Chapter 7: Defending Teliapara

After our initial training concluded on 13 April we marched to the armory and took ammunition for the rifles. On the same day, 13 April 1971, the Pakistani Army was butchering my mother and eldest brother in Dinajpur; I came to know about this tragedy only after the war.

I not only filled both the pouches obtained during training with cartridges for the rifle, but also took six grenades—four high explosive and two smoke types. I never had used a smoke grenade and at that time did not really know how it was used but it looked so cute—just like a 7-Up can—that I could not help taking it. The same night when we went out on patrol, the combined weight of the cartridges—there must have been at least 150 of them–and grenades made the load so heavy that, after walking only a few miles, I was regretting such a heavy burden. When finally we returned from the patrol exhausted and wilted, I reduced the load. Henceforth, as long as my weapon was the .303 rifle, I carried 75 rounds of ammunition and only one high explosive grenade.

For the next few days our primary task was to patrol near the perimeter of the teagarden during the day and perform sentry duty at night. Selim Bhai remained as our company commander.

Teliapara landscape

After a few days, however, our routine changed. Now every day after sunset, after completing our supper, we went out for night patrolling. Night patrolling inside the teagarden was difficult because during moonless nights the teagarden was pitch dark and visibility was limited to about 5 meters. Even during full moon, the garden remained mostly dark as the thick foliage prevented the soft moonlight from penetrating. We patrolled in single file, around 50 people in the company. Our weapons were also remained unimpressive, mostly .303 rifles and one Bren gun (.303 Light Machine Gun).

A few days later we went out on a day patrol near the Teliapara Railway Station. The distance between the teagarden and railway station is about eight hundred meters, and this stretch of land is almost devoid of vegetation save for some scattered trees and shrubs. Wilted by the long march on the tortuous and undulating paths through the teagarden, we reached the edge of the garden and squatted on the ground to rest. Looking around we found a patch of land with an abandoned pineapple garden. Some of the plants still had green and unripe pineapples in them. Greedily we plucked the pineapples and using our bayonets to slice them, we started eating the sour but moist pineapples, and in no time all the pineapples were gone.

As we were enjoying the pineapples, suddenly, we spotted a person about two hundred meters from us under a tree. We were surprised to see this person because we knew that most people had fled from the border areas. Selim Bhai carried a Chinese 7.62 pistol tucked in his lungi. He cocked the pistol and gave it to me after resetting the hammer into a half-cock position. He showed me how to fire the half-cocked pistol and asked me to go and catch the person under the tree.

A pistol was a very coveted thing and I believe each of us wanted to have one, but unfortunately only some officers had them. Therefore, I felt much honored to hold the pistol in my hand and after leaving my cumbersome rifle in the custody of one of my comrades, I stealthily moved toward the person under the tree. Instead of going straight at him, first I moved right through the low bushes and then moving left I suddenly appeared on his left and grabbed hold of him. He, however, did not try to resist, maybe because of the menacing pistol that kept prodding him in the belly. I herded him to Selim Bhai.

I should mention that some of the Sylheti people from these areas were notoriously treacherous and many were Pakistani collaborators. So it’s not surprising that we thought he was a Pakistani spy. Selim Bhai started asking him questions. The captured person could not explain what he was doing there, near the India-Bangladesh border and in the vicinity of our defense.

During interrogation we started abusing him; some of us started slapping and kicking him, and suddenly, before anyone could understand, he jumped up and started running toward the bamboo bushes, the same bamboo bush that we had abandoned recently as the training camp. Lacking any sense of fire control, almost everybody started firing at the running man.

A person named Alamgir, who was also a senior from my college at Dhaka and who had joined our company recently, started running after the person firing his Sub Machine Gun. Miraculously, maybe because of the thick bamboo bushes or for some other reason, not a single bullet found its mark. After a while we saw the person, now having crossed the bamboo bushes, running toward the Indian border, which was about a kilometer from us. Alamgir continued to fire his SMG even though the person was beyond SMG range.

As everybody was shooting at the running figure, I thought why not also try. I cocked my rifle and took aim but the rifle sight felt different. I inspected the rifle and was very disappointed to find that it was not my rifle! The rifle must have been switched during the night when I was sleeping. Our rifles were identical and we kept the rifle in a common place at night. Therefore, it was not unlikely to inadvertently swap weapons when we were sleeping. I had become attached to the rifle, which I had used to make the one-inch groove at the range.

The man continued to run toward the Indian border, his size gradually shrinking as the distance increased and soon he was lost among the haze of the distant trees.

This was the first incident where we fired at another human being.

I would like to note another important thing that had been happening for some days now. Many in our group, mostly those coming from nearby areas, started to desert. Our condition was without doubt tough; our insufficient food was making us physically weak, now almost everybody was infected with dysentery, and we continued sleeping on bare ground. For those from nearby areas, the lure of home’s comfort may have been too tempting and reason for desertion. I also suspect that some of the deserters may have been Pakistani spies sent to obtain information about the Mukti Bahini.

Weakened by malnutrition, we were so tired that going to sleep was never a problem. In fact, now we were not getting enough time to sleep. Every night, each of us had two hours of sentry duty. Therefore, we could not even sleep the entire night and whenever we had time, we could fall asleep instantly.

A few days later, we went out on a night patrol and reached the end of the garden. Today we had a different plan: we laid an ambush. We took position just inside the garden, among some trees and tea bushes. This was one of our favorite ambush spots. We had been coming here for the last three or four days but so far Pakistani patrols did not fall into our trap. I was sitting next to Selim Bhai, who was occasionally giving us directions about our deployment. The person operating our LMG was on the other side of Selim Bhai.

It was around eight o’clock of a dark, moonless night with an overcast sky hiding all heavenly lights. The howling of the owl and the rustling of wild beasts were sometimes disrupting the night’s dark gravity.

Somebody lighted a bidi and immediately attracted Selim Bhai’s wrath. Selim Bhai was normally a very nice, polite, and witty person. But when angry he became quite nasty. His repertoire of unique abuses was a source of amusement to all of us except those who had the misfortune of becoming its victim.

Selim Bhai now unleashed his arsenal of abuses at the bidi smoker and at the same time I thought I saw some human outlines against the horizon. I pulled Selim Bhai’s shirt and pointed at the direction of the outlines. Selim bhai interrupted his invectives and turned at the direction pointed by me. But now I could see them no more. Selim Bhai was about to dismiss me when I again glimpsed them. I pointed again and said in a very low voice, “I saw them again.” Just then, another person also pointed in the general direction of the outlines—it was a Pakistani patrol of about a section. My heartbeat suddenly increased; both excited and afraid by the prospect of the encounter, I was desperately trying to control my fear. The Pakistani patrol was now about two hundred meters from us and barely visible in the darkness. It was coming straight at us. Selim Bhai hissed, “Nobody fire before I do.” I am not sure if everybody heard his command. I was ready for my first encounter with the Pakistani army.

The patrol reached about one hundred fifty meters and we could now clearly see the enemy’s outlines against a lighter horizon. I took aim with my .303 rifle in the direction of the enemy, the darkness preventing precise aiming. Just then, before the Pakistanis were completely inside our trap, someone among us fired his .303 rifle, immediately unleashing a savage exchange of fire between the parties. Suddenly I heard a strange sound, unlike any sound I heard before. It was more of a damp metallic thud than a boom of a grenade and it definitely was not from any rifle or SMG. Immediately the entire area was brightly lighted; it was a 2-inch mortar firing an illumination round. I failed to spot any Pakistani soldier even when the flare lighted the area like day. Soon the flare melted in the darkness and everything went dark again. The enemy was invisible; the enemy bullets coming at us and a few muzzle flashes were the only signs of their presence. Bullets were zipping all around us, hitting trees, breaking branches, and creating havoc among us. It’s terrifying when a bullet comes at you; I think more terrifying when the bullet misses you and you know it missed you only because of the horrible hissing sound it makes as it passes you, as if the bullet was gasping in frustration.

.303 Lee Enfield Rifle MK II

When the bullets came at me I was afraid, I was very afraid, I wanted to run inside the garden in terror. Summoning all my willpower, somehow I managed to overcome the terrible urge to run.

But some of our comrades had already started retreating inside the teagarden while some of us kept firing, however, I soon discovered that only about five or six of us were still firing and the rest had deserted us. Selim Bhai directed the LMG man to continue firing and signaled the rest of us to also retreat inside the garden. After we withdrew, he left the place, the LMG man following him. Selim Bhai was furious.

It seemed that day luck was not with us because as we reached the vicinity of our defense at Teliapara, suddenly the defenders opened fire on us. Fortunately, we had not quite reached the defense, the distance was about three hundred meters and most of the bullets flew harmlessly over our heads. It was now impossible for us to get inside the sanctuary of our own defense. Though the shooting stopped after half an hour, yet we did not dare to go near it because we knew that our nervous comrades would shoot first and ask questions later.

We remained inside the teagarden, squatting on the muddy road and fighting a second losing battle with the wicked teagarden mosquitoes.

My initial attempts to sleep were marred by the mosquitoes, but I was so exhausted that I soon forgot the mosquitoes; even the threat of a Pakistani patrol suddenly appearing in our midst could not deter me from sleeping.

I realized I was sleeping when someone woke me up. The sun had not yet fully risen; the ground was moist from night’s dew, a kind of soft mist covered the surrounding landscape in a translucent haze. The birds were already busy. Teliapara teagarden had a few monkeys and I saw a small group in a nearby tall tree. I found that many were still sleeping on the ground. Selim Bhai was already awake and asked me to wake up the others. I don’t think there was anybody to perform sentry duty when we were sleeping. We were very lucky that a Pakistani patrol did not venture inside the garden that night.

In the safety of daylight, we finally reached our defense without any incident. We were hungry and we had barely finished our breakfast when Selim Bhai asked us to fall in. We stood in two lines facing our commander Selim Bhai, now looking quite angry and upset.

He was furious that most had fled the battlefield. He insisted on knowing the identity of the person who had fired the first shot without his approval. Of course, nobody ventured forward. He sternly warned that next time he would personally shoot if anybody fled a battlefield. After some more admonishing, he dismissed us.

The next few days patrolling was uneventful; we did not encounter any Pakistanis. However, our strength continued to erode through the desertion of some more people.

A few days later, we became a part of Lt. Murshed’s company. Lt. Murshed was an officer of the Second East Bengal Regiment (2^nd Bengal) and he commanded a regular company of 2^nd Bengal. Our company was assigned the defenses of Teliapara. The date was 23 April 1971.

Teliapara is a teagarden in the district of Sylhet (now it is in Habiganj). When going to Sylhet from Dhaka using the old Dhaka-Sylhet road, Teliapara is the first teagarden on the right hand side of the road. Teliapara has an area of approximately 1.6 km x 2.1 km. The other adjacent teagardens are Surma and Satchari. While Surma is on the other side of the Old Dhaka-Sylhet Highway, Satchari is the next tea garden and lies on the eastern border of Teliapara, on the same side as Teliapara on the old Dhaka-Sylhet road. Bangladesh-India border lies on the southern end of both Teliapara and Satchari teagardens.

Most teagardens have a typical layout. It consists of a center where the production, administration, and residential facilities are located. Around this center are the vast tracts of the tea plantations. The landscape of the garden consists of gently undulating hillocks covered with tea bushes and dotted with shade trees; serpentine earthen roads run below the hillocks and the harvested tea leaves are transported through these roads.

Map 1: Teliapara and adjacent areas. Unfortunately, the Google Earth map of this area is very hazy. It is easy to identity the stream that ran along the teagarden (in white).

The above image shows the tea garden in detail. You can see the stream at the bottom of the image and my defensive position near the stream (market as yellow circle).

I never saw a teagarden before and I found the teagarden landscape breathtaking. The teagardens had various animals, birds, and poisonous snakes. We were not afraid of snakes in 1971 and they also did not unduly bother us; we only had a few snakebites in the teagardens.

The Indian border was on the southern side of Teliapara teagarden. The demarcation was a small stream that flowed by the side of the garden. The southern bank of the stream was Indian.

The production and administrative facilities of Teliapara were located at a corner of the garden, not far from the Indian border. Most of our defenses were also around this central area. The vast tea plantation had no permanent defenses. Regular day and night patrols were sent to the garden to prevent surprise attacks. Usually, a company of Mukti Bahini was responsible for the defense of Teliapara. Of the original fifty of our training company now only about twenty remained.

Around our defense, we dug many bunkers and trenches—more trenches than bunkers because a trench was easier to build. The difference between a bunker and a trench is that a trench is a simple narrow ditch, sometimes fortified by sandbags. A trench, normally, does not have any overhead cover.

Remnant of a 1971 trench (photograph taken in 2011)

A bunker, on the other hand, in a more formal underground structure with overhead cover designed to withstand the impact of direct hits by artillery shells and mortar bombs. Its construction, therefore, requires substantial materials and effort. Consequently, it was not surprising that Teliapara defenses consisted of mainly trenches. There were only a few bunkers near the company headquarters, located at the center of our defense.

The position assigned to our group was located at the left most corner of the defense, close to the stream mentioned before. This was a very important defensive position because it was the leftmost position of the defense. On our back was the stream which divided India and Bangladesh. Due to the close proximity to India, we considered our position to be relatively secured. Our main threat was mainly from the left flank and front—both covered with thick tea bushes.

The nearest trench was on our right, about one hundred fifty meters from us. Our group consisted of six people equipped with a Bren gun (.303 LMG), which always remained in the trench, and our personal weapons, five .303 rifles and a Chinese 7.62 SMG belonging to Selim Bhai. This Chinese 7.62 SMG was the most coveted personal weapon during 1971 and we all wanted to have one. They were also in very short supply; only officers and a few others had them.

Our trench had a dimension of approximately eight feet in length, three feet in breadth and a depth of about four and a half feet. As trenches do not have overhead cover, when it rained the trench became a muddy mess. During rain the trenches were filled with water and we had to fight from these muddy waterlogged trenches. Since I had no change of clothes, my condition was really pathetic; one can very easily imagine the condition of my clothes. By now it was impossible to tell that once my trousers’ color was yellow. I had already discarded my worn out leather shoes and now I was barefoot. Like many others, I also developed fungus infection of the foot through almost constant contact with mud and water in the trenches.

Our LMG was always in the trench where we also had twenty-four loaded magazines for the LMG. Two persons always remained on sentry duty and it was their responsibility to operate the LMG when required.  Our duties rotated in two-hour shifts—day and night. That is, in every 24 hours, each of us had sentry duty for 8 hours. Besides, when not on sentry duty, we had to do various chores, such as bringing ammunition and food from Company headquarters, act as courier when required, etc. Adjacent to the trench was an abandoned mud cottage belonging to teagarden coolies, which we used as our sleeping quarters. This cottage was large enough for the six of us. We used the stream for washing, bathing, and as a source of drinking water.

This stream had its own character. When it was not raining, it had only ankle deep water; however, during rain the stream turned into a monstrous torrent, which made fording the stream extremely hazardous. Therefore, our ability to quickly retreat across the stream to India during heavy rain was uncertain and we prayed that it was not raining when we came under attack. It seemed that the Pakistanis also abhorred rain and seldom attacked us during heavy rainfall.

During the day, life in Teliapara defense was relatively peaceful because we believed that it would be difficult for the Pakistanis to surprise us through a frontal attack during the day, and any attempt to attack us in full daylight would have been costly for the enemy even when it was manned by novices like us[1]. However, it was a usual practice of the Pakistanis to subject us to occasional harassing artillery shelling that caused arbitrary casualties. The favorite harassing shelling technique of the Pakistani gunners was to fire airbursts. An airburst is an artillery shell that explodes approximately 60-70 feet overhead. This is achieved through a timed fuse and the shell is timed to burst exactly 60-70 feet overhead. The principal advantage of an airburst over a ground burst is that the energy from the explosion, as well as any shrapnel, is distributed more evenly over a wider area.

My first encounter with artillery shelling happened the very first day we took position in Teliapara defense. Accompanied by another member of our group, I went to the company headquarters to collect ammunition for the LMG. It was immediately after sunset; sunlight had almost faded as we reached the vicinity of the company headquarters, when suddenly shelling started. When a few shells landed somewhere around us, finding no suitable shelter, we took refuge under a tree. Meanwhile a number of shells continued to fall somewhere nearby making earth shattering noise; the first few shells missed the targets by a wide margin and it seemed to have landed in the jungle outside the defense. But, the subsequent shells started to land inside the perimeter of the company headquarters. Two shells landed near our tree; we heard the splinters hit some of the branches of our tree but fortunately we were not injured. Then we noticed a person frantically waving and shouting at us to join him from a nearby bunker, which we did not see before due to darkness. However, as we tried to join him, another round of shells fell around us forcing us to take cover. Immediately after the shells had exploded, we ran to the bunker and wriggled inside its safety. Now, we felt relatively safe. The shelling continued sporadically for another ten to fifteen minutes before ceasing. We came out of the bunker when shelling stopped and immediately noticed a few people gathered around a large tree and excitedly shouting at each other, about a hundred meters from us. Curious, we joined them.

When I was going toward them, I bumped into something hard on the ground. Looking down, I saw a leather Army boot. Looking closer I found the boot was completely drenched in blood; to my horror I could see blood was still oozing out of the boot! My next discovery made me nauseous—an entire foot, cleanly severed at the ankle—as if by a surgeon’s scalpel—was still inside the boot! Somehow controlling myself, I moved toward the base of a nearby large tree where a number of people had already gathered, a few of them carrying lanterns.

The fateful banyan tree still standing tall as the epitaph of our five nameless fallen comrades (Photograph taken in 2011). The Photo shows, from left to right, Maj. Abul, BP; Shahzaman Mozumder, BP;and Maj. Wakar, BP.  Maj. Wakar and I were the defenders of Teliapara.

There was a small ditch at the base of the large tree where five members of our company had taken shelter. An artillery shell, possibly first hitting a branch of the tall tree and losing its momentum, fell straight inside the ditch where they had taken refuge and exploded. The result of the shell exploding inside the ditch was catastrophic. All five bodies were completely mutilated and torn into pieces. Before today, I had seen people shot dead and lying on the ground; I saw the protruding limbs of Pakistani victims at Jagannath Hall; I saw blood at Iqbal Hall; I saw charred bodies near the People’s Daily office; I had seen war movies and accepted that death was a possible outcome of war; but nothing had prepared me for the gruesome sight that lay before me in the dimly lit ditch. The five bodies were completely blown apart, as if some hungry prehistoric beasts had feasted on them. The guts, of at least two of the victims, littered the ditch, part of their faces and heads were missing, the brains still oozing out; one body was missing from the waist. One person’s leg looked as though a butcher, using a sharp knife, had scraped off all meat from the bone; only the white bone and some tendons were what remained of what once was a human leg. Only one person among the five, his head partly blown, was still alive. He was muttering something inaudible and someone crouched down to listen to what he was saying. I did not hear what he said. I saw somebody try to make him drink water from a flask; I started to feel dizzy and weak. I moved to a corner, sat down, and started vomiting. My companion was also vomiting like me. The fatally injured person soon died.

After some time, we collected the body parts of our fallen comrades, dug graves near where they had fallen, prayed Janaja for them, and buried them. We returned to our positions with a heavy and timorous heart.

This was a big blow to us, particularly on our morale. This was the first time we experienced death and the way they died was not a pretty sight with all their guts and brains spilling out like that. Over the next few days, we saw some more desertions. This incident also made us respectful of shelling and since then, we would scamper for cover at the first indication of shelling.

At first–in the beginning–we had no sense of fire control. At night, we would blindly open fire with or without the slightest hint of trouble—real or imaginary. While sitting inside the trenches we were often jittery and scared, and in order to hide our fears we became trigger-happy. I think the sound of many weapons firing gave us a kind of confidence; the rumbling of the LMGs assuring us that we were not alone in this desolate place, our comrades were also there to help and protect us. This was also a kind of warning to our enemies, a kind of boosting that said, “I will harm you if you come near me”. Our only means of communication was through shouting and occasional runners sent from the company headquarter.

The night also played tricks and fooled us. The darkness often transformed an innocent tree into a menacing Pakistani ready to pounce at us; sometimes the night made a stationary tree move; the night made us believe any rustling sound made by the teagarden’s animals was a Pakistani attack. The night was not our friend in the defense.

The lack of fire control meant that none of us could sleep at night, even those that were not on sentry duty, because whenever there was a firefight, real or imaginary, everybody would be in the trenches shooting. Consequently, after a few days in the defenses of Teliapara we were all exhausted and spent, mainly through lack of sleep. The incidents of sentries snoring in the trenches became common and often drew corporal punishment from the commanders. Most of the time we remained so exhausted that keeping awake, particularly during the late hours, was extremely difficult.

The Pakistanis would send regular patrols either to harass or to determine our strengths and defensive locations. Typically, a Pakistani patrol would sneak close to our defense and start shooting at one or two trenches. In response, everybody from our defense would start firing with everything at our disposal. I have noticed that we often practiced “sympathetic firing,” that is, I fire not because I am under attack but because someone else from our defense was shooting at something and I start firing in ‘sympathy’. As a result, a number of times every night we were shooting at something. Therefore, the Pakistanis must have been well informed about our defenses and strengths. I am sure that they had figured out the location of most of our trenches including the location of the LMGs. This is the only explanation I could find to justify the reasonably accurate targeting of our trenches by Pakistani artillery.

When our company was defending Teliapara, we faced three Pakistani attacks in strength—at least by a company or more. The first Pakistani attack happened the same evening, just after we had suffered the five deaths described before.

After collecting ammunition from the armory, as we were coming back to our trench, the Pakistanis resumed artillery shelling. We were halfway to our trench, our load was quite heavy, and we did not find a suitable place to take shelter. We each carried a box of .303 ammunition and with this load I could not even walk straight, let alone run. There was no shelter nearby; not even a suitable tree. A few coolie huts were in the vicinity but a thatched hut was not an adequate protection against artillery shells. The only shelter we could find was a slight depression by the side of the road and we laid down in this depression on the ground and took shelter there. To make matters worse, the Pakistanis now switched to airbursts. Two shells exploded in a nearby cluster of bamboo bushes, creating a very peculiar noise as a number of splinters hit the bamboo. A large splinter landed close to our position. Two more shells exploded, now about one hundred fifty meters to our right. We were relieved to find the shelling moving away from us. Resuming our journey, we strived to run toward our trench but only achieved a kind of limping movement with the .303 rifle in one shoulder, two pouches of ammunition, and a full box of .303 ammunition clutched by both hands and the rifle tending to slip from the shoulders with every step. And then suddenly firing started. Bullets were now flying everywhere. We knew that we did not have enough ammunition in our trench, and if we could not reach ammunition to them quickly then soon they would run out of ammunition. In spite of the treacherous firing, we decided to keep moving, and finally reached the trench by using the hut to shield us from the enemy fusillade from the teagarden. We carried as much  ammunition we could carry to the trench, tThe rest of the ammunition kept lying near the hut—about ten meters from the trench.

Our trench was neither well made nor adequately deep. Also, its sides were not protected by sandbags and it was very difficult for us to shoot from the trench. Nevertheless, we kept firing at the general direction of the enemy. The continuous firing made the LMG’s barrel extremely hot; it was so hot that the color of the barrel became amber. We knew that when the barrel becomes that glowing hot, the heat can easily melt a cartridge case (made of copper) inside the barrel and jam the weapon. There is a provision of replacing an extremely hot barrel by a spare barrel; however, that day we did not even have a spare barrel. We had to stop firing from the LMG and allow the barrel to cool. The only effective fire from our trench was the LMG. Our .303 rifles were quite inadequate to respond to automatic fire of the enemy. The only automatic burst fire from our trench now was from Selim Bhai’s SMG. We kept firing our .303s as fast as we could. Fortunately, gradually the enemy fire died down. To be certain, we kept on firing for some time and then stopped.

It appeared that this time the Pakistanis were probing our defense to determine our strengths and locate the positions of our LMGs and MMGs. A properly trained outfit may not have responded as we did and would not have revealed all the defensive positions. Considering our experience and training, expecting anything better was probably asking for too much. Most of the members of our company, only a few days back, were students, farmers, shopkeepers, professionals, factory-workers, or merely unemployed rural youths.

The second attack took place a few days after the tragic death of our five comrades. We had just finished supper when suddenly we heard, “tat-tat-tat,” the familiar sound of LMG coming from the center of our defense. At first we mistook it as a routine postprandial shooting by our comrades. But our doubts were soon cleared when bullets started coming at us. Interrupting our supper, we jumped in the trench. Today Selim Bhai was operating the LMG because he was the first man in the trench. Now we came under attack. Luckily, after our first encounter with the enemy, we had fortified our trenches with sandbags, which gave better protection from small arms fire. We started firing through the sandbags, though we did not see the enemy hidden in the dark teagarden. Even if we had tried very hard, we could probably have detected only some muzzle flashes of the enemy’s weapons. We continued to fire the vast emptiness of the dark shadowy jungle; the enemy also remained satisfied by shooting at us from the teagarden, which looked like a black curtain in the darkness. The situation turned ugly when the Pakistani artillery joined the fray by firing on our positions. Now we were in big trouble because it was obvious that the enemy shooting at us from the jungle had artillery observers with them; their feedback to the gunners enabled the Pakistanis to target us precisely. Two shells landed, the first about ten yards in front of our trench and the other about twenty yards behind us. The shell that landed behind did not bother us, but some splinters from the shells exploding in our front hit the sandbags and a small splinter found the earlobe of one of the defenders. Fortunately, the splinter was tiny and caused only slight injury in the earlobe—it may had even removed a tiny part of his earlobe because the ear was bleeding profusely. However, we were so engrossed in the firefight that none of us, including the injured person, noticed the injury. We discovered his injury only when the firefight was over.

The firefight continued for an hour and then gradually petered out. We, the defenders, suffered minor injuries but fortunately no one died. We took our injured friend to the medic at the rear, who bandaged it. Everybody congratulated him for having a narrow escape.

The next day after sunrise we went to the teagarden in the vicinity of our trench and discovered many spent cartridges lying among the bushes; all the cartridge cases were of Chinese 7.62 caliber.

Indian Sterling Sub-Machine Gun (SMG)

About this time, we started getting some better weapons. The .303 rifle was reliable but it had a very low rate of fire. An expert rifleman could fire (we were by no means experts) at best, 20 rounds per minute. On the other hand, a sub machine gun could easily sustain 130+[2] rounds in a minute. A semiautomatic rifle could easily sustain 40-50 rounds per minute. In addition, due to the size and weight, I felt clumsy with a .303 rifle. Therefore, I went to the armory and requested the Non Commissioned Officer (NCO) in charge of the armory to give me an Indian SMG. The NCO told me to get the approval from my company commander.

I found Lt. Murshed at the company HQ; after introducing myself I explained to him that the .303 rifle was too big for me and that I needed an Indian SMG. Lt. Murshed may have been very surprised because this was the first time I spoke to him and I must have looked very funny; my originally yellow bellbottom trousers and striped white shirt were now almost khaki from accumulated grime and mud and also torn in some places, I was now barefoot, and I must have dropped a few pounds since I joined Mukti Bahini due to malnutrition and now almost chronic dysentery—but Lt. Murshed did not seem to notice because almost all civilian Mukti Bahini now looked like me.

He wanted to know if the armory had any spare SMG to give me and I replied that I was coming straight from the armory and the NCO in-charge had confirmed that he had. As Lt. Murshed gave me the verbal approval, I ran to the armory. I told the NCO about Lt. Murshed’s approval and the NCO gave me a brand new SMG with three empty magazines. He pointed to a pile of 9mm bullets heaped at one corner of the crowded tent and asked me to take whatever I needed. I asked for an additional magazine but he told me to come later as he did not have enough magazines. The SMG was fresh from the crate; wrapped in a grease paper. I cleaned it passionately taking a lot of care.

I was fascinated with the new SMG. The official name of the Indian SMG is Sterling Sub Machine Gun. The SMG was light, about 2.72 kg and easy to carry. It had a folding butt and a rate of fire of about 550 rounds per minute rated capacity; in practice, though, it was more like 120-130 per minute because of the necessity of changing magazine every 30 rounds. Even though the magazine could hold a maximum of 32 9mm cartridges, we seldom loaded more than 30 rounds in order to reduce pressure on the magazine’s spring. The SMG could also use the former straight SMC magazines. I had to sacrifice one critical aspect, the need for which I will feel later and which will ultimately force me to replace the Indian SMG with something more lethal—the effective range of the Indian SMG. While, with a .303 rifle, I could shoot with confidence a target at three hundred meters, the Indian SMG’s effective range was around one hundred fifty meters. In addition, it was designed primarily for close quarter combat and difficult to aim at anything beyond hundred meters.

The day after I received the SMG, Lt. Murshed laid an ambush. The location was the section of the Dhaka-Sylhet road that goes through the northern edges of Teliapara teagarden. I believe it was near milestone 82 on the Old Dhaka-Sylhet road. Twenty-four people under the leadership of Lt. Murshed headed for the ambush site. Selim Bhai was the leader of our small group of six.

After reaching the ambush site, Lt. Murshed and his team became busy in finding a suitable spot for laying the anti-tank mines while we took temporary position behind some trees and bushes. We were assigned our firing positions after the ambush site was selected.

The site Lt. Murshed selected was ideal for a textbook ambush. One side of the road had steep hills covered with dense forest, while the other side had gently sloping hillocks covered with dense tea bushes dotted with regularly spaced shade trees. Between the undulating hills and the road, there were about seventy meters of mostly empty space occupied by minor vegetation and a small pool fed by a rainwater drain. We took position at the top of the gently sloping hillock, which was also toward the Teliapara end of the road.

I saw four people on the road, Lt. Murshed included, laying the mines. They dug a part of the road and placed three anti-tank mines diagonally on the left side of the road. After planting the mines, they painstakingly removed all traces of digging from the road; then they carefully hid the mines by topping them with sand and dirt, and finally, by using a section of a truck tire, which the mine laying team was carrying, put the impression of the tire on top of the sand, rendering the mines not only completely hidden but undetectable as well. And now it also looked as if many vehicles had already passed over the mines.

We, the ambush party, had three LMGs, two Chinese 7.62mm and another .303 Bren Gun, four Chinese 7.62 Submachine Guns, about five Indian 9mm Submachine Guns, about six Indian 7.62mm Semi Automatic SLRs, a number of Chinese 7.62mm Semiautomatic Rifles and a few .303 rifles. I remember also seeing a rocket launcher but do not remember it firing.

We were carrying dry rations for lunch consisting of flat rice, brown sugar, and interestingly, a button shaped red multivitamin tablet. We ate our food with water from the small limpid pool, and then waited patiently for something to fall into our trap. I looked around the surrounding area; it looked very peaceful. The road was now deserted; a flock of birds heading for some unknown destination with their characteristic twitter—as if they were arguing about something, a few squirrels hopping in a nearby tree, a sudden welcome soothing breeze that mildly caressed my face, the soft susurrus of the branches that is so soothing to the ears; in this deceptively peaceful setting we waited, our weapons cocked, to drive a deadly blow to the enemy. We silently waited for about two hours, when the scout shouted the alarm of an approaching Pakistani convoy. We double checked our weapons, cocked, and became ready to pounce on the enemy. Selim Bhai warned, “Don’t panic, and start firing only after the mines explode.”

Time is very funny—sometimes it is eternal and sometimes it is fleeting; this time it froze, then unfroze but slowed down and almost in slow motion the enemy came into view. Before today I have only been the victim of Pakistani Army, though I had fired many rounds in Teliapara defense, it was not satisfying. For the first time in my life I had the enemy in the crosshairs of my SMG’s sight and this was the time to pay them back in kind. I could now hear my increasingly loud heartbeat, my sweat glands started pumping in earnest and perspiration started flowing down the cheek, I could feel my eyes widen and glisten in anticipation. Now the convoy was finally visible through the corner of my eyes; I noticed that the first vehicle was a Pakistan Army jeep, the second was an Army Bradford 3-ton truck, the third was a civilian 5-ton truck, followed by an assortment of military and civilian vehicles—mostly trucks and maybe two or three buses. There were a total of ten to twelve vehicles—about a company strength of Pakistani Army were in the convoy.

Like a movie played in slow motion the jeep came in front of me—a mere eighty to ninety meters from my position on top of the hillock, my finger tightening on the double-action trigger and I was about to fire. But nothing happened; the jeep passed over the mines—no explosion! In the blink of an eye the next vehicle, a snub-nosed Army Bedford 3-tonner, mounted the mines and the mines again remained quiet—they did not explode! Now, a mixed jumble of thoughts kept racing in my head: Were the mines defective? Were they too deep in the ground? Were the detonators faulty? What could go wrong? Should I now open fire? Did we make some other serious mistake while laying the mines? In a flash all these questions cropped up inside me.

The third vehicle, the civilian 5-tonner came into view. I could see a number of Pakistani soldiers riding on the open back of the truck—about twenty to twenty-five in total; as the 5-tonner mounted the mines all my questions were answered. A tremendously deafening explosion jolted me violently as all three mines exploded simultaneously, and black smoke from the exploding TNT momentarily filled the void. I could see a couple of Pakistani soldiers, as though they were circus acrobats, flying in the air. The truck had jumped at least ten feet in the air while the passengers in the open carriage, as if in a competition with the truck, had jumped even higher. The flying soldiers looked like acrobats, dancing their last dance in the air. Before the truck could land on the ground, we had started firing with all our weapons. In the excitement and in order to shoot at the truck next to the destroyed one, I stood up and started shooting at the 5-ton truck. I emptied the first magazine and reloaded and started firing with the second.

The prompt reaction of the Pakistanis surprised me because even before I could exhaust the first magazine, they had started shooting back at us. But we had the advantage–the Pakistanis were on the open road while we were behind cover, behind the trees; for us it was like a shooting gallery where the targets also fired back at us. I emptied the second magazine and loaded with the third and last magazine. Numbers do matter; twenty four of us against one hundred fifty of the enemy; the Pakistani fire intensified. It did not matter if they could see us or not; our advantage was surprise and when it was lost, we had to withdraw. With my third magazine intact, I ran down from the top of the hill to the path below, and headed for our defense. I found everybody else was doing the same and soon we reached the safety of our defense.

I did not know exactly how many Pakistanis we killed or injured that day. There were at least twenty in the exploding truck and all of them must have been seriously injured if not dead. All the other vehicles took fire from us. I fired two magazines and if we assume that every person fired at least one magazine, that would make twenty-four magazines of 30 rounds each—a total of 720 rounds. Assuming each of us injured at least one person, we have a casualty figure of at least twenty-four plus the twenty in the truck, making forty-four causalities. Some of the causalities would inevitably be fatal.

I later came to know that another Mukti Bahini company had intercepted the convoy as the Pakistanis were leaving. When they reached the ambush site, they found one truck and a bus abandoned, the road drenched in blood, some abandoned weapons, but they did not find any dead bodies. The Pakistanis carried their dead and injured as they fled toward Teliapara railway station.

It was a very successful ambush and those who participated felt delighted with the achievements.

The following morning was peaceful. Between routine chores, we spent our time endlessly discussing the previous day’s ambush. Those that could not take part would eagerly listen to our description of the ambush, some with considerable exaggeration; we discussed about how we could have achieved better results if we did this or that, such as, if we had more heavy weapons or if we had used mortars or heavy Machine Guns, etc. Then gradually the day rolled to an end, the sun went to sleep, the birds returned to their nests, the insects started chirping and the surrounding gardens again turning into ominous objects of mistrust, the engulfing darkness harbinger of doom, and stillness the precursor of savagery.

Everything was unusually quiet until 11:00 pm, and our hope of a peaceful night was dashed when automatic fire interrupted the night’s quietness. When firing started, we initially hoped it was Wakar Bhai, who was probably the most alert person in the defense and throughout the night he would intermittently fire a Chinese LMG located in his position and discourage the Pakistanis intending on attacking us. But our hope was again marred when finally a number of guns and mortars started firing on us. The artillery shells and mortar bombs started to land on our entire defense. At least four high explosive ammunitions, in quick succession, landed around our trench but luckily none landed on us. Meanwhile, a runner came to warn us to be prepared for an attack after the shelling had ceased.

The artillery guns arrayed against Teliapara defense were 105mm Howitzers. These carriage-mounted towed artillery guns have a maximum range of 11.6 miles. They could fire different types of shells. In Teliapara we mostly encountered high explosive types. The average weight of each projectile was approximately 18kg. These artillery pieces had a relatively flat trajectory compared with mortar bombs. The flat trajectory meant that the shells tended to land at an angle and therefore when it exploded the force tended to project the splinters forward. Consequently, when artillery shells landed behind us, we were relatively safe from it. The Howitzer has a sustained firing rate of 3 rounds per minute and during an emergency it can fire a maximum of 10 rounds per minute. This high rate of fire, however, cannot be sustained because of overheating of the barrel.

120 mm Mortar

The 120mm mortar, on the other hand, is a different beast altogether. Mortars fire fin-stabilized ammunition from a smooth bore. Although heavy mortars require trucks or tracked mortar carriers to move them, they are still much lighter than field artillery pieces.

The effect of 120mm mortar ammunition can be deadly for anyone standing anywhere inside the 70 meter killing radius because mortar are fired at a high trajectory, which makes the mortar bombs land almost vertically and the explosion makes the splinters spread in all 360 degrees. The mortar can reach out and touch an enemy target over 7,000 meters away or as close as 166 meters. As a result, while an artillery shell landing in our rear could generally be ignored, a mortar bomb, on the other hand, would certainly have entailed casualties. The weight of each high explosive mortar bomb was about 43Kg. Therefore, we dreaded mortars and considered artillery as the lesser of the two evils.

As soon as the devastating shelling stopped, the Pakistanis attacked us from the cover of the dark shadowy teagarden. My estimate is that more than a company was taking part in the attack because the entire Teliapara defense came under simultaneous attack. By this time, the addition of automatic firearms in our trench had significantly improved our firepower. Initially, we did not respond to the fire that was coming at our trench. We kept our heads down as some of the bullets started to hit the sandbags while most zipped past over our heads. By now many positions had opened fire on the enemy. I peeked outside through the small gap between two sandbags; at first, I did not see anything except the obscure outline of the tea bushes; suddenly, I saw the muzzle flash of an automatic firing at us but most of the bullets were whizzing over our heads. I pushed aside Selim Bhai, who was holding the LMG and took control of it. I aimed hastily at the direction of the muzzle flash and squeezed the trigger. “Tat-Tat-Tat,” the LMG roared into life but soon the vibrating LMG lost its target and I eased the pressure on the trigger.

By now, following my lead, everybody started firing from the trench. I am not sure if anyone was firing at anything particular, nonetheless we kept firing. I kept on firing small bursts from the Bren. We kept on firing and in turn were receiving enemy fire. But for some reason the enemy did not press the attack. If they had pressed the attack, I think they could have overrun us because it is not only that we did not have any fire discipline and were about to run out of ammunition, we were also edgy, malnourished, and prone to run if things became too tough. Luckily, after about an hour of intense exchanges, for unknown reasons the enemy gradually withdrew and the defense again grew quiet.

As the shooting stopped, we started assessing our causalities. None in our trench was injured. We had almost run out of ammunition. Two persons were immediately dispatched to collect ammunition from the company HQ. The occupants of the next trench were also unhurt. When the two persons sent to collect ammunition came back, we came to know that we had taken casualties. In the center part of the defense, which faced the brunt of the attack, the shelling injured two. The Pakistani small arms fire killed one person and injured some others. The occupants from one trench had fled; fortunately members from nearby trenches immediately reoccupied the position and stopped the Pakistanis from breaching our defenses.

This was a serious problem of our defense. Some of us, including some so called veterans had a tendency to give up easily. I guess the lack of proper training and deficiencies of leadership were responsible for these shortcomings. I had noticed that those trenches manned by experienced and courageous commanders fared much better under fire compared with those with leaders with questionable qualities.

This reminds me of a very funny incident which I saw. But first I need to introduce one character to you, the reader. When I first came to the Teliapara defense, I saw a person, above six feet tall, fair complexioned, well built, with a luxuriant beard, a piece of cloth wrapped in the manner of a turban decorating his head, and a Chinese SMG slung over his shoulders. He reminded me of an Afghan fighter I had seen in some movie or photograph. He looked so impressive that I was determined someday to become as good a fighter as he was. He was my Afghan Hero.

One day while we were resting, we heard automatic gunfire. Initially we mistook it as another Pakistani attack but soon realized that the sound was coming from within our defense. Suddenly, we saw a grotesque and perplexing sight. A bearded man in a turban was running as if his life depended on how fast he could sprint, followed by another person running and firing incoherently with a Chinese LMG at the general direction of the turbaned figure and loudly swearing profanities. Soon we identified the running figures as my Afghan Hero and the person chasing as Dula Mia. Dula Mia, prior to joining the Mukti Bahini, was a smuggler from the border areas of Akhaura. He was a fierce warrior and one of the most courageous among us. It would not be fair to divulge the name of the Afghan Hero beyond that his rank was that of a Captain. Later I came to know that the Afghan Hero was reputed to be a true coward who would seek safety at the first indication of threat. At the slightest hint of trouble, we found him running for shelter and, therefore, he became a source of amusement to all of us. He was such a coward that every evening, just after sunset, he used to cross the stream, go across the border to India and spend the night in the safety of Indian Territory.

Anyway, we ran after Dula Mia and caught him. Trying to shoot an officer was a serious offense and so we tied Dula Mia’s hands, blindfolded him, and took him to the commander of his company. Dula Mia was from another company led by another officer[3]. We learnt that Dula Mia had a weakness—whenever he had an opportunity, he would drink alcohol. We came to know that Dula Mia had obtained some intoxicants from the teagarden coolies and had indulged himself, which was noticed by our Afghan Hero and he scolded Dula Mia for his indulgence. Intrepid Dula Mia, being a very proud and sentimental individual, and now his judgment clouded by alcohol, lost his head when rebuked by a faintheart like the Afghan Hero. Dula Mia, now driven with overflowing emotion, lost his cool and started firing at the Afghan Hero without actually intending to harm him; merely to ensure that the Afghan Hero refrained from repeating his rebukes in the future.

Soon our sector commander came and he was both angry and upset. There was talk of a field court marshal for Dula Mia’s very serious crime. Meanwhile, all these activities and associated perturbation made Dula Mia come out of the influence of alcohol. He was, of course, very apologetic and repentant; he apologized to the Afghan Hero, and everybody soon agreed that some minor punishment for Dula Mia should suffice to ensure that nothing like that ever happened. Repentant Dula Mia gladly accepted the punishment and everybody went back to their respective duties. The commander of Dula Mia’s company, however, refused to retain Dula Mia under his command and Major Shafiullah had to take Dula Mia with him to the Sector Headquarters.

Manager’s Bungalow of Teliapara tea garden. The bungalow has remained unchanged (Photograph taken in 2011)

Our food did not improve and as the fighting often interrupted delivery, we often went without food and remained empty bellied the whole night.

I am not likely to forget another incident. We found half a bottle of cooking oil in the hut where we lived; we also discovered some eggplants in an abandoned kitchen garden and we cooked the eggplants in the oil. The quantity was probably adequate for one or two persons but we shared it among the six of us and each of us ended up with small pieces of the vegetable and some oil in which the eggplants were cooked. We then ate our standard meal of rice and dal with the fried eggplants. This addition made the food so delicious that even today I can remember the delicate aroma that made that day’s meal so agreeable; it was so tasty that all of us, for the first time in many days, had a decent meal. I will never forget the meal I had that day.

The next attack came a few days later, at around 11:00 am. It was again a company plus attack. As it was daylight, we were naturally a little relaxed and were performing various daily routine chores. Suddenly, without any warning, we came under attack! This time the Pakistanis did not use artillery prior to attacking us—it was a surprise attack and it almost succeeded. We were completely taken off guard and were thoroughly unprepared for this surprise day attack.

Indian SLR Rifle

I was resting inside the hut. There was no one in the trench. The two persons whose turn it was to be in the trench were sitting on top of the sandbag and smoking. The first volley hit one of them in the shoulders and he fell down. I don’t know what happened to the second person, but he started running aimlessly and after sometime we did not find him. The rest of us were resting in the hut; Selim Bhai was probably sleeping or dozing, I was lying on a mattress and reminiscing about Dhaka. At the sound of gunfire, we instinctively grabbed our weapons and sat down. Some bullets hit the hut’s mud wall but the thick wall stopped the bullets from penetrating. It took us a while to understand what was happening. Selim Bhai quickly rolled to the door peeked at the trench and found that one person was hit and was lying on the ground, groaning, while there was nobody in the trench to operate the LMG. Many bullets were now coming at the hut making our exit difficult. Selim Bhai started shooting through the door; I came to the door and started crawling for the trench. Soon I was inside the trench, and after pulling the bolt of the LMG, I started shooting at the enemy. Selim Bhai and the other two joined me in the trench. My LMG fire had reduced the Pakistani fire momentarily, but it soon resumed. I glimpsed a few Pakistani soldiers firing at us from the cover of the bushes, and suddenly we realized that they were now advancing toward us. We had enough ammunition in the trench; we had a total of twenty four loaded LMG magazines, I had the Indian SMG, and Selim Bhai had his Chinese SMG. Moreover, the injured person’s SLR was also in the trench. We had already dragged the injured into the trench. The bullet had hit his left shoulder; his entire chest was covered in blood but he was still conscious. We carried pressure bandages with us and immediately applied one bandage over his wound and asked him to keep it pressed with his other hand. Meanwhile, the Pakistani fire was intensifying. We also kept on firing through the sandbags.

Our position, located at one corner of the defense, was particularly vulnerable because the left side of our trench was unprotected. We could defend an attack from the front but if someone attacked us from our left flank while we were busy exchanging with the enemy at the front, we could not even escape. Therefore, during firing at the enemy at the front, we also had to keep an eye on our left flank.

Suddenly, we heard the Pakistanis shouting “Allaho Akber.” Bayonets extended, about six to eight of them charged the trench on our right, which was located about one hundred fifty meters from us and defended by five persons. From our position, though, we could clearly see this trench and saw the Pakistanis going for the trench. It was a terrifying sight—I had never seen a live infantry bayonet charge before this. The Pakistanis kept the occupants of the trench pinned down by LMG fire, while about six to eight persons charged the trench from a distance of about hundred meters.

Mesmerized, our eyes were transfixed at the surreal unfolding of the charge; it was a vicious sight. The charge was led by a huge soldier, over six feet tall, followed by the rest. All of them were firing at the trench and at the same time wildly screaming, “Ya Li,” (Ya Ali). Terrified by the bayonet charge, the occupants of the trench tried to flee. Three managed to get out of the trench and ran away; miraculously they were not hit by bullets. The fourth almost succeeded but as soon as he started running, one (or more) bullet caught him in the back and he fell down. The last person, as he was getting up from the trench, fell victim to the leading Pakistani’s bayonet charge. The entire incident took not more than a few seconds.

We regained our composure when Selim Bhai snatched the LMG from me and started firing at the Pakistanis at the trench to our right. Coming out of my trance, I unpinned a grenade and threw in the direction of the trench; unfortunately it fell harmlessly quite short of the target. Selim Bhai pointed at his SMG and gestured me to cover the front of our trench. I immediately took the SMG and started firing short bursts at the front. Suddenly, the firing near that trench had intensified, we saw the enemy that had almost occupied the trench was now running back toward the teagarden; somebody was firing at the Pakistanis but we could not see who it was. We also noticed that two of the Pakistanis were injured and were being dragged toward the teagarden by the others. Just then, six to seven people—our people—came into view. They reoccupied the trench. We were very fortunate that there was another trench further to the right of the trench that was charged. The third trench was located in a V-shaped depression and was not under direct attack; some ex-EPR persons were defending this trench. When they saw the Pakistani bayonet charge, they left their trench and came to assist the other trench. A major catastrophe was thus avoided. If the Pakistanis had breached this position and infiltrated inside, our entire defense would have been compromised. Out of the two persons injured, the one who was bayoneted was still alive; all his guts came out from his belly and he was in loud agony. The one that was shot was already dead—a single bullet had pierced his heart. The entire incident unfolded in about five minutes.

When shooting died down, the enemy started an intense artillery barrage. We huddled inside the trench and prayed that a shell did not land on our trench. After about fifteen minutes, the shelling ceased and we came out of the trenches to inspect the damage.

Soon, we came to know that the bayonet charge we saw was not the only one. Other two trenches had also faced bayonet charge and there were casualties. That day, two people died from bayonet charge, one by small arms fire, and one from shelling. A number of people suffered various types of injuries.

We carried the injured person from our trench to the rear for treatment but he later died due to loss of blood.

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[1] This is what we thought at that time. However, we would be proved wrong in assuming that.

[2] Even though the rated speed of an SMG is around 500-550 rounds per minute. This is because the magazine has to be changed after every 30 rounds.

[3] The commander of the other company was Capt. Matin.