The Rational Warrior

Mir Firoz Ahmad is an unassuming, soft spoken gentleman with greying hair and sparkling eyes. A doctor of biochemistry, he works at a biotechnology company and hopes to find a cure for AIDS. He is a family man and a devout Muslim; later this summer, he plans on performing the umrah to celebrate his daughter’s high school graduation.

He is also a former Mukti Bahini: a liberation fighter who fought a guerrilla war against the West Pakistani army, and helped to win a free nation for his people.

“I am from Dhaka,” he says. “My father used to work in Calcutta. In 1947, he migrated to a place called Khulna. I grew up and went to school there, and then moved to Dhaka for college. At that time, there was a great deal of political turmoil.”

He pauses thoughtfully. “People like my friends and I,” he begins again, “didn’t see any hope. My village was burned down. My houses were burned down by the army.”

“When was this?” I ask.

“June or July of 1970.”

“Before all-out civil war started?”

He nods. “That was later. When Mujib was arrested and flown to Pakistan, that’s when certain sections of the army defected and announced liberation. The army started a crackdown on the population. At that time the university was closed so I had moved to Khulna with my father. Around June [1971], when the situation was really deteriorating, I decided to join [the Mukti Bahini] along with three of my friends.

“We crossed the border and went to the Indian side. An independent [resistance operated] radio station was broadcasting instructions. My friends and I took boats and walked through the night. I managed to learn a number of techniques for avoiding the militia [ razakars] that the army had recruited from among people opposed to the freedom movement.

“There were campgrounds there with thousands of people. We were given formal training. I was in Bihar, in a place that used to be a runway during World War II. We trained for two months in light arms, using mortars, machine guns and grenades. The camp was mostly run by the Indian army. There were some Bangladeshi officials, government defectors who coordinated operations.

“After the training, we returned to Bangladesh. For about four months, we fought a guerrilla war where we would take out [army] reinforcements. Our main job was to clear police stations and other government strongholds, so that control could be in the hands of the freedom fighters rather than the existing government.”

“So government actually existed at this point?” I ask.

“Yes, the police existed and the razakar community was very well armed. In one particular fight, some of my friends died. Thank God I narrowly survived.” He stops in mid-thought, suddenly unsure of himself. “In one operation,” he continues hesitantly, “we were told there were people [ razakars] who wanted to surrender. When we arrived, they started shooting. Finally after....” He tapers off.

“It was a very sad thing,” he says softly. “We encircled that place for quite some time. Finally, when the food and water was depleted, they surrendered. The authorities decided to shoot them, all of them. It was a very sad thing,” he emphasises, “it should not have happened, but it did. We cannot undo history.”

The ensuing silence speaks as much as the tortured look on his face. “Did you ever engage the army itself?” I ask.

“We engaged the army often towards the end. Mostly the army was concentrated in radio stations and such places. We had to move with light arms, at most we had mortars. We could never overrun the Pakistani army. We could only destabilise them and create fear. We were coming from all directions and they were localised in their bunkers, so we always had the opportunity to strike.

We discuss the nature of guerrilla tactics when he provides a surprising admission: “I admire General Niazi. Finally, he decided that enough is enough and this killing has to stop. It’s not worth it.”

“But surely he killed a lot of people before realising that!” I exclaim.

“True, but finally he came to his senses. It was General Tikka Khan who was mostly responsible and I think when Niazi came, the situation was a little better. But things were already out of hand at that point. It was in the middle of the war that Tikka Khan was removed and Niazi came in his place. Had Niazi started out, perhaps he would have had some sense, and things could have been different.”

We silently muse over this piece of alternate history. “Was your family safe during the carnage? Did you personally witness any atrocities?” I ask.

“Our village and houses were burnt down, but my father was safe, thank God. There were other atrocities. A number of professors were killed, intellectuals were taken out. One of the famous ones was Zahir Rayhan, a filmmaker. He was making a film about the war and at the end he just disappeared, his body was never found.

“I had a friend whose brother was taken away because he was actively involved in the liberation movement. We searched but couldn’t even find his dead body.

“I never wanted the country to be divided. Even now, I think that the country should not have been divided. But people didn’t have any choice. I used to go to the mosque and see people who had been shot down by the military. In a country, you simply cannot do that. The government really used far too much force.

“I haven’t seen mass graves myself, so I cannot claim so. There were many reports that women were raped, Muslim as well as Hindu.

“Imagine, a Muslim army committing such acts. The Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) said do not destroy even vegetation during the time of war. There is a code of ethics for a Muslim army and that was one of my personal frustrations because I grew up in an Islamic background.”

There is a long, silent pause. “We cannot ignore the past,” he says finally. “It’s like two brothers fight and finally the parents say you have to get separated and lead your own lives. Nevertheless, there is a common bond; this was once a common country, a single country and there was hope for the people. My father once told me, ‘you are fighting for Bangladesh but we fought for Pakistan. It’s equally painful: if Bangladesh is divided now, the way you will feel is how we felt.’ It’s an incredibly sad thing.”

“Is this how you’ve always felt?” I ask.

“I had the same feeling when I was fighting; we’re doing things which we’re not supposed to do. Why? Have we been manipulated? And then I rationalised that [this is because] we are away from Islam. Our principle was Islam and we violated that.

“I always felt that this was a mistake that Pakistan had committed and the Bengalis did not have any choice. I was doing the things that I did because I did not have any other choice but to defend myself. When I see that my house is burned down, then what choice do I have? What can you do? If a Muslim army commits this crime, then this is not an army of Muslims, I swear. The hope we had for Pakistan as a Muslim nation...”

“You’re far too easy on the army,” I interject.

“I am not. This is history. People commit acts but they do not know what they are doing. We can blame each other all we want but blaming does not solve anything. What happened, happened, and we are trying to analyse why. Something like this can often happen for simple reasons, it does not have to be for complicated reasons.”

“So you harbour no ill will towards Pakistan?”

“No, personally I don’t have any ill will. How can we achieve anything that way? Yes, somebody hurt me. If I hurt him the same way then we’ll both be losers. Even today, you’ll find a lot of people who will not listen to anything good about Pakistan. But there are irrational people on both sides.

“For example, the saddest situation today is that of the Muhajirs [Biharis]. Imagine, a child who was born in 1970, that child is thirty-some years old. These are the people who wanted to keep Pakistan. They were persecuted by Bengalis and hoped they would one day be taken back by Pakistan. They cannot be citizens of either Bangladesh or Pakistan.

“I feel incredibly sad, even in this time we do not see the injustice that is happening. My heart bleeds for them, their suffering and misery. Perhaps if there are good relations between these two countries....”

“Do you think that we are better off now?” I ask.

“At least we’re not fighting with each other. Another positive thing is that at least in Bangladesh they cannot blame anybody else. They have to build their own fate, there is nobody else to blame. Before, they were pointing fingers at Pakistanis. Pakistan too does not have anybody else to oppress. I would not like to see Pakistan broken up again into four different pieces; there are so many tribal tensions. In Bangladesh, at least the country is united, ethnically and by language.”

“Do you have any regrets? Would you have done anything differently?” I ask.

“If events were to repeat, probably I would do the same thing again. When you are pushed, your back is against the wall, you do not have any place to go, then you do these things. Of course, violence is the last choice. Had there been more rational people to handle the situation then perhaps things could have been different. Alas, there is always a shortage of rational people...”