The war we did not cover

Inam Ahmed

Abbas -- that is how he represents himself in his business card, just one name; no surname, no nickname -- has been covering wars for the last 34 years. Still he remembers with reverence his first assignment to cover a war -- the Liberation War of Bangladesh in 1971.

At 58 years of age, memories have dimmed a little, but he can still remember his few weeks in Bangladesh, going to the frontline with the Pakistan army. Abbas had a different time -- he looked at the war from a completely professional angle, trying to snap the best moments which now are of historical importance for Bangladesh. And the only way of covering the war from Dhaka was to get in touch with the Pakistan army.

"I was 24 and it was my first assignment to cover a war," Abbas says, his broken nose, bald head and beard gives him the veteran look of a war photographer who has travelled around the globe to snap strife. "The war in Pakistan got a wide coverage in the Western press and so I decided to come down here to cover it."

Abbas was a free lance photographer as he still is, but he was associated with SIPA, a photo distribution firm. From Paris, he flew to Karachi in mid-November and then took a flight to Colombo.

Getting a visa was no problem as Pakistan had already got a lot of bad press abroad and it wanted journalists to come and cover the war. On the way to Intercontinental Hotel (Now Sheraton Hotel) he found Dhaka a tense city.

His first task was to contact the army, because Abbas wanted to go to the frontier and cover the war. There were about 50 foreign journalists staying at the hotel which was also a Red Cross zone.

"The army started taking us out to different places to show us how they are engaging the Indian army. I went to places like Boda of Dinajpur and Syedpur. The names of other places I have forgotten," Abbas reminiscences. "From the 5th or 6th of December, the army virtually ditched the journalists and we were all stuck at Hotel Intercontinental. We watched the bombings by Indian planes and sometimes went out to shoot the places of bombardment. And then came back to wait."

Abbas stops, recollects his memories. There are so many of them.

"On the 16th morning, we found the freedom fighters entering Dhaka. The usual empty roads of the capital suddenly came to life with people embracing each other and shouting slogans "Joy Bangla." Freedom fighters were marching down with sten guns and rifles. This is the first time that I came across any freedom fighter. All these days, wherever I went with the Pakistan army, the fights were with the Indian forces, never had I the chance to see any encounter with the Mukti Bahinis. But now here they were, full of jubilation and pride. I was photographing the birth of Bangladesh."

"Then an Indian army four-wheeler came with a paratrooper commander. I still remember his name -- KS Pannu. A very brave man," Abbas says.

He walked into the hotel and held a short briefing on the surrender ceremony. As the commander walked out and got onto his jeep, Abbas quickly asked him: "Can I go with you?"

"Yes." Pannu said.

And so he hopped onto the jeep. As they were moving forward, suddenly guns started blazing all around.

"The Pakistan army was shooting from across the road. I was scared to death and so jumped off the jeep. They started shooting at my feet and I was rolling on the road."

But then he noticed that Pannu was standing on the jeep's seat with both hands raised in the sky. He was shouting at the Pakistan army to stop shooting, then he got down and started walking towards the wall behind which the Pakistan army was shooting from.

"I also got up and started walking with Pannu, my hands raised and the camera in my trembling grip," Abbas recollects that heart-stopping moment. "I kept clicking shutters as I walked. This was a dramatic thing going on and I did not want to miss it. There were small square holes in the wall and I could see gun muzzles thrust out of them."

As they walked close to the wall, a Pakistani army major peeked out of the wall and asked why they were here. The major's face was distorted with tension and apprehension.

"The war is over," said Pannu. "Why you are shooting? Stop it."

The major asked why the war is over, and the Indian commander told him that Niazi was going to surrender. The major looked uncertain. It was a tense moment. Would he believe it or start shooting again? He surely did not know what to do. Pannu stretched out his hand and said, "Can I shake your hand?." "The major heisted for a moment and then grabbed it and shook it. We walked back," Abbas relieves the moment.

Death stalks any war photographer and it was no exception for Abbas. He remembers one particular day in the frontline when he had a close brush with death. The Pakistan army was positioned at a bridge in Boda and firing flaks onto Indian position.

"It was a chilly morning and we could see the Indian forces through binoculars," Abbas said. "I was talking to a captain and suddenly a shell landed hardly 8 metres away from us. I was shielded by the captain and so he received grievous injuries. I got away with some small cuts."

While in Dhaka, the photographer also tried to get in touch with the Mukti Bahini.

"We knew Mukti Bahinis are in the capital, but our efforts to contact them failed as they did not risk to get exposed," he says.

Abbas also recalls how the spirit of the Pakistan armies slowly dimmed as it was evident that they were going to lose the war.

"In the beginning the soldiers and officers were boisterous," recalls Abbas. "They talked of overrunning the Indians. But as days wore on, they could see defeat in the face. I remember an officer telling me in Saidpur in his low mood that there is no point in fighting anymore. The war is lost, he said."

Abbas came back from the front as the Indian air strike began on December 2, he saw how the armies were scampering for withdrawal from the advancing Indian army and Mukti Bahini. And the army forgot the foreign journalists at Hotel Intercontinental.

The memory of the surrender ceremony of the Pakistan army has faded in some parts for Abbas. From a long 34-year tunnel he tries to grab at passing scenes and then is not sure whether they actually happened the way he remembers. But some scenes he recalls very clearly.

"After the surrender, Niazi took out his gun and then he cried. There was just one drop of tear," he says. And after 34 years, Abbas has again come back to Bangladesh, the country whose war he covered as a photojournalist.

"I came back after 34 years as I am reaching a age when you tend to look back at the past," he says. "I am not here as a photojournalist, I am like a writer, an artist, reflecting on the past, retracing my steps. I am here to see what has been happening to this country and connect it to my experience."