Septembers Of My Life (M. Khalid Riaz)

[Taimoor Gondal]

It was late in the evening on September 11, 2001, when I learnt in Islamabad that two planes had crashed into the World Trade Center, and others may be headed towards the White House and other key locations in a presumed terrorist attack against USA. We sat dumbfounded in front of the television set, watching the horrifying images from the site of the attack being rebroadcast from CNN. Not much was said but I suspect every one was wondering (like me) "What next?'

Later that evening I drove from Islamabad to Rawalpindi to spend the night with my parents, and to try to reach my family in Chicago. The area was in the midst of a dust and thunderstorm at that time. With the images of New York under attack in my mind, and driving in such poor visibility on a highway that is usually so well lit at night was quite an eerie experience. Out of nowhere a thought crossed my mind, "is this really a storm?" Or has the US determined or decided that somehow Afghanistan was involved in the terrorist attack, and have launched a swift retaliatory attack and blown the country to pieces." My heart sank and shivers went down my spine as I considered the possibility that I may be breathing the dust that remains of what used to be the Hindu Kush Mountains. I thought of the day of judgement and the end of the world, as we know it. However I gathered myself as I reached home and after spending some time with my parents started to try to contact my family in Chicago. I breathed a sigh of relief, when I finally received an email response back from Qasim sometime after midnight, telling me that they were all safe.
These scenes play in my mind over and over again every time I see images of the WTC towers or otherwise revisit the tragedy of September 11. And then invariably my mind turns to another eventful September of my life. It was a much brighter day of September in Lahore and there were no clouds or storms in sight, or so I thought. But there was something unusual that day. Abba ji left for his "unit" in uniform that Sunday morning. We did not think much of it till he came back late in the afternoon and gathered the family. "I have to go to the border," he announced very calmly. "I know all of you will be fine, but I want you to be prepared for all eventualities." He proceeded to instruct us to cover up all the glass panes in the windows and doors with paper, and prepare an air raid shelter in the back yard away from the house. He then left for his assignment. His pride and confidence was so contagious that we had no feelings of fear left in us.
Next morning, September 6, 1965, I was digging in the back yard to prepare the air raid shelter, when the calm of the neighborhood was shattered by the noise of jet fighters scrambling in the air and two successive explosions that shook the buildings. I dove into my partially built shelter, my heart reaching the floor before the rest of my body. Later as we tuned in to Radio Pakistan we heard President Ayub Khan addressing the nation, telling us that the enemy had crossed the international borders and we were under attack. He reassured the people that our armed forces were fully capable of defending the country, and asked every one to rise to the occasion. That day saw Lahore go through a paradigm shift of unimaginable magnitude. People poured out into the streets and roadsides to cheer the army convoys and soldiers heading towards the borders. Many people started marching towards Wagah to join the battle to save Lahore, luckily to be turned back by the police and the army. Later a rumor started that enemy paratroopers had landed in Lahore to carry out subversive acts. All the youth in our neighborhood gathered in the streets of Purani Anarkali. Armed with sticks,hockeys and any other devices we could lay our hands on, we divided up into small groups to defend our city. We scoured every nook and corner of the area looking for the enemy. I do not think any enemy paratrooper or even a suspect that had come before us that evening would have lived to see the next day. Luckily we found none. That night we set up patrols around the key public buildings in the neighborhood, and went home late at night only when we were assured that the police and army had every thing under control.
We did not hear much of what was really happening on the border, but personally knowing so many of the people who were out there defending us I felt very safe and secure. We used to sleep outdoors in the back yard and watch the flashes of light from the artillery guns on the horizon around Lahore, and I would think of Mamoon' Hayat who was out there manning one of the guns. We received our first message from Abba ji five or six days into the war through a messenger. He told us that he is doing well, but he wants to be able to concentrate more fully on his responsibilities without having to think about his children in Lahore. Therefore we were to go and live with Chacha ji in Quaidabad, who will take care of us. We all had mixed feelings about leaving Lahore at such an important time in our history, but you do not question some one who is putting his life on the line for you, and so we packed a few belongings and took a bus to Quaidabad.
We had no further news about Abbaji till a day or two after the cease fire on September 23, when I was finally able to reach some one in his battalion headquarters, and learnt that he was alive and safe, and that we could come to Lahore to see him. We reached Lahore as fast as we could, and went to the battalion mess that he was staying at to see him. I could not believe what my eyes saw. This six foot tall well built soldier usually weighing around 180 pounds, looked like Jinnah in his final days. He still walked straight despite the shrapnel wounds on his leg (that he did not think much of) and with great pride, but there was a strange mixture of peace and sadness in his expressions. He had seen things that defy imagination and logic.
He was to leave for Mardan soon thereafter to raise and command a new battalion for his regiment, while I was to stay in Lahore to start medical school. We made the best use of the few days that we had together to learn what he had been through. He shared some of his experiences that he could, with us, and I learnt the meaning and the background of the strange expressions on his face. We learnt how the enemy forces had occupied the Pakistani territory all the way up to the banks of the BRB Canal on the outskirts of Lahore, following their initial excursion. And how the Pakistani forces launched their first counter attack in the Wagah Sector on September 10th. The counter attack was led by uncle Mubarik, originally from East Pakistan and our next door neighbor. The offensive was successful, and our forces pushed the enemy back beyond village Dograi on the Lahore - Wagah Road, and uncle Mubarik gave his life for Pakistan while leading his troops. We also learnt how the two companies of Abbaji's unit then set up a bridgehead between the village of Dograi and Wagah, and how these four hundred or so jawans withstood one attack after another to keep the enemy from reaching BRB in this sector again. Finally a few hours before the cease fire the enemy troops were able to go around them and encircle them. And once they were surrounded by the enemy, and without much rations and with very little ammunition left, they decided to fight their way out instead of surrendering, The ensuing battle raged for hours in the streets of Dograi, and only a few were able to come back alive and swim across the BRB to safety. Many gave the ultimate sacrifice for their motherland, amongst them Captain Saghir, recently returned from training in USA, who was contemplating leaving the army for a career in teaching English language at a Rawalpindi college. Many more were wounded and/or became prisoners of war amongst them colonel Golwala, the battalion commander, and a Parsi by faith. I asked about many of the people that I knew personally, and Abba ji told me how each one of them gave their life or limb, or fought their way out. He spoke a lot about how he went back to the battlefield after the ceasefire, and identified and brought back the remains of his colleagues and personally helped bury my uncles and bhais in the Ganj-a-Shaheedan in Lahore, many of them in mass graves because they could not be identified with certainity. I was very proud of my extended family, and wondered how I could ever repay the debt I owed them. They had given their lives, so I could live and become a doctor. Today some of my friends from KEMC class of 1970 are waging a different kind of war in the area of Dograi, having built a hospital there and are helping the community get out of the poverty cycle. I can take no credit for this venture, but I am grateful to Riaz Baber and Khalid Pervez for continuing the battle to save Dograi and repaying part of the debt that we owe our people.
Many Septembers have passed , and Abba ji has since retired from the Pakistan army. He had to "commute" part of his pension fund, and with a little help from his children was finally able to build a small house of his own to live in Rawalpindi. It took him an additional two years or so to get an electricity connection without paying a bribe, and he feels so fortunate in being able to do it that way. Over eighty years of age he is starting to show signs of ageing but his mind is still sharper than all the rest of us in the family put together. He spends most of his time studying the Quran and Seerah and writing, and trying to analyze why the dream of Pakistan never became a reality.
I also managed to become a doctor and disappointed many in the family, when I decided to come to USA instead of joining the Army "at least as a doctor." I have struggled over the years to repay just a fraction of the debt that I owe to so many in Pakistan. Whenever I think of the terrorism unleashed against my country on September 11, I think of my other people that I have left behind, for whom every day is September 11. Their lives are terrorized by diseases that should not be there, economic deprivations that keep them from acquiring the knowledge that they need to seek the opportunities that are out there, and by a corrupt political system that keeps them subjugated to the whims of a few. There have been many more wars and many more cease fires between the neighbors in the subcontinent. Their armed forces are again poised to fight on the borders, and some of my family members are ready to give the ultimate sacrifice again. But the stakes are much higher this time. We now have nuclear capability on both sides, and counts will be in the millions this time, not hundreds. All this while hundreds of millions in the subcontinent are fighting their own little battles against poverty and lack of opportunity. There is no general around to lead our people in the war against social ills that are destroying our society. They are all too busy with their own priorities.
But in this day of shrinking distances and porous borders, terrorism cannot be a local phenomenon any more. It is a global problem. We need a global strategy to combat this menace. This strategy has to be one that eradicates terrorism in all it's forms, from the face of the earth, once and for all. If it means that we have to go to war against this scrouge then so be it. Let it be an all out war that goes to the root of the problem and eliminates all potential threats of conflict and disputes that produce terrorists.
I keep wondering what this war would look like. Two possible scenarios come to my mind. One way would be to eliminate every one who has a potential for conflict with us, before he or she can become a threat. This way there will be no differences of opinion, and no conflicts, and therefore no reason for any one to resort to terrorist acts to gain attention, or prove their point. It would be an extreme act, but once all the destruction is over, we can all live in conformity and peace. The second option would be to wage a war against the factors that nurture extremist and terrorist ideologies. We will have to eradicate poverty, injustice and oppression in this world, and provide people with access to their basic needs and an opportunity to flourish, if they so desire. This would certainly be a less destructive way, but do we have the wisdom and the patience to devise a strategy to fight such war and then carry it out?
I keep wondering, how many more Septembers we will have to go through before we find peace.
Author's Note: The views expressed in this article represent the personal perspectives of the author and do not represent the position of any organization that the author may be involved with, or that may be mentioned in the article. The details of the Battle of Dograi were published in a book "Lahore ki Dahleez Pur" by Inayat Ullah. I believe by the Sayyara Digest publications in late 1960s.