India Invaded Pakistan In 1971: Know The Facts, And The Enemy

shuntmaster · Dec 16, 2011

BANGLA FREEDOM
When freedom triumphed
By Mandira Nayar
Story Dated: Friday, November 25, 2011 12:23 hrs IST

Victory lap: Indian tanks in action

“You can't live outside history”
—Anatomy of a Disappearance, by Hisham Matar

Indira Gandhi was on a state visit to Bangladesh after the liberation war. Sheikh Mujibur Rahman had scheduled a big public meeting at Ramna Maidan—a sprawling open space in the heart of congested Dacca. The dais was in the shape of a country boat, the Awami League symbol. He expressed his wish to build a memorial at the site to honour the Indian soldiers who fought in the war. Mrs G tactfully declined. Her reasoning was simple: a war-ravaged country couldn't afford to waste its limited resources. She wanted 1971 to be Bangladesh's war of liberation rather than an Indo-Pak clash.
Indira's role in the 1971 Bangladesh liberation struggle has always been about her wearing the pants in the cabinet, having the guts to take on the United States and refusing to bow down to international pressure. And in the face of many more thrilling moments—especially her being pitted against President Nixon and Henry Kissinger—this incident is hardly likely to be remembered. But, perhaps, this was one of her most sensitive gestures.
It is the war that altered the map of the world. For India, the story of the 1971 war began and ended at this figure—93,000—the number of Pakistanis who surrendered. Forty years later, this fact shines even brighter. Across the border, the win was much more about idealism and the satisfactory feeling of freedom.
No different from other wars, this one was about courage, bravery, tactics, diplomacy and heroism. In India, her finest generals took centrestage. They planned a perfect war and men like Captain Mulla, who chose not to abandon ship while his sailors were going down, proved that patriotism is much more than just a feeling. In the yet-to-be-born Bangladesh, young students, peasants, doctors, ex Pak army officers and engineers fought shoulder to shoulder with the Indian fauj for their independence. The Indian Army in olive green and the young men in lungis.
But the war of 1971 is more than just about a victory. It is about the old-fashioned value of friendship—more than har ek friend zaroori hota hai version of the feeling.
In a world where ‘friendship' between nations is far from altruistic, it may be naïve to believe that the fringe benefits of perhaps beating Pakistan didn't sweeten the plan. The wounds of 1965 were far from healed and a chance to get even would have felt good for the Indian defence establishment, but for the most part, it was the genuine suffering of the Bangladeshi people that moved Indian politicians.
Nothing prepared Indira for the horrors she saw when she visited refugee camps in Calcutta. She had thought she would be able to deal with them with her experience of them in Delhi, but she couldn't. P.N. Dhar, who went with her, described a scene: “What we saw in the camps defied description. More than the stories of what had happened to them, it was their physical and mental state that assaulted our moral sensibility.”
It is this spirit of cooperation that goes beyond just the ordinary lump-in-the-throat patriotic fervour however inspiring that may be. Young motivated men went into battle armed with just about basic training to fight for their land. Bangladesh's liberation war may have been a military war that the Indians won, but it was the battle that every Bangladeshi fought. It is acknowledging of this sentiment, which the Indian political class as well as Indian soldiers was aware of, that makes the war special.
“The contribution of the Mukti Bahini was tremendous,”says Lt. General J.F.R. Jacob. “Due credit must be given to them.”
Their boldness is something that every fauji will acknowledge. For all intents and purposes, it was the joint forces of the Mukti Bahini and the Indian Army. It may be referred to as the Indo-Pak war by many quarters, but ask almost anyone who fought it, and they will mention how brave the other was in battle. However, there was no question of the Indian Army outstaying its welcome. It moved out as soon as it could. Far from the American brand of help, this wasn't about friendship with long-term commitment.
After the surrender in Dacca on December 16, at the UN, foreign minister Sardar Swaran Singh passed a note to foreign secretary T.N. Kaul, asking all Indian delegates to meet after the session was over. “We were all curious about the purpose of the meeting,'' writes J.N. Dixit in Liberation and Beyond.
Singh told them that no Indian delegate should be seen at the bar for the next 48 hours. “He also cautioned us not to be boastful or jingoistic in our conversations with other delegates about the victory of the Indian Army and the liberation of Bangladesh.”
It is acts like this that make 1971 far more than just a war won.
The war may have been about togetherness but it was mostly, as Tagore wrote it, “ekla chalo re”. Indira's stand on East Pakistan was not without risk. She was completely alone. Indira with her Santiniketan stint had certainly absorbed this principle. It was her government's complete conviction to throw its weight behind the independence movement—without any international partners till the Soviets came along—that made India a regional superpower.
The only hyphenated superhero, Spider-man, may have said, “with great power comes great responsibility'', but the wily men—Indira's Kashmiri coterie—understood it. During the 1972 Shimla talks, P.N. Dhar suffered a heart attack and his place was taken by P.N. Haksar. The summit so far was nowhere near cordial. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Indira Gandhi “found each other repellent. But in addition to personal antagonism, they clashed on their objectives,'' writes Katherine Frank in Indira.
However, “the main objective in Haksar's eyes was not to humiliate Pakistan but rather create trust and confidence between it and India. He said to Indira, “You must not forget Versailles Treaty. You don't trample a man who is down and out.” He then did various redrafts of the treaties stressing on bilateralism. A sentiment Gen. Jacob echoed when he talked about the surrender in 1971. He wanted to treat Gen. Niazi with respect.
1971 is about moments like this. Far away from the limelight, quiet gestures that were as much about bravery, heroism and winning as were the battles that the joint command won. It is about being real super-heroes.
It is also the story of those who remained unsung or forgotten. Men like Albert Ekka who went into certain death knowing that they would never come back—of men like Uttaia, a JCO who carried ammunition back and forth despite being hit in the battle of Basantar, or 17-year-old Hamidur, who fought bravely in the battle of Dholoi only to die before he was an adult. And it is as much the story of those who will forever remain faceless—women who helped out in refugee camps, men who buried young Mukti jodhhas in Meghalaya praying for them and those who opened up hearts and homes for people who walked across. Ultimately, it is the story of warmth, generosity and the open-heartedness.
“People opened up their homes completely,'' says veteran journalist Haroon Habib. “I remember, in Calcutta there were people living in the openings of small buildings. The flat owners never once said anything. They also opened up their kitchens to Muslims. They helped women give birth to their children. It was about humanity.”
Ordinary people did extraordinary things. As refugees came pouring into India, it was impossible for India or Indira to not look east. At the height of it, up to 1,50,000 a day flowed in, says Katherine Frank, and it totalled 10 million in the next months. The horrors of the refugee camps left Indira “so overwhelmed by the scale of human misery that she could hardly speak,'' writes Frank.
Even the Indian film industry decided to do its bit. As movie actor Waheeda Rahman, who was chairperson of the committee for fundraising for refugees, put it, it was about humanity. George Harrison, of the Beatles, got his accent right with the help of Ustad Ravi Shankar when he crooned “Joy Bangla”.
“In 1971, the population of Tripura was five lakh and the refugees were five lakh themselves,'' says Colonel Sajjad A. Zahir, who has been given the responsibility to document Friends of Bangladesh. “By October, 789 were wounded and dead in Tripura. They got killed in the retaliation by the Pakistani army. These were ordinary people who had nothing to do with the war. But they never turned on the refugees.”
Like Indira Gandhi's generous moment of friendship, this part of the 1971 story has been forgotten. As, in some way, have the people who fought it. The last generation of Indian Army tigers—these men fought many wars and lost many men—somehow have retreated in the background. In Tagore's sonar land, instead of fading in the distance, as it has in India, the past is alive, kicking and very much ‘the' present.
Forty years after, the government under Sheikh Hasina is ensuring that Bangladesh doesn't forget. Over 500 people from all over the world will be honoured for being a friend of Bangladesh to mark the anniversary of the war. Col. Sajjad Zahir is going to remote places to document their contribution and just to say thank you.
India needs to remember those who fought and those who fought the war without going to the field. And it is more than just about victory. It is about something much more long-lasting and deeper than the rush of triumph. It is about being heroes.

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INDIRA’S ROLE
She took a big risk
By Dr Karan Singh

Forward march: Indian soldiers in Sind in West Pakistan

The role that Indira Gandhi played in the Bangladesh liberation war was a sophisticated and sensitive one. She didn't take the military option till the very end. Initially, she tried diplomacy. She sent out her ministers all over the world to explain the situation. I was sent to Yugoslavia (I knew Marshal Tito), Bulgaria and the German Democratic Republic. On my way back, I met the Shah of Iran.
We pointed out that a political solution was required. The problem was that Sheikh Mujibur Rahman should have been appointed prime minister of Pakistan since he had won the majority in the federal elections. But the west Pakistani leadership adopted an authoritarian attitude. They cracked down on Bangladeshi resistance, spread havoc and created a humanitarian crisis. There was a stream of refugees—nearly 10 million people moved to India. When diplomacy failed, Indira orchestrated a brilliant military campaign with the assistance of Mukti Bahini. India's dominance was complete and the Pakistan army surrendered quickly. I made a remark then that this war lasted just 13 days while the Mahabharat went on for 18 days. It was an extraordinary victory and marked the high point of her tenure.
We were all in the Lok Sabha on December 16, when our troops took Dacca. Though Indira was a woman of strong emotions, she rarely showed it. On this occasion, she virtually ran into the house. I used to sit directly behind her, since the seats were allotted alphabetically. She got up and said, “Mr Speaker, may I interrupt?'' He said, “Yes.” She got up and said, “Dacca has fallen.” The whole house exploded with joy. I have never seen such a display of happiness.
Indira took a big risk. The Seventh Fleet of the US navy was sailing up the Bay of Bengal. US president Richard Nixon and his national security adviser Henry Kissinger were dismayed at the turn of events. They owed Pakistan since they had used Pakistan's help to befriend China. Kissinger's meetings in China were fixed by the Pakistanis. The Seventh Fleet was sent to intimidate India. Kissinger told me later: “We were quite clear that India would go ahead with its plans to liberate Bangladesh. However, our worry was that India would then turn around and set its sights on west Pakistan. We couldn't allow that.”
Singh was a cabinet minister  during the 1971 war.

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BANGLA WAR
Roses and skeletons
By Mandira Nayar/Dhaka
Story Dated: Friday, November 25, 2011 15:52 hrs IST

Clothed in nationalism: Politics is one factor that unites Bangladesh / Photo by Salil Bera

n Tagore's Sonar Bangla, the land of tangerine sunrises and sunsets, expansive rivers and dark green fields, the memory of the liberation war 40 years ago is inescapable. Books on it can be found everywhere—even at outlets of Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Author Kamila Shamsie has written about how city maps are made of memories in her Kartography (a nod to her home Karachi). In Dhaka, everyone has their own map made of their memories of resistance, of narrow escapes, of fighting, of loss and of freedom. They have become personal ‘landmarks'.
Rupashri Bangla is one such. In the 1970s, it used to be the InterContinental, the only hotel of a “reasonable standard” for foreign correspondents. It served as base camp for those who came to cover the Mujib-Yahya talks in March 1971. When the Pakistan army came out in full force on March 21, the correspondents stuck in the hotel watched with horror. “The story that Pakistan wanted to keep under wraps was out the same day,” says Mahfuz Anam, editor of the Daily Star, Bangladesh's leading English newspaper.
Student leader Hasanul Haq Inu remembers planting a time bomb in the car park. A chemical engineer, Inu was responsible for ammunition. “I had used condoms and sulphuric acid,” he says with a shy smile.
Stories like these litter Bangladesh's streets. The walls of the sprawling Dhaka University, the birthplace and battle ground of the freedom movement, were used for target practice by the rebels. “It still has the marks,” says Inu proudly. It was with his Afghan-smuggled pistol that students learnt how to shoot. The banyan tree on the campus, where students used to gather, was cut down by the Pakistan army many times. “The first time it was done, another sapling mysteriously came up in its place the next day,” says historian Mustassir Mamun. This apparently happened many times over. Each time, another sapling would take its place.
Everyone has such mystical and idealistic stories to share. Bangladeshis started writing books about the struggle 25 years ago, and have not stopped since. Mamun himself has written a number of books, and is currently working on volume 14.
It is difficult to miss the romance of that period: the mukti joddhas—young boys barely in their 20s, infused with unshakeable idealism, brashness and a sense of immortality—pitted against a well-equipped army. In Bangladesh, they don't need Che. They have many thin, cigarette-smoking versions of him, albeit lungi-clad.
“Liberation war changed one or two generations,” says Mamun. “It was the first time everyone from society, from farmers to students, was involved. When Mujibur Rahman said, ‘be prepared for everything', people came out to fight with whatever they had—even sticks. We didn't know how lethal modern warfare was. It isn't that the war was the most glorious period, it was also the most memorable.”
However, it was not all about the romance of freedom. The nine months it took for Bangladesh to be born was also its darkest, most bloody period. Ten million people walked across the border to seek shelter in India. Those who did not, lived in mortal fear. Pro-Pakistan outfits like Al-Badr and the Razakar went on a rampage, looting, killing and raping many. “It was the worst genocide in the 20th century,'' says Mofidul Hoque, trustee and member secretary of the War of Liberation Museum in Dhaka. “Almost every family suffered.”
The Sheikh Hasina government came to power with the promise to set up a war crimes tribunal. The aim was to right the wrongs of the past and bring closure. While most people believe that it has taken too long, there is a section that believes that the government is being too zealous in its search for justice.
“It is a shame that we haven't been able to try these people for so long,” says A.K Khandker, minister of planning. Khandker was the only member of the Bangladesh army who was witness to the surrender ceremony in 1971. He heads the Sectors Commanders Forum, a group of ex-freedom fighters, which has been calling for the tribunal for the past six years.
This is not the first time that Bangladesh has decided to punish those who were guilty of crimes during that period. Post liberation, 37,000 people were arrested and charged with serious crimes. It was not simply about sympathising with the Pakistani cause; it was about having been actively involved in looting, murder and rape. “These forces were created to protect the integrity of Pakistan. They were terrorists,'' says journalist Haroon Habib, who was appointed by the government to document the war.
Close to Mofidul Hoque's home is Mirpur Bridhabhoomi, or the killing fields. “There was an abandoned pump house in the area where some construction work was to start,” says Hoque. “When the workers went in they found skeletons and they called us.” Apparently, sympathisers to the Bangladesh cause were systematically eliminated at Mirpur. “The locals remember their neighbours who never came back,” he says.
A walled garden in the midst of an overcrowded barren brown colony, Mirpur Bridhabhoomi is strangely peaceful for a place that witnessed unbelievable violence. A plaque names the people who are believed to have died here. Bangladesh puts the figure of dead at 3 million. Dead Reckoning, a recent book by Sarmila Bose, the grand-niece of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, has disputed this figure. Her denial of the genocide—she has taken the side of the Pakistan army—has hurt the Bangladeshis deeply. For them, it is a betrayal. “I hope you're not going to go the Sarmila Bose way,” is something that every interviewee reiterates.
Fighting to get justice for those who went missing in that period is a mission with many of that generation. A.M.S Shamsul Arefin, the chief investigator of the War Crimes Tribunal, is one of them. Based on evidence that has been gathered painstakingly for years, Arefin has published a book where he lists the collaborators. “I took 10 years to compile this list,” he says. “There are eyewitness accounts. We even went to BBC to get footage.”
For people like him, the dead are far from forgotten. Across the country, 1,000 killing fields have been found so far. And Bangladesh is unwilling to forgive.

HERO

Fighting for freedom

By Abdul Karim Khandker

On March 25, the day the Pakistan army's brutal crackdown began, I made up my mind and joined the liberation war. I was made the deputy chief of staff, responsible for training and operation of the Mukti Bahini.
For both, we had to depend on India. We recruited fighters from refugee camps and sent them to India for training. Initially, their numbers were very small. The weapons we received from India were also insignificant. We started getting greater help from India after August 9, when India and the Soviet Union signed a friendship treaty.
On August 15, we carried out an attack on Pakistani and foreign ships in Chittagong port, proving to the world that we meant business. Our attacks against Pakistan increased tremendously from then on. By the end of October, they had lost their morale.
On December 7, the governor of East Pakistan took initiative and called for a ceasefire. Messages asking for a ceasefire were sent to General Yahya Khan many times. But Yahya, hoping that they would get support from China and the US, kept delaying it. It was when the combined forces of Indian Army and the Mukti Bahini surrounded Dacca that Yahya gave clearance to accept surrender.
I represented Bangladesh armed forces at the surrender ceremony. I came with General J.S. Aurora. We were received at the airport by senior Pakistani officers. We drove to Ramna Maidan, where the surrender ceremony took place. There was only one table and two chairs. General Aurora and General Amir Abdullah Khan Niazi sat down, surrounded by a crowd. The ceremony took no more than 10 minutes. Later, our forces escorted the Pakistani forces to a safe place. The Bangladeshi people were furious. But it was our responsibility to protect them once they had surrendered.

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BANGLA WAR
Gentle general
Story Dated: Friday, November 25, 2011 15:54 hrs IST

Hardworking hero: Jagjit Aurora

If Sam was the colourful, irreverent chief, Jagjit Aurora was the quiet, hardworking planner. For India, he will always remain the face of the war, as the man who signed the historic surrender document.
“I was a group captain then,'' remembers A.K. Khandker. “I had full access to all the offices in Fort William, and I was always made to feel like an equal by General Aurora.”
An incident that took place post the liberation, perhaps, best illustrates the kind of gentleman Aurora was. Aurora and the then defence secretary K.B. Lal were deputed by India to hold discussions so there could be some decisions taken when Indira Gandhi and Sheikh Mujib held talks later. Subimal Dutt was the new high commissioner to Bangladesh. He called J.N. Dixit to ask what arrangements he had made for Aurora's visit. Dixit told him that Aurora flew the eastern command flag in the car and that he normally stayed at Command House in the Cant. Dutt told Dixit that these arrangements would no longer hold—Bangladesh was a sovereign country, he said.
He also insisted that he come and call on the high commissioner first and stop directly meeting Mujib. When Dixit conveyed the matter to Aurora, “he graciously agreed to the changes'', Dixit writes in his book Liberation and Beyond. He then goes to recall another unusual incident. During the visit, Dutt apparently told Aurora, “Let me give you some political insights and information about undercurrents of Bangladesh politics which you should keep in mind.”
Dutt further wanted Aurora to take notes: “You do not have a notebook. It would be good if you keep notes on points I am making to keep your memory fresh.” Dutt even offered him a notebook, pulling out from his drawer. Writes Dixit: “Being courteous he took the notebook and was seen to scribble as Dutt continued with his exposition.''

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MUKTI BAHINI
First fight
Story Dated: Friday, November 25, 2011 16:3 hrs IST

Serious business: Qayyum Khan

Dacca, March 27, 1971. Curfew had lifted for a few hours. Qayyum Khan had gone with his father to see his uncle. “While I was there, I wanted to check on my friend Sheikh Kamal, Sheikh Mujib's son,” he recalls. “As I couldn't go to his house, I was walking around, asking friends. A Pakistani JCO considered this suspicious.”
Khan, now a businessman, was almost hauled into a truck and sent away, but there was no space. He was to wait for the next truck. “Then it dawned on me that I would get shot,” he says. “I told him in Urdu that these Bengalis were bad. It didn't have the Bengali accent. He let me go.” He then had a nervous breakdown. “We had no power over the Pakistani army,” he says. “We could stay in Dacca and get killed or fight and get killed. We chose the latter.”
But the sheltered, middle-class boys did not know how to join up. They finally found a contact through a friend. “Seven of us decided to leave,” he recalls. “One of us wanted to blend in, so he wore a lungi and a vest. But he was reading an English newspaper!”
They crossed over to Agartala and made it to the Mukti Bahini camp. “We then realised this was serious business,” he recalls. “There were not enough tents. You couldn't sleep, but there was so much adrenaline.” Khan was posted near Malda. “The captain was Mohiuddin Jahangir,” he says. “He was nothing like an army officer; he had a beard and wore lungi and tennis shoes. He was very dedicated.”
Jahangir was given the task of capturing Pakistani stronghold Chapai-Nawabganj. “It was a tough fight,” says Khan. “We laid siege to the town. On December 14, we flushed them out. But Jahangir was killed.”

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BANGLA WAR
Leg end of Sylhet
By Mandira Nayar
Story Dated: Monday, November 28, 2011 16:0 hrs IST
Every war has its heroes. 1971 is no different.

Every war has its heroes. 1971 is no different. In the war that saw Captain Mullah go down with his ship, drinking his favourite whiskey, and Lance Naik Albert Ekka facing certain death to lob a grenade to save his men in the face of enemy fire, Major General Ian Cardozo, the second-in-command of the 4th Battalion of 5th Gurkha Rifles Frontier Force, cut off his own leg.
Cardozo's battalion, which had suffered many casualties, was sent for India's first heli-born mission into Sylhet to capture the airfield, the control tower and a bridge.
“I reached the airfield at 3 a.m.,'' Cardozo remembers. “The moon was setting. It was December and the rice had been cut. Choppers were ready to take off. But they had to wait for the first wave to come back. They needed to be briefed to know where the fire was coming from. The choppers were not armour-protected. So if any of the bullets had hit a fuel pipe it would have caught fire.”
Loaded on they landed in Sylhet. The seventh second-in-command for the battalion—all the others had died in bizarre incidents, making everyone believe that the position was cursed—Cardozo had luck against him. “The JCO told the commanding officer, 'We were very happy to have Cartosa sahib. They can never pronounce his name, but can we call him something else?' He asked them, 'What?' He suggested Wazir. I was called Wazir from then on. But the CO had a mental block. He asked me one day whether he could call me 2 IC, I said, 'fine.' The next day I stepped on to a mine and my leg blew up,'' he laughs.
A born storyteller, Cardozo narrates his battle tales with relish. Unlike most Army officers, who talk about operations in dry military terms, Cardozo brings it alive in vivid detail. “I met a JCO who I had known when I joined. He was very badly injured and was going to die. He didn't want to go alone so he begged me to stay. I was there till 3 a.m. and then I went off promising to return,'' he says.
When Cardozo returned, he could hear the Pakistani artillery. “When you hear the round leaving the gun and you count, you can hear where the shell is going to land. If you hear the whistle then you know you are safe. It will fly overhead. If you don't hear it, you know it is going to land on your head. I couldn't hear the whistle and it landed in the medical room bunker. The medicines were destroyed. So when I stepped on a mine on the last day, there were no instruments, no antibiotics, no morphine,'' says Cardozo.
This attack cost the brigade eight boys and Cardozo, then a major, his leg. Ask him whether he believes in the jinx now, he smiles and says, “No.” On December 15 the Pakistanis came with white flags to surrender. “We knew they were in strength and we were 486 only. They were a brigade and we were only half a battalion. They said, 'Please call your brigade commander, we want to surrender to him.'”
As they were only half a battalion, they couldn't fulfil this request. Terrified that they would be found out, they simulated a brigade defensive position. “We were running out of ammunition,'' he says. In heli-born operation, the idea is that the land link up has to take place in 48 hours. Otherwise the whole unit will be wiped out. “As it was only 48 hours, we thought less food and more ammunition. Each man had 100 rounds and instead of two grenades we had four. We had only one water bottle.”
So, they sent a message in Tamil asking the brigade commander, who was far away, to come immediately. “We told the Pakistanis that he couldn't accept the surrender that day because he didn't have the permission. The next day when he arrived in a chopper they [the Pakistanis] were shocked. But so were we. What we thought was a brigade was two brigades, four full colonels, 209 JCOs and officers. 7,000 troops surrendered to us. They couldn't believe it,'' he smiles.
However, soon after the mine explosion, the doctor was helpless. “He went to look for something, probably a kitchen knife,'' Cardozo says with a laugh. "I asked my batman, 'Where is my khukri?' He said, 'Here it is.' I told him, 'Cut it off.' He said, 'I can't do it.' So I said 'Okay' and cut it off.
His leg was buried in Sylhet. “So, I own land, one foot by one foot, there,'' he guffaws. Ask him how he could bear to do it, and he'll smile: “I think that I reached that level of pain that I don't think that it mattered. To tell you the truth I was very embarrassed. My leg was messed up and I didn't know what to do.”
It was the last day of the war, December 16, when Dhaka fell, and Cardozo couldn't be evacuated. “We had captured some Pakistanis and an ambulance. I was operated upon by a Major Mohammad Bashir. He did a very good job. I have never been able to thank him.”

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WAR AND AFTER
Stay away from Bangladesh
By Ashok Mitra
Story Dated: Friday, November 25, 2011 16:7 hrs IST

Together we win: Mukti Bahini pilots and engineers with their Indian counterparts on the eastern front

It was my incarnation as chief economic advisor to the government of India. I was in my office in North Block on the morning of April 2, 1971 when I got a call at my residence at Lodhi Estate. There were two visitors. It was an emergency and they wanted me to get away from my office for about half an hour. Their names were Rahman Sohan and Anisur Rahaman.  They were both economists whom I knew well. I immediately got up and drove home. They had managed to escape from Dacca through Agartala and had arrived at Delhi airport through the courtesy of Indian army authorities. Since they did not know my address, they had gone to a friend in the university area. In the morning they turned up at my home and I got to know from them for the first time the kind of things happening all over East Bengal. In the evening after dinner, I took them over to P N Haksar's residence. That was the beginning of the first, at least informal, contact between the rebels in East Pakistan and government of India.

 Haksar was secretary to the Prime Minister and as everybody knew was the key man in the administration and even in the planning of political strategy. I left my two friends at Haksar's place and they got back home by Haskar's car around midnight.  Obviously certain messages were passed and received. They went back but from then on my house in New Delhi became a den for Bangladeshsis. Every other day friends will arrive from Dacca. They are mostly scholars from the universities or senior civil servants.

They also had discussions with officials and others in New Delhi. We arranged Indian passports in fake Indian names for them, then plied them with plenty of foreign exchange so they could fly to Europe or USA. The purpose was they would propagate the cause of independent Bangladesh all over Europe and USA. Some three weeks later a young man arrived from Dacca, who was in the provisional government of Bangladesh's prime minister Tajuddin Ahmed's confidante, Moyeedul Hasan. He was the principal go-between the Bangladesh provisional government and government of India. He would stay for a week at my place, held discussions with Haksar, D P Dhar, P N Dhar carrying tidings back to Calcutta and come back after may be another fortnight.

This is how bit-by-bit liaison was established between government of India and the provisional Bangladesh regime over how to plan a Bangladesh liberation war.  Meanwhile of course there were other developments. The flood of refugees coming to West Bengal; there was overwhelming strain on the West Bengal government. So there was the problem of constant liaison between New Delhi and Calcutta. So my role as chief economic advisor was put in abeyance for those for whom I became more a person involved in Bangladesh affairs than anyone else. Those Bangladeshis were not keen to reveal their identities.

So we had to keep up the pretence that they are Indians and are my friends from Kolkata or elsewhere. So there were all kinds of embarrassments over this.  Then we had to set up an intelligent apparatus to ferret out what was happening in Pakistan economy. That was an important affair for us to know. So there was a liaison between external affairs ministry on what kind of discussion was going on between Pakistan military regime and USA. So there was kind of feverish activities all around. Liaison with ministry of external affairs, liaison with home ministry and state government of West Bengal all needed to be done.  There was another interesting development. The escapists who could come over here were keen to set up a liberation army with Bangladeshi patriots. There was a Bengali general in Indian army at that moment Lt Gen B N Sarkar. He was put in charge of training this liberation army in Bangladesh and he was a good friend of mine from earlier days. When we formed the left front government in 1977, I persuaded him to come over and take charge as chairman of Calcutta state transport corporation.

He was here for a while but it did not last for long. I had to liaison also with him in 1971.  I would also say about the role of P N Haksar. In the entire scheme of things he was the man behind the scene. He was the key player in negotiations with Soviet Union in the Soviet Friendship Treaty. In the public image it was the name of D P Dhar which came up. Yes he was there. But behind the scenes, the real strategy was drawn up by P N Haskar. In those days liaison with the government of West Bengal, liaison with political parties, particularly with the leftists in West Bengal, all were done by him. He had to liaison with political friends in two communist parties at that time. At the same time he had to plan a strategy about how to checkmate Richard Nixon's design on India. That was additional accretion of knowledge on my part that I was part of the entire process. But sometimes I was a watcher.

I watched how Haksar designed the entire thing and very few Bangladeshis even knew his name. Some old timers Anisur Rahaman, Nurul Islam, Kamal Hussein know. But the new generation in Bangladesh has no idea about Haksar's role.  Then of course a time arrived (September onwards) when we receded in the background and military elements came forward. It was no longer diplomacy, economics or domestic arrangement. It was the involvement in real war. So we receded into the background.  But I remember that as victory came I wrote a piece in The Economic and Political Weekly about what India's policy should be towards the newly liberated Bangladesh. I had said that it would be one of India's benign indifference. Yes we had played a part, a strategic part in helping Bangladeshis to get back their country as their own. But there our mission had ended.

We had done our duty, because our conscience said as a defendant of democracy all over the world, it was something we owed not only to ourselves but to humanity. But we should not get involved in Bangladesh's internal affairs and we should not be over-sentimental as some of the Bengalis tended to be at that time who started shouting openly about their vision of a reunited Bengal etc which scared Bangladeshis no end.  But alas! Whatever we said, it fell on deaf ears. By then Indira Gandhi felt like she had become empress of India, she wanted to become empress of south Asia.

Aggressive stance in our foreign policy in the long run has not helped us. The kind of instability that is going on in Bangladesh, we cannot disown our responsibility for that, because whenever there is an opportunity, some group or other in Bangladesh use India as an excuse or apologia or villain for whatever problems arise in their country. We should be happy with the fact that people who are fond of their language and are proud of it have fought to assert their entity, personality and save the integrity of their culture and language. If they seek our assistance we should offer it, otherwise we treat them or ought to treat them like any other foreign country.   

Mitra was chief economic adviser to government of India in 1971.  As told to Rabi Banerjee

---------- Post added at 11:26 AM ---------- Previous post was at 11:24 AM ----------

PAK SOLDIER
Escape from India
By Ikram Sehgal
Story Dated: Friday, November 25, 2011 16:16 hrs IST
How a Pakistani military officer sneaked away from a POW camp 

Luck and guts: Ikram Sehgal

Even though there was no war declared between Pakistan and India in early April 1971, India held a number of Pakistani officers, including myself as Prisoners of War (POWs). The soldiers had been handed over by the Bengali element of the Pakistan Army that had revolted in East Pakistan.  Beaten and tortured in a cell in the 91 Border Security Force (BSF) Quarter Guard in Agartala, I would have probably died an unknown soldier had it not been for the local Indian Army Brigade Commander who on hearing that there was a Pakistani 'super-commando' (hardly) being brutalised by the BSF acted as soldier should treat a POW, he sent a detachment to “rescue” me.

I was given to believe that I was taken away from the atrocious clutches of the BSF almost at gunpoint and was carried to the Army camp barely conscious. I was patched up and as soon as I was able to stand on my feet, was sent a day or so later to Agartala Jail. Many Pakistani civilians were held in Agartala Jail at that time, some had families with them. They were mostly tea planters from adjacent Sylhet District. Among the dozen or so Pakistani officers, one was of Bangladeshi origin, Capt Amin Ahmad Chaudhry, wrongly suspected of being a Pakistani intelligence operative.  

I was kept isolated from the other Pakistanis in Agartala Jail but was extremely lucky to fall under the “care” of a fellow inmate who happened to be a Naxalite leader, called Majumdar. The Naxalite leader may have been technically in custody but the way he roamed around, he had the run of the jail. Before April 1971 I had never heard of a Naxalite, over the next two weeks I got a personal tutorial of their aims and objectives from someone who cheerfully informed me that he had committed 17 murders (When I got back to Pakistan and told those who were de-briefing me about “Naxalites”, they brushed it aside as a figment of my imagination). As to his privileged status in jail, Majumdar said pointedly that the jail warden had a family to worry about. The Naxalite chief had a very simple attitude towards life. If somebody attempts to hurt you, just hurt him right back, but so hard that he can never hurt you again. He was very well informed, the jailers outdoing themselves to keep in his favour. Days before we were shifted from Agartala, he told me confidently that we would be taken either to Fort William in Calcutta or to some location very near that. Along with several other officers and other ranks (ORs) we were air-lifted by an Indian Air Force (IAF) Dakota to Panagarh (on the Bengal-Behar Border) a hundred or so miles west of Calcutta. Established in Nissan Huts of World War 2 vintage. Panagarh Army Base was a huge Army depot. The POW camp was set up by 430 Field Company of 203 Army Engineer Regt (possibly Madras Sappers & Miners) under the direct supervision of Artilleryman Brig Coelho, the local Station Commander. The camp Commandant Maj.

RS Uppal had Capt Singh and Lt Richard Scott to help him. Because the countries were not at war we were served with detention papers for legal incarceration under something possibly called the “Maintenance of Internal Security Act” (MISA).  From 25 May 1971 to 16 July 1971, I was incarcerated in Panagarh. Nobody declared us to the Red Cross as per the Geneva Convention. We were informed by Brig Coelho, and reminded umpteen times at the drop of a hat by Uppal and his lot, that since we were not at war we were not POWs and thus did not exist. . I found out later in Pakistan that we were “missing, believed killed”. That did not explain why the Indian Army was holding us as prisoners. The conditions were not comfortable but then one does not expect a POW camp to be a five-star hotel; the south Indian food was Army standard issue and palatable.

The interrogations were long but were not brutal of the BSF-kind. Interrogations, isolations, mental games, etc, those are all part of one's existence as a POW and we went through the whole gamut.  Amin Ahmad Chaudhry was eventually cleared by the Indians and went to join the newly-formed 'Mukti Bahini' under the control of the Eastern Command of the Indian Army. ‘Ho Chi', as I have always called him, eventually rose to the rank of Major General in the Bangladesh Army. He commanded an infantry Division and (irony of ironies) became the Director General Forces Intelligence (DGFI) before retiring as an Ambassador. Even today he remains a good friend. We were subjected to extensive interrogation, some of it extremely sophisticated, mainly by someone from Research and Analytical Wing (RAW) called “Maj. Malhotra”. He claimed to have taken part in the 1965 War with 16 Delhi Cavalry (Hodson's House). Since I knew a little bit about what had happened to 16 Punjab at Dograi village in 1965, his account gelled. In a strained environment such as a POW camp, it is relatively easy to create tension among the inmates.

Malhotra almost managed to do just that.  I decided I had no option but to escape. Some of us, led by Maj.... Sadiq Nawaz, had starting working on a escape plan within days of reaching Panagarh, Malhotra's machinations delayed our plans to an extent. His innuendoes made us worry about possible informers amongst ourselves. The only way to escape was to somehow maneuver myself into solitary confinement. By the simple expedient of calling Lt Scott ‘Scotty”, I managed to arouse Uppal's ire enough to get myself where I wanted to be. I had respect for the way Uppal treated us as POWs (unlike Capt Chatterjee from the Rajput Regiment who was probably Coelho's staff officer in the Station HQ).

Very much out of character he blew his top and said he would break me and send me out of the camp on my knees. He was right, I did go out of the camp on my knees but on my own terms. On 16 July 1971, one day before my father's 50th birthday and two days before my 25th, I broke out of solitary confinement and out of the POW camp, “Sadiq Nawaz's Express” was on its way. Instead of heading to Bihar, I headed east towards Calcutta, making it into the city in the late afternoon of 17 July 1971.

Without a penny on me, I walked around the city barefoot before breaking into the American Consulate General on Harrington Street in the early evening and asking for political asylum as an allied soldier from CENTO and SEATO. There was curfew at night in Calcutta. US Marine Sgt. Frank Adair (who remains my friend even today) saved my life. The US Marine Detachment chipped in for a small cake for my birthday on 18 July 1971. Four days later, but in far better shape physically, with new clothes on my back and some money in my pocket, I was on the run again.

With my photographs on display at the railway station and bus stops, the only way out of Calcutta was by air, I took an Indian Airlines Flight from Dum Dum Airport to New Delhi. It is easy to talk about it now; at that time my stomach was so tight with fear I could not swallow the ice-cream in the airport restaurant. After a few days in the city, I went to Agra by road. By this time I was armed, with a husband-wife couple (Ram Das and Moni) as my immediate companions and at some distance Mehr Khan and Nabi Baksh as an armed escort (which the couple were not aware of). From there on it was “run silent, run deep”, by train to Kanpur and Lucknow till the Nepalese border at Bhairhawa. From Kathmandu, where I stayed for nearly 10 days, I went by air to Rangoon and Bangkok on 13 August 1971, before reaching Dacca on Aug 17, 1971.  In Indian custody for a total of 99 days, I had made it out of the POW camp on exactly the 100th day, thus becoming the first Pakistani POW to successfully escape from an Indian POW camp. The elongated period of interrogation/de-briefing lasted 84 days, my Punjabi father-Bengali mother combination in the 1971 environment and rather blunt views as to what was happening in East Pakistan unfortunately made me somewhat of an anti-hero. Even my poor father was pressed into trying to get me to change my stance so that I could get a medal. If it meant betraying my mother's people, I did not want it. My father agreed with me and went back to West Pakistan.  

I was finally posted back to West Pakistan on Nov 12, 1971 and opted out of Army Aviation by choice. On request for an infantry unit, I was posted to 44 Punjab (now 4 Sindh) on Nov 27, 1971, joining them in the field near Rahimyar Khan. On the morning of Dec 3, 1971, war broke out and we were moved on Dec 10, 1971 by train and road to Umerkot in the Thar Desert. As the sun came out on Dec 13, 1971, while commanding a rifle company on Sanohi Ridge near Chor I was given “battlefield promotion” to the rank of Major by my twice decorated Commanding Officer, Lt Col (later Brig) Mohammad Taj, SJ & Bar. My rifle company was re-named by Col Taj as “Sehgal Company”, soldiers will understand why one is proud that the name still stands today. After staying out in the field throughout 1972 and than taking extensive part in Balochistan operations against Baloch rebels in 1973, I left the Army on Jan 25, 1974. A plan seldom materializes according to the script worked out by the planner, though in the end the results may turn out to be just as successful. So many things could have gone wrong.
Far too many mistakes were made by me in the implementation of the plan. I only learnt through experience the many pitfalls that existed. My luck held throughout and somebody up there, namely God, was looking after me. A successful escape was by no means an ideal escape, it had the elements of audacity bordering on stupidity, and yet I was lucky enough to muddle though somehow.  At the time of my escape, conditions of war did not exist between Pakistan and India, though it almost amounted to that. Those who escaped or attempted to escape after my successful attempt had an infinitely harder task. They were very brave men. It goes to their credit that many successfully managed to get through.

Though a virtual state of anarchy did exist in West Bengal, and the Army and the Police was deployed for internal security purposes, I had a much fairer chance of getting away. I was a pioneer of sorts, with all the advantages that a pioneer thus enjoys, and all the drawbacks that he has to encounter. There is always the mystery of the unknown. Wavell, taking about instincts, said, “Some people have the irrational tenth like the kingfisher flashing across the surface of a pond”. That particular type of instinct escapes me, but the fact remains that I led with my instincts for some time and was proved correct. Nerves, naturally, are a great problem and utmost confidence is required. Patience is simply a must, I am afraid, my nerves remain on the razor's edge in such circumstances, and I am not a very patient human being. This can be an advantage to a handicap, depending upon how much control one can exercise. Your intelligence must be honed to a purpose, evasion and survival. All of one's faculties must be engaged in observing, assessing, planning and putting the plans to successful implementation. One must be physically alert from any danger and have the ability to make the right response. While remaining calm outward one has to be like a coiled spring. For an infantryman, this will need no elucidation, it is a merely the acid test of the soldier.

A pilot and an infantry soldier makes for a very effective escape combination.  Every event and observation referred to inside are entirely personal. I bear malice for none - perhaps at that time except Indians. It is not so now. Before I became a POW in India I regret that I really did not care when others subscribed to Gen Custer's saying, “the only good Indian is a dead Indian”. Looking back, it was very immature and insensitive on my part not to do so. One must stand up and be counted against prejudice bordering on hatred. Having lived on the fail-safe line of the Punjabi-Bengali divide I should have known better! Even then, I gave the devil (at that time) his due wherever he so deserved it. The fact remains there are a lot many good Indians out there and I am proud they consider me a friend. Of particular mention are Rati and Dhruv Sawhney, Princess Jeet and Nand Khemka, Pheroza and Jamshed Godrej, Saurav Adhikari and Madhavi Jha, not to mention Bunty and Pawan Singh Ahluwalia, among a host of others. The thing for soldiers to remember is to never become a prisoner of your enemy and if somehow you do become a prisoner, do not lose your dignity, self-respect and sense of humour.

Some people will ask me if I am ready to go through such an adventure again. My point-blank answer to them will be that I am not. Life is not meant to be lived according to a script, the dangers one has to endure must come as a surprise. People who want to die like heroes are welcome to do so. It must be for a purpose. Failing that, I want to live as a human being. I am sure it is not an original saying. Was I scared? Of course I was! Courage is simply the control of fear, those who profess they have no fear are morons. In the end I must draw a moral from my return from the reaches of oblivion. Freedom from captivity is worth risking one's life for.  *Sehgal, a Pak defence analyst is writing a book, Escape from Oblivion, on his experience.

shuntmaster · Dec 16, 2011