1965 War: A Different Legacy

[Al-zakir]

Athar Osama

Today, over a hundred and fifty million Pakistanis celebrate the 42nd Defense of Pakistan Day. It was 6th of September 1965 when Pakistan’s armed forces faced off against India’s in the first full-scale war between the two countries. Much to the credit of the brave men (and women) in uniform that day–and for next 2-3 weeks following that–the enemy attack on the City of Lahore was repulsed and the General J. N. Chaudhary’s dream of having his drink at Lahore Gymkhana on the evening of September the 6th was squashed.

Tomorrow, the country celebrates the Airforce Day to pay tribute to the defenders of the country’s air space. PAF’s performance during the 1965 War was truly remarkable given the comparative state of balance between the two airforces. It managed to shoot down 110 of India’s aircrafts while itself incurring the loss of only 18 of its own. Not only did PAF establish itself as a qualitatively superior airforce in the 1965 War but also established its credentials as one of the best airforces of the world.

While much has been written, by official and unofficial quarters, on the history of the 1965 War and a lot more continues to be written every year, there are several gross misconceptions about this event in Pakistan’s history that need to be tackled with and addressed. In Pakistan, ever since (or soon after) its creation in 1947, the writing of history has been an almost exclusive domain of the establishment whereby an official “doctrine” or “mythology” is often disseminated to ensure a homogeneity of thought and conformity of actions.

Noted historian, K. K. Aziz, in his “Murder of History: A Critique of History Textbooks Used in Pakistan” (1998) notes that:

“In Pakistani schools and colleges what is being taught as history is really national mythology, and the subjects of Social Studies and Pakistan Studies are nothing but vehicles of political indoctrination. Our children don’t learn history. They are ordered to read a carefully selected collection of falsehoods, fairy tales and plain lies.”

The myth and mystery around the 1965 War is no exception. One would not be surprised that a normal–perhaps even average college educated–Pakistani believes–or is led to believe–that on Sept 6th 1965, India invaded Pakistan (specifically Lahore) and that once thrust into this battle, Pakistan came out to be victorious over its archrival. Both of these facts, on close examination, are quite far from reality. True, India did attack Lahore on September 6th 1965, but it was not the one to force a war on Pakistan in the first place. It was Pakistan’s provocation in the form of Operation Gibralter that led India towards opening the Western front in Pakistan.

It is also true that by the end of the 3rd week of war, both countries had found themselves in a virtual military stalemate. While Pakistan’s armed forces had successfully defended Lahore–thanks, primarily to men like Raja Aziz Bhatti who, despite the failure of leadership at the top-most levels, gave up their lives but not inch of the country’s territory, but also due to the strategic position of the BRB Canal that formed a natural defense for Lahore–all of Pakistan’s offensive maneuvers had come to a naught.

The Operation Gibralter that began in May-June of 1965 to take Indian territory in Kashmir and create an insurgency and popular uprising in the region was frustrated. This launched Operation Grand Slam that was aimed at cutting the Jammu-Rajouri road at Akhnur and to ultimately capture the latter. This operation was unnecessary delayed because of a change in top-military commander–a change widely perceived as unwarranted at that time. Despite these delays, however, as Pakistani troops gained some territory, India launched a full-scale offensive aimed at Lahore (0530 hrs on the 6th) and Sialkot (night between 7th and 8th). The rest as they say is history.

In the ground war itself, there was a military stalemate on virtually all, northern (Kashmir), central ( Lahore), and southern, axes. At the time of the ceasefire, India held 450 square miles of Pakistan’s territory and Pakistan held 1600 square miles of Indian territory. General K. M. Arif, in his book Khaki Shadows, though, highlights that the Indian land gains were mainly in the fertile Sialkot and Kashmir sectors while Pakistani land gains were primarily in deserts opposite Sindh. While Pakistan came out with better numbers in terms of casualties (dead, injured, and missing) and equipment losses, it hardly was victorious as is often claimed by the establishment. Unless you define victory as being able to defend oneself during an offensive operation — hardly a definition indeed.

Apart from the unfortunate myth about who actually started the war itself, another factor that has received much less attention, and for obvious reasons, is why it was started in the first place. At the time of the 1965 War, Pakistan did not really have a full-time Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces. General Ayub Khan was, at best, a part-time military commander, as he was too engaged in political affairs of the country. He had chosen General Musa Khan as his full-time Chief of Army Staff but only on the basis of his loyalty to the former rather than merit, competency or professionalism. This lack of leadership and competency at the highest levels of Pakistan’s military during the 1965 became legendary and is well-documented.

This was also something that was consequently taken advantage of by none other that Foreign Minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. Bhutto was, at the time of the 1965 war, at the peak of his power as Ayub’s foreign minister and a foreign policy hawk, par excellence. He single handedly molded the opinion of the foreign office and his friends at the GHQ to plan operation Gibralter. Ayub was informed about the plans but only to an extent.

Most importantly, Bhutto and his colleagues at the GHQ were able to dupe everyone who mattered into believing that capturing Kashmir was in sight, that an insurgency would immediately create an uprising, and that India would never declare full-scale war on Pakistan. Ayub’s indifference to this whole affair can be estimated from the fact that the Supreme Commander was vacationing in Swat during the last week of August 1965 when Pakistani troops were dying in Kashmir.

Each one of the above assumptions was grossly incorrect and both Ayub and Pakistan paid a heavy price for it. For his part, Bhutto was able to walk away from his created mess and managed to turn the tide against Ayub and actually benefit from the situation. The 1965 War was the turning point of Ayub’s career at the helm. Bhutto rode this wave of dissatisfaction with the war as well as the Tashkent Agreement to power in 1970.

Setting the record straight on what the 1965 War was all about, who started it, and why did it get started is not only a important constitutional right of Pakistani citizens but also is critical to learning from our own mistakes. Unfortunately, that is something that Pakistan has never been good at. General K. M. Arif in Khaki Shadows writes that in the immediate aftermath of the 1965 War “Pakistan suffered a loss of a different kind…Soon after the War the GHQ ordered all the formations and units of the Pakistan Army to destroy their respective war diaries and submit completed reports to this effect by a given date. This was done?Their [the war diaries'] destruction, a self-inflicted injury and an irreparable national loss, was intellectual suicide.”

Clearly, the political-military nexus had an interest in ensuring that nobody should find out what actually happened during the 1965 War — the former because of its incompetence and lack of leadership and the latter because of its culpability in taking Pakistan to war. While considerable second-hand material has become available since then, first hand information and accounts of the war remain a national secret whose disseminator could be charged under the Official Secrets Act. The organizational and legal paraphernalia to ensure that nobody ever learns from this tragic event in Pakistan’s history is complete and foolproof.

What could have happened differently if Pakistanis had actually learnt from what happened before, during, and after the 1965 War?

One, Mr. Bhutto would probably have found it difficult to ride the wave of anti-Ayub discontent as easily as he did for he was equally, if not more, culpable for what was solely blamed on Ayub Khan.

Two, Mr. Bhutto would not have found it as easy to continue to befriend army generals and exercise the kind of influence at GHQ that he did during the 1971 debacle. Perhaps Pakistan would have been intact.

Three, the army leadership would have received its fair share of blame for its professional incompetence, and preoccupation with civilian and political affairs at the expense of their military duty.

Four, Perhaps Pakistan would have learnt its lessons and Kargil-II (1965 War was, in fact, Operation Kargil-I) would not have happened. Consequently, Sharif government would not have been toppled and Musharraf would have been living a retired existence for the last 5 years.

The chain of causalities run fairly deep and dense in Pakistan’s history. Our inability and unwillingness to learn from our own mistakes merely reinforces these events and brings us closer to a new–and more challenging–disaster every time. The 1965 War should be remembered as a day of courage and sacrifice of Pakistani people–most notably our men and women in uniform–who were wronged by their civilian and military leaders, but more importantly it should be remembered as a missed opportunity to learn and improve our lot. That is the test we continue to fail each year.


http://pakistaniat.com/2007/09/06/1965-war-a-different-legacy/

 

[Moriarty]

Nice. That is really a different perspective to the '65 war coming from a Pakistani scholar. Though in India this is exactly what is taught in our history classes.

~ Moriarty

 

[niaz]

I was a student in London in 1965 and was taken in by the hype created by the state controlled Pakistan media. We were brainwashed into believing that Punjab used to be called “Bazoo Shamsheer zan:” or sword wielding arm of the subcontinent and that one Pakistani soldier was equal to 10 Indians. This myth may have been true when fighting required physical brute force. We have since seen that 5 foot Vietnamese beat the hell out 6 foot Americans. Besides, we also keep ignoring the fact that Sikhs are also Punjabis and physically as strong as a Muslim Punjabi.

Pakistan agreed to ceasefire as a stalemate had been reached on nearly all fronts and we don’t have the capacity to fight a long war of attrition. IMO, considering the resources available to both the countries, Pakistan Air force and Navy performed better that expected but the PA overall performance was just about average. However, since we couldn’t achieve our objective of liberating occupied Kashmir, the outcome cannot be considered as victory in any sense of the word. Since Pakistani people were led to believe that we had won a glorious victory; they felt cheated by the Tashkent Treaty; ambitious ZAB exploited this fact to the maximum to gain power. Understand that after the take over in 1958, Ayub wanted a Sindhi in his Cabinet. ZAB was recommended by Nawab of Junagadh, (ZAB’s father having been his Diwan).

It is more than 40 years and whether Pakistan or India started this war is irrelevant. It is said that if you tell a lie aloud and again and again, you start believing in it as truth. To this day average Pakistani believes that Pakistan won 1965 war. It is about time that Pakistanis become aware of the facts; it was a stalemate. IMO, Indians with their quantitative advantage, performed below par.

 

[ahmeddsid]

I was a student in London in 1965 and was taken in by the hype created by the state controlled Pakistan media. We were brainwashed into believing that Punjab used to be called “Bazoo Shamsheer zan:” or sword wielding arm of the subcontinent and that one Pakistani soldier was equal to 10 Indians. This myth may have been true when fighting required physical brute force. We have since seen that 5 foot Vietnamese beat the hell out 6 foot Americans. Besides, we also keep ignoring the fact that Sikhs are also Punjabis and physically as strong as a Muslim Punjabi.

Pakistan agreed to ceasefire as a stalemate had been reached on nearly all fronts and we don’t have the capacity to fight a long war of attrition. IMO, considering the resources available to both the countries, Pakistan Air force and Navy performed better that expected but the PA overall performance was just about average. However, since we couldn’t achieve our objective of liberating occupied Kashmir, the outcome cannot be considered as victory in any sense of the word. Since Pakistani people were led to believe that we had won a glorious victory; they felt cheated by the Tashkent Treaty; ambitious ZAB exploited this fact to the maximum to gain power. Understand that after the take over in 1958, Ayub wanted a Sindhi in his Cabinet. ZAB was recommended by Nawab of Junagadh, (ZAB’s father having been his Diwan).

It is more than 40 years and whether Pakistan or India started this war is irrelevant. It is said that if you tell a lie aloud and again and again, you start believing in it as truth. To this day average Pakistani believes that Pakistan won 1965 war. It is about time that Pakistanis become aware of the facts; it was a stalemate. IMO, Indians with their quantitative advantage, performed below par.

This is what I echo, you just posted the facts straight from the oven!

 

[gromell]

I am sure many people have posted excerpt from this famous article but well I am posting it again.

Mumtaz Iqbal, a banker in then East Pakistan, looks back at the mood prevalent in the country then, and suggests that the war unleashed forces that enhanced the existing strains in interwing relations.

When war commenced on September 6, 1965, I was a covenanted officer at the Lloyds Bank (later Grindlays, ANZ now StanChart) in Narayanganj, a river port and important jute trading and industrial center 10 miles southeast of Dacca, now spelt Dhaka.I was the only Bengali in the Lloyds covenanted cadre (boxwallahs). All the others were Brits or Pakistanis. The staffing of foreign multinationals (ICI; Levers; Tobacco) in Pakistan sharply mirrored the poor representation in numbers and position of Bengalis in the bureaucracy and armed forces. This disparity became a combustible issue in Pakistan.
I mention this to show that private sector employment practices replicate a country's public sector architecture of power, a phenomenon that is not unique or limited to Pakistan. But this profile inhibited national cohesion.

The public mood in East Pakistan exhibited a degree of euphoria, even jingoism, normal when hostilities occur. The Bengalis responded as good patriots, rallied behind the government and hoped for victory.

But this feeling was not, and could not be, as robust as that amongst the west Pakistanis. The fighting was happening far away. We weren't physically threatened. Not many households were directly affected by their family members being in harm's way, since the number of Bengali servicemen, especially in the infantry was small.

Moreover, details of infiltration in Kashmir [ Images ] -- we didn't know about Operation Gibraltar then --preceding the actual shooting war were a bit of a mystery to the Pakistani public, especially Bengalis. For them, Kashmir didn't resonate in the same existential way as it did amongst Punjabis.

But Bengalis were also uneasy. East Pakistan was defenceless, with three anaemic brigades. This helplessness was tempered by faint stoicism that India wouldn't or didn't need to attack in the east. The logic was that Delhi [ Images ] gained nothing by dividing her forces and enlarging the conflict.

Pakistan's fortunes, like India's earlier empires, would be decided on the Punjab [ Images ] plains; the difference was this encounter was originating from the east rather than the west, something that hadn't happened that often (except under the colonial Brits!) since Alexandrian times!

It was GHQ mantra that the 'battle for East Bengal would be fought in the West Punjab.' Propounded by the Pakistan Army's [ Images ] second Commander-in-Chief (1948 to 1951) General Sir Douglas David Gracey (1 Gurkhas), this dictum may have had strategic rationale but was political dynamite (The State of Martial Rule, Ayesha Jalal page 85).

We weren't sure whether Delhi's restraint in the eastern theatre was psywar, strategy or biding time. This ambivalence provided scant comfort for Bengalis, isolated from the outside world, with no control over their destiny. These were galling realisations.

We depended on Radio Pakistan, overseas radio and the press for war news. At first, there was confusion and apprehension, with conflicting reports that Lahore [ Images ] had fallen. We were relieved when this proved incorrect.

Our morale bounded with the news that sword of honour winner Major Raja Aziz Bhatti, 17 Punjab, had received the posthumous Nishan-e-Haider (equivalent to the Param Vir Chakra) for repulsing attacks in the Burki area of the Bombanwala-Ravi-Bedian or BRB Canal. This suggested our soldiers were fighting well; Indian attacks were stoutly resisted and not making headway.

The Pakistan Air Force's performance, especially of F-86 fighter pilot Squadron Leader M M Alam, raised our spirits. He reportedly shot down five Indian Hunters attacking Sargodha in one engagement on September 6, becoming an instant ace (Battle for Pakistan: The Air War of 1965, John Fricker.)

The IAF disputes this -- see Laying the Sargodha Ghost to Rest by Pushpinder Singh in Vayu Aerospace Review, November 1985. Post-war findings reduced the nine kills credited to Alam to a still impressive five -- refer Alam's Speed Shooting Classic, Air Commodore M Kaiser, Defence Journal, September 2001.

Much was made that Alam was a Bengali (actually, he is from West Bengal [ Images ]). The Dhaka Municipal Corporation gifted him a house that he never took. Alam got a Sitara-i-Jur'at (Star of Valour) and bar for his exploits. Reportedly he had a checkered career after 1965, found religion and retired as an air commodore in 1982.

Also much publicized was the September 7 attack on the Kalaikunda air base by Dacca-based 14 Squadron F-86Fs (dubbed Tail Choppers) led by Squadron Leader (later Air Marshal) Shabbir Hussain Syed (awarded SJ) in which several IAF planes were destroyed without any PAF loss.

This raid struck some of us as odd. Prudence dictated a reciprocal restraint by Pakistan in the east. While we rejoiced at this exploit, we also wondered when the IAF would retaliate and were puzzled when it didn't, particularly after the raids on Bagdogra, Agartala and Barrackpore.

Was Kalaikunda then not all it was claimed to be? The PAF asserted it destroyed ten and damaged five Canberras and two Hunters on the ground. It's odd to say the least that the IAF would keep bombers so far forward in the east when the war's centre of gravity was in the west.

Within a week, Bengalis were taking the war in stride. We went about our work, studies and other activities as normally as possible under the circumstances. There was no petrol rationing; cars moved with their headlamps half-covered with black paint; a blackout was diligently observed at night, enforced by volunteer wardens. Ack-Ack guns ringed the airport.

Economic, travel and social transactions including crime dropped markedly. There were no shortages or hoarding. Prices were stable or slid as demand faltered. Political activities ceased. Parties issued patriotic statements unceasingly.

But doubts about the war's progress started creeping in from the second week. They first surfaced for me when accounts started circulating about horsemen in green fighting alongside Pakistani forces, and heroic volunteers strapping explosives to their bodies destroyed Centurions and Shermans by rolling under their tracks.

Curiously, these soldiers were not named nor given awards.

These claims of extra-terrestrial intervention and suicidal valour (foreshadowing the LTTE [ Images ]?) were meant to boost public morale but lacked credibility and suggested a heightened level of official anxiety.

Brigadier Qayyum Sher HJ (Hilal-e-Jurat), who made a name for himself on the Lahore front, had remonstrated with Major (later Brigadier) A R Siddiqi that such drivel didn't impress the front-line troops. But the PR machinery continued to churn out unadulterated nonsense relentlessly.

My apprehensions about the war's progress peaked when it was announced around September 20 that a tank battle at Chawinda in the Sialkot sector was the biggest since Stalingrad (August 1942 to February 1943).

I had read enough military history to know that the largest WW II armoured engagement (2,700 German and 3,400 Soviet tanks deployed) was Kursk in July 1943, that is, after Stalingrad; that Stalingrad was a grinding siege fought under terrible conditions between the Red Army and Wehrmacht infantry, and wondered about Ayub Khan's -- or his speech writers' --knowledge or distortion of military history.

I suspect Stalingrad was mentioned so as to resonate with the public because more Pakistanis had heard about Stalingrad as a defining struggle than Kursk (or Kharkov). 'To compare the battle of Sialkot sector with those of WW2 is a cruel joke,' concludes Major Shamshad Ali Khan, who fought at Chawinda (see his Chawinda 1965 -- An Analysis at **************************/lofiversion/index.php).

I didn't miss a single day's work during the war, traveling daily between Dhaka and Narayanganj in a Land Rover [ Images ] with two Brit colleagues (a Scot and a Pommie). I recount a few experiences below.

Probably the funniest one happened a week into the war.

Narayanganj was a somewhat seedy town. Its main street was Quaid-e-Azam Road, along which Lloyds bank was located. Adjacent was the Narayanganj Club. It had seen better days but still put out an impressive lunch (especially fried bhetki with Tartare sauce) served by a waiter in full but somewhat tattered regalia.

Just before noon on or around September 12, there was a huge bang just outside the bank. One rumour was that the IAF had dropped bombs. Immediately, the bank shut its doors.

We contacted various sources to ascertain the cause. It transpired that a three-wheeler cycle rickshaw had burst both its rear tyres simultaneously. We breathed a sigh of relief. The rickshaw puller was roundly chastised.

This experience exposed the jitters below the placid surface.

Lloyds Bank was a major financier of raw jute exports where Marwaris were major players. The Narayanganj branch had the largest number of Lloyds' jute clients including Tolaram Bachhraj, a top exporter.

Tolaram's managing director Kalyanchand Saraogi was quite a character. He was short, dark, with thinning hair, a faint disheveled moustache and the beginnings of a paunch; lacked formal education; dressed modestly but untidily in inexpensive casual clothes and had an impressive mastery over numbers.

Every business day, he would turn up at the branch around noon. His entourage comprised his trusted finance manager, independent jute brokers and assorted hangers-on. He convivially bellowed his opinions throughout the branch in a booming voice; sent the advances staff into a frenzy while they struggled manfully to calculate swiftly how much money he could withdraw (between Rs 5 lakhs and Rs 10 lakhs daily -- a lot of money then); and left in a blaze of cacophony. After that, peace and tranquility would return to the branch.

Lloyds froze Tolaram's accounts on the declaration of war under Islamabad's [ Images ] Enemy Property Ordinance. That stopped Kalyanchand's visits to the branch. At first we relished the silence his absence brought. But after a while, we missed the instant boisterousness his arrival had wrought.

Around September 14, although the jute portfolio was held by an English colleague, my Scots branch manager Steve requested me to visit Rangpur in north Bengal to check on Tolaram's stocks. He explained that the presence of a white man checking jute bales pledged/hypothecated to the bank may be misinterpreted (MI-6 and all that). Could I help?

Of course, I would. This was a chance to earn credits. I had never visited Rangpur. A Cook's tour at bank expense sounded fun. I was young, confident and on top of the world, having married six weeks ago. My parents and new bride questioned my brashness but didn't press their objections.

I traveled by train alone first class leaving Dhaka early morning, reaching Bahadurabad Ghat on the eastern bank of the Jamuna (this is what the Brahmaputra is called when it enters Bangladesh from Assam) early afternoon without mishap or excitement.

The metre gauge in the eastern part of Bangladesh gives way to broad gauge in the north. I crossed by ferry to the western bank and got on another train for Rangpur with a compartment to myself. The train left late evening and creaked and groaned at around 30 mph.

The journey was uneventful till we stopped about 9 pm at a station -- I can't remember the name -- a short distance from Rangpur. There I saw soldiers on the platform boarding the train. The next thing I knew was my carriage door being flung open and a uniformed figure flung himself face down on the empty bench opposite.

After a few moments, our eyes met, and to my delight, I found the newcomer to be Captain (later Major General) Khalid Musharraf BU, relocating with his troops (4 Bengal or Baby Tiger), raised just before the war.

He was commissioned in 1958 in 15/17 Punjab but later transferred to 4 EBR (East Bengal Regiment). The EBR was the only pure Bengali formation in the Pakistan army.

I first met Khalid in late 1963/early 1964 when he was serving with my late brother Rimcollian Major Mahmood Kamal, Guides Cavalry, then commanding K (Kamal) Company of the SSG (Pakistan's commando force) based in Thakurgaon, Dinajpur district.

In 1964, instructed by 14 Div General Officer Commanding Major Gen (later President) Yahya Khan, my brother and Khalid with about a dozen SSG specialists had given training to Naga leader A Z Phizo and 300 men, women and children in Madhupur jungle near Mymensingh in light arms and jungle field craft.

They had taken shelter in East Pakistan to escape Eastern Command's ruthless counter-insurgency drive around 1963, in which Tezpur based IV Corps commanded by Lieutenant General -- later Field Marshal -- Sam Hormusji Framji Jamshedji Manekshaw, MC, and the victor of 1971, may also have taken part along with forces located in Dimapur. Manekshaw, who retired in 1973, speaks fluent Pashtu, no mean achievement for a Parsi born in Amritsar [ Images ]. He was commissioned in 4/12 FFR and later transferred to 8 Gorkha.

Another Naga group went to Yunnan probably following the old Ledo road.

The Nagas were devout Southern Baptists, prayed several times daily, and exfiltrated back to India via Sylhet after about four months. Phizo gave my brother an autographed bayonet in appreciation as a present for my mother.

One of K Company's task was to interdict the six miles wide Siliguri Gap railway not far from Thakurgaon in case of war. From the Tetulia border running alongside a river, it's possible to make out the smoke of the Indian engine. Sensibly, 14th Division General Officer Commanding Major General Fazal Muqeem Khan did not order this raid.

Just as well. An attack on Siliguri probably would have been as abortive as were SSG para raids on Adampur, Halwara and Pathankot air bases without any discernible impact on India's war making capability (see Operation Gibraltar-Role of SSG Para Commandos by ex-SSG CO Colonel S G Mehdi, Defence Journal, July 1988.

In the article, Mehdi also states he counseled GHQ against Gibraltar, which he considered impractical. He later filed a libel suit against General Musa, citing unwarranted allegations in his book My Version against Mehdi.

Evidently, the post war rhetoric amongst and between the participants on both sides appears to be as toxic and incendiary as the actual combat in 1965. The revelations of peace can be as bewilderingly opaque as the fog of war!

The 14th Division was the only one based in East Pakistan that at its best never exceeded four weak brigades from 1947 till early April 1971. Then 9 and 16 Divisions minus its heavy stuff were airlifted from Kharian and Quetta, respectively, to tackle the resistance.

My brother rated Khalid as a hardy soldier with plenty of stamina and a sound tactician. Khalid distinguished himself in 1971 (sector 2 and K Force commander), became Chief of General Staff in 1972 and Chief of the Army Staff on November 5, 1975 before losing his life two days later to dissident troops of 10 East Bengal Regiment -- ironically, a unit he had raised in 1971.

Khalid's presence on the train was reassuring. He was in a gung-ho mood, with high morale, prepared for a fight and confident of winning. We chatted and parted company after reaching Rangpur around 11 pm. We never met again.

I spent the night at the railway waiting room, inspected the godowns the next day, found everything in order and caught the afternoon train to Dhaka. A small damage to the Rangpur railway station was attributed to strafing by IAF Hunter, but I couldn't corroborate this.

That was the closest I got to the war zone, my craving for action satisfied vicariously!

The cease-fire on September 23 was greeted with relief in the east and anger in the west, especially amongst the Punjabis. Many of the latter were convinced Pakistan was winning when Ayub capitulated under Anglo-US pressure.

But Pakistan, fighting on its inventory, was down to two days of petroleum, oil and lubricants or POL, and running short of ammo. Ayub was obliged to call it a day.

There were four EBR battalions in Pakistan's army in 1965 of about 230,000 men organised in eight divisions. (The Military Balance IISS 1964-65) The 1st Bengal (Lt. Col. ATK Haque) defended the BRB Canal line stoutly, and got the highest number of awards of any unit.

Neither Islamabad nor GHQ much publicised this fact. It didn't dovetail with the conventional wisdom that Bengalis didn't make as good soldiers as the 'martial' Punjabis and Pathans. But Lahoris treated Bengali soldiers generously. Shopkeepers often refused money for goods or services.

Opinions differed about Tashkent as over the cease-fire.

Bengalis supported it; Punjabis were livid. This sealed Ayub's fate. Bhutto skillfully used Punjabi resentment to sweep the province in the 1970 election.

The war devastated Ayub; shattered martial myths; highlighted societal contradictions and fatally exacerbated inter-wing tensions. The crack became a chasm.

Field Marshal William Slim's Defeat into Victory is a military classic that informs and entertains. Few -- if any -- of the books on 1965 by Indian or Pakistani servicemen or civilians reach Slim's erudition. Their accounts bring to mind Lloyd George's stern admonition to Field Marshal Douglas Haig that the brass hats shouldn't make the mistake of thinking that the seat of the intelligence is in the chin!

Author's note: This account relies on memory. Facts and anecdotes are used to elucidate. Unless specified, dates are indicative.

Mumtaz Iqbal is a retired banker from Bangladesh with an interest in military history.