ON March 13/14, 1971, in my capacity as director, ISPR (1968- 73), I received a signal from the headquarters, Eastern Command, requesting me to report to Dhaka immediately. Accordingly, I left for Karachi en route to Dhaka the next day.

I arrived in Dhaka on March 16 around 1600 local time. It was a deserted airport under heavy military guard. The crowds normally seen on the roof of the terminal building were missing. Instead, even from the air, I could see thousands of black flags fluttering from every building. The only Pakistan flag visible from the air was the one at the HQ, CMLA Zone B, in the vicinity of the airport, The green-and-white flag fluttered alone in the midst of myriads of black flags of all sizes and descriptions.

My first direct exposure to the mutinous Bengali mood was through the radio. Spirited Bengali music poured stridently from Radio Pakistan, Dhaka, re-named Dhaka Baitar Kendrio. The only time it would use the normal signature of Radio Pakistan was during the national news hook-up from Karachi.

I reported to the president house first thing on the 17th morning. When I arrived the talks between the president and Mujib were already on. In the lounge sat information secretary Roedad Khan, Gen Omar, Col S.D. Ahmad and others. I looked for my friend Brig (Bacchu) Iskander Al-Karim, the officer in-charge of civil affairs at the HQ, CMLA, and found him behind a table underneath the staircase that led to the first floor. He didn’t look too happy in spite of his natural smile. I asked him how the talks might have been proceeding. He wasn’t quite sure since he had not been associated with talks at all. ‘They no longer seem to take me into confidence,’ he said with a wry smile.

Maj-Gen Ishaque, military secretary (MS) to the president, had even stopped tea being served to him at the regular hours except on request. As I sat with ‘Bacchu’, I heard sounds of hearty and relaxed laughter from the conference room at the end of the passage where the talks were taking place. “Thank Goodness”, ‘Bacchu’ interjected, “you should have heard them yesterday. Such angry noises. Today it sounds much better.”

Mujib had accused the president of betraying his trust by deciding unilaterally to postpone the assembly on March 1. The president, for his part, accused Mujib and his party of overreaction in taking the law into his own hands. When Mujib boasted how he had taken over the administration and was running it smoothly, the president retorted. “It’s not you Sheikh Sahib who has taken over and running the administration. It’s the bloody, goondas... Look Sheikh Sahib every soldier is a gentleman until you make a badmash out of him.”

A little later, members of the AL negotiating team, headed by Syed Nazrul Islam and Khundkar Mushtaq Ahmad, entered the lounge. Behind them were Tajuddin, Qamrul Islam, Capt Mansoor Ali and Dr Kamal Hussain. They all looked quite relaxed — even happy. Dr Hussain recognized me. He introduced to me to others. I knew Qamaruzzaman who gave me a friendly smile. Nazrul Islam said: “Bangla Bhushan? Do you speak Bengali?” I said: “No sir”. He smiled back either curtly or courteously, I wouldn’t exactly know, but hardly encouragingly. Tajuddin looked intelligent and a hard-headed fellow — a man of few words — correct without being rude.

Capt Mansur Ali had a bland face without a marked expression. Dr Hussain was his usual self, chubby and cheerful as ever. Qamruzzaman had the puffy looks characteristic of one given too much to the bottle: he also smoked incessantly. Khondkar was the shortest in the company. He was weak and frail but wore most friendly expression on the face.

Not long afterwards Mujib, escorted by the ADC to the president, entered the lounge. He was tall and impressive, sporting a handsome, trimmed moustache. He held his pipe between his lips. Everyone stood up as he entered. After a brief exchange of courtesies with us West Pakistanis he made for the entrance. His black-flagged white (1970) Toyota waited outside. The Sheikh, like every one else of his party, wore a black armband as a mark of mourning for those killed or wounded during the disturbances.

The MS to the president and the ADC were there to see the Sheikh off. The Sheikh stepped down the terrace and got into his car. Others left after him. As soon as they were gone, the MS turned around and said: “Allah be praised! “I would have never thought I would live to see this day.”

“I thought they all looked rather happy, didn’t they?” I put in. “They can never be happy. God has not made them ever to be happy.”

He told me to take Mr Roedad Khan to the Eastern Command HQ for an ‘Ops Immediate’ call to Karachi. Roedad had a message from the president for Mr Bhutto in Karachi. We drove over to the HQ and went straight to the office of chief of staff to the MLA, Brig Ghulam Jilani.

An Ops Immediate call was booked through the military exchange for Mr Bhutto, and materialized soon. The message for Mr Bhutto was that the ‘stage was not set yet’ for the talks. “You would hear from us soon. Meanwhile, you are not coming to Dhaka.” That was on the 17th.

On the 19th the situation suddenly took a turn for the worse after a shooting incident outside the Farm Gate in which two or three Bengalis were killed. As a brigade commander (Brig Jahanzeb Arbab of 57 Brigade) was returning from Joydebpur after inspecting one of his battalions — the 2nd E.B. Regt. — he was mobbed by the angry Bengalis near the level-crossing. He told the mob to disperse. The mob refused, and someone in the midst opened fire. The brigadier ordered his troops to fire back; but the Bengali troops refused. That was the beginning of the mutiny. The CO of the battalion, a Bengali officer, Lt-Col Masud, was immediately relieved of his command and demoted to the rank of major.

On the 19th, it was officially announced that the talks had been proceeding satisfactorily and the president and Mujib had reached a settlement, in principle. Members of the Awami League negotiating team in the president house were all smiles. From the conference room also came peals of laughter every now and then as everyone sounded so relaxed.

I saw Justice A.R. Cornelius, the law minister and head of the president’s legal team, hand down some papers to Dr Hussain to examine and meet him again the same evening for further discussion. Then turning to Tajuddin or Nazrul Islam, Cornelius said: “We are going to advise Mr Bhutto to join us in Dhaka with his team post-haste. Please make sure that there is no trouble as he and his team arrive or else the purpose of the whole exercise will have been defeated.” Tajuddin told him to rest assured that Mr Bhutto and his team would be their most honoured guests. And there was no question of any trouble whatsoever. Accordingly, Mr Roedad Khan phoned Mr Bhutto to advise him, this time to take the first flight to Dhaka.

On the 21st morning the PPP chief arrived. There was a heavy security guard at the airport. Around the Inter-Continental, where the party was to stay, the AL volunteers of the Rakhi Bahini in their green and white caps symbolizing the colour of the party flag and armed with bamboo sticks threw a protective cordon around. A large number of demonstrators carrying anti-Bhutto and anti-PPP placard did, however, congregate outside the Inter-Con. The atmosphere was charged but not exactly hostile.

The PPP chief, with his aides, had his first meeting with the president on the 21st evening. On the 22nd morning the president was to have his first round of talks with Mujib and Bhutto together. It was said that Mujib was not agreeable even to sit next to the majority party leader from the West. But the president used his personal charm and influence to make the two sit together. Mujib said he had some funeral to attend and must, therefore, leave. Yahya would speak of that at a press conference in Karachi in May that year.

After about an hour or so both Mujib and Bhutto came out of the conference room. Sheikh looked more relaxed than before. Bhutto looked preoccupied, lost in his thoughts. They walked over to the lawns and talked as they strolled. From the lounge I could see their backs only. At one point Mujib grabbed hold of Bhutto’s hand drawing close to whisper something. That must have been the time when he was supposed to have begged Bhutto for a political compromise between the AL and the PPP to get the military out of their way.

‘They will finish me off first and then they will send you packing.’ They strolled up and down the lawns for a few minutes; and then Mujib turned back and made for his car. He must have remembered his ‘funeral’ appointment. He got into his black- flagged Toyota and drove off. Bhutto stayed back for talks with the president.— The writer is a retired brigadier of the army.

ONE contemplates very grimly on the ghastly incident in which a recklessly- driven bus killed two college girls, a motorcyclist and injured nine others in Karimabad, a few days ago. Perhaps the young have dreams and a certain idealism that makes them wait at bus stops, with hope and naivete. That a bus will come and on time, and safely. The more experienced amongst us, or rather the cynical adults, have only fears. They know that even when you are standing on a pavement, it is possible to be killed. That is the state of reality, as far as pavements and buses go. Brutal and cold reality that takes its toll in blood.

As one who drives on the city’s roads, I must confess here the fears that I live with. (Miracle that I am in one piece so far and thank God for it). Do not ask me of the frequency with which I am scared to death when I am “sandwiched” between two speeding vehicles, often minibuses and buses, even water tankers at times.

Do not ask me to go into details of how many times only public transport vehicles are the main cause of fatal and serious accidents in town. Do not ask me why no one bothers to follow up the road accident cases, and find out if only to share the trauma that the family members have undergone - will undergo for life.

The death of the two college girls, Nida Afzal, aged 20, and Rabia Mehwish, aged 18, and the young motorcyclist, Rashid, have once again become a cause to raise to the surface the social unrest that is contained in this society. A potent social unrest that seems to be searching for factors to erupt. Enraged people tried to set the bus on fire, but police and the rangers controlled the situation and had the bus shifted to the area police station.

A good point for sociologists to ponder over is why are people at the place of the incident in a permanent state of rage? What are the public forever angry about? What is it that agonizes them? Is it the general quality of life?

One citizen argues that the average citizen is so terribly harassed and impatient, that his anxiety is targeted at anything that seems to him to symbolize either disorder or mal-administration, or inefficiency, or corruption, in this society.

Such themes that demean our daily lives.

One is not just angry but deeply saddened by the fact that these two college girls died; the way they died, once again reiterating the fact that no lessons are ever learnt from such mishaps. There is reason to weep at the fact that for Nida it was the first day at college. That is obviously a dream day. Like the first day at school is a dream day for parents and children both. So for college boys and girls too. But Nida died on the day of her dreams.

It makes one imagine in fear, what kind of world we are creating or recreating for the young. What kind of world are they going to inherit? Take the case of the other girl, Rabia Mehwish, who died. She was the only child of her parents, and was a student of BSc Part 1. And the girls who were injured: Naheed Rahman, Sehr Afshan, Madiha, Sobia Naz, Durdana, Beenish, Farida Muzammil, Areesha and Shahida. How are they going to be affected in terms of psychological impact on their personalities.

I know of people who have had no mishaps relating to traffic ever or no incident where they have had to deal with police. But from their dealing with other public dealing departments, it is obvious they have apprehensions of how much of humiliation and ordeal it would be, if they were to have a road accident, with a follow-up to hospitalization. I am reminded of cases where accident cases have been taken to the wrong hospitals, which obviously refused admission saying that they did not take medico-legal cases.

What needs to be done is to tame drivers more than anything else in this society, particularly drivers of heavy-duty vehicles, many of whom are without valid driving documents, and any education whatsoever. They are unable to distinguish between the demands of driving on a highway and a road in a metropolitan city like Karachi. So they are perhaps able to overcome this with a tie-up between themselves, their owners and the traffic police; a point that has so often been mentioned and lamented that it has evidently ceased to matter.

So when Dawn reported on March 21 that the “driver of the killer bus held, and police and transporters try to cover up (the) incident,” it seemed to fall into place. The point that haunts me is that nothing will bring back to life the two college girls and the motorcyclist who died. They have fallen victim to the way we move on the roads of this unhappy city. It is an unhappy city in so many ways, especially the lesser developed parts of Karachi.

Perhaps the best way to end today is to hope and pray that some lessons are learnt and that such tragic loss of life doesn’t recur, and that the traffic police with all their failings and inadequacies will be made accountable, and a beginning for which seems to have been made. The dismal performance of the traffic police can be seen on the city’s roads daily, at all times of the day. How irrelevant they were on the day Sharea Faisal was closed for hours and hours on March 12 is another story from which lessons should be learnt to ensure that departing passengers do not miss their flights from the airport.

ON the outskirts of Hyderabad lies a wild pasture that houses one of the many historic structures of Sindh, seldom noticed by a casual visitor. This is the monument of Dubbo, marking the battle of Dubbo between the Mirs of Sindh and the English army on March 24, 1843, which finally accomplished the English ‘mission’ of capturing Sindh and gain access to Afghanistan and onward to Central Asia.

Here the English army, led by Charles Napier, within a few hours of battle, defeated a much larger Talpur army, finally sealing the fate of Sindh, for which the English had been manoeuvring for decades.

The capture of Sindh was neither accidental nor had it occurred in isolation. It was the climax of well-planned moves the English had been working on for over a century. The developments that had taken place preceding the fall of Sindh, as well as those after it, pose a host of questions that needed to have been analysed but, sadly, have not been done so. Even after independence our historians had not tried to do so.

It has often been said the fall of Sindh was the result of the Mirs’ defective strategy on the battlefield. The record upholds the fact. The Talpur army was disorganized. It had no knowledge of the developments in warfare, nor was it equipped with effective arms. And, above all, it was unaware of the political developments taking place around Sindh.

Had it been a better armed and trained army, the English would have had a difficult time capturing Sindh, and Napier would perhaps have had no reason to have said: “I have sinned Scinde.”

Looking beyond this battle, one could see a number of political and economic policies that contributed to the fall of Sindh much more than mere strategic manoeuvres on the battlefield.

As far back as 1520, when the Samma rule ended and a 323-year-long chaos set in during which the people’s welfare and development projects were almost totally ignored, the Arghun, the Turkhan and the Moghul ruled as they wished while the economy of Sindh waned and collapsed. Famines became rampant, which forced population to frequent migrations. Political opposition became a source of victimisation.

With Thatta as the seat, almost all the government administration was manned by Turkish, Moghul, Central Asian, Persian and Arabian clans. The Persian remained the official language and this created a wedge between the people and the government. On the one hand, harsh punishments were handed down to quell any uprising and, on the other, large tracts of land were given to appease tribal chiefs. This policy naturally gave birth to petty rivalries which divided the people.

Although the Kalhoras were acclimatized to Sindh’s background, they pursued the policies of their predecessors. They were engaged in the 81 uprisings during their 82-year rule (1699- 1781). And, thus, Sindh became a hotbed of tribal clashes, upsurges and foreign invasions. Nadir Shah plundered Sindh and took away over 20 million gold pieces in 1739. It was during the Kalhora rule that the English established their first factory in Sindh with the intention of the final onslaught.

The Talpurs had inherited the system from the Kalhoras. Before ascending to power they had been living a tribal life and had no experience of administration. They were divided among themselves. They continued with the Persian as their official language, leaving no room for the local people to share the government’s affairs. It was during this era that the saying Parsi parhsee ghore charhsi (If you know Persian, you can become a knight) became a popular saying.

Foreign policy, external trade, health, agriculture and education remained unattended and were run on the whims of the rulers who frequently differed among themselves. Even a record of lands did not exist.

The Talpur army suffered more from the corresponding deficiencies. No regular army was employed for national defence. Only a small group of irregulars was recruited to meet any uprising. For this purpose various Baloch tribes like the Mazaris, Talpurs, Khosas, Bugtis and Brohis were brought in and were settled in Sanghar and Tharparkar districts bordering Rajhasthan. They were given lands with the pledge that in case of any external aggression they would raise a combat force.

Sindh having opened its sea to a vast area extending from Punjab to Afghanistan became too lucrative a region not to have been captured by any overseas forces, including the English. The Portuguese had already plundered Thatta. The English had established their authority over the rest of India. They now needed an access to Afghanistan and Punjab. Phillip Woodruff, recalling the achievements of the English officials in his book, The men who ruled India, quotes Bartle Frere who wrote to the secretary of state in 1859 as having remarked that Karachi, and not Calcutta, was the natural port leading to Punjab, shows the economic and commercial importance of Karachi and Sindh.

Their first attempt during the Kalhora reign had failed and now they wanted a strong footing. They launched their mission by visits of doctors, educationists and officials of the company who monitored almost every aspect of Sindh and reported back and a well-planned strategy was evolved. Forcing the Talpur rulers to agree to some of the most shameful agreements provided the English with the pretext to launch a war for which they had long waited. On Feb 17, 1843, they ended the Talpur rule at the Miani forest. The Talpurs’ fall was mainly attributed to their disorganized army and a subversion acts by some tribes during the battle. The capital, Hyderabad, was captured and the Talpur rulers were arrested and later sent to Rangoon.

On March 24, Mir Sher Mohammad raised an army and wanted to recapture the government seat but in a four-hour battle near Dubbo the English sealed the fate of Sindh for the next 100 years.

The English had learnt their lessons from history well. They set about creating a peaceful atmosphere and ruling the country with the cooperation of the people. They were also aware of the fact that the capture of Sindh would not change the attitude of the privileged class which did not only support the new policies but joined them in reorganizing the country’s economy. The English very subtly exploited their attitude. On the people’s side they abolished Persian as the official language and introduced the English and Sindhi languages and embarked upon a number of plans aimed at the social and economic uplift.

The English brought many reforms which were aimed at consolidating their position but the economic benefits the average man derived gave Sindh the peace and tranquillity it had lost long ago. True to Frere’s words Karachi quickly became not only the hub of commercial activity but also a gateway to Punjab and Afghanistan — a position it would continue to retain perhaps for ever.

The fall of Sindh has many lessons, the foremost being that without the popular support of the people and their involvement in the national affairs, a government cannot sustain. The Talpurs were divided: hence their policies were less effective for the benefit of the people and this led to their easy fall.