ALAMGIR, India, Dec. 9—The war with Pakistan, remote affair for most Indians, arrived unexpectedly in this dusty Punjabi village last night when two Pakistani Mirage jet fighters bombed it, leaving 15 dead and eight wounded.

A tightly packed cluster of mud‐walled houses surrounded by fields of green sugar cane and newly planted winter wheat, Alamgir lies 20 miles from the nearest city, Jullundur, and more than a mile from the highway.

When the bombs struck at 3:25 A.M. the villagers were asleep. The war had been miles off, on the border of West Pakistan.

Today, a Sikh sergeant squatted on his heels and looked at the wreckage of his house, demolished by direct hit by a 500‐pound bomb. The sergeant, Joginder Singh, felt the attack was intentional.

“The Pakistanis cannot defeat us so they try to kill as many civilians as possible,” he said bitterly. His wife, a 5‐year‐old son and his wife's two sisters were killed by the bomb, and his buffalo lay a few feet away. The smell of burning flesh hung heavily in the air, for the villagers had already burned the dead. Pieces of broken furniture and limbs of dead buffaloes lay scattered about the farmer's yards.

“We had no warning,” Sergeant Singh said. “The bombs just suddenly dropped out of the night.”

In the morning, looking through the ruins, the villagers discovered pieces of the bombs labeled with United States markings. This added to their conviction, shared by almost all Indians, that the real culprit was the United States.

“It is President Nixon and his policy of aid to Pakistan that is responsible,” shouted Gurmeet Singh, a college student home visiting his family. His sister was killed as she slept when a 200‐pound bomb crashed through their house in the neighboring village of Ghouybahi.

Fifteen bombs fell in neat pattern among Ghouybahi's two dozen mud houses, leaving five dead persons and thirty dead animals.

Pakistani jets have bombed the Punjab cities of Amritsar, Jullundur and Chandigarh every night since the war began Friday, and the wailing of air raid sirens has become a familiar sound.

With the nightly blackout, the villages and cities of the Punjab appear suddenly deserted, a novelty in crowded India. But long convoys of Indian Army trucks carrying troops and supplies to the border fighting continue to move slowly along the dark roads.

Patriotic fervor runs high in this border province. “Crush Pakistan” bumper stickers decorate many cars and trucks, and groups of villagers huddle around radios to hear the latest news from the fronts in East Pakistan and the border west of here.

A bearded Sikh truck driver refused a ride this morning to an American trying to reach the front. “I will give rides only to Russians today,” he announced, “not to the Americans who aid Pakistan.”