Dr. Umar Khan
Dr. Khan belongs to a Lahore based Think Tank.
4-9-23
September 65 war, experiences of a 6 years old Lahori
There are no winners of war, only survivors and even they
die inside from guilt. They only physically survive to warn us. To warn us that
there is nothing more terrible than what they have done. Jake Fulton.
I was six years
old attending class 2 in St Anthony’s High school, Lahore. My father, a major
in Pak army then, was posted in Chamb/Jaurian sector lately and we were staying
at our grandparent’s house with young unmarried Chacha and Phopho in Islamia
Park, Lahore.
It was a
pleasant Monday of early September and I had to wake up early morning for
school that had recently opened after summer vacations. Had a great Sunday playing
with younger cousins and Chacha and Phopho. Heard lots of stories from Dadi
(paternal grandma) and played with the neighbor’s kids. Sleepy or not, we had
to go to the school.
Jim (elder
brother, 7) and I got ready as usual, packed the school bag with lunch boxes
having a jam sandwich and sweet beverage, probably Rooh Afza. Kids at school were
very possessive of their sandwiches as hundreds of kites flying would snatch
these from kids eating in the open. Walked over a km through Chauburji gardens
to Multan road and got into a local omnibus number 3 that dropped at the Regal,
half a km away from school. Father was at the border and although Mom could
drive but wasn’t confident enough yet, so we had to take public transport with
lot of walking.
There was
nothing different on this 6th of September in 1965 in Lahore from
ordinary days just 20 miles from the border.
Atmosphere in
the class was different with reduced attendance and a certain stress. There weren’t
any lessons and as is usual in a church school, students were told to stay
silent. We weren’t informed of any happenings.
One by one
parents started coming with worried faces and taking their kids with them. It was
a big surprise when I saw my Mom in the school. She had come on a rickshaw to pay
school fee when informed about start of Indo-Pak war. Lahori rickshaws in those
days used to charge 30paisas a mile or Rs.0.20 a km. She broke the news that
war has started with India and our brave father was fighting on the border
saving/protecting all of us. On our way home we stopped at a famous optician E
Plomer where Mom collected her sun glasses, I think the shop still exists at
the same spot and then reached home.
Home was
different where many relatives had gathered everyone worried pretty sure that
Indians would come to Lahore and do the terrible things of 1947 still fresh in
minds. Didn’t take long to decide to go somewhere far from the border city of
Lahore.
I shoot down a
fighter plane, seriously!!!
Although only 6, I had to do my part in defending the
beloved Pakistan. I knew that we were the good guys and the Indians were the
bad guys as the state had done a good job of demonizing them. In those days
there were toy guns available with small wooden enclosed cartridges that made a
big bang with a bit of flame, this Pathan son of a military officer had one.
While the elders were discussing ways to leave Lahore and
Dadi was crying for her son on the border I went upstairs and opened the
window. Saw many neighbours on their roofs making it feel like a celebration or
something shouting slogans. None of them realized what was happening and how it
would affect theirs and their children’s lives. Suddenly with a big roar an airplane
appeared on the sky followed by another. Smart enough to know that the front
plane was Indian running away from the brave Pakistani plane, I aimed my loaded
gun and fired. Slight flame came out and the Indian plane came down smoking
profusely. I was delighted of my great achievement and rushed to inform my
siblings and elders. No one really gave much of attention and kept on arranging
for the transport. I just couldn’t understand why my heroism wasn’t appreciated
enough.
For years I was convinced that I had shot down an Indian
fighter plane.
A very sweet but panicky khala (aunty) whose soldier husband
(who later achieved a very high rank and fame) was also on the border arrived
with her 4 slightly older sons. Father had a very small Fiat600 car that he had
imported after a foreign posting while the Khala had a Volkswagen; these were
the kind of cars military officers could afford then. It was decided to go to
Nana’s (maternal grandfather) house that lived in Lyallpur around 88 miles
away. Drivers and petrol was arranged and we left, Mom, 3 sisters and brother
along with Khala and her 4 sons in 2 cars.
It was getting dark and the Ravi Bridge was closed to we
took the rarely travelled and longer Balloki/Jaranwala road. I got a seat in
Khala’s Volkswagen between elder cousins and we were on our way reciting verses
from Quran fully convinced that Allah SW listens to children’s prayers.
At many check posts we were told to switch off the lights
but driver was adamant not to. VWs in those days had 6V electricals with dim
lights but even those were considered risky.
In deep darkness on a desolate Jaranwala road the 2 small
cars were running with 2 scared families with many small children. All of a
sudden there was great thunder on top of our VW. Everyone put his head down and
started saying loud prayers. Khala was reciting loudly, “Jal tu Jalal tu, Sahib
I kamal tu, Aayi bala ko taal tu”, a very popular prayer. The boom lasted
forever. Always a very curious child, I looked up and saw a plane flying very
low on top of the car but ascending with a big blast coming from its engine in
the center. The fighter plane flew away without doing any damage. Finally our
driver switched off the lights.
Much later in life I figured out that the car headlights must
have attracted the fighter plane looking for military targets and dived to
attack but upon seeing small cars he ascended without firing.
Thanks dear Indian fighter pilot, you were very kind. All of
us owe our lives to you after Allah SW who put this nobility in your heart.
Finally reached Lyallpur (now renamed Faisalabad) where many
other cousins had also gathered in Nanas house.
Spent a few months in that large house without running water
and only a single hand pump with high salt content that I never liked to drink.
Bathed under it taking turns pumping it manually. Found it interesting sleeping
on upside down laid charpoys (beds).
Listened to radio news every day with a Pakistani announcer
routinely using the term “Bhartion ke chakke churra diye”. Loved it. Many patriotic
songs were transmitted all day. Great news kept coming and we were sure that
soon Pakistan would be conquering India because we were brave and strong, our
President Ayub Khan was over six feet tall and handsome while Indian PM Shastri
was small and ordinary looking.
Elders used to listen to BBC.
Family was worried about my father and uncle who were
fighting on the borders but I wasn’t, father was a superman to me who was
indestructible. Found the same feeling in my sons later who were shocked to see
me fall walking when I twisted my ankle on a mountain trek.
For some time went to another relative’s house where we dug
up trenches and used to spend nights there. Probably memories of WW2 were fresh
and we suspected bombings on the civilians that fortunately never happened and
sanity prevailed on both sides. In the pleasant September nights sleeping in
trenches was a pleasant exciting adventure.
Then got the news that war had ended and Pakistan had won. We
shot down more planes and conquered more territory. Couldn’t understand why the
war ended before getting the coveted Kashmir and Delhi?
After the war had ended and schools in Lahore hadn’t opened
we temporarily joined a new semi complete school nearby that later became
Faisalabad’s biggest school, Faisalabad Public School making me one of its senior
most students. Loved the attention and reverence we got being soldiers children
who had bravely protected the country. This admiration lasted till 1971 when it
came crashing down badly after December 16th.
Contemplating after 58 years with a changed world as a
hexagenerian I feel that the 1965 war was hardly a 17 days skirmish in military
terms, but it was watershed moment in Pakistan’s history derailing it forever. In
the 60s China was going through devastating Cultural Revolution, Vietnam
through unending wars, Philippines was experiencing Marcos’s massacres,
Indonesia through Suharto’s butchery, Malaya was going through a painful
division, in short Asia was a mess. Between all this mess in Asia, Pakistan
stood as a model of stability, prosperity and growth with the brightest foreseeable
future. It was not to be and Pakistan got destabilized and unsettled with
terrible consequences.
East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) was told by West Pakistan
that their defense lied in West Pakistan making them spend their resources on defense.
It was a foolish theory that got exposed after we barely defended ourselves. This
along with the shaken military government resulted in an unstable East Pakistan
resulting in a civil war and then a straight forward war leading to Pakistan’s
dismemberment where the major portion of the country ceded.
Division of the country was not the only side effect which
ran deeper and deeper. After the fall of Dacca a severe grievance engulfed the
Pakistani mind against India that resulted in non-stop conflict including
Siachen, Punjabi insurgency, Kargill etc. and is still going on. Indians and
Pakistanis labeled each other enemies wasting meager resources on destroying
each other. Probably the world’s most senseless enmity between poorest nations
needing all resources for their poor being wasted on arms.
Economy of the progressing Pakistan was also a severe
victim. Investments dried up, social upheavals started resulting in socialist
experiments ensuring flight of capital and growth. Ultimately our workers
became our major export sustaining us until participation in international wars
gave bouts of temporary affluence with dreadful after effects.
And we are still suffering on the brink of bankruptcy with
one of the lowest indicators of social development.
Unfortunately we never investigated the causes why and how
we got entangled in this destructive exercise causing enormous damage to the country.
Was it the military mindset? Unrealistic foolish optimism? Racial profiling of
adversaries? Or whatever.
It’s never too late, must find the reasons for this debacle
and correct them to ensure it isn’t repeated.
That’s the least we can do for our future generations.
"Mr. President, the Indians have got you by
the throat." United States ambassador, Walter P. McConaughy replying to President
Ayub Khan
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