Looking back at history

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 exchan