1971-11-08
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In their 24 years as independent nations, India and Pakistan have shown a boundless capacity for squabbling with each other. They have argued endlessly over Kashmir and a bit of wasteland called the Rann of Kutch, and six years ago they plunged into a brief but bloody war. "These two countries," remarked one Western diplomat, "have hardly ever been genuinely at peace." And certainly they were not last week. Along 3,000 miles of border, Indian and Pakistani troops massed in menacing formations. Most observers felt that the current travels of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, who is due in the U.S. this week, ruled out the likelihood that India would go to war for the moment. But there remained the ominous feeling in both nations that, sooner or later, they would stumble into conflict.
Certainly, announcements emanating from Pakistan did nothing to cool emotions. Indicting the Indians for unprovoked artillery and mortar attacks that allegedly took the lives of some 150 civilians in East Pakistan, the government of President Mohammed Yahya Khan maintained that its forces had killed nearly 600 "Indian troops and agents" in two days. But observers noted that many of the shells blamed for the civilian deaths came from 2-inch mortars, short-range guns that could not have been fired from India. And they further pointed out that Pakistan uses the term "Indian agents" to refer to the Bengali rebels in East Pakistan who have been fighting the government since April. In India, the claims were much more modest; New Delhi cited one direct clash with Pakistani attackers and a mortar barrage that killed six civilians. "Personally," said one American observer in India, "I think Pakistan's reports are basically designed to bolster morale at home or to stir up a war frenzy."
In much of Pakistan, that seemed unnecessary. Newspapers screamed with headlines such as CONCERTED DELHI BID TO UNDO PAKISTAN, and CRUSH INDIA stickers were slapped on Honda motorcycle seats and even the blinders of horses pulling hansom cabs. "India is playing with fire and she will get burned," a Pakistani Air Force officer told NEWSWEEK'S Senior Editor Arnaud de Borchgrave. "This time, we'll take a major chunk of her territory." But other voices, including that of President Yahya himself, were less than enthusiastic about going to war (page 53). And near Pakistan's western border with India, flag waving was rare, for there, nine Pakistani divisions were overwhelmingly outmanned by opposing Indian forces. Last week, NEWSWEEK'S Maynard Parker visited India's border forces and found a mood of confidence, almost anticipation. Parker's report:
Swathed in the smoky sunlight of autumn, the Punjab is magnificent, wild, golden country. While peasants cut the last of the wheat, lime and turquoise birds shimmer in the sky like tiny jewels. But the atmosphere is not exclusively one of pastoral tranquility. For the land bristles with Indian soldiers—turbaned Sikhs, towering Punjabis, dark-skinned, wiry Gurkhas—and it is a land wearing the menacing mask of wartime camouflage. Near Amritsar, the largest Indian town near the border with Pakistan, a stack of hay suddenly starts to move, giving away the fact that it is a disguised tank, and a glance behind a mud barrier reveals a 106-mm. anti-tank gun and its crew. Soldiers in civilian clothes prowl the border looking for infiltrators, and every bridge worthy of the name is equipped with dynamite charges in case it must be blown up to stop advancing Pakistanis. "War is coming for sure," a Sikh sergeant said matter-of-factly. "We just don't know when."
The Indians not only are convinced they will have a war, they are aggressively confident they will win it—and cripple Pakistan into the bargain. "This time there will be no stopping us at the border," one major told me. "The Paks might be able to take the offensive in one place, but we would take it in five. And this time we will stay. It would mean the end for them." To carry their message that the people of the Punjab will be safe, the Indian Army has ringed important border towns in steel, massing scores of tanks on their outskirts. And teams of drum-beating soldiers march along country roads and into village squares repeating their belligerent boast: "All the fighting will be done in Pakistan. Not a single shell will fall here."
Communication.—Yet, bellicose as the Indians are, the border itself is bemusingly peaceful. At the crossing point near Ferozepore, a squad of Pakistani frontier rangers jokes with the Indian guards, and when no officers are looking, the Indians trade the Pakistanis sugar for cigarettes. Border traffic—whether refugees seeking asylum or trucks loaded with pomegranates—proceeds as usual, and the Indian customs inspector complains that the young Pakistani immigrants "are only interested in hashish." But the communication between these would-be enemies is not all furtive or commercial. Major Dealjit Singh, deputy commander of the Indian Border Security Force, meets Pakistanis regularly at the border and openly has tea with them. "They tell me, 'Sahib, we don't want war'," Singh said. " 'Let them fight in East Pakistan. Let's not have war here'." That wish, however, may not be granted. "War is inevitable," said a seasoned Western diplomat in New Delhi. "It's only a matter of time."