Karatca was a modest town surrounded by a thick growth of wild trees. It boasted a local bazaar consisting of a single row of shops. The people had already fled their homes. Where had they gone? It was difficult to investigate. The column halted there, surveyed the town, burnt the bazaar and set fire to some kerosene drums. Soon it developed into a conflagration. The smoky columns of fire smouldered through the green branches of the trees. The troops did not wait to see the fruits of their efforts. they soon moved on. When we reached the other end of the town I saw a black lamb tied to a spike, trying to wriggle out of its gutted abode but with no success because the rope was tightening round its neck with every additional attempt at liberation. It must have strangled itself to death.
A few kilometers further on, we saw on the road-side two V-shaped trenches, newly dug but hurriedly abandoned. Probably the rebels had prepared these positions to meet us but after hearing the bang of guns had decided to leave. Whatever the case, the column could not advance without flushing the area. As the troops scanned around, I walked into a mud hut to see how the people there lived. The interior was neatly plastered with clay-a mild grey shade. A tramped portrait of two children. probably brothers, hung on the front wall. The only furniture in the hut was a charpoy and a mat of date leaves. On the mat was a handful of boiled rice, which bore the fingerprints of infect caters. Where were they now? Why had they gone?
I was awakened from these disturbing thoughts by a loud argument between the soldiers and an old Bengali civilian whom they had discovered under the banana trees. The old man had refused to divulge any information about the 'miscreants' and the soldiers threatened to kill him if he did not co-operate. I went to see what was going on.
The Bengali, a walking skeleton, had wrapped a patch of dirty linen round his waist. His bearded face wore a frightened look. My eyes, following his half-naked body down to his ankles, settled on the inflated veins of his dusty feet. Finding me so inquisitive, he turned to me and said, I am a poor fellow. I don't know what to do. A little earlier they (the miscreants) were here. They threatened to put me to death if I told anybody about them. Now, you confront me with an equally dreadful end it I don't tell you about the.' That summed up the dilemma of the common Bengali.
The column, maintaining its diligent pursuit on the way, finally reached Tangail in the evening. It replaced the Bangladesh flag with the national flag on the Circuit House, fired eight shells in the environs to announce its arrival and settled down for the night. I returned to Dacca.
The widespread killings zestfully reported by a hostile world press, did not take place in the initial phase of operation SEARCHILIGIIT. They occurred in the subsequent period of prolonged civil war. Infantry columns on clearing missions were sent from Comilla, Jessore, Rangpur, Sylhet and other places. Usually, they moved along the metalled roads, leaving the option to the rebels to slip into the countryside or recede to the borders and eventually into the lap of their Indian patrons. The speed of these operations depended on the availability of troops and their resources.
