This might be useful - view of a West Pakistani in East Pakistan just prior to B'desh becoming a reality -
etween 1 and 25 March the Awami League controlled everything in Khulna because of which we had nothing to do except follow the slowly unfolding events and ponder over our uncertain future. I spent time playing bridge and on one occasion the session lasted 36 hours. We usually went to our Bengali friends in official jeeps/cars but in order to be in synch with the sentiments of the local population we tied a black ribbon somewhere on a conspicuous part of the vehicle as a mark of protest at the postponement of the National Assembly session. By taking this simple precaution we did not have to fear for our lives-at least not until 25 March. The political situation would invariably come up for discussion and our Bengali hosts would ask whether or not they had the right to rule the country after having won the elections so convincingly. One had no answer. There was absolutely no justification for denying the political process to reach its denouement. One good effect, in personal terms, of these marathon bridge sessions was that I developed a total disgust for the game. I gave up playing bridge for good.
Coming back to the main issue, normal civic life had come to a virtual standstill. Nothing moved in East Pakistan without orders from the Awami League, which had also assumed control of the Dhaka radio station. The authority of the federal government had evaporated into thin air. This state of near anarchy could have easily been reversed if power was transferred to the elected representatives of the people. But that was not to be.
On 24 March 1971, Major-General Rao Farman Ali paid a surprise visit to the military units deployed in Khulna. He came by helicopter. Roshan Zamir [a colleague] and I went to meet him. We pleaded with him to have us transferred back to West Pakistan as we had almost completed our mandatory stay of two years and had forfeited our usefulness in the emerging political scenario. Moreover, we were worried for our safety and would be at serious risk in the event of a final showdown between the military and the Bengalis. I for one thought that things wouldnt come to that pass.
We had no clue about the purpose of the generals visit and were not privy to what transpired between him and his units. The mystery unfolded a day later.
Colonel Shams was in charge of the army unit in Khulna. The following day he called me to the Circuit House where he lived and informed me in strict confidence that in six hours time, that is at midnight between 25 and 26 March, there would be a pucca military action-a crackdown-against the Bengalis. It was to be open season. He also informed me that in pursuit of the objectives of the operation he would kill Noor-ul-Islam, the Bengali DC who had arrived only three weeks earlier; and invited me to take over as DC Khulna. I listened to him in total disbelief, but he was dead serious. Realizing the gravity of the situation, I tried to dissuade him from pursuing his deadly plans. The superintendent police of Khulna, Raquib Khondakar, met Shams -sometime later and succeeded in convincing him to spare the DCs life. Noor-ul-Islam died of natural causes a few years later. The poor man must have been under tremendous strain.
The night between 24 and 25 was an eerie experience. Khulna, the second largest city of East Pakistan and teeming with people in ordinary circumstances, presented a scene of deathly silence on 26 March. One could even hear the rustling of leaves on the road. At one point on that day I asked the telephone operator to connect me to a number but before doing so he asked me in a tone of mutual confidence if I knew what the military was up to. He must have noticed some unusual movement. One had not seen such things before. I said I knew no better. I then got a call from a friend who was an engineer telling me that some students were outside his house demanding that he hand over his licensed pistol/revolver, and inquired if he should do so. I told him that he seemed to have no choice in the matter and that in any case the district administration was no longer functional.
At the Rupsha Rest House we only ate dal, chawal, potatoes and roti because all markets were closed. One day we had a `feast when someone brought achar to break the monotony of our daily fare. In this crisis the `war council comprising the four of us, the other two being Nawazish Ali Zaidi and Syed Anwar Shah of Union Bank, met daily to review the situation. We concluded that with nothing stirring and the political stalemate showing no signs of getting any better, the only option was to explore all avenues of escape.
After many weeks of living in fear we now felt safe because we were in the secure precincts of a cantonment. Our army colleagues provided us the best available accommodation and food. Even otherwise every West Pakistani was implicitly their friend and a Bengali their foe. But two days later our peace was shattered with some intense firing of heavy weapons. This was worrisome and on asking we were told that in the process of disarming the 1st Bengal Regiment stationed in the cantonment, a standoff had taken place. The Bengal Regiment had not been dispossessed of its arms till then because disarming a military unit is always a very delicate operation, more so when this is done without justification. After all, the Bengali troops had not committed any breach of army discipline to warrant this humiliation. Since they had the same weapons as the other army units, it appeared that a showdown was inevitable. The army was worried because the firing from the other side had been intense beMsides which the rebellious troops were joined by the Bengali police and Rangers who had reportedly surrounded the cantonment. It was now the Bengalis versus the rest. Every Bengali felt that he had to fight for the `cause against the `occupation forces.
That evening an army captain was recounting the days exploits. I was saddened to learn from him that they or perhaps he himself had killed our good Bengali doctor, an army colonel. I expressed my horror at the unwarranted murder of an innocent and well-meaning human being who had invariably shown great concern for us. This remark provoked the young captain to point his gun at me because he felt I was defending a traitor; for the Pakistani troops every Bengali was a traitor. Roshan Zamirs timely intervention averted a possible shooting and I must consider myself lucky to be alive. Even though I did not believe he would actually shoot me, I must confess I was scared because it occurred to me that a trigger happy army captain was capable of taking one more life.
During the next two days reinforcements in men and materials kept arriving from Dhaka and the army succeeded in bringing the situation under control. We heard the drone of aeroplanes and on asking were told that these were PIA Fokker-27 planes transporting arms from Dhaka and perhaps beyond. The roads were closed. This looked like a God-sent opportunity so we asked if it was possible to hitch a ride on their return trip to Dhaka. We were told that we could, and that there would be no charge! On 31 March, finally and mercifully, we were out of Jessore and on our way to Dhaka. All passenger seats in the aircraft had been removed to make space for carrying military cargo so we had to squat on the floor which was dirty. I sat on my handkerchief but Roshan was far more depressed and in a greater rush, and sat down without much ado. Because the aircraft was flying low we could see fires burning in villages all along the route to Dhaka. The troops had torched these bustling villages to vent their frustration at not being able to suppress people demanding their democratic rights.
Once in Dhaka
getting a seat on a flight to Karachi was almost impossible because a large number of people were queuing up to leave. These were times when people were prepared to part with their car keys in return for an early flight to the safety of West Pakistan although the price of the ticket was just Rs.225 or Rs.250. We were booked on the flight leaving Dhaka the next day, 1 April 1971.
We rested for the night and next morning left to see the chief secretary to obtain leave of absence. We couldnt inform the civil secretariat of our presence in Dhaka as we had left our posts without formal sanction. Once outside the safety of the National Assembly complex we asked a traffic constable if it was safe to travel to the city. Dhaka presented a deserted look but he was ebullient in assuring us with a great deal of pride and with a visible sense of satisfaction, his chest thrust forward, that things were very safe indeed because `we have sorted the [expletive] out. He had to be a Bihari because he shared with the military in equal measure a pathological hatred for the Bengalis.
We met the chief secretary and requested him for one or two months leave which he granted before we could even finish making the request... We then went to see Fakhruddin Ahmad, the Bengali deputy secretary of services and general administration department. He was sitting morose and downcast. It turned out that the army had ransacked his house the night before and had slapped his mother. The soldiers appeared to have been in a no-nonsense frame of mind, and relented only when the inmates of the house begged them in the name of Allah and in the name of the Quran to show mercy. The jawans were surprised to see the Quran in their home because they had perhaps been made to believe that they were dealing with a non-Muslim (kafir) population. The military leadership has a way of conditioning the minds of its troops. It was no secret that West Pakistani leaders, military mostly, wanted everyone here to believe that the Bengalis were unduly influenced by the Hindus in demanding their civil rights and the right to their language. One has to read General Gul Hassans book to believe it.
A nasty surprise awaited us when we returned to the MNA hostel in the afternoon. Most of our belongings had been stolen. It was unbelievable that this could happen in an area controlled entirely by the military. When we complained to the authorities we were told that it would be difficult to find the thieves because most people were in transit with whom the authorities werent familiar. This also reminds me of an interesting episode when I needed toilet soap and asked Roshan if he had any. A jawan standing nearby promptly offered to help and asked which soap I would like to have. He then opened the palms of his hands and showed two different brands of soap, one in each hand. I took one and was trying to thank him when he cut me short by saying that he had not paid for these but had `taken them. This piqued my interest so I asked if he had taken part in any operation, meaning had he killed anyone. He replied in the affirmative but said that since he had not been able to find a male Bengali he had killed a woman instead. He added ruefully that they were under orders not to loot and as such all they could do was break into shops and destroy TV sets or whatever else was there since that was `enemy property...
I had imagined everyone in Karachi would be furious with Yahya for launching the operation in East Pakistan. But I soon found that this was not the case. On the contrary, almost everyone including some intellectuals I met over the next few days held the view that the crackdown was long overdue and more than was justified. How could the people of West Pakistan be so callous to the plight of their countrymen in the other wing and oblivious of the consequences of denying them their democratic rights? One Rafiq Inayat Mirza, a senior civil servant who was chairman of the National Press Trust, whom I went to meet when I was in Islamabad, and who was busy in our usual chat in the office with some visitors, rued the fact that the Sindhis were clamouring for a Sindhi chief secretary. He was horrified at the thought that `unpatriotic people were making such a scandalous demand adding, quite innocently, that Punjabis never made such demands, little realizing that chief secretaries in all the provinces of the country were from the Punjab. Surprisingly, his audience of coffee drinking friends seemed to agree with him wholeheartedly. The absence of any empathy for their East Pakistani brethren was mind-boggling.
Excerpted from the chapter entitled Military Crackdown, 25 March 1971 in What was Once East Pakistan by Syed Shahid Hussain, published by Oxford University Press. The author a former civil servant lives in Islamabad and practises law
