A time-honoured tradition for civil servants working in the sub-divisions and the districts followed from the colonial days was to leave a confidential, “for your eyes only” write up for their successors in office. The write up would appear in a bound volume titled Notes to My Successor, mostly handwritten, that would contain the previous office holder's personal thoughts, experiences, and travails that he had faced in the tasks of administering his domain -- be it a sub-division or a district.
In our times, this was a must read document that was secreted in the residential office of the sub-divisional officer (SDO) or the district officer (titled Deputy Commissioner). There were many volumes of such notes dating back several decades, which served as eye opening information on the area, warnings on things to expect, people to watch, and do's and don'ts to avoid any mishap.
I was appointed to Munshiganj as sub-divisional officer in February 1971. As a twenty-something young civil servant, I was thrilled with the appointment, hoping to put into practice what I had learnt in the training academy and from my seniors in the field. The political air was getting hot by that time, with clouds looming over the future of the country.
I plunged into my civil service career, little realizing that in a matter of weeks our country and people would be launched into the most traumatic and vicious war for survival, and I would be encountering atrocities and cruelties of the most horrific kind that would leave a deep scar on my young life.
But I could not write these notes that day for fear that there might not be a successor who would receive and read these with eagerness. I could not write these notes in dread that these might fall into hands that were strangulating my kind with impunity.
The blitzkrieg with which the Pakistan army attacked the civilian population on March 26 in the major cities of Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) did not reach my little sub-division until about a few weeks later. I would see, however, the results of the havoc wrought by Pakistan army in Dhaka city and the surroundings a week later, when my motor launch anchored at Pagla Ghat -- a government owned docking site for government motor launches, including the famed Mary Anderson that was used by the Provincial Governor at that time.
Corpses floating in Buriganga river had choked the approach to the jetty in such a way that my launch operators had to use poles to steer the corpses away to anchor the launch. Half burnt buildings and shops that were scenes of the recent rampage on my way to the collectorate building gave the old city an eerie and almost surreal appearance. People of all ages and sexes were still fleeing the desolate city in a panic mode, clutching to whatever meager belongings they could carry with them.
The army arrived at Munshiganj early May of 1971 in a company of 100 plus soldiers led by a middle-aged major from the Frontier Force. The company camped in the local high school (which was virtually closed) from where it would launch its operations in the sub-division for the weeks that it would stay in Munshiganj.
The first assault was on Sirajdikhan -- a thana adjacent to Munshiganj. I was asked by the major to accompany him since he termed this as a simple visit to get acquainted with the place. The simple visit to a completely desolate thana HQ later turned out to be an interrogation of the local police for possible hideouts of suspected resistance fighters. There were none, the police informed.
But the major would not depart without leaving a mark of terror there. The opportunity was given by a mentally ill person who unfortunately broke through the army cordon in the thana. He was promptly arrested by alert soldiers, taken to the back, and shot in the head in a most gruesome manner. I came back with the major to Munshiganj town in one piece, completely petrified. My mother prayed for me that night in the SDO's bungalow.
From that bleak day of Sirajdikhan killing, the Pakistan army would subjugate the entire sub-division to an occupation of terror that would last several weeks. After their first reconnaissance into the interior in which I was a “captive” companion, the army commander decided to leave me alone, and go about the business of “restoring peace” and sorting out the “miscreants” with his lieutenants. In their whimsical ventures, the army commandeered any motor launch the plied the waters of the Dhaleswari. The army routine included day “operations” in the adjacent thanas and villages, and nightly sojourns in the relative safety of Munshiganj town.
Most raids were inconsequential, in the sense that these did not lead to any armed encounters with any group. The army would simply walk into the police headquarters of a thana, the officers would lecture the petrified police force, the soldiers would march in the main streets, and occasionally burn a few huts on the way which were suspected of harbouring “miscreants.” The army would return with a few hapless persons as prisoners -- mostly Hindus -- who appeared to them as “miscreants,” holed them up in the local high school that was their headquarters, and interrogated them (read, “tortured”). The lucky ones were set free, and others not so lucky had their bullet ridden bodies dumped in the Dhaleswari. The targets were youths, minorities, and anybody reported upon by the Bengali turncoats who wanted to gain favour of the occupying forces.
As days passed, the little town of Munshiganj started to resemble a ghost settlement, as the majority of the dwellers left it for villages in the interior. A significant portion of this fleeing population was Hindu minorities as soon as they realized that they were the targets of random capture and later disposal by the army. Munshiganj had a good number of this population that time who belonged to the legal and business communities.
One afternoon, the army major walked into my office and informed me that he had reports that a neighbouring village was harbouring a good number of “Hindu miscreants” with “arms.” He said he had reports that the armed gangs were plotting to attack the army, and that it was necessary to sort the place out. I knew it was futile to plead with him without jeopardizing my own safety; however, I suggested that his report be further verified by police. He looked at me as though I had lost my mind! “Trust the police?” he asked mockingly, and walked away.
The major's conversation with me was actually a ploy to find out if I knew that in the neighbourhood village Hindus of the town had congregated, and not to announce to me his plans. The army would carry out its plan anytime, anywhere, and it did not need either the support or advice of the SDO or police (who were suspects in the eyes of the Pak army).
That night, the village went up in smoke. Over a hundred houses were destroyed by the army in that operation. The army had targeted “Hindu miscreants” in its operation, but ironically, a good number of the houses destroyed also belonged to the Muslims. None was spared. (God sent, however, a few families who had an earlier warning could escape the atrocity.) The village was fully scorched, cleansed of the “miscreants.”
The army would remain in Munshiganj for a total of four weeks, during which the carnage in the villages would go unabated, some of which we would see, but others we would hear of much later. I myself was a subject of investigation by the army during the period, but at the end I was let off with a warning by the major. (The main charge against me was that I had “allowed” the students loot the armory earlier in March and had attended a rally of these students.)
I was let off on condition of “good behaviour” and was asked to report to Dhaka Cantonment -- to the Battalion Commander -- every week and be subject to questions on my conduct. I would do that for the next two months until I was reassigned to another sub-division in July. That would be subject of another diary.
As I said before, these are notes not necessarily to a successor in office, these are notes of reminder to our succeeding generation on the pains, sufferings, and tribulations that our people went through in the most turbulent period of our history. These are reminders of a harrowing tale of gross disrespect of human life, dignity, and sheer use of brute force to suppress a people's will.
We may not have a repeat of another occupation army and a reprisal of the mad and ruthless acts of 1971. But if there are any lessons learnt from these terrible days, they are that we as a nation can move forward only when we guarantee the basic respect for lives of all human beings and protection of the rights across gender, religion, and ethnicity.
Ziauddin Choudhury has worked in the higher civil service of Bangladesh early in his career, and later for the World Bank in the US. The article is adapted from his book Fight for Bangladesh (2011).
