The War Booties of 1971
By Ziauddin Choudhury
The war of liberation of Bangladesh lasted less than nine months, but
for those who were impacted by the devastation to lives and property,
each month counted as a year. From its beginning in March 26 to
December 16 when it ended each Month brought to the people of
Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) sufferings of a differing kind. The
first three months were spent by the Army in consolidating its hold
over the country; the next three months were spent in spreading
canards and lies about the mass killing and atrocities to hoodwink
international outrage, and the last three in defending itself from
attacks by freedom fighters and the eventual war with the joint
forces. Each period brought distinct characteristics of torture,
mayhem, and devastation for the people of Bangladesh.
From March to May 1971 the Military went on a rampage to regain
control over most of the districts and subdivisions that had offered
resistance by the receding Bengali forces (Army, EPR, and students).
Pakistan Army had fanned out in all directions coming out of the
cantonments in different areas of then East Pakistan—Dhaka, Comilla,
Chittagong, Jessore, Rangpur, etc. The main goals of the Army were to
reestablish central government authority by any means that included
indiscriminate killing, burning of houses, and mass arrests of
civilians including local government officials suspected of supporting
the non-cooperation movement launched by Sheikh Mujib in March.
Civilian population in the district and sub divisional towns responded
to this onslaught by fleeing to the villages, which the Army would
spare in most cases unless these were in accessible range. In most
towns the Army arrived after meeting any resistance like victors, and
behaved just as an occupying force would do. Typically after the Army
arrived in a district or sub divisional headquarter the soldiers would
travel down the main streets in trucks, lob incendiary bombs into
neighborhoods randomly to intimidate and "clear" the area of suspected
"miscreants", and end up in the local stadium or high school ground to
camp. The Officer in command would then summon the principal civilian
government officer (Deputy Commissioner or Sub-divisional Officer, as
the case may be), and either give him instructions on what to do next
or arrest the official in case the city had resisted the army (and was
naive to remain in the city). (In many towns the civilian officials,
particularly those in charge of administration, escaped army wrath by
leaving their posts and later escaping to India.)
As a sub divisional officer much of that period of mayhem in two sub
divisions of then Dhaka district (Munshiganj and Manikganj) I had the
misfortune of witnessing how the Pakistan Army behaved as an occupying
force. Terrorizing the areas with fire power, large scale arrests of
suspected "miscreants" and their overnight disposal were the more
brutal aspects of this occupation. However, the other practice they
adopted was reward of the common soldiers by allowing them to help
themselves to whatever they could land their hands on after reaching a
town. In the name of saving property from the hands of the rebel
elements, the army would enter into premises of Banks, government
buildings, and residences of wealthy people. Items looted were mostly
cash from Banks, valuables such as jewelry from private residences.
Other items that were not easily moveable were set on fire. In
Narayanganj, where my parents lived, our house was raided, looted, and
our furniture that could not be taken out was set on fire. (My parents
with three of my younger siblings were able to escape the town before
the Army arrived, and seek shelter in Munshiganj where I was working
as Sub Divisional Officer.)
However, the happiness of the booty sharing soldiers, and their
officers did not last long. They had stashed away bundles of high
denomination currencies in their backpacks in the hope that very soon
they would be able to transport their cash loads home. What they did
not know that the government was already facing the issue of emptying
of many district treasuries by the retreating rebel army and civilian
officials and carrying the currency notes across the border. Within a
couple of months, the amount of currency looted from branches of the
State Bank of Pakistan became so large that the Government of Pakistan
was forced to take dramatic steps to ensure the stability of their
currency. The Government demonetized all the 100- and 500-rupee notes
circulating in Pakistan. As the majority of looted money was in these
denominations, the notes held by the looters would become totally
worthless. I witnessed the effect of this demonetization on the
plunders of an Army Battalion that was in charge of Munshiganj
subdivision.
The Army had come to Munshiganj in May, after initial Army rage and
violence had somewhat subsided in much of the country. This Battalion
had earlier ravaged Brahmanbaria and Chandpur subdivisions of Comilla
district. In Munshiganj the Army was not chasing any rebels; it was
there mostly to make a presence, and to carry out an investigation of
my conduct. (This the Pakistan Army did against all Bengali officers
who were in charge of Sub Divisions and Districts from March 25. Some
were summarily arrested, others were investigated, and either let off
or transferred.) As part of this enquiry I had to report to the
Battalion Commander every week where I would be subjected to a variety
of questions.
The week of demonetization of high denomination currencies I was
waiting one day in the Battalion Adjutant's office for my weekly
interview with the Commander. The announcement of demonetization had
probably been made the previous day. Suddenly a soldier came running
to the Adjutant's chamber with a leather bag in hand crying wildly.
When the Adjutant asked him why he was making such a hue and cry, the
soldier unabashedly opened his bag and revealed stacks of 100- and
500-rupee notes, lamenting loudly what was going to happen to his
treasure now that these have been demonetized. Could the Boss do
something, he asked, without caring that I was witnessing this drama.
The Adjutant shouted back, "You fool; you should have converted these
two smaller currencies much earlier. I cannot do anything now." Then
the Adjutant looked at me, and said without batting an eye lid, "You
know, these soldiers are poor. They got this in Brahmanbaria. But
alas, they cannot enjoy this money now." The Adjutant was no doubt a
participant in this war booty, but destiny had a different end in
plan.
The next phase of rewards or distribution of the war booties would
come in a different way. This would be mostly for Army collaborators
for their help and support in arrest of people suspected of supporting
the liberation efforts, or leading the Army raids into areas of
suspected militant activities. The reward was handing away commercial
property mostly shops that were abandoned by the minority community in
small towns. In majority of the cases the local Army commander simply
asked the collaborator to take over the shop, and directed the local
administration to look the other way. In some other cases the Army
brass would ask the local administration to facilitate the takeover.
During my time in Munshiganj and Manikganj as SDO, I would see two
such instances of collaborator reward, one of which ended badly for
the beneficiary, and the other actually did not finally materialize.
The one that did not finally materialize related to a cinema hall in
Munshiganj town (the one and only cinema hall in the town that time),
the owner of which was a Hindu businessman. The owner had fled the
town for fear of his life, and the cinema hall remained closed since
his abrupt departure. In one of my mandatory weekly meetings with the
Battalion Commander, the Commander said that he would like me to meet
a very close friend of his. I expected another army officer who would
assail me with more questions, but instead, a meek looking young man
came out from the back of his office. He was a Bengali, and the
commander introduced him to me as a very loyal friend of Pakistan. He
commended the young man in front of me for having "saved the army"
from starvation in March, when civilian barricades were stopping
supplies to Dhaka cantonment during the famous non-cooperation
movement launched by Sheikh Mujib.
He then proceeded to say that for his loyalty and devotion to
Pakistan, the army wanted to show this true friend some gratitude. The
loyal friend wanted to have lease of the only cinema hall in
Munshiganj, and as SDO of Munshiganj I should give it to him. This was
a rock and a hard place situation for me. I could not say no to him
sitting there right in the army bastion, particularly when I was still
being viewed as a suspect (of being on the other side of the fence). I
also could not say yes since, as an SDO, I did not have governmental
authority over any abandoned property, least of all lease it. When I
muttered something to the effect that I did not have proper authority
to decide on such business, it was my superiors, the Lt. Colonel would
have none of it. He did not care who had the authority; I should see
to it that his friend got what he wanted. I could extricate myself
that morning from the cantonment only by convincing the commander that
it was my boss, the deputy commissioner, who had the authority to
lease, and that I would follow it up with him.
The follow up never occurred. The "loyal friend" did not turn up later
to pursue this. The businessman that he was, he perhaps himself
realized that having the lease of the cinema hall would take him to
places that he did not want to visit. Or perhaps, he was amply
rewarded with other businesses by a grateful master.
The second case was in Manikganj, where I joined in late June after
the Army authorities wanted my transfer from Munshiganj. In Manikganj,
some minority owned shops that were abandoned by the owners were
already given out by the local Army commander (Sub Zonal Martial Law
Administrator, as the office was titled) to the "loyal friends" as
rewards, much before my arrival. One of the beneficiaries was also the
Chairman of local Peace Committee, who took over a clothing shop. This
rogue, who was professionally a Mukhtear (licensed legal
practitioner), earned his place with the Army authorities by ratting
to the local army commander on local officials, fellow lawyers, other
business people of the locality, and of course feeding the commander
with stories of conspiracies and hideouts of "miscreants". He became
further close with the local Commander when he helped the army in the
recruitment of a group of Ansars (Para police) in Manikganj to support
the Army. However, his run with the Army brass and accumulation of
fortune came to a rather unpleasant end when the first batch of the
Ansars recruited on his recommendations decamped with rifles. The
Mukhtear was suspected by Army intelligence of actually aiding the
other side. He lost his Peace Committee Chair, and subsequently the
lease of the shop.
These are but a few among hundreds of thousand instances of war booty
stories of 1971. The whole country went through wanton aggression, and
unparalleled plunder and pillage that the occupying army unleashed
over us in the nine-month period. Pity is that in this heinous offense
against humanity, some of the participants and collaborators were
fellow Bengalis. Some of them may have collaborated out of conviction,
but many others did so to profit from the circumstances afforded by
time.
We cannot make reparations to the victims for the losses in life and
property in kind. Many of the victims as well as the perpetrators have
been long gone. The War Booties of 1971 have also withered away. But
the pains and memory of the loss and outrage will always linger in our
mind. This is a part of our history that we should never forget.
-----------------------------
Ziauddin Choudhury is a former Civil Servant who now works for an
International Organization in USA. E Mail : Zchoudhury@worldbank.org
http://www.bangladesh-web.com/view.php?hidRecord=378713
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