RAIDERS IN KASHMIR

Ex. Maj. Gen. AKBAR KHAN D. S. O.

REBUS PUBLISHING HOUSE SRINAGAR—

KASHMIR

Printed by:
Arya Offset Press
Daya Basti
Delhi-110035
RAIDERS IN KASHMIR
And call not dead those who are killed in the way of God. Nay, they are
living, only ye perceive not.
—The Holy Quran
 PREFACE
Nehru called us raiders. He did so in a derogatory sense. But what he
did not know was that raiding is, nowadays, an accepted and very
highly developed branch of the art of war. Aircraft, commandos,
guerillas, motorised infantry, tank cum artillery groups, submarines,
and even gentlemen of the cloak and dagger tradition are all
increasingly used for hit and run tactics to achieve the objects of war.
So we can, I think, without indignity, retain the name raiders—
particularly so when the fighting technique of the Frontier tribesman
does, in the military sense, make him indeed a very competent and
daring type of raider.
Besides, as raiders, we may perhaps also qualify for sitting in that
distinguished gallery of personalities like Chingiz Khan, Timur Lang,
Mahmud of Ghazni and even Alexander, whom some historians called
raiders.
This book, being only a personal account and not a detailed history of
the Kashmir war, is limited in scope with regard to the area, the period
and the events that it covers. Even so, the reader will, I hope, get a bird’s
eye view of the war and the problem as a whole.
Chapter eighteen, “How to Liberate Kashmir now”, covers the period
after the cease-fire, and reflections on the future course. The last
chapter is added to give a historical sketch of the Tribesmen.
My grateful appreciation is offered to those who have helped me in a
number of ways and to those from whom I have quoted here.
AKBAR KHAN
To that indomitable spirit which forever makes man rise for freedom and
justice
 ILLUSTRATIONS
MAPS

1. KASHMIR AND SURROUNDINGS

2. CEASE-FIRE LINE

SKETCHES

1. OUR INITIAL DISPOSITIONS (INDIAN SUMMER OFFENSIVE)

2. INDIAN ATTACKS

3. OUR DEFENCE

4. PANDU, AS SEEN FROM BIB-DORI

5. FIRST NIGHT—OUR ATTACK

6. SECOND NIGHT

7. FIFTH DAY

PHOTOGRAPHS
1. THE TRIBESMEN IN DISCUSSION BEFORE ACTION

2. THE AUTHOR WITH MISS JINNAH

3. THE AUTHOR WITH THE PRIME MINISTER AND OTHER

DIGNITARIES
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
PREFACE
THE RAIDERS
THE REASON WHY
REVOLT
TRIBAL ATTACK
INDIAN INTERVENTION
TO SRINAGAR
TRIBAL WITHDRAWAL
DESPERATE EFFORTS
URI
AZAD PLANS
THE WINTER MONTHS
INDIAN SUMMER OFFENSIVE
CAPTURE OF PANDU
INDIAN AIR FORCE
RELIEF OF POONCH
CEASE-FIRE
JAIL
HOW TO LIBERATE KASHMIR NOW?
THE TRIBESMEN
THE RAIDERS
For centuries in the bazaars of Peshawar city the art of story-telling has
been practised, and there I have listened many times, spellbound, to
masters of the art. Yet coming to this story I find I am not much of a
story-teller myself. I don’t rightly know how and where to start. So I will
begin where I saw them first— when from out of a deep mist, in the
valley of Kashmir, began to emerge figures that looked larger than life-
size and moved effortlessly like the panther.
These were the raiders. In silence they crept forward, carefully but with
ease, in the dark, across broken ground and fields, to close in upon the
enemy.
It was midnight on 29 October 1947. Having penetrated into the State at
lightning speed, 115 miles in five days, they were now just four miles
from Srinagar, within sight of its twinkling lights.
Thirty miles behind them was Baramula, sacked three days earlier,
where out of 14,000 only 3,000 were said to have survived. The
Maharajah had fled from Srinagar, reporting to India that “wild forces,
let loose on the State, were marching on with the aim of capturing
Srinagar as a first step to overrunning the whole State”. At Delhi, V.P.
Menon, advising military aid for Kashmir and remembering eight
centuries of invasion from the north and the seventeen incursions of
Mahmud of Ghazni, had thought, ‘Srinagar today, Delhi tomorrow.’
Thus, Indian troops had been flown in the next day and, assisted by
fighter aircraft and artillery, they had immediately advanced to meet the
raiders, but had been thrown back in confusion and their commander
Colonel Rai killed. Now, near Srinagar at the fourth milestone, across the
raider’s path lay a road-block guarded by machine-gun fire sweeping the
front—and supported by artillery fire from further behind.
As the raiders moved forward they started encountering more and more
of the perennial water that surrounds Srinagar—water from river, lake
and rains all contributing. They found themselves converging on the
main road because of this water and ultimately it looked as if the only
way left to deal with the obstacle was to go for it straight down the road.

THE REASON WHY

What had brought the tribesmen into Kashmir? It was the deep concern
they had felt and shared with all other Muslims about the future of the
State.
Less than four months earlier, on 15 August 1947, the sub-continent of
India had achieved independence and two new States, Pakistan and
India, had come into existence as autonomous dominions within the
British Commonwealth. Although on that day the British Government
had relinquished all authority in the sub-continent, the two new
governments still could not immediately exercise their powers in full
over the whole area, because within the 400 million people and
1,777,438 square miles of old India, there had existed some 568 odd
Princely States some of which had not yet declared their accession to
either dominion.
These Princely States had been given the right to decide for themselves
which of the two dominions they would join. Since they could not
remain independent, it had been generally expected that they would
make their decisions by the date of partition or soon afterwards. Most of
them in fact did so—and some that remained, were geographically so
enclosed within the area of one or the other dominion that their
accession to the relevant dominion was considered only a matter of
form. Among those still remaining undecided, the most important was
Kashmir—the second largest of the Princely States, and one whose
geographical location was of significance to the whole sub-continent as
not only was it contiguous with Pakistan and India but on its north just a
thin strip of Afghanistan separated it from the Soviet Union. It also had a
common border with China.
Since the British declaration about the forthcoming partition, we had
assumed that Kashmir would naturally join Pakistan. In fact the very
concept of Pakistan had included it as an integral part, the letter K in the
name Pakistan standing for Kashmir. The sub-continent was to be
divided on the basis of a Muslim majority area for Pakistan and a non-
Muslim majority area for India. Kashmir had to be in Pakistan because
three/fourths of its four million inhabitants were Muslims, and its
territory of 84,500 square miles had no effective road, river or rail links,
nor direct economic ties, with India.
The assumption, therefore, had been that the people of Kashmir would,
without hesitation, wish to join Pakistan. But their non-Muslim Ruler,
the Maharajah, in whose hands the decision lay, had shown no sign of
making an early decision. Thus, some weeks after the British
declaration, and a few days before actual partition, while the Quaid-e-
Azam, the Founder and Governor-General designate of Pakistan, was still
in Delhi, a large delegation had arrived at his house one afternoon to.
convey' to him its apprehensions about the future of Kashmir. I had gone
there along with other members of the Armed Forces Partition Sub-
Committee. That the Maharajah, a non-Muslim, wished to avoid
accession to Pakistan had been obvious, but now the fear was that his
hands were likely to be strengthened also by Sheikh Abdullah, a Muslim
leader of Kashmir, hero of the Indian National Freedom Movement, who
had previously opposed the conception of Pakistan. The Quaid-e-Azam
had, however, assured the delegation that he felt confident that the
opinion of two persons alone could not distort the future of the whole
State. Firstly, he explained, the idea of Pakistan had swept over Kashmir
as it had over the rest of India and thus in spite of Sheikh Abdullah, the
Kashmiri Muslims would want to join Pakistan—and secondly. Kashmir
had geographically no choice but to join us.
The first shock to this conviction had come a few days later in the
Radcliffe Award which defined the actual line of demarcation between
India and Pakistan. To our surprise, a strip of Muslim majority area
contiguous to Pakistan had been included on the Indian side at a point
where the only road link between Kashmir and India could be
developed. Until then all important contacts of Kashmir with the outside
world had been by two major roads running through the proposed
Pakistan territory. But now the possibility was provided for a hitherto
insignificant fair-weather track, from Jammu to Kathua, to be developed
into a road going to India.
Thus, at least one difficulty in the way of Kashmir’s accession to India
was removed and the Maharajah may well have begun his negotiations
in that direction. So far as accession to Pakistan was concerned, there
had in fact never been any real difficulty. As far back as July, Lord
Mountbatten, still Governor-General of undivided India, had assured him
that in case of Kashmir’s accession to Pakistan no objections would be
raised by India. Neither did any particular difficulty exist inside Kashmir
itself as all the political leaders of the two major parties, the Muslim
Conference as well as the National Conference, were safely behind bars.
But still the Maharajah continued to remain undecided. All he could
bring himself to do was to sign a stand-still agreement with Pakistan.
And thereafter he just sat on the fence. It was not, however, a fence but a
volcano that he sat upon. His attitude created the gravest suspicions and
uneasiness. The ugly troubles that had erupted over the rest of the sub-
continent, could not fail to arise in his State as well.
For several decades the Indian National Congress, leading the freedom
struggle, had advocated the goal of a free India that would be undivided
and which would be ruled by a democratic majority. When the Muslim
leaders, believing that majority rule would always consists of non-
Muslims, keeping the Muslims in subjugation as a minority, had raised
the demand for Pakistan, a separate homeland for the Muslims, it had
aroused bitter feelings all over the sub-continent. For the past year or so,
the frenzy had resulted in communal riots of an unprecedented
magnitude. When ultimately partition had come, fear had led millions of
people suddenly to start shifting from one dominion to the other—and
in the process law and order had broken down, and there had been
untold massacres. These unfortunate occurrences had not yet ended,
and there was hardly a corner of the sub-continent which had not been
affected. In such an atmosphere how could the land of Kashmir remain
unaffected?
There the non-Muslim minority lived in fear of the Muslims—and the
Muslim majority, being totally unarmed, lived in fear of the Maharajah,
his troops and the armed non-Muslims. That so far no bloodshed had
occurred is a tribute to the patience of the people but how long could
this last? When the Ruler kept the issue of accession indefinitely in
suspense and when, unlike the Rulers of other States, he made no move
even to give some constitutional powers to his own people, or even to
make a gesture by releasing the political leaders—something was bound
to happen. And it did.

REVOLT
In the beginning of September 1947, two weeks after partition, I had
gone for a few days to Murree, the hill station near the Kashmir border.
Although most of the summer visitors had gone, the place was still full
because many refugees from Kashmir had arrived. The general talk in
the place was about the trouble that was said to have started in the
State. Stories were circulating that not only armed civilians but State
troops also were committing atrocities against the Muslims and it
looked as if another terrible tragedy was about to be enacted.
Making all allowance for the usual exaggerations in the prevailing
atmosphere of bitterness, this much was already inescapable that the
first shots had been fired and that trouble was afoot in Kashmir. Who
was to blame or who was not to blame was no longer the real issue but
still it did seem that India could have prevented matters form going this
far. Perhaps I felt so because I had always held the Indian leaders like
Gandhi and Nehru in high esteem. I had believed them to be above
communal passions and naked ambitions. Their previous opposition to
the demand for Pakistan had been understandable. But now that the
division of India had become a fact, it was reasonable to expect that, for
the greater good of all, they would wish Pakistan to stand on its feet as
quickly as possible and to this end, they would advise the Maharajah
squarely that Kashmir’s future must be in Pakistan.
But this had not happened, and we at least would not be able to leave
the matter where it was. Not only could we not ignore the safety and
wishes of our brethren in Kashmir, but our own safety and welfare also
demanded that the State should not go over to India.
One glance at the map was enough to show that Pakistan’s military
security would be seriously jeopardised if Indian troops came to be
stationed along Kashmir’s western border. Once India got the chance,
she could establish such stations anywhere within a few<miles of the
180 miles long vital road and rail route between Lahore and Pindi. In the
event of war, these stations would be a dangerous threat to our most
important civil and military lines of communication. If we were to
protect this route properly, it would take a major portion of our army to
do so and we would thereby dangerously weaken our front at Lahore. If
we were to concentrate our strength at the front, we would give India
the chance to cut off Lahore, Sialkot, Gujrat and even Jhelum from our
military base at Pindi. The possession of Kashmir would also enable
India, if she wished, to take the war directly to Hazara and Murree—
more than 200 miles behind the front. This of course could happen only
in the event of war—but in peacetime too the situation could be just as
unacceptable because we would remain permanently exposed to a
threat of such magnitude that our independence would never be a
reality. Surely that was not the type of Pakistan we had wanted.
From the economic point of view the position was equally clear. Our
agricultural economy was dependent particularly upon the rivers
coming out of Kashmir. The Mangla Headworks were actually in Kashmir
and the Marala Headworks were within a mile or so of the border. What
then would be our position if Kashmir was to be in Indian hands?
Similarly, the economy of Kashmir itself was inevitably linked with
Pakistan because her only trade route, which remained open throughout
the year and which carried almost her entire trade, was the road coming
into Pakistan at Kohala and Muzaffarabad. The major portion of
Kashmir’s timber, her main source of income, went by the River Jhelum
to Pakistan.
Thus, it seemed that Kashmir's accession to Pakistan was not simply a
matter of desirability but of absolute necessity for our separate
'existence. Finally, our claim was justified by our knowledge and belief
that the overwhelming majority of Kashmiris wanted to join Pakistan.
But neither our claims, nor the wishes of the Kashmiris would avail
anything if the Muslims of Kashmir were now forced out of the State,
and those left there browbeaten into acceding to India.
Such were the thoughts in my mind when one day someone introduced
me to Sardar Ibrahim who was later to become the first President of
Azad Kashmir Government. As yet he was not prominent enough to be
known in Pakistan. Most of the recognised leaders of the pro-Pakistan
Muslim Conference were still in jail in Kashmir. Ibrahim, like many
others passionately stirred, had come across the border in search of help
for his people. He thought that the time for peaceful negotiations was
gone because every protest was being met with repressions and,'
therefore, in certain areas the people were virtually in a state of revolt.
But if they were to protect themselves, and to prevent the Maharajah
from handing them over to India, they needed weapons.' Five. hundred
rifles, according to him, were all that they needed to start with if they-
were to liberate themselves. This, however, was obviously too modest an
estimate, though even this number, at the moment, appeared beyond
reach.
The big question really was whether our Government could be moved to
take an active hand in the affair. We were soon to find that a move in this
direction had already started.
A few days later Mian Iftikharuddin, then a leader in the Muslim League
(the ruling political party), arrived at Murree from Lahore and he said
that he had been deputed to go to Srinagar to contact the Kashmiri
Leaders and to assess the chances of Kashmir’s accession to Pakistan. He
also said that if the people of Kashmir were not likely to have the chance
of freely exercising their choice—the Muslim League may have to take
some action to help the Kashmiri Muslims and to prevent the State’s
accession to India. He did not seem particularly optimistic about the
outcome of his mission, but thought that his visit would at least clear
their doubts about the necessity of taking action. He would be away for
about a week and, in case the situation was not promising, he had to
take back with him to Lahore a plan of action. He asked me to prepare a
plan for him.
The object to be achieved by the contemplated action was clear, namely
to get Kashmir’s accession to Pakistan but as far as the resources were
concerned and what support the League could give to the action, the
position was entirely vague. All he could tell me was that some money
could be spent, though he did not know how much. Further, he said that
any action by us was to be of an unofficial nature, and no Pakistani
troops or officers were to take an active part in it. With this inadequate
data in my possession, I spent the next day or so in consultation with
Sardar Ibrahim and others and then returned to Pindi where I wrote out
a plan.
The only weapons we could possibly get hold of would be rifles and with
regard to these the question was not how many we needed or desired
but how many we could obtain. At that time I was Director of Weapons
and Equipment at G.H.Q. (the Pakistan Army General Headquarters) and,
therefore, I knew the general situation with regard to weapons in
possession of the Army. A large part of our share of the reserve stocks of
weapons and ammunition was still lying in India. Even if these stocks
were in Pakistan there would be no possibility of giving any for Kashmir
unless the Government ordered the Commander-in-Chief to do so. Since
he was not to be taken into confidence, some other way had to be found
to get hold of some rifles. Fortunately, I discovered that a previous
Government sanction existed in G.H.Q. for the issue of 4,000 military
rifles to the Punjab Police. The police did not appear to be in urgent
need of them since they were not pressing for them. I, therefore, decided
to base my proposal on a minimum of 4000 rifles assuming that the
police could be ordered to receive these rifles from the Army and make
them available for Kashmir. Further weapons, Frontier made or from
abroad, could be obtained depending on the money available. I also
found that some stocks of old ammunition, condemned as unfit for
military use, were lying in an ordnance depot. This condemned stock
was waiting to be transported to Karachi to be thrown into the sea.
Colonel Azam Khanzada of the Ordinance Corps promised to divert this
secretly for use in Kashmir. As far as the Army was concerned this
ammunition would be shown as thrown into the sea.
It was desirable that some trained personnel should be available for the
organisation and coordination of the whole effort. No army officers
could be taken for this, but we had in Pakistan some of the senior ex-
army officers of the I.N.A. (Indian National Army) who might be willing
to take on some of the responsibility.
The authorities needed a lot of assistance from the Army in the shape of
plans, advice, weapons, ammunition, communications and volunteers.
They did not ask for it because the whole thing had to be kept secret
from the Commander-in-Chief and other senior officers who were
British. There were, however, also senior Pakistani officers in the Army
who could have been taken into confidence—and these were in a
position to help a great deal. As it was, at this stage I alone was asked for
assistance-and I was junior to at least twenty other Pakistani officers. In
the days to come, as I had to keep things secret from everyone, it was to
result not only in the loss of their help but also of their good will. And
from some there was to come the most damaging intrigue and
opposition.
Ultimately, I wrote out a plan under the title of “Armed Revolt inside
Kashmir”. As open interference or aggression by Pakistan was obviously
undesirable, it was proposed that our efforts should be concentrated
upon strengthening the Kashmiris themselves internally—and at the
same time taking steps to prevent the arrival of armed civilians or
military assistance from India into Kashmir. The Maharajah’s Army was
said to be about 9,000 strong of which the 2,000 or so Muslims could be
expected to remain comparatively passive or even to desert if all went
well. The remaining 7,000 were believed to be widely scattered and
could be overcome by the Kashmiri people little by little. But it would be
essential to ensure that the Maharajah was not reinforced from India,
and, therefore, the routes by which such reinforcements could come
would have to be blocked.
One of these routes was the road from Kathua to Jammu, an unmetalled
fair weather track passing through broken country where a determined
band of guerillas could at least prevent the passage of armed civilians.
Organised movement of troops in strength would, however, be a
different matter. But there was as yet no likelihood of troops arriving
from India. In another month or so the area would probably be very
muddy due to rains, and then in December the snows in the Banihal pass
would block the entrance to the valley. Though it would be beyond their
means to close this route altogether, the people could at least gain some
time by making the effort.
The second route was by air. Troops could be landed at Srinagar.
Fortunately the landing ground was some distance from the town and
away from the immediate protection of the troops there. A couple of
hundred armed men might, with good sniping, seriously discourage the
landing of transport aircraft. Obviously, however, at present it was
entirely academic to talk about blocking these routes, but if the revolt
was ultimately to seek a decision in the Srinagar Valley itself, this would
be an important factor for success.
Thus, out of the 4,000 rifles that were to be issued, 1,000 were proposed
for the Kathua road and 200 for the Srinagar landing ground tasks,
whereas the balance of 2,800 were to be distributed over the rest of the
area adjacent to Pakistan’s border.
I gave a dozen copies of this tentative plan to Mian Iftikhar on his return
from Srinagar. A few days later I was called to Lahore for a conference
with the Prime Minister of Pakistan. Mr. Liaquat Ali Khan. On arrival
there I had first to attend a preliminary conference at the Provincial
Government Secretariate in the office of Sardar Shaukat Hayat Khan,
who was then a Minister in the Punjab Government. It seemed that the
problem had already received a good deal of consideration and another
plan had been evolved in outline. The conference lacked the businesslike
precision that we are used to in the Army but it was to some extent
compensated by the enthusiastic willingness and deep interest of
everyone around. My own presence at this conference was probably
unexpected though it was welcomed, because of my personal friendship
with those present. I saw copies of my proposed plan in the hands of
some but I doubt if the paper had been read. That did not matter very
much because Sardar Shaukat Hayat Khan already had a plan in mind.
His plan was based on the employment of officers and other ranks of the
former I.N.A. under the command of Mr. Zaman Kiani. These were to
operate from across the Punjab border—whereas north of Rawalpindi,
the sector was to be under command of Mr. Khurshid Anwar a
commander of the Muslim League National Guards. The operations were
to take place in two sectors, under the overall command of Sardar
Shaukat Hayat Khan.
Connecting this plan up with my ideas, I emphasised the importance of
the Kathua road and the Srinagar landing ground. The possibility of
getting 4,000 rifles was welcomed and I was asked to meet the Prime
Minister at the Government House at 6 p.m. in the evening.
The conference with the Prime Minister was at ended, among others, by
the Finance Minister (Mr. Ghulam Mohd., later Governor General), Mian
Iftikharuddn, Zaman Kiani, Khurshid Anwar, Sardar Shaukat Hayat Khan
and myself. I expected that here the actual course of action would be
discussed in detail as certain essential decisions needed to be taken. I
was, however, to find this conference even more informal than the
morning one. Again the enthusiasm was there but there was no serious
discussion of the problems involved. It may be that such discussions had
already taken place before my appearance on the scene. In my presence,
the allotment of funds received much attention and some points here
and there were lightly touched upon. The operational details and their
pros and cons were not discussed. The Prime Minister questioned me
regarding what help I could render and I promised to do what I had
already written in the paper as well as anything else which they might
require.
In the atmosphere of cheerfulness and confidence that prevailed, it did
not seem right for me to strike too serious a note by drawing attention
to even such elementary matters as the need for ammunition and the
means of communication for exercising control. The unpleasant truth, as
I now see it, was that there was complete ignorance about the business
of anything in the nature of military operations.
Upon coming out of the conference room. Khurshid Anwar took me
aside and told me that he was not going to accept any orders from
Shaukat Hayat Khan. I did my best to persuade him to realise that
without complete co-operation there would be chaos and therefore he
must play the game fairly. He was not convinced. I was just wondering
what to do about this when Shaukat Hayat Khan also came and told me
that he had absolutely no confidence in Khurshid Anwar. In view of this
mutual lack of confidence, I suggested that he should immediately see
the Prime Minister and get someone else in place of Khurshid Anwar.
But he said Khurshid Anwar was the choice of the authorities concerned
and nothing could be done about it at this stage.
Thus, from the start there existed the serious danger that the whole
scheme would lack effective central control, and this was a very
disturbing thought. But at that time it was not difficult to persuade
myself into thinking that all would be well in the end. We had just
achieved independence from the British after a hundred years or so—
and we had just achieved a new homeland, the State of Pakistan. Within
less than a month of this, news of the uprising of Kashmiri Muslims
came and spread through the country like wild fire. People responded
with enthusiasm everywhere and they felt the smell of blood in their
noses. It did not seem that, in pursuit of the common object before us,
minor personal differences would not be levelled out in due course.

TRIBAL ATTACK
After the Prime Minister’s conference I returned to Pindi. The first shots
had already been fired and the movement soon began to gather weight.
At this stage I had no responsibility in connection with Kashmir but I
had promised to give whatever assistance I could personally render. At
G.H.Q., I took Brigadier Sher Khan also into confidence. He was Director
Intelligence and with his help I was able to keep myself informed
through information coming in from military sources.
Lieutenant Colonel Masud (later Brigadier Tommy Masud) of the
Cavalry, offered to help with collecting and storing the condemned
ammunition. This he used to issue to Zaman Kiani and Khurshid Anwar
when they called for it. Help from the Pakistan Air Force through Air
Commodore Janjua and others also started coming in, in the shape of
winter clothing, ammunition and some weapons. Khwaja Abdul Rahim,
Commissioner Rawalpindi, was another enthusiast who was busy
collecting funds, rations, weapons and even volunteers for Kashmir. At
his house I met Shaukat Hayat Khan and others when they came to
Pindi.
Arrangements for the issue of the 4,000 rifles through the police were
completed. I vas to find later that all of these rifles did not reach the
people for whom they were meant. It was said that instead of the
military rifles the Punjab police authorities substituted and issued
Frontier-made rifles. These were of a very inferior quality and were
soon to break down. These rifles, made in the Tribal areas, are an exact
replica of the military rifles in appearance but their barrels have a very
short life, and the rest of the wood and metal work is also weak. The
Tribesmen themselves rarely use them when fighting against troops.
Their value can be judged from the fact that these rifles were sold for
about one hundred rupees each in those days whereas the tribesmen
paid as much as a thousand rupees for a military rifle. In consequence,
the fighting ability of the people using these rifles was greatly reduced.
As we had no arrangements for carrying out repairs, a rifle once
damaged had to be abandoned.
The Prime Minister also promised to obtain some light machine guns
(Brens) from a war dump in Italy or somewhere abroad. A considerable
sum of money was spent but when the expected 250 Brens arrived it
turned out that they were Italian Sten guns and not Brens. This was a
total loss as there was no scope for the use of short range Stens
(maximum range about 200 yards).
Meanwhile, India had begun to show an open partisan interest in
Kashmir. She had started accusing Pakistan of violating, the standstill
agreement by applying economic pressure on the State to secure its
accession. An economic blockade was said to have been imposed and
essential supplies of kerosene, petrol, foodstuffs and salt were alleged to
have been cut off. Communications were said to have been tampered
with and the railway service between Sialkot and Jammu had been
suspended.
The Pakistan Foreign Minister had replied to the effect that because of
the uncertain state of affairs in Kashmir, drivers of lorries had refused to
go beyond Pindi and that because the transport services on this route
had been private, non-governmental agencies, there was not much
Pakistan could do about it. According to India, however, we had not
allowed matters to rest merely with imposition of the blockade but had
also organised raids all along the border and had allowed armed bands
to infiltrate into Kashmir.
Much of this was soon contradicted by statements of Sheikh Abdullah,
the then pro-India Muslim Leader of Kashmir. Explaining the situation in
a press statement in Delhi on October 21, as reported by the Associated
Press of India he had said, “The happenings in certain States such as
Patiala, Bharatpur and elsewhere, had naturally caused apprehensions
in the minds of the Muslims in Kashmir, who form the majority of the
population. They were afraid that the State’s accession to India
portended danger to them”. He added, “the present troubles in Poonch
were because of the unwise policy adopted by the State. The people of
Poonch who suffered under their local Ruler, and again under the
Kashmir Ruler who was the Overlord of Poonch, had started a people’s
movement for the redress of their grievances. It was not communal. The
Kashmir State sent troops there and there was panic in Poonch. But
most of the adult population of Poonch are ex-servicemen of the Indian
Army who have close connections with the people in Jhelum and Pindi
(in Pakistan). They evacuated their women and children, crossed the
frontier, and returned with arms supplied to them by willing people. The
present position is that the Kashmir State forces have been forced to
withdraw in certain areas.”
Thus up to the third week of October, the activities in Kashmir had
clearly been in the nature of a purely internal revolt which had made
slow but steady progress—and which was resulting in more and more
areas going out of the Maharajah’s control.
As even Sheikh Abdullah was putting the blame on the Maharajah, it
seems that the latter could not bring himself to accede to India, and he
was unable to find any real excuse for inviting Indian assistance. But
then, suddenly at this stage, the whole situation was radically altered by
the entry of Frontier tribesmen into Kashmir on the 23rd of October.
This event was of such significance that it led to the accession of the
State to India within four days.
I cannot say exactly when it was decided that an attack by tribesmen
should be carried out in the manner that it was. I had, however, been
hearing that Khurshid Anwar was gathering a lashkar of tribesmen. At
the time of the Tribal attack, India also received information from our
side as apparently, according to “Mission with Mountbatten”, the
Commander-in-Chief India received a telegram on 20th October from
G.H.Q. Pakistan Army, stating that some 5,000 tribesmen had attacked
and captured Muzaffarabad and Domel.
A large-scale open attack by the Frontier tribesmen was bound to bring
forth Indian reinforcements via the two routes previously discussed,
namely overland by the Kathua road and by air at the Srinagar landing
ground. I hurriedly contacted people to check if the necessary men, for
whom rifles had been issued, were in their proper places. I discovered
that they were not. The thousand men on the Kathua road were not
there because their country made rifles having broken down they had
returned home—and the two hundred rifles meant for the Srinagar
landing ground had not been given, by Khurshid Anwar, to the people
concerned. Hurriedly, with the help of Khwaja Rahim, went a fresh
hundred ex-servicemen volunteers from Pindi across the Jhelum river
and the mountains under command of Latif Afghani a Muslim League
National Guard Officer. But it was too late then. They got there
ultimately, after suffering thirty casualties, but they were then not in a
position to prevent landings as Indian troops had already taken up
defence of the landing ground.
The Tribal attack, leaving aside its wider implications for the present,
was a great success so far as it went. In fact it was more of a success than
I, as a soldier, would have thought possible. It is true that their task was
facilitated by the desertion of the Muslim troops at Muzaffarabad, and by
the partial demoralisation of the Dogra troops who do not appear-to
have put up as much resistance as might have been expected.
Nevertheless, it in no way diminishes the credit due to the tactics and
fighting qualities of the tribesmen.
They had apparently come in a convoy of civilian lorries, and their only
weapons had been their own rifles. They were probably about two
thousand strong to start with, though I cannot state any figure with
certainty. It seems that generally speaking, only a quarter of them were
engaged in fighting at any particular time. Their method of operation
was to move forward by lorries until they came up against opposition.
Then they dismounted and carried out an attack. It seems that the State
troops were terrified of them and never fought a last-ditch battle, but
instead, as soon as they suffered some casualties they fell back to
another position—there to be followed and attacked again by the
tribesmen—and so on.
With the tribal attack, the smouldering embers of indecision burst into
flames. In Delhi, on the third day of the attack, the Indian Service Chiefs
were ordered, in expectation of the Maharajah’s appeal for help, to
prepare plans for sending troops to Kashmir, and that afternoon three
staff officers went to Srinagar by air. Next morning when the tribesmen
captured Baramula, 35 miles from Srinagar, the Maharajah decided that
he was going to have no more nonsense —but it was not to the front that
he went—he packed up and fled from his Capital. Reaching Jammu in the
evening, with 200 miles safely behind him, he was still so shaken and
despondent that before going to sleep he instructed his A.D.C. that if in
the morning Mr. V. P. Menon did not return from India with help it would
mean that everything was lost and in that case the A.D.C. was to shoot
him (the Maharajah) in his sleep!
The Maharajah, however, was not destined to be shot, because at that
moment a hundred aircraft in India were getting ready to fly troops over
to Kashmir the next day.
Meanwhile, excitement swept over the whole subcontinent. Even in far
off Hyderabad Deccan, another Princely State that had not yet acceded
to India, at 3 a.m., the same night, a crowd of some twenty to thirty
thousand Muslims surrounded the houses of the delegates who were
about to leave for Delhi in connection with the State’s accession. In
Pakistan, all attention was held by the spectacular advance of the
tribesmen, and no one yet knew that the Maharajah had actually signed
the necessary documents and at last acceded to India.

INDIAN INTERVENTION
On the morning of 27th October 1947, all over Pakistan people who
were listening to the news heard of Kashmir’s accession and of India’s
military intervention. It was sad news because it threatened a further
worsening of Indo-Pakistan relations. It meant more trouble and already
there had been enough trouble—millions of refugees had suffered in
transit; our military stores had been withheld by India; and Junagadh,
another Princely State, had been occupied by India after its accession to
Pakistan. Many had hoped that there would be no more of this, and that
at least about Kashmir good sense would prevail in India, and that the
revolt would only bring about a realisation of the urgent need for a just
settlement of the State's future.
Obviously, the people of Kashmir could not surrender their rights by the
mere signing of a paper by an unrepresentative Ruler against whom they
had already risen in revolt. Equally obviously, the people of Pakistan
could not abandon their feelings on the issue and their duty to their
brothers in Kashmir. Therefore, many felt that India's entry into Kashmir
was bringing us almost to the brink of war.
At first light that morning, India had despatched by air the first batch of
330 troops to Srinagar. At that moment, the tribesmen were at Baramula
and had not moved forward yet. For the rest of the day, while more
Indian troops were arriving every hour at Srinagar, the tribal laskhar,
probably unaware of the new situation, continued to remain inactive at
Baramula.
Elsewhere the news was spreading fast, whipping up resentment and
strengthening the determination to resist. By the evening the first
Provisional Government of Azad Kashmir (Free Kashmir) came into
existence, with Sardar Ibrahim as President. From this moment,
Kashmir became symbolically divided in two. And the new Government
was immediately faced by the fact that from now onwards, the fight
would have to be against the regular Indian army, and therefore a long
one.
In Pakistan, the same evening, the Prime Minister held an unofficial
conference at Lahore to consider the situation arising out of Kashmir’s
accession and India’s military intervention. At this conference, among
others were also present Colonel Iskander Mirza (then Defence
Secretary, later to be Governor-General), Chaudhri Mohd Ali (then
Secretary General, later to be Prime Minister), Abdul Qayum Khan, Chief
Minister of the Frontier Province and Nawab Mamdot, Chief Minister of
the Punjab. Brigadier Sher Khan and I, were also invited.
At this conference I proposed that an attempt should be made to
liquidate Jammu in order to block the only road along which India could
send reinforcements into the valley and the rest of Kashmir. I did not
suggest that troops should be used for this purpose or that the
Government should get involved in this. I suggested only that tribesmen
may be allowed to make the attempt. I thought that three lashkars of a
thousand each should be used. The tribesmen were available and I
offered to go with them.
With Indian military intervention, Jammu had at once become a focal
point of the greatest importance. India had no other land route going
into the State except that passing through Jammu. All reinforcements,
coming by land, would concentrate there. From there they would move
north into the valley and thereby prolong operations in that area. From
there also, they would move west along the road to Naushehra and
thereby seriously threaten the liberation progress in the central areas of
Rajauri and Poonch etc., where at present the liberation forces were
virtually masters of the situation. Further, if relations between India and
Pakistan took a dangerous turn, the base at Jammu, sitting right on top
of Sialkot, would become a serious threat to our own security.
Blocking Jammu, I felt, would be like nipping an evil in the bud, while
leaving it open would be letting the Azad operations become like
emptying, with a cup, a tank into which a running stream was pouring.
Although there might be no prospect of the tribesmen capturing Jammu,
their action might well scare the Maharajah enough to run away from
there as he had run from Srinagar. In any case, with him or without, a
large number of others would certainly run for the safety across the
border and in doing so they would block the route for a while. Or at
least, once in the hills to the west of Jammu, the tribesmen would for a
time prevent the movement of troops towards the central areas.
The proposal was however, with the exception of Abdul Qayum Khan
and Nawab Mamdot, opposed by everyone else—and it had to be
abandoned. It was felt that this would provoke India to attack Pakistan
and such a risk could not be taken.
No one of course wanted an Indo-Pakistan war but many reasons did
exist in support of the feeling that India was in no position to start such
a war. Already the tribesmen had penetrated 80 miles into the State,
already they had gone through Pakistan territory, already India believed,
though wrongly, that tribesmen had also besieged Mirpur, Poonch, Kotli,
Jhangar, Naushehra and Bhimbar—and, therefore, India already had
enough excuse for extending the war to Pakistan. That she had not done
so was simply because of the fact that she was militarily not strong
enough to take such a risk. Her army was undergoing reorganisation,
she had enough worries inside the country, and she was particularly
apprehensive about provoking the tribal flood into East Punjab where
the population was in panic due to such exaggerated reports as those
referring to Baramula where out of 14,000 non-Muslims only 3,000
were said to have survived.
At the conference that night, however, the feelings on the other side
were far weightier. No one could then have foreseen that only a few
weeks later, though too late and futile by then, the tribesmen would be
operating against Jammu in full cry from the same places, and it would
not bring war. And again, that in a few months’ time several thousand
Pakistani troops would clash with the Indians in Kashmir and it would
still bring no Indo-Pakistan war.
It is interesting to note, as we came to know some years later, that on
that same night the Quaid-e-Azam himself also ordered an attack upon
Jammu. Referring to this order and its fate, Allan Campbell mentions in
“Mission with Mountbatten” that the order had reached General Gracey,
the acting Commander-in-Chief in the temporary absence of General
Messervy, through the Military Secretary to the Governor of West Punjab
and that Gracey had replied that he was not prepared to issue any such
instruction without approval of the Supreme Commander (Field Marshal
Auchinleck in Delhi). The words of Allan Campbell are possibly
somewhat misleading. More likely, General Gracey had persuaded the
Quaid-e-Azam to withdraw his orders after giving him his reasons which
might have been, for instance, that the Pakistan army was still being
reorganised, that a neutral Boundary Force under another General still
existed in the Punjab, and that the British Government would most
probably withdraw all British officers from the army in case of a war
between the two Dominions.
What matters today is the outcome. Jammu was left alone. But though
we left Jammu alone, it was not to leave us alone because through this
open door were to pass, in the days to come, Indian troops both
northwards and westwards without interference. For the present, non-
interference with Jammu allowed India to concentrate her undivided
attention upon Srinagar where she proceeded to send the maximum
number of troops that her aircraft could carry.
It has since been argued that an attack on Jammu would have been a
pure gamble—gambling with the very existence of Pakistan itself. With
this I cannot agree. It certainly was a risk, but a calculated risk and not a
gamble. A military gamble is that which means either winning or losing
completely. If you win, you win perhaps more than you had a right to
expect, but if you lose, you lose so completely that you are finished. This
alone can be called a pure gamble, and this should never be undertaken
by soldiers unless the situation is so desperate that loss is a certainty in
any case. In such a case the choice lies only between surrender and a
gamble. On the other hand, a calculated risk is that where, if one wins it
means a gain perhaps larger than one deserves—but if one loses,
everything is not totally lost and one can still recover to fight another
day. It is the calculated risk by which Great commanders have overcome
stronger enemies.
Looked at like this, it is easy to see that attacking Jammu involved no
gamble. If we had failed to capture it, there were still many advantages
to gain. The fact of the attack, and the threat of the possibility of its
repetition, would have tied up large forces in Jammu—thereby
preventing them from moving north to the Srinagar valley and from
moving west to Naushehra. This would have saved us much headache
afterwards. On the other hand, if this attack had led to Indo-Pakistan
war, there was no question of the utter loss of Pakistan. After all the
Indian army was only double our strength, and history is full of
examples of people successfully withstanding much larger odds than
that. In any case the whole of the Indian army could not have been
thrown against us as it had a potentially hostile army in Hyderabad State
also to worry about. Had they gone for East Pakistan, they would not
only have had to surrender Kashmir but would also have exposed East
Punjab against which, they feared, we could open the flood gates to
200,000 armed tribesmen and this was a paralysing thought.
Further, India had already committed aggression against Junagadh after
it had legally acceded to Pakistan and therefore similar action by us in
Kashmir was not going to bring U.N. or the World on the side of India.
Thus, in these circumstances, to say that an attack on Jammu would have
been a gamble is an argument not justified by cold reasoning.
My suggestion about the formation of a liberation committee, to
coordinate and direct our effort in Kashmir, was accepted and the
conference ended a 2 a.m. I was asked to come and see the Prime
Minister again next morning.
In the morning I was informed that I was to be the military member of
the Liberation Committee. To enable me to attend to this work, I was to
be relieved of my duties in G.H.Q. and was to be appointed as Military
Adviser to the Prime Minister. I was to stay in Pindi and my work, in
connection with Kashmir, was to be kept secret from the British officers
and G.H.Q- Army officers or other ranks were still not to participate in
the fighting.
Among the other members of the Liberation Committee were also
Sardar Ibrahim, Khwaja Rahim, a finance officer (Mr Ghulam Mohd) and
Major; Yusaf of the Political Department who was to deal with the
tribesmen.
Upon my seeking a clarification of our military object, the Prime
Minister said that all he wanted was to keep the fight going for three
months which would be enough time to achieve our political object by
negotiations and other means.
The main worry at the back of my mind was the question of
ammunition. As we were leaving Jammu open, the Indian army would
soon form a base there with regular supply dumps and so forth. Our
men would, from then onwards, have to fight against regular troops
having a very generous supply available to them. Troops carried 100
rounds per man with 100 more in brigade reserve and a further 100 in
divisional reserve all the time. Behind all this would be India’s
ammunition producing factories.
If against this we were to maintain ten thousand men including the
tribesmen and if these were to be strictly limited to only 100 rounds per
man for a whole month, even then we would need 3,000,000 rounds in
three months. At that moment we had only about a fifth of one million
rounds collected at Pindi and of this, half had already been demanded
for the tribesmen now advancing towards Srinagar.
That afternoon, on the 28th, I rushed back to Pindi to ensure that the
tribesmen received their ammunition in time.

TO SRINAGAR
Next morning, on 29th October 1947, I and Ali Akhtar Mirza, Press
correspondent, left for Srinagar to see what the situation was like.
We crossed the Kashmir border at Kohala a little before sunset. We
would not have been allowed entry earlier as vehicles were not
permitted on the road during daylight because Indian aircraft were on
the scene. At this hour people were beginning to stir. Even so, there was
 p p g g
not as yet much activity. For 20 miles we drove in silence, along the river
Jhelum on our left. On our right were only the rapidly darkening scrubby
hills. On the road there was no one in sight, and in the far-off village huts
there was no light, no sound. There was no sign of war.
And then at Muzaffarabad suddenly the scene changed as if by the lifting
of a curtain. Tribesmen were on their way to Srinagar. The spectacle
before us was like a page out of old history. Memory flashed back many,
many centuries. This, one felt, is what it might have been like when our
forefathers had poured in through the mountain passes of the Frontier.
Here again were rugged mountains, and here were descendants of the
same men probably looking much the same, clothed much the same and
plunging forward into the unknown in. much the same manner. Only
then it had probably been in caravans, on foot, and horse—while now it
was a convoy, but it was not a convoy either because no one had
organised it and no one was in command. It was just that so many
people had converged at Muzaffarabad, inside the Kashmir border,
because of the one single road along which they must proceed to
Srinagar, the State Capital.
This was two days after Kashmir had acceded to India. Six days earlier,
Frontier tribesmen had begun their attack on Kashmir at this point. On
the 26th, the fourth day of the attack, the Maharajah, the ruler of the
State had fled from the capital. Next day India had intervened, and her
troops had begun to arrive at Srinagar by air.
Now more Pathans were going in to help the freedom struggle. The
lorries were full to the brim, carrying forty, fifty and some as many as
seventy. Men were packed inside, lying on the roofs, sitting on the
engines and hanging on to the mudguards. They were men of all ages
from grey beards to teenagers. Few were well-dressed—many had torn
clothes, and some were even without shoes. But they were good to look
at—handsome and awe-inspiring.
Their weapons were a varied assortment British, French, German and
Frontier made rifles —long and short barrelled pistols and even shot
guns. Some had no fire arms at all. they were going to take them from
the enemy. For the present they carried only daggers.
Their transport was equally heterogeneous— ranging from road worthy
buses to anything on four wheels capable of crawling. One ancient car
with no roof, no lights, and doubtful brakes was carrying a banner and
eight or nine men. This was the headquarters of the Swat Army.
Movement was very slow. Overloaded old engines were labouring hard.
They would take a long time to reach destination. Some would not reach
at all. But that did not matter —these men had come to fight, in their
blood ran the memory of centuries of invasions and adventure— they
would get there somehow. They were in high spirits. Above the rumble
and din could be heard a chorus of war songs and an occasional drum
beat. The air was charged with enthusiasm. Ahead lay glory.
We, however, could not afford to go at their pace. We had to push on and
so, after some difficulty, we managed to pass the convoy and then we
had the open road. At Uri, 50 miles from Muzaffarabad, we found the
bridge down, it had been destroyed by the retreating State troops
pursued by the tribesmen after their attack on Muzaffarabad some days
earlier. The locals had, however, turned out in large numbers, worked
feverishly throughout the night and built a mile-long diversion cut into
the hill-side thus enabling the tribesmen to pass and catch up with their
quarry.
Thirty more miles of winding road, and now 80 miles from
Muzaffarabad, we were at last out of the mountains—at the gate of the
Kashmir Valley, at Baramula. This used to be a town of orchards, schools,
road and river transport stations, shops and restaurants—in short a
bright and cheerful looking place. But now it looked as if an earthquake
had shaken it. Shops were empty, doors and windows were gone—brick,
stone and paper littered the ground. First the retreating State troops had
blown up buildings to block the road, then the attacking tribesmen had
swept through like a hurricane, and finally the Indian Air Force had
followed up with bombs and rockets. Fires were still burning here and
there. We stopped to have a look, and found that off the main street the
town was not damaged much and that many of the local people were
still there.
The tribesmen had reached here on the 26th. Until then Kashmir had
not acceded to India and Indian troops had not been flown in. The State
troops, thoroughly demoralised, had retreated in disorder. Only 35 more
miles remained of level road and virtually no resistance. The tribesmen
had a barely two-hour journey left—and before them lay Srinagar,
trembling, seemingly at their mercy. But the tribesmen had not moved
forward that day, nor the next day. When at last they had advanced on
the 28th, they had encountered the Indian troops that a hundred aircraft
had been bringing in since the previous day. Although these had been
successfully overcome ten miles outside Baramula. a whole day had
been lost in doing so. Thus it was not till the evening of the 29th. that the
tribesmen had moved forward to Srinagar itself. And now they were just
a few hours ahead of us.
But why had two crucial days been wasted at Baramula? It is more than
probable that if these two days had not been lost, the story of Kashmir
would be an entirely different one. There was no authentic answer to be
found. It is unlikely that the tribesmen themselves had wanted the delay;
sending back their wounded could not have taken that much time;
waiting for more men could hardly have been the cause as they knew
that speed would be more valuable; and Baramula itself could not have
held that much attraction for them when the biggest prize of all,
Srinagar, was so near at hand. All the same there may have been some
good reason, one cannot say, or it may have been what the locals at
Baramula said, that Khurshid Anwar, who was in command, had waited
for Kashmiri Leaders whom he had sent for in order to confer with
regarding his own position in the future Government of Kashmir.
Whatever the reason, there was no time to find out for certain as it was
near midnight, and the front had yet to be reached.
Out of Baramula, there was no traffic on the road. Now and then men
could be seen running about stealthily in the deserted villages. Mostly
they were locals collecting loot. But there was no sign of any fighting yet,
no indication of where the front was and no one to give us any
information. For all we knew the fighting could be somewhere up in the
hills—and the road itself could be in enemy hands, there was no means
of telling. So now we had to go slow, without lights.
Ten miles or so, and there were some tribesmen sleeping around a fire.
Another five miles, and some dark figure could be seen along the road.
Another half an hour, and away in the distance the lights of Srinagar
became visible. Then at last there was the sound of firing. We were close
to the front now. Soon we passed some wounded men being carried
back. Another half a mile, and shells were landing on the road. But the
firing was dying down. Apparently an attack had just ended. This was
exactly at the fourth milestone, and on the edge of Srinagar suburbs.
At the fourth milestone the enemy had set up a road-block. Upon
discovering the existence of this check, the tribesmen had, in their initial
approach, crept forward and around carefully using only the broken
ground off the road. The enemy’s wild shooting in the dark had done
them no damage so far and they had continued to close in silently. But in
the last few hundred yards the situation had changed. The tribesmen
may or may not have known that much of the outer perimeter of
Srinagar is often under water-rain, marsh, lake, river and paddy fields all
contributing. It seems that the nearer they had got to the enemy post the
more they had found themselves converging on to the road because of
this water. Ultimately, it must have looked as if the only way to deal with
the post was to go for it straight down the narrow road—and this is
apparently what they had done. I feel that experienced tribesmen, like
Mahsuds and Wazirs, would never have done this. It may be that this
particular group, mostly Mohmands, had not the necessary experience,
or it may also have been that their recent successes had made them
overconfident, resulting in their ignoring well established rules of
caution. So they had assaulted down the road, and had met the full blast
of enemy fire—rifles, brens, machine-guns and mortars. Consequently,
the attack had failed. And now that the night was almost finished,
nothing more could be done for the present.
We had just arrived to see the end of this action. It seemed that the
setback had caused no particular concern. It was taken merely as one
incident. The feeling was that a way into Srinagar would surely be found.
Little could anyone have guessed then that this moment and this spot
would historically remain the peak of the struggle because never again
would we come within sight of anything so likely to be decisive.
It was 4 a.m. and time to look for shelter. Finding a clump of chinar trees
some distance back, we parked under it and tried to rest. But there was
not much time left for sleep. Soon dawn crept over the horizon unveiling
an inspiring picture of nature’s beauty. It was cold, crisp and clear. Snow
peaks glistened in the distance, birds twittered among the trees, flights
of wild duck and geese flew past in formation, line after line, their
colourful wings flashing when caught by the sun’s rays. The ground was
still covered in mist—and all was silent except for the gurgle of water in
a stream nearby. As the sun rose, it lit up brown fields and golden
chinars under 3 perfectly blue sky. It looked so peaceful that it was hard
to believe there was a war on. The events of a few hours ago seemed to
belong somewhere else.
But peace did not last long. An Indian fighter aircraft came roaring
across. It flew over the area and then went for all the clumps of trees,
dropping a bomb here and firing a burst of machine-guns there. It was
followed by another, and then another—and so it was going to be the
whole day. No one fired back at them. They had complete freedom of the
skies, and they flew very low, sometimes even below tree top level.
After an icy cold wash and a hearty breakfast 1 set out to see how the
town was defended. Nothing was happening. Since the arrival of enemy
aircraft on the scene, all action had to be in the hours of darkness. Now
only a few individuals were moving about. To such movement there was
no obstruction, except the aircraft which were easy to dodge. In open
country one can often see an aircraft long before it can see one, and one
only has to keep still for a little while to escape observation. Even if one
is noticed, a single individual is hardly ever a worth-while target. But if
one is unfortunate enough to be picked up for attack, there is usually
still enough time to take shelter. Modem aircraft are equipped to fire
only straight in front, and so a pilot who wants to fire has to fly straight
at one and in a downward direction. To do this, he has first to gain
enough height and distance for which he has to circle round, and that
gives the man on the ground enough time to shift unobserved.
Thus I was able to walk around safely for a few hours—and with a pair
of binoculars and a map I was able to get some idea of how the ground
lay. From, our side the approaches to Srinagar were all covered with
water. Although this water had shrunk a good deal since the summer-,
there was still enough of it to restrict movement either to the main road
or a few paths and bunds. These were likely to come under fire from
enemy posts. As the previous night had shown, attacking along these,
without supporting fire, was no use. The position of Srinagar as a whole,
however, still seemed weak. The State troops, we knew, were
demoralised and the population, though passive, was hostile to them.
The Indian troops, at this stage, could hardly have been three battalions
while the outer perimeter of the town was many miles long and
irregular. The posts, therefore, were few and far apart, scattered and
incapable of supporting each other. Thus, on this day there was still in
fact no really effective defence. The town was still in the grip of terror. In
spite of the aircraft and the troops, the tribesmen were still able to roam
around the perimeter, and the landing ground, freely and unconcerned.
It seemed to me that if the tribesmen could once infiltrate into the town,
it would be impossible to eject them. Panic would result in blocking
streets and roads and obstructing counter moves by troops. The State
troops had already almost given up, and the Indians would be more
concerned with protecting the airfield, their only route to India. But how
was an entry to be made?
One possible way appeared to be to go across the water at night in boats
or on foot—and this is what the tribesmen were now looking for. This,
however, needed local help. And as the locals on the outskirts had
disappeared, it seemed that finding boats and guides may take a long
time—one could not tell how long. Meanwhile, every day lost would
result in more Indian troops arriving by air. It did not seem a very
promising plan, But it was the only one that could be tried for the time
being—though depending on it alone would be leaving too much to
chance.
So it brought me back again to considering the main road itself, the site
of the previous night’s attack. The defence position here did not appear
to be particularly strong. There was nothing to indicate the existence of
anything like concrete pillars, bunkers, ditches or heavy obstacles. It
looked more like a barbed wire obstruction covered by fire. It was good
enough to stop unprotected men and lorries, but quite likely it would
not stand up to anything heavier. A single armoured car might be able to
break through it. That seemed to be the answer, I thought a couple of
armoured cars could make sure of the job—and they could reach here
from Pakistan within twenty-four hours. The thing to do, therefore, was
to rush back and get the armoured cars.
So at sunset, when the aircraft disappeared and the road was safe again,
we started back. Rain, mud and traffic made the journey unbearably
slow, but there was a pleasant thought to keep company with—
armoured cars would get there before the Indians became too strong. To
get the armoured cars, however, some objections would have to be
answered. It could be argued that India would call this intervention by
Pakistan but did that really matter? India herself was intervening. She
was already calling us aggressors and she had squarely accused us of
bringing the tribesmen in across 200 miles of Pakistan would a couple of
armoured cars make that accusation any worse?
It could be argued that it would precipitate a general war between India
and Pakistan. I did not think it would. Neither side could afford it. In
Kashmir, we were irrevocably committed, but neither side could wish to
enlarge the conflict. The Governments of the two Dominions, barely
three months old, were not yet fully settled in their saddles—the old
army was not yet fully divided—a neutral boundary force, under a
British General, was still in existence —and there was a common British
Supreme Commander who still carried some weight. Millions of refugees
were still in the process of transfer between the two countries—
incidents were occurring dally—accusations against troops and the two
Governments were ordinary news of the day—what difference would
another incident make? More shouting, more complaining, more cursing
—that is all. Thus, the matter of the armoured cars seemed to me a
hopeful proposition. But that is what I thought. Fate had designed
otherwise.
On return to Pindi, I was immediately able to find Colonel Masud, who
volunteered to take not two but a whole squadron of his unit armoured
cars. His men, he said, would go in plain clothes without official
permission and at their own risk. This was indeed a thrilling response to
the needs of the occasion, and all seemed well. While they were getting
ready I held a consultation with Brigadier Sher Khan, Lt. Colonel Arbab
and Raja Ghazanfar Ali Khan, the last being a Central Government
Minister at Pindi. Brigadier Sher Khan and Raja Ghazanfar Ali Khan
stoutly opposed the idea. This, they thought, would certainly bring about
war; the Government would never forgive it; in any case it, chances of
success were very little, and I was to remember that the front was not
under my command. So the proposal was abandoned.
Thus armoured cars did not go to the assistance of the tribesmen and
the tribesmen were not destined to find some other way of entering
Srinagar.

TRIBAL WITHDRAWAL
For another four days the atmosphere in Pindi still continued to be full
of great expectations. News of the tribal successes was still spreading
and, with each hour, assuming legendary proportions. The fall of
Srinagar was taken to be a certainty and the happy news was awaited
breathlessly.
Then one morning news came that the Indians were coming out of
Srinagar and the tribesmen were falling back without offering
resistance. This news had come from the Frontier Chief Minister, Qayum
Khan, who was in contact with Khurshid Anwar. The Chief Minister had
rushed to Abbottabad where he was joined by others and they were to
meet the tribal leaders.
Later that evening I received a phone call from Abbottabad to say that
they would be reaching Pindi at midnight and would come to see me at
my house. When Abdul Qayum Khan and Nawab Mamdot, accompanied
by Colonel A.S.B. Shah, Secretary for Frontier Regions, arrived they said
that the tribesmen had fallen back 65 miles and all efforts to persuade
them to go back to the front had failed and would I take over
responsibility from now onwards?
I suggested that they might ring up the Prime Minister and ask for
advice. They had already done so and the answer was that the Pakistan
Government would not intervene—nor were any Government servants
to be openly involved, and yet the show was to go on at all costs.
But what was there that I could do? Even if I were willing to help I was
only a staff officer, having no troops to throw into the battle or guns to
rush forward. They had seen other people too and made no headway.
They had seen the senior Pakistani commanders at Pindi, Abbottabad,
Naushehra and Peshawar, but had got no help. But the matter could not
be left just there. I offered the only thing I could, and that was to go to
the front myself to see if anything could be done there. They promised to
give me a station-wagon for transport and a captured wireless set.
Captain Taskinuddin agreed to go with me as staff officer and I took two
volunteer signallers to operate the wireless set. By next morning I was
ready to proceed.
The withdrawal of the tribesmen had not been a step by step falling
back, but a breaking away and a total disappearance. A spectacular
advance coming to such an abrupt end was most bewildering. The
people of the valley who had, for many generations, lived under the heel
of an alien Ruler, had not thought it likely that release would ever come.
Then suddenly, one day, the Maharajah’s mighty structure had begun to
collapse. And now equally suddenly they were deserted and left again at
the mercy of the same oppressor.
The Maharajah, entrenched behind his legal rights and his army, had
contemptuously expected nothing worse than a disturbance on his
borders. Then the blow had fallen so heavy that on the fourth day he had
fled from his Capital. And now, barely a week after believing everything
lost forever, he was master again of that which he wanted most, the
valley.
Soldiers of experience, in India and Pakistan, considered to be
authorities on the capabilities and limitations of the tribesmen, had
foreseen only some ambushes and looting incidents. Then, there had
come a penetration of 120 miles at lightning speed, a staggering blow to
expert opinions. And now when they had hardly readjusted their minds,
came this flight and total disappearance. What were they to think now?
On the Indian side at least they appear either not to have noticed the
disappearance or had taken it as some ruse, because they did not rush
forward to occupy the vacuum.
Although the Indians claim that they fought a twelve-hour battle at the
outskirts of Srinagar on the 7th of November, the tribesmen had in fact
withdrawn two days earlier except for a few snipers left behind. The
Indians further claim that on that day the tribesmen left 500 dead on the
field. Those who are at all familiar with tribesmen of the North West
Frontier will know exactly what to think of this fable. This could,
perhaps, have happened to the Derveshes of the African Sahara with
their habit of fighting in mass—or to the Rajputs of old days who
preferred to die in a blaze of glory. But this could not happen to the
Frontier tribesmen who fight as individuals and as guerillas—and who
in Kashmir insisted upon carrying every dead body back 400 miles to
their own homes. To some, on our side, the news of the withdrawal was
bewildering precisely because of the fact that there had been no serious
fighting and no serious casualties.
To understand the withdrawal one has to understand the tribesmen,
their methods and the conditions existing at the time. These tribesmen
are well worth knowing, not only because of what they did, or failed to
do, in Kashmir but because of their importance in the context of Indo-
Pakistan relations and also perhaps in the event of anything happening
in Central Asia. On pre-partition calculations, covering only some parts
of the Frontier, about 200,000 of them were armed—a fairly formidable
number—but the largeness of this number apart, their importance lies
in where they are and who they are.
They occupy that strategic belt of land which, according to Sir Olaf Caroe
‘has perhaps seen more invasions in the course of history than any other
country in Asia or indeed the World’—‘where the sun and wind have an
uplifting keenness—and where the endless ranges of rugged rocks
possess the power of inspiring’. (The Pathans, by Olaf Caroe).
Some of these tribes have been in these parts since as far back as any
record can be found in history. They were probably there in the times of
Darius and Xerxes (510-480 B.C.) and are mentioned in Herodotus as
the bravest people in these parts. In later centuries they formed the
spearhead of the Muslim penetration and conquest of India, first as
soldiers of fortune and later as administrators and kings.
In all this time, their own homelands in the mountains, through which a
passage was effected now and then only by force, never became subject
to any external power, Pathan Kings included. Thus, here in this belt, in
spite of lying across the path of countless invaders including Alexander,
Chingiz Khan and Timur Lang, a tribal form of society has persisted—
individualistic and ever ready to fight for its independence.
These are the men that are still considered among the best fighters of
the world—men whom their British opponents have called the world’s
most ruthless umpires because they never let any tactical mistakes by
the enemy go unpunished. It is from these that some went to Kashmir.
Why was it then, that such men had failed?
The causes of their failure had begun soon after Muzaffarabad. These
men have an elaborate system of holding lengthy councils of war for
each action where all the pros and cons are seriously considered and
whereafter, if not every man, then at least every group, individually
understands and accepts the allotted task. This is how they had
arranged their brilliant attack at Muzaffarabad, the first target. But after
that, contrary to their practice, they simply appear to have been carried
forward in a rush which worked well enough up to Baramula, and might
have even worked at Srinagar had they reached there before the arrival
of Indian troops. At Baramula, however, when Srinagar itself lay within
easy reach, they had been held back for two days and their best
opportunity thus lost. And then from Baramula onwards the task had
begun to assume a character somewhat unsuited to their qualities and
methods.
In their own country, the tribesmen fought as snipers and raiders. There
they could go on endlessly harassing troops by their deadly sniping.
They could pursue and cut off rear-guards. They were masters in the art
of ambushing troops and transport. They could also attack isolated
posts. But there were two things they usually did not do. They did not
like to attack troops in defensive positions—and they did not like to sit
in defensive positions to be attacked by troops.
This was natural enough because in both these instances troops had
superiority of organisation, discipline and heavy weapons. Attacking
entrenched troops or defending a particular place against an organised
attack by troops, both involve prolonged and heavy fighting. The army
can undertake these because its administrative organisation is designed
to replenish ammunition, evacuate casualties and supply rations during
the course of the fighting. Further, because of good means of
intercommunication like the wireless, field telephones, signalling flags
and messengers, the army command can control and direct its troops
over any length of time and distance. And troops also have the
advantage of possessing heavy weapons like machine-guns, brens,
mortars, artillery and aircraft.
Thus, while it suits regular troops to get the tribesmen into battles of
this kind, this is something which the tribesman tries to avoid like
poison. Instead, he looks for those conditions where he can exercise his
own peculiar superiority. To begin with, since he is not tied by any
central organisation, he fights where and when he likes, and he is free to
disappear immediately from the scene when he wants to. The troops
cannot do this because they are tied by complicated higher orders and
plans. Thus, the superiority of the tribesman lies in his freedom and
mobility. He is able to appear at the most unexpected times and places—
and this unpredictability makes him a constant menace.
Further, he has only a rifle and a knife to carry, and because he is
physically tougher, he can move very much longer and faster than any
troops. Therefore, he roams around and patiently watches until he finds
a suitable target and then pounces upon it with lightning speed. One
Mahsud tribesman aptly described to me their tactics as being like that
of the hawk. The hawk flies high in the sky, out of danger, he flies round
and round until he sees his prey and then he swoops down on it for one
mighty strike and when he has got his prey, he does not wait around, he
flies off at once to some far-off quiet place where he can enjoy what he
has got. The tribesman is indeed very similar—he must have mobility,
he must have the freedom to choose his own time and target, and he
must have security to return to. This is why he is not willing to accept
long drawn out actions which tie him down. And clearly, the task that,
awaited him around Srinagar was just such an action, now that regular
Indian troops were arriving.
In his fight against troops, he also has to protect himself from artillery
and aircraft. This he does by fighting only in broken and hilly country
which provide cover. Another point that he gains by sticking to the hills
is that there the army cannot use its motor vehicles, and the troops have
to move on foot which places them at a disadvantage so far as speed and
endurance are concerned. Thus, in this respect too the action around
Srinagar had begun to appear unattractive to the tribesmen because
from Baramula onwards the country is open plain on both sides of the
road.
Taking into consideration this difficulty of the plains after Baramula,
their task might have been made easier had another lashkar been sent to
the other side of Srinagar—or this might have been done by Azad
volunteers. A suggestion to this effect had in fact been made on 27th
October, which had been ignored perhaps due to over confidence. On the
27th it was somewhat late to do so, but even a partial attempt would
have helped. Had the Indians seen any signs of a threat upon their rear,
they would not have been willing to risk leaving the town to advance
against the main lashkar. More likely they would have scattered
themselves over a still larger area to guard Srinagar from all sides.
On the night of the 27th, the idea of dealing with Jammu had also been
abandoned—and Delhi had been left free to focus its entire effort at
Srinagar. Two days later, on the night of the 29th, the tribesmen had
been held up at the fourth milestone on the outskirts of Srinagar—and
this was the last occasion when they might have been helped with
armoured cars or something heavy. But this had not been done. And
thereafter, they had been left alone with a task not quite within their
capacity.
Although every hour more Indian troops were arriving at Srinagar, the
tribesmen still continued their probing efforts for another four or five
days. But they must have begun to see the awkwardness of their
situation. Soon the Indians would be able to sally forth, and no
arrangements had been made for any defensive position behind, to
which the tribesmen could withdraw. Even if they could do such a thing
themselves, there could be no possibility of doing so in the valley. A
defence across the road could be no use because the country was open
plain, unsuitable for tribesmen, and further unless the defence stretched
across the whole width of the valley (perhaps twenty miles), it could
easily be by-passed.
On the other hand, if they left the road free and went to the hills on the
side, they would allow the Indians to cut them off which no tribesman
ever permits. Thus, as soon as it became clear that there was no chance
of entering Srinagar, there was no point in staying on anywhere in the
valley which could possibly become a death trap without any
compensating advantage. And as is the practice of the tribesmen, if they
have to go, they have to go fast. One moment they were there and the
next moment they were gone.
Back at Baramula, out of the plains of the valley, they had paused for a
while. There they could have stopped, had certain minimum conditions
been present. And if they had stopped, in all likelihood, the Indians
would not have been able to dislodge them—not for a long time,
perhaps never. But the minimum conditions were not there.
In their own country, the tribesmen dealt with an advancing column by
sniping its head and flanks. More often they did not attack it in strength
but worked more like bees, leaving their stings and flying off again.
Although they would not succeed in stopping a really strong column,
they often succeeded in inflicting heavy casualties and imposing great
delay. If the advancing column was weak, they sometimes succeeded in
bringing it to a standstill or even forcing it to retreat. They did this by
keeping up their sniping, harassing and raiding activities for days and
days until the column got worn down or cut off from its supplies and
reinforcements. In their own country they could do this because there
they were able, all the time, to scatter away into the hills where their
own people provided them with shelter, food, ammunition and medical
care for the wounded.
These conditions did not exist in Kashmir. Here the tribesmen were in
foreign country where the people of the valley were not yet up in arms,
and did not have the means, nor the habit, to provide such assistance. In
consequence, for all their needs the tribesmen were dependent on the
road, from which they could not stray very far, and the protection of
which was essential to them.
Thus, what they really needed at this stage was one secure defence
position across the road, as a sort of base, behind which they could fall
and from which they would be able to strike outwards again. This was
not a task for which they themselves were suited by temperament or
practice. Putting up road blocks and sitting in trenches was, quite rightly,
a job for someone else. A body of ex-servicemen under a good leader
might have been able to provide the necessary road stop. But this had
not been arranged, nor even thought of.
So in their retreat, the tribesmen found no place where they could safely
leave their busses on the road and where they could move off in to the
hills to descend upon an advancing Indian column. And if they could not
move off into the hills to fight, there was no point in sitting in their
busses and waiting. They did not mean to leave Kashmir, but they could
do their waiting more comfortably elsewhere.
They felt themselves let down by Pakistan. They had, of their own free
will, agreed to come and fight in Kashmir but only against the State
Army. In this they had done more than was expected of them. But no one
had arranged with them to fight also against the regular Indian Army
with artillery, tanks and aircraft.
Even so, they had not hesitated for a moment in carrying on the fight
against the new arrivals as well and they had immediately achieved
further successes too. But they had naturally expected that, in the
changed circumstances, the Pakistan Army would be coming up to
support them. And soon they had been shocked to find that no troops,
no artillery and no aircraft were coming up to help them. Indeed, not
even the most elementary requirement of something like a secure base
behind them was being provided for them.
Thus, by the night of 5th November, the major portion of the lashkar had
withdrawn to Uri, 65 miles from Srinagar and 30 miles behind
Baramula. And there the position being still no different, by next day
small parties had begun to withdraw out of Kashmir.
This was the situation when on the evening of 7th November 1947 I left
Pindi for the front.

DESPERATE EFFORTS
Thirty miles beyond Muzaffarabad, I pulled up in front of a barrier
across the road. “Who is there?”, someone shouted from the darkness.
From the bombed ruins of the Chinari dak bungalow, silhouetted against
the sky, half a dozen men stepped into the road. They were members of
the Swat army.
Unlike the men from the tribal areas, these were well dressed and soft
spoken. Captain Rashid, the deputy commander, said that they were
three hundred and had just arrived from the interior after helping in
liquidating the State post at Bagh. Standing there, I also recognised the
ancient car, with a banner, that I had seen a few days earlier on my trip
to Srinagar. So it was to this group that the car belonged.
Rashid was not fully aware of the debacle near Srinagar. Explaining the
situation to him. I asked if he would be willing to go forward where he
could be of help. He was willing, and promised that if allowed by their
Commander he would take- the men forward it need be. He would wait
for a message from me.
Proceeding towards Uri,. I thought it was very fortunate that these men
were available. No one had told me about them. Perhaps no one knew
they had been there. Rashid had seemed quite enthusiastic and this was
somewhat different from the sort of impression I had been given of the
situation in this area.
Reaching Uri around midnight I began searching for Khurshid Anwar,
commander of the Lashkar. The place was enveloped in a kind of dead
silence. There was no barrier on the road and nobody to challenge one.
All the buildings near the road were gutted or bombed. Some-lorries
were parked here and there. Their drivers had no useful information to
give. The tribesmen were there, they said, but about Khurshid Anwar
they did not know. So with nothing else to go by, I began a search of the
huts, along the hill sides, one by one.
Half an hour later, I came across Major Aslam (later Brigadier) who was
here as a volunteer unknown to me. Like myself he too had no one under
command, but he had some information. Earlier that day, or possibly the
night before, an Indian Brigade had reached Baramula—and thus,
between them and the tribesmen at Uri there was now a distance of
some 30 miles.
This stretch of territory between Baramula and Uri, as I saw it, was ideal
ground for the tribesmen to operate in. It was completely mountainous,
with a single narrow road going through it. This road, which the Indians
would have to use for their passage, was closed in on both sides—on one
side by the deep and rapid river Jhelum, uncrossable except by the one-
foot bridge existing half way between Baramula. and Uri—and on the
other side by steep and high mountains covered with trees and shrub.
The road was not a straight one, but winding and twisting every two or
three hundred yards, with a culvert every half a mile or so, and a main
bridge every two or three miles.
To make this road safe for the passage of troops, guns and vehicles, the
Indians would have to keep the tribesmen away from it out of shooting
and raiding distance. And this was not the type of ground where such
safety could be achieved by the usual method of establishing army
pickets on dominating points on both sides of the road. These
mountains were not bare enough, and the road not straight enough for
that method of protection.
Here, with a road so winding and the hills so wooded, the tribesmen
could be kept out only by a physical occupation of all the hills on both
sides. To do this, in the presence of tribesmen already here, the Indians
would need, I thought, a huge force which was not there yet. So far as
their one brigade was concerned, two or three hundred Mahsuds, if
provided with commissariat arrangements, could keep it halted where it
was for many many weeks. Yet the tribesmen had not stopped to do so.
Neither had a single one of the numerous culverts or bridges been
destroyed for delaying action. Nor was there anyone on the road to offer
any resistance. Only one small group of volunteers, formerly of the LN.A.
(Indian National Army), remained on the road—some miles away from
the enemy, acting as a watching post.
Obviously the first thing to do was to destroy a bridge somewhere, in
order to put a stop between Uri and the Indians. Some demolition
materials and a few men were needed for this. While these were being
collected, I sent a message to Rashid of the Swat Army to bring his men
forward so that next morning they would be able to take up a defensive
position, and then I would meet the tribal leaders. The Swatis, though as
warlike and stout-hearted as any, were nevertheless, as I knew, in the
present generation without any first-hand experience of fighting against
regular troops. And therefore, they could not be expected to do what the
Mahsuds and Afridis could do—but they would, I thought, do well
enough in a defensive role.
Some time later we were ready to move. There were no demolition tools
or dynamite and such things. But some petrol in cans and a few picks
had been found. A dozen volunteers had come, and fortunately among
them was also a sapper, a pensioner Naik (Corporal) wearing his 1914-
18 pair of breeches.
Taking one lorry, we set out together towards Baramula, all eyes glued to
the road some distance ahead so that we should not run unawares into
some enemy post. This caution, however, soon became unnecessary, A
vehicle came rushing down the road from the enemy side—and it turned
out to be an Indian army truck driven by a Mahsud tribesman who
apparently finding himself left behind alone, had lain in ambush and
then, snatching a truck after silencing the driver with a dagger, had
driven boldly through the enemy. According to him the enemy were not
on the move, and this meant we would have enough time to destroy a
bridge.
Finding a suitable bridge, some distance from Baramula, the men set to
work upon it—and by daybreak there was at last a large enough gap in it
to prevent the passage of vehicles. But the nullah was not deep enough,
and its banks not steep enough, to prevent a diversion. So the few men
had to be left at the site, to be able to snipe at the enemy when they
came. I hoped that these men would gain a few hours for us, perhaps the
whole day if they were determined enough—but of course that was
doubtful in the existing circumstances when withdrawal was in the air,
and men at the front feared, with some justification, that others might
depart and leave them in the lurch.
On the way back, I selected a good area for a defensive position which I
thought the Swatis would like when they came. Here, I felt, they could
hold up the Indians for several days. The message had gone by
telephone as the old telephone line along the road still existed. The
distance was only 40 miles, so I expected Rashid to be arriving any
minute now. This, however, was not to be. Rashid did not come. Instead,
a message came to say that the Commander of the Swatis, who had gone
to Swat, had not yet returned. A man, however, had been despatched to
Swat to get his permission. Swat, unfortunately, was 300 miles away—so
that was that.
Back at Uri, it was now time to meet the tribesmen and their leaders.
Colonel A.S.B. Shah, Secretary Frontier regions, who had promised to
introduce me, had not arrived. So with him or without, they had to be
faced. Being a Pathan myself, I did not expect any particular difficulty—
and I was also familiar with their fighting methods, because ten years
earlier, as an Officer in the British Indian Army, I had been involved in
fighting against them for two years in the tribal territory. But here I did
not know any of them, and they did not know me. So it was as total
strangers that we had to meet and they soon had me cornered with a
volley of questions.
Who was I?
I told them.
Had the Pakistan Government sent me?
No.
Were any troops coming to help?
No.
Had I brought any weapons or ammunition?
No.
Did Pakistan want Kashmir or not?
Yes.
Then why could it not send artillery and aircraft to the front as India had
done? And why was the Army not there, after all it was being paid for
the job. I tried to explain the legal position, but it was no good. Then why
had I gone there, only to advise them?
No, I said, I had not gone there to advise them. Like them I was only a
volunteer. I spoke about what the issue of Kashmir meant to us as
Muslims and Pakistanis. Then I spoke about what we Pathans were,
what we had come to do, what was expected of us and what our own
honour demanded. I was getting fairly excited with my own speech until
I noticed that I was not cutting much ice. Though many heads were
politely nodding in assent, they had heard all this before. Now it seemed
somewhat late in the day, and not without reason.
After all, what I was asking them to do was to start again a fight which
they had just stopped. And I was asking them to do so without bringing
into the situation the least bit of addition of any sort, nor even the
promise of any. That I was the sort of fellow they could get along with,
they might have begun to feel—but that was all, and could not be
enough. I was not a representative of the Government, nor of the Army,
nor even of a political party or a tribe. And I had no weapons, stores or
money.
However, the matter could not be left there. As a soldier, knowing army
methods, I felt sure that in those hills guns and aircraft did not make
much difference and that even a smaller number of tribesmen could,
with their own rifles alone, stop the Indian troops.
I told them so, and this at last began to interest them a bit. Tactics they
liked discussing and they were beginning to feel that I knew something.
Among those at Uri, there were many Mahsuds from Waziristan and
Afridis from Tirah, excellent fighting men but not at present in the mood
to stay on. Of the rest, many were Pathans from the settled districts of
Peshawar and Mardan—and among these, I was pleasantly surprised to
find my elder brother too. Many of these men, however, were equipped
only with shot guns, pistols and other similar inadequate weapons—but
as they were willing to cooperate, I gave them the task of guarding the
camp and posting men on the hills to fire at the aircraft. They could of
course do no damage to the aircraft, but I thought this would arouse the
fighting spirit, and the pilots would at least see that they were being
resisted.
This did some good. The idea of having a task to do, after many hours of
lethargy, immediately created a stir in the camp. When the next aircraft
came over, a few of us took it on from the centre of the camp and many
others began to stand up and shoot back. Half an hour later, while our
discussions were still going on, three aircraft came over and they were
fought back stoutly even though they wounded some men and battered
the place thoroughly including the hut I had selected as headquarters.
I thought this little interlude was all for the better. The atmosphere was
becoming more warlike. The urgency of the situation was obvious and I
was pressing for a final decision by the tribesmen. Khurshid Anwar had
already gone—and they had to make up their minds. At midday the
leaders asked for more time to confer with their men alone. For the
present, to my delight, one Mahsud Leader, Khone Khan, with his
nineteen men, volunteered to accompany me to attend to the urgent task
of strengthening our party at the broken bridge.
So off we went towards Baramula again. At 2 p.m. coming within view of
the bridge, we could see that an Indian armoured car had halted on the
other side, but some infantry had crossed over and were coming
forward along the hill-side. Our sapper and his men were still there—
and Khone Khan’s party was here just in time to help.
This was the first time I was seeing the tribesmen in action at close
quarters. To see them would have flighted the heart of any infantryman.
What we try for years to instill into our troops, was like second nature
with these men. Their eye for ground, their immediate dispersal, their
speed and concealment were as per text book.
Even though within seconds an aircraft came straffing, and shells began
to land around, the tribesmen were already far and away. Seeing a foot
bridge across the river on our left, half of them rushed over to the other
side and ran up along the river, screened by the boulders. This was a
good move because the Indians were all on this side and the tribesmen
would be able to get at them from a flank. In a few minutes their volley
of sniping began—and it came upon the forward Indians all at once from
three sides, the front and both flanks. They must naturally have thought
the opposition to be many times larger, than the actual number—and
they moved no further.
I thought they would halt there for a long time, because the presence of
the tribesmen would make them very cautious—at sunset they would
probably withdraw behind the bridge for fear of being ambushed, and
then next morning they would first send out patrols and later proceed to
make a proper plan of attack in accordance with the usual army
procedure. With any luck this would give us a whole twenty-four hours,
and by then we should have our defensive position ready.
So I went back to Uri to see how the tribal confabulations were going on.
It was still a see-saw affair, one moment they were willing and the next
moment they were not. The main contention still was that they were
unhappy about the absence of a secure base. They felt that troops should
hold one decent position across the road, and then they would happily
go all over the country to hunt the Indians. This requirement I was
unfortunately not in a position to fulfil—and so although discussions
still went on they were becoming less and less fruitful.
At sunset, the Indians were still near the broken bridge, perhaps some
75 to 80 miles from the Pakistan border, but our few volunteers as well
as Khone Khan and his men withdrew as soon as it was dark, because
they did not want to remain alone. And so, there was no one left in front
of the enemy.
At Uri, at this time, the one thought that was uppermost in everyone's
mind was that of complete withdrawal from Kashmir. It now looked
inevitable and everyone was restless. By the end of the first hour after
sunset, most of the people had got into their transports and departed—
and the rest were getting ready to go. I still continued to hope that
ultimately perhaps a hundred odd men might stay on.
A hundred mixed individuals, armed only with rifles, and under no
discipline and no tribal ties, could not be considered any kind of a match
for the Indian column of regular troops, probably more than a thousand
strong, preceded by armoured cars and supported by artillery and
aircraft. Yet I would have been happy enough with a hundred men
because the physical conditions were favourable for delaying tactics, and
if we only could gain time help was bound to arrive in due course.
But this hope too was not to be fulfilled. The withdrawal continued, and
with it all hope was going too. Uri was rapidly becoming a deserted town
of broken huts and pye dogs.
There had probably been more than a thousand people at Uri. Some had
held out hopes of cooperating. Some had made promises. Some had even
got into their lorries and started towards the enemy, but then changed
their minds and turned back. Now they were all pulling out. Only a few
showed some last-minute concern and curiosity—
Wasn’t it time for me to go too?
Did I mean to stay on after they left?
What would be the good of that?
But this was all. They did not want to wait any longer. The tempo of the
homeward rush was increasing. They had to hurry. So they went.
At 9. p.m. the tail lights of the last departing vehicle disappeared in the
distance. Taking stock of what was left, I discovered that in the rush my
Staff Officer, Captain Taskinuddin and the wireless set had also gone.
Barring about a dozen people, nothing remained. The volunteers, the
tribesmen, and other Pathans, had all gone. And so had Rashid’s three
hundred Swatis from Chinari earlier in the evening.
My mission had ended in complete failure. Twenty-four hours of
desperate efforts lay in the dust.
But I did not think I could go back yet. I had already, as it were, burnt my
boats behind me by adopting the name of General Tariq. I had no
pretensions to that great name but I felt it would provide an inspiration,
as well as conceal my identity.
Tariq, twelve centuries earlier, upon landing on the coast of Spain had
burnt his boats—and when told that it was unwise to have abandoned
their only means of going back to their own country had replied, in the
words of Iqbal , “every country is our
country because it is our God’s Country.”

URI
It was nearly midnight. Three hours ago the last of the tribesmen had
gone. The high hills surrounding Uri gave the impression that we were
sitting at the bottom of a huge cup. It was dark, cold and lonely.
Only a dozen or so had stayed back—Major Aslam and two pensioner
ex-servicemen, a former I.N.A. Subedar, Latif Afghani a political worker,
two drivers, a cook and two or three other civilians including my
brother. Our weapons were a dozen rifles and a captured bren-gun. This
was the smallest and most inadequate force I ever had to command—
and yet here fate confronted me with a task that a thousand men had
just abandoned.
I reckoned that by this time the tribesmen and volunteers must have
crossed the border and be out of Kashmir. As the local people of this
area had not yet risen to organise themselves, there was no resistance
left anywhere along this stretch of 75 miles of road. If the Indians
became aware of this, they could move forward in their trucks and reach
the Pakistan border within three hours. If they did not move
immediately, they would do so next morning when their aircraft would
report that nothing opposed them.
The departure of the tribesmen had created a dangerous vacuum.
Anywhere else in Kashmir it may not have mattered so much—but here
it involved the most important major road passing through the largest
territory on the Azad side—with no one present within reach to take the
place of the tribesmen. This area had been gained in the spectacular
rush of the tribesmen, and now its sudden loss could be so shattering to
the morale that it might actually endanger the liberation movement in
other areas as well. This was a prospect too dreadful to contemplate.
Obviously this front must be reformed with the greatest possible speed
but how, that was the question. Men would come here from the
adjoining areas and from Pakistan but that would take some days—
while here it may be only a matter of a few hours before the Indians
moved to occupy the vacuum. This we would have to prevent.
The task that I decided upon for ourselves was that we would destroy a
few bridges—that would delay the enemy. Also, we would act in a
manner that would give the impression that the tribesmen were still
there—that would slow them down still further. And in the time thus
gained, we would contact the local people and begin to raise volunteers.
So I split the group in two and sent one party back a few miles to form a
base, while four of us remained at Uri. The enemy had not yet moved
forward even though the door had been wide open for the past six
hours. We waited in silence. For the Present there was nothing we could
do except wait for the enemy. Time dragged on, nothing stirred and
three more hours passed.
Then at 4 a.m., in the distance behind us, the lights of a vehicle became
visible. Someone was apparently coming towards us—a welcome sight
after a whole night of seeing people going away from us. It turned out to
be a jeep carrying four soldiers (Afridis), Sepoy Khial Akbar and three
others, who had deserted their unit to come and fight in Kashmir. To my
surprise, they were unarmed as they had deserted on a sudden impulse
and taken no weapons with them. They were, however, a very
determined foursome. All along the way they had seen others leaving,
who had advised them to turn back as the war was over, but they had
not changed their minds. They had asked people for the loan of four
rifles and they had been refused, but still they had kept coming. When I
explained the situation to them and told them they could go back if they
wished, they were quite firm—they wanted to stay with us.
In another hour it would be dawn. Enemy troops and aircraft would
soon be getting busy—so to let them know that the front was still there,
I sent these four men forward, with the bren, to open fire on the head of
the Indian column. The Indians opened up with their guns, but they
were shooting up the countryside for nothing. There was no one there to
shoot. We were all well away and out of danger.
Another hour passed and the Indians, still very cautious, showed no
signs of hurrying. They were content with long-distance shooting—and
as for every half a dozen rounds that we fired they fired probably six
thousand, there was no harm in it—we were gaining time. Many hours
passed like this. Their aircraft went on reconnoitering the whole area,
bombing and strafing various points, quite blind to the fact that there
was nothing there to attack. While they were thus busy, our few men
were working feverishly upon destroying a bridge near Uri. And by the
afternoon we at last had the shelter of a broken bridge.
When the Indians came to it, they were received with a volley of fire and
there they stopped. They retaliated in the usual manner but they moved
no further. It was getting dark, and in the darkness, they felt, they had to
be careful. By nightfall silence fell over the whole area once again and it
suited us, because we had gone without sleep for more than forty-eight
hours.
At the crack of dawn, next morning, we again opened fire on the enemy
and then drew out of range. And then, while they were blasting the place
for hours before attacking it, we were again somewhere else—some
busy upon another bridge—and some crossing and re-crossing
innumerable nullahs, scrambling up and down precipices, climbing this
hill and that, to fire at the enemy from many different places to give the
impression that there were people still all over the place.
This worked, and worked as well as I could hope for. We were
succeeding in creating the impression that the front was still very much
there—and consequently the Indians continued to be cautious. Although
their forward elements had already reached Uri, their main body took
yet another day to reach there.
And from there onwards, we did not let them go far from the road. On
the road itself, they found they had to take each bridge after long and
heavy preparation. And so we went on from bridge to bridge. But
destroying bridges was a lengthy and tiresome affair in the absence of
tools and dynamite. Moving up and down the hills, to keep up an
appearance of strength, was even more exhausting. Time, however, had
to be gained and every hour counted.
The first day gained had appeared to us as sheer good luck. The second,
we had fought for and we had inflicted some casualties too. At the end of
the third, I thought we had achieved something. Surely by now someone
should be coming to our assistance, I felt, and inevitably at night faces
turned hopefully towards the road behind us, but no one came. So the
same procedure had to be repeated. Each day we brought down one
bridge and each day the Indians moved that far and no further.
On the sixth day, we finally stopped at Chakoti, 15 miles from Uri. Here
we had destroyed a long bridge across a very deep nullah—and the
sheer precipice on both sides allowed no possibility of building a
diversion for vehicles. If the Indians wanted to go beyond here they
would have to rebuild the bridge itself. When their first patrol came to it,
it received everything we had. Abandoning a truck and two bodies, they
withdrew. More came and then followed the usual shelling, firing and air
attacks until sunset. Next morning, unlike other days, they found our
post still there—and so the only alternative they had was to stage an
infantry attack through the wooded high mountain on our right—and
this they did not proceed to do.
It is quite possible that from Uri the Indians had not meant to come in
this direction. They might have been more interested in going south to
Poonch where some relief was needed. Even so it is unlikely that they
would not have snatched the chance of reoccupying this more important
territory up to Muzaffarabad, had they found no opposition in their way.
Six days of exposure, and suffering no damage, had made me almost
believe that among the stones and boulders of Kashmir we just could
not be hit. And this may have proved true except for one incident the
following day. Bringing three others with me in the station-wagon, we
got caught on the only stretch of one mile of straight road in this area. I
saw the aircraft coming straight at us. Many times previously there had
been time enough to stop and take shelter. But now we were in the open.
In front and behind there was no culvert to hide under. To stop and run
back 200 yards round the nearest spur was not possible. The aircraft
was already beginning to dip its nose. The bomb, I knew, would come
with the second dive, but for the burst of 20 mm guns, there were only a
few seconds to go.
For a moment it looked like the end. Is this the pay off, I wondered.
Anyhow, there was no point in giving him an easy target. If the vehicle
could only plunge forward fast enough it might just make the pilot shoot
overhead. So this I tried to do, and almost did, but not quite—bullets
came through the roof and fatally wounded one man.
In those seven days we had made contact with the people of this area
and they had raised seventy-five volunteers, now almost ready to join us.
The Azad Government also had been collecting weapons and volunteers
—and assistance was on its way. From the adjoining areas of Bagh and
Poonch messages had also come with the promise of help, but of course
for the present they were busy with their own problems.
Two days later, when the Indians still appeared to be threatening
Chakoti, at last some three hundred and fifty Pakistani volunteers
arrived. They were mostly ex-servicemen, armed with rifles and
promising to look at. The danger, at last, appeared to be at an end. But it
was not to be so.
These new arrivals, though mostly ex-servicemen, showed a heart-
breaking reluctance to get within hitting range of the enemy. During the
following days, one task after another entrusted to them was abandoned
after they were fired at—and several times the old handful were again
left alone on the hills. Using them on far off hills, out of the danger zone,
to create an impression of activity and strength, worked up to a point.
But even there, if a shell or two landed near them, or an aircraft came
over them, they dispersed in panic.
I sent a hundred of them to the other side of the river, where they would
be safe, and where they could come up opposite the tail end of the
enemy—where from across the river they would be able to shoot up
unguarded enemy vehicles. They reached the selected point safely and
undetected. There, protected by the river and hidden among the
boulders, they-spent a whole afternoon looking at a convoy of enemy
supply lorries passing within 300 yards of them on the narrow road,
unguarded by pickets. An excellent chance—but they did not take it, for
fear of enemy retaliatory fire. Not a single shot was fired—and ninety-
two of the hundred deserted.
By now 200 Swatis had also come back but, though entirely dependable,
they too were as yet not sufficiently familiar with fighting against a
regular army. Once I used them to block the road and other routes along
which the deserters were leaving. This only led to the deserters escaping
over the hills, and in the process taking away the rifles as well.
More volunteers, however, kept coming, and the flow was becoming like
a regular stream. But for some reason or other they did not like what
they found here. Some had one look and went away. Some found one
trek across the hills enough. Some stayed a night or two and were then
to be seen no more. There was nothing I could do about this. I did not
want to discourage others from coming—because their presence on the
scene, however brief, was serving some useful purpose. They were
giving the enemy an impression of great numbers and brisk activity.
Very likely their arrival, being in lorries along the road, was being
accurately reported to the Indians by their spies. But on the return
journey the deserters were escaping over the hills, not usually seen.
Thus, in the eyes of the enemy, we were probably increasing our
numbers very rapidly. That was something. On our side, however, the
only impression they left behind was that the tactics of some were ‘hit
and run’, of some ‘see and run’ and of some just ‘run’.
The ex-servicemen were, for a while, something of a puzzle. What they
had probably needed was a different kind of handling. Their past
training had made them dependent upon a proper system of supplies,
communications and medical aid etc. none of which existed here. Here
they had no pay and there was no other form of obligation to keep them
to their tasks. There were no officers to command them and there was
no punishment or other means of enforcing discipline. Some among
them, had assumed command as section, platoon or company
commanders—but this was entirely superficial as in fact they exercised
no real authority. Had their own local men of influence, who had
collected them, accompanied them here they might have behaved
differently. But this had not happened. It was no wonder, therefore, that
they disintegrated upon coming face to face with the first signs of real
danger. Some of them argued that it was sheer murder—and those that
insisted upon carrying on were, in their eyes, mad men.
Meanwhile, however, a new element was slowly emerging out of the
mass that came and went. Here and there individuals appeared, who
were serious minded, who understood the situation, and these began to
form the core of the resistance along with the locals who were showing,
from the start, signs of greater dependability. The people of this district
had little military experience, and this was the first time they were
receiving a handful of weapons— naturally, therefore, they were to take
some time before becoming fighting fit—but their own liberation had an
urgent concrete meaning for them. Though only seventy-five now, they
were to become, in a few weeks’ time, the First Muzaffarabad Battalion
under Lieutenant Qudratullah (from the former State-Army).
By now the tribesmen had also begun negotiations for coming back.
They were apologetic and wanted a chance to make good. They were, of
course, very much needed but, for the sake of effective control, I allowed
only 300 Mahsuds to come to start with. Their leader, Gulab Khan, a man
of character and courage, unmistakably looked the type one could
depend upon.
Around a camp fire that night, we had a lengthy conference. I knew the
Mahsuds to be the least controllable of all the tribesmen but they were
the most aggressive—and that is what was needed here. They still
wondered why Pakistan did not come to fight in Kashmir but, like
practical men, having said what was in their minds, they were willing to
get down to their own share of the work.
Next day I sent them out into the hills. Avoiding the Indian posts, they
were to go beyond the 15 miles that lay between Chakoti and Uri. They
were to make for the road that goes south from Uri to Poonch. Along this
road, I knew, the Indians would be sending assistance to the besieged
garrison of Poonch, and there at a point selected off the map they were
to be ambushed. The tribesmen got there and on the second day a
convoy drove into the ambush. Thirty-six lorries were burnt and many
Indians were killed. And the tribesmen came back over the hills with
large quantities of weapons, ammunition, military clothing and other
stores including wireless sets, field telephones and half a dozen 3’’
mortars.
Suddenly the countryside stirred with enthusiasm. ‘Chase the infidels’,
was the sort of general feeling and we began to advance. Sniping at them
from the front and by-passing them on the flanks was enough for the
Indian forward elements. They abandoned their positions and we
followed up until once again we reached the perimeter of Uri.
It was now the end of November. Three weeks earlier this front had
virtually collapsed and the Indians had advanced to Chakoti and Poonch.
Now they were cut off from Poonch, pushed back from Chakoti, and the
front reformed around them at Uri.
But the front was in fact not yet a front. Going up the road from Chakoti
to Uri, a day or so later, I met not a single person, enemy or friend.
Somewhere half-way, we had one post about a mile away from the road
on a hill top, held by a few men. The tribesmen and the locals were
probably somewhere far off—so few that in the vastness of these
mountains one could not see a sign of them.
Even so we had so completely dominated the whole area that the
Indians had not merely withdrawn into Uri, they had destroyed the
bridge behind them too. The procedure had been reversed—it was now
their turn to hide behind bridges.
It was in a fairly contented frame of mind that I walked back to Chakoti
that night. Now all that remained to do was to help the local people to
arm and train themselves. For this they would need some weeks—and
during that time the tribesmen would have to be around, acting
aggressively, to ensure that the Indians did not again attempt to advance.
So, I called for more tribesmen, and upon their arrival I allotted them
separate responsibilities. The Afridis, among whose leaders I found two
of my old class fellows, I thought were the least in need of direct control
—so I despatched them to Poonch to help in the siege there and also to
keep the Uri—Poonch road closed. The Mahmands, who had been
involved in the action at the fourth milestone near Srinagar, needed a
little time to get themselves together. The Mahsuds were ready for
action, and so with these I proceeded again to Uri.
Our destination was village Gohalan about a mile or so west of Uri. From
the main road, the journey across a 7,000 ft. range of hills, with two or
three feet of snow, took two days. The enemy was already aware of our
assembly. Early next morning three aircraft attacked us. I and many
others were caught inside the flimsy huts. Our roof fell in and the thin
walls were riddled with bullets, but no one was hurt. The shape of the
ground helped us. On the steep slopes, the bombs landed either above or
below, causing no damage. Two more attacks followed but, strangely, the
tribesmen, who had earlier made an issue of the one-sided presence of
the Indian aircraft, now treated them with indifference. Though not a
single person was hurt, Delhi radio announced that night that three
hundred of us had been killed at Gohalan.
In the afternoon, the tribesmen moved forward to take up positions
opposite the north, west and south sides of the Uri perimeter. Another
party went forward with intention to go right round in order to block
the Srinagar road behind them. I kept one group in readiness to rush the
camp itself if an opportunity arose. By 12 noon next day they would be
ready to begin a sniping attack. Raids would follow according to the
situation. For 12 noon, the zero hour, I had arranged a surprise for the
enemy. We had brought up twenty army volunteers, with six 3’’ mortars
and 250 shells, who would bombard the centre of the camp where all
the enemy vehicles were parked. This would also announce the
beginning to the tribesmen.
I located the mortars in a safe place from where they would shoot up
their target at the range of 2500 yards. A thousand yards in front of
them. I settled myself on another ridge from where the whole camp was
visible. The mortars were to open on a signal from me.
The morning hours passed quietly except for the aircraft flying around
and an occasional artillery shell landing here and there harmlessly. At
noon I gave the signal and breathlessly waited for the big bombardment,
the first the Indians would have from us. But I waited in vain. Nothing
happened. As I was to learn hours later, the men handling the mortars
had also played the old trick. Fearing enemy retaliatory fire, they had
deserted at the last moment and left the mortars behind.
The tribesmen also waited expectantly for the bombardment. They
could not make out why it had not started. After some time they went
ahead on their own. For two days they pressed the camp hard by
sniping, and they also ambushed some Indian patrols, but their
ammunition finished before any real chance presented itself for
breaking into the camp. At Gohalan also there were no rations left and so
on the third day, when a heavy snowfall began, I withdrew the tribesmen
to the road.
The panic and general strain produced in the Indian camp had been
such that, according to an intercepted wireless message, the Indian
Brigade Commander had reported to Srinagar that his position had
become untenable. And apparently he had received permission to
withdraw from Uri. but just then all had finished on our side.
My estimate was that we had inflicted about 250 casualties. The enemy
admitted, as General Messervy was told by Commander-in-Chief India
that their casualties were one hundred, their biggest loss so far. Against
us, they put forth fantastic claims altogether amounting to seven or eight
hundred killed. In fact the tribesmen had lost only eleven men.
The affair at Gohalan thus came to an end. It was the middle of
December and it had started snowing in earnest over the whole area. I
felt confident now that for the duration of the winter months all would
be well on this front.

AZAD PLANS
From Uri I was called to G.H.Q. Azad. There, a few days later, I met Sardar
Ibrahim and his provisional cabinet. I was now also a member of the
newly formed Liberation Committee. At this stage the Committee had to
assess the situation somewhat from a distance. An early assessment was
necessary to formulate some general policy.
To start with, the uprising in Kashmir had been activated only by the
need for self defence and the desire for democratic freedom. It had never
meant to strike at the integrity of the State. Then the Indian intervention
had changed, with one stroke, the whole character of the struggle. It had
been like the closing of the door to all those hopes that the people had
entertained. Had India sent in her army as a neutral force merely to
restore peace, leaving the political status of Kashmir strictly untouched,
it might have had a different effect. In that case even Pakistan might
have had to join hands in restoring order—and the people of the State
themselves might well have seen no further reason for continuing the
protest, knowing that the joint forces of India and Pakistan would, on
the one hand, protect them from the tyranny of the Maharajah, and on
the other ensure the possibility of an impartial ascertainment of their
wishes.
But it had not happened this way, and what the Indian action actually
amounted to was, ‘we have brought in our army of occupation,’ the
Maharajah must continue to rule you, and the State now belongs to
India’. Even though this blunt and clear import was meant to be
somewhat sugar-coated by the promise that after all was quiet and
peaceful, a plebiscite would be held—such a promise could not have
taken in even the most simple minded.
The immediate result, therefore, had been that the struggle had changed
from a protest and a demand, to a desperate effort by individuals and
areas, wherever possible, to detach themselves for good from the old
State. And thus the disintegration had begun.
In the far north, the entire areas of Gilgit, Hunza, Bunji and Astor etc.,
comprising approximately 17,500 square miles, had detached
themselves. At midnight on 31st October, four clays after accession, the
Governor’s residence had been surrounded by the Gilgit scouts, and the
next morning he had been placed under arrest—and a provisional
government formed.
In other far-flung areas, the effect had been similar. Even in Buddhist
Ladakh signs of uneasiness had appeared. And from the northern area of
Skardu, Capital of Baltistan, peaceful until then, small bodies of rebels
had moved towards the mountain passes of Zozila and Burzil to threaten
the Srinagar valley.
In the western area at Bagh, the State garrison had been liquidated.
Further south, forming the centre of the liberation movement, activity
had been the most intense. This was the area which had contributed
some 80,000 soldiers to the British Indian Army during the World War
—and now here had arisen the largest force for the liberation. Here also
more tribesmen had joined them—Toris from the Kurram, a lashkar
from Dir, Zadrans and even Tajiks from Afghanistan and Ghilzais perhaps
forming the largest part. Here the Diris had fought a most gallant action
when they had charged an Indian unit with the sword and practically
wiped it out. Thus, most of the State posts in this area had been
liquidated—Mendhar, Kotli and Rajauri were now all in Azad hands.
Meanwhile, more Indian troops had continued to arrive in Kashmir. At
Srinagar the force had increased from a brigade to a division. From
Jammu another brigade had started moving westwards along the road to
Naushehra and Mirpur. And it was obvious that India would go on
increasing her strength—and this increasing threat would have to be
met.
Our task, therefore, was to coordinate the efforts of the scattered Azad
elements as soon as possible. It was not contemplated that we could
throw India out of Kashmir. All we had to do was to make sure that India
did not crush the movement. As a first step in this direction, enough
resources would have to be gathered to sustain the struggle for a period
of three months, to start with, by which time, it was felt, the problem
would become internationally recognised and the U.N. might intervene.
But to maintain the struggle for three months brought up the problem of
ammunition. Already more than ten thousand Indian troops had come
into the State. It was expected that they would increase up to thirty or
forty thousand very soon. To prevent them from crushing the liberation
movement, there would have to be about ten thousand armed men on
our side. There was no shortage of men, but there was shortage of rifles
and, therefore, the figure of ten thousand would be about the maximum
that could ever be achieved including everybody.
If each man spent only one hundred rounds of ammunition per month, it
would amount to three million rounds for the three months. While at the
moment all that existed in sight was about a fifth of one million.
Thus, at our level, in planning the future operations there was no choice
but to confine action to sniping and ambushes, etc. And this inevitable
restriction was to continue throughout the struggle.
In connection with ammunition, the tribesmen came in for heavy,
accusations. The complaint was that they took most of their ammunition
back out of Kashmir. There was of course truth in this, but we had no
means of stopping it— and the allegation was in fact not as bad as it
looked on the face of it. The tribesmen had no pay or any source of
income other than the sale of what they captured from the enemy, or the
ammunition that they got here. At least some portion of it was certainly
used against the enemy—and with this they achieved results which
were satisfactory enough. My impression was that for the same quantity
of ammunition, given to tribesmen and regular soldiers, the tribesmen
got equal if not better results even allowing for what they sold.
If regular soldiers inflicted one casualty per hundred rounds expended,
it would normally be considered a good average. Indeed in the past two
world wars, for most armies, the average expenditure for one casualty
inflicted was not one but several hundred rounds. The tribesman on the
other hand, usually fired from such close range and with such care that
he often inflicted one casualty for only a small portion of a hundred
rounds. If then, he saved the rest for himself we were in fact losing
nothing thereby.
Some months later I was able to confirm my impression from actual
facts. 500 tribesmen and 500 regulars used approximately the same
quantity of ammunition over a period of three months—and the
casualties inflicted were about equal.
Next to ammunition there was one other important limitation which
also had to be accepted. Perforce the Azad operations would have to be
of a somewhat disjointed nature. It was not possible to have, or to
enforce, any specific overall strategy. To pursue any specific plan would
involve the movement of resources and men for strategic purposes. But
no such thing could be done because there was no central reserve of
arms, ammunition or food to divert to a particular front—and nor could
the men be shifted from one place to another, they were defending their
own homes in their own areas and were feeding themselves locally.
Thus, everywhere the strength and the local situation varied from day to
day—and there was no possibility of weakening one place to strengthen
another, such as would normally be necessary in pursuit of some general
plan.
The only mobile element that could theoretically be so used was the
tribesmen—but they could be so used only for a short duration, because
they could be put into a particular area to start with, but thereafter they
were their own masters and they often infiltrated far and away into
other areas wherever they found suitable targets.
Tn general, therefore, we would have to be content simply with
maintenance of the struggle. And the maintenance itself would require a
great deal of organising. And this organising would have to be done
mostly by the Liberation Committee and by G.H.Q. Azad.

THE WINTER MONTHS

On 4 December 1947, I was called to another conference with the Prime
Minister at Pindi. This took place at the Circuit House. By now the
Commander-in-Chief, General Messervy, appeared to have been taken
into confidence. He did not attend the conference but was present in an
adjoining room from where he sent me a chit through Colonel Iskander
Mirza. When I met him outside, he laughingly referred to a previous
occasion when I had irritated him somewhat.
That had been sometime in September, after trouble had started in
Kashmir, when the General, addressing a meeting of G.H.Q. officers, had
warned us against hostilities with India. He had said that, in his opinion,
in case of war India would over-run Pakistan in ten days. This I had
resented particularly as it was made while two officers of the Indian
Army were also present. I had sent him a note of protest pointing out
that it was unfortunate that he had said so in the presence of Indian
Officers who might be wrongly encouraged by such a statement.
References to numerical and material strength alone could be
misleading as these were not the only factors that counted in war—
there were the spirit and will of a people also to contend with and this
was why, I had pointed out, that I believed that if the Indians stepped on
to the soil of Pakistan we would fight them back even if we only had
sticks to do it with.
After reading my note he had sent for me and told me that perhaps he
ought not to have accepted the post of Commander-in-Chief Pakistan,
and that in fact he had declined it, but had later accepted it for six
months only on the insistence of the Quaid-e-Azam. He was sorry to
have said what he had in the presence of Indian Officers but he still did
not think anything could be done with sticks alone.
Now he paid me compliments and said, “well, you will not have to do it
with sticks alone any longer, I am going to help”. He allotted me one
million rounds of ammunition which would keep us going for another
month—and also permitted me to take twelve volunteer officers from
the army for a period of three weeks.
In another three weeks, towards the end of December, India coming to
the conclusion that she could not end the liberation movement by force
took the matter to the U.N..
She did not go to the U.N. with a request to intervene for the purpose of
impartially ascertaining the wishes of the Kashmiri people. All she asked
the U.N. to do was to complete for her what she herself could not do.
First she had wanted Pakistan to refrain from helping the ‘raiders’. Then
she had tried to throw the ‘raiders’ out. And now she wanted U.N. to do
both these things. In the words of an official Indian paper, India decided
‘to refer the Kashmir dispute to the Security Council in the legitimate
hope that the U.N. would bring the weight of world public opinion to
bear upon Pakistan and prevail upon it to discontinue its aggression in
Kashmir’ (P. 36—Kashmir Factual Survey 1956).
What seems to have interested India more was that Pakistan should be
punished by a world court for a legal trespass rather than that the real
problem, the impartial ascertainment of the people’s wishes, should be
tackled. The answer, of course, was what the British delegate, opening
the discussion on the proposals of 27th January 1948, said before the
Security Council. He had declared, “In my conception, the best way to
stop the fighting is to assure those who are engaged in it that a fair
settlement will be arrived at under which their rights will be asserted—
in other words, only when the combatants know what the future holds
for them, will they agree to stop”. (S/P. V. 236 Jan. 28, 1948—p. 283).
Thus the Security Council did not come rushing to India’s aid—and So
the struggle had to go on as before—but now the major scene of
operations became the area westwards from Jammu. There they
advanced in strength, and they were resisted as much as possible by the
Azads and the tribesmen. Fairly heavy fighting took place at various
points, an Indian Brigadier was killed and considerable quantities of
military stores were taken including even some armoured cars but the
Indians retained their possession of the road—and gradually a sort of
stalemate came into existence. Soon it became clear that it was not in
the winter months that any decision would be reached. It was the
coming spring that we had to get ready for.
So the Liberation Committee and G.H.Q. Arad proceeded with their
efforts to collect resources and to organise the various sectors. For what
ultimately happened in the coming days the major portion pf the credit
must, of course, go to the various Azad sectors where many burdens
often had to be carried unaided—but some share must go to the
Liberation Committee and G.H.Q. Azad who were the chief organisers.
Without these two bodies, the public contribution from Pakistan and
Azad Kashmir might not have been so well channelled. Even so,
circumscribed and limited as they were, they were not quite what their
names implied.
The Liberation Committee gradually became a sort of high-level political
liaison committee which was not quite what it had been meant for. It got
more and more involved with matters of procedure, administration and
politics. Justice Din Mohammad, the President of the Committee, was a
retired judge and inevitably the meetings assumed more and more the
appearance of a court in session. Ordinary reports and statements
sometimes became like allegations— and these, in the absence of cross
examination, tended to be accepted. As a result, instead of pushing the
war effort forward, people became more concerned with defending
themselves. Acts of initiative, resource and originality, instead of
receiving encouragement, began to look somewhat irresponsible. The
President, an honest and legal minded person, was described by one of
the committee members in these words, “He tries to sit like a
constitutional judge upon an affair that is utterly irregular”.
Upon G.H.Q. Azad the burden of responsibility for the war effort, fell
more directly. But there again, dealing with conflicting authorities and
having inadequate staff, records and communications etc., its efforts,
though sincere, were not always fruitful.
Above G.H.Q. Azad, there was the Defence Minister, a very respectable
retired officer of the Kashmir State Army, who was not satisfied with the
haphazard set up that he saw. He carried with him a much-underlined
copy of the British Field Service Regulations and he could not. see why
the headquarters were not organised in separate -branches like General
Staff, Adjutant General and Quarter Master General etc. With an ad hoc
collection of a few individuals, with no one of a higher rank than that of
a major who had served only as a welfare officer during the war—it was
unfortunately not possible to set up anything elaborate.
Then below G.H.Q. Azad, there was springing up, all over the place, a
mushroom growth of commanders and leaders who had all to be
accepted or at least humoured as they were all volunteers.
Around Poonch two rival commanders had set up headquarters, both
submitting reports to G.H.Q. Azad—one signing himself as Captain and
the other as Major. Then they promoted themselves to Major and
Colonel. Then to Colonel and Brigadier—and so on, until both of them
became Field Marshals. It was perhaps because of this that the Defence
Minister, seeing no other title left, came to adopt the German rank of
Captain General.
Sandwiched thus between a Captain General above and a couple of Field
Marshals below, G.H.Q. Azad had to steer its course with considerable
skill— and it not only did this well enough, it also found time to spare
for the consideration of new ways and means of winning the war—for
which suggestions were always pouring in. Of these one air attack plan
in particular had attracted much attention.
After much preliminary correspondence, promising a highly secret and
infallible plan, a former Air Force warrant officer at last sent in his
scheme, a complete file, typed and with blue prints. It turned out,
however, not merely to concern Kashmir—it was a plan for a glider
borne invasion and conquest of the whole of India. For all one knows it
may have been a feasible plan, had it only been possible to obtain the
two thousand gliders required for its implementation!
More immediately promising was another suggestion brought forth by a
refugee from India. He was sure he knew how to build long range
rockets. He had studied, he said, the German ideas and he had some
further invention of his own to add. All he wanted was the facilities of a
workshop and he would demonstrate what he could do. Calling him mad
and so forth did not succeed in deterring him. So at last he was given the
facilities that he wanted, and he set to work, but all he produced, at the
end of six weeks, was a twenty-feet long bullet shaped solid piece of
wood painted green, with a white crescent and star at the base!
In this period, activity flared up around Poonch. This town had been
insolated since the middle of November 1947. Inside the town Brigadier
Pritam Singh of the Indian Army was in command. His troops and the
large civilian population were dependent entirely upon supplies from
outside. The Uri-Poonch road had been closed by us since November,
and the only other land route was a mule track coming from the valley
over the Gulmarg hills, but due to heavy snows this too was no longer
open. How much had reached Poonch by this route, before it was closed,
I do not know but it must have been very little. With all land routes thus
closed, the Indians became dependent entirely upon air. The few
Dakotas landing there could in any case bring the barest minimum of
vital necessities but now as we brought the landing ground under fire,
this method of maintenance was also stopped—and within a few days
the position inside Poonch became extremely precarious. But then an
extraordinary thing happened—Colonel Sadiq Khan, the sector
commander, received orders that we were to cease-fire temporarily
against Poonch. This was apparently done to allow the evacuation of sick
and wounded—in fact, however, right within view of our men. the
Indians used the opportunity to reinforce themselves and also to occupy
the hills around to make future air landings safe.
The winter months passed peacefully enough but the situation did not
remain static everywhere. On the home front, corruption had begun to
raise its head. Stores and rations despatched from Rawalpindi were
often not reaching the front at all. Clothing, blankets and other things
generously contributed by the people from all over Pakistan were being
sold openly in the Pindi markets. Officials and leaders, persuaded with
difficulty to visit the Azad territory for urgent administrative problems,
busied themselves with arranging private deals in timber and other
sources of income.
My seniors had also not been sitting idle. First there was only the
holding back of assistance which they were of-course under no
obligation to give. Then there was active opposition to officers who had
volunteered for service in Kashmir. And this was followed by a campaign
against me personally of which I had not been aware at all because of
the reason that my whole time and attention had been focussed on the
problems at the front. I had a minor shock when one day I found myself
deprived of three months command pay on the ground ‘that I had been
absent from service’. I took no action on this thinking that it was a petty
matter which could be settled later. But this was not all. On my next visit
to Pindi I discovered that the Selection Board, consisting of our Generals
had decided that I should be passed over for promotion by two officers
junior to me. This time I had to take notice. This decision was so
outlandishly unfair that within twenty-four hours of my protest it was
reversed. But this too was not the end. At that time I had no conception
of the depth of the intrigue and opposition that had arisen against me in
a few brief weeks.
I did, however, realise that at the front I was not receiving the kind of
cooperation that was necessary. At the Lahore conference with the
Prime Minister the task given to me had been to carry on the struggle for
a period of three months. And as these three months had passed, my
obligation was over and I felt this as the right time to return to the army.
There was no imminent danger on any part of the front. The Uri sector
was under heavy snow—and the situation everywhere else was more or
less static. Our claim to Kashmir had received a great measure of
support from world opinion, and the decision seemed to rest with the
U.N.
So, about the middle of February 1948, I asked to be relieved. Some days
later, at another conference, the Prime Minister agreed. The Government
was contemplating handing over the task to the Army —and meanwhile
my duties with the Liberation Committee were to be taken over by
Brigadier Sher Khan.

INDIAN SUMMER OFFENSIVE

By the middle of April 1948, it Seemed that a serious Indian offensive
was to be expected in Kashmir. For some weeks past more troops had
been arriving in the valley. Intercepted messages, news from our
informers and the tone of Indian propaganda, all indicated big events.
The Security Council had asked both India and Pakistan to refrain from
aggravating the situation any further while the question of Kashmir was
under consideration. But this had not satisfied the Indian leaders. Their
first declarations had been to the effect that India wanted only to stop
the revolt and thereafter to hold a fair plebiscite even if that might
ultimately result in Kashmir going over to Pakistan. Now, however, they
were driven, not by the necessity for a fair plebiscite, nor even by the
wish that Pakistan should be punished for a legal trespass, but by the
naked desire for the final possession of Kashmir for larger reasons.
Pandit Nehru put it thus, before the Constituent Assembly some time
later, “we were of-course vitally interested in the decision that the State
would take (regarding accession). Kashmir, because of her geographical
position, with her frontiers with Pakistan, the Soviet Union, China and
Afghanistan, is intimately connected with the security and international
contacts of India”. (J.L. Nehru; Independence and After, p. 60).
In the words of Mr. Gopal we see even more clearly that it was not the
interests of the four million Kashmiris that was propelling India, but her
own dreams of a role on the political map of Central Asia. Mr. Gopal says,
‘India without Kashmir would cease to occupy a pivotal position on the
political map of Central Asia. Strategically Kashmir is vital to the security
of India; it has been so ever since the dawn of history. Its northern
provinces give us direct gateways to the North West Province of Pakistan
and Northern Punjab. It is India’s only window to the Central Asian
Republics of the U.S.S.R. in the North, China on the East and Afghanistan
on the West’. (Caravan, New Delhi Feb. 1950, page 67).
It was with thoughts such as these that India had begun her
preparations for an offensive. And the situation was becoming so
threatening that it could no longer be ignored.
Thus, on 20th April the Pakistan Army Commander-in-Chief, General
Gracey, reported to the Pakistan Government in these words—‘an easy
victory of the Indian Army, particularly in the Muzaffarabad area, is
almost certain to arouse the anger of tribesmen against Pakistan for its
failure to render them more direct assistance and might well cause them
to turn against Pakistan’. He recommended that, ‘if Pakistan is not to face
another serious refugee problem with about two and a half million
people uprooted from their homes; if India is not to be allowed to sit on
the door steps of Pakistan to the rear on the flank, if the civilian and
military morale is not to be affected to a dangerous extent; and if
subversive political forces are not to be encouraged and let loose within
Pakistan itself, it is imperative that the Indian army is not allowed to
advance beyond the general line Uri-Poonch-Naushehra.’ (Security
Council S/P.V. 464, p. 36, 8 Feb. 1950).
A few days later, the Pakistan Government decided to send some troops
into Kashmir as a measure of self-defence. These troops were, however,
to avoid, till the last possible moment, any direct clash with the Indian
army; they were to stay behind the Azad forces, to be there only to
prevent any sudden break through to the Pakistan borders by the
Indians. With the entry of our troops into Kashmir, the over-all
command passed to G.H.Q. Pakistan Army. I was now on leave and on my
next arrival with troops I was to have charge of only a limited sector.
At the end of April, I was with my brigade at Kohat on the N.W.F.P., from
where we were ordered up to Pindi, and from there, on 10th May, the
Divisional Commander sent parts of my brigade to take up certain
locations already selected by him. (As shown in the sketch).
The next concentrations of Indian troops were based in Srinagar; and
the positions of their troops and various headquarters showed that the
main push was to come along the road from Baramula and Uri towards
Muzaffarabad, in my sector.
On this main axis along the road, facing Uri, in May, the force on our side
consisted of one regular battalion, some Frontier scouts, some
tribesmen and some Azad units. The Scouts were less than a hundred,
the tribesmen were unpredictable as usual, and the Azads in this area
were not yet really fighting fit. The last, though in name organised into
battalions, were in fact only loose bodies of volunteers equipped with
nothing more than rifles. They had no pay, no uniforms, no regular scale
of rations and not even a proper system of supplying these rations such
as they were. In this area they were mostly civilians with little previous
military experience.
Further north, beyond Tithwal in the Krishan-ganga valley, physically
separated by the mountains but forming part of the same sector, we had
one rifle company of regulars and some Azads.
This meant that of the regular troops, the one battalion opposite Uri and
the one company beyond Tithwal were the only ones in the actual
fighting area. I had another three companies located further back—one
each at Muzaffarabad, Kohala and Bagh—but these were for local
defence only, and were not to be moved forward. Out of the third
battalion of the brigade, one company was located at Murree (outside
Kashmir) and the remainder opposite Poonch, outside my control. The
Brigade Headquarters and I were ordered to remain at Murree.
The task laid down for the forward troops was, in general terms, that
they were to prevent any sudden break-through. It was not specified
that any particular places were to be defended at all costs while others
could be given up if hard pressed, and so forth. There was no promise of
any further addition to their strengths, and they were to do the best they
could with what existed.
As matters stood, it seemed to me that our strength opposite Uri was not
sufficient to meet any serious push. But we could not increase our
strength and, therefore, it became necessary to find some way of
reducing the strength of the enemy’s blow that was going to fall upon
the inadequate force in this area. This, I thought, we might be able to do
if we could use our tribesmen and Azads to harass the enemy flanks
when they moved forward, thereby diverting some of their force away
from the road. This, however, meant that we would have to keep our
men in the far-off high mountains on our right flank, where we would be
able to supply them only if we could have a road on the right flank, from
Kohala to Bagh.
This proposal was accepted and our sappers began working on the road
at once. An old mule track already existed, and we had now to make it fit
for trucks over a length of approximately 50 miles. The locals, who were
most enthusiastic, provided daily about a thousand labourers, without
wages, but even so it was to take a long time to complete.
On 15th May, four days after arriving in the area, when the brigade was
busy at its tasks, and three days before the offensive started, I received a
new instruction to the effect that I was to leave the brigade to someone
else, and to proceed via Tithwal to where the northern party was. There,
5,000 tribesmen were to follow me and we were to carry out a deep raid
towards Srinagar, which would divert the Indians northwards and
prevent them from carrying out the offensive towards Muzaffarabad. It
was indeed a good idea, had it come earlier. At this stage it did not
appear practicable to me. The handling of 5.000 tribesmen, I knew was
an enormous task which could not be undertaken on the spur of the
moment. I feared that now this might simply amount to my leaving the
most vital part of the front, to go alone to a flank and there to wait a long
time doing nothing, because the 5,000 tribesmen were not yet available.
It would take about a fortnight to collect the tribesmen. Then from
Muzaffarabad to the front beyond Tithwal, there were some 60 miles to
travel on foot in the hills—probably a four-day journey. It would mean
carrying four days’ rations to begin with, which would need about 800
porters. To maintain two days supplies at the far end, would require
another 400 porters to go with the tribesmen—and there would have to
be four more echelons of 200 each to continue the daily supply. If we add
to this another 200 for carrying reserve ammunition, baggage and
medical stores etc., the total would come to 2,200 porters which, I knew
from experience, was an impossible figure to achieve in a hurry. Thus, on
the morning of the 19th, I submitted a report suggesting that it would be
better if I waited until the preparations were complete, otherwise I
might be travelling alone in the wilderness just at the time when the
Indians might be advancing from Uri.
Scarcely an hour had passed since signing that report, when news came
that the Indian advance had begun the previous night. During the rest of
the day messages kept pouring in, and by the evening the picture that
emerged was as in the sketch on the next page.
We were apparently facing three attacks—one on each side of the river
Jhelum at Uri, and one in the north towards Tithwal.
It seemed that our forward elements were losing round, but they were
doing so gradually and in good order—taking up further positions each
time. At some places, we were said to be inflicting heavy casualties, and
at other places the situation was vague.
It was clear that so far as the northern area of Tithwal was concerned
we had neither the troops, nor the time, to do anything immediately
which could influence the outcome of what was happening there—and
so it had to be left to its own fate for the moment.
The front along the main road was the important one—and here the
battalion, if forced back, could ultimately make a stand at Chakoti which
was quite a good position—but I thought it would take a few days before
it was pushed that far back. On the other side of the river, however, we
had only some weak parties with no defensive position behind them. We
could not afford to be pushed too far back there, because it would
jeopardise the position of the battalion on the main road. Therefore, to
this area I despatched my only spare company from Murree. There it
was to contact the enemy and delay them as much as possible.
A few hour later, at 5 a.m. on the 20th, the news was not so good.
Apparently we were falling back everywhere—and very rapidly.
By midday the news became quite alarming. A message from the
battalion commander said that the Indians had come up to somewhere
between Uri and Chakoti. The Azads having taken, the first shocks, were
said to have withdrawn and scattered away thus leaving only the
regulars thinly spread over a large area.
This was serious and so 1 obtained permission to move to the front
myself. Before leaving, I asked for another battalion in place of the one
that had been taken away from the brigade. This was agreed to, and
another battalion was promised for the next day.
That evening I left Murree accompanied by two staff officers and Mr. Faiz
Ahmed Faiz, Editor Pakistan Times. We reached Muzaffarabad about 7
p.m. and the scene from there onwards, looked somewhat familiar—
once again panic had gripped the area, civilians were deserting even
Muzaffarabad—and all along the road to Chakoti, there were large
bodies of refugees fleeing with their goats, sheep and other belongings.
At one place I stopped two platoons of the Frontier Scouts who were
also on their way out. They were paid government servants, subject to
Military Law, and so I ordered them to go back to the front but they
refused to do so. This was an extraordinary situation. Here were these
well-trained men, who in the days of the British had been famous for
their fighting qualities. Now they were so blatantly refusing to do their
duty—and their demoralisation was not justified either as they had
suffered practically no casualties. Something was wrong somewhere and
it could not be allowed to pass. Luckily there were some tribesmen
around the place and at the point of their loaded rifles, I got the scouts
to lay down their arms. Then placing their two officers under arrest, I
took them forward along with me while the men, deprived of their
lorries, were told to wait till further orders.
A little further up I also stopped a jeep in which a medical officer was
leaving the area without permission. Getting him out of the jeep I
ordered him to walk back the 15 miles to his unit, carrying his own
bedding and followed by a soldier with a fixed bayonet.
At Chakoti, the Battalion Commander and others appeared to be still in
good spirits, but there was a general impression that the situation was
not very hopeful. Chakoti was the place where we had made the stand in
November and I knew its potentialities as a good defensive position.
Now it would have to be defended at all costs. We would go. over the
ground in daylight next morning.
Turning back some distance, I took my party up a hill-side and settled in
a ditch which I thought offered protection from the air. At first light the
place was sprayed with machine-gun bullets by an attacking aircraft.
Why this ditch, of all places in Kashmir, had to be attacked, I wondered.
The answer lay just below. We were above a supply point. More aircraft
followed. A lorry, was destroyed and a part of the dump set on fire.
At Saran, some distance further forward, on a hut roof lay a figure
covered in a white sheet. It was a visiting forest officer. Seeing a low
flying aircraft coming at him, he rose, and with the sheet in his hands,
stood poised for a moment, matador fashion, as if about to ward off a
charging bull. He changed his style, however, and jumped off the roof
just in time. But his jeep was set on fire.
Round the bend, some three hundred yards away another two figures
appeared. Their surreptitious movements were somewhat out of place.
They were in uniform, two of our scouts, deserters trying to run away. In
rage I shouted to a staff officer to run and stop them. An aircraft got
there before him. A bomb caught them in the open.
Enemy aircraft were over the area continuously. Nothing was spared—
trucks, huts, even single individuals, soldiers or civilians. Finding the
first gap, I set out for Chakoti again. In a depression just off the road I
noticed some men in uniform. To my horror I found that it was the
company I had sent from Murree, 36 hours earlier, to cross the river and
delay the enemy on the other side. They had apparently crossed the
river on arrival, but on hearing from the villagers that the enemy had
already arrived, the company commander had brought his men back to
the safety of the road. They had not themselves seen the enemy—and
the enemy, of-course, was not there yet. Scanning the far side through
my field glasses I could see no sign anywhere. So back they had to go
across the river at once—but I had to wait two hours to see them reach
the first hill.
Reaching Chakoti, the defensive positions were selected and work
started upon them. Now it was time to consider where to put the new
battalion which was due to arrive that night. For this I had to take the
general situation into consideration.
My brigade intelligence officer had brought from G.H.Q. Azad whatever
information was available about the enemy. This consisted of copies of a
large number of messages received from the forward areas over the
previous four weeks or so—and from these he was able to make a fairly
accurate statement of the Indian strength as well as the names of their
units. It appeared that the enemy against us, on both sides of the river,
consisted of two brigades supported by considerable artillery. They also
had some light tanks at Uri, and, of-course, they were well supported by
the Indian Air Force.
The Indian force in this area, so far as we could tell, consisted of eleven
battalions plus two infantry companies, some Kashmir Militia, two
batteries of Field artillery, two batteries of Mountain artillery, one
battery anti-tank guns and one squadron of light tanks. The infantry
strength of this force was equal to that of a division, but as there were
only two brigade headquarters in existence, the force was divided into
two oversized brigades. Assuming that two or three battalions would be
left behind for the security of Uri camp and their rear areas, it still left
eight or nine battalions to advance upon us.
Against this, upon arrival of the new battalion, my strength would be
two battalions, one other rifle company and one platoon of machine
guns. Adding the scouts to this would make the total about two and a
half battalions. I knew some of the tribesmen and the Azads would be
coming back but for the present they were not there. The comparative
position, therefore, appeared to be as follows:
 Parameter Enemy Ours

Infantry in rear areas 2 or 3 battalions Less than one battalion

Infantry in battle area 8 or 9 battalions 2½ battalions

Machine-guns 12 4

Artillery 24 Nil

Anti-tank guns 12 Nil

Armoured vehicles 9 Nil

Air support Indian Air Force Nil

This disparity in our strength was so great that it led me to the

inevitable conclusion that I must not allow the Indians to enter into a
straight trial of strength with my small force. If I took up a purely
defensive position, however good that position may be, sooner or later it
would be overcome by sheer weight of numbers and weapons.
So the more promising thing for us to do was to try to draw the Indians
away into the mountains on the flanks, and to get them scattered, so that
they should not be able to concentrate sufficiently for an effective break-
through. As they were always apprehensive of the tribesmen, they would
easily incline to expanding towards the flanks in order to ensure the
safety of their main force. At this stage, however, there were actually no
tribesmen in the area, but they would be coming again, and meanwhile
some regular troops would have to act as tribesmen. Perhaps the
Indians would not know the difference for a few days. As the Bagh road
also would not be ready for some time, we would have to be content for
the present with small raiding parties changing places at short intervals.
In pursuit of this general policy I decided to take up one good defensive
position on each side of the river, each to be held by one battalion—
while the remaining half battalion would provide the troops for the
harassing tasks on the flanks. I expected that from the two defensive
positions we would be able to deliver one serious blow to the enemy,
which might halt them for a while—and then, if the Azads and tribesmen
were back by that time, we would fall more effectively upon the enemy
flanks (as illustrated in the sketch below).
With regard to the actual locations of the two battalions, for the one on
the road the position at Chakoti, already occupied, was a good one—and
for the one on the other side of the river I selected Bib-Dori, a 6,000 feet
high hill, because its flanks were reasonably difficult to approach and its
front was covered by a stream which provided some protection. The
only serious disadvantage here was that Bib-Dori was 5 miles behind
Chakoti but this could not be helped as we had no time to reach and
occupy the Pandu Hills (9,000 feet high)—and the area between Pandu
and Bib-Dori was not sufficiently secure. Thus Bib-Dori was the only
choice.
This, however, meant that the two battalions would not be in a position
to. help each other—and it also meant that the 5 miles of road behind
Chakoti would remain exposed to observation and shelling by the enemy
from the other side of the river. This had to be accepted. Thus, on the
night of the 21st when the new battalion arrived, it proceeded at once to
occupy Bid Dori—and then the harassing parties went out to both the
flanks.
During the next few days, the enemy continued their advance. Their
attacks were well supported by artillery—and their aircraft enforced
upon us inactivity during daylight. Our forward posts, which were
weakly held and had no artillery support, were over-run one by one and
we were steadily pushed back towards Chakoti and Bib-Dori.
However, during this time vigorous harassing action on the flanks was
going on—and as small bodies of Azads and tribesmen were returning
to the front, they were being sent out to strengthen the harassing
parties. The plan of drawing the enemy outwards was succeeding and
they started spreading more and more towards the flanks, thereby
dissipating much strength upon occupying useless hills. Thus, their
forward movement was slowed down considerably. All the same in a
week’s time, by the end of May, we had been pushed right back into our
defensive positions—and the enemy stood, in front of Chakoti and Bib-
Dori, poised for attack.
At Chakoti, the enemy made two somewhat hasty attempts. These could
not really be described as attacks but looked more like preliminary
action preceding an attack. I assumed that they had halted in order to
carry out more thorough reconnaissance and to gather more strength
for the assault. But actually the enemy went on expanding towards their
left flank, chasing after our harassing parties, and so for many more days
the assault did not come.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the river too, the Indians apparently did
not fancy the idea of trying Bib-Dori frontally—and instead, they
attempted to dislodge it by carrying out an out-flanking and encircling
movement. They may have meant to go right round to cut off the rear,
thereby forcing the battalion to withdraw, or they may have meant to
attack the position from its left flank—it cannot be said/exactly what
their intention was.
The area was very large, the mountains very high, and there were a
number of passes and so it was not possible to watch all the danger
points. For the Indians, this operation involved some serious
Mountaineering feats, and for us it involved a good deal of guessing and
forecasting in order to anticipate their moves. There were only a few
small detachments of Azads left to do this with, and these had to be
launched, often many hours in advance of enemy moves to forestall
them at likely danger points. Luck, however, was with us and we got to
the right places every time until, after several days of moves and
counter-moves, both sides came to a standstill.
In the middle of this game I had sent forward a lashkar, made up of the
remaining tribesmen, to cut off some forward Indians from their main
body. The lashkar, finding itself rather isolated and sandwiched between
the Indian positions, did not carry out its task—but its movements had
an unexpected effect. The Indians apparently thought we were moving
forward to attack them at Pandu. They said so in a wireless message
which we picked up. This strange message indicated that instead of
attacking us they were now worrying about their own defence. This was
an apprehension that we could exploit.
To deepen their fears we opened fire, for the first time, with our two
newly arrived mountain guns, upon the hill in front of Pandu at midnight
—and this was followed up by the tribesmen who crept up and carried
out an excellent raid. The enemy reactions were immediate—verey
lights, parachute flares, shells and machine guns were let off in all
directions, wildly and. in great panic. I came to the conclusion that now
at least against Bib-Dori there would be nothing to worry about for the
time being.
Though the Indians on both sides of the river had come to a halt
opposite our defence positions, the situation was still tense. By now
perhaps five hundred casualties had been inflicted on them, but their
strength was still such that it remained a constant threat. Day and night
vigilance continued and our harassing parties worked with increasing
intensity, drawing, the Indians to the flanks. In this way many more days
passed, and we waited for a major assault, but it never came.
Meanwhile, however, in the north the enemy had advanced towards
Tithwal with a brigade of four battalions to which our small party of one
 g p y
rifle company had not been able to offer much resistance. Thereafter
that area had been formed into another sector under Brigadier Haji
Iftikhar Ahmad and had ceased to be under my control. In the overall
reorganisation of the front that followed, my brigade was allotted a
further reinforcement of one battalion and a section of two Field guns
which arrived about the middle of June.
By the end of June, after suffering perhaps another five or six hundred
casualties, the Indian offensive, which had started six weeks earlier with
such fanfares, had come to a complete standstill. The serious blow, that
we had expected so long, had not been delivered. The enemy had not
attacked us in our selected positions where it would have meant really
heavy casualties for them. Thus, in the past four weeks, they had made
no progress on the main axis of their offensive. While they had never
crossed over into our area either at the front or on the flanks, we had
carried out raids directly into their front, ambushed them within their
defences and harassed their flanks and rear up to a depth of 8 to 9 miles.
Thus, the original Indian force, which had advanced on both sides of the
river and arrived at Chakoti and Bib-Dori with five battalions still in
hand for further attacks, was now scattered up and down the hills
chasing after ghosts over an area of some 80 square miles.
It might be of interest to consider at this stage why the Indian offensive
came to a halt as it did. It was not as if we had routed them—there had
been no heavy fighting, their casualties and material loss had been
small, and their strength had remained unaltered. Yet they had come to
abandon their objective.
To begin with, the Indian strength had been gathered over a long period
which shows that they had made their plans in advance. The direction
and magnitude of their attack along the main road and toward Tithwal,
shows that they intended to capture Muzaffarabad and to end the war.
Their publicity was directed towards the same end. They never claimed
that the operation had been undertaken to forestall any attack by us, or
to improve their own defensive positions. In fact, if their object had been
only to go as far as Chakoti, it would have been meaningless as this
would not have been worth all the trouble and risk. Thus, Muzaffarabad
was, in fact, their target, and to end the war was their object.
In planning the operation, they must naturally have considered all
possible factors including our apparent strength, our potential strength
and even the possibility of a general war with Pakistan. Of the presence
of Pakistan troops they had already declared full knowledge. Obviously
they must have considered that they could win and therefore they
launched the operation at a time and place of their own choosing. Then,
within six weeks, they abandoned their object—and we know that this
happened without the intervention of any outside force, moral or
physical, by U.N. or any other power. It would be safe to assume that this
abandonment was not due to any sudden feelings of goodwill or change
of heart on the part of Indian leaders. Therefore, one must inevitably
conclude that they gave up their object, because they realised that it
could not be achieved.
What actually passed through the minds of the Indian leaders and
commanders, we cannot know but we can at least speculate. For the first
few days they advanced without much difficulty, and they must have
been greatly encouraged by the ease with which opposition in front of
them melted away. Then they came up against two defensive positions at
Chakoti and Bib-Dori, and these they never seriously attacked. Their air
reconnaissance reports and the strength of our firing must have it
shown them that these positions were held only by one battalion in each
case. They knew we had no artillery, aircraft or tanks. However, when
they came to Chakoti, it was clear to them that the single battalion was
holding a compact defensive position. The position was so compact that
no portion of it could be isolated; it had to be attacked as a whole. That
would mean attack by a full brigade, working on the generally accepted
convention that the attackers have to be three times the length of the
defenders. Attack on our left flank was ruled out by the river. A frontal
attack was very seriously discouraged by the deep nullah in front of
Chakoti. That only left our right flank, but this involved going through
forest and also the step by step capture of several high hills as a
preliminary to the attack on the real position itself.
This would take several days, and the Indians probably appreciated,
rightly, that they would seriously expose themselves to sniping,
ambushes and raids by tribesmen in this area. To safeguard against this
threat, it would be necessary to make large detachments. A hundred
tribesmen could compel them to employ a couple of battalions on this
task alone. They had got the extra battalions, but this was not the only
task to be done as a preliminary. The actual attack would have to be
supported by a strong artillery bombardment. To do this, all their guns
would have to be brought forward along the road. These again would be
exposed to attacks by tribesmen from the flanks, and once again more
infantry would have to be deployed to protect them. There was no
knowing how many tribesmen we had, and the process of making
detachments might turn out to be endless. This in itself must have
seemed a deterring factor—but assuming that they could make all these
arrangements, the assault on Chakoti would still mean very heavy
casualties—and what would it achieve?
After Chakoti, we might again be holding another position two or three
miles further back and the whole process would have to be carried out
all over again. And thus it would go on. With each advance the Indians
would have a longer flank to protect, and the tribesmen would draw and
scatter their forces endlessly. A few battalions of our regular troops in
compact positions, with Azads and tribesmen floating around on the
flanks, could go on playing this game until a major portion of the Indian
army would be needed if they were to force their way through to
Muzaffarabad.
But such a large force could probably not be used here. The one narrow
road, the mountains and the problem of maintenance put a definite limit
to the amount of force that the Indians could safely deploy here. And
even if such a force could be brought up, it would be enough only for a
specific situation. That specific situation may not remain the same as we
would be able to upset the balance again by adding a little more to our
strength from the Pakistan Army.
Thus the Indians probably concluded that unless the Pakistan Army
itself was kept out of it somewhere else, there was no prospect of
reaching Muzaffarabad on this particular occasion. It was, therefore, not
worth all the expenditure of blood and material to assault a few
positions like Chakoti.
On our side, we gained the knowledge that in certain physical
conditions, a small, number of disciplined troops, properly combined
with the Azads and tribesmen, could stop a much larger force provided
we had some compact positions, around which the tribesmen could
operate offensively.
There is another question, of greater significance, which arises out of
this—and that is, why did the Indians, after their failure here, not seek a
military decision in the plains of Pakistan? It may be that they thought
they would put themselves in the wrong before the world, even though
we had, according, to them, given them enough cause and justification
for extending the war. Or it may be this as well as the fear that our Army,
combined with the tribesmen, would prove too much for them to
swallow even in the plains of Pakistan.
How big a part the tribesmen played on India’s mental horizon may be
guessed from the opinion of Mr. V.P. Menon of India. He says
—“Personally when I recommended to the Government of India the
acceptance of the accession by the Maharajah of Kashmir, I had in mind
one consideration and one consideration alone, viz: that the invasion of
Kashmir by the raiders was a grave threat to the integrity of India. Ever
since the time of Mahmud Ghazni, that is to say, for nearly eight
centuries, with but a brief interval during the Mughal epoch, India had
been subjected to periodical invasions from the North West. Mahmud
Ghazni had led no less than seventeen of these incursions in person. And
within less than ten weeks of the establishment of the new State of
Pakistan, its very first act was to let loose a tribal invasion through the
North West. Srinagar today, Delhi tomorrow. A nation that forgets its
history or its geography does so at its peril.’’ (p.413, Integration of
Indian States V.P. Menon).
Whatever the reasons may have been, the fact is that war did not come
—and had India wanted it, now was a good opportunity as they could
draw most of our troops into a part of Kashmir which was farthest away
from the Punjab.
My impression at the time was that, if our actions then did not lead to
war, no other action in Kashmir would do so because an Indo-Pakistan
war appeared a far too uncertain proposition for both sides.

CAPTURE OF PANDU
The Indian offensive had been brought to a halt but fighting on the Uri
front had not finished yet. Skirmishes, raids, shelling and air attacks
were still the daily routine—and both sides were suffering casualties. If
this was to be our way of life for some more weeks or months—
obviously some improvement in our defence was essential. For the past
three weeks one section of mountain guns on a slope of the Pandu hill,
on the other side of the river, had completely overlooked and dominated
our position at Chakoti and the 5 miles of road behind it. Even
movement at night had become unsafe.
About the particular section of guns across the river nothing had been
done so far, because they could not be effectively dealt with in isolation.
They would finish only if we captured Pandu, and that is what our men
wanted to do, but that would be a fairly big task—beyond our means
and even beyond our role which was strictly defensive. Now, however,
the Divisional Commander had given permission.
Pandu is the name of a village, and of the mountain upon which the
village is located at the height of 9,000 feet. The mountain is in fact more
of a range, stretching over a large area.
If one stood on top of Bib-Dori looking towards the enemy, facing Pandu,
one would see on the right the river Jhelum about 3,000 feet below.
Across the river one would see the main road cut into the side of the
hills. Beyond the road, the hills climb steep to about 7,000-8,000 feet.
On the left of Bib-Dori, could be seen Nanga Tek, 10,000 feet high
towering over Bib-Dori. Beyond that would be Rosi Kuta, 11,500 feet
slightly in front would be Sing 10,500 feet.
Looking straight in front, one would see a long range of mountains
running approximately parallel with the river—and somewhere about
the middle of this one would see the village of Pandu, on a grassy patch,
often shrouded in mist or clouds during the rainy season.
If we were to walk up to Pandu to see what the ground is like, we would
go, from Bib-Dori at 6,000 feet down 2,500 feet to the bank of the river.
This area has not much of vegetation or trees but we would be hidden
from Pandu by the rocks and nullahs. At the bottom of Bib-Dori we have
to cross a stream which is in spate during the rains. Immediately beyond
this is a steep mountain, running across our front like a screen from
right to left with three peaks from 6,300 feet to 7,000 feet. This
mountain is covered by trees, and the three peaks are held by Indian
troops.
From the left peak runs a ridge, about 1½ mile long, which climbs up to
Pandu. This ridge is narrow and thickly covered with pine trees.
Visibility is extremely limited and the going is difficult. If one were
advancing, upon Pandu, along this ridge, the fighting would be very
heavy as each little position could be attacked only frontally and uphill,
with all the advantages on the side of the defender. We find the Indians
holding a position in the middle of this ridge.
Further towards Pandu, the ridge is joined by a number of spurs from
the right and left all thickly wooded, steep and narrow. Upon these too
the Indians have some posts. Just short of Pandu, the trees finish and we
come to a grassy top, 50 to 200 yards wide and some 700 to 800 yards
long. The top of this is held by the Indians—and to attack them we
would have to go uphill across open ground. Here the attacker would
meet all the defensive fire with deadly effect.
From Pandu, the range forks into two. The right rises to 9,300 feet,
overlooking the river, the road beyond and our troops at Chakoti. The
left ridge, again splitting in two, goes for a further 2 miles or so—rising
to 10,000 feet at Chota Kazi Nag and further to our left going up to
13,500 feet (Kazi Nag).
It was to all this area in general that we referred as Pandu. The local
tactical importance attached by both sides to Pandu can be judged from
the fact that we had given it the code name ‘Delhi’—and we were to find
from enemy documents later that they had named it ‘Karachi’. The local
people also considered Pandu a place of much significance. They had a
legend that some centuries ago, the armies of a Mughal Emperor had
been held up here—and then the Mughals had gone via the Pir Panjal
Pass. They had a superstition that Pandu was not conquerable.
The overall strength of the enemy in the area was greater than ours.
Therefore, our only chance of success lay in attacking some point that
would be vital enough, and yet where the enemy would not be able to
bring his whole strength into action. Pandu village offered such a
prospect. It was undoubtedly the key point. Here was located the enemy
headquarters, the brain, the mind that controlled the area. And the
layout around it was defective.
Our own defence positions at Chakoti and Bib-Dori had both been
compact battalion positions—so compact that each would have had to
be attacked by a brigade of three battalions working on the principle
that the attacker has to be about three times the strength of the
defender. On the enemy side there were no such compact battalion
positions anywhere. Instead, they had scattered themselves in small
packets all over the place. To a large extent this scattering had been
forced upon them by our widespread harassing activities, but to a
certain extent it was also due to their faulty tactics. They held their
localities in one or two company strengths—often too far apart to be
able to help each other.
Pandu village itself appeared to be held only by a half battalion. And if
this was to be the point of our attack, all we needed, theoretically
speaking, was one and a half battalion for the assault. As it happened,
one and a half battalion was all I could raise for the operation. As a part
of this would have to stay in reserve, only one battalion would be left
meaning a two to one superiority only. But this, combined with the
Azads and tribesmen, would be enough.
The real problem was how we were to reach the target without getting
involved with other enemy troops en route. Between us and Pandu there
was the 7,000 feet high screen of hills held by two Indian companies.
Further to the left were another two companies on Sing—and there
were also smaller localities guarding the nearer approaches to Pandu. If
we attacked any of these places it would take all our strength to capture
one of them, and our position would be in no way improved. If, however,
we could somehow reach and capture Pandu itself, all the forward
troops would be forced to withdraw and some might even fall into our
hands free of cost. Clearly Pandu was the key to the whole position, and
the obvious target. Thus, our preliminary task became to find routes
that would take our men up to the vicinity of Pandu without fighting en
route.
Our reconnaissance showed that this could be done. The operation
would, however, involve a move to cross the enemy front secretly at
night, to travel a considerable distance in between his positions, to climb
about 6,000 feet in the hours of darkness, and then to rest somewhere
before delivering the attack. All this could not be done in one night. Two
nights would be required for the move. And that meant that for two
nights and one day we would have to be inside the enemy area, behind
his front line, and we would have to remain completely concealed. This
would be taking a grave risk for thirty-six hours, because if discovered it
would result in our being cut off and probably captured. This risk I
accepted because without it there was no chance of success.
Preparations for the attack took a few days. Supplies and ammunition
had to be carried forward. The sappers put up a wire rope across the
river Jhelum. Along this rope, a single basket carried, at a time, two men
or 300 lbs of stores. Beyond the dump, porters were required. These
were collected and altogether 2,000 used in the operation. Artillery was
moved up within range of the target. There were 900 shells available—a
very small quantity compared to what the enemy had, who were to fire
3000 at us in one day alone. Three hundred Mahsud tribesmen were
available. They were divided into three lashkars of a hundred each. The
first two were to have harassing tasks, while the third, named L3, was to
have the special task of pursuit if we succeeded in dislodging the enemy.
Finally, a wooden bridge had to be put up across the stream in front of
Bib-Dori. This was done on the last night. By 17th July we were ready.
After sunset, next day, our striking force, one battalion, crossed the
stream, and penetrated secretly into the enemy area. The rain which
hampered movement, also helped to cover up unavoidable noises. As the
men went forward, they kept laying out a telephone wire and thus
remained in touch with me at Brigade Headquarters. Wireless sets were
taken forward, but were kept silent, to be used only in emergency. A few
hours later they reached their secret base, about a mile or so behind the
front. No incident occurred.
Next day, the second day of the operation, the striking force had to
remain hidden in its base until nightfall. Its further movement was to
begin at night. Our artillery also remained silent, in order to give no
indication that anything unusual was brewing. That morning, however, I
launched the harassing parties consisting of the tribesmen, Azads and
Scouts openly at various points. This could be done with safety and was
not expected to arouse any particular suspicion.
The day was cloudy and rainy—and so enemy aircraft were not on the
scene. The harassing parties engaged the enemy and all went well
except for one incident which might have proved dangerous. A
reconnaissance patrol, from the striking force in its secret base, came
very close to an enemy patrol. The troops withdrew quickly, but their
local guide slipped in the mud and fell into enemy hands. They took him
to their headquarters at Pandu where he was subjected to a thorough
interrogation—but fortunately he gave away nothing. After much
anxiety, we felt reassured by the evening that all was still well. And thus,
on the second night the force was ready to set out on its further move.
It advanced towards Pandu, in two equal columns, right and left, along
two different routes. The first objective of these columns was to reach
the top of the hill by dawn. It was essential that they should get that far
safely without being discovered. Then, and only then, would they be able
to attack Pandu before the enemy could reinforce it.
The journey of the two columns lay across difficult ground. Each had to
climb more than 5,000 feet in the night. The night was pitch dark and
there were no tracks to follow. The ridges were sharp and precipitous.
The ground was muddy, and the rocks were slippery. It was a difficult
night move judged by any standards. Naturally, therefore, considerable
anxiety and apprehension prevailed on our side that night.
But the next morning brought good news. At 6 a.m. the right column
successfully reached its objective and occupied a 9,300 feet high peak on
the flank of Pandu, overlooking it. Although the enemy put up a hurried
counter-attack, it had no effect—and by that afternoon the right column
was only 500 yards from Pandu, where it waited for the left column to
come up abreast. So far the operation had gone through perfectly,
beyond my expectation. I was almost jubilant—the enemy had been
taken completely by surprise, soon the assault on Pandu would begin,
and the battle would be over.
But the left column did not arrive on time. Unknown to me, it had run
into a series of misfortunes. Its route had proved extremely difficult. In
the dark, its telephone wire drums had rolled down the hill and it had
lost communication with me after midnight. Then running into an
unexpected enemy pocket, and getting involved in a dog fight in the
dark, it had suffered thirty casualties. By dawn it still had a long way to
go before reaching the top, but its movement being no longer secret it
was being heavily shelled. However, it had continued its painful progress
until a party of retreating Indians had unexpectedly run into its middle
—and further disorganised it—and thus it had been delayed by several
hours. It was not until evening that at last it formed up for the attack.
But then, it was a much discouraged and disorganised left column that
attempted an assault up the Pandu slopes.
The attempt failed completely and the column was thrown into
confusion. In the dark all control was lost. The men and officers got
separated from each other. They were tired and disheartened.
Individuals started falling back without permission. More and more did
the same. By midnight, in spite of my orders to the contrary, the whole of
the left column was in headlong retreat—and by 4 a.m. it was
completely out of the enemy area, back again at the starting point near
Bib-Dori.
At dawn, seeing that the left column had withdrawn, the harassing
parties, Azads, Scouts and tribesmen also fell back thinking that the
show was over.
Thus, on the morning of the fourth day, all that remained forward was
the right column (half battalion), isolated, inside the enemy area,
perched on a 9,300 feet high peak, shelled by enemy artillery and
bombed by enemy aircraft. The situation looked grim.
But, I thought, it could not be as bad as it looked at first sight. There
were two points still in our favour. Firstly, the right column, though
isolated, vas still holding its ground. If it could be reinforced, it could still
proceed with the attack. However, that would take another twenty-four
hours—and till then it would have to remain alone. I ordered the reserve
half battalion to move forward that night, to join the right column on the
9,300 feet peak, for a final assault on Pandu the next day.
Secondly, there was the enemy’s mind to consider. I felt, the enemy must
have had a severe shock suddenly to find our men in the middle of his
area, in a totally unexpected manner. About the withdrawal of our men
he could not yet have an accurate knowledge. On the other hand our
harassing activities all around him must have confused him a great deal.
And more serious, the right column was still there, so near him, looming
large over him. As yet, he could not know its actual strength—he could
only know its threatening presence. Thus he would wait in suspense for
our next step. And if that step was delayed, his suspense would grow
worse still. This was in our favour. All we needed for the present was to
allow him no peace of mind. Therefore, I sent the harassing parties back
again to their original tasks to keep the enemy in a cloud of confusion till
the next day.
Next morning, the fifth day, the reinforcements joined the right column
—and in a few hours the attack on Pandu could be expected to proceed.
But now considerable doubt and hesitation became noticeable among
the officers and men. There was of course some justification for this—
because now at Pandu we did not have the local superiority that had
been expected. The purpose in the surprise move had been that while
the enemy garrison at Pandu would remain half a battalion, we
ourselves would bring up one battalion against it—in other words, we
would have a two to one physical superiority at this key point at the
crucial moment of attack. This is what our men had expected—but now
it was not so.
As the two forces now stood opposite each other, some 500 yards apart,
on the 9,000 feet high mountain—the comparison of strengths was
obviously unfavourable for us. The Indians from two of the forward
positions, having withdrawn, had joined those at Pandu—thus making
their strength here more than ours. And they had heavy additional
advantages.
They were sitting in well prepared defences, while we would have to go
across the open to attack them. They had several machine guns, while
we had none. They had aircraft to support them, while we had none. And
their artillery support was at least four times more than ours.
Looked at in this manner, the physical comparison was so clearly
unfavourable that the Right Column Commander was expecting the
attack to be called off. To leave no further room for hesitation in his and
other’s mind, I ordered that the attack on ‘Delhi’ (Pandu) was to proceed
as a bayonet assault led by the officers. I issued this uncompromising
order because of one factor—the factor that could not be seen but only
felt—namely, the state of the enemy’s mind which I believed by now to
be seriously shaken. And how shaken his mind actually turned out to be,
even I had not guessed.
When the harassing parties had gone forward the previous afternoon,
some of them had mistakenly thought the Indians to be on the run. One
of the tribal lashkars had hurried forward and run into Pandu itself in
the dark. It had, of course, been repulsed—but the second lashkar, upon
hearing the sound of the firing, had also rushed towards Pandu from the
other side—again resulting in a clash. Something of this nature had gone
on for most of the evening—and although they were only minor
skirmishes, the Indians had apparently taken them as serious attacks.
Ultimately when our men had decided that there was nothing to do
except wait till next day for the right column’s attack—they still had
many hours of that night to pass up there on the mountain. And at that
height it was very cold—so putting all caution to the winds, they had lit
fires in the jungle to keep themselves warm. Soon the Indians began to
see a ring of fires springing up all around Pandu. This was too much for
their nerves. According to a local who was there that night, the Indians
thought themselves hopelessly surrounded—and they could see no way
out. They waited in dreadful suspense, and spent the whole night in a
state of jitters.
In daylight, next morning the Indians must have discovered that they
were not in fact surrounded. But in this they did not find any relief. They
apparently saw in it only a chance to escape.
Physically, until now, they had suffered no real hardship. All the actions
of the past four days had been only minor skirmishes—causing only a
small number of casualties. Their men, their weapons, their artillery,
their aircraft were still there—and their defences were all intact. But
they had been hit by the elements of surprise and suspense. So much
had happened to shatter their nerves that they had lost the will to fight.
They feared that a storm was about to burst upon them—and they did
not want to wait for it. They could see that a way of escape was still open
and they wanted to take it. And so their artillery put up a long and heavy
programme of shelling, under the cover of which they abandoned Pandu
—and the thick jungle helped to hide their movement. Thus when the
right column advanced to the assault, it arrived to find that the Indians
had already fled.
But this was not to be the end. Upon hearing that the Indians had given
up, I sent the third lashkar out in pursuit across the enemy line of
retreat. The other tribesmen in the vicinity of Pandu also joined in the
chase. The Indians had fled in confusion down the slopes, into the thick
jungle. And there the tribesmen fell upon them like a pack of wolves. The
fate that they might have escaped by staying on in their defences, was
now to be met on the run. For twenty-four hours the tribesmen hunted
them, mostly with the dagger. How many officers and men the Indians
lost here, I cannot say, but probably more than three hundred. When the
tribesmen returned, most of them were dressed in Indians uniforms—
and they brought back loads of weapons, ammunition and other
equipment.
About 130 rifles were captured with ammunition. About half a million
rounds of ammunition were found in boxes. Two large and fourteen 2’’
mortars, one machine gun and about a thousand mortar and artillery
shells along with a large ration dump were taken over.
With the fall of Pandu, the key point, the rest of the defence collapsed
like a house of cards. As soon as we switched our guns on to the
remaining two companies on Sing (10,500 feet) they too abandoned the
hill and the chase was taken up by the scouts and Azads in the area. Now
a general advance began and, twelve hours later, when the troops were
just 200 yards from Chota Kazi Nag (10,000 feet) the last and highest
peak of this range dominating the Indian line of communications
between Baramula and Uri, G.H.Q. orders came that we were to halt and
proceed no further.
We had advanced 6 miles as the crow flies, and 90 square miles had
passed into our hands. But the story of Pandu will not be complete
without mention of one brave man, Subedar Kala Khan, who lies buried
there under the deep green turf. During the previous month his daring
raids and harassing missions had turned the scales in our favour—and
at Pandu he was killed in the assault.
In life his name had already become a legend—and after death his
‘spirit’ still haunts the area, often appearing in human form, dressed as
he was on his last day. Many an unsuspecting newcomer to the hill, not
knowing that Kala Khan is dead, has been welcomed by this spirit and
given accurate details of how Pandu was won.
Here perhaps a word about the usefulness of the tribesmen would not
be out of place. An opinion has often been expressed that from the
military point of view the value of the tribesmen, in Kashmir, was
insignificant, or indeed that they were a liability. With this I entirely
disagree.
On the contrary, in terrain like that of Kashmir, our troops, Azads and
tribesmen, when used properly together, proved a surprisingly good
combination. The troops provided a stable point around which the
Azads, with their greater mobility and knowledge of the ground, formed
a widespread screen both protective and as eyes and ears of the
commander. From this the tribesmen with, their raids, ambushes and
threatening unpredictability, dominated an area so large as to be out of
all proportion to their numbers—and in addition, they were there for
deeper aggressive action such as troops could not normally be expected
to undertake.
With the tribesmen, in the beginning there had been many unfortunate
incidents, first because there had been no leaders and later, when army
officers were on the scene, because we did not know how to handle
them. Perhaps not unnaturally, we had started with expecting the Azads
and the tribesmen to behave somewhat like regular troops. This of
course could not be.
Towards the end, here and there a few were definitely beginning to
handle them properly. We did not get a chance to pool our knowledge
and develop a technique—but had the war gone on, this would certainly
have been done. One cannot say what might have happened in another
few months had the tribesmen and Azads, in full cooperation, begun to
be launched on a large scale from the long string of stable points
provided by our troops, against the frontage of no less than 200 miles of
hills, valleys and woods that no one could have hoped to close effectively.

INDIAN AIR FORCE

Throughout the war, one factor that favoured the enemy was the use of
his air force. As we had no aircraft and no anti-aircraft guns either for a
long time, the Indian air force was able to fly over the whole area as it
liked, and no place in Kashmir was safe. Our transport could only move
by night, and even our other activities were mostly restricted to the
hours of darkness. At Chinari, about the beginning of July 1948, I
received the first two anti-aircraft guns, 40 mm Bofors. These guns fired
only two-pound shells and had a very short range. Due to their bulkiness
they could be located only near the main road—and the main road, in
this area, was at the height of about 3,000 feet. The hills on both sides of
the road rose steeply to heights ranging from 7,000 to 10,000 feet and
limited the field of vision. Thus, the guns generally saw the aircraft
coming within range only for a few brief moments. The result was that
we never managed to shoot one down with these guns. To keep our
morale high, and to maintain a good fighting spirit, it was necessary to
hit back effectively and so I resorted to laying traps for the aircraft. It is
one of these actions that I shall describe here.
The idea was to create the impression of a forthcoming attack which
would force the enemy to send aircraft over certain areas, where our
machine guns, placed on high points, were to catch them. So, to start
with, I located one medium gun (artillery) in the most forward position
under the Chakoti ridge. The medium gun, which fired a 90-pound shell,
was the heaviest gun in use on either side. From Chakoti the Uri camp
came just within its maximum range. So for no shell had ever landed
there, and the Indians did not suspect that we could do it. Therefore, in
Uri camp their tents and transport always stood in the open. I had saved
about eighty shells for this task, and that could be expected to do heavy
damage. The bombardment was to appear as the preliminary to an
attack. Then certain other fire and movement activities by our troops
were to create the impression of a ground attack about to come. I
expected that as soon as this happened, the Indians would immediately
call for air assistance. We knew the course along which such aircraft
usually came—and here, on the highest points at about 9,000 feet,
twelve machine guns and sixteen brens were to receive them. A special
warning system was to alert these weapons, and everyone else in the
bridge was also to hit back if the aircraft came within range of their
weapons.
To direct the bombardment, an artillery officer was located on the 9,300
feet high peak, on the Pandu hill, from where he could see the Uri camp.
With everyone thus set, we waited for a cloudless and clear moment so
that aircraft would not be discouraged by bad weather. About midday,
the sky was absolutely clear and the bombardment started. The blow fell
on the Uri camp so unexpectedly that it caused much consternation. This
was followed up with the other activities and the enemy signals started
buzzing. We did not have to wait long—within an hour or so an aircraft
came over but it flew mostly over the old gun position at Chinari where
the trap did not exist. Thus, by nightfall nothing was gained. But at night
the enemy probably wondered what all the noise had been about so next
morning they sent over a flight of three aircraft together, and they came
to attack Pandu, their favourite point for such punishments. Our men got
an early warning, the trap was still there, and the whole brigade was
alert, waiting for them.
As the aircraft came over, they circled and dived, one after another, at
Pandu. The first aircraft was hit by the machine guns, it swerved and
went crashing down to earth just beyond Chakoti. The second aircraft
was following very close behind and smoke began to come out of it too.
As the two aircraft were going downwards, one of the pilots bailed out
by parachute. After that I could not see them myself—it looked as if both
had crashed and that the second pilot had gone down with his machine.
My impression was that it was the first pilot who had bailed out, but our
forward troops told a different story. They said that only the first aircraft
had been hit and its pilot had gone down with it but the second pilot,
seeing this, and being a Sikh, had reacted too quickly and jumped out
himself before realising that it was the other man who should have done
so. This may have been a made-up story but it certainly became the
more popular version.
RELIEF OF POONCH
After the failure of the summer offensive towards Muzaffarabad, India
began preparations for another offensive—this time from Jammu,
westwards and north, for the relief of Poonch. With this I had no
personal concern but I mention it briefly here to complete the picture up
to the cease-fire.
From Jammu runs westwards an unmetalled road, to Naushehra and
beyond, more or less parallel with the Pakistan border lying a few miles
to the south. When along this road an Indian brigade had advanced in
November 1947, the Azad forces had not been able to check it and so it
had reached Naushehra and joined the State force garrison there. From
there, the Indians had attempted to capture Mirpur, a town due west of
Naushehra and near the Mangla headworks where the upper Jhelum
Canal begins. This attempt had failed and the Indians had been halted
around Naushehra. About the same time, some distance further north
west at Kotli the rebels had over-powered the State force garrison and
captured the town. And from then onwards till August 1948 the
situation in this area had remained more or less the same—the Indians
being confined to Naushehra and the road behind it, while the area on
both sides of the road being in Azad hands.
Further north from here lies Poonch, the seat of the Ruler of the Poonch
Jagir. Poonch Jagir with a population of about 382,000 Punjabi-speaking
Muslims and about 39,000 non-Muslims had provided the major portion
of a large number of Kashmiri soldiers (said to be about 80,000) for the
British Indian Army during the last World War. The people of this area,
though unarmed, had risen and cleared the Maharajah’s troops from
their area within the first few weeks of the revolt—but they had not
succeeded in liquidating the Poonch town itself.
Into this town, the State troops and a large number of non-Muslims had
retired and entrenched themselves. Soon after accession, the Indians
had reinforced the town—and thereafter that road had remained closed,
and the Indians had been forced to supply Poonch by air alone.
In May 1948, when the Indians had launched their summer offensive
from Uri they had probably intended to relieve Poonch after achieving
their main object. But their offensive had failed, and we had kept the Uri-
Poonch road closed all the time. Thus, when by the end of July, after
Pandu, a sort of status quo came into existence in this area, Poonch still
remained surrounded and isolated.
In August 1948, the U.N. cease-fire proposals at last took shape and a
scheme was presented to the two Governments on the 13th. Though a
fortnight later this was declared to be unacceptable in its existing form,
new suggestions and amendments continued—and it was clear that
sooner or later cease-fire would come.
It is probable that India was, at this time, particularly worried about the
position of Poonch. If at the time of cease-fire, Poonch remained in Azad
area, cut off from the rest of Indian occupied Kashmir, it would remain
like a hostage in Azad hands. It would be a pressure point in Azad hands,
capable of being used as a threat in case there was any undue delay or
insincerity about holding the plebiscite. An early plebiscite was what we
wanted—and we were sure of the outcome. But an early plebiscite was
not what India wanted. She needed more time for winning over the
people, and so the longer the delay, the better from her point of view.
But obviously it would be unwise to leave Poonch as a hostage with us
during this time. And thus, though both India and Pakistan had
promised not to aggravate the situation any further, India proceeded to
prepare for the relief of Poonch before the coming cease-fire.
Of what followed after this I have no first-hand knowledge, so I will
mention only the news as it appeared in the press at the time. The area
where silence had prevailed for some months became the scene of brisk
activity—and on 24 August 1948, there was the first news of enemy
build up observed at several points in the Naushehra sector. A month
later, on 24 September, there were reports about India reinforcing
Rajauri, north of Naushehra, and some clashes took place there. On 10
October, strong enemy forces attacked north east of Rajauri where they
were repulsed. Two days later, further clashes occurred at the same
place. On 19th October, severe fighting broke out at Rajauri, and the
enemy was reported to be about one brigade strong. On the same day,
fighting was reported north west of Naushehra where more
reinforcements were said to be arriving.
On 26th October, the Indian garrison at Poonch also became active. Four
days later, Sardar Ibrahim, the Azad Kashmir President, appealed to the
people of Pakistan for help in these words, “The heroic struggle has gone
on against heavy odds but there is every possibility of this struggle
breaking down if the people of Pakistan fail to send a steady supply of
food, clothing and other necessary articles to keep the Azad soldiers
alive at the front”.
On 2nd November, the press reports mentioned Indian attempts to
advance at several points in the sector. On 4th November, Azad road-
blocks held up enemy progress on Rajauri—Chingas road. Also there
was fighting around Preassa and Kuthgali. On 5th November more
fighting north of Rajauri. 8th November, Indians appeared north west of
Rajauri. 11th November, Indian tanks were on the scene. On the 13th
there were fresh attacks. On the 15th there were more reinforcements
arriving. On the 18th there were headlines in the press, “India mounting
up offensive in Kashmir”—“Jammu reinforced by at least three brigades
and two artillery regiments”. Altogether, three divisions were said to be
operating in the Riasi-Poonch area with headquarters at Naushehra. It
was further said that India had started a major offensive from Rajauri
towards Kotli and Mendhar.
On 20th November there was fierce fighting in Mendhar valley—and the
Poonch garrison was said to be attempting a break out. This indicated
the climax—and within a day or two of this Poonch was relieved. Thus,
the Indians linked up Naushehra with Poonch—and we lost the whole
area east of that line, including Mendhar Tehsil, the granary of Kashmir.
A few days later, 28,000 refugees reached (Jhelum in Pakistan) and more
were to follow.
This was the biggest loss we suffered in the war and it happened,
because we did not reinforce the area, nor was there any planning to
organise any serious resistance with the existing resources.
The Indian offensive had taken a long time to build up. The Government
knew about it. G.H.Q. Pakistan Army knew about it and the public knew
about it. Brigadier Azam Khan (later Lt. General) who was in command
in this sector had been sending detailed reports to higher authorities,
but he received neither troops nor instructions upon what to do.
To meet a forthcoming danger of this kind, a very careful appreciation of
the situation was necessary. It was essential to forecast enemy
intentions and likely moves. An appreciation of this kind is a normal and
cardinal part of military procedure—and every military decision is
invariably preceded by such an appreciation of the situation. Only thus
could it have been assessed what strength would be sufficient to meet
the danger or what area or areas were to be given up without serious
fighting. Such a decision would not normally be left to an army
commander to make—it would be a decision of the Government.
It was not as if we had been taken by surprise. The Indians had always
wanted to relieve Poonch and they had already made several attempts.
When the cease-fire proposals started in August 1948, logically it
became still more clear that India would not want to leave Poonch on
our side of the line at the time of cease-fire. Then their preparations for
the offensive took so long—and the distance over which this offensive
had to go, over 100 miles, gave us all the time we could possibly want to
meet what was coming.
The only reason later mentioned was that we did not have troops to
spare. Yet a fortnight later, after a shocked public had expressed its
surprise in the press, we managed to collect together a force of 25,000
men consisting of Azads, tribesmen and regulars. This force also had
probably fifty guns of the Pakistan artillery. It would be difficult to deny
that only a portion of this force, if brought up earlier, could have
prevented the link up. After much planning and preparation the force
was ready and we were in a position to cut in the middle the long line of
communications stretching from Jammu to Poonch. The very existence
of the large Indian force beyond Naushehra was threatened.
Then one morning, in the first week of December, a bombardment began
and 5000 shells were fired but there was no attack. Had an attack here
gone through it could have cut off the Indians from their base in Jammu.
The only reason ever mentioned for not doing so has been that such
action would not have ended the war-and a mere heavy loss inflicted
upon the Indian Army might have forced India to declare war on
Pakistan. If this was the real reason, one may ask is it likely that the
possibility of this danger had not occurred to our higher authorities in
the planning stage or during the two weeks of preparation? How could
the realisation suddenly have come to them after the bombardment had
started?
Thus the threat of being cut off was gone, but the Indians were still
exposed to other dangers. Beyond Naushehra, for 100 miles, they
offered an exposed flank which in the days to come, meant ideal
opportunities for the tribesmen and Azads, to raid ambush and scupper
Indian convoys and posts. Indeed this would be like a running sore in
the body and the Indian Army would have had to face the prospect of
being bled white. But from this fate too they were saved by the cease-fire
at the end of December 1948.

CEASE-FIRE
At midnight on 31st December 1948, both sides ordered cease-fire and
the war came to an end. The coming of cease-fire had not been
unexpected or sudden. In fact for quite some months, it had been clear
that there would have to be a cease-fire and the problem would have to
be settled by other means. The Azad people had never expected that
they could throw India out of Kashmir by force—all they had wanted
was to have the right and claim for a fair plebiscite recognised. This right
now stood accepted—and therefore the coming of cease-fire was good
in principle. To some of us, however, it was the line along which the
cease-fire took place that appeared unsatisfactory—because as it stood
now, it left with India virtually everything that she wanted.
There was no other territory, hill or point of importance which India
needed to ensure the permanent security of the valley, Ladakh and
Jammu. For her communications with Kashmir, India already had the
Kahuta road, and another road, further away from the Pakistan border,
was under construction, thus there was no pressure point or compelling
actor in our possession with which we could discourage India from
delaying or refusing to hold the plebiscite. No such factor existed in the
provisions of the cease-fire agreement either. There was no time limit
fixed. The U.N. had only exercised their good offices to bring about
mutual agreement. It had never made the Kashmir problem its own
responsibility, and there was no provision or promise of any pressure or
sanctions to enforce the holding of the plebiscite. Thus all the
temptation was there for India if she wanted to leave things as they were
and we had to depend entirely upon the goodwill of India to honour the
spirit of the cease-fire agreement. But since we believed that the people
of Kashmir would vote for Pakistan, it meant that by holding a plebiscite
India would literally hand over Kashmir to us on the plate. Was that
logical to expect after the bitter fight India had put up for the possession
of the State?
Yet some such thing could be expected to happen if some day a spirit of
give and take arose between the two countries. But even this appeared
unlikely because give and take means giving something and taking
something—and there was nothing more for India to take. All that there
was to take, such as Junagadh and Hyderabad, she had already taken. So
all that the cease-fire appeared to mean was that we had hitched our
wagon to a hope—a hope either for some extraordinary luck on our part
or some extraordinary generosity on the part of India.
It was on these lines that some time later I tried bringing to the Prime
Minister’s notice the serious weakness of the position into which we had
placed ourselves. Had he consulted me or anyone else who was actually
engaged in fighting at the front, he would certainly have been better
advised. I had, of-course, no right to be so consulted, but having been
one of the few engaged in the struggle right from the beginning, my
knowledge of the local geography and general situation could have been
better utilised.
We all knew that cease-fire had to come—but its acceptance a month
earlier would have left Poonch in our hands as a hostage. Or after the
relief of Poonch—non-agreement to cease-fire for another month or two
would again have enabled us to counter balance the Indian advantage.
For instance, we certainly could have inflicted severe punishment upon
the Indian lines of communications from Naushehra northwards—and
we were certainly in a position to advance easily a few miles from Pandu
over the hills towards Baramula—thereby making the whole road from
Chakoti to Baramula insecure and constantly keeping the State’s electric
supply under threat.
However, now the time for such action was gone and we could not again
break the cease-fire, but the longer we waited the stronger India would
become, and so the only course left open for us was to help the people of
occupied Kashmir internally with weapons, money and propaganda so
that in due course they would be enabled to rise and fight for
themselves. And this assistance we could start immediately.
Three months later, the Prime Minister called me for an interview which
lasted two hours. He informed me that he had arranged to obtain some
weapons and that our assistance to Kashmir would be starting in six
months’ time. However, every future meeting with him was to take me
further away from him. I had nothing personal at stake in Kashmir but I
believed that with the passage of time the problem would not become
easier but more difficult. While he appeared to be under the impression
that we would gain by waiting.
Thus that period of six months was never to end a simple step like
sending help to the people of occupied Kashmir was never to be taken,
and I was ultimately to land in prison.
JAIL
In the deserted suburbs of what looked like a dead town, distant and
asleep, one cold night in March 1951, at 11 p.m., the massive doors of a
jail groaned, creaked, and opened slowly to swallow in a motor convoy
that was bringing me.
Seventeen hours had been taken by that convoy speeding across much
length and breadth of territory, which I had not been permitted to see,
so that neither the route nor the destination should be known to me or
anyone else interested in following us.
Seventeen hours ago I had been a Major General, a holder of the
Distinguished Service Order, awarded for gallantry and leadership in the
field in World War II, Chief of the General Staff of the Pakistan Army, and
in the eyes of many the mysterious ‘General Tariq’ credited with
acquiring for Pakistan much of the territory of Azad Kashmir at personal
risk that some had been there to see themselves.
That morning, while I had been sleeping peacefully, a hundred men had
surrounded my house and successfully overpowered my one unarmed
watchman!
Then Major General Hayauddin had knocked on my bedroom window
and said that he had to see me about something most urgent. I had gone
at once, without even putting on my shoes, through the study door, to
meet him. But as I had emerged, men with bayonets and sten guns had
rushed at me from three sides—the front and both flanks.
I had been rushed at before, during the war, by the Japanese in fighting
—but never by 20 to 1 and not when I was unarmed. I had had only a
split second to think and I had let them come on. I think it had been the
complete failure of this melodrama to impress me at all that had stopped
the men midstride. No bayonet or sten gun had reached my body—and
the few hands that had been laid on me had been quickly withdrawn.
A mere telephone call would have sufficed to tell me that I was to be
under arrest. But instead all troops had been alerted and these men had
apparently expected to be gunned down by some sort of a desperado.
The choreographer of this comic strip had been General Ayub Khan, the
Army Commander-in-Chief, who apparently had feared that I had about
two divisions, at my call, to support me. How and why he had nurtured
such an apprehension one cannot say. These divisions could not be in
the army, as all of these were under his own command and he was
himself in touch with all the commanders. Under me there were no
troops at all. And a private army of that magnitude, some thirty
thousand odd men, could not be hiding in my house or around it.
I had walked with the men to the police car waiting outside the gate, and
from behind a bush had come out a superintendent of police. At the gate
the Deputy Inspector General of Police, who had served with me in
Kashmir, had met me with apologies. And then, from further behind, had
reappeared Major General Hayauddin, who over the shoulders of others
had handed to me an order from the Governor General which I was
required to read, sign and return. This order had said that with effect
from receiving it, I was dismissed from service under Section 13 of the
Indian Army Act.
I had written on this paper, that the order was illegal because I was not
subject to the Indian Army Act—and that under the Army Act, to which I
was subject, the Governor General did not have the powers to dismiss an
officer. This indeed was the correct legal position. I had further added
that my arrest by the civil police, while I was in the army, was also
illegal. With these remarks I had returned the paper to him, and then
our long journey for the unknown destination had begun.
The date of the arrest had been timed to coincide with the eve of the
first general elections in the Punjab which were to take place the
following day, on 10th March. A day later nothing would have been
gained. A week earlier, much of the impact would have got lost.
It had not really been thought that there was any danger from me,
otherwise either action would have been taken at once or I would have
been put under some restraint. But such had not been the case.
The Prime Minister, already in possession of all the information, had
proceeded on his electioneering tour—and it was at Sargodha railway
station that he had after a calculated consideration issued instructions
to the Police chief and the Army Commander-in-Chief. This was well
before the first of March, and nothing had followed till the 9th.
At my house there had been a meeting on 23rd February 1951 which
had decided, after a seven-hour session, that nothing was to be done by
us. To my thinking that decision had finished the matter. The
Government knew this completely and correctly, as both the future
approver Lt. Colonel Siddique Raja and Brigadier (later Lt. General)
Habibullah Khan had provided it with all the information. I did not for a
moment expect that the Government would have nothing to say, but I
was willing to face it and take the consequences. The cause which had
prompted me demanded the acceptance of such risk.
The night before the arrest, the future would be approver, who had
already reported to the Government, had come to inform me that
according to rumours some action was about to be taken against me. To
this, according to him, I had replied that I would accept all responsibility.
And I had exactly meant what I had said. I had, however, expected that
action against me would be according to law—namely, first the
allegations and then the requirement of an explanation from me.
Thereafter, if necessary, house arrest, an enquiry, a charge sheet, and
then a court martial. If so, I had intended to hide nothing. Some part of
the cause that I had sponsored might get served, by a full exposure of
the facts. That is why I had not attempted to destroy any evidence at all.
All papers, letters and documents were left intact. And even on that last
night, in spite of having received two warnings, I still had slept
peacefully.
What I did not know was that action against me was not going to be
according to any law at all.
The arrest had been followed, for the last seventeen hours, by the
greatest propaganda blast, in the four-year life of the new State, let loose
with trumpets and fanfare at the public, with repeated broadcasts and
banner headlines in the press, to inform them of how they had been
saved from a terrible catastrophe. That by the timely unearthing of a
conspiracy to overthrow the Government by force, and by immediate
action against the plotters—the Prime Minister, Liaquat Ali Khan, had
been saved from murder; dictatorship had been nipped in the bud, and
greatest of all, Pakistan had been saved from a bloody civil war and
disintegration.
I was described as driven solely by personal ambition, without any
cause whatsoever, to have threatened the law and constitution of the
country.
The people were once again promised that a solution of the Kashmir
problem lay just round the bend, a matter of a few weeks more. The
same news bulletin also announced a rise in the pay of the armed forces.
Thanksgiving prayers were organized for the miraculous deliverance.
And, with eight charges, most of them carrying the death penalty, our
fate was as good as sealed, and the suggestion, was made in a part pf the
press that the plotters should be shot immediately—to make this an
exemplary deterrence for all times.
Thus, when at 11.15 p.m. the great massive doors creaked and closed
behind me—no one had any doubt left that personal ambitions,
conspiracies and dictatorships were wiped off the clean land of Pakistan.
But, by a strange irony of fate, unconnected with me and my fellows in
trouble, the closing of those massive doors marked not an end—an end
to further attempts—but another beginning, the starting in motion of a
relentless heavy chain that was to drag down and break each one of
those lofty expectations of that night.
Within a few months the Prime Minister was to be murdered by an
assassin’s bullet in broad daylight in a public meeting. Personal
ambitions, ever disclaimed but always present, were to sprout out like
mushrooms. Conspiracies were to abound. A government, a constitution
and a conspirator President were to be overthrown. Dictatorship was to
rule the country. Civil war and blood shed were to be flung at the land,
and half of Pakistan was to be lost irretrievably while the cause of
Kashmir was not to move even an inch forward towards a solution.
But, all this lay in the womb of the future. That night I walked onwards,
under escort, to my cell, where I was locked up, and left alone.
For three months I and the others remained virtually in solitary
confinement in different places. We were allowed no newspapers, no
letters, no interviews with relations, no consultation with lawyers, not
even a charge sheet.
My proposal before the last meeting in my house on 23rd February had
intended that action in Kashmir would need to be preceded by the
coming into existence of a government in Pakistan that would back us.
The proposed declaration for the Governor General, written in my hand,
still exists in the records of the Pindi Conspiracy case. Among the main
features of this declaration were dismissal of the old government,
formation of a civil care-taker government, date for general elections on
adult franchise, a constituent assembly for framing a constitution,
impartiality in elections to be ensured by using the neutral machinery of
the army, and an advisory military council consisting of all the generals.
But, as stated before, we had not agreed to proceed with this. The
prosecution, however, made out the case that we had agreed to go ahead
because without such agreement a conspiracy could not come into
existence. Out of all this, eight charges were prepared each carrying the
death penalty.
Then followed a secret trial inside Hyderabad jail. During the trial 285
witnesses were examined for the prosecution. The defence had no
witnesses. The prosecution proceeded under the Rawalpindi Conspiracy
Special Act, creation of a twisted mind, an Act which one of the Judges
on the Tribunal was pleased to call in Court as the most inhuman law he
had ever seen. This Act deprived us of the right of appeal. It further
made provisions of the Indian Army Act applicable to me with
retrospective effect though retrospective application of laws was in
violation of the U.N. Charter of Human Rights which had been accepted
by us.
This Act twisted the fundamentals of the evidence law also by making
police statements and diaries admissible in evidence. The F.I.R. (First
Information Report) was thus admitted without producing the man
concerned for cross examination. The result that this led to is probably
unique in the history of law and trials.
The F.I.R. consisting of several pages composed in excellent English with
phraseology, literary style and references to Latin American intrigues,
clearly betrayed the hand of an educated and well-informed foreigner.
This was alleged to have been the firsthand original report of a Pakistani
sub-inspector of Police whose undeveloped handwriting, innumerable
elementary spelling errors and erasures showed his failure even to copy
correctly what someone else had written. When my defence counsel Mr.
Suhrawardy (later Prime Minister of Pakistan) pointed this out to the
court, it clinched the matter. At first Mr. A. K. Brohi, the prosecution
council promised, month after month, that the man would be brought to
give evidence, but towards the end he stated in court that the man had
absconded and could not be traced anywhere. This was completely
contradicted a few days later when another prosecution witness Colonel
Sultan who, probably unknown to Mr. Brohi that Sultan was a brother of
the Sub-Inspector, deposed that the Sub-Inspector was still very much in
service, present in Pindi and available. Even so he was never brought to
court because he could never have been the author of that masterpiece.
While two approvers gave evidence after the grant of pardon by a
magistrate in the normal fashion—the Act had so diabolically provided
that 45 others gave evidence, with impunity, admitting that they were
members of the conspiracy. The Tribunal was barred from trying them
in spite of their self-incriminating statements.
The trial took 18 months, and the sentences awarded ranged from 14
years transportation down to 4 years rigorous imprisonment. The
proceedings of the trial ran into nearly 3,000 pages and the judgment
was another 1,000 pages or more. We were not allowed to take copies or
notes, nor were we allowed to know whether there was truth in the
statement that one of the Judges had written a dissenting judgement.
The whole of the record still remains unreleased.
At the end of May 1954, the Governor General Mr. Ghulam Mohammad
dismissed the Cabinet and dissolved the Assembly. With regard to the
dismissed Assembly the Sind Chief Court declared the dissolution
invalid. From this difficulty the Governor-General was partially saved by
the Federal Court, but in the process of all this, questions had arisen
with regard to the validity of some of the laws previously passed. It,
thus, came about that in April 1955, the Lahore High Court released us
on a habeas corpus petition.
The Government re-arrested us within a few hours but again three
weeks later the Bench under Justice M.R. Kayani ordered our release on
bail. The case, however, was not yet finished and we therefore instituted
proceedings questioning validity of the new Government itself, of which
General Ayub Khan was also a member as Defence Minister. Thereafter, I
met President Iskandar Mirza and he informed me that the whole
Cabinet was agreeable to end the matter—but that General Ayub Khan
alone insisted on our going back to jail. And Ayub Khan’s main reason
apparently was, that he feared I would shoot him if I came out. I met him
in the room of the Wali of Swat and assured him that I had no intention
of shooting him!
When the new Constituent Assembly met in October 1955, the
Government met with considerable opposition when it tried to validate
the Pindi Conspiracy Special Act. The validation was ultimately agreed to
but only on the condition that none of the accused would be returned to
prison. According to Mr. Keith Callard, in his book ‘Pakistan’, (1957) ‘One
reason for the popularity of the conspirators was a widespread belief
that the primary aim of the plot was the military conquest of Kashmir’.
He goes on to say, ‘conclusive evidence for this theory has not been
made public.'
Much was said then, and has been said since then, that many people
would have been killed and so forth if we had gone into action then. This
is entirely untrue. The prosecution's own witnesses in the conspiracy
case trial, the approvers, testified in answer to specific court questions
that no one was going to be shot, and that indeed no one was going to be
even arrested. To the amazement of the Tribunal President Justice Sir
Abdul Rehman, the replies he had got were that I had ordered that guns
were to be kept unloaded—and that no one was worthy of being
arrested. It was after this that the court had dropped the murder
charges against us.
As a by-product of the case, the cross examination of the prosecution
witnesses by Mr. Suhrawardy brought on record the most complete and
authentic collection of material about the Kashmir struggle 1947/48, as
also about the admirable part played therein by most of the military
accused in the case. The statement of prosecution witness Brigadier Gul
Mawaz referring to the theft of all the rations en route, and his seeing me
sleeping on the ground in my great coat, offering him the last cup of tea,
had brought tears to the eyes of every one present in the court and there
had been a most embarrassing lull in the proceedings. Two Major
Generals, prosecution witnesses, had been stripped of their pretentions
thoroughly, and the statement of one denuded of all relevancy, left with
the residue of naked jealousy, had turned the Tribunal President’s face
red with anger with the witness concerned. It had further become
established that I had had no connection whatsoever, direct or even
remotely indirect, with any foreign power or individual. Equally, within
the country itself there had neither been sought nor received any money
by us. The temper and attitude of the prosecution witnesses had
gradually gone on changing in spite of all the briefings to the contrary—
so much so that one witness a Sub Inspector of Police, turning hostile in
court, had stood up and demanded loudly that he should be recorded as
having said that ‘The Government consisted of thieves’. Inevitably also,
theft, corruption and incompetence of the Government had come on
record with reference to specific instances.
It was probably because of these that according to the late Mr. Manzoor
Qadir (assisting Mr. Suhrawardy, later Ayub Khan’s Foreign Minister and
Chief Justice at Lahore) Mr. A.K. Brohi had said to him that had the trial
been held in open court the public would have stoned the prosecution. I
never verified this with Mr. Brohi. But there is this much to be said that
when after our release on bail the Government tried to put us back in
prison. Mr. Brohi offered to defend me. I was both surprised and touched
by the offer.
I was curious about why he had offered to do so when up to the last
moment he had demanded the death penalty for me. He had only said
that he had not known me before. I did not doubt the sincerity of his
offer. I remembered then also another incident when immediately after
our conviction Mr. A.K. Brohi had specially asked us to let him arrange a
dinner for all of us in jail. I had been willing—but the others had
rejected the invitation—taking it as an affront. To say the least, it was
odd for a chief prosecution counsel to want to stand a dinner for the
criminals just convicted by his efforts. The offer of defending us was at
least a silent acknowledgement that the accused had had something
worthy in them.
From the Judges’ side too, the attitude had subtly changed with time.
Eight weeks after the opening of the trial, when I had been called into
the Judges’ Chamber for something, I had been surprised when all three
of them had stood up, given me a seat, coffee and cigarettes. Later, one of
them had guided me to take up law. And the son of the Tribunal’s
President had told me that his father before dying had sent for and read
a certain book because he had said that I had been reading it, and he had
wanted to know why?
All this is a curious sort of connection between the accused charged with
the gravest of offences, the tribunal consisting of the most experienced
judges, and the chief prosecution counsel who had painstakingly built
the case and obtained conviction. Perhaps unrecognised by any of us,
there had been a linking thread, greater than ourselves, the liberation of
Kashmir and the strengthening of Pakistan.

HOW TO LIBERATE KASHMIR NOW?

The right of the Kashmiris to settle their own future by a plebiscite is
already accepted by the U.N. and the world. There is need for the
occupied Kashmir people to assert their own demand internally. They
are already doing so. But their efforts have to be morally and materially
supported from outside.
There is no shortage of passionate sympathisers in all comers of the
world including the large number of Kashmiri nationals in England, the
Middle East and Africa. Kashmiris can mobilise this for themselves. Such
help can reach inside through numerous channels—and in due course,
as in other similar cases, their right and the justice of their cause is
bound to prevail.
The long stalemate of the past 25 years has been caused to a great
extent by the fear of many Pakistanis that the plebiscite cannot be
brought about without war and that in such war we shall be the losers.
Both these apprehensions are entirely unjustified. Firstly, there need not
be a war because we need not commit aggression or even threaten to do
so. The affairs of 1965 and 1971 were cases of extreme lack of political
and strategic understanding of what was required to be done, as well as
of utter incompetence at the highest level. Secondly, if India should,
without reason, commit aggression there is no justification in assuming
that the whole world will stand by and do nothing to help us. Nor indeed
are we as weak as we may appear to be. On the contrary, an examination
of our comparative overall potentialities will clearly show that it is India
that will stand to lose more than we do.
A proper understanding of what needs to be done, whether in war or
peace, is possible only with reference to a particular time and the
general situation then existing.
At one time as in 1947-48 armed help and military intervention by
Pakistan, on behalf of Kashmir, were essential. Later, when the door for
such assistance was closed by the cease-fire line, and the promised
plebiscite was evaded by India the need arose for political arousing of
the people in support of their accepted demand. At this stage moral and
material aid from Pakistan was needed. This, if undertaken in the early
fifties, could have gone across the cease-fire line secretly in small
quantities and been maintained over a long period. But no freedom
movement had been aroused and supported. Therefore to get the UN to
intervene once again, an Indo-Pakistan threat to peace became the right
course to adopt.
Then with the passage of a long time, almost 25 years, a stage has come
that the freedom movement, now in the hands of a new generation, is
firmly established. It is capable now of directing itself into such forms as
it finds desirable and practicable with the examples and methods used
by freedom movements, in many other countries, before it to benefit
from. But its most appealing course that will get it every form of support
will be when it is not connected with the idea of military intervention by
Pakistan. In this way its growth will certainly be more regular and more
lasting. No freedom movement can expect to have no repression by the
existing authorities but the Kashmiris are in the unique position that
their goal is already accepted by the U.N. and the whole world.
Further, the resources of the Muslim world are today vastly greater than
they were a few years ago—and they are within reach of the Kashmir
freedom movement. However, they have to be sought by Kashmiri
nationals themselves. The Kashmiris outside the occupied territory are
free to get these and to use these both outside and inside the occupied
territory until the situation is brought to a stage when India is made to
fulfil its promise or the world is made to intervene.
Meanwhile to return to the past, the long shadow of Kashmir, after the
cease-fire, was to fall heavily not only over many individuals but over the
whole country as well. It has not been easy for many to see how it has
affected and distorted our policies and actions in matters not apparently
connected with it.
Some months after the cease-fire I wrote a paper under the title of ‘What
Next in Kashmir’. The paper is in the Pindi Conspiracy Case documents.
The purpose of this paper was to show that since in the cease-fire
agreement nothing existed to compel India to hold a plebiscite, she
would in fact not do so, and meanwhile delay and time would favour
India, not us. The reason that was being advanced in the higher circles
was that we needed time to increase our military strength before we
could settle the problem of Kashmir. But it was clear to the simplest of
minds that in the same time India could strengthen herself may times
more. Basically what was wrong with this philosophy was the idea that
anything done in Kashmir would inevitably bring war, and that our
strength was to be measured simply by material and numerical
comparisons alone, without taking into account the numerous other
factors which existed then, as they always do in such situations. I sent
the paper to the Prime Minister and, ultimately, I was sent for and had a
two-hour discussion with the Prime Minister at Pindi. I came back
feeling that he had understood and appreciated the point.
However, many months passed and nothing happened. Meanwhile with
regard to improving our military potential no steps were taken in the
only direction that was immediately open to us, namely, the raising of
something like a People’s militia, giving military training to the youth
and the development of indigenous weapons. For weapons, earlier, I had
been able to persuade the Prime Minister to allocate a grant of rupees
ten lacs in order to encourage the production of small arms in local
workshops in the cities. To my pleasant surprise, within two weeks only,
people had brought forth local made sten guns and even 303 cartridges.
The initial tests, in the weapons development branch, through which I
had put these, had shown unquestionable prospects of successful
production. But six weeks later, in my absence, this whole scheme had
been stopped, apparently upon the advice of Qurban Ali Khan, I.G. Police,
on the plea that such local production would create a dangerous law and
order situation for Pakistan.
About a year later, I wrote another paper under the title of ‘Keep the Pot
Boiling in Abdullah’s Kashmir’ (This too is in the Conspiracy Case
records). In this I suggested that as we could no longer violate the cease-
fire in the presence of UN observers, the right and necessary course of
action for us was to help the people of occupied Kashmir to strengthen
and accelerate their own internal freedom movement against the Indian
occupation. On this too, no action was taken and those in authority
seemed satisfied with merely repeating their requests to the U.N. in the
matter.
But again it was clear to any thinking person that the U.N. would not be
able to do anything if the situation remained as it was. In the cease-fire
agreement, U.N. had not promised any action if India did not hold a
plebiscite. And apart from that there was in fact nothing there for the
U.N. to do. India was quite happy to leave things as they were as she had
got all she wanted. Pakistan was not threatening India in any way—and
by not helping the internal freedom movement in Kashmir there was no
threat to peace anywhere. Hence there was no justification for the U.N.
to interfere.
My views on these matters were by now quite well known. There had
been no reason to hide them.
And the proper thing for me to do was to leave the army. I did in fact
twice express such a desire but was told I would be a traitor if I did so in
the situation as it then was. However, what actually discouraged me
from resigning was that outside the army there would be even less
possible to do for the cause of Kashmir. The Quaid-e-Azam had already
died. The Prime Minister, Liaquat Ali Khan, had been keen and
sympathetic all along but the advisers around him were the advocates of
caution and delay. There was no true parliament, or shadow opposition
government, to which I could take the problem. In the absence of a
constitution, there were no general elections in sight either, where, as in
democratic countries, people are able to bring up such differences of
opinion upon public platforms.
In December 1950, I was promoted Major General and also appointed
Chief of the General Staff at G.H.Q. Pindi. General Ayub Khan was then
Deputy Commander-in-Chief and was about to take over as Commander-
in-Chief in a few weeks’ time. I mentioned to him frankly that neither my
promotion, nor appointment as Chief of the General Staff, were proper in
view of my known differences of opinion, with the Government, on
Kashmir. He said that he himself had asked for me and I should accept
the appointment. There appeared to be nothing that I could do though I
was convinced upon two points—one, that every month’s delay meant a
further nail hammered into the coffin of Kashmir—and two, that neither
General Ayub Khan nor the then Government intended to do anything to
prevent it.
What was going on at this time was that the Western Powers needed a
circle of air bases to cover the interior of the Soviet Union and China. In
the West, such bases could be in U.K. or Western Europe. In the Far East
Japan, Formosa and the Philippines could do. But one more area in the
middle had not yet been found. Turkey and Iran, having an exposed
border with Russia, would not be secure enough. Afghanistan was
probably neither willing nor safe. Egypt (at that time under King
Farook) was too far. That left only the Indo-Pakistan sub-continent
where both range and security were possible. India had refused to be
involved in the East-West Power tussle. And in Pakistan, the public in
general was not expecting any commitments with foreign powers.
Here, the ground for such commitments had to be prepared. I was not a
party to these deliberations but the discussions did manage to spread
around to the lower levels as well. It was from Brigadier Habibullah
(later Lt. General) that I heard the expression that ‘Pakistan was like a
beautiful woman who should sell herself to the highest bidder’. And
ultimately, our relationship with the U.S. was not very far removed from
some such description. The more acceptable reason that gradually
evolved was that we needed strength to liberate Kashmir, and for our
defence against India. But twelve years of borrowings, grants,
accumulations and hoardings of arms and ammunition did not enable
Ayub Khan, in 1965, to fight beyond seventeen days.
A few months after my release from jail, in 1956, I wrote a 30-page
pamphlet called “How to solve the Kashmir problem”. 5,000 copies of
this were printed. This became the subject of a heated debate in the
Indian Parliament and received headlines in some of the Indian Press.
The gist of this was that mere repetition of appeals to the U.N. and the
Security Council could not possibly bring the U.N into the question as, in
fact, there existed no security problem. We would have to help the
people of occupied Kashmir to rise for their own freedom—and if in so
helping them, the Indian Government accused Pakistan of interference
so much the better as this would tend to threaten the existing
international peace and only then would there be reason for the U.N.
again to take notice of the problem. If the worst happened and India
committed aggression against Pakistan, the World, would be forced to
intervene against her. In any case the entire Indian Army would not be
enough to subdue half of West Pakistan alone.
President Iskandar Mirza found himself interested and asked what we
would need for such internal action. He was surprised when I explained
that only 500 men at a time inside Kashmir would be enough. The
terrain inside Kashmir was ideally suited for guerrilla and sabotage
action—with one major road a few hundred miles long, bending every
few furlongs passing through wooded hills and valleys over innumerable
bridges and culverts. This road, and the single electric supply line, with
telephone and telegraph lines running alongside, could not possibly be
protected all the time everywhere. Along this lifeline also lay exposed
most of the road and river transport which carried the entire Kashmir
trade.
My emphasis was on the use of lesser and lesser numbers so that a pair
of men would have at least a clear mile to themselves to operate in.
Thus, they would be almost impossible to detect and they would have no
difficulty in going across the cease-fire line which was open in so many
places to such an extent that unauthorized traffic of men and animals
was constantly going on across it regularly.
They would have to be preferably locals or at least in local clothes,
armed only with some dynamite for blowing up bridges, and pliers for
wire cutting. For their own protection each could have a knife or a small
local made pistol. They would not need to fight against troops or police.
Their target would be unguarded bridges, isolated wires and
unprotected transport.
There would have to be a second batch of 500 to keep replacing these—
and a third batch of 500 under training. Their technique would have to
include patience, prolonged activity, persistence and secrecy. They
would need 12 to 18 months operating in an unspectacular manner and
only then would the occupied Kashmir people themselves feel truly
encouraged to rise en masse. The whole project would cost about rupees
60 lacs (six million).
When the President asked where the money could come from, I referred
him to the Chairman P.I.D.C. The latter immediately confirmed on the
telephone that some people were willing to finance the scheme. For the
actual conduct of the project I suggested that it should be under the
Army.
The President had one other question to ask me and that was how
Lahore was to be defended against the Indian armour in case India
decided upon aggression. I explained to him that Lahore being in the
middle of an entirely flat country the proper defence was to have around
the town a large and elaborate system of very deep anti-tank trenches.
That for the price of one tank regiment of about 54 tanks, we could buy
5 regiments of anti-tank guns each regiment with about 60 to 65 guns.
These plus a few anti-aircraft guns were what Lahore should have.
Further, that inside this area we should have no more than a brigade of
regulars assisted by a large civilian militia raised by the town itself. That
whatever armour or other forces our army could spare would be more
wisely deployed, well away from Lahore, as a mobile striking force.
The next time I met the President three months later, he told me that he
had consulted the famous German Tank Corps General Guderian and he
too had advised that the answer for Lahore was ditches and anti-tank
guns. So the President said that having satisfied himself about the
security of Lahore he had advised General Ayub Khan to proceed with
that scheme for occupied Kashmir. Ayub Khan had, however, asked for
time to proceed to Italy to procure weapons for the purpose. What
weapons he wanted to procure from Italy I do not know. Nor do I know
whether the task was actually ever begun. It did, however, happen that
in those very days some 181 small explosions took place in occupied
Kashmir and, connecting these with my pamphlet, India promptly
accused me personally of conducting these activities.
Only once, at a certain reception, the new Prime Minister, Malik Feroze
Khan Noon, in an aside, whispered in my ear, ‘Akbar you will be pleased
to know that we have started it’. Not knowing of anything else about
which he would want to whisper in my ear, I hopefully imagined that he
was referring to the subject of action in Kashmir. He further went on to
say that he had deputed, for the task, Mian Anwar Ali D.I.G., C.I.D. I have
often wondered since then what Malik Sahib had really meant. If it really
was Kashmir that he had referred to and if it was Anwar Ali that he had
chosen for the task, then it all goes to show how extremely little the task
had been understood.
Because of the unsolved problem of Kashmir we have been forced to
spend the major portion of our national earnings on defence
requirements. But quite apart from military expenditure, I thought that
in 1948 and 1949 we spent about 12 crores per annum on the deficit
budget of the Azad Government and on allowances to all sorts of others
in the tribal areas and elsewhere in order to keep them in readiness for
supporting us in Kashmir. If this expenditure has remained still at the
figure of 12 crores yearly then by now we must have spent something in
the neighbourhood of 300 crores. As against this, it is worth
remembering that at the cost of less than one crore on an internal
uprising in occupied Kashmir, the problem could have, been finished
many many years ago.
Further, at the cost of about 10 crores, primary schools could have been
provided for the whole of West Pakistan. And added to this, perhaps at
the cost of only 5 crores or so, a national volunteer effort, by teachers
and some 50,000 students working during a portion of their vacations,
could by now have spread adult literacy to all corners of Pakistan.
Another crore or so might have sufficed for the development of
reasonably dependable indigenous small arms—ranging from pistols,
rifles, shotguns and stens to-hand bombs—and why not even larger
guns, if they could be produced here in this very country in the days of
Babar (the first Mughal Emperor) four centuries ago.
The establishment of basic steel and machine industry need hardly be
mentioned. But if the balance of the 300 crores was not to be spent on
heavy industry, it would have sufficed to give our young men proper
military training for six months, with food, clothes and pay included, to a
number which by now would have totalled 5 million. In case one cannot
visualize what 5 million looks like, it means that if they stood shoulder
to shoulder they would extend for 1400 miles, in other words, in
Pakistan, all the way up from the sea to Lahore, through Kashmir and up
to Gilgit.
Need one wonder what would have been more useful to Pakistan today
—5 million trained men, even if only armed with crude indigenous
weapons, or the golden beggar’s bowl that we have constantly to keep
holding before others.
By not taking just the one right step for the liberation of Kashmir, our
leaders let themselves be dominated by fear. Fear made them sell our
precious freedom for money, comforts and weapons. It led to
borrowings beyond our capacity ever to pay back. It led to the rise of
ruthless industrial exploiters in the country. It led to the closure of trade
and normal goings and comings between Pakistan and India, to the loss
of the ordinary people on both sides. It brought foreign agents and
interference into the entire fabric of our national life. Every decision,
every change of government, every political, economic or social issue in
the country became a ground for foreign intrigue and manipulations.
To pacify the doubts of the public occasionally, every leader that came
proclaimed that our borrowings, our alliances and our heavy military
expenditure were meant for the imminent liberation of Kashmir and for
defence against India. All this was said repeatedly in spite of the clear
and publicly stated stipulations of the foreign, powers that these arms
and alliances would not be allowed for use against India.
All this started from an initial failure to face our responsibility fully, with
courage, with regard to Kashmir. No people can be free who do not face
up squarely to the dangers that are inherent in being free. From the very
start fear dominated the minds of our leaders.
The Quaid-e-Azam’s own example was forgotten. On the night of 27th
October 1947, less than three months after the achievement of his life’s
task, he had the courage to order an attack on Jammu even if it meant
risking the very existence of Pakistan. He had the genius to see the one
vital key point and he alone had the courage of the man that can lead a
free nation. After him, came doubt and apprehensions. The death of
Liaquat Ali Khan closed even the chapter of unity.
Thereafter, wrong decisions, flowed wholly or partly from real or
imagined fear. It was the fear of India that led to our subservience to
foreign masters. It was the fear of our own people that initially
prevented us from developing and making our own indigenous weapons
and training our own young men for war. Perhaps we feared even adult
literacy. It was the fear of democratic change and the loss of power that
led to not making a constitution at all. It was because of fear that during
the 1947-48 Kashmir war not even a single one of our leaders entered
Kashmir to visit the troops or to see the situation at the front. On the
opposite side Nehru, Abdullah, as well as their Ministers and Generals
were regularly visiting the front. On our side no one crossed the border.
Not even at night. Not even in the dark. Not a single Minister, not a single
Secretary, nor even the Prime Minister's most trusted adviser came to
have a look.
After the coming of the Chinese pressure upon India’s border, India gave
up its neutrality and embarked openly upon the path of militarisation,
while on our side Ayub Khan further complicated the situation in
Pakistan by conferring upon us the leadership of General Yahya Khan
about whose role in our history no elaboration is needed. ‘He drowned
his sorrows in a shallow cup—and sold his reputation for a song’. Ayub
and Yahya were at least ‘creative’ in the military field! If Ayub could give
Pakistan the world’s first Field Marshal without ever being in the field,
Yahya could top it by giving India the world’s second one! In this sub-
continent at least, there were to be no Ludendorffs throwing a Field
Marshal’s baton at the feet of a Hitler because it had not been won on
the battlefield.
To come again to the present, as stated at the beginning of this chapter
Kashmiris have to proceed with their own freedom movement, but the
question that bothers many Pakistanis is whether this will not bring war
to us and whether we can face such a war. The answer is that we can
avoid committing aggression but, like everybody else in the world, we
cannot avoid war. This is not because of Kashmir but because of our very
existence. Whether we walk upright, as man must, or we act as juveniles
seeking shelter under the skirts of one great power or another war will
overtake us anyhow.
General Fuller, considered the most eminent writer of this century on
war says, ‘whether war is a necessary factor in the evolution of mankind
may be disputed, but a fact which cannot be questioned is that, from the
earliest records of man to the present age, war has been his dominant
preoccupation. There has never been a period in human history
altogether free from war, and seldom one of more than a generation
which has not witnessed a major conflict: great wars flow and ebb
almost as regularly as the tides.
Today we live in a state of ‘wardom’—a condition in which war
dominates all other human activities. We must, therefore, understand
war if we are to be able to regulate our other affairs.
Looking back at the last three conflicts that we have had since 1947, if
we are satisfied with their conduct then there is nothing further to be
learnt. But if we are not so satisfied we cannot fail to see that they did
not achieve the objects that they were meant for. Opportunities were
lost where the right action could have taken us nearer to the goal.
Objectives for military actions were selected which even if reached could
not have resulted in any benefit. Military expenditure was not only out
of all proportion to our income but also to the requirements of the task.
Vast sectors of national strength were neither mobilised nor used, and
half the country was lost, with Kashmir still in bondage. There is still no
sign of stability or feeling of security. The reason for all these is not to be
found in the fact of war itself but in the way it has been conducted in
Pakistan and in the basic ignorance of the art of war.
The art of war certainly does not consist in entering into an arms race
with one’s neighbours—and in seeking to have equality or superiority in
weapons, industry and manpower. If that were so, there would be either
no end to the process or war would be reduced to a comparison of
ledgers on the two sides and thereafter one would either score a victory
or accept defeat. But this is not so. Very often small nations have had to
face up to vastly superior forces because they had to.
A distinction has to be made between preparedness for war and the
conduct of war. Preparedness has to bear direct relation to one’s budget
which often means having a smaller compact well-armed force and a
larger trained reserve, plans for the utilisation of the entire nation's
support in all manner of ways, and achieving expertise in any special
types of military action that a particular nation might have the means
for at its disposal, such as, in our case, the large numbers of armed
tribesmen who in their own areas are expert generally for defence and,
outside, against India are excellent long range raiders.
The conduct of war, on the other hand, consists of taking up the situation
as it is and taking the best possible course to deal with it. One learns to
do this only after understanding war and a comprehensive study of
history.
Wars may be considered generally as falling in two categories; those
with limited and those with unlimited political aims—and so far as
Pakistan is concerned, or indeed most other nations too, it is the first
category, with limited aims, that concerns us.
Indeed with the coming into existence of nuclear power war seems to
have been almost entirely pushed into the first category. The Hydrogen
bomb of 1954 had a thousand times greater explosive force than the
first atomic bomb of 1945 and therefore the Hydrogen bomb has done
more than anything else to make plain the nonsense of total war.
Marshal of the RAF Sir John Slessor speaking on strategic bombing
declared his belief that ‘total war as we have known in the past 40 years
is a thing of the past'. Marshal of the RAF Lord Tedder emphasised the
same point by saying, ‘A contest using the atomic weapon would be no
duel, but rather mutual suicide’.
Since those statements of 1954-55 much more has been established
about the intractability of the effects of using nuclear weapons. In the
late sixties when the Russians had completed their preparations for
nuclear war against China, they had claimed that Russia would destroy
China in two weeks, by paralysing the main centres of Chinese
resistance and control, preceded by destruction of the Chinese nuclear
capability. The Chinese considered the likelihood of nuclear war as
correct and began preparation for their defence. The rest of the world
did not at first seem concerned about such a conflict between the two
giants. But soon, by 1969, American scientists were to discover from the
study of prevailing winds that in the event of such a conflict more than
50 % of the nuclear fall-out would drop on the United States—a
devastating prospect. Thus, as in the case of gas and bacteriological
warfare for which both sides had been ready all the time in World War II
but neither side had resorted to it, so it was now clear that nuclear war
had also gone into the realm of the uncontrollable.
Meanwhile the Chinese defence policy and preparations are of relevant
interest to us. Chairman Mao ordered the preparation of underground
shelters and by 1971 these were complete. An elaborate honeycomb
system under which each small region is made self-sufficient in supply
and defence has been prepared.
The Order said ‘make full preparations—a people’s war inevitably meets
with many difficulties but it ultimately triumphs. Guerilla forces can
defeat regular armies, we will let them come in deep because it is only
after letting the enemy in that the people can take part in the war in
various ways. We will let them become bogged down and then destroy
them one by one’.
The manuals of the Chinese Army and of the Civil defence forces (the
whole Chinese public) backed those words by stressing close combat—
the bayonet, the knife, and hand grenade, the axe, the pick. The people’s
army is trained constantly in night fighting, in guerilla tactics, in
mountain, jungle and forest combat. It is accustomed to walking to the
battle site and living off the countryside.
According to Harrison Salisbury writing on a likely Soviet-Chinese war,
the Chinese have been trained to seek shelter in hills, caves and dugouts
until the enemy actually appears within 200 meters. Then they will give
combat at a range at which neither nuclear weapons, supersonic
aircraft, nor high-speed armoured vehicles are of value.
Since the advent of the Hydrogen bomb and subsequent development of
nuclear weapons, a number of non-nuclear conflicts have already
occurred all over the world, confirming the forecast of military thinkers,
including Sir Basil Liddell-Hart, that the development of nuclear
weapons would lead to the use of more guerilla type of warfare. A
combination of conventional methods, with guerilla tactics and
subversion has been used with increasing success in South East-Asia,
Algeria, Cyprus and Cuba, etc. Nuclear deterrence has opened the door
for greater variety, subtlety and originality in the waging of war by non-
nuclear methods and consequently for greater scope for the use of
intelligent strategy.
Though the means of attack and defence have changed out of all
recognition, the forms of attack and defence remain constant. War is
more complex, there are more pieces to play with, but the game is still
played on the same old board, for in spite of aircraft, decision is still
gained on the surface of the earth.
Man is still in command of the game. Man's intelligence and genius,
therefore, are still a supreme factor.
Harold Lamb, writing about the life of the great Carthaginian General,
Hannibal (200 B.C.) says, ‘There is a warning to the modern world as
well, in Hannibal’s life. It is that warfare need not be a vast conflict of
technological skills and accumulation of weapons of destruction.
Regardless of its mechanisms, war remains an equation of human beings
and their minds. It has never ceased to be an art, in which a supreme
artist may appear out of a pass of the Alps to prevail over money—and
man and weapon power. No amount of stock piling of things can offset a
superiority in minds”.
Genius cannot be produced to order, but a superiority in minds can be
acquired by a deeper study and understanding of war, so that if war
cannot be prevented, defeat can almost certainly be avoided—and, the
opportunity can be turned to our advantage because India’s apparent
strength is in fact much reduced by her many weaknesses inside.
For us such a war, after aggression by India, can be not merely the
contending of armies but the struggle of an entire people—where grand
strategy, or the utilization of all means towards the end, will
predominate—and where such a concentration of all our means will be
possible. Because, for us, on account of the presence of basic unity, racial
homogeneity and oneness of faith, if we are militarily pressed further
and further back towards the west, it will be like the pressing of a spring
which will become stronger and ultimately recoil with greater force.
In the remotest of our villages, the humblest of our people, possess a
self-confidence, and ready willingness to march forward into India—a
spirit the equivalent of which cannot be found on the other side. It takes
many generations to create such a spirit. In addition, our Frontier
tribesmen, no less than 300,000 armed men who have for centuries
found India an attractive hunting ground, can still be unleashed against
the enemy borders.
In India, in the absence of homogeneity, a penetration in any direction
can result in separation of differing units geographically as well as
morally because there is no basic unity among the Shudras, Brahmins,
Sikhs, Hindus and Muslims who will follow their own different interests.
At present, and for a long time to come, India is in the same position as
she was centuries ago, exposed to disintegration in emergencies. India
does not, and cannot, resemble other large countries like China, and the
USA where nationhood exists. The Indian masses are ridden by the caste
system, superstition, religious intolerance, racial animosities, poverty,
malnutrition, physical debility—and the habit of submission and
servility. The fear of the past still haunts them, because many terrible
invasions have penetrated through her from this side, and we have ruled
them for eight centuries—matters which cannot be wiped off the
memory of the masses overnight.
With regard to the myth of Indian superiority in weapons, we have only
to look at the case of Vietnam to see how much superiority is really
needed against a determined people. In area and population the North
and South were about equal (both less than our Punjab) —but with
regard to material resources, whatever the North had including help
from communist powers, the South, with U.S. support, was
overwhelmingly superior particularly in Air power. And yet in the end
the North has completely overrun the south.
U.S. Air strength used in Vietnam has been of fantastic proportions—
compared to which the Indian Airforce (1050 combat Aircraft in 1972)
is like a drop in the ocean. Against practically no counter air action the
US Airforce in Vietnam had by May 1972, dropped 3 times more bombs
than they had on Japan and Germany together in World War II, causing
ten million bomb craters. Half the pine forests, and more than half the
mangrove forests were destroyed. U.S. air strikes by B.52
stratofortresses, invisible at 30,000 ft. dropping vast patterns of 500
pounders falling faster than sound, against which the North did not even
have a warning system, were called ‘Whispering death’ by them. Even
with all this US super Air power, dropping every two weeks more bombs
on the North than were dropped on Britain in the whole of World War II
did not succeed in stopping the offensive of the North who kept on
advancing in the intervals between air strikes and fighting at close
quarters where superior weapons were ineffective.
The case of North Vietnam is worth fixing permanently in the mind. The
difference between the two sides lay in the national spirit and the
tactics.
North Vietnam by 1972 was already left with virtually no factories, no
industry, technology and even food. Military transportation was reduced
to the use of peasants as porters and the use of bicycles. Almost nothing
further was left there to be blown up. And 4000 to 5000 tons of bombs
per day continued to be dropped on them. Against this onslaught the
North Vietnamese became an all-time virtuoso of entrenchment. The
average soldier became able to dig, in average soil, 20 feet deep inside of
one hour. It thus took 73 tons, or almost 300 bombs (500 pound each) to
kill one man.
The human spirit is almost indomitable when it is put to the task. And
the human mind is almost incalculable in its reach, initiative and
resourcefulness. That is why very often the smaller side succeeds in
mustering into service a large number of counter-balancing factors.
Slaughter, devastation and bombardments of obliteration, as resorted to
by so many generals, show up to be as clumsy as they are generally
unremunerative. ‘Generalship demands audacity and imagination and
not merely weight of metal and superiority of numbers’. (Fuller).
Napoleon about whom more than 250,000 books have been written
said, ‘The art of war consists in bringing to bear with an inferior army a
superiority of force at the point at which one attacks or is attacked’.
In his 23 odd years of career in which he had fought no less than sixty
battles, all of which have become classics, Napoleon never once had an
overall equality in material and man power with his opponents.
With coalition after coalition raised against him by the British because
‘Neither George III nor his government wanted peace’ (Vincent Cronin),
the wars that were thrust upon Napoleon resulted in ten years of almost
unbroken victory for him on the field of battle.
As a strategist he has never been excelled. As a tactician, it is said of him
that he possessed a wonderful eye; he considered the fate of a battle to
depend on a single moment, a single thought when the least manoeuver
is decisive and gives victory, like the one drop of water which makes the
vessel run over. ‘The topography of a country seemed to be modelled in
relief in his head and he seemed to extract men, horses and guns from
the very bowels of the earth’ (Caulaincourt).
Napoleon’s warfare was limitless in variation and flexibility—and there
was always the ‘ever present’, continuous process of a careful balancing
of means and results (economy of force)—the tailoring of all available
military and political power to the requirements of the politico military
aim; the breaking of the enemy’s will to resist.
Master of concealment of his strength and intentions, he had the infinite
capacity of genius for taking pains for exact calculations, thorough
planning, thinking months in advance, basing his calculations on the
worst possible situation, and always having an alternative plan.
He considered the loss of time irreparable, and saved hours and days by
careful selection of routes and objectives, he relied on speed to arrive
suddenly upon a dazed enemy—thus, this feature becoming one that
most unsettled the majority of his opponents.
His capacity for work was phenomenal. He took not only the initiative in
thought but also attended personally to the detail of every business.
According to Octave Aubry, ‘Napoleon possessed the greatest
personality of all time, superior to all other men of action by virtue of
the range and clarity of his intelligence, his speed of decision, his
unswerving determination, his acute sense of reality allied to the
imagination, on which great minds thrive’. ‘He carried with him into
battle cool and impassible, courage; never was a mind so deeply
meditative, more fertile in rapid and sudden illumination’. (General Foy).
The weight of arms and forces against him were overwhelming,
consisting of the resources of the British Empire, the command of all the
seas, mobilization of all the monarchies in Europe in their struggle to
remain in power and the insatiable hunger of the merchants of London
to have monopoly of the entire European market.
The struggle against France was to the death; a struggle in which the
generalship of Napoleon was pitted against coalition after coalition. In
this, his first asset was unity of command, his second was his insistence
upon glory, and not terror, as the driving force of war which suited the
spirit of France, and his third was his genius as a general.
‘He so completely uprooted the last vestiges of the medieval conception
of commonwealth that ever since his day, the nations have groped after
his dream of unification’. (Fuller).
‘He left great and lasting testimonies to his genius in the codes of laws
and national identities which survive to this day’. ‘When an achievement
lasts so long, and bears such fruit, it provides its own justification’.
(Octave Aubry). ‘Napoleon will always be regarded as a soldier of genius
and the creator of modern Europe'. (David Chandler).
Thus it would be no exaggeration to say that the mind itself is one of the
supreme weapons of war. The mind of a people is seen in what it stands
for. The mind of a commander manifests itself in a variety of qualities
that lead to extraordinary results. And in such cases victories are
achieved by intelligible means that can be studied and understood.
Khalid-bin-Walid, in the spring of A.D. 636, had a total strength of 24,000
only when Heracleous sent against him a new army of more than 50,000
with superior equipment and training. Khalid became neither
despondent that he had no chance, nor boastful that he would defend
every inch of the sacred land. He was in fact a commander in the true
sense, a master of tactics. For the lack of his numbers he wanted to make
up with the superiority of more favourable ground. Thus, he hesitated
not a moment and fell back immediately, surrendering Damascus, but
drawing the enemy after him until he concentrated his own forces South
East of the Yarmouk Valley where ultimately he succeeded in cutting the
enemy’s communications. The result was not a mere defeat but total
annihilation of the enemy. History has recorded the battle as decisive.
It was with only 7000 men (agreed by all historians) that Tariq bin Ziyad
landed on the coast of Spain at Gibraltar in A.D. 711. His strength in the
field was insignificant. And what was the potential behind him?
Willingness of the North African Governor Musa, yes. But sanction of the
Caliph at Damascus, according to some Western writers, had been given
grudgingly and for only limited forces to be risked across the seas. But
whatever the potential, and whether his burning of the boats is only a
legend or not, the fact is that he did not even wait for Musa and the main
body to arrive. Speed may have appeared to him the dominating factor
in the situation. He hesitated only long enough to fortify the Rock as his
base and proceeded westwards along the coast to the valley of the wadi
Bekka, (Salado) to meet King Roderic.
En route, no one claims that Tariq could have received more than a
further 5,000 as reinforcements. Therefore his strength, at maximum,
could have been only 12,000. Against him, Roderic’s force is said to have
been 100,000. Even allowing that some of Roderic’s feudal chiefs,
because of previous grievances left the field, the Royal army itself, better
equipped and disciplined, was still probably five times more than that of
Tariq’s. The result, according to both Muslim and western historians,
was the total routing of Roderic’s army on July 19, and the death of
Roderic by drowning.
At Arbela, in 331 B.C., when Alexander decisively crushed Darius,
neither his force in the field nor the likelihood of any potential help
could possibly have stood any comparison with the Persians. Nor were
the Persians, in spite of their lack of homogeneity inferior in training,
weapons or courage. And yet the Greek victory was so overwhelming
and the Persian casualties so heavy, with 90,000 killed, that some
description of the battle is necessary if one is at all to see how such a
result could have been brought about.
The Persian force, as drawn up on the battlefield, was over 300,000
infantry and above 40,000 cavalry. In addition it had elephants, and 200
scythe bearing chariots, those terrifying machines that indiscriminately
killed and chopped off arms, legs and heads. By levelling the whole
ground and removing all obstacles in front, a vast area had been made
ready for the chariots in particular and the battle in general.
Against this, Alexander had only 40,000 infantry and 7,000 cavalry. For
such a handful, the vast Persian array could prove an impregnable wall.
But this was not Alexander's way of thinking. What happened, may
briefly be stated as follows (with apologies to historians for extreme
over-simplification).
After 4 days of rest for his army, then a move to within 3 miles of the
Persians, a thorough ascertainment of the enemy dispositions and a ride
to survey the entire battle-ground, Alexander deployed in a
concentrated formation directly opposite the Persian centre where
Darius was. Alexander’s formation has since been called a grand hollow
square with flying columns at an angle to his wings able to face and fight
in all directions.
For reasons of unpredictability he had rejected the idea of a night attack.
Instead, he had planned for a decisive blow which needed daylight. Now
beginning his advance, he started not for the centre directly but at an
angle towards the Persian left. Seeing this, Darius marched parallel with
him and sent his cavalry in to attack. Several actions and counter actions
followed, but Alexander continued his oblique move until he appeared
to be going off the edge of the ground that had been specially levelled.
Darius, fearing that his chariots would soon become useless, launched
them at Alexander to throw him into disorder, but for these Alexander
had prepared a shower of arrows and javelins. However when the
Persians, with increased strength, rode round his right to stop him,
Alexander saw the moment arrive for which he had specially planned.
Now placing himself at the head of his cavalry, he wheeled around and
charged into the gap in the Persian centre that had been left by the move
of their own cavalry, and thus came right on to the key point, Darius
himself.
The result has already been stated earlier. Alexander had rightly judged
his enemy’s reactions, and it is to Alexander’s foresight that historians
have credited the victory.
In 216 B.C., in this classic battle of Canae, Hannibal of Carthage faced the
Romans, on Roman ground, superior to him both in numbers and
potential. Against the Roman 85,000 infantry and 9,700 cavalry,
Hannibal had 35,000 infantry and 10,000 cavalry, It was his superior
tactical deployment that brought him victory. His crescent formation,
when attacked in the centre, kept giving way before the Roman legions
until all were inside and then the ends of the crescent closed behind
them. In the words of Polybius, ‘The Roman army was swallowed up as if
by an earthquake'. The Roman losses were over 50,000 killed and 5,000
prisoners at the cost of less than 6,000 Carthaginians killed and
wounded. Of Hannibal it has been said that he was a master of warfare
more understanding than Alexander and more effective than Napoleon.
When after 4 years of World War I, in 1919 Turkey lay defeated, with
Allied armies occupying Constantinople and the Sultan a mere puppet—
Mustafa Kemal revolted. He had only a few regulars and some bands of
tribesmen but no transport or artillery. It was only after two years of
toil, long retreats and many setbacks at the hands of the Greeks that he
was ultimately able, with 80,000 troops, to cut the Greek army in two
which broke away in panic. This at last was Kemal’s long-awaited chance
to pursue and destroy the enemy—but now he found between himself
and the Greeks, standing the British forces strongly entrenched.
He could not possibly fight the British and he could not let go the one
opportunity that would crown his life’s work. The step that Kemal now
took was unique—such as not, within my knowledge, ever taken before
or after him. It was a finely calculated risk. Judging that Britain was tired
of the war—he advanced upon the British but with arms visibly
reversed. The British troops were bewildered. What were they to do—
open fire upon virtually unarmed men? This was a moment of
international tension. One shot by either side may have sealed the fate of
Turkey. But no one fired. The Turks reached the British barbed wire and
began to clamber through it. The British stood up for the charge. But
Kemal had judged rightly. At last orders came for stand fast. Armistice
followed—and the new Turkey was born.
From all this, we should by now be able to see that war is something
more than a comparison of ledgers—and that military preparedness is
not an arms race or a continuous expansion of numbers.
Very often the apparent advantages of large armies are more than lost in
the increased encumbrances, the larger variations of the operations
under the conflicting conduct of different commanders and the greater
risk of shortage of provisions and transport etc.
On the other hand the smaller army has greater chances of maintaining
mobility—and mobility is considered, by most military thinkers, to be
the predominant factor in war. It is the rapidity of movement, ease of
manoeuvre and efficient supply that a good commander must seek to
achieve.
Mediaeval historians had credited Chingiz Khan’s extraordinary
successes to overwhelming numbers. But fuller knowledge has entirely
contradicted this assertion. The empire of the Mongols—the greatest
land power that the world has known, which made the empires of Rome
and Alexander look insignificant in comparison—was won by quality
rather than quantity, by the excellence of their cavalry, by the amazing
speed of their moves, by a mobility which is surpassed only now by
airborne forces, and by the strategical ability of Chingiz Khan that is
matched in history only by that of Napoleon.
The size and type of armed forces of a nation must naturally arise out of
its general strategy—and the strategy of a particular nation is to a large
extent the outcome of its geographical conditions and its history.
I would, therefore, conclude that with reference to Kashmir, it is our
mistaken view of numerical and material comparisons that has so far
encouraged Indian intransigence.
No real justification exists for the fear that the struggle of Kashmir to
win its freedom will bring war upon us. However, if war does come it
will probably be a limited one—but whether it is a limited one or a long
one to the bitter end, we, in fact, most certainly do not compare
unfavourably with India.
It is highly unlikely that India is in a position to overrun Pakistan, much
less to hold it. Her own irremediable internal disunity exposes her to
greater dangers in the event of external pressure. War is likely to make
us more united—but not India.
It is not my purpose to preach war at all. But it is only by a proper
understanding of our relative positions that peace is more likely to be
maintained. It does not seem to me that war between India and Pakistan
is inevitable or desirable. There can be no doubt that both sides have far
more to gain from peace. Both can respect each other’s political and
territorial integrity but this will come only after a fair plebiscite in
Kashmir and a just settlement of the other outstanding disputes.
On our side, it is a principle that we are upholding, namely, the right of
self-determination. It is because of this principle that the majority of
other nations stand by us.
The right of self-determination, applied to Kashmir, means that there
must be a fair plebiscite in Kashmir. This fair plebiscite is not a matter of
a kind promise made by India, it is a matter of a right that the people of
Kashmir have won through their struggle, and this right stands
recognised by the U.N.

THE TRIBESMEN
In concluding this book, some reflection upon the tribesmen would
appear to be indicated. Whether they should or should not have gone to
Kashmir, is not for me to discuss—but having gone there they have
provided us with evidence of their potentialities. That there were
regrettable incidents, we must admit, but we know now that they could
have been avoided. And having gone there, they shouldered a burden
which perhaps would not have been lifted by anyone else. For us, the
tribesmen were and still are an important factor in the strength of
Pakistan.
To appreciate how important this factor might be, we need only take a
passing glance at a few of the events in the long and turbulent history of
the North West Frontier and its people.
Lying between the Indus and the Durand line, a comparatively small
territory containing no particular wealth but forming a barrier across
the historic routes between Central Asia and the Indo-Pakistan sub-
continent, the Frontier belt has probably been the scene of more
invasions than any other part of the world. Today its people bear the
imprint of a thousand years of Islam, of many other civilizations, of older
tribal traditions, of the rugged rocks among which they live, of the winds
of Central Asia that blow across, and of the clatter of arms heard through
the centuries.
Somewhere in the dim past, perhaps four thousand years ago, the
Aryans from around the upper waters of the Amur, or the Oxus, must
have passed through here on their way to India where they displaced
and pushed southwards the Dravidians.
Centuries later, in the inscriptions of Darius of Persia, Gandhara, or the
Peshawar valley, is mentioned as a satrapy—and Herodotus shows that
soldiers from here formed part of Xerxes’ army (480 B.C.) wearing
cloaks of skin and armed with the bow and dagger—the dagger that is
still the weapon of many tribesmen.
In 327 B.C., after overcoming the Persian Empire, Alexander took twelve
months to cut his way through the Frontier before crossing the Indus.
According to the great Greek historian Herodotus the people of this area
were the most warlike in these parts, and they may have formed part of
the Persian array at the battle of Gaugemela (331 B.C.). In Herodotus’
time the Afridis were apparently then in much the same area as they are
now.
Then followed two centuries of the Mauryas, from India, and Buddhism
—followed by a century of Graeco—Bactrians, until they gave way to the
invasions of the Sakas (beginning about 97 B.C.), coming from Central
Asia. With them came the beginnings of the present Pushtu language, it
being considered a compound of a Saka dialect and an older Iranian
dialect with borrowings from the Indo-Aryan group.
The Sakas were followed by another horde from beyond the Oxus, the
Kushans, Mazdean fire worshippers, who later adopted Buddhism
(under Kanishka), made Peshawar their capital, opened the trade routes,
as far as the Roman Empire, and in whose times flowered the famous
arts of Gandhara.
Further invasions continued, Kushans were followed by the Sassanians,
and they in turn by the Ephthalites or White Huns, in. the fifth century
A.D., who added yet another layer to the composition of the Frontier
people, and who brought with them the title of Khan which is still in use
today.
In 1,000 A.D., came Mahmud of Ghazni, and Islam was universally
embraced. With Mahmud started the tide of Pathan infiltration into all
parts of India, by Muslim arms.
Chingiz Khan in 1221, and Timur Lang in 1380, swept past the flanks of
Waziristan. And about 1450, in the Lodhi period, Pathans began to settle
in larger numbers in India, where for three centuries they were to play a
prominent role as soldiers, administrators and kings. But in their own
homelands on the Frontier, conditions were to remain forever turbulent.
Though the Frontier was to remain part of the Indian Empire, and
Peshawar was to be the seat of a Governor from Delhi, the Imperial
control was seldom if ever to be effective far from the Attock-Khyber
route—and the tribal areas were still to be the scene of many
expeditions, punitive operations and retaliatory uprisings.
In 1520 Babur, on his way to India, spent several years campaigning on
the Frontier to make his base secure before proceeding further. And
some fifty years later, in 1586-87, his grandson, the Mughal Emperor
Akbar, came from Delhi to conduct two major campaigns both of which
failed—the first against the Yusafzais in Swat and Buner where 8,000
men and Raja Birbar lost their lives, the second in the Khyber where the
Mughals were repulsed by Afridis, Mohmands and Khalils.
In 1620, after Emperor Jehangir’s Governor of Kabul, Mohabat Khan, had
treacherously put to death 300 Orakzais after inviting them to a feast,
the Mughal Commander Ghairat Khan advanced on Tirah where he was
killed and his army defeated by Orakzais and Afridis.
Seven years later, in 1627, Emperor Shah Jehan’s Governor, Muzaffar
Khan, who had slain Ihdad, was in turn attacked by the Afridis and
Orakzais under the leadership of Ihdad’s widow. Muzaffar Khan fled, and
among other things, his ladies also fell into the hands of the tribesmen.
Forty-five years later, in 1672, Emperor Aurangzeb’s Governor at
Peshawar, Mohammad Amin, led an expedition into the Khyber to
punish the tribesmen for retaliating against the Mughal soldiers who
had insulted a woman of the Safi tribe. Safis, Mohmands, and Afridis
ultimately wiped out his force. Amin and four others were the sole
survivors. Everything else was lost—troops, treasure, elephants and the
ladies of the nobles including Mohammad Amin’s own wife, mother,
sister and daughters.
Two years later, the Mughals suffered further disasters—at Naushehra
where the fort was attacked and captured by Khushal Khan Khattak and
Aimal Khan Afridi, and in the Khapakh pass where they clashed with the
Mohmands.
Another fifty years later, in 1823, in the middle of that eight-year period
when the Durranis were chasing one another across Peshawar, Kabul
and Qandahar—and utter confusion reigned on the Frontier, Ranjit
Singh crossed the Indus and won the battle of Naushehra (in N.W.F.P.
near Attock) after a long and bitter fight, with his French trained army
against the hurriedly collected Yusafzai tribesmen unassisted by Azam
Khan the Durrani ruler of Peshawar. Though the Sikhs ravaged the
Peshawar valley and destroyed much in the city, they established no
stable foothold. In 1837, Hari Singh the Sikh Governor of Peshawar was
killed in action. And in 1846, the British reached Peshawar.
In the period of British rule, from, 1849 to 1947, they established roads,
schools, other institutions and a well organised administration. Even so,
it was not a period of peace.
From 1857 to 1881, in 24 years, the British conducted, no less than 23
military expeditions against the tribesmen. At Ambela, in 1863, on the
borders of Buner, where Akbar’s army had failed, a British force of 6,000
was pinned down on the summit of the pass for six weeks fighting for its
life. Though a compromise was arrived at by which the British got their
first objective, it was to take yet another thirty years before Swat and
Buner were entered.
Between 1891 and 1895, another three expeditions followed, into the
Kurram and Malakand. And in 1897-98, operations on a scale larger
than ever before followed in Tirah, Bajaur, Swat, Buner and the
Mohmand territory.
So far as Waziristan is concerned, there is no record of anyone ever
having subjugated it. Probably the British alone penetrated the territory
and established forts inside it but even they did not succeed in imposing
any taxation.
Large scale operations in Waziristan took place after World War I,
stretching from 1919 to 1921. And in these, once again, as before, the
tribesmen proved themselves an adequate match for all comers. In the 5
days fighting at the Ahnai Tangi the Mahsuds showed great skill both
with the new fire-arms and the traditional swords in hand to hand
fighting. The British lost over 2,000—killed, wounded and missing—
including 43 officers killed. The tribal losses may have been twice that
much—but once again the tribesmen retained their liberty.
In 1935, in the Mohmand territory, and in 1937-1940 again in
Waziristan, further operations followed. Thus up to only seven years
before the birth of Pakistan some warlike activity continued on the
Frontier at one place or another. And why this was so, has been
universally ascribed to the value the tribesmen place upon their liberty
and their willingness always to fight for it.
Such are these people who today constitute one factor in our strength;
and it was from among them that some went to Kashmir in 1947-48.
There, against regular troops, with modern equipment, artillery and
aircraft, in strange territory some hundreds of miles away from their
homes, with no weapons other than their own rifles and daggers,
perhaps no other men would have fought as well as these men did.
There many of them lost their lives, and many more returned home
wounded. Their names have not been inscribed on any monument but
they have made an appearance in the first chapter of Pakistan’s history.
And in the tribal areas, their widows and relations, as ever before in the
long, long centuries past, proudly continue to honour and cherish the
memory of their dead.
—:o:—