Attack on the Bolan Mail
May 18, 2009 20:15:28 GMT
Post by Deleted on May 18, 2009 20:15:28 GMT
I like travels but I must confess that I have to force myself to go to new places. Not only do I often return several times to the same countries but I also return to the same towns and regions.
It was in June 1991, on my third trip to Pakistan. I had already been twice to Quetta, the dusty capital city of Balochistan Province, while I had never visited Lahore for example which is yet considered the finest city of this country (although competition is not too harsh). I could have tried something different for once but no, I was taking the same old route for the third time.
I had arrived at Karachi airport early morning; taken a taxi to Cantt station just in time to catch the Bolan Mail, the train which connects Karachi to Quetta.
The Bolan Mail leaves Karachi around 10:00 am to reach Quetta at 06:00 am the next day. It is named after the famous ‘Bolan Pass’, a pass which connects the Sindh Plain with the Balochistan plateau.
The Bolan pass is about 90 km in length, and reaches 1,770 m in height. For centuries it has been a route for traders, invaders, and nomadic tribes between India and higher Asia. The Bolan Pass has occupied an important place in the history of British campaigns in Afghanistan.
You can choose between three types of accommodation on this train - AC Sleeper, First Class Sleeper and Economy. I chose First Class Sleeper. It was an extremely hot day, even by Pakistani standards. There was a fan in the compartment which was pretty useless. The man seated next to me, a Pakistani lawyer, told me that the temperature in Jacobabad had even exceeded 50° C the previous day.
The other passengers of the compartment were a mother with her three children. I had no chance to speak to them as they spoke only Urdu.
Night eventually came and I climbed into my upper berth. I was not sleepy at all. I decided to recount my money, as I suspected I had been cheated by the chai seller in Karachi station. It was at that moment, around midnight that the train stopped suddenly and the shooting started...
“Pakistani lawyer” switched off the lamp and lay down on the floor urging me to do the same. He and the family managed to hide under the seats. I was left lying on the floor in front of the compartment door. We could hear distinctly the impacts of the bullets against the carriage. I asked “Pakistani lawyer” (let’s call him PL from now on) what it was about but all he would say was “don’t move, please don’t move”. What could I expect him to tell me anyway?
As incredible as it may seem I felt no fear. It simply was too unreal… I was already imagining myself telling my story to my colleagues, and them not believing me.
Now there was someone firing an automatic gun in the corridor. From my place, I could even hear the casings hit the floor. I must admit I started to worry a little; would they want to kill me or would they be content enough with my money?
There were shouts coming from the end of the carriage. I wanted to ask PL what they were saying but I saw he was shaking so I preferred to wait.
The firing was now less intense. The man with the automatic gun didn’t seem to have moved from the end of the corridor. At least he was not approaching.
The gunshots became sparser until they stopped completely. We stayed lying on the floor for another 30 mn or so until the train started to move again.
We stopped at the next station. I saw some people being evacuated on stretchers. Were they dead or just wounded, I had to read the newspapers the next day in Quetta to know the exact number of casualties. Four people - two passengers, a conductor and a constable - had been killed and 13 others injured.
Here is the account of this event by The Dawn:
LARKANA, June 17: Four people, including a constable, were killed and 13 injured when some 50 armed men attacked the 3-Up Bolan Mail at the outer signal of Madeji, about 50 km from here, late on Monday night.
The armed men had put logs on the railway tracks, forcing the train heading for Quetta to stop. They had earlier, reportedly captured the Madeji Railway Station and frightened the staff to keep out of their way.
According to later report, driver Jan Shabandu succeeded *illegible* the train to Shikarpur.
A fact I didn’t know when I took the train in Karachi was that there was a military escort on board. I understood only after the attack that the man in the corridor was actually a soldier firing back to the bandits (the Pakistani lawyer spoke about “dacoits” - an Anglo-Indian word I believe...).
When word spread that there was a foreigner in the train, everybody wanted to invite me in their compartment, as if I had done something special. I think that they were worried about what I, as a foreigner, would think of their country after this incident.
The soldiers came to ask me to write a letter of recommendation for their chiefs – for their promotion I think. I was a little embarrassed that they had not asked this of the Pakistani lawyer. Last remains of the white man’s prestige I suppose...
I don’t think I have much to add, except that I in spite of this incident I keep fond memories of my three trips in Pakistan. Pakistanis, in their majority, are truly and by far, the friendliest, the most hospitable people I ever have met. Unfortunately, considering the current situation, I don’t think I will have the chance to go there back soon.
It was in June 1991, on my third trip to Pakistan. I had already been twice to Quetta, the dusty capital city of Balochistan Province, while I had never visited Lahore for example which is yet considered the finest city of this country (although competition is not too harsh). I could have tried something different for once but no, I was taking the same old route for the third time.
I had arrived at Karachi airport early morning; taken a taxi to Cantt station just in time to catch the Bolan Mail, the train which connects Karachi to Quetta.
The Bolan Mail leaves Karachi around 10:00 am to reach Quetta at 06:00 am the next day. It is named after the famous ‘Bolan Pass’, a pass which connects the Sindh Plain with the Balochistan plateau.
The Bolan pass is about 90 km in length, and reaches 1,770 m in height. For centuries it has been a route for traders, invaders, and nomadic tribes between India and higher Asia. The Bolan Pass has occupied an important place in the history of British campaigns in Afghanistan.
You can choose between three types of accommodation on this train - AC Sleeper, First Class Sleeper and Economy. I chose First Class Sleeper. It was an extremely hot day, even by Pakistani standards. There was a fan in the compartment which was pretty useless. The man seated next to me, a Pakistani lawyer, told me that the temperature in Jacobabad had even exceeded 50° C the previous day.
The other passengers of the compartment were a mother with her three children. I had no chance to speak to them as they spoke only Urdu.
Night eventually came and I climbed into my upper berth. I was not sleepy at all. I decided to recount my money, as I suspected I had been cheated by the chai seller in Karachi station. It was at that moment, around midnight that the train stopped suddenly and the shooting started...
“Pakistani lawyer” switched off the lamp and lay down on the floor urging me to do the same. He and the family managed to hide under the seats. I was left lying on the floor in front of the compartment door. We could hear distinctly the impacts of the bullets against the carriage. I asked “Pakistani lawyer” (let’s call him PL from now on) what it was about but all he would say was “don’t move, please don’t move”. What could I expect him to tell me anyway?
As incredible as it may seem I felt no fear. It simply was too unreal… I was already imagining myself telling my story to my colleagues, and them not believing me.
Now there was someone firing an automatic gun in the corridor. From my place, I could even hear the casings hit the floor. I must admit I started to worry a little; would they want to kill me or would they be content enough with my money?
There were shouts coming from the end of the carriage. I wanted to ask PL what they were saying but I saw he was shaking so I preferred to wait.
The firing was now less intense. The man with the automatic gun didn’t seem to have moved from the end of the corridor. At least he was not approaching.
The gunshots became sparser until they stopped completely. We stayed lying on the floor for another 30 mn or so until the train started to move again.
We stopped at the next station. I saw some people being evacuated on stretchers. Were they dead or just wounded, I had to read the newspapers the next day in Quetta to know the exact number of casualties. Four people - two passengers, a conductor and a constable - had been killed and 13 others injured.
Here is the account of this event by The Dawn:
LARKANA, June 17: Four people, including a constable, were killed and 13 injured when some 50 armed men attacked the 3-Up Bolan Mail at the outer signal of Madeji, about 50 km from here, late on Monday night.
The armed men had put logs on the railway tracks, forcing the train heading for Quetta to stop. They had earlier, reportedly captured the Madeji Railway Station and frightened the staff to keep out of their way.
According to later report, driver Jan Shabandu succeeded *illegible* the train to Shikarpur.
A fact I didn’t know when I took the train in Karachi was that there was a military escort on board. I understood only after the attack that the man in the corridor was actually a soldier firing back to the bandits (the Pakistani lawyer spoke about “dacoits” - an Anglo-Indian word I believe...).
When word spread that there was a foreigner in the train, everybody wanted to invite me in their compartment, as if I had done something special. I think that they were worried about what I, as a foreigner, would think of their country after this incident.
The soldiers came to ask me to write a letter of recommendation for their chiefs – for their promotion I think. I was a little embarrassed that they had not asked this of the Pakistani lawyer. Last remains of the white man’s prestige I suppose...
I don’t think I have much to add, except that I in spite of this incident I keep fond memories of my three trips in Pakistan. Pakistanis, in their majority, are truly and by far, the friendliest, the most hospitable people I ever have met. Unfortunately, considering the current situation, I don’t think I will have the chance to go there back soon.
Hadn't read this one. I've been pinned down by a hail of bullets on one occasion but am constrained from providing details. If I could use only one word describe how it felt, I'd say annoyed more than anything else.