'The present generation, either due to historical amnesia or political propaganda, has been fed a narrative that paints India as an adversary rather than an ally.'
Air Commodore Nitin Sathe (retd) got through to Lieutenant Imran Ahmed Chowdhury, a veteran from the Bangladesh army settled in London, through a friend.
Chowdhury, in March 1971, was a 11 year old, when he and his family were forced to flee their country into India like the ten million others, due to the atrocities committed by the West Pakistani dispensation -- the Pakistani army in particular.
Air Commodore Sathe has a special connect with the War of 1971 since his father Colonel B K Sathe, was involved in the operations in the Eastern Theatre.
The stories that his father narrated about how the Indian Army aided the Mukti Bahini to help them create their country has always intrigued Air Commodore Sathe.
Thanks to him, Air Commodore Sathe was able to meet and interact with many war veterans who revealed fascinating stories of the war that he chronicled in his book 1971.1999 War Stories.
This interview with Lieutenant Chowdhury is significant for the fact that things are not the same in Bangladesh today.
With the current political upheaval, in a systemic manner, 1971 and the role of the Indian armed forces is being seen to be slowly erased from their history books and minds.
In time, young Bangladeshis may forget and not understand what India and Bangladesh mean to each other.
"India was the only country in the world that actively fought for Bangladesh's independence. Its people bore the economic and social costs of the war, its soldiers made the ultimate sacrifice, and its government risked international isolation to ensure that Bangladesh could be born as a sovereign State," Lieutenant Chowdhury tells Air Commodore Sathe .
What do Bangladeshis feel about India today?
Most of the situation seems politically and externally driven; but the present political atmosphere in the nation suggests that Bangladesh may soon see martial law.
Bangladesh is going through a particularly precarious and dangerous phase in its history that could ultimately lead to self-destruction if not handled with care.
While it may seem slippery, the current atmosphere is far from surprising.
The hatred, however, is not primarily directed at India but at the religion that the majority of Indians practice.
This growing animosity can be traced back to various factors, including the unchecked radicalisation and brainwashing that has taken root in some parts of society.
Radical hate speeches, fueled by certain ideological factions, has been a catalyst for this shift.
I am dismayed at how Bangladesh, a nation whose very existence is indebted to India's sacrifices in 1971, has suddenly embraced an anti-Indian sentiment.
This is not just a political shift; it is historical betrayal, a moral failure, and an erosion of national gratitude.
The alarming trend of perceiving India as an enemy undermines the very foundation of our independence.
It disregards the unparalleled assistance India provided during our Liberation War and diminishes the sacrifices made by thousands of Indian soldiers who bled and died for Bangladesh's freedom.
In 1971, when Pakistan unleashed one of the most brutal genocides of the 20th century, it was India that stood as Bangladesh's only hope.
Nearly ten million refugees -- men, women, and children -- poured into India, fleeing the mass killings, rapes, and destruction carried out by the Pakistan Army.
No other country in the world has ever extended such unconditional humanitarian aid. India, despite its own economic struggles, provided shelter, food, medical assistance, and protection to these refugees.
Its armed forces, alongside the Mukti Bahini, fought a war of liberation not for territorial gain but for the freedom of Bengalis.
The Indo-Soviet diplomatic maneuvering at the UN further prevented international intervention that could have prolonged Pakistan's occupation.
Looking through the prism of 1971, it is disgusting to witness how today's Bangladeshis are turning their backs on India.
The present generation, either due to historical amnesia or political propaganda, has been fed a narrative that paints India as an adversary rather than an ally.
This mindset is not only dangerous but also deeply ungrateful.
India was the only country in the world that actively fought for Bangladesh's independence.
Its people bore the economic and social costs of the war, its soldiers made the ultimate sacrifice, and its government risked international isolation to ensure that Bangladesh could be born as a sovereign state.
The shifting perception of India as an enemy, rather than a partner, represents the last nail in the coffin of Bangladesh's 1971 war legacy.
It signifies a complete detachment from the values and sacrifices upon which this nation was built.
Political narratives that fuel anti-India sentiments for short-term gains disregard the historical reality that without India's intervention, Bangladesh would likely not exist today.
Such hostility not only endangers diplomatic relations but also weakens Bangladesh's strategic position in the region.
Aligning with powers that never supported our liberation, or worse, fostering animosity toward the country that saved us, is a self-destructive path.
This growing anti-India rhetoric is not merely an insult to those who fought and died in 1971 -- it is a betrayal of our own history.
It is high time Bangladeshis, especially the younger generation, acknowledge the debt of gratitude we owe to India.
Political disagreements may arise between nations, but rewriting history to vilify a country that was once our messiah is both reckless and disgraceful.
If we fail to remember and honor the past, we risk jeopardising our future as well.
You had responsibility thrust upon you early in life at the camp in Agartala to look after your family especially after your brother was brutally killed by Pakistani soldiers.
Thank you for asking this question -- this is perhaps one of the most poignant ones, as it touches on a time that defined much of my life.
When the war began on March 27, 1971, following the brutal crackdown by the Pakistan army, a day that would come to be known as one of the darkest in history, our family was tragically fragmented across three different locations.
Whilst we four siblings and my mother stayed at Brahman Baria, my 16-year-old brother lived in a hostel in Sylhet, preparing for his secondary school final exams, scheduled in April 1971.
My father, company commander of Bravo Company of the 3rd Wing of the East Pakistan Rifles, was stationed at Shamshernagar Air Base, which had been abandoned at that point in time.
In March 1971, my father became the first officer to rebel against the oppressive regime.
He revolted against the Pakistan army, which had begun its violent and unprovoked crackdown against the Bengali population.
This action of his marked the beginning of the struggle that would define the rest of our lives.
Meanwhile, my brother fled Sylhet on April 8, 1971, the same day that the Pakistani air raid that uprooted our lives in Brahman Baria.
My father sought shelter in Kailashahar in India, where he continued his efforts in the fight for freedom.
My brother, who was unaware of our whereabouts, ended up crossing into Tripura.
He joined the student guerrilla fighters, trained in India, and infiltrated back into Bangladesh to operate covertly against the Pakistani army.
At Agartala, being the eldest around, I was assigned with the responsibility of looking after my mother and younger siblings.
Just 11, my responsibilities included collecting rations, gathering firewood, fetching water from a tube well situated a thousand feet down a hill, and shop for necessities.
I also had to chaperone my younger brothers and assist my mother when she visited my father, who was 140 km away in Kailashahar.
Despite my best efforts, I saw very little of my father throughout the war.
As the only company commander in Kailashahar, my father led raids, ambushes, and hit-and-run skirmishes to disrupt the Pakistani lines of communication across the border.
He was also involved in training of the Mukti Bahini in their youth camps.
One important task that he carried out was to keep the Kailashahar air base safe, and this was used by IAF Dakotas and helicopters for supply drop missions.
We could get only fleeting glimpses of him right through the operations.
My brother too met us once during his brief leave, before returning to his covert duties inside Bangladesh.
Tragedy struck on the night of November 10, 1971. My brother, along with his section of ten fighters, was captured by the Pakistan army.
Betrayed by local collaborators, they were transported handcuffed to Brahman Baria, at the location of the Pakistan army's 16th Division Headquarters.
Although my brother and his comrades were tortured and killed on the 21st of November 1971, we got to learn of his death only in January 1972 after our country was liberated.
We were directed to a refugee camp in Agartala, called Surjamoninagar Special Camp.
It was located between the Salda Nadi sub-sector, the Matinagar sub-sector, and the Akhaura sector -- areas that became synonymous with fierce fighting between the Mukti Bahini (supported by the Border Security Force) and the Pakistan army.
Here too, we lived in fear that that the Pakistanis could raid our camp and kill us all.
The conditions in the camp were deplorable, with rampant diseases like dysentery, scabies, eye infections, malaria, open wounds and more.
The lack of medical facilities made things worse and we saw many die without proper care.
Thousands of families lived under makeshift tarpaulin tents, the air thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, wood smoke, and the relentless monsoon dampness.
The mud beneath our feet was always wet and sticky, and mosquitoes swarmed at dusk, biting at our frail bodies.
We got only some rice and lentils as rations. Eggs, meat and sweets were unheard of. Due to lack of nutrition, we were just skin and bones and looked haggardly.
My mother never let her spirit break despite all the negativity around us. She continued to support us with her quiet strength, even when all hope seemed lost.
I drew the resilience from both my parents, especially my father, and this gave me the strength to keep going.
We often met other refugees in the camp who shared their stories of suffering and loss. We all had the same goal: Survival until we could return home and see the country liberated.
The war was not just a battle against the Pakistan army but a test of our endurance and spirit. We clung to hope; yearning for victory to come soon.
Let me tell you a little about our life at the camp from May to December, when I saw the Indian armed forces in action.
Indian helicopters flew overhead daily, heading toward the war zones.
The skies above our refugee camp were filled with the sounds of war; rotors chopping through the humid air, fighter jets screaming towards Pakistani positions, and the distant echoes of explosions.
I remember how the helicopters returned with wounded soldiers -- both Indian as well as the Mukti Bahini -- to be taken for medical treatment to the GB hospital at Agartala.
We saw the blood-soaked bandages, faces twisted in pain but also quiet defiance. Seeing them left a lasting impression on me -- I was just 11 years old, yet I understood the price of war, the cost of freedom.
I also did my little bit for the cause of my homeland. Along with a few more boys, we distributed the Joi Bangla newspaper, walking through the streets of Agartala.
The paper was more than just news; it was hope printed on pages, a reminder that the war was being fought for a reason and victory was within reach.
As December approached, the tempo of war intensified. The camp buzzed with rumours -- "The Indian Army is advancing!", "The Pakistani forces are retreating!", "Dhaka will soon be free!".
Indian Army convoys rolled past Agartala in more significant numbers. The sound of troop movements, artillery convoys, and air sorties increased, and we knew the final battle was near.
Then, on December 16th, the news we had been waiting for arrived: Pakistan had capitulated in Dhaka, and Bangladesh was born!
Our refugee camp erupted in celebration. People hugged, cried, and chanted, "Joi Bangla! Joi Hind!". Some wept for those who didn't live to see this day.
The war had ended for us -- but our journey was far from over. The next challenge was returning home to a country scarred by war and rebuilding what had been lost.
Not even in my teens, I had witnessed history. I had seen war, sacrifice, and resilience.
But most importantly, I had seen the dream of a free Bangladesh come true -- a dream paid for in blood, tears, and unwavering hope.
This journey, from the initial invasion by the Pakistan Army to the eventual victory, shaped who I am today.
It taught me resilience, sacrifice, and the importance of standing up for what is right, no matter the cost.
Though the pain of losing my brother will never fade, I take solace in knowing that his sacrifice, like the sacrifice of many others, led to the creation of a free Bangladesh.
Joi Bangla!
Why did you decide to join the Bangladesh army? Can you describe your journey in the armed forces and your reason to quit early?
I was deeply impressed by the valour, patriotism, bravery, and conviction of the commissioned officers of the Bangladesh Mukti Bahini during their time in India and even more so by the leaders I had heard of who fought within East Pakistan during the initial phase of resistance against the Pakistan army.
The courage and charisma of the sector and sub-sector commanders of the Mukti Bahini also left an indelible mark on me.
Coupled with this was my cherished association with the East Pakistan Rifles, which resulted from my father's service in the organisation.
These experiences, combined with my deep-rooted sense of duty and patriotism, made joining the Bangladesh army a natural choice for me.
I joined the 8th Bangladesh Military Academy Long Course and got commissioned into the East Bengal Regiment.
Deeply committed to my service, I took pride in my work. I excelled academically in my training, bagging an Alpha grade was recognised as the best student.
I scored the highest marks in the Army School of Education and Administration history.
Due to my performance in the course, I earned a posting as an instructor at the same school as a lieutenant, a rare honour at the time.
In fact, I was the only lieutenant in the history of the Bangladesh army to ever be posted as an Instructor Class 'C'.
The Bangladesh army's training was second to none, and the discipline, leadership, and sense of purpose instilled in us were foundational to my development as an officer.
The training I received was rigorous and transformative, preparing me for military service and serving the country with the highest level of integrity and professionalism.
During my time in service, the leadership may have been flawed at times, but the overall ethos and spirit of the Bangladesh army were something I deeply admired.
The army's commitment to the country and its people and the incredible bond between officers and soldiers left a lasting impression on me.
Over time, the Bangladesh army has made tremendous strides since its inception, and despite the challenges, it remains a symbol of national pride and resilience.
My responsibilities -- such as helping win the presidential referendum for the military ruler in my area of responsibility -- were monumental.
I was assigned to oversee three sub-districts, and in doing so, I found myself embroiled in some morally dubious tasks.
I was tasked with ensuring government-chosen candidates won the sub-district chairman elections, sometimes resorting to bribing local leaders.
As a lieutenant with less than three years of service, I wielded more power than most officers with decades of experience, dealing with critical matters far beyond my pay grade.
In the years that followed, I found myself handling political tasks like election of members of parliament.
I was assigned to ensure that the right candidates, often chosen by the ruling party, won their seats.
If necessary, I was even involved in organising things like ballot stuffing and instructing other ranks to wear civilian clothes to stamp ballots.
As a lieutenant, I was deciding who would make the laws that would govern the country, laws that would directly impact my life, my career, and the lives of millions.
During this time, I realised the deep-rooted connection that the Bangladesh army still had with its former Pakistani counterpart.
The military's role was far more involved in politics than I had initially imagined, and it became increasingly clear that integrity, honesty, and fairness were often sacrificed to maintain power and control.
I eventually left the army and pursued further education in the United Kingdom.
My decision was based on the desire to explore new opportunities and grow beyond the military sphere, but I always carry the invaluable lessons I learned whilst in uniform.
I continued my education in the UK, and over time, I became the first Bangladeshi officer ever to be elected as a councilor anywhere in the world.
Her Majesty the Queen also honoured my philanthropic work with the British Empire Medal.
My family has always remained proud of Bangladesh and its independence.
Despite being raised in a different environment, my children hold a deep connection to the country of their roots.
However, like many Bangladeshis, they are disturbed by the country's ongoing struggles and the turbulence in its trajectory since its liberation in 1971.
They are aware of the sacrifices that my family, along with millions of others, made for the independence of the country -- a cause for which we poured our blood and tears.
Though they cherish the country's history and the freedom it gained, they are also concerned about Bangladesh's challenges.
Nonetheless, their love for the nation remains unwavering, and they continue to stay connected to its culture, history, and people.
Feature Presentation: Aslam Hunani/Rediff.com
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