Can we see the correct list of valiant freedom fighters?

The training is over. The war life begun. The day after taking the oath, our journey began. There was no time for rest or relaxation. After our departure, another group’s training will begin here, in the Tura hills of the state of Meghalaya, India. This training is an ongoing process. Except for a few traitorous collaborators, all Bengalis are united today. Bangabandhu said, "When I have given my blood, I will give more. I will liberate the people of this country, InshaAllah." This immortal oath is etched into our minds. We will either die or kill. This is the oath we took. The formal oath-taking ceremony was very significant for me. Almost 5,000 freedom fighters took the oath together. We rehearsed for two days to make the ceremony organized and grand. On the day of the oath, besides high-ranking military officials from India, Rafiquddin Bhuiyan, the then MNA from Mymensingh, representing the Mujibnagar government, was also present. He gave an inspiring speech to the freedom fighters.

Afterward, we collectively took the oath to free our motherland, touching the national flag and the holy religious texts. At the end, the national anthem was performed. For that, ten people were selected through small auditions, and I was one of them. This was my highest achievement. After the ceremony, the ten of us went to the front of the mic. The whole ceremony proceeded smoothly, one step after another, like an automatic process. Finally, we sang the national anthem. When we reached the second stanza of the anthem, I felt my voice faltering with emotion. No sound came from my mouth. Tears streamed down from my eyes uncontrollably. I looked at my friends sideways, and I saw they were in the same condition as me. Everyone was crying and singing, "Ma tor badonkhani molin hole ami noyon jole bhashi."

The next day, arms were loaded onto the trucks. It was time to leave. As we were bidding farewell, emotions broke the dam of our hearts. When taking leave from our instructor, everyone, including him, broke down in tears. I could not keep myself steady. Farewells are always painful and sorrowful, but we never imagined we would feel such sorrow leaving our instructor. As we said goodbye, the instructor, with a tearful voice, said, "I want you all to free your motherland from the enemy. May the flag of your country's independence always fly in the sky. When you win, I will consider myself victorious too." Weapons and ammunition were loaded onto one truck. The rest of us climbed onto other trucks. Right after we left, another group would come for training. The place would not remain empty. One group leaves, and another arrives. Our journey began from the Tura camp.

Our trucks sped towards the Bangladesh-Mymensingh border. As we set out, we raised a loud cheer of "Joy Bangla!" It is our battle song. It fills us with passion. It boosts our morale. It strengthens our courage. The jolts of the truck had made me feel a bit drowsy. In my half-conscious state, the face of the hill girl, Chanriya, kept appearing before me. I never had the chance to meet her before leaving. Would I ever see her again? Our life has started, and it is uncertain. I wonder if I will even get to see my loved ones again. At this moment, thinking about Chanriya seems out of place. But still, her innocent smiling face kept coming to my mind, but there was nothing to be done. The story of Chanriya ends here in my life. We began our journey into an uncertain life.

By noon, we arrived at the Mahendraganj camp. The camp is about one and a half miles inside India from the Bangladesh border. The Mahendraganj camp is almost face-to-face with the Pakistani Kamalpur base. There is about a 10-mile distance between them. If the Pakistanis wanted, they could shell the Mahendraganj camp. The Mahendraganj camp falls within their shelling range. Similarly, shells could be launched from Mahendraganj camp to the Kamalpur Pakistani base. However, both countries have exercised restraint. The war at that time was limited to the Pakistanis and the Bengalis. The Mahendraganj camp is situated on a high hill. It is a large camp, with a paved road on one side. From the road, people walking appear tiny like little warriors from the top of the hill. The other three sides are surrounded by mountains.

The Mahendraganj camp spans a vast area. It is under the 11th sector, and one side of the camp has long tin houses. On the other side, long tents were set up. Inside, there were many more tents. One of the tents was for Sector Commander Major Abu Taher. The Deputy Commander was Captain Salahuddin Ahmed. About 5,000 freedom fighters were stationed here. Our sector commander was Major Taher, who had escaped from Pakistan and joined the liberation war. He served as the commander of the 11th sector. Towards the end of the war, he lost a leg from a shell impact at the Kamalpur front. We were assigned to stay in a tin house. We arranged bedding on the floor and prepared to sleep.

In the afternoon, I unexpectedly met Akhtar Bhai. Akhtar Bhai is from my neighboring village, Kalipur. He used to work in the IPIA (Indian Petroleum Industries Authority). He is my senior. My brother-in-law, Rafiqul Alam, also works in IPIA and participated in the Liberation War. Akhtar Bhai had met my brother-in-law before. He had been here, but he was recently transferred to another camp. I was deeply regretful, thinking that if he had come a few days earlier, I could have met him.

When Akhtar Bhai saw me as a freedom fighter, he was both delighted and astonished. It took him some time to come out of his astonishment. Like me, thousands of young people had participated in the war. He hugged me emotionally and, after composing himself, said, "Stay safe on the battlefield. Follow the rules of war. Don't get carried away by excessive enthusiasm." I nodded in acknowledgment. Akhtar Bhai was known as "Ostad" (Master) at the camp. Not only he but all the members of the IPIA East Bengal Regiment were addressed as "Ostad." The higher officers were addressed as "Sir." These were the military rules, and any deviation would lead to immediate punishment.

The next day, our journey to war began. The first battle against the Pakistani forces. We were woken up early in the morning. The way we were woken up was unconventional. Unlike how parents would gently wake their children, here it was completely different. We were punched in the stomach to wake up. We were told to follow in line. We rubbed our eyes and stood in line. There were about 25-30 of us. We were told that we had to go for an operation in the Kamalpur sector. A lieutenant would be our commander. Hearing the name of the Kamalpur sector made my throat dry. It was a dangerous sector. Countless freedom fighters had been martyred on that front. To strengthen their position, the Pakistani army had cleared a 3-4 mile area around their camp, cutting down trees and burning down homes. They had created open land so that they could monitor enemy movements from afar and attack them accordingly. They kept a constant lookout with binoculars from the watchtowers.

We set off towards the Kamalpur sector early in the morning. Before leaving, I bid farewell to my friends. It was considered very lucky to return from the Kamalpur front. So, everyone would say goodbye to their friends before going to war there. We, too, bid farewell to our friends and set out for war, embracing death. It was our first journey to war. There was a unique thrill, a different kind of excitement. However, we were going there as support. Our commander would operate the MMG (Medium Machine Gun). We would be the supply team. There would be an LMG and several SLRs that would provide cover fire if needed. The MMG would be the main weapon.

We hadn’t been trained in heavy weapons like the MMG. We had only been trained with the LMG, which was considered a lighter weapon. We had never even seen heavy weapons. Since we had been trained in guerrilla warfare, heavy weapons wouldn't be of much use to us, which is why we were not trained in MMGs. No regular freedom fighter was trained in heavy weapons. These weapons required 5-6 helpers to carry them. They were huge and came with several stands and large ammunition boxes, which were heavy. We set off towards Kamalpur, carrying boxes of ammunition on our heads.

We entered the area 3-4 miles within the Kamalpur Pakistani base. They probably didn’t see us coming. We had advanced stealthily, hiding behind a dam. The lieutenant took position behind a raised dam, setting up the heavy weapons. It took some time to set up the weapons, and this was the first time we had seen such heavy artillery. Once set, he ordered us to lie down and cover our ears. He checked the enemy's position through binoculars and then started firing with the MMG, shouting "Joy Bangla!" The sound was deafening; it felt like our eardrums might burst. We fired continuously for about ten minutes. The loud sound of gunfire echoed as spent shells scattered around us.

Suddenly, the lieutenant stopped firing and dismantled the weapon. He ordered us to quickly change position and run. As soon as we left our position, mortar shells started raining down where we had just been. If we had stayed there for a few more moments, we would have certainly been martyred. As we were running, I glanced back and saw my friend Azgar adjusting his lungi (traditional garment) in the water. At a moment of danger, his lungi had come off. It was a terrifying thought. In the battlefield, losing your lungi means certain death. I screamed at Azgar to warn him, and he jumped into the water and swiftly moved away. Just as he moved, a mortar shell exploded exactly where he had been standing, on top of a tree. The tree was obliterated instantly. Azgar came gasping for breath and hugged me tightly. He said, "Friend, I got a new life because of you." Even today, he tells people that I saved his life.

We remained hidden for a while, following the lieutenant’s orders to advance with the ammunition. After observing the enemy positions through binoculars, the lieutenant said, "Now we are in a favorable position." He handed me the binoculars and began setting up the MMG again. Through the binoculars, I saw several Pakistani watchtowers. The Pakistani soldiers were watching from the towers, scanning the area. As soon as the lieutenant was ready and in position, we all lay down and covered our ears. We fired for several minutes before he shouted, "Joy Bangla!" He then announced, "The operation was successful." We cheered and jumped in excitement. The lieutenant told us, "We have destroyed one of their watchtowers." He confirmed that the soldiers manning that tower had been killed.

We were thrilled by the success of the first operation. On our way back, we shouted "Joy Bangla!" again and again, leaping with joy. Mortar shells were falling all around us, but we paid no attention. We were flying in the joy of victory. Our first success in battle diminished the fear of war. Then, we participated in several other skirmishes, including at Hatibandha, Chagolapagala, Bhatpiari High School, and Chayadabad. Among them, the battle at Hatibandha was a loss, and we suffered heavy casualties.

On December 14, a few teams of freedom fighters surrounded the city of Sirajganj. But the night before, the Pakistani military had fled to Ishwardi by train. Our informant had failed to give accurate information. We regretted it deeply, as we had missed the enemy by just a hair. We entered Sirajganj city, shouting "Joy Bangla!" and were greeted by thousands of people who also cheered and joined in the celebration. They welcomed us with hugs, honoring us as heroes. That memory will never fade from my heart.

On December 16, when we heard the news of the Pakistani surrender, we celebrated with boundless joy. It was the happiest moment of my life. The entire day was spent in jubilant marches, and all I could think of was that we were free. We were an independent nation. I was a small soldier in that great war for freedom. However, that joy did not last long. With numerous conspiracies and misguided decisions by the Father of the Nation, Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the promises of the Liberation War slowly began to crumble. The decision to pardon the Razakars (collaborators) was something we could not accept. On the streets of Dhaka, families of martyrs protested against this decision. Although Bangabandhu pardoned them, he himself could not escape the consequences. He was assassinated, and his entire family was wiped out.

The country underwent a dramatic change. The core values of the Liberation War, including secularism, were removed from the Constitution. Religious politics, which had been banned, was revived. And then began the farce around us. During the regime of Hussain Muhammad Ershad, a list of freedom fighters was made. This was just the beginning. Another list was made during Khaleda Zia’s time. In 1996, when Sheikh Hasina came to power, the third list was made. Every time, the list kept growing longer. In 2001, when Khaleda Zia was in power again, the list was made longer once more. Finally, under Sheikh Hasina's leadership, the list continues to grow. I had written a long article about the list of freedom fighters addressed to Sheikh Hasina, but who listens to us? After that, I have seen many ups and downs.

Currently, Faruk-e-Azam, the adviser to the Ministry of Liberation War Affairs, is a distinguished freedom fighter and the deputy commander of "Operation Jackpot." "Operation Jackpot" is one of the most significant battles in our country’s history, and it is taught in many military academies worldwide. It is a proud moment for our country. He has promised to provide us with an accurate list of freedom fighters, but I’m not optimistic about the process. The head of the government is trying to erase the past by pressing the reset button, so expecting anything good seems like wishful thinking.

Ishaq Khan: Valiant freedom fighter, fiction writer and TV playwright