Tuesday, September 5, 2023

September 65 war, experiences of a 6 years old

 

Dr. Umar Khan

khanmomar@hotmail.com

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

 

 

khanmomar@hotmail.com

 

 

 

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