Before I proffer answers to questions raised in first part, let me first introduce you to three categories of people in Pakistan today. The powerful, the beneficiaries and the oppressed. Scribe (not by choice but by design of destiny) falls between second and third category - orphan of both. And cognitive dissonance only just starts from this point.
Know that the title of blog may be catchy and presented a good sound bite but Muslims who partook in British Army wars were neither inglorious nor glorious. They were simple Muslims who needed a job and they did their job well. Recognition was neither their desire nor was given by The Empire. There are strong parallels between Muslims of that time and our times. I leave it to the inquisitive minds to read the tea leaves and analogize both eras.
I can empathise and relate with Muslim soldiers of British Army wars much strongly along with others who have served with honour and pride. A soldier’s concern is always task at hand. It may not completely absolve him/ her of moral obligation of war, however, maximum onus of responsibility lies with the leadership both political and military.
In trying to get my head around the dilemma of a soldier and getting into the head of a soldier who left his home to fight for unknown leaders, unknown cause, unknown territory and unknown enemy. Anything but seven rupees could be his motivation to navigate his way through fear and uncertainty with death looming large every step of the way. Though he was expendable yet his resolve was stronger than those who tricked him for seven rupees. Here is my best judgment on this predicament:
For Muslim soldiers, it was not only a struggle for survival but a test of faith. Now and then, faith is the only thing that comes to their rescue. People may pass blanket moral judgments on soldiers but there were all soldiers on both sides in Jumal & Suffein- young men now and then were the same.
Whether in the deserts of North Africa, the jungles of Burma or the ruins of Europe; they carried their religion with them like an invisible armour. They prayed in silence before battles using their helmets as makeshift ablution bowls. They knelt on torn blankets amid the roar of artillery, whispering Allah’s Zikr as shells fell nearby. In the chaos of war their routines of prayer, fasting and remembrance became a fragile thread of humanity; a reminder of who they were and why they fought this foreign war.
From chronicles and history of British Army, some fascinating accounts of Muslim Soldiers emerge. Scribe shall use his own style of writing to describe those accounts. From among soldiers, imams led prayers under the open sky while cooks did their best to prepare halal food. During Ramadan, soldiers kept fast under the burning Sun of the Sahara or the endless rains of Burma. Infidel and ‘mission oriented commanders’ often protested that it weakened the men. But for the soldiers, fasting wasn't a burden it was proof that even in war the spirit could not be conquered. Letters from the front spoke of longing for home and the comfort of the call to prayer. Some soldiers wrote about the guilt of killing. Some about finding strength in the words of the Quran in weakest and darkest moments. They spoke of seeing death so often that only Faith kept them from losing their sanity. Soldiers built tiny mosques from mud and stone behind the lines. When they buried their fallen they face them toward Mecca even when no one else understood why it mattered. For them faith was not ideology it was identity. It gave meaning to suffering dignity to obedience and comfort in a world gone mad. While others fought for Empire, for ideology or for Vengeance, they fought with a different kind of conviction that courage itself was a form of worship and that dying with honour was a victory no enemy could take away. In the smoke and dust of war their prayers were not loud but they endured echoing softly between the gunfire and the silence that followed.
Now spare a thought for the dilemma of a soldier returning to Indian subcontinent after WWII.
When the guns finally fell silent in 1945, the world celebrated, cities lit up, flags waved and Nations rejoiced at the end of six years of destruction. But for the millions of Muslim soldiers who had fought beneath those flags, victory came with a strange emptiness. They had risked their lives to defend lands that were not their own only to return to countries still ruled by Colonial Powers. Many came home wearing British War Medals symbols of Valour in Europe but of obedience at home. For them the war's end was not liberation it was a reminder that the freedom they had fought for still belonged to others. In India, returning veterans found their homeland on the edge and Civil War. Comrades of recent wars now faced each other across new borders. Their shared sacrifice was forgotten amid politics and partition. Others carried invisible scars. The nightmares of battle, the weight of loss, the feeling of being used and discarded. They had marched across the world, seen the worst of humanity and come home to be ignored. When history was written their names were missing. In textbooks and memorials the war became a story of white faces. Brown soldiers, the Muslims who prayed in the trenches and died on foreign soil were erased not by malice but by indifference.
Such is the plight of being a soldier. Most painful part is being used and forgotten.
