the units were not in touch with each other and could only assume that they alone had been able to escape. In the absence of a central command, there was no possibility of an organized retreat. There was no communication among them about the Pakistan army’s counter attacks on the retreating units. They correctly found safety by retreating across the border into India, protecting their backs.

It was well known that India and Pakistan were not friends. The small, scattered units would have been destroyed by the Pakistani troops, so they were forced to cross the border into India, hoping they would not be pursued. Hopefully the Indian authorities would allow these units to stay in the border camps.

 It took time to unify these scattered units. It should also be kept in mind that the retreating Bengali forces had no supplies or heavy weaponry.

On the other hand, there was a widespread awakening to armed struggle among the youth. But they were all unarmed and untrained. They could not be sent into the field without a few months’ preparation.

Also, it could not be expected that the Indian authorities would immediately give weapons to these young men, as soon as they crossed the border. The Indian Army could not be expected to have a surplus of arms available for distribution. We could not presume that India would declare immediate support for us and start distributing arms all around the border. Between April and June, we needed the time to organize a guerilla force, for military training and for distribution of weapons.

We couldn’t be expected to keep up guerilla activity in every sector, with our young men armed with just knives and grenades. Even so, our young men were doing their best. We had some successes, but there were many mishaps too. For these reasons, there was a slowdown of action during June and July. We lacked weapons and trained guerillas.

Brigadier Prem Singh was a native of Kashmir, and a straightforward person. I developed a satisfactory relationship with him. He came to know that the chief of the Bangladesh Army had been pestering the Indian eastern command headquarters to distribute weapons and the two sides were upset with each other. The Indian Army chief was said to have been annoyed at Colonel Osmani.

Prem Singh would say that our struggle for freedom would be discussed at the international level and create a new polarization of the great powers. There was a possibility that India would, in the near future, become involved in an international war. As a result, India’s ordnance factories had been ordered to modernize and expand the capabilities of the Indian Army. So I should keep that in mind and not bother him with demands for advanced weapons. He added that it took experience to make proper use of weapons and we could only acquire this experience gradually.

Prem Singh had much to say about the conduct and behaviour of Russia, China, the U. S. A. and the United Nations. These things have been discussed by others writing on the history of the Liberation War. I don’t feel the need to add to that.

Sector 7 included four districts: Rajshahi, Dinajpur, Bogra, and Pabna. A small rural area of Rangpur was also included in this sector, for strategic reasons. The sub-sectors were as follows: Jolongi, also known as Charghat, under Major Abdur Rashid; Lalgola, under Major Giasuddin; Mohodipur under Captain Mohiuddin Jahangir, Hamzapur, under Captain Idris. Sub-sectors Malon, Topon, Anginabad and Kazipara were administered by Indian majors or captains.

I had a number of officers who had earlier served in the Pakistan Army: Major Gias, Captain Jahangir, Captain Rashid, and Lieutenant Idris. Gias had been in Pakistan’s Frontier Force regiment. Jahangir was from the Engineer Corps. Rashid was an infantry officer. Idris was retired from EME corps. Flight Lieutenant W. A. Rahim came to Torongopur for a few days. However, just as he suddenly appeared one day, he also suddenly made his exit, without permission, on his own. Subsequently, my sector was joined by seven newly commissioned second lieutenants: Qayyum Khan, Bazlur Rashid, Rafiqul Islam, Awal Chowdhury, Kaiser Haq, Aminul Islam, and Saifullah.

There was a reason why there were no regular troops in my sector. The Bangladesh army was preparing to establish three brigades. There was a shortage of officers, so the available ones were culled from the irregular forces and posted to these three brigades. Similarly, most of the JCOs of the EBR except for a few unsuitable for combat were posted to the three brigades. Many of the JCOs in my sector were from the former EPR.

It was nearly two hundred miles from Charghat (or Jolongi) sector in Rajshahi, to Tokrabari in Dinajpur. Lalgola and Charghat sub-sectors were on the west bank of the Ganges. The Farakka Barrage was being built, so I was only able to go to Lalgola once, and never made it to Charghat. I would communicate with Rashid through Gias. After December 16, Rashid met me in Natore.

Because of the shortage of officers and trained fighters, several sub-sectors were operating directly under me. These were Hamzapur, Mohodipur and Lalgola. The sub-sectors under Indian officers were

2 Mohiuddin Jahangir (1948 – 1971) was killed in an attempt to break through enemy defence on the banks of the

—————-

Mahananda. For his valour, he was awarded the Bir Sreshtho, the highest military award in Bangladesh.

———————–

directly supervised by the Indian brigade headquarters. I inspected these sub-sectors a few times, and came to the conclusion that the Indian authorities were using the boys of the sub-sectors with a specific plan. The plan was that these boys would serve as scouts for the Indian army when the Indians entered the war. Not boy scouts, but observers in advance of regular forces. They gather information about enemy forces and return in a defensive operation to keep their own forces informed.

In the frontal advance on the Pakistanis, these boys operated bravely under the Indian authorities. The progress of the Indian army depended on the information provided by them. These boys would often be deployed a mile or so ahead of the Indian forces.

When India entered the war at the end of November, I would go forward of the Indian positions to gather the information from our boys. Indian officers were eloquent in their praise for these boys. They said it was due to their good scouting that it was possible for the Indian army to advance with confidence. It ensured the success of the Indian strategy of surrounding and bypassing Pakistani forces.

Malon sub-sector was the nearest to Torongopur. A JCO was in charge of this sub-sector when I went to inspect it the first time. I was dissatisfied at what I found. They were big on talk. I understood, from interviewing them at all levels, that Prem Singh had been given many made-up reports from this sub-sector.

I found out that the fighters commanded by this JCO couldn’t even enter Bangladesh. As soon as the people inside Bangladesh became aware of their presence, they raised a hue and cry. In fact, on a number of occasions to alert people about impending danger, they would even give the azaan, the call to prayer. The reason for this fear was that, instead of doing what they were supposed to, these forces set about robbing the local people. Often they would kidnap someone. It was believed that an Awami League leader of Dinajpur and his co-workers were involved.

They got so bold that one day they came to my Torongopur headquarters and tried to present me with a typewriter and a table fan. I had them arrested on the spot and sent them off to the guardroom.

After that incident, I looked further into the reasons for the failure of their operations. Gradually it came out that they, along

with an Awami League MP, had made a deal with a group of Indian bandits, and planned to plunder timber areas of Dinajpur. The proof of it was the brand-new saw-mills popping up on the roads that I used.

Once I came to this sub-sector with a special team and captured an Indian bandit chief. After talking it over with Prem Singh, I handed the bandit chief over to the nearest police station, along with my report.

The members of the sub-sector were gathered together and lectured about the proper conduct and behaviour of freedom fighters. There were no further instances of irresponsible behaviour among them. We emphasized that freedom fighters had to be friendly and sympathetic with the local people, so that they would cooperate when the fighters had to perform fifth-column activities against the Pakistanis like disrupting enemy communications by sabotaging roads, phone lines, railroads, etc.

The Bangladesh government-in-exile had established an administrative structure with MNAS, MPs, and Awami League workers, in every sub-sector. I went to them to ask for help with the incidents I just described. There were some positive results, but I still went ahead with a letter directly to the Prime Minister. Subsequently, some courts of inquiry were conducted on the orders of the Bangladesh government-in-exile.

Luckily, Captain Mohiuddin Jahangir arrived at my headquarters at about this time, and he was posted to Mohodipur sub-sector. Mohiuddin was an extraordinary patriot and an able administrator. The sub-sector was completely transformed within a couple of weeks. They showed how well they could perform guerilla operations and earned praise from Prem Singh, as well as from me.

Most of the freedom fighters in my sector were simple young villagers, urban workers and students. Most of the students were school students, while a few were in college and at Rajshahi University. I advised Major Najmul Huq to depend on the senior students. Major Huq had been a regular officer in the Pakistan Army. He would rely more on the JCOs from the EPR and Ansar forces, influenced by the concept of chain of command.

I would spend the night at different sub-sectors when they were carrying out guerilla operations. I would chat with the boys

54

who had just returned from operations to get the details of the night’s activities. Gradually it became clear that there was quite a difference between their accounts and that of the JCOs. Once across the border, the JCOs would find a safe spot and send the boys forward. They didn’t take any risks themselves, and so they had no contribution to the boys’ operations. Seeing all this, I suggested that Major Najmul Huq should select leaders from among the boys themselves.

It became clear that among the few members of the EPR and even the EBR (East Bengal Regiment), seniority was proportional to cowardice. They were adept at bullying the boys in camp, but when it came to operations, they were full of excuses for not going. And when they did go, they didn’t show courage. Of course, there were exceptions.

I became so disenchanted with members of the EPR and EBR, that at one point I began to send back the ones that were posted to my sector.

I remember one incident in Mohodipur. This sub-sector was getting quite skillful at operations, forcing the Pakistani troops to retreat. Order and discipline prevailed at the sub-sector headquarters. I arrived there one day to find a disturbance going on. Some locals, who had always been helpful to us, had come with a complaint against a JCO of the EPR. He was said to have gone to their village on the previous night and tried to rob them. He was even said to have behaved improperly with a woman. The village was aroused and they overpowered the JCO.

I could tell that the complaint was backed up by eye-witnesses and credible. Still, I investigated further and verified the proof of the JCO’s offences. The offences were unforgivable. I could also see how angry the villagers were. There was a danger of damaging the reputation of the freedom forces if the matter was not resolved.

I begged forgiveness from the villagers, on behalf of the freedom forces. At one point in the proceedings, I ordered the JCO to be executed. There was no alternative. He was tied to a palm tree and ten freedom fighters were ordered to prepare to shoot him.

I became extremely distressed while I was doing all this. Overlooking the JCO’s acts would have cost us the cooperation of the local people. And our reputation would be ruined. I kept having these thoughts, and could see no alternative to the death sentence.

The process of carrying out the execution was going on in front of the complainants and many others who were present. Just before giving the order to fire, I said to the complainants that I could not remove myself from the responsibility of carrying out the execution. I did not have the power to pardon the accused. Only the villagers could do that. I asked them to consider that the execution was in their hands. I could hold off the execution if they wanted to be merciful.

The village representatives were upset and agitated. They talked among themselves for a few minutes. An old man among them spoke and said they were prepared to forgive the accused, but he had to be punished in some other way.

I heaved a sign of relief. I gave a new order: the accused had to leave the camp, then and there. He should not return anywhere near any of my sub-sectors. The villagers seemed to approve of my order. The JCO was immediately drummed out.

By no means do I wish to suggest that all the JCOs of EPR and EBR in my sector were cowards and criminals. They were much older, compared to the average freedom fighter. Many of them had experienced being under fire. They were all married men, worried about their families. They did not lack intelligence. It was their duty to send the young ones to do the job, and it was the young ones who were new to adventure, inquisitive, enthusiastic, spirited, etc. They deserve the most credit for the Liberation War.

Towards the end of the war, two newly commissioned second lieutenants, Saifullah and Kaiser Haq, were operating on the extreme left front in my sector, in Dinajpur. Suddenly, Saifullah was injured and had to be hospitalized. I became worried that the newly commissioned Kaiser was now on his own.

At just that time a middle-aged JCO of the EME was posted to the sector. He was big and strong, with a smiling face. I’m sorry to have forgotten his name. When I asked him to help with operations, he accepted with enthusiasm. Within a week, news of his death came to my headquarters.

The report said that some of the boys had panicked when the shooting started and started to run back. Cane in hand, the subedar was busy sending them back. Suddenly an enemy bullet hit him in the groin and he started bleeding heavily. The boys tried to get him to a distant hospital, carrying him on their shoulders. At the hospital they tried their best, but couldn’t stop the bleeding. He was martyred.

To this day, I am stricken each time I remember this. He was a member of the armed forces. He was probably never trained to command, but he rose to his duty to turn the boys back towards the bunkers. His patriotism is enshrined in me.

I have spoken of the recruiting policy for the freedom forces. It was sadly mistaken. The Awami League was entrusted with the responsibility. Many of their selections were based on nepotism. Their patriotism was questionable. In every sub-sector we saw that these recruits were unmotivated. They had joined the freedom fighters only for food and shelter. I saw for myself, that as soon as there was an exchange of fire with the enemy, they would start retreating, ending up at the headquarters or in the field kitchen. Not only that, the moment they became aware of the enemy positions, they would panic and start shooting randomly, putting their comrades in danger.

I got very worried when such reports became a daily routine. Clearly, the training given by the Indian authorities was insufficient. They were inadequately trained about discipline under fire.

So I brought the poorly trained fighters to headquarters and set up a demonstration in the mango orchard. About a hundred boys were lined up, and I gave the order, “About turn.”

I picked ten of them, numbered them, and told them to go two to four hundred yards back and hide in the mango trees. They were told to shout “Tooky” if their number was called.

I ordered the line to about turn again and asked them if they could see the ten enemies hiding in the trees. They couldn’t. Then I called out numbers and they yelled back with “Tooky.” I asked the lined-up boys if they could tell where the enemy was. Everyone started to point to where the sounds had come from. I explained that if we panicked and started shooting before the enemy was in range, we would just be giving away our own positions. I told them to go back to their sub-sectors and pass the training on to the others.

I never entertained the idea of defeating the enemy with guerilla fighters in face-to-face combat. Our strategy was to use guerilla tactics to scare and demoralize the enemy. We tried to force the enemy to retreat by destroying or damaging their roads, bridges, rail lines, power supply, phone lines etc.

The best way to carry out guerilla activities is with the cooperation of the local people. Guerilla fighters have to make friends with the people and earn their trust by defending them when necessary. The guerillas grew in skill as the war went on.

The more the enemy troops oppressed the people, the more cooperation we got. The record shows that towards the end of the war, as a result of guerilla activities, the enemy had retreated to urban centres and were digging in for frontal battles.

I may seem to be criticizing the guerillas of ’71, but that is not so. I know how long it takes to train soldiers. They wouldn’t touch a weapon for almost a year, just a dummy rifle. Then they start at the rifle range, with each trainee backed by an experienced soldier. Even for guerilla warfare, it takes time to develop skills.

We should remember that most of the guerillas had never laid eyes on a firearm before. Also, most of them were very young, only fifteen to nineteen years old. It was a dubious practice for the Indian authorities to declare them fit for action after four to six weeks of training. But there was no alternative. The Bangladesh military authorities were also pressing them for fighters.

Every sector commander could see for himself the inadequacy of the training. So they arranged for some additional training in specific areas. It would be wrong to blame India and the guerillas for their training. The same problem was seen in World War II, due to the haste in building up the army.

Several years after World War II ended, I read in a research article that ten thousand bullets had been fired for each soldier killed in the war. We have to remember that in war, it is not like shooting birds, where we want a bird for every bullet. Firepower of various types is used to stop the advance of the enemy.

Experience in battle is the best asset for soldiers and their officers. Our guerillas gained experience and improved their skills by taking part in operations. That is the important thing. During the war, we never thought that we could defeat the powerful enemy in just nine months. We mentally prepared ourselves to go on fighting for five to ten years. Still, the outcome of a war is not just the result of face-to-face combat. The political battle is part of it as well. The sages have said that politics is war without bloodshed. It was because of politics that our struggle for independence was soon rewarded.

58

Chapter 9

Will Our Names Be Written in Gold?

While I was at Torongopur, I had to go to Malda quite often. At Malda there was a Circuit House from the days of the British raj. It was a large building, though rather unattractive. Since the start of the war, Mr. Hannan, a district judge, had taken refuge there, with his family. He had taken some responsibilities on his own and was liaising between Awami League leaders and freedom fighters. Because of his honesty and devotion to work, someone or other had made him in charge of relief materials received from international agencies and from India.

I inspected the materials once. Unfortunately, there were no medical supplies. The judge had a cordial relationship with the local

authorities, and he assured me that he would arrange for any medical supplies I needed through the local Civil Surgeon. Unfortunately, though he tried his best, he was unable to get us what we needed.

There was a widespread outbreak of an itchy rash among the Mohodipur fighters. It could have been due to a lack of vitamins. Our doctors were also short on things like bandages and antiseptics. I asked the Civil Surgeon for some, with no luck.

I wrote to my wife about this problem. She was staying in Kalyani, a suburb of Calcutta. Luckily, she knew Colonel Luthra, secretary for the Relief Ministry. A truckload of medical supplies was sent to Mohodipur on his initiative. I never thought that an Indian minister would do so much for a small sub-sector. There were two full kits for regular operations and another one for eye operations. Our Doctor Moazzem was delighted.

Somehow, a Mercedes ambulance was allotted by Bangladesh Army headquarters and I was told to collect it from the Malda District Magistrate. Despite all my efforts, I couldn’t get it away from the District Magistrate. I still have the letter about the allotted ambulance.

A small outpost of freedom fighters was set up in Bholahat, Rajshahi, near Malda. I didn’t know how it came about. The area was inaccessible, at an extreme point of the East Pakistan border. The Pakistan army never even thought of going there. Later I learnt that a few volunteers from Rajshahi had acquired a little training at some training centre and set up this outpost. They had even exchanged fire with the Indians. So I made a surprise inspection trip.

I liked the way they looked, but it was unclear where they were operating and against whom. They were proud of having kept the area liberated for the time being. I told them that was not the aim of the Liberation War. I instructed them to move forward and take up positions on the banks of the Boalia river. That would not have been hard for them because of the absence of Pakistani troops, but this little force made no effort to leave their outpost to move forward.

Each time I inspected the Bholahat group, I saw that they were taking care of themselves and were keeping cordial relations with the local people. When I visited them, they would also bring up the subject of coming face to face with the enemy.

Later I learnt that there was a secret route in Bholahat, which was used to smuggle silkworms and silk yarn from Rajshahi. This had been going on since Pakistan days, and business thrived during the Liberation War. I was not surprised as military histories note how smuggling goes on during war.

However, while I was not surprised to learn about the smuggling of silk, I was displeased. I tried to take some steps to improve the situation. I directed the group to go up to the Boalia river and gather information about the enemy. I thought there might be some razakars staying at a school there, but the armed volunteers of Bholahat were not keen on active operations.

There was a rare incident here. Very early one day I went to the Bholahat outpost. I sat at a small table, listening to the boys talking about their activities. I saw an emaciated old woman coming towards us with a basket on her head. I told the boys to see what she had in her basket. What I saw was terrifying: There were plastic antipersonnel mines in the basket.

I shouted that the basket should immediately be taken to an isolated area, with great care.

The old woman had no family and begged for food. She lived in a hut next to a palm tree, from where she saw the enemy burying something on the path that our fighters often used from Boalia to the village of Doldolia. She suspected that these objects might be a danger to the freedom fighters. So she crept out of her hut, found the mines, and picked them up.

We were all very lucky that she had not put any pressure on them. A disaster had been definitely possible.

I was utterly bewildered. How could this emaciated old woman in dirty clothes, sitting in her hut, even realize there was a war going on? Or that our boys were the friendly forces and those who were putting peril in their way the enemy? Had the story of the Liberation War been spread by the breezes to people at every level?

She had no trouble telling friend from foe, but what was it that made her sympathetic to our boys, that made her go out of her way to remove an obstacle from their path? I saluted her a thousand times, in my mind.

In Britain they award the George Cross to civilians for important contributions during war. The old woman deserved such an award.

I was humbled that this old woman was moved, all on her own, to perform such a deed out of love for our boys. It might explain why I was unable to accept the Bir Uttam award. I have seen many other acts of courage by civilians. Everyone is a soldier in a war of liberation, young and old alike. For this very reason, it is not possible to give medals for acts of courage to civilians. It would be impossible to pick and choose among the many who deserve it.

The Bholahat outpost showed no sign of becoming active, so I told Captain Jahangir to send Second Lieutenant Rafiqul Islam to Bholahat. This area was just north of Chapai-Nawabganj, and strengthening it would improve security for the Mohodipur sub

sector.

To implement my plan, I made a team with Captain Idris and some of his fighters from Hamzapur as well as Captain Jahangir and a group from Mohodipur, along with myself. The three of us planned the operation. Jahangir was put in charge.

The day before the operation, Idris, Jahangir, and I went to the outskirts of the area covered by the outpost, for recce. We took precautions even though we were in our own area. Suddenly, one of our group raised a hand to signal us to go back. He was hiding behind a hut and pointing at two men in white shalwar and kameez with an LMG (light machine-gun). They were staring in our direction.

The four or five of us broke up into two groups and went forward. Suddenly there was a shot from our side. I saw through a gap in some trees that one of the enemy was down and that the other had dropped his weapon and run away.

The incident was quite shocking. How did two of the enemy enter the area that we controlled? How did they know which way we were going? Many of us could have been killed if we had been the least bit careless.

Many of our operations were disrupted in this way. I often suspected that we had been infiltrated by razakars who passed advance information about our operations to the enemy.

The next day Idris and Jahangir rejected my advice to delay the operation. Around 5 p.m., Jahangir began to brief the group leaders. He was explaining everything very well and the question and answer session was also completed.

Suddenly one of the boys stood up and said that the next day’s operation might turn out to be a big one. The enemy might have extra troops and there might be many casualties. He asked Jahangir, “Sir, if we die, will our names be written in gold, in the history of Bangladesh?”

Jahangir snapped at him and said, “We aren’t fighting to have our names written in gold. We should be proud to have our blood mix with the soil of our land. You’re lucky to have been born at a time when you could die for your country.”

The next day the boy advanced bravely towards the enemy. He came in the line of light machine-gun firing from a bunker. He was martyred.

The operation itself was a success eventually, though not that very day.

Jahangir’s group advanced on the left but was turned back by stiff resistance. It was a wooded area and we had no radio communications. We were on the right and didn’t know about Jahangir’s retreat. Suddenly my son Nadeem came running up, all excited, and said that if we didn’t retreat immediately, the enemy would trap us from the rear. I immediately ordered Idris to pull back with his group.

A couple of weeks later, with the help of some dependable boys, we gathered information about the enemy and were able to advance up to Boalia. The enemy was weak and probably took fright, abandoning all positions.

I arrived at the house of the local area representative at 7 a.m. and started questioning some of the locals. After about ten minutes a woman, tightly veiled, emerged from the inner quarters of the homestead. She spoke in a strong voice, and said, “My husband has not answered your questions properly.”

She gave a comprehensive account of the number of enemy troops, where they were located, what they wore, and how they behaved with the local people. The local leader, who was her husband, shouted at her several times, to go back inside, and in turn was yelled at by us. We were surprised that a woman could find the courage to disregard her husband, and give us information that proved him to be a liar.

Our guerrillas wanted to kill this local leader. That would have been wrong indeed. But we let him know that if there was so much as a scratch on his wife for telling the truth, we would chop him to bits.

The incident was quite unusual. An obscure villagehomemaker was so inspired by the Liberation War, that she took it upon herself to practically reject her husband, with no regard for the consequences. It is possible that thousands of women were moved to work for the Liberation War, against the wishes of their husbands. Their courage should be mentioned in our histories.

A young man named Bhadra Pobodi joined our first operation. He was included in Jahangir’s team, to give him some field experience. I returned to Torongopur with him after the failed operation. Just a few days later, Bhadra took a day’s leave for some Hindu festival. He said he had some relatives in Indian Dinajpur. He never came back. I haven’t heard of him in all these thirty years since.

Being a coward had nothing to do with his being a Hindu. I have mentioned the cowardice of a few others. Our recruiting policy had been faulty. Unmotivated young men were selected by selfseeking people for political reasons or from nepotism.

My son Nadeem was born in October, 1955. He went to war secretly, after we had forbidden him. Some time in 1972 he was talking to his mother about being afraid on the battlefield. He said that of course he was afraid. No one is without fear, but soldiers go numb from fear and enter a mechanical state. It’s kill or be killed.

He would also start to think about his mother and two sisters in the hospital at the rear of the battlefield. What would become of them? There was just one way open to him: Defeat the enemy.

This was Nadeem’s explanation. All soldiers use their own logic in order to confront the enemy in battle.

The low representation of Hindus in the Mukti Bahini led to a question from Prem Singh’s brigade headquarters. Why were we not letting Bengali Hindus take part in the Liberation War? I replied that the recruitment policy was not in the hands of sector commanders but of the Awami League leaders. Probably under pressure from higher authorities, he advised me to recruit young Hindu men from Dinajpur.

An Indian major and a prominent Hindu of Dinajpur were sent to me. Together we went to a refugee camp. I spoke first, calling on the young men to join the war. The major and the local leader followed with their speeches.

We didn’t have much success. The refugees said that they had to leave their country because the Bengali Muslims had themselves acted just like the Pakistani aggressors. Their young men were afraid to be with the Muslim members of the freedom forces.

My companions refused to accept sectarianism as an issue. They presented many arguments why the young men should participate in the liberation struggle of Bangladesh. Sadly, our little plan came to nothing. Not a single young man, from all those refugees, came forward,

There were fourteen to fifteen thousand freedom fighters in my sector. I often got to see the lists. There were only about ten or so Hindu names among them.

However, it should be kept in mind that just as Muslim boys often did not disclose their family identity, Hindu boys also did not use their full name. Many of the boys used just one name, and many of these names could have been either Hindu or Muslim. I would never ask about someone’s religion. It’s possible that quite a few Hindu boys were among my forces, mingled with their Muslim companions.

The process of issuing certificates to freedom fighters began after December 16. At one stage the process became complicated with red tapism. As a result, after 1972, applications required the signature of the sector commander. I have signed over a hundred applications from Hindu freedom fighters.

Sectarianism, however, often raised its ugly head. When I joined the Liberation War, I left my wife and two daughters in Kalyani, a small township north of Calcutta. The population of this suburb rose to nearly 100,000, due to the refugees who started arriving after March 1971.

My family was not willing to sit idle in Calcutta They were eager to become involved in volunteer work. Prominent members of Calcutta society advised my family as well as the family of Lt.

Commander Uddin’ to go to Kalyani and do volunteer work with the refugees. It turned out that there were no Muslim refugees here, just Hindu. This did not bother my family, and their work was going smoothly. They were even allotted a small house in the residential area of Kalyani University.

At some point it became known that these families were Muslim. The refugees were enraged. They complained that Muslims had turned them into refugees by attacking them and burning their houses. How dare Muslims seek to help Hindus now? Some local people sided with the refugees and planned to attack the house where my family was staying with some other Muslim women. The problem became known to the good people of the neighbourhood. They intervened to move everyone to Calcutta under cover of darkness.

Sectarianism was not confined to the Hindus. We all had some relatives in Calcutta, who had not migrated to East Pakistan after the partition of India. They took issue with us. They strongly believed that the Mukti Bahini had been instigated by India to break up Pakistan.

There were numerous cases of such misunderstandings in 1971, although I have not heard of any that ended in a malicious mishap. It didn’t have to be this way. The main reason behind it was that the Bangladesh government’s publicity about the Liberation War was poor.

There was inadequate publicity about why and how the Liberation War started, about what had happened on March 25. There were more than a few intellectuals and senior bureaucrats at the central Bangladesh government in exile who were absorbed with plans for their own advancement in an independent Bangladesh. They should have established a department of propaganda during the war. In the absence of information, the debates took a different turn and became motivated by emotions. If there had been a periodic publication, there would have been no question of sectarianism.

Lt. Commander S. M. Uddin was in the Indian Navy with me in 1943, and he became a close family friend. In 1971 he was working at the James Finlay Tea Estate in Sylhet. When the tea gardens were occupied by Pakistani forces, the company rehabilitated him and his family in Calcutta.

66

Chapter 10

Some Problems with Razakars

In 1971 we captured quite a few razakars in different sub-sectors during the border clashes. Many surrendered on their own. They informed us that they had not joined the razakars voluntarily. The Pakistani administrators would pressure the families in towns and villages to send their boys to join the razakars or be subjected to torture and even death.

During an operation at Hamzapur, Idris’ force was advancing on two flanks, just as day was breaking. Suddenly, a razakar, waving a white shirt as a flag of truce, approached Idris and said that there were a large number of razakars led by Pakistani police in heavily fortified positions in the path of Idris’ advance. If Lt. Idris continued on his way, the razakars would be forced to fire on the freedom fighters, or the razakars would be tortured by the Pakistanis.

The flag holder advised Idris to turn his forces away. Idris accepted the suggestion and avoided casualties. The incident proves that there was a feeling of guilt among the razakars, and they sometimes wanted to help the freedom fighters.

Over a hundred razakars surrendered to us in the three or four months that the sector was in operation. At one point we stopped accepting the surrender of unarmed razakars. As a result, they would then surrender with their weapons.

We held these razakars at Torongopur headquarters and interrogated them till we were satisfied with their stories. Then I arranged for them to be re-trained. Two companies were formed with

them.

Second Lieutenants Saifullah’ and Kaiser Haq had taken Indian training and joined our sector. Under these two officers some former razakars fought quite bravely in Dinajpur.

After some days, various sub-sectors reported that some of the former razakars had disappeared after an operation. We also had unexpected setbacks in some of our planned operations. I suspected that we had been infiltrated by some razakars who were still loyal to

For an account of Saifullah’s bravery see Appendix 2.

Pakistan and were spying upon us. I directed the sub-sectors to be careful about accepting the surrender of razakars.

I was kept in the dark about the conduct of freedom fighters towards the imprisoned razakars. They could be quite cruel. My son, Nadeem, reported an incident in which he had seen some freedom fighters take imprisoned razakars away to be killed. He had been very upset at a case when a razakar’s eyes had been gouged out. I was both upset and angry.

I ordered the sub-sector commanders to stop these incidents Our members should follow international conventions and send prisoners to headquarters. Everyone should remember that we were fighting a war for independence and it was the Pakistan Army that was committing genocide, against the rules of war.

The only other thing I can say is that many terrible things happen in war that a commander cannot fully prevent. I could only order the commanders and group leaders to put an end to it, from our side.

Bengalis are not known to be particularly brave or courageous. I do remember a story I heard as a child, about Bijoy Singh, a Bengali who captured Lanka. I know of no other Bengali expedition or victory. Bengalis are said to be normally peaceful, but they can also be cruel and violent to a helpless, unarmed person. It was due to this stereotyping that no regiments were raised from the Bengalis during British rule. There was a cavalry regiment called Bengal Lancers, but none of them were Bengali

Any coin has two sides to it. In 1965 there was a war between India and Pakistan. Punjabi, Pathan and Bengali battalions were deployed in Khemkaran, near Lahore, to defend the city. The Punjabi and Pathan troops retreated from the Indian shelling and tank attack. However, the troops of the East Bengal Regiment stood firm and repulsed the attack. This Bengali regiment was led by my close friend, A. T. K. Huq. Obviously, Bengali soldiers can show courage, with proper training, courageous leadership and patriotic motivation.

The liberation forces were divided into two distinct forces. The soldiers trained in Pakistan made up the K, Z, and S forces and were called the regular forces. The irregular forces were made up of farmers, labourers, school and college students, and some university students. These irregular forces were charged with guerilla warfare.

Some of them were sent to disrupt the enemy’s support systems. They were to avoid frontal combat.

On the other side, the Pakistanis were afraid of taking up positions near the border. Even though we didn’t face them directly, our fighters would operate behind them, attacking lines of communications like roads, telephone lines and power supply. Even more important, they collected information about the enemy.

We had precious few trained officers. Group leaders had to be selected from among the fighters. We often made the wrong choice.

I remember one case where we picked an honours student of Rajshahi University to be group leader. The group returned from an operation, and I happened to be there to hear them having a heated discussion. I gathered that they had failed to reach their target, and it was the group leader’s fault.

One of the members of this group was an illiterate young man, a Santal. The cowardly leader couldn’t accept his enthusiasm and skill. The others wanted to make this young Santal their group leader and try again to reach the same target. The college student agreed, with a smile.

Everyone in the group agreed that the college student was good at maintaining security and arranging food and shelter, but was afraid to advance towards enemy positions. The consensus was to let the young Santal lead the action and give the college student administrative duties.

This is just one incident among many. Group members would themselves change their leader. This was a good rule for all concerned. There is a saying among armed forces worldwide, that the best promotions are not by recommendations (from above), but who the soldiers find most deserving (from below).

The Pakistani forces learned that they could not maintain strong positions all along the entire border. Almost all the guerillas were operating in their own localities. They had no trouble bypassing the enemy positions. Moreover, all the common people were in total support of the guerillas.

It was with the local leaders that problems arose. Some of them were collaborating with the enemy, as members of so-called peace committees. They would inform on the guerillas and report the names of those who gave shelter to guerillas. This was dangerous for us because the Pakistani forces would then burn the houses of those who sheltered guerillas and torture the householders. As a result I was forced to order the death of members of the peace committees. There is no alternative for traitors.

After liberation, the wrong policies of the powers that be led to murder charges being brought against those boys who killed members of the peace committees. These fighters had to leave their own villages because of the mistaken policies.

The wrong policies were unexpected. Even after liberation, there was no shortage of Pakistan supporters. The blame lies with the government in power. Those who did their duty in 1971 were accused of murder after 1972.

Torongopur was the headquarters of Sector 7. It was in the district capital of Indian Dinajpur. The roads were paved, and the headquarters were within a mile of the town. The paved road went through an unpopulated mango orchard, where the headquarters were set up.

When Major Najmul Huq first set up headquarters, it was elsewhere. He moved the headquarters to Torongopur while he was still in command. There were no Indian households nearby. It was quite deserted. The Indian brigade headquarters were not far.

Major Najmul Huq had laid out the headquarters nicely. I didn’t have to change anything. There were two other officers at HQ, besides Huq. They may have been from the Ansar forces, and their homes were not far from the border. I did not make changes to the responsibilities they had been given.

We also had Major Moksul Choudhury, who had been a doctor in the Pakistan Army Medical Corps. There was a separate tent for the doctor, but he didn’t have many occasions to treat casualties, because there were Indian hospitals nearby, both military and civilian, that were closer for those wounded in the sub-sectors. I remember sending him to inspect medical facilities in the subsectors.

My personal routine was to leave every night for some subsector or other. I would reach my destination early in the morning and spend the day there. At the end of the day I would return to headquarters. Most nights I was on the road.

The headquarters of Sector 7 was by no means a tactical headquarters. There were no telephone or radio links with the subsectors. The sub-sectors didn’t even have jeeps to send important messages to HQ. The lack of communications was a huge obstacle. Though sometimes, if there was a message from Indian areas near the sub-sector, it would be sent to Brigadier Prem Singh’s headquarters.

The end result was that Major Najmul Huq ran HQ with the help of Dr. (Major) Moksul Choudhury. I would try to participate in the sub-sector operations.

Major Huq deputized in my absence, communicating with the Indian brigade, division, and corps HQ. I would only go to division and corps HQ for important meetings. Once I was called to such a meeting, but, since I was not in Torongopur, Major Huq went instead. A Lt. Commander of the Indian Navy was with him. Huq was driving.

I used to enjoy driving on that road. The road was wide and well-made. I would drive the jeep at full speed. Maybe Major Huq was driving like me. Sadly, there was an accident, and both Major Huq and the Lt. Commander were killed.

I got the news from Prem Singh, between 11 a.m. and noon, when I returned. I was told that the martyred Huq’s body would soon be sent to Torongopur. The bad news was conveyed to the administrative offices of the Bangladesh government in Dinajpur. Many of the officers there were soon at my HQ

The local Awami League leaders got the news a couple of hours before my return. The family of the martyred Major Najmul Huq had rented a house in Dinajpur. The leaders who had gathered were waiting for me to inform Mrs. Huq.

I was a little upset, at first, that the news had not been sent to Mrs. Huq for two hours. I understood that no one wanted to be the bearer of the sad news. I had to do it myself. I couldn’t imagine how I would give Mrs. Huq the news and what I would say to comfort her. I can’t even describe the scene, it was so heart-breaking.

Before I came to Torongopur, Major Huq had stayed with his family for many days at the Malda Circuit House. It was decided he would be buried at Sona Masjid, in the liberated area of Bangladesh. His wife would be fetched as soon as the battered body could be cleaned up and made ready for the ritual washing.

When the Indian authorities learned that the body would be given the ritual bath at the Circuit House, they had a problem with it. They couldn’t allow a Muslim corpse in the Circuit House.

The official residence of the DC of Malda was next door. I sent a few people to ask permission from the DC. He declined.

I decided to ask the DC myself, but was told that he had left on tour. I was sad and angry. The Hindu authorities refused to let a dead body be washed in the Circuit House bathroom, for religious reasons.

There was an organization in Kolkata that was dedicated to shunning sectarianism and keeping peace. I think it was headed by Maitreyi Devi, the writer and social worker. I have often heard her speak of the sectarianism of Muslims. At some point I went to Calcutta and described this incident to her close friend and widelyknown personality, Gauri Ayub. I only got words of sympathy. I never heard of any official inquiry or any other steps being taken.

We ended up taking the body to Mohodipur sub-sector. His family was shown the body, ritually washed. The burial took place after the maghrib prayers at sunset. Hundreds of local people joined the janaza, the funeral prayer, along with the freedom fighters. Major Huq was buried in his uniform, which is appropriate for martyred soldiers.

Though we grieved over the sudden, untimely death of Najmul Huq, I had to think about how to replace his helpfulness, expertise, and cooperation. Major Dr. Moksul Choudhury gradually began to take over Najmul Huq’s duties, on his own, in a memorable display of administrative expertise. The actions of the sector would have been stalled without such an officer taking up these duties.

The Indian authorities were very strict about the distribution of rations. They would count every fighter at HQ and in the sub-sectors. But at each place there were additional young men taking shelter. We couldn’t turn them away. They would be gradually transferred to youth camps.

We avoided food shortages in sub-sectors by mutual cooperation between sub-sectors. The boys could also catch fish in the liberated area, which the local people were happy to allow. But somehow, scurvy appeared in some of the sub-sectors.

Scurvy is caused by a lack of green and leafy vegetables, but it is hard to meet the shortage in a permanent way. We could have acquired it from the locals. We repeatedly requested the Indian authorities for the medication needed to treat the condition, without success. We had to fetch it from Calcutta.

Our guerilla actions increased, as time went by. There were increasing clashes with the Pakistani auxiliary forces. As a result, our casualties went up too.

At Mohodipur, Dr. Moazzem worked tirelessly to serve the wounded. He was short of medicines and even bandages. I informed my wife, Sultana, who was in Calcutta, about the situation. With cold weather coming on, we also needed warm clothes and blankets.

My wife was able to convey the news to Colonel Luthra, Secretary for the central Ministry of Relief of the Indian government. Colonel Luthra took a personal initiative to acquire two truckloads of clothes and medicines and put them in my wife’s hands. She lost no time in sending the materials to my HQ. At almost the same time, Sultana and our two daughters, Naila and Lubna, took a train to Malda and contacted me. Given the situation, I entrusted them to Captain Mohiuddin Jahangir in Mohodipur sub-sector.

My family found a place to stay in the liberated area of Sona Masjid. My two daughters started to work as assistants to Dr. Moazzem. My daughters had never worked with the sick and had never seen wounded people either. I heard they couldn’t bring themselves to help with amputations, when Dr. Moazzem requested it, but they had to. Dr. Moazzem gave them a good lecture to motivate them to help in such cases.

Someone named Hossain had taken refuge at Torongopur HQ. He had been given the status of an officer, with no rank, as it was not possible to do so. This young man was eager for work and probably lightened the load for Dr. Moksul Choudhury. He did have a habit of talking too much, and the officers would make fun of him. I had to scold the officers a few times.

Sector HQ was well-disciplined, and I can only remember one unpleasant incident. It was about eating beef. It should be kept in mind that there were Muslims living in Indian Dinajpur. One of our members had bought beef from a Muslim shop and cooked it at HQ. A Sikh operator of the Signal Corps objected to this and kicked up a big fuss. It took the intervention of both Brigadier Prem Singh and myself to calm things down.

The biggest shortage in Sector 7 was of trained and experienced officers. Artillery Major Najmul Huq had been the most senior. His untimely death was deeply felt in the sector. Major Dr. Moksul Choudhury did his best to fill the gap.

Major Gias had been with the Frontier Force regiment of Pakistan. He had set up his sub-sector in Lalgola, on the western bank of the Ganges, with the approval of the Indian authorities and Major Najmul Huq, even before I took command. I gave him full discretion because of his distance from HQ as well as the timeconsuming ferry on the way. The professionally trained Major Rashid was in Charghat, south of Lalgola. I delegated the overseeing of his operations to Major Gias.

When I took command of Sector 7, I found just one trained officer, in the Dinajpur area. He was Lt. later Captain Idris, of the EME corps. Though an engineer by profession, he showed great courage and skill as an infantry soldier in clashes with the Pakistani forces.

Apart from the above, I had just one other, an engineer, Captain Mohiuddin Jahangir, who had been trained as an officer in Pakistan.

After quite a while, seven more officers, all second lieutenants trained in India, were posted to my sector. There was still a shortage of officers, considering that the fighters in the sector numbered about 14,000. The gap was filled from among the fighters who showed personality and reliability. They were given higher positions on a local basis.

The ordinary guerillas were given just one month’s training by the Indian authorities, which was inadequate. The Indians can’t be blamed as our need was enormous. Many young men were waiting for training in the youth camps set up by Bangladesh. The Indians didn’t have the facilities to train them all, because they were themselves preparing to battle the Pakistanis. They were doing what they could for us.

It is hard to give weapons training in a short time. It takes intelligence and motivation for training to be effective. Because of the wrong recruitment policies of the Awami League government, many unqualified young men were given the opportunity. They couldn’t make good use of the training in such a short time.

Commitment is essential for training. Those who joined just for food and shelter, were of no use to us. Quite the contrary. They would open fire unnecessarily and run away as soon as they faced the enemy

The effect of inadequate training was evident among officers as well. Even though they were of a better quality from being welleducated, they weren’t fit for important duties, due to their youth and lack of experience. However, being patriotic and having a sense of responsibility, they were able to show skill, bravery and courage in many operations.

Brigadier Prem Singh sent for me one day and spoke of a setpiece attack by Indian regulars from a base on the Dinajpur border. The target was the Pakistani company entrenched at the Khanpur BOP. He asked me if there were any fighters in my sub-sector who were qualified to take part in this operation. I picked Captain Idris and his troops. I told Prem Singh not to put Idris’ troops in the vanguard, but on the flank.

None of our officers had ever taken part in a set-piece attack. The Indian plan was to use heavy artillery bombardment prior to the assault. Indian tanks and infantry would advance during the shelling.

I had taken part in such exercises while serving in the Pakistan Army. I had not realized at the time that we would be doing such operations in earnest in a few years. So I gathered all the officers who could be spared from the sub-sectors, and drove them in a jeep to a vantage point, to observe the set-piece attack.

We spent the night before the attack at the border, and arrived at our vantage point at the time of fair prayer. We chose our positions so as to be able to see how Idris’ troops performed in the attack. However, when we got to the border, we couldn’t see Idris and his men. They had taken positions in the dark of night at the orders of the Indian commander.

Just before sunrise heavy artillery began. The noise was deafening. The attackers advanced under the cover of the artillery barrage. For about an hour, we couldn’t tell anything about the progress or success of the attack.

The Pakistanis did not use any artillery in this operation. They had a few tanks that were firing in our direction. The Pakistani forces showed plenty of courage and did not easily give up their positions.

The Mukti Bahini had to engage in hand-to-hand fighting in one or two places. The Pakistanis abandoned their bunkers. The Indians under Lt. Colonel Malhotra immediately followed and took up defensive positions alongside the Mukti Bahini.

At about six or seven in the morning, we saw three of our boys carrying a wounded fighter and heading in our direction. Some of us ran forward to help with the wounded boy, who was still conscious. He showed us where he had been hit by several bullets, from chest to abdomen. He was bleeding heavily.

I sent him off in my jeep, to a nearby medical centre. I learned from his companions that things had been somewhat disorganized because of the darkness. According to the plan, our forces were supposed to be on the left flank, but by the time the artillery barrage started, Idris’ forces found themselves in the centre. Instead of heading for his original target, Lt. Aminul Islam, who was leading the assault, changed his objective to a target in the centre, and advanced.

After watching the attack, I explained the proceedings to my group from our vantage point. They were quite thrilled by it all.

I don’t remember the name of the young man who was wounded.

A couple of months later, I went to Hamzapur on a routine inspection. A tall, skinny boy suddenly appeared in front of me and started to unbutton his shirt. He said, “Here I am, sir. I’m back” and pointed to six bullet wounds, from chest to abdomen. “I’m fine now. Six bullets won’t keep me from coming back to fight.”

I was speechless, and embraced him. I couldn’t hold back my tears. I was astonished, happy, and proud of his excellent attitude. I held up the example of his mentality and patriotism to our companions. It was a rare example. We saw how patriotism can elevate a person.

The Indians were urging us to have at least some action each day in every sub-sector. But we had few recruits adequately trained to meet such expectations. Apart from that, we had been given Mark 3 and Mark 4 rifles, and some old bren-guns, 2-inch mortars, and one or two 3-inch mortars per sub-sector. The Pakistanis had Chinese small arms, heavier automatic weapons, mortars and artillery, while the Indians had SLRs, automatic weapons and also heavy weapons.

The freedom fighters may have felt disadvantaged because of their inferior weapons. With a disparity in weapons, those with advanced weapons can perform better. But it was not impossible for the guerillas to be effective, even with inferior weapons. Guerillas are supposed to arm themselves with captured weapons, from ambushing and killing the enemy.

There are many differences between guerilla warfare and regular warfare, I would try to explain to our guerillas. According to military history, one half-starved, sick and raggedly dressed guerilla, ill-trained and with out-dated weapons, is equal to 151 well-built, healthy, uniformed soldiers with modern weapons. Guerillas know the alleyways and where to take their positions in their own areas.

On the other side, the regular troops are unfamiliar with the territory. They feel vulnerable and think a guerilla may be lurking anywhere, by a pond, in a tree, or in a decrepit hut. Besides, guerillas have the support of local people. The enemy think that any of the local people may be able to harm them in some way.

Still, we have to remember that our guerillas were so young, and from such disadvantaged backgrounds, that they had never even seen a rifle. They were afraid of their weapons, instead of thinking of them as their friends. They were warned about so many things during training that they become worried.

Our boys used explosives too, but that takes training and intelligence. We did not have very many such boys. I would try to see that those who had been on at least one operation should talk about it with those who hadn’t. It would ease their fears a little.

Some of our guerillas seemed to think that each of them should have a machine gun. But a force armed in this way would not be effective in battle. Rifles have their own use. For ten or twelve rifles, one light machine-gun and one or two submachine-guns are enough. It took a while for our members to comprehend this. Still, given the class of boys we worked with, they showed plenty of intelligence.

I have spoken of the inadequacy of our arms supply. But we must also remember that it is not possible to arm 100,000 soldiers with modern weapons overnight. The Indians were anticipating frontal battles with the Pakistanis and feared that the conflict would spread to the north with China.

We had to accept that the Indians would keep the best and newest weapons for themselves and give us their discards. It wasn’t that they deliberately gave us poor weapons. We got their old weapons because there was a shortage.

Around October and November, more weapons arrived. As a result, our operations grew more and more successful, day by day.

There was a sub-sector named Topon that was out of the way of my inspections. Also because of the shortage of officers, this camp was supervised by an Indian officer, Captain Razvi. I went there after a long while. The camp looked neat and it seemed to be managed well. I moved Idris from Hamzapur to Topon. Somehow, my son Nadeem had joined Idris’ group.

Talking to Razvi, I learned that he had never sent our fighters across the border on any operation. However, he had gathered intelligence from different sources and constructed a wonderful model, almost twenty feet square. He presented his plans with the help of this model. Information brought by our fighters was added to the model. In his opinion there were few enemy troops in Potnitola and Porshar, as well. If these two areas could be captured, it would link us to Rohanpur village of Bholahat. A large area would be added to the liberated zone.

He described the plan to capture Khonjonpur and Shapahar in elaborate detail. I approved of his plan but suggested a few changes. According to the plan, our fighters would be in two groups of 60 each. These 120 would occupy the two villages. I was pleased with Captain Razvi’s detailed presentation.

However, I advised him not to rely entirely on word of mouth. He should send his own recce parties to gather information. I thought the reports had underestimated the numbers of the enemy. I advised him to get reinforcements, and begin the operation after a couple of weeks of planning

After the presentation, when almost everyone had left, Captain Razvi told me he had held back two machine-guns to defend the subsector HQ. He had also arranged border patrols for that purpose. Moreover, he had selected a member of the sub-sector, Abdul Khaleque, with a number of fighters, to guard the sub-sector HQ

These things had not been discussed before. I felt there was something odd going on. I mentioned it to Idris, but he didn’t give it

much importance. I left, but warned him to keep his eyes and ears open.

Two days later, I went from Torongopur to Topon, getting there before fajr prayer. The operation had started, and the boys had gone forward. The boys of the sub-sector were leading the way for the two groups, in the dark.

While it was still quite dark, we heard a lot of gunfire. I thought it was too early for them to have crossed the border by that time. I started to worry that they had run into a problem on the way. As the sun was about to rise, I saw many wounded boys returning to HQ. It got lighter, and I spotted Idris limping in. It transpired that the two groups of sixty, proceeding on different paths, were soon blocked by anti-personnel mines. There was a lot of random firing from the enemy side. Our boys could go no further. I learned that Khaleque and the fighters assigned to him were not with the attackers when they started out. Why weren’t they there?

It was noticeable that Khaleque and his friends never returned. No one knew of them being killed, either.

According to Idris he had stepped on a mine, but it hadn’t exploded properly. It had just thrown him a couple of yards.

Because of the number of wounded, we ran out of first aid medicines and bandages. There was shouting about it and my jeep was sent to buy more from any drugstore that could be found in the area.

There were some poor huts nearby and we could see about a dozen people watching our sorry state. The men wore skimpy dhutis that didn’t reach their knees and were bare-chested. The women wore saris that were barely adequate.

Our boys were crying, “Water! Water!”

An unshaven, middle-aged man came with a container of water and said, “Babu, this water is good. We fetched it from a tubewell far away.”

The man left but soon returned. I could see from his malnourished body and ragged clothes that he was very poor.

He said to us, “Babu, this sari was washed by the washerman. It is my wife’s extra sari. It’s clean. We would be glad if you would use it for bandages.”

Along with the sari, he had brought a bunch of over-ripe bananas, not fit to be eaten. “Babu, you can have these,” he said, “I just picked them.”

We were all struck by the eagerness of this poor Hindu family to help. We used the water to clean bullet wounds and the boys ate the bananas too.

I asked the man why he was helping us.

He replied, “We could hear, from afar, the cries of the wounded, the lack of water and bandages. We wondered if you would accept our help. We have nothing to give but this water and this sari. We were surprised to see how many wounded there were. We were astonished that you were facing the enemy with such young boys. It broke our hearts.”

It seemed that by accepting his help, we were doing him a favour. And as for us, I couldn’t find words to thank him. I tried to give him some money, but he cried out, “No, no, Babu! I didn’t bring you these things for money!”

I couldn’t think of how I could show my gratitude to these poor people, living in their dilapidated little huts. At the same time I recalled when Major Najmul Huq died, we were not allowed by powerful, upper-caste Hindus to use the Circuit House bathroom to bathe his dead body.

The operation from Topon sub-sector HQ was not a success. The first reason was that the enemy knew our plan. I believe Khaleque was an enemy agent. He never returned to the sub-sector.

Our boys couldn’t understand Captain Razvi, who only knew English and Hindi. Information collection was faulty. They were ambushed, in Idris’ opinion.

I left with Idris’ group, directing Captain Razvi to find out the reasons for the failure.

This was not the first time that we had been infiltrated by Pakistani agents or spies. I became suspicious on some other occasions. I had asked that a sharp eye be kept on the ones I suspected.

In Chirirbondor, Dinajpur, there was a very sharp Bihari boy, who spoke fluent Bangla. I came to suspect him of being a Pakistani spy. He never returned from an operation.

80

Chapter 11

The Mukti Bahini

I don’t recall any procedures or formalities about how the Mukti Bahini came to be named. The Indians called us “Mukti Fouj” at first and used that name up to the end of the war – “Fouj” is Hindi/Urdu, and has the same meaning as “Bahini,” which is Bangla. Later, the Indians started calling the irregular forces, who worked behind the enemy lines, “FF,” freedom fighters. “Mukti Fouj” was used for those who had been trained in Pakistan, and comprised the K, Z, I, and S forces and regular sector troops. .

We used to call our regular forces “Mukti Bahini.” In other words, the Mukti Bahini included all Army, Navy and Air Force personnel. We called the irregular fighters, those who had not been in the army, “Gono Bahini” or People’s Force.

To the Pakistanis we were rebels. However, we were not rebels and had been forced to take up arms to free the land by driving out the Pakistani forces that were committing genocide.

In March 1971 Pakistani troops cracked down on the EBR, EPR, police and Ansars, all over Bangladesh. Everyone was aware of the political situation. The officers were relatively calm, but there was fear and anxiety among the rank and file. The term “kitchen talk” is used in the army to refer to the gossip that often goes on around the field kitchens at mealtimes among soldiers. Somehow the soldiers knew that a lot of the rumours were true.

There were rebellions among Bengali soldiers in quite a few places, as in Chittagong, led by Rafiqul Islam; in Comilla, led by Khaled Mosharraf; and in Gazipur, under Shafiullah.The Pakistani plan was to scatter the companies in each battalion to prevent them from rebelling in a coordinated way. The Pakistani forces had no trouble killing small groups of Bengali soldiers who had been distracted with made-up work. Even so, many groups were able to use their weapons in self-defence to escape.

These small groups didn’t know much about the fearsome attack of March 25, but they could assume that Bengali soldiers all over Bangladesh would try to escape. But there was no way to know how many of these small groups had escaped the killing traps, where

they were, and which way they were moving. Most of them did eventually head for the border, though at first they tried to get together, based on information gathered by word of mouth from people. Many of these groups were able to link up on their way to the border.

When Bengali soldiers came out of their units and sub-units, they saw horrifying scenes. Houses were burning, people lay dead on the roads, and the supporters of Pakistan were exulting. In this situation, some of the small groups got involved in acts of retaliation. These acts were not unnatural. It is quite natural to feel the need for revenge.

The police were able to anticipate the attack on Rajarbag Police Headquarters and did not deposit their arms. The biggest Pakistani operation on March 25 was on the police headquarters in Rajarbag. The Bengali police resisted with such bravery that the attackers even used tanks in the end.

One thing in particular may be mentioned here. The EPR was spread all over East Pakistan, in the border areas, as their function was to guard the borders. They had advanced wireless capabilities. They were thus able to maintain some communication among themselves and exchanged news. Most of the wireless operators were Bengali. They would exchange news that they got from the refugees. On the second and third of April, I was able to get news of the situation in the Dinajpur area from EPR wireless operators in the tea estates of Sylhet. However, as the EPR units packed up and retreated, along with their wireless operators, news from inside the country became scarce.

The strategy of the Pakistani military on the night of March 25 was ill-conceived. It may be called “beating the maid-servant to punish the wife.” That night the Pakistani troops could have killed Bengali MNAs and MPAs if they had wanted to. They could have arrested influential leaders from Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s headquarters. Instead, in addition to cracking down on para-military targets, they singled out progressive intellectuals and launched a massive attack on the University of Dhaka. They shot poor, helpless, slum-dwellers, coolies in the docks, workers asleep in marketplaces, and Hindus in their neighbourhoods and burned their dwellings.

The generals who planned the crackdown thought that a couple of days of such attacks would create such terror that Bengali soldiers would be afraid to rebel and keep working under them. This was a stupid plan. Political problems cannot be solved with fear.

I recall a minor incident. An EPR soldier came to my tent in Torongopur and described how he had escaped with a few companions. This group killed every Bihari they found on their way, and burned their houses. The soldier thought I would praise him, but I was silent. Later I ordered the HQ subedar never to send this soldier and his companions on any operation. Having committed brutalities before, they might do the same again. It is never a soldier’s duty to kill an innocent person.

There are some essentials of war. They have been observed consistently for several hundred years now, but have not, however, been described in books. One such essential is communications. Conducting warfare becomes difficult if contact between members of a force is disrupted. The Mukti Bahini had no communications equipment, only messengers between sector HQ and sub-sectors. There was no contact between sectors.

Once guerillas had been sent on an operation, there was no news of them until they returned. The Indian authorities offered to help with their signals corps. Several times I tried to contact Colonel Osmani’s HQ on their radio link. However, my messages would only be sent with the approval of the Indian authorities.

I tried to talk to Colonel Osmani on the civilian telephone lines from Torongopur, without success. In the first place I could hardly ever get a connection, and, when I did, we couldn’t hear each other properly. We couldn’t get anything done.

Sometime towards the end of October, Sector 7 was given some battery-operated wireless sets. These could be used for troops within a sub-sector to talk to each other. The sets were like toys, and didn’t work very well.

Guerilla teams would have 10 to 15 members. A leader and a deputy leader would be selected. These teams would return to HQ within two weeks and report their activities.

The guerillas were ordered never to pressurize the local households for food. They were advised to make do with chira, (flattened rice), and jaggery. Everyone had to be treated with respect,

no matter how poor they were. The guerillas had to have permission to enter a homestead.

They had to keep watch around the clock, and not move around during the day. Operations had to be far from the homestead where they were sheltering. Otherwise the Pakistani troops would take reprisals on those who gave shelter to the fighters. The bottom line was that the guerillas had to ensure their own security, keep their presence secret, as well as ensure the safety of those who helped them.

During the Liberation War, I made a mistake that grieves me to this day. While in the army, I had developed the habit of reading military history and had read accounts from ancient times to World War II. One of the topics covered was what is called “friendly fire.” A friendly patrol may be shot at. Air support may mistakenly bomb a friendly position. The same can happen with naval or artillery bombardment. During training, the need to avoid self-inflicted damage is stressed. I made this mistake myself in 1971 – even though I was well aware of the danger.

I had a special qualification among the officers of the Liberation War. I had been a member of the artillery forces. My job was to call in artillery fire, without hitting our own soldiers. Artillery officers have to keep up with their advancing forces, to correctly identify enemy positions.

Indian authorities gave me permission to call in artillery fire and assigned two members of the signal corps to me. This was subject to the condition that I was not to take the two directly to the front. However, when our people went forward, they had no wireless equipment. So we had no way of knowing how far our side had progressed, especially as they would take the cover of trees and undergrowth.

Once we were operating on the approaches to Shibganj. Some of our troops were pinned down by enemy fire, while the others were advancing as planned. I was not told about the advancing troops when there was a message from the pinned troops about their situation.

When I called in artillery fire, some of the shells landed among our forces, killing some and wounding many. A messenger soon arrived and told us to stop the shelling. My son was taking part in

this operation and I took every care in directing the artillery, but it still landed on our own troops.

No matter what excuses I make, or talk about the understanding expressed by my men, this huge mistake still hurts.

The sector operations can be divided into two broad categories. One was to attack enemy outposts from the sub-sector camps and gradually increase the liberated area. Even though these operations were not always successful, the enemy thought that Indian soldiers were helping us from the rear and it was really Indian aggression.

To prevent these attacks, the invaders had to be spread all over the border, with EPR and some regulars. They couldn’t bring in reserves from West Pakistan regularly. They had to deal with our eleven sectors’ with a limited number of troops, spread thin, so that every area was weakened.

The second category of operations was to have our guerillas enter Bangladesh and attack the enemy’s lines of communication. As a result, it became increasingly difficult for them to support their border defences. That was our objective. The Pakistani forces felt weak as they were spread out all along the border. So they planned to make strong bases in the larger towns. Razakars and Pakistani militias replaced the regular troops that were pulled back from the border. This policy worked in our favour.

The newly trained boys of the sector gained experience from going on small operations. The number of trained guerillas grew day by day. This resulted in the emergence of new leaders within the groups. The supply of weapons was also growing.

Our successes increased. Now it appears that the Indian authorities had kept an eye on these things. They did not want the irregulars of the Mukti Bahini to develop to the point of professional capability. The Indian authorities feared that these guerillas would later influence the politics of Bangladesh.

During the war, I had become so thoroughly involved with the sub-sectors, that I had no time to think about politics. The sectormembers were preparing for a long war, which was not what the Indian authorities wanted. It went against their aim, which was to maintain their influence over Bangladesh after the war was over.

—————

This includes Sector 10, covering the maritime area. For the contribution of the naval commandos, see Appendix 3.

—

85

The Awami League leadership kept little contact with the Mukti Bahini. At Torongopur HQ, there was just a liaison with two members of Parliament: Haider Ali and Abu Syed. Two other members of Parliament – Khaled Mia of Rohanpur and Dr. Montu of Shibganj, Rajshahi – had only been briefly involved with the subsectors.

I had asked more than one MP to come and stay at the subsectors, but they did not. We were told that their lives were too valuable to be put at risk in the sub-sectors. Because of their absence, the politics of the Awami League did not reach the freedom fighters. The sub-sector commanders had their own ideas about the political future. Political thinking within the Mukti Bahini was not within the scope of the Awami League. The Indian intelligence department was able to sense this.

For this reason, the Mukti Bahini was not given heavy weapons. India also had to take steps not to prolong the Liberation War. Apart from keeping the Mukti Bahini under control, they also had to consider the international situation. It became necessary for the Indian Army to intervene, and not just wait it out.

Newly trained guerillas would report to Torongopur HQ. Here, they would first be divided by the district of their origin. Groups of ten or twelve would be formed from each district-based grouping. Major Moksul Choudhury and other officers were in charge of these preparations, including the selection of group leaders. Group leaders were selected, based on how well they presented their plans for operations. Groups and leaders were reconstituted, based on their reports after operations. Changes were normally not needed.

One such group leader in the Pabna area asked to speak to me in private, after returning from an operation. He said that besides the Mukti Bahini, there were groups from several political parties, operating with arms, in the interior. These fighters did not readily identify themselves. They were said to be anti-Pakistani, and in favour of armed struggle for independence.

He had confronted a group that was against independence, and came to blows. He had the foresight to defuse the situation. He asked me how many such groups there were and who  they were working for.

I was taken aback. I could only advise him to cooperate with the friendly ones and avoid the others, based on information from the local people. He should avoid conflicts among fellow Bengalis.

It is easy to give advice. It wasn’t so easy for the groups that went into the interior of the country to follow it. It must be said that we never had such a conflict, because of the intelligence and foresight of our group leaders. The problem was most severe in the Pabna area.

As the war proceeded, our actions increased, both failures and successes. Guerilla groups would stay in the interior of the country for ten to twenty days and then return. I would hear the group leader’s report. Often the reports would be exaggerated, which was revealed when further questions failed to support their claims, but rebuking them for it did more harm than good.

Sometimes the returning groups would have fled from the enemy and abandoned some of their arms. That would be unforgivable. The Indians would be very annoyed at these reports.

The enemy was not always Pakistani. Groups from other political parties would take us by surprise, sometimes. I wouldn’t be as annoyed if they happened to be patriotic groups. I would consider punishment of our arms fell into the hands of Pakistanis or razakars.

I believed that the Liberation War was not our last war because of the way we were dominated by the Indians. I felt that there would be more struggles for sovereignty. So it wasn’t bad for the future of the country if the arms abandoned by us fell into other patriotic hands.

Sometimes I thought that a class struggle would begin, and the Liberation War was just the first stage. The Awami League did not seem fit to look after the interests of the people.

I could sense some of the political opinions of our fighters, even though I never discussed politics. It was a touchy subject, but I surmised that most of the fighters believed in Maulana Bhashani’s socialist doctrines.

The Indian authorities and the Awami League were acutely aware of the issues. Trainees with leftist views could be mobilized for battle. They had permission from the Indian government to establish a separate command, not under the sector commander.

These permissions were probably given just after the first week of December. I say this because I got a message from brigade HQ saying that some leftist trainees would be crossing the border into the country near Rajshahi sub-sector. We were not to obstruct them. I think the date was December 14.

A young man and ten or fifteen of his companions came to see me in Torongopur. They had all received training, but they had been sent away from various sectors for being leftists. They were all politically aware and eager to fight for independence. Hearing the details of their plans for action, I was assured that they were ready to fight, and were as good as any of our groups. I decided to arm them.

Later I heard that on their way to the border, they were stopped by an Awami League leader who was overseeing a youth camp. In 1972, this incident was reported to higher-ups in the Awami League, who then branded me pro-Chinese.

88

Chapter 12

Frontal Battles and Skirmishes

I liked working with the 20h Mountain Division. All the officers were sympathetic to the Mukti Bahini, specially the division commander, Major General Lachman Singh Lehal, who was an artillery man. Still, they followed their orders to the letter.

I was allowed to make use of the brigade’s 3.7 inch mountain cannons. Sometimes, however, our forces would go beyond their range. The Indians wouldn’t agree when I suggested that they should move closer. Our border operations were limited to the range of the Indian artillery.

Once I got the artillery commander to agree to deploy on the sandbanks of the Padma river and shell Rajshahi University, where the Pakistan Army had made their biggest base in this sector. Somehow, the Awami League leader, Quamruzzaman, who was a minister then, got wind of it. He showed up at my Torongopur HQ and asked if it was true that I planned to shell the town of Rajshahi. I said we would only target the university area.

He wanted my guarantee that not a single shell would land on the city-dwellers. I said I couldn’t make that guarantee, but every precaution would be taken to ensure that no shells landed outside the university area. He found that unacceptable.

Clearly, he was not in favour of shelling the university. Today I believe that there was a conspiracy to appease the Pakistanis. But I never thought he would be involved in the conspiracy. He was from Rajshahi himself. He was thinking of the future when he asked that Rajshahi not be shelled. The request was granted.

Towards the end of November, there was a clash with the enemy at the Shahpur Fort in Rajshahi. I was allowed to use Indian artillery in this attack. The action was headed by Captain Mohiuddin Jahangir and began just as it was getting light.

There was a stream in the way. It was narrow, but deep. My son Nadeem was not a good swimmer. He was shown how to trap air in his lungi and use it to float. But he didn’t have to use this method. The others pulled him across.

The plan was to advance in two flanks. The flank on the right were first to take over the enemy position. On the left, the sound of gunfire went on for a long time. So I went to that area and called in artillery fire to ease their advance. I remember a few small incidents from this left flank position.

As the enemy retreated, some razakars took shelter in nearby homes. Our boys started to find them and shoot them dead. I reached there at just that time and was very upset that my orders were not being followed. An enemy combatant who surrenders should be taken prisoner, not shot.

The second scene was at a deserted village. The villagers had left with all their farm animals, but there was one small calf that followed Jahangir around, licking his hand. Jahangir got annoyed and raised his rifle to hit the calf on the head with the rifle-butt. I stopped him. I said there was no one around, so he was responsible for the calf. Jahangir was not too fond of jokes, but he obeyed me and let the calf tag along.

Seeing me off, one of the fighters said to me that the Indian artillery deserved credit for the success of the operation. The enemy retreated because of the shelling, and the villagers left for safety. Someone else remarked that most of the people of the area were Pakistani supporters and razakars.

Today, thirty long years later, it is very difficult to describe the many incidents that took place on the battlefields in 1971. I forget the names of places, group leaders, sub-sector commanders. In my mind’s eye, I can briefly see the faces of those who had shown personal courage, but then the faces fade away.

The 20h Mountain Division was positioned at the Bangladesh border, in association with Sector 7. A meeting was called at 2 Corps HQ in Siliguri, about how to make the best use of this force. I was present there.

At this meeting, a staff officer described how they had not been successful in the operations they had planned on their own – and without my knowledge – against the Pakistani forces, specially in the Hilli sector. There had been a tremendous frontal battle in Hilli between the Pakistani and Indian forces. Even after heavy bombardment, the Indians couldn’t dislodge the Pakistani troops. The Indians took a beating, with many casualties, including the colonel and the adjutant of the guard regiment. As a result, the Indian army changed their strategy.

I maintained that it was a mistake to undertake frontal warfare. My advice was that the Mukti Bahini should bypass the enemy and take positions behind them. The Indian troops could support us. It was easy for us to move among the villagers and locate ourselves in the rear of the Pakistani base because the villagers knew the movements of the Pakistanis and would take the guerillas forward by safe routes.

Topon, Tokrabari, and Anginabad sub-sectors were only formally under my command because of distance. Subedars of the East Bengal Regiment were looking after them. I remember one name, Subedar Moazzem. An Indian major was in command of operations in these places.

Towards the end of November, I went to inspect one of these three sub-sectors. I saw that the Indian major had advanced quite a bit. I crossed the border north of Hilli, alone in my jeep, on a motorable road.

Everything was quiet. I could see no sign of our troops even after going quite a few miles. On the way, I heard from a few travellers that they had gone ahead the day before. So I kept going.

Rounding a corner, I came upon a Pakistani general in a parked jeep. He was being guarded by four or five of our guerillas, who erupted in cheers as soon as they saw me.

They informed me that they had been advancing along this way under the leadership of A. T. M. Hamidul Hossain Tareq and under the command of an Indian major. From afar, they spotted a jeep and a few military trucks and took positions on the roadsides. The enemy did not see our boys, and were heading merrily towards the border.

As soon as the enemy came within range of their rifles, they opened fire. The jeep of the Pakistani general was unable to turn around to flee. According to the boys, the general tore off his red beret and epaulettes. He also flung away a map case and tried to escape through the rice paddies. The other transports were able to turn and flee. The boys were ordered to keep advancing for some time.

I examined the jeep and found it was indeed a general’s. The plates had two red stars. The recovered cap had a red badge. It definitely belonged to a general. The map case showed that some of our positions had been identified.

This kind of ambush had never occurred in my sector before. I was jubilant. I congratulated the boys and told them to stand guard until I returned. After seeing my troops forward, I would then take the jeep and its contents to Torongopur HQ with me.

The leader of the ambush was Tareq. I had seen him a few times before. He had the positions and programmes of his sub-sector at his fingertips. It didn’t take long to realize that the Indian major depended fully on Tareq. That is, Tareq was responsible for operations from the Mukti Bahini side.

On my return, however, I found that the jeep was gone from the site of the ambush. The Indian authorities had whisked it away. I had held on to the general’s map case, and I had it sent to Prem Singh’s HQ. I’m not keen on describing this part of the incident. Tareq should write the full story, and I hear he has.

The ambushed general was Major General Nazar Hossain. In 1956-57 he was AQ of the 14h Division HQ in Dhaka. I knew him quite well, but I never thought he had the talent to be a general. He had risen from the ranks to be a commissioned officer.

There were many actions by the members of Sector 7 that showed their courage and bravery. My memory of them has faded. Some of the guerillas have written about their group activities and been published in periodicals. Moklesur Rahman Dulu of Bogra is one of them. His account of an incident that happened on October 2, 1971 is included in Appendix 4.

Chapter 13

The War Comes to a Close

My wife and daughters stayed at a small hospital in Mohodipur. Even though it was small, Dr. Moazzem practiced basic care here but occasionally had to perform some major emergency operations as well.

My older daughter Naila wanted to see the fighting firsthand. I was going to inspect some of our troops near Sona Masjid as I had received reports that fire was being exchanged with the enemy. Naila insisted on going to the battlefield with me. Despite my refusal to take her along, she wouldn’t change her mind and clambered on to my jeep.

As we were wasting time, I gave up and took her along. I left the jeep in a safe spot, about 200 yards behind our troop positions on the Mahananda river, and went forward with Naila.

Just then, there was mortar fire from the enemy. One shell landed behind my jeep. This time I forced Naila to return to Shibjanj with a guerilla escort. She still didn’t want to go, but this time I made her.

Moving cautiously, I reached a bunker on the banks of the Mahananda and tried to assess the situation. Fire was being exchanged from both sides of the river. The Pakistani troops were said to have started it.

I sent messengers to put a stop to unnecessary firing.

I used to carry an AK-47 rifle during the war. I had never fired it. I knew the war was coming to an end. So I aimed for the probable location of the enemy and squeezed off two shots. This was my first and last unnecessary shooting.

The activities of Sector 7 during the war are just a part of the history of the Liberation War. Under the sector were the districts of Rajshahi, Dinajpur, Bogra, Pabna, and two thanas (police stations, townships) of Rangpur. The strategic importance of this sector was that if two key points were to fall, it would be easy to capture the Nagarbari base, on the approaches to Dhaka. Not that the approach to Dhaka was simple as it was across the Padma. To move soldiers from Nagarbari to Aricha would be difficult for any army.

Rajshahi was a divisional centre, a city with a rich heritage. Its fall would be demoralizing for the Pakistan Army. The Bogra area was relatively dry and fit for tank warfare. Both sides used tanks in this area, starting at Hilli.

Towards the end of the war, the Mohodipur sub-sector was the most active among my sub-sectors. Its leader was Captain Mohiuddin Jahangir. He had been commissioned during the Pakistan regime. In 1971 he was posted in West Pakistan, on the Indian border. He and three other Bengali officers crossed the border and went to Delhi.

He was quite young, about 22 or 23. His patriotism was incomparable. He was well-read, particularly about international affairs. I learned from my son, Nadeem, that he greatly admired Che Guevara and talked about his hero’s writings with his men. My wife loved Jahangir like a son. Once he mentioned to her that he had never had the good fortune of directly shooting a Pakistani soldier. He was waiting for his chance. Maybe that’s why he was always taking the point position in action, as on the day he was shot dead. I had warned him several times against this propensity of his.

I was attracted by Jahangir’s personality. He lived simply, and wore lungi and T-shirt. He did not change that costume even for high-ranking Indians, military and civilian. He never spent his pay on himself, but on his troops. Jahangir’s ideals and lifestyle were a good influence on his men. I heard about a group of seven friends among his troops who had only two pairs of trousers among them. They were happy to share the trousers, when they were given an occasional day off.

Jahangir was always thinking about how to keep his troops engaged. I heard he never even listened to the radio, and scolded his boys for any kind of merry-making. His sub-sector HQ was in several brick buildings in the Sona Masjid area and had been EPR quarters in Pakistan times. Jahangir didn’t spend his nights at HQ, but always in a forward bunker or with his fighters.

Jahangir was keen on crossing the river to attack the enemy. I told him to make a plan and advised him to coordinate with Major Gias, Lt. Rashid, and Lt. Rafiq. I said I would try to get the Indian artillery to come forward from their Mohodipur position in India, past Shibganj, and near the Mahananda area. It didn’t work out. They might have been sent elsewhere.

In the first week of December, frontal battles were progressing between the Indian and Pakistani armies, in the border areas. We got reports of the enemy retreating.

Prem Singh, of our brigade HQ, and Lachhman Singh Lehal, of division HQ, were busy inspecting different places on the front, with their staff officers. It was getting harder to get updates from them about the progress of the war. I was also unlucky enough not to have a transistor radio. I was busy rushing from one sub-sector to another.

I emerged from my tent, first thing one morning, to find a messenger from Prem Singh, asking if Captain Idris had really been killed in action. I was bewildered. I hadn’t heard anything.

I headed for Hamzapur immediately. On the way I ran into an Indian captain who was associated with Idris. He said Idris was alive, but had been wounded. In the absence of any other transport, he had been taken by ox-cart to an Indian field hospital. He was okay.

I was reassured. But I didn’t get to visit him. My heart was on the banks of the Mahananda, with Jahangir’s troops.

Once India formally entered the war on December 3, 1971, battlefields in every sector began to change rapidly. With the help of the Mukti Bahini, the Indian army quickly bypassed Pakistan army strongholds and began to move towards Dhaka rapidly. The Pakistanis gave up most of their frontline positions without a fight and fell back to their strongholds, which were generally in built-up areas around communication junction points.

Chapainawabganj was one such stronghold. By December 13, Chapainawabganj had more than two companies of 32 Punjab Regiment, a wing (battalion) of EPCAF (East Pakistan Civil Armed Forces) and several units of razakars. The town of Chapainawabganj is on the southern banks of the Mahananda, a major obstacle for advancing infantry units. The road and the railway track to Rajshahi ran almost parallel to each other in a north-south direction. On the south-eastern side was the headquarters of the 7 wing EPCAF overlooking the Chapai-Gomastapur Road and was probably the strongest point of the Pakistani fortifications.’

The battle of Chapainawabganj was perhaps the most strongly contested battle for the freedom fighters of my sector. In this battle there were no Indian army ground troops except for a battery of BSF artillery.

Freedom fighters of the Mohodipur sub-sector under Captain Jahangir’s command occupied Shibganj without a fight and reached the northern bank of the Mahananda river around dusk on December 12, 1971. I arrived on the banks of the Mahananda on the morning of December 13 and found Second Lieutenant Qayyum Khan in the mortar position directing the artillery and mortar fire exchange that was going on at that time. I advised Qayyum not to waste artillery and mortar ammunition on harassing fire. I also learnt that Jahangir had crossed the river with a platoon for reconnoitering the enemy positions around Chapainawabganj. Although he had a walkie talkie set, he had left instructions for maintaining radio silence.

————–

1.The battle at Chapainawabganj has been expanded with input from Second Lieutenant Qayyum Khan.

I inspected our positions along the river bank under enemy artillery and mortar fire. Qayyum informed me that Second Lieutenant Bazlur Rashid and Second Lieutenant Rafiqul Islam had advanced along the Gomastapur-Chapai Road and they had reached the outskirts of the town from the south-eastern side and were exchanging fire with the enemy positions in the EPCAF lines. Although I did not have any contact with Major Gias, I knew that he and his force were somewhere on the Chapai-Rajshahi Road. The Mukti Bahini had laid siege to the town, and I felt that we were in an advantageous position. Maybe no assault on the town would be necessary to flush the enemy out. Before I left, I told Qayyum that Second Lieutenant Awal Chowdhury would join the forces with his company shortly. I left the banks of the Mahananda sometime around mid-afternoon.

Immediately, after dusk Qayyum made contact with Jahangir through a runner who brought a chit with Jahangir’s orders. The orders were (1) Second Lieutenant Awal Chowdhury and his force should relieve Qayyum and Jahangir’s troops on the northern bank of the river; (2) Qayyum should cross the river 2 miles down from the western side with the remnants of Jahangir’s company and his company and be prepared to launch an attack on Chapainawabganj at dawn; (3) Second Lieutenant Bazlur Rashid and Second Lieutenant Rafiq should intensify their pressure on the EPCAF lines starting at dawn so that the enemy would be unable to reinforce the western contact with Major Gias who had set up a blocking position on the Chapai-Rajshahi Road.

The river crossing was completed without a hitch. In the middle of the night, villagers appeared from nowhere and lifted boats that were sunk in the river. The force assembled in a mango orchard outside the town before dawn. It should be mentioned that the Mukti Bahini force launching the assault was not equipped with weapons (tanks, recoilless rifles, rocket launchers, flame throwers, etc.) necessary for fighting in built-up areas. Besides their personal weapons, they only had hand grenades and some rifle-launched antitank and anti-personnel grenades.

At dawn, the attack started with Jahangir and his company on the northern side and Qayyum and his company on the southern side.

The assault was launched with a lot of courage and determination, and our boys breached the western perimeter and got into the enemy’s communication trenches connecting the different bunkers and pill boxes. Our boys had cleared the line of bunkers and pill boxes and reached the built-up area of the town and were now fighting from rooftop positions and positions inside buildings.

As the assault progressed, our boys were running out of grenades. Unless the grenades were replenished soon, the assault would stall. In the midst of all this, Qayyum received a message on the walkie talkie from the mortar observer that Jahangir had fallen trying to neutralize a LMG (light machine gun) position with grenades. With their grenades exhausted and their commander fallen, the assault stalled and the freedom fighters fell back to the edge of town. Jahangir’s body was recovered the next day. The same evening the Pakistanis evacuated Chapai and fell back to Natore.

I was not present when Jahangir decided to launch his assault. Had I been there, I would have stopped him because the heavy loss of life at that stage of the war was unnecessary. Jahangir died on December 14, and the Pakistani forces surrendered on December 16. Yet, I remember this battle for the courage and individual bravery of the Mukti Bahini boys of my sector.

The Indian forces couldn’t dislodge the Pakistanis at Hilli. Their next move was to use Brigadier Sharma’s force to the northeast. With the help of the Mukti Bahini, this force bypassed the main road, and took the Fulbaria-Joypurhat Road to the approaches to Bogra. This plan was very successful.

The Pakistanis started to retreat. But their morale had been broken early. The Pakistanis did not expect to keep control of the area of Sector 7 for very long. They pulled back across the river to defend Dhaka. Otherwise, they would have been trapped around Nagarbari.

The situation was rapidly deteriorating in the TangailMymensingh area for the Pakistanis. If they hadn’t moved from Nagarbari, the Indian forces and the Mukti Bahini would have made it difficult for them to retreat from the Mymensingh area.

I can’t, for the life of me, remember where I spent the night of the fifteenth. About the sixteenth, I recall reaching the Rohanpur river with my wife in my jeep. There was not a single freedom fighter left in Bholahat. They had all crossed the river and gone into Rohanpur.

The local people said that our troops had occupied Rohanpur a day or two ago. There was no more fighting there. A small force had been left in the town and the rest had crossed another river and proceeded to the approaches to Chapainawabganj, going through the village of Khansama. This had been our plan.

The razakars had also retreated from the whole area. I decided to head for Chapainawabganj.

There was no problem on the way. We crossed the river in a boat and reached Shibganj, which Jahangir’s troops had occupied without a fight. They were at the police station, a few hundred yards from the ferry landing. We were received with cheers.

The celebration was short-lived. There were just one or two officers at the police station. Everyone else had gone into the town. While I was talking to the other boys, we heard some isolated shots from not far away. When I asked what the shots were about, one of them said, “That’s nothing, sir. The boys are putting razakars under house arrest, and some trouble-makers are being killed.”

I jumped up and immediately ordered that not one more razakar was to be killed.

A little later I was told that some of the officers had gone to arrest some local fighters who had been looting homes and shops. I was stunned. I couldn’t imagine that freedom fighters could be like this.

My wife and I took canes and beat the arrested looters. They were searched and we emptied their pockets to find gold jewellery and cash.

I was glad that the officers had put a quick end to the looting, in an hour or two. It was also true that some local fighters had not been able to resist the chance of visiting their families.

Indiscipline, looting and anti-social activities are part of any war, from time immemorial. The victorious authorities can never fully prevent it.

I went to inspect Nagarbari Ghat after December 16. I saw more than one anti-tank cannon abandoned by the enemy. They had departed in haste, abandoning the northern areas to go to the defence of Dhaka.

Not all the retreating enemy troops that had been pulled out of Rajshahi and Bogra were able to escape. Brigadier Pannu’s troops went through Rajshahi to capture Natore and received the surrender of some enemy troops and auxiliaries there. A group from Sector 7 entered Saidpur around December 16. News came that they were putting razakars on trial and sentencing them to death. I sent the messenger back with orders that razakars should be identified and imprisoned. Death sentences should not be imposed on any account.

This order of mine was obeyed, but there were loud protests from the fighters. Colonel Osmani had told us to obey the Geneva Convention during the Liberation War. I personally believed in this convention. I did my best to prevent its violation in my sector. Armed enemy forces may be arrested, but not executed after summary trials. This problem did not arise anywhere except in these two places.

Looting is a different matter. Some of our own forces had criminal tendencies. Local commanders could have brought it under control, even if they couldn’t prevent it entirely at first.

In March-April 1972, a subedar of the East Bengal regiment, who I knew from before, came to see me. He had brought a huge, valuable carpet, that he didn’t have room for in his house. He admitted it was from his share of loot.

I told him to leave with his carpet, in no uncertain terms. He left, protesting that others had done the same. I didn’t want to hear about it. It would have been better to hear him out, but I was too angry

In 1951, a Joint Services Pre-Cadet Training School was opened at the Bhawal Palace in Joydebpur – now Gazipur. The palace was in poor shape, but it was full of valuables. The organization was shut down in a few years, and I left the army on deputation in 1962.

When General Yahya was head of 14 Division, I happened to visit the officers’ mess at division HQ. There I saw some of the valuables from the Bhawal Palace.

I was invited to visit quite a few high officials after the end of the Liberation War. In many of these places, I recognized a few items from the Bhawal Palace. The contagion seemed to have spread among many at the end of the Liberation War as well.

 

100

Another incident occurred in the first week of December in Rajshahi. Early in the morning, two fighters arrived, all flustered, with a slip of paper. It said that an Indian businessman was permitted to leave with two trucks of jute products. It was signed by an MP, but it didn’t mention the name of his office, and had no seal.

Our boys had impounded the truck, suspecting the pass was fake. I was in a dilemma. I agreed with their action. I don’t remember who I contacted in the administration, but I couldn’t block the shipment. Some influential Awami League worker arrived at the border and made sure the trucks were released and sent over the border.

In the second week of December, I left Rajshahi for Torongopur, and soon headed for the approaches to Bogra. I hoped to catch up with Brigadier Sharma’s brigade and the guerilla forces attached to them, before they occupied Bogra. But the operation went fast, with no resistance.

The Pakistani forces must have learned from their local razakar agents that the guerillas were moving to cut off their retreat. As I said before, by the second week of December, the enemy was demoralized. Perhaps this is why they didn’t try to defend Bogra.

I was still trying to catch up with our forces. I reached the rear HQ of Sharma’s brigade one afternoon and learned that our joint forces had occupied Bogra and the enemy had retreated further.

I took some rest, and got updated by a captain of the Indian Military Police. The Indians had taken over the circuit house, rest house and guest house in the town. I was delighted, and decided to leave for Bogra that evening.

The captain made a request during our conversation. He took out a form from his pocket and asked me to endorse his application. He was asking the Indian authorities to appoint him Superintendent of Police for Bogra. I was astounded that, in the space of a day or two, the Indians were already taking over the administration of Bogra and appointing their own people.

I recall an incident from a few days earlier. As the joint forces occupied village after village, the Pakistani administration was falling apart. People were scattering, away from the path of the operations. Shops and markets were closed, creating problems. General Lehal sent me a message to discuss the situation with local

representatives of the Bangladesh Government so that the elected MPs could take up administrative responsibilities.

A meeting was arranged with the Bangladesh Government and the Indian Army authorities, with this end in view. The Indians were represented by a brigadier who had been with me at the Indian Military Academy in 1947. When it was proposed that our members of parliament should go to their areas, the MPs asked how they could do so because they had not been given visas!

My Indian friend burst out laughing and I was so embarrassed I could have died. I still can’t understand how the MPs could think that they needed visas to go to their own homeland. My friend was certainly surprised at this suggestion coming from our side, and jokingly responded that he would issue visas himself.

That evening I left Brigadier Sharma’s rear HQ for Bogra, as I had planned. The road was bad for a few miles, but I saw it was a good road after that. I hadn’t been to the area before 1971, and was pleased to see the good road. I thought I would get there by the time of the maghrib prayers. But I was stopped several times by the local people who wanted to talk about their problems and the progress of the war. I arrived in Bogra long past sunset.

The town was dimly lit. I couldn’t find Indian troops. Everything looked deserted.

I gave up looking for our boys and tried to find a place to spend the night. Recalling the report of the Indian captain, I touched base at the circuit house, rest house, guest house and tourist centre, but did not find a room for myself.

I decided to try the house of the District Commissioner. I had a suspicion that the Indians had removed the DC and taken over his house, but I went anyway.

The DC’s house was quiet and dark. I had some trouble getting in because I was not in uniform, just in plain shirt and trousers. But I had an AK-47 slung from my shoulder. Otherwise the DC’s servants wouldn’t have let me in.

I don’t recall my conversation with the DC that night. He might have been uncomfortable at seeing me armed. I introduced myself and said I would be looking for some other place to stay on the following day. He seemed to be a serious and humble sort, and quite young.

Later I learned he was Manzurul Karim, a CSP (Central Services of Pakistan) officer. He offered me a small room on the first floor, which seemed palatial to me. I woke early, but the rest of the house was already up.

I said I was ready to leave, but I was asked to have breakfast with the DC first. Breakfast was served in an upstairs room. I remember just one thing in our conversation. I suggested that he should consider himself an employee of the Bangladesh Government, and deal with the Indians with the authority due to his rank. If he was disrespected in any way, he should report it to the members of the Mukti Bahini.

The next day, I had not much to talk about with the Indians. They seemed quite upbeat. I didn’t get much news about the progress of the war.

I could see they would not be trying to advance as before. They were busy taking control of Bogra town. I did not get to meet Brigadier Sharma

I did not meet members of the Mukti Bahini, either, that day. I heard they had to camp some distance away from the town.

I have to mention something that I found out later. The Mukti Bahini had been pushed out to the outskirts of towns everywhere,

during the December operation for independence. The Indians had no trouble occupying the towns, because of the cooperation of the local people with the guerillas. The Pakistanis had lost their nerve and were busy running away.

As soon as they got news that the Mukti Bahini had occupied a town, the Indians would enter as victors, trying to take all the credit. Making the Mukti Bahini stay on the outskirts was part of this effort.

In Chittagong, the city-dwellers came out with their children to receive the Mukti Bahini with garlands. They had to wait for two

days.

People were disappointed at this behaviour of the Indians. It was not a noble deed to deny the Mukti Bahini the proud privilege that they had earned, of being the first to enter. I believe it was done quite intentionally.

This sort of thing did not happen in Sector 7, however. Our boys entered Rajshahi and Dinajpur first, and celebrated with a victory parade before the Indians arrived. In Rajshahi, Major Gias arranged the parade and took the salute of fighters who wore lungi and T-shirts.

Victory Parade at Rajshahi on December 18, 1971 with freedom fighters holding aloft the portrait of Shaheed Mohiuddin Jahangir. From left the garlanded fighters are Major Gias, Second Lieutenant Qayyum Khan, Freedom Fighter Harun, Second Lieutenant Rafiqul Islam.

In Dhaka, Major Haider’s troops showed their power by announcing their presence on radio and TV. They had taken timely steps to keep these two media centres open.

Over all, the Mukti Bahini was alert, aware and active, and kept the Indians from sticking their noses into local administrations.

Speaking for Sector 7, we got no instructions from the Bangladesh Government about local administration in the areas that were being liberated. We tried, on our own, to get the local MNAs and MPs to take responsibility of local administration in their respective areas. However, they were so unsure of themselves that they felt they had to apply to the Indian Government for visas.

During the war, we had hoped that the elected representatives would work closely with the Mukti Bahini in the sectors and subsectors. It would have made our operations better-planned. One exception was MP Khaled Mia of Rayanpur, who moved to Malda and helped the fighters of Bholahat.

The MP from the area of Rajshahi, Shibganj and Kansat, Dr. Montu, was close to Mohiuddin Jahangir. I once saw him, rifle in hand, moving forward toward the enemy on the banks of the Mahananda river, with Jahangir’s troops.

My daughter Lubna Mariam told me about an incident that tok place during the second week of December. There was a health complex in Shibganj, in a nice building, which we were using as a hospital.

This was when we had the most casualties. There were almost 40 wounded guerillas here. A half dozen or so Awami League leaders arrived, with a couple of dozen oranges in a paper bag.

My daughter flared up at them, asking them where they had been all these days, and said they should visit Jahangir, on the banks of the Mahananda river. Their reply was disappointing. One of them said they couldn’t go where there was gunfire because their lives were more valuable than the guerillas’. The staff on duty asked them to leave.

I can’t remember where I went from Bogra. I was anxious and restless. Fighting was stepping up in Bogra, Dinajpur, and Rajshahi areas. I wanted to be everywhere.

I couldn’t tell how long the war would last. I was without a radio to keep up with news of the war. I remember stopping my jeep at a tea shop and hearing on their radio that the Indians had dropped leaflets on Dhaka calling on the Pakistanis to surrender. Then I knew that the invaders’ days were numbered.

In the same way I heard that the US Seventh Fleet had been ordered to the Bay of Bengal. This great power had always been against us in the Liberation War. I worried that their entry into the war would prolong it. Then I thought of the Vietnam War. The US was later defeated there and had to withdraw.

I thought that the Indian and Bangladeshi forces would be able to bring the coastal areas under control before the Seventh Fleet reached the Bay of Bengal. I learned much later that the Indian Navy and Russian submarines were already active in the Bay of Bengal, to stop the Seventh Fleet.

Now it seems the US threat was a deception. They just wanted to make a gesture of helping the Pakistanis.

Today, thirty years later, I can see the situation clearly. In December 1971, it was a big worry that the US would enter the war against us. I reassured myself that world opinion was on our side. Many well-known Americans were sympathetic to us.

I thought the war might escalate into something more complicated. Being busy in the sub-sectors, I knew little about how the international situation related to our war.

It would have helped if the Bangladesh Government had had a newsletter for the sectors. It would have boosted our morale.

I have to give credit to the Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra. They were propagandist, too good to be true, which was just what we needed. Newsletters would have been more realistic.

106

Chapter 14

Victory and After

The Indians were said to have made off with a huge amount of plunder. I also heard that there was friction between the Indians and Major Jalil’s sector, about this.

Towards the end of December, I went to a bank in Dinajpur to withdraw money that had been entrusted to Torongopur HQ. A crowd gathered around, seeing me armed and in my jeep. Everyone was shaking my hand and congratulating me on our victory.

Then, a gentleman came up and, greeting me in a loud voice, asked, “Sir, you have liberated the land, but can you keep it free?”

Before I could reply, he went on, “No, you can’t.”

There were a few Marwaris in the crowd, identifiable by the sandalwood paste on their foreheads. The gentleman pointed at them and said, “If you let these people into Bangladesh, your independence will be in danger.”

I often remember his words, to this day.

On December 16 I heard from the boys that the Pakistani forces would formally surrender to the Indians sometime that day. At this, I decided to return to Torongopur HQ.

Before leaving, I wanted to hand over responsibility to Major Gias, and had some more instructions for him. He wasn’t present, having taken position on the road from Chapainawabganj to Rajshahi. I told the other officers to get in touch with Gias and proceeded to Rajshahi. I warned them not to fail to take precautions by being too joyful.

I don’t remember any details about what I did that day, December 16. I cannot remember anything about when I left, where I went, who I met, what conversations I had. Not one bit. Was I undone with pride and joy? What could be the reason?

I was remembering the good and bad things about the days of the struggle. It wasn’t possible to know what was happening inside the country. Was I afraid to see how many villages and towns had been burned down? Was I afraid to see the state of my friends and relatives when I met them? Would they be there to be met?

Maybe I was thinking that the families of the brave fighters who had died in my sector would come to me, looking for their dear ones. Would they hold me responsible for their loss? How would I comfort the mothers and fathers?

I am astonished with my inability to remember that day. I was in a daze, driving to HQ. Maybe I was thinking of all the new problems that would arise, now that the war was over.

I would say that I felt joy and sorrow in equal proportions. I never thought that December 16, 1971 would become a red-letter day.

The Pakistan Army’s formal surrender had not been finalized, as I returned. I still couldn’t believe it. The bulk of Pakistani troops had been around Dhaka for its final defence.

I was thinking how terrible such a battle would be. I had to believe that it wouldn’t be a long fight because the freedom fighters were active within the city. But if the enemy behaved as they did on March 25, there would be indescribable harm done.

I dismissed this thought because the enemy had been demoralized, and they couldn’t sink to such depths, if only to meet the terms of unconditional surrender.

A few times I remembered the Seventh Fleet. Had they reached our shores? Had they entered the war against us?

All these thoughts are probably why I can’t remember what I did that day.

The Pakistan Army was on the verge of surrender. The war was almost over. Yes, I was joyful, but I was also angry with myself, and blaming myself. I was deeply troubled by the death of Captain Mohiuddin Jahangir on December 14.

Captain Jahangir was not one to sit quietly. His sub-sector was in action every day. Jahangir was ready and eager to capture Chapai Nawabganj. We knew there would be a big battle in this action.

Knowing that the fall of Chapainawabganj would be a moment of pride in the history of Mohodipur sub-sector, I didn’t try to hold Jahangir back. Rather, I encouraged him to go ahead. It was this very thing that was oppressing me on December 16.

After December 16, the fighters of the sector were redeployed. Lieutenants Kaiser Haq and Saifullah left Dinajpur with their troops and with Captain Idris were sent to Bogra. Under Major Gias, the fighters of Mohodipur and Lalgola made camp in Rajshahi.

After victory, every fighter had the same thought: How soon would they be able to get news of their families? This is quite natural. I, too, was thinking about my home and kin. Was the house okay? Who had been lost among my relatives? Everyone had the same thoughts.

There were many applications for leave of a day or two. They couldn’t wait. But we had no instructions from the Bangladesh Government or the army chief’s HQ about the future of the freedom fighters.

I decided to collect all our arms and ammunition and secure them. With 14,000 fighters, it was more than a day’s work, and it was a lot of work for those who were assigned to it. In Rajshahi I saw them working till 2 a.m.

The fighters wanted the armory to be open constantly. There was even some indiscipline in the rush to deposit arms. They knew they would not get leave without depositing their weapons. This rule was observed strictly.

As soon as the war ended, there was some chaos in the country. Some armed young men started looting in different areas. The freedom fighters were blamed for it. Speaking for Sector 7, none of our fighters had the opportunity as they had surrendered their weapons and had gone home. I believe this happened in every sector. It was unfair to blame freedom fighters. It could have been an attempt to make the people lose faith in the freedom fighters.

Towards the end of the war, the enemy had been retreating in disorder. They lost control of the razakars. The razakars had also abandoned their weapons and were looking for shelter. These weapons could have fallen into the hands of criminals, who then took advantage of the situation to start looting. But it was the freedom fighters who were blamed.

We can be sure that the freedom fighters deposited their weapons. But there was a delay in collecting weapons from the political commandos, who had been created by the Indian authorities. Their leaders became involved in political activity as soon as the war was over. Only they know where and how their members deposited their weapons.

There was another incident about depositing weapons. My wife and I were talking to an Indian journalist, Ruchira Shyam, at the Rajshahi Circuit House. It was almost 11 a.m. when I got a phone call from Lt. Awal of Mohodipur sub-sector, calling from Chapai Nawabganj. A group of soldiers from the Indian Brigadier Pannu’s outfit had surrounded their camp and seized the weapons deposited by the freedom fighters.

I was angry. Why hadn’t he resisted, and why hadn’t he called me before giving up the weapons? He said he hadn’t been allowed to. I got angrier, and, getting Brigadier Pannu’s number from him, called the brigade office. The brigadier was not available. I spoke to the brigade major.

I told him that our weapons should be returned that very day, or we would take back our weapons the same way they had been taken away. It worked.

Brigadier Pannu didn’t know about it. There is no doubt that the weapons were Indian property. We received them formally, and they had to be returned the same way, on orders from our military HQ

I didn’t keep track of how all the different sectors deposited their arms, and what decisions were taken about returning them. We knew that the Indians had whisked away all the Pakistani weapons, ammunition, trucks, tanks, and cannons. Our military HQ had to know it. However, the Mukti Bahini was not directed to do anything about it.

Major Jalil of Sector 9 was relatively young, patriotic, and fierce. He stood up against the Indians when they started to take away cars, buses, trucks, factory equipment and materials, just as I had tried to stop them from carrying off jute products from Mohodipur sub-sector after December 16. But with Jalil, it got complicated. He got into trouble. He was arrested and brought to Dhaka. Our military HQ had many charges against him.

I decided to go to Dhaka in December 1971, as I had no word from army HQ or the local administration, while I was staying at the Rajshahi Circuit House. Qayyum, my son Nadeem, and my two daughters all wanted to come with me. They were dying to go to Dhaka. I couldn’t refuse them.

There was no regular ferry at Nagarbari. We therefore got a large boat to carry our jeep across. Suddenly, four or five armed young men appeared. One of them pointed his rifle at me. I wasn’t ready for this. I tried to explain who I was. They had a different problem.

They thought we looked like Pakistanis from our clothes and our looks, and that we were trying to flee. After much explaining and mentioning the name of Awami League MP Professor Abu Saeed (representative of Bera, Pabna) and others, we managed to persuade them of our bona fides. They did not belong to Sector 7, but were working for some other force.

I did not get much time to talk to the freedom fighters while the war was going on. I didn’t get to know them well, and they treated me with deference. Not that there were no discussions at all. The discussions were about rebuilding the country and India’s designs.

The people inside the country were suspicious of Indian domination, naturally. We didn’t know how united the progressive elements in the country were, and what programmes they had to defend the country’s independence and sovereignty. I believed that if the Indians tried to keep us as a conquest, there would be no lack of fighters to oppose them in a second stage of the struggle. But I never thought that the weapons would be aimed at me.

I was in Dhaka for just a few days. The Indians must have occupied the Pakistani HQ. Colonel Osmani’s head office was in the offices of the log (logistics) area commander. I went there a few times, but didn’t get to meet any higher ups.

I didn’t meet Colonel Osmani. He was said to be too busy to grant my request for a meeting.

I was surprised to see a particular person here. It was Group Captain Tawab,’ in uniform, and quite busy. I had heard that he had wanted to take part in the Liberation War. He had asked what his duties and title would be. For whatever reason, he did not take part in the war. I couldn’t understand how he got a place in Colonel Osmani’s HQ, as soon as the war ended.

Colonel Osmani’s HQ was chaotic. No one seemed concerned about the future of the guerillas. I decided to return to Rajshahi, hand over charge to Major Gias, and retire from the Mukti Bahini.

I did so.

It was while I was at Rajshahi that a letter arrived from Colonel Osmani, marked “Ops. Immediate.” It just said to meet him.

Letters marked this way are sent rarely. I thought he might really want to talk to me about something important. Keeping the state of the HQ and Colonel Osmani’s conduct in mind, I went back two days later.

However, though I waited seven days, I didn’t get to see him. I took my leave from HQ.

I joined the Liberation War on my own, and I left it the same way.

———————

1.Later Air Vice-Marshal. Muhammad Ghulam Tawab (1930 – 1999) was the second Chief of the Air Staff of the Bangladesh Air Force. He also served as Deputy Chief Martial Law Administrator under Ziaur Rahman.

112

 

Appendix 1

Colonel Osmani at the Sector Commanders’ Conference

At the Sector Commanders’ Conference, Colonel Osmani asked each sector commander to write down his own plans for the future. We were given about an hour, after which we were called in one by one.

To those who said they would “destroy” bridges, he advised them to say “demolish.” Those who wrote “demolish” were advised to say “destroy.” We had a chuckle about it.

Among the sector commanders, Major Jalil was the youngest and the most enthusiastic. When Colonel Osmani told him to change the word he had used, he responded that the conference did not have to be reduced to an English lesson.

Jalil came back to us and kept protesting, loudly and excitedly. Some of us took him elsewhere and told him to calm down.

Appendix 2

Second Lieutenant Saifullah Disappears

from the Hospital

There were several heroic actions during 1971. One of them took place in the Hamzapur sub-sector. This sub-sector wasn’t strategically vital, but Idris’ troops were carrying out operations daily.

Idris had very few officers, so when some newly commissioned officers were sent to me, I sent three of them to Hamzapur. These were Second Lieutenants Saifullah, Kaiser Haq, and Amin. These three showed plenty of courage.

Saifullah was wounded in an action. It took a while for the news to reach me. He had been sent to Dinajpur army hospital, not far from my Torongopur HQ. Still, I had been too busy to pay him a visit right away.

When I finally got to the Dinajpur army hospital, I couldn’t find Saifullah in the officer’s ward. The doctor on duty said that Saif had run away from the hospital. The doctor asked me to meet the commander. The colonel started off by saying that there was no discipline among the officers of the Mukti Bahini.

I asked him to explain. He said that Saif had left the hospital without telling anyone, before he was fully recovered. He had never seen anything like it before.

I was astonished. Saif was not one to abandon the war. In a day or two I went to Hamzapur. There was Saif, bandaged, with his arm in a sling. He greeted me with a smile, and had a good laugh at the hospital’s complaint about him.

He said he couldn’t rest in a hospital while the sub-sector was running so many operations with such few officers. He had to run away because he had been denied permission to be discharged. And the wound was just a scratch.

Appendix 3

The Contribution of the Naval

Commandos

The Liberation War is often thought of as a land war. However, we did have a naval commando force, and, a few months before the war ended, an air force component was also started. The naval commandos, who had been trained in India, were the more numerous of the two.

The naval commandos’ contribution to the Liberation War was much greater than their numbers might suggest. I don’t believe they have been given enough credit.

The naval commandos showed their mettle just when our land forces were in something of a lull. They were mainly divers, trained in the use of explosives. Many of them were said to have started without even knowing how to swim, and had never laid eyes on explosives.

These spirited boys carried out operations simultaneously in Chittagong and Mongla seaports, as well as in Sirajganj river-port, around August 14 or 15. The seaports were almost paralyzed and the river-port was heavily damaged. About a dozen sea-going ships and passenger steamers were heavily damaged and some of them were sunk.

The enemy high command in Dhaka was terrified by the simultaneous attacks all over the country. The impact was felt in Islamabad. We are forever in debt to the naval commandos.

There are many factors in a victory in war, such as the quality of training, the quality of weapons, fitness and excellence, ration distribution in the battlefield, and morale. Soldiers with high morale can overcome much, and achieve beyond their means.

Our forces were inspired by patriotism, while the enemy was trying to maintain a “Muslim” state under Islamabad. Their aims were beyond the understanding of many of their troops. We were better Muslims than the Pakistanis.

During the war, Pakistani planes were not allowed to fly over India. They had to fly via Colombo. It was hard to supply rations by air. Commercial ships were better suited for this job.

The East Pakistan high command of the enemy realized that their capabilities would be reduced by the actions of naval commandos. They might even be cut off from West Pakistan.

It was a blow to their morale and they were terrified. I am convinced that the action of the naval commandos contributed greatly to our victory.

Appendix 4

Moklesur Rahman Dulu’s Story

There are too many incidents to describe. Here’s just one of them, the one in which I was going to commit suicide, if necessary. It happened on October 2, 1971.

War was in full cry all over the land. I was a company commander in Sector 7, under Colonel Nooruzzaman, our sector commander. He told me that operations must be continual, one after another. There was no other way to be victorious.

I prepared myself mentally. When I first met the sector commander, he wanted to know everything about me. I told him I had been trained as a commando in India. I had shown considerable skill in frontal combat, at the Hilli border. I was made company commander even though I was quite young.

“Make sure you are never caught, even if you have to commit suicide,” Col. Nooruzzaman had said to me. I had taken a grenade with me to the operation, for that purpose, because there was a big chance of being caught. I had pledged to blow myself up, if I was caught

On October 2, we got news that a Pakistani train had arrived in Shukanpukur, carrying officers, soldiers and a large quantity of ammunition. I decided to attack it, and met with the other commanders to discuss the proposed action. They didn’t agree.

I was disappointed, but determined to go ahead. I told my troops to get ready.

At about 11 a.m., I disguised myself as a milkman and carefully observed the enemy position at Shukanpukur. There were eight carriages in the train: two were for supplies, one was a coaltender, and two were stone-carriers, in front of the engine. There was one company of Pakistani troops here. They may have stopped here to transfer from Bogra to Dhaka.

At the last moment, a few more commanders wanted to go on the operation, and we started preparations. We had ten anti-tank mines, 25 pounds of TNT, detonators, 600 feet of cordage and five

This account has been taken from a Bogra daily

LMGs. About evening, we took positions around the enemy with a team of 21. Just before the operation I got news that Pakistani agents had taken my father away. My mind went blank. I had a threemonth-old son at home, with my young wife. Being an only child, I had agreed to marry early, at the request of my family. I tried to think only of the plans for the operation.

We started planting the anti-tank mines at 7 p.m. It took almost three hours to get everything ready. At around 10:30 pm, the ten anti-tank mines and 25 pounds of explosives were detonated. The next morning we found 139 dead Pakistanis.

There had not been so many Pakistani soldiers killed in any single operation, in any sector. Back at camp I heard that the operation had been reported three days in a row by Charampatra, on Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra. There was quite a buzz about it. I was congratulated all around.

The news reached the Pakistan Army. They wanted my head at any price. Loudspeakers announced a reward of 10,000 rupees, dead or alive.

The success of this operation motivated me to carry out further operations.

119