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FIRST REVOLT IN SYLHET
Imran Chowdhury BEM
(Excerpts from my father’s diary and notes)
My father was Company Commander for the East Pakistan Rifles’ 3rd Wing (Battalion) in March 1971. His duty station was Jamia School, situated between Mir Maidan and Subid Bazar in Sylhet, now known as Blue Bird School and the Radio Station. He oversaw the reserve company at the wing headquarters. During this period, East Pakistan, including Sylhet, was in turmoil, and there was a pervasive sense of conspiracy among the military and rifle forces. Almost all the soldiers and company members were familiar to him, and they approached him with hushed conversations.
My father was a profoundly conscientious individual who had followed tumultuous political events since 1946. Back then, he had to flee Calcutta with his family under the cover of night during the Calcutta riots, leaving behind his education, school, and friends. Subsequently, he experienced the birth of Pakistan, attended Brahmanbaria College in 1948, witnessed the Language Movement, joined the police force, and lived through the martial law rule of Ayub Khan and Yahya Khan from 1958 onward.
The establishment of the East Pakistan Rifles (EPR) and their secondment from the police force to the EPR revealed a stark class divide, with West Pakistanis in a position of dominance and Bengalis facing oppression. Since 1958, promises were continually broken by martial law, and the Pakistan Army gradually usurped rules and regulations, replacing EPR establishment laws and other ordinances overnight. The Bengali workforce in the EPR has been heavily reliant on Punjabis and Pashtuns, leading to systematic discrimination since 1958.
The situation in Sylhet was marked by turbulence and volatility due to the activities of students and the public, including processions, meetings, picketing, and strikes, which disrupted daily life. The reserve company of the EPR patrolled the city, with four platoons stationed at critical points: Bandar Bazar, in front of the Circuit House near Keen Bridge, in front of Aliya Madrasa, and the Old Medical College on Matrisadan Road. My father’s duty required him to move continuously from MC College to Rong Mohol cinema.
On the night of March 24, the Wing Commander of the 3rd Wing EPR, Subedar Fazlul Haque Chowdhury, was summoned and instructed to prepare his company for immediate deployment to Shamshernagar Airport for Internal Security Duty (I.S. Duty). He was to report the following evening and await further orders from 2IC Captain Golam Rasool. The Wing Commander expressed concerns about potential trouble at the Airport, particularly from the Hindu and Indian agents, which weighed heavily on his mind. Despite their long years of service together, the words of the Punjabi Wing Commander reflected a disdainful and prejudiced view of Bengali Hindus, emphasising the divisions that persisted. Subedar Chowdhury conveyed his readiness and silently left to brief the platoon commanders and the company Havildar Major.
Before departing for I.S. duty, he ensured preparations, including packing bedding and suitcases, were made. He left H.Q. in civilian attire, taking a rickshaw from the gates of 3 Wing EPR Headquarters to the city to visit his son residing in the school hostel and preparing for his secondary school examinations in April 1971. After a brief conversation and a meal at a restaurant in Bandarbazar, he left his son with some money and encouraging words to focus on his studies.
In the town, rumours circulated about the presence of the 31st Punjab Regiment in Khadimnagar, continuously patrolling the city. Processions and meetings were prohibited in Zindabazar, and a curfew-like atmosphere prevailed, with all shops closing by nine o’clock at night. The town seemed deserted, with Rikabibazar, Medical College, and Amberkhana appearing frozen in time. Subedar Chowdhury wandered the city for about an hour, meeting a few friends’ families, before returning to H.Q. and retiring for the night.
The convoy for Shamshernagar consisted of three three-ton trucks filled with soldiers and four individuals in a Chevrolet pickup, with the driver Rafiq and my father seated in the front, ready to depart. A salute from Spring Gull signalled the start, and the 91-man convoy set off. Before departure, Naik Jhumma Khan, the Kote (armoury) NCO, hesitated to provide some weapons and ammunition, but he eventually complied, given the determined look in the company commander’s eyes. They carried provisions for approximately 21 days and additional cash for 20 days, provided by the Wing Quartermaster, Havildar Taj Mohammad Bhat. Bravo Company of 3 Wing EPR departed with determination.
The city was enveloped in a cold drizzle as they embarked on their journey. Landmarks like the Old Medical College, the roundabout, Zinda Bazar, and Court loomed in the dim light along the route. The road was eerily empty as the convoy deliberately avoided the main route, which had many roadblocks and obstructions. Despite the shorter distance, it took about an hour to reach Mongla Bazar station. There, they halted, took a break, and shared tea. Anxiety was palpable in the eyes of all present. The station master delivered unsettling news, informing them that the train line from Akhaura to Sayestaganj had been disrupted in multiple places, adding to the turbulent times.
Abba asked Farhad Havildar Major to let him know how many non Bengalis in the company? – he counted on his hands and said Sir 1 JCO, three NCOs and six sepoys Punjabi, Pathan, Baloch and Bihari combined. Started again at 11 o’clock – removed eight or nine barricades in two hours and reached Fenchuganj.
As soon as the vehicles were seen, people gathered in a hurry and the area was filled with slogans – all the farmers, old people, young women all moved. A new city was built around a very large market and the banks of the river. Tin made two-storied and three-storied godowns, warehouses, shops – the river ghats( Port) are crowded with many boats, arrived Rajnagar from Fenchuganj and arrived at Shamshernagar Airport at 10:30 in the morning. . The MOD soldier who opened the gate seemed to be either Manipuri or Tripura.
A man from the Airport came and welcomed the guests, showed everyone their place – Havildar Major Farhad and Q.M. Gani went to get accommodation, beds, sorted. Abba learned that another Bengal regiment contingent had arrived at Dak Bungalow in the town ( a village more like).
Farhad, the Havildar Major, was tasked by my father to determine the number of non-Bengali individuals in the company. After counting on his fingers, he reported, “Sir, one Junior Commissioned Officer, three Non-Commissioned Officers, and six soldiers, a mix of Punjabis, Pathan, Balochis, and Biharis.” We resumed our journey at 11 o’clock, successfully removing eight or nine barricades within two hours, ultimately reaching Fenchuganj.
As our vehicles appeared on the scene, a crowd quickly gathered, filling the area with slogans. Farmers, elders, and young women alike all converged. A new town had sprung up around a vast market and the riverbanks. Tin-made two- and three-story warehouses, shops, and godowns lined the river ghats, bustling with boats. We arrived at Shamshernagar Airport at 10:30 in the morning. The soldier from the Ministry of Defense who opened the gate appeared to be either Manipuri or Tripura.
An airport staff member welcomed us and directed everyone to their respective accommodations. Havildar Major Farhad and Quartermaster Gani went to arrange beds and sort logistics. My father learned that another contingent from a Bengal regiment had arrived at the Dak Bungalow in the town, which was more like a village.
(Taken from my father’s diary)
I instructed my men to set up camp. Since 1958, over half of the company’s soldiers and non-commissioned officers had known each other. I asked Batman Mustafa to prepare the watchtower as my bedroom. The town had come to a standstill, and shops had abruptly closed. Jamadar Safin Gull, known as Spring Gull, was an old friend who had joined the North West Frontier Province Police in 1958 to the EPR. I recalled an incident when a tall and red-faced Punjabi Major, a Wing Commander, arrived at his camp in a drunken state one night and attempted to insult him rudely. In response, Gul had arrested the Major, leading to his demotion from Subedar to Jamadar. We had a lengthy conversation, and it became clear that everyone was anxious and somewhat fearful.
I called upon my most trusted Havildar, Major Farhad, and walked along the runway while smoking a cigarette, inquiring about the latest developments. Farhad had served with me in Khulna 5 Wing, participated in the Asalong Firing at Ramgarh, and had been a Naik in my company in Latu. He had excelled in the Lathi Tila War in 1969 and, based on my recommendation in his Annual Confidential Report (ACR), had been promoted by Sector Commander Sitar e Jurat Lt. Col. Abrar Hasan Abbasi. Bengali Havildar Majors were scarce, with Punjabis occupying the most esteemed positions. Nepotism was a well-known issue within the EPR. Even after 13 years, I struggled to fully comprehend EPR politics.
Farhad informed me that the situation was quite dire. Punjabis, Balochis, and Pathans were not suitable for guard duty. He expressed concerns about the Punjabis’ trustworthiness and shared that the wireless set would be operational by 18:00 hours. I instructed him to arrange for a petrol supply and station three guards at the front, with two weapons in my watchtower and my .38 revolver with 24 rounds to be handed to Batman. Tensions were running high; the soldiers were upset and harbour animosity. I repeatedly cautioned Farhad to prevent any incidents from occurring.
After bidding farewell to Farhad, I lit another cigarette and pondered while walking. I glanced at the clock, which read 4:10, and noted that no shops were open in the market. The distant sound of a train reached my ears, and the cries of many dogs filled the air. Subedar Mannan commanded the company in Juri, a Punjabi in Latu, and BR Chowdhury in Tamabil, with Nasibur Rahman in Sunamganj and a Pathan in Teliapara. Most of the other company commanders were Punjabis, with one or two more Bengalis I couldn’t recall then. I was recently transferred from Dhaka and tasked with raising 16 Wing EPR. It had been unofficially announced that I would receive the Pakistan Police Medal (PPM).
Today, the black clouds dominated the sky once more. During the Second World War, local labourers constructed the main airport building as forced labour. It had previously served as an air base for the U.S. Air Force. I went straight up and asked Mustafa how long it would take to set up the wireless. He replied, “Sir, it will be ready in 20 minutes.” I instructed him to reach Subedar Mannan Saab or BR Chowdhury on the airwaves, emphasising the importance of keeping the set open at all times.
It’s worth mentioning that during the Pakistan era, only the EPR had the ability to communicate across East Pakistan (from Khulna’s Sundarbans to Tamabil, from Teknaf to Thakurgoan) via wireless. All EPR camps, known as Border Out Posts (BOP), had Tor a takka telegram (Mosre Key), enabling communication with any camp across the country. I didn’t change my clothes further; instead, I came downstairs and called for a roll call. Everyone, except the sentries, assembled. I delivered a brief speech, reminding them that we were government employees and should conduct ourselves appropriately when going into town in the morning.
Before dismissing the roll call, Mustafa approached me and said, “Sir, the set is ready, Mr. Mannan is ready to speak.” I climbed the stairs to the set and engaged in coded conversations with Mannan Bhai, using Bengali, Comilla’s colloquial languages. He, too, appeared quite apprehensive, sharing his concerns and advising me to be cautious about Captain Golam Rasool’s impending visit, which seemed mysterious. I promised to stay close to the signal set and to inform him of any news. As we spoke, I heard a dog howling in the distance, with several others joining in. The train station was nearby.
I summoned Havildar Major Farhad and instructed him to come with three soldiers and one NCO, all armed, within ten minutes. The situation appeared to be escalating all around us. The market’s watchman had been silenced with a few loud calls. For some reason, I began reminiscing about the 1946 riots in Kolkata, with the faces of children vividly appearing in my mind’s eye. Seated, I extracted a cigarette from my W.D. and H. Willis & Bristol pack, lit it, and stood on the cantilever balcony of the watchtower’s turret, gazing into the distance. The illuminated bungalows of tea gardens and factory chimneys were visible against the backdrop of neon lights, resembling an English company’s pleasure boat floating in the middle of the Hooghly River, radiating light during the midnight hours. It was a mesmerising sight, with the shadows of the Khasi Hills distinctly visible in the night’s darkness. I contemplated visiting the Manipuri Basti in the morning, exploring Chatlapur and its surroundings. I was familiar with the area, having served as the company commander of EPR in this region, from Shaistaganj to Kulaura, Kamalganj to Manu, and Bhanugach. I knew all the Brahmins and leaders of Manipuri settlements well, and I contemplated visiting Nawab Sahib of Pritimpasha, a man known for his storytelling prowess and assistance during the Lathi Tila skirmishes. I had learned a great deal about the region’s history from him.
I lost track of time while smoking my cigarette. It was only when Farhad called, “Sir, may I come up?” that I returned to the present. He informed me that, as per my instructions, three petrol parties were prepared. Hearing this, I descended the stairs and assembled the four of them. I instructed them to patrol the market in camouflage attire until daybreak. If they noticed anything suspicious, they were to dispatch two individuals immediately to the camp, staying within a one-mile radius. The rest were to remain vigilant and enter the Airport from the other side after observing the situation until the last moment. I reminded them of the password and instructed them to report to me upon their return. Naik Basit Mia was the leader, and I cautioned Basit to exercise extreme care, given the dubious circumstances. I couldn’t bring myself to trust those Pakistani Urdu-speaking individuals.
It is essential to acknowledge that Bengali soldiers were compassionate and resourceful, quickly setting up the camp upon our arrival at Shamshernagar. After unpacking my uniform and arranging everything in the bathroom adjacent to the control tower, I lay in bed to write in my diary. Following a day filled with tasks like fortifying perimeter defenses, establishing guard posts, sandbagging, and bunker construction, as well as cleaning and reporting weapon status to headquarters, I had lunch with the platoon commanders. We discussed the plan for I.S. duty, the responsibilities of each airport section, and the patrol assignments for the pickup and one three-ton vehicle. It was March 25, 1971, and I went to bed and fell asleep almost instantly without realising it.
The following morning, I awoke to the radio operator’s call, informing me that Company Commander Nasib Ali Sahib of Sunamganj wished to speak with me. I rushed to the radio set, and he told me there were no Bengali operators in the Wing Headquarters; all were Punjabis. Communication with the sector, or Dhaka Pilkhana, was impossible. The Wing Headquarters operator requested a daily situation report (sitrep).
Nasib inquired about my arrival in Shamshernagar and mentioned hearing on the BBC radio about nightlong riots in Dhaka, though he couldn’t provide further details. He advised me to keep the set open at all times. He mentioned that B.R. Chowdhury, the only company commander in his wing, would establish contact with me. I conveyed that I had spoken with the Jury company commander during the night. Nasib Ali expressed his concern about the confusing situation and revealed that he had already ordered his two platoons to move to the Company HQ. He warned that both Teliapara and Latu company commanders were Punjabis and potentially dangerous. He said he would contact me again at 12 o’clock and requested the new frequency. I instructed the operator to relay this new frequency to Tamabil and Juri, ensuring they understood that company commanders should come online at 12 o’clock.
The area patrol commander provided comprehensive reports, stating that the army company had no movement, no train activity, and civilians were not visible. At ten o’clock, I instructed the Havildar Major to prepare for area patrol to change the petrol. Before their departure, I emphasised that they should receive a briefing from me.
With a sense of urgency, I completed my daily tasks, shaved, donned my uniform, had breakfast, and descended the stairs to locate the Punjabi and other non-Bengali personnel. Farhad informed me that he had arranged an office for me. He led me to a small room furnished with a table and chairs. All the soldiers were ready, fully equipped with Field Service Marching Order (FSMO) gear, and seated.
Tensions were palpable in the town as shops began to open, people set up their vegetable stalls, and others unloaded their produce. Regrettably, there was no communication from the Wing HQ despite our wireless operator’s persistent attempts to establish contact. Cross-communication with other units remained elusive. Our scheduled group talk was approaching at 12:00.
I called for my Batman and instructed him to retrieve my radio from my trunk and bring it to me. It had completely slipped my mind until then. Meanwhile, I could hear voices outside, with slogans being chanted. I instructed Sepoy Daru Mia to discreetly investigate the situation in town while dressed in civilian attire.
Once I had the radio, I tuned in to Radio Pakistan and caught some news, indicating that everything appeared normal. However, my attempts to tune in to BBC were unsuccessful. Surprisingly, it was easier to pick up Indian radio stations than others. Akashvani, the Indian broadcaster, cited BBC reports of sporadic firing in Dhaka, a suspected military operation, and a curfew in Dhaka.
While I was engrossed in listening to the radio, Mustafa informed me that all the other company commanders were waiting for me. I hurried upstairs to find them all online. I engaged in conversations with each one, and they shared troubling news. Reports from Voice of America, BBC, Indian Radio, and others indicated a massacre in Dhaka Pilkhana, with claims that the Pakistan Army was killing people in Dhaka. I verified this information as I had heard similar reports on Indian radio.
After concluding the conference with my fellow company commanders and promising to reconvene after midnight, I heard a commotion outside, and the area patrol had mobilised. I instructed the Havildar Major to provide me with five sepoy, one NCO, and a pickup truck to go to the town as soon as possible. Once the group was ready and I was about to board the pickup, I called Farhad over and instructed him to take Golam Rasul, Mustafa, and a few others with him to arrest those causing the commotion and detain them, disarming them. They were to be locked in a room with a guard detail of one NCO and three soldiers until my return. Farhad seemed eager to carry out this order.
As we proceeded, I first encountered a group of people outside the airport gate, chanting slogans. I stopped and engaged with them before heading to the town. The area patrol approached me, and I briefly discussed with them before proceeding to the railway station. Before visiting the Army at the Dak bungalow, I conversed with railway personnel there.
I met Major Khaled Musharraf, explained my situation, and mentioned that my 2IC would soon join me, likely staying with my company. I also shared the news I had heard from my colleagues. Major Khaled remained tight-lipped, deep in thought, showing no inclination to interfere with my I.S. duties or provide additional information about Dhaka. After some time with other junior commissioned officers of his company, I departed, contemplating a visit to Juri.
On the way, I noticed four or five individuals dressed as Ansar and Mujahid. I approached them, asked them to board the pickup, and proceeded to Nawab Sahib’s house. During our conversation, while still holding allegiance to Pakistan, Nawab Sahib provided valuable insights into the history of Sylhet and its people, including their victory over the English in the Battle of Latu during the Indian Sepoy Mutiny. Although I had intended to visit the Manipuri Basti, I returned directly to the camp due to the sudden rain.
Upon my return, I found my soldiers agitated and angry, expressing a strong desire to fight back against the Pakistan Army. I consoled them, explaining our limitations and the need for clear information before taking action.
In the evening, a group marched towards our camp, seeking to speak with me. I went to the front gate and conversed with them. They provided alarming news of Dhaka being shelled throughout the night by tanks, and various political groups and students were armed and ready. I spoke with the Mujahid commander and introduced him to Havildar Major Farhad.
Another group approached the main gate, and I engaged with them. By then, the news about Dhaka was becoming more explicit, and the village was shocked. They informed me that the 31st Punjab Regiment had set up camps in Moulvibazar and Srimangal, patrolling the town. This information could have been more explicit as no EPR units were stationed in Moulvibazar and Srimangal, leading me to speculate about the identity of the 2IC of Three Wing EPR.
Back inside the camp, Havildar Farhad whispered to me about the unruly behavior of the detainees. I instructed him to silence and secure them, ensuring they could not cause further trouble. Then, I called all the NCOs to gather on the roof after dinner, except for the guard commanders.
As I retired for the night, my mind was filled with tumultuous thoughts and a deep sense of responsibility. The decision I faced was one of the most challenging in my life. I questioned if I was making the right choice, but I could not allow the oppressive forces to prevail. I owed it to my nation and was prepared to face the consequences.
The following morning, I was awakened by the call to Morning Prayer (Azaan) at around 5:00 AM. I quickly got ready in full FSMO gear. The area patrol commander informed me that the army contingent had left Shamshernagar during the night.
On March 27, 1971, at 08:45, we executed our ambush plan. 35 individuals participated, strategically positioned at a cross junction leading from Shamshernagar Bazar to the Airport and onward to Brahman Bazar–Shamshernagar Road. The ambush spanned over 800 yards on both sides, with participants concealed in shop alleys and open undergrowth flanking the road. An observation post (O.P.) watched the street from the Airport’s highest point. Notably, three local Mujahid and Ansar members in civilian attire were included to relay information from the O.P. to the ambush party as soon as the convoy was spotted. We anxiously awaited the approach of the EPR convoy, and the wait felt excruciatingly long.
Amid the sprawling wilderness, a lone figure emerged from the shadows, sprinting urgently towards the observation post (O.P.). The relentless pounding of footsteps on the uneven terrain echoed through the night as the runner closed the distance between us. Breathless and determined, he crawled up to my concealed position, his eyes wide with anticipation. I could barely make out his silhouette as he whispered urgently, “Sir, a convoy is approaching Shamshernagar.”
Time seemed to stretch endlessly as we hunkered down in the darkness, waiting with bated breath. It was one of those interminable moments when every tick of the clock felt like an eternity. Glancing at my wristwatch, I noted the time; it was between 9:50 and 09:55. The seconds crawled by as I anxiously watched the hands of the watch, each tick resonating like a drumbeat in the silence. Then, finally, I saw the convoy, a menacing spectre on the horizon, steadily advancing towards the deadly trap we had set.
With the convoy within our grasp, I steeled myself for the impending chaos. As they entered the carefully laid ambush, I gave the order, and the night exploded into a furious storm of gunfire. It was as if pandemonium had been unleashed in mere seconds. The enemy was caught entirely off guard and trapped in a relentless barrage of bullets. Desperation drove a few to attempt an escape, but their efforts were met with swift, merciless retribution as they were cut down within the blink of an eye.
Amid the chaos, the convoy’s vehicles screeched to a halt one by one. The once-confident enemy was now in disarray, and there was no return fire. It was a triumphant moment as we swiftly executed a search operation. Among the brave souls who had fought by my side, Sepoy Golam Rasul, a man hailing from my own village of Chandrapur-Kasba, emerged as the hero of our meticulously executed ambush. The battle had concluded, and our mission was accomplished.
We meticulously carried out a mop-up operation in the aftermath of the firefight. The tally was staggering – 9 enemy soldiers captured alive, and a grim count of 21 lives lost. Astonishingly, there were no casualties among our own ranks. The significance of our success was marred by losing one of the enemy’s high-ranking officers, Captain Golam Rasul, the Second in Command of 3 Wing East Pakistan Rifles.
This moment marked more than just a victory; it was the inception of the first revolt in the Sylhet region against the oppressive yoke of Pakistan. I felt a heady mix of pride and fear coursing through my veins. My hands trembled with the weight of responsibility. As the company commander of these 90 brave individuals, I had taken the audacious step of leading them into a rebellion, jeopardising my own life and endangering the lives of every man under my command. The consequences of failure were dire – treason charges in a court martial and the specter of hanging until death. It was an agonising decision for a commander to make.
Time was a luxury we couldn’t afford. We acted swiftly, removing the fallen bodies as the engines of the halted vehicles still roared with life. We evacuated the lifeless forms in a blur of movement and transported them to the nearby airport building. Thousands of impassioned civilians flocked to our aid, an outpouring of support that brought tears to my eyes. They hoisted us onto their shoulders, their voices thundering in unison with the chant of “Joy Bangla.” In that electrifying moment, I knew that history had been made, and our stand had ignited a spark that would change our lives and the destiny of our homeland forever. (Father’s Diary Ends).
In a whirlwind of events, Abba, our fearless leader, made an instantaneous decision that would change the course of our mission. He realised the urgency of the situation and promptly ordered the evacuation of his company from Shamshernagar. The very thought of impending reinforcements, aerial attacks, and counterattacks swirled through his mind like a turbulent storm. But another pressing concern weighed heavily on his shoulders – the presence of a substantial number of prisoners of war (POWs).
The prisoners, both new and old, posed a significant security risk. Abba knew all too well that they could band together, staging a rebellion that could overwhelm his boys at any moment. The delicate balance of power in the immediate vicinity was teetering on a knife’s edge, and Abba understood the gravity of the situation.
Meanwhile, the streets of Shamshernagar erupted into a frenzied celebration. A sea of people, numbering in the thousands, flooded the town, their voices raised in joyous unison. They chanted slogans and danced with unbridled enthusiasm, armed with an eclectic array of weapons: lances, machetes, Ramdas (large billhooks- The name derived from Ram of Hindu mythology), daggers, shotguns, and air guns.22-bore rifles, bows, and arrows. The town had transformed into a jubilant and spirited assembly, revelling in newfound freedom.
In the midst of this whirlwind, Abba convened a swift mini-conference with his non-commissioned officers (NCOs) and soldiers. Together, they made a unanimous decision: they would initiate an immediate withdrawal and have everyone on board the vehicles within the next 30 minutes. A silver lining in this tumultuous moment was the surplus of captured ammunition obtained from the party led by Captain Golam Rasul.
However, Abba’s mind wandered back to 1970, when he had been the company commander of Teliapara. During that period, he had established a temporary Border Out Post (BOP) in Chatlapur, a long-abandoned customs and excise outpost near the international border. The location had served as a critical surveillance point during daytime operations. Now, the premises lay forgotten, hidden amidst overgrown bushes and tangled vegetation. Abba turned to his Havildar Major, seeking information about the new rendezvous point (R.V.).
As preparations for the impending movement unfolded, the guard commander brought news of leaders from Kulaura and the surrounding areas who wished to meet Abba. He invited them in with characteristic hospitality, engaging in a brief but crucial conversation. The leaders expressed their desire to join Abba’s mission, and without hesitation, he extended the invitation to around 10-12 of them. Unity and solidarity were paramount in these trying times.
At precisely 13:00 hours, Abba’s company departed from Shamshernagar, embarking on a journey defined by its length, peril, treachery, and valour. It was the commencement of a monumental odyssey, a chapter in my father’s life that would forever be etched in the annals of the Liberation War.
The journey to Chatlapur was fraught with uncertainty and danger. The rugged terrain presented formidable challenges, and the specter of enemy reprisals loomed large. As they pressed onward, Abba’s resolve remained unshaken, his heart unwavering in its commitment to the cause of liberation.
The new R.V. in Chatlapur held the promise of safety and strategic advantage. As they reached their destination, Abba surveyed the surroundings, memories of the past intermingling with the stark reality of the present. The abandoned customs and excise outpost had become a sanctuary concealed by the relentless march of time and nature’s reclamation.
With newfound allies and a renewed sense of purpose, Abba looked ahead, ready to face the trials and tribulations that lay in wait. The odyssey had just begun, and the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but the fire of liberation burned brightly in their hearts. As they moved forward, they carried with them the hopes and aspirations of a nation yearning for freedom, and they were determined to see it through to the end. The epic tale of my father’s journey in the Liberation War had begun, a testament to courage, resilience, and unwavering dedication to the cause of independence.
