THERE would be few World War II veterans writing their memoirs today. And whenever they are quoted publicly, they speak mostly, if not exclusively, about the war itself for that remains their lone claim to fame. Retired Lt Gen Abdul Majeed Malik is quite an exception on that count. He has a lot to talk about and WWII is but a small fraction of what comprises the man and his life.

If anything, other than being a small fraction, WWII would also have been a meaningless one had it not been for the fact that it provided an effective launching pad for a teenager from the backwater village of Jand Saoo, (Chakwal district), to shine, first as a military person, and subsequently as one of the most successful politicians in terms of national electoral politics.

Having started off as a soldier clerk in the British Army as a 20-year-old in 1939, Malik was awarded the rank of a full-scale officer in 1943 as part of the emergency commission that was on offer during WWII to non-commissioned rankers as well as civilians. Though he kept growing in ranks, his academic credentials remained limited to class 10, at which stage he had joined the army. This never came in the way of his military pursuits as can be clearly seen in his rise to the rank of a three-star general, and, a bit more unambiguously, by his detailed version of how close he had come to being a four-star general and the army chief.

Once he had left the army after Gen Ziaul Haq was promoted ahead of him — and five others — as the chief of the army staff in early 1976, Mr Malik would have never thought that his lack of academic progress would hinder his way in any pursuit. However, in 2002 — after having won electoral battles repeatedly since 1985 — he had to sit out the elections, because, as he says, “the degree of BA [graduation] was an essential requirement and I didn’t have one”. It is an interesting thought that he could have been an army chief without being a graduate, but could not become a member of the National Assembly just because of that. Civilian standards, at least in this case, proved to be more demanding.

The element of electoral politics, however, has so completely overshadowed everything else in the book that anyone not belonging to the NA-43 constituency of Chakwal would be justified in losing interest halfway through. Despite some generalisations and sweeping statements, the first half does build up the momentum well enough for the reader to look forward to something exciting as the narrative moves from the writer’s military and diplomatic engagements to mainstream politics. But from there on the narrative suddenly gets obsessed with the nitty-gritty of elections in Chakwal and is riddled with tales of individual and group rivalries that only the rivals themselves can enjoy — or detest. Readers will have their patience tested but they would do well to keep their focus, because every now and then Mr Malik comes up with something substantial — Kargil, for instance.

Incidentally, Kargil is one of the rare issues that have been touched in the book with the clear-headedness that one expects from those who have had a ringside view of proceedings at the top. Calling the Kargil operation a “fiasco”, Mr Malik has more than once blamed “General Pervez Musharraf and his three fellow generals” for, among other things, damaging the civil-military equation. And the verdict, for sure, is based on his firsthand knowledge of the whole scenario that he has described in convincing detail.

Generally speaking, Mr Malik tends to take a more charitable view of certain events related to the army than others who have penned their research and thoughts on those very moments of our national life. Starting with Ayub Khan’s promotion as the first Pakistan army chief, Mr Malik’s account at best appears to be partial. He has simply mentioned that Ayub was not the first choice, but was picked to fill the slot after the death of Maj Gen Iftikhar Khan in an air crash along with his entire family. What the writer has not talked about is the fact that Ayub had been superceded by Iftikhar and was sent to East Pakistan as a brigadier.

Though Mr Malik has elsewhere referred to Shuja Nawaz’s highly readable book, Crossed Swords: Pakistan, Its Army, and the Wars within (OUP, 2008), he somehow did not find Nawaz worthy of being quoted on the matter. Based on the account of Sher Ali Khan, Crossed Swords has painted a picture where the air crash takes a mysterious tone in the light of a telegram sent by Ayub to his influential friend Sher Khan. It read: “Sher, am just off to East Pakistan. Have been superceded. Could you do something? …” A short while later, the plane went up in flames and Ayub went up in the hierarchy. Malik has made it sound like two different incidents, while Nawaz has put it in a certain context that can be seen in the name of the chapter in which he has discussed the episode. It is titled, ‘The legacy of conflict: chaos and ambitions’.

Likewise, talking about the War of 1965, Mr Malik has touched on a few incidents that put army officers in a negative light, but when it comes to the final stretch, all he has to say is, “There was no winner. However, both countries had captured a bit of the other’s area.” Compare the statement with what Gen K.M. Arif — a four-star general, mind you — has written on the issue in his memoirs, Khaki Shadows (OUP, 2001) and you can see the difference in approach. In the chapter titled ‘Follies in war’, writes K.M. Arif, “An official spokesman disclosed that … the Pakistan armed forces have seized 1,600 square miles of India-held territory. As against this, India holds 450 square miles of Pakistani territory. This statement, factually correct, shows the obvious but hides the vital. Pakistan’s territorial gains were mostly either in the desert belt opposite Sindh or in the Chhamb area in Kashmir. On the other hand, India had seized territory mostly in the fertile Sialkot sector in Punjab and Kashmir.”

The two pictures emerging from different statements tell their own tale. Despite all this, however, with his politico-military background, it is understandable that the author’s heart lies with a civilian setup ever since he shed the uniform. What he would have done had Gen Zia not been promoted ahead of him remains a matter of conjecture.

The author has mentioned more than once in a less than flattering tone the military’s penchant for dismissing a civilian setup, but has also described in detail his own contribution to the imposition of Pakistan’s first martial law in 1958, being the staff officer to the core committee that decided to go ahead with the plan that set the ball rolling for military interference.

That is a trait not uncommon among those who shed their uniforms at one point in time or the other and become, so to say, neo-democrats. Till that happens, they continue to carry out — and enjoy carrying out — orders from the top. The book has ample content to strengthen that perception.

Hum Bhi Wahan Maujood Thay

(MEMOIRS)

By Lt Gen (retd) Abdul Majeed Malik

Sang-e-Meel, Lahore

978-9693528299

360pp.