Aerial view of the refugee camp adjacent to Walton Airport—September 1947. (Author’s collection)
In 1947 I was transferred under a special program to the Civil Aviation Authority (CAA) and began to fly with Indian National Airways in Delhi. The situation in Punjab had already started to deteriorate because of the looming independence and partition of India. In July, I had to go to Qadian after learning of the death of my father, Dr Mir Muhammad Ismail. Due to nationwide disturbances, means of communication and travel routes were greatly disrupted. I received the news of his passing very late and the train journey took so long that I only reached Qadian two days after his funeral. After remaining there for a few days, I returned to Delhi to resume my work.
While I was in Qadian, I learnt that under Huzoor’s instructions the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community had purchased a small two-seater Stinson L-5 airplane. A few days earlier, Deputy Muhammad Latif—whom I have mentioned already—had brought the plane to Qadian and landed it on the main road of Darul Anwar that was to the east of the Al-Nusrat residence. Electricity poles and wires ran the length of this path, therefore, there was only a short unpaved stretch of about 250 yards in its eastern extension where a small light airplane could land. After this short trip, Deputy Muhammad Latif flew the L-5 to Walton Airport in Lahore and left it under the care of the CAA, while he returned to his job in Bombay.
The L-5 was used by the American Air Force in the latter part of the Second World War to survey battlefronts and take injured troops from the frontline to medical facilities in the field. It was a sturdy airplane that could land in the tightest of places, which is why it was often referred to as an air jeep. At the front was the pilot’s seat. The back seat also had controls to fly the plane and there was a lever which could be pulled to convert the seat into a stretcher for injured soldiers to lie on. This plane was such a success during the Second World War that the Americans made a more advanced version of it, the L-19, which is still used by the Pakistani Air Force.
The L-5 bought by the community did not have electronic instruments to navigate in the dark. Therefore, even though it was possible to take off and land, one could not fly the plane at night without the help of a land-based radar system which the country did not have at the time.
Here, let me recount how this plane came to be purchased by the community.
Deputy Muhammad Latif belonged to a respectable Ahmadi family of Lahore. He was the second son of Deputy Muhammad Sharif, who was referred to as Deputy because he was in the civil service. In fact, the title preceded the names of all three of his sons. Latif joined the Royal Indian Air Force at the beginning of the Second World War. In 1943, while commanding a fighter squadron on the Burma front, his plane was shot down by the Japanese. He crash-landed and survived, but was captured and became a prisoner of war. Having endured many tribulations during his time in the camp, he returned home after the war ended only to face another ordeal.
Many Indian military personnel captured by the Japanese on the Burma front had joined the Indian National Army which was instituted by the Japanese and led by a former Congress Party president, Subhas Chandra Bose also known as Netaji. Netaji convinced the Indian soldiers that Japan was going to win the war. If the Indians joined the Japanese to fight the Allied forces, he claimed, they would soon overthrow the yoke of British slavery and be heralded as national heroes after the war ended. As a result of his persuasion, many of them joined the Indian National Army. But the Japanese lost the war and the Allies arrested the treacherous servicemen.
At the end of the war, the British set up a commission to try those troops suspected of treason. They were divided into three groups. The first group comprised high-ranking officers including generals who were heavily involved in the sedition. The second group consisted of those accused of mid-level treason and who were to receive median punishments. The third group, which was also the largest in number, was made up of soldiers suspected of minor complicity and involvement. The latter ended up being removed from their posts.
In the case of Deputy Muhammad Latif, not only did he not join the Indian National Army, he remained a Japanese prisoner until the end of the war. Such a charge should never have been levelled against him. But due to the false testimony of a Hindu inmate, he too was removed from his position. Forced into a new job shortly before Partition, he was working as a pilot for a company in Bombay which had bought some surplus American airplanes such as the L-5 after the war had ended. These planes were then sold for Rs 5,000 each to various interested parties. It was through Muhammad Latif ’s efforts that the community bought its first L-5 airplane. Like everyone else, the community paid Rs 5,000 for it.
I had been back in Delhi for only a few days, this was either at the end of July or the beginning of August 1947, I do remember that it was Ramadan as I was fasting, when I was woken up one night by a visitor from Qadian. My residence back then was in the house of Sahibzada Mirza Munir Ahmad in Ballygunge. The visitor handed me a letter from Sahibzada Mirza Bashir Ahmad (ra), telling me to go to Lahore immediately and fly the community’s L-5 plane to Qadian, which was stationed in Lahore’s Walton Airport under the supervision of the CAA. Along with his letter was a letter of authorization to the manager of Walton Airport permitting the delivery of the plane to me.
Early the next morning and without informing the airline I was working for, I made my arrangements to go to Lahore. I took the Indian National Airlines flight to Walton Airport in the afternoon and from there went by coach to Faletti’s Hotel. The coach I was on had a permit to travel during the curfew in the city and I was able to spend the night at Faletti’s and the next morning, again by coach, I returned to Walton Airport.
Upon taking delivery of the plane, I found that its tires were almost flat, its batteries were dead and it was covered in dirt. In those days, due to civil unrest, it was difficult to find any workmen. I spent half a day patching up the plane myself and managed to get it airworthy. I also succeeded in getting it reasonably clean, though in the process I became filthy myself. By afternoon the plane was ready to fly and I had been able to locate a map. Despite never having flown a plane of that type before, I was able to manage a test flight. After that, taking Allah’s name, I flew to Qadian and reached there in 45 minutes.
I knew where I was supposed to land in Qadian, but on my approach, I saw that what looked to be a clear landing strip on the eastern side of Darul Anwar was at closer inspection 9 inches of mud due to recent rains. There were deep ruts in the surface and the plane slipped from side to side as I applied the brakes during the landing. Once I had made my descent, I taxied slowly to an open plot in Darul Anwar to park the airplane. After getting out, I stuck spikes into the ground at the tips of both wings and tied the wings to the spikes with rope so that the aircraft would not move if there was a strong wind. I then went to report for my duty.
I learnt that Sahibzada Mirza Nasir Ahmad (rta) would have charge over the plane. He was at the time the president of Khuddamul Ahmadiyya and was also supervising the security arrangements in Qadian. With his permission, I spent the next few days flying over the environs of Qadian for an aerial survey. On a map, I marked the villages near Qadian which had Sikh majorities, villages with Muslim majorities and those with Muslim minorities that were susceptible to violence. Villages in which Muslims were outnumbered had already begun to be attacked with homes being set on fire. The rising smoke from these flames could be seen from numerous dwellings many miles away and livestock would graze freely in the fields without anyone to tend to the animals.
A jeep-type vehicle belonging to Khuddamul Ahmadiyya was also conducting a land survey of villages near Qadian. I would often see them from my airplane. Whenever I was needed, they would wave a small flag and I would land in a nearby field. After listening to their reports I would immediately return to Qadian. Sometimes, I would have to land in such narrow places that it would be difficult to take off again. On many occasions, I was close to crashing into the trees. I usually met up with the ground survey team when they saw a group of armed Sikhs moving towards a Muslim village.
When the Sikhs began attacking Muslim villages near Qadian with greater frequency, many refugees came to the town for shelter and as a result the Muslim population there increased considerably. This meant that not only was there a soaring demand over the food stocks of the community, this also angered the local Sikhs who felt threatened by the build-up of a large Muslim center in an area which they felt belonged to them. However, they could not do anything about it because it was assumed by everyone that Qadian was to become part of Pakistan. But on 17 August 1947, in what was a grave injustice, the Boundary Commission placed Qadian and its environs in India. This emboldened the Sikhs within the area and opened the way for more disturbances.
One day, we received news that Sikh horsemen had attacked five Muslim villages in Aliwal near Batala and were committing a massacre. I immediately flew there and saw many Muslim homes on fire. The bodies of men, women and children were strewn in the courtyards of these residences. The only thing I could do against this was to buzz the horsemen. Buzzing means to fly an aircraft low and fast over people to shock and disorientate them. I made this maneuver repeatedly. Those Sikhs who were on foot ran away and hid while those on horseback dispersed in different directions. I buzzed one of the horsemen so low that it terrified his mount and the animal flung him hard onto the ground. Seeing this gave me a great deal of satisfaction.
By the third week of August, burning villages and rising smoke were so common a sight that the flames could be seen from Amritsar to the River Beas. Livestock numbering in the hundreds of thousands grazed freely in the area. It was both frightening and painful to see and yet we would have to look upon such terrors on an almost daily basis.
After 17 August our air surveys were discontinued. Since Qadian was now a part of India, we had to fly more frequently from Qadian to Lahore and back. Each day we would take a worker of the community to Walton Airport, who carried with him important papers, documents, records and funds belonging to Sadar Anjuman Ahmadiyya and Tehrik-e-Jadid, as well as detailed accounts, historical records and photographs. The community worker would spend the day in Lahore taking care of essential business and then return to the airport late in the afternoon before being flown back to Qadian around sunset. On the return journey, the worker would bring back necessary items purchased in Lahore because it had become almost impossible to go to Batala or Amritsar to buy certain essentials required by the community. After a few days, there was a change to this routine and the worker from Qadian began to stay in Lahore overnight while we would fly back with the worker who had come the previous day. In this way, whoever was sent to Lahore would get a whole day in the city, rather than just six or seven hours.
It is hard to explain just how difficult it was to receive technical assistance in Lahore immediately after Partition. For example, it was difficult to find anywhere to recharge airplane batteries. There was a devoted Ahmadi named Muhammad Latif who owned a shop in Lakshmi Chowk where car batteries could be charged. He had rigged a special circuit in his shop where, whenever required, the community’s airplane batteries could be restored to power. Many years later he closed this shop and today his sons have a car dealership on Jail Road called Latif Motors. I always keep Muhammad Latif in my prayers and also pray that his sons are successful in their trade.
One morning, just before our daily flight from Qadian to Lahore was set to leave, Huzoor called me to his office in Qasr-e-Khilafat. He told me that I had to take the thing he held most precious in his life to Lahore. I was instructed to diligently protect it and deliver it to Shaikh Bashir Ahmad, who was at the time the local head of the community in Lahore, by calling him to Walton Airport. He also said that I had to tell Shaikh Bashir Ahmad to safeguard this item in his, that is Huzoor’s, own words. I was to then take a receipt of delivery from him and come back and give it to Huzoor.
Owing to the immaturity of youth, I had the rather silly notion that perhaps Huzoor was entrusting me with a box of jewels. However, after giving me my instructions, Huzoor got up and from the next room brought me a small canvas travel bag that had seen better days. Even its zip was broken. The bag was full of papers. Huzoor placed it in front of me and said that though a part of the tafsir of the Holy Qur’an that he had been working on had been published, another part of the work was still not printed and the major portion of it had yet to be written. Since writing this tafsir was one of the major objectives of his life, he said that he had a habit that whenever a new insight came to him regarding an explanation of a verse of the Holy Qur’an, whether by day or night or during any sort of engagement, he would write it down on a piece of paper and put it into this bag. This way, the new interpretation would be preserved. Despite the disorderly way the papers were placed, it was clear that they were very precious to Huzoor.
I took the bag and flew to Lahore. I dropped off the community worker at Walton Airport so that he could go about his work. I then went to the control tower and phoned Shaikh Bashir Ahmad, asking him to come to Walton Airport immediately. I also told him that I had brought something important from Huzoor, which I could only hand over to him in person. Thankfully, there was no curfew in place on that day.
The area between the Lahore canal and Ferozepur Road where Walton Airport was located was not heavily built up. One could see the traffic on Ferozepur Road from the airport tarmac. Shaikh Bashir Ahmad reached the airport within 45 minutes. Standing close to my plane, I saw his car turn towards the airport’s main gate. As he drew near, I took out Huzoor’s bag and placed it on the tarmac. After we greeted each other, I nodded towards the bag and told him in Huzoor’s words the importance Huzoor had placed on its safekeeping. I handed it to him, and received a signed receipt. I then told him to wait with the bag while I went to the control tower to run an errand. He waited for me in the same spot with the person accompanying him. By the time I came back, the previous day’s worker had also arrived. With that I took leave of Shaikh Bashir Ahmad, certain that he would have safely secured the bag in his car.
After he had left, I made preparations for take off. As a matter of habit, I looked in the rear view mirror and there I saw Huzoor’s bag sitting on the tarmac at a short distance from the tail of the plane. I was so shocked I did not know what to do. Shaikh Bashir Ahmad had left 20 minutes earlier. Unlike today, back then there were no mobile phones with which to call people. And even if I hurried to the control tower to phone him, he would not yet have returned home. Perplexed by the situation I got out of the plane and stood on the tarmac. I hoped that once he arrived back, he would realize he had left the bag behind and would return for it. But by then it would be too dark for me to fly back as there were no flares in Qadian for night landings.
In a state of deep dismay, I suddenly saw a car turning left off Ferozepur Road and coming again towards the airport’s main gate with such ferocity that two of its wheels lifted off the ground. Fortunately, the car did not turn over and continued roaring towards us at great speed. It was then that I recognized Shaikh Bashir Ahmad’s car. A sense of gratitude to Allah arose from the depths of my heart. Shaikh Bashir Ahmad rushed out and could not contain his remorse. He was extremely thankful that I was still there and the bag had not been lost. When he saw it on the tarmac, he was able to breathe a little more easily. He picked it up and said farewell to me once again before leaving in his car. I thanked Allah and we flew back to Qadian.
After reaching Qadian, I went straight to Sahibzada Mirza Bashir Ahmad (ra) and told him what had happened. He urged me that under no circumstance was I to tell Huzoor that Shaikh Bashir Ahmad had forgotten the bag at the airport. Therefore, when I met Huzoor, I gave him the receipt but did not mention the incident to him, neither at the time, nor afterwards.
Three more things need to be mentioned about this period. First, for private airplanes, there was a strict system of rationing. The quota for our L-5 was 4 gallons of petrol per week which was insufficient for our needs. We required 12 gallons just to fly from Qadian to Lahore and back.
At Walton Airport there was a Shell petrol pump for small airplanes. The person who managed it was a young Anglo-Indian man who lived with his family in a house at the airport. There were no shops between the canal and Ferozepur Road intersection until Model Town and beyond. For this reason, the young man had to go into the city to get food and other sundries. But due to the almost daily curfews, he found it difficult to purchase provisions.
When I first went from Delhi to Walton Airport to take delivery of the L-5, the young man in question had helped me a great deal. As our acquaintanceship grew, I offered to bring him rations and other necessities from Qadian. I told him that if he let me know a day in advance, I could bring him meat, vegetables, eggs and baked goods. He was so pleased by this arrangement that in exchange he said that he would allow us to purchase as much petrol as we required, without any permits or vouchers. He would also adjust the paperwork for it himself.
From then on, I brought him rations from Qadian and he in turn gave me an unlimited supply of fuel. I would fill the plane’s 35 gallon tank at the end of each day, 6 gallons of which would be used during the flight back to Qadian. There, with a rubber tube, I would remove 20 of the remaining 29 gallons from the petrol tank and store it in a drum. Nine gallons would be left in the tank for the next day’s journey to Lahore. Since I flew to Lahore daily, I added 20 gallons to our stocks every day. I did this in case conditions deteriorated and petrol was no longer available in Lahore. This way, the community would have a sufficient stock of fuel in case of emergency and our plane would not be stranded in Qadian.
The second thing I want to mention is that there was a young Hindu man in Lahore who had completed his flight training and longed to join one of the main Indian airlines. He also owned an L-5. Since his training was done, he wanted to sell his plane to us. Though its engine was in a somewhat worse condition than the one in our plane, having flown 300 more hours, he was still asking Rs 5000 for it and was not willing to lower his price. Finally, with Huzoor’s consent, I accepted his offer and we purchased the plane for the community. He handed it over to our possession, but said that he would provide the registration papers once he had received his payment. Unfortunately, due to growing unrest in Lahore, he left for India before we were able to pay him. Later, when I told the CAA in Pakistan about this, they issued new registration papers to us. In this way, a second L-5 was obtained by the community at no cost at all.
Third, just as we had acquired a second plane, Deputy Muhammad Latif resigned from his job in Bombay and returned to Lahore. He would go on to fly the second L-5 plane to Qadian with me. From here on in, I would fly one plane and he would fly the other.
The first people to migrate from Qadian to Lahore left on 25 August 1947. Most of the female members of the Promised Messiah’s (as) family were part of this group including his widow Hazrat Amma Jaan (ra). The car at the head of the convoy was a blue Dodge wagon which belonged to Sahibzada Mirza Mansoor Ahmad. His wife, Sahibzadi Nasira Begum, had three days earlier given birth to a baby boy, Mirza Maghfoor Ahmad, who later became a surgeon in the US. Therefore, a thick mattress was laid out on the floor of the car for mother and child to lie on.
That day, I was also flying to Lahore from Qadian. I recognized the convoy between Amritsar and Batala from the blue Dodge. Even though I had no such orders, I decided to land in a field near the road the convoy was travelling on. I left the plane’s engine running and walked a few steps towards the head of the convoy. The cars also stopped when they saw me. Since everything was in order, both the convoy and I continued to Lahore. When I reached there, I phoned Shaikh Bashir Ahmad and communicated to him that the convoy was well and told him when it was scheduled to arrive.
We had always assumed that our stay in Lahore would be temporary, and as soon as conditions improved, we would return to Qadian. It never crossed anyone’s mind that this would be a permanent migration. On 31 August 1947, Huzoor also reached Lahore by road. He did not come in a convoy. Instead, he was accompanied by a military escort, led by an English commando. Back then, a number of British officers were in both the Indian and Pakistani armies. In early September, the East Punjab government issued orders to impound our planes. The orders came when both Deputy Muhammad Latif and I were on our way from Lahore to Qadian. We each carried a community worker with us, as well as some essential items. The police officer who brought the order, first went to the office of Khuddamul Ahmadiyya and showed the papers to the person in charge. The staff members in the office knew we were expected to reach Qadian shortly. Therefore, they quietly told four khuddam to hurry to the landing site and warn us, as soon as we arrived, to unload the items we were carrying and then immediately return to Lahore. The moment we landed, the khuddam signaled to us not to turn off the engines. They quickly removed the relevant items from the plane and helped the passengers off. Back in the office, the officer and the other policemen with him were entertained with tea and various stories to divert their attention. The person presiding over the office kept them there as long as it took for us to fly back to Lahore.
Even after this incident, I flew from Walton Airport to Qadian daily to survey its environs and check if there was any threat to the town. I would also look out to see if the daily convoys of Ahmadi refugees going from Qadian to Lahore faced any difficulties. But after a few days, I had to halt these flights because the police and army units in Qadian had started firing at my plane. You cannot hear ground fire from an air force plane due to the noise of its engine, but in a small plane like mine it was possible to hear machine gun or rifle shots.
The first time I was fired at, I was miraculously saved by Allah. The top half of my L-5 cockpit was made of Perspex. The windows could be opened inwards and buttoned at the bottom. I often flew with both the side windows buttoned down, meaning that they were kept half open. The roof of the cockpit was also made of Perspex through which it was possible to get a good view. On that day, while conducting an air survey over Qadian, I flew very low from TI College towards Minaratul Masih. When passing near to Reti Challah and just above the police station, I heard the sound of gunfire from below towards my left. However, by chance, I chose to look out of the window towards the right to see what had happened. I suddenly heard a short explosive sound and felt pieces of Perspex fall from the cockpit’s roof to the left of my neck. I also felt some movement in my hair on the left side of my head. I quickly took control of the plane and increased the altitude, turning rightwards at the same time. I then looked up at the roof and saw a hole where a bullet had passed through at exactly the place where my head should have been. Passing a hand over my hair, I felt that some of it had been singed. It was truly a miracle that my head had not been straight or tilted to the left at that precise moment. If it had been, the bullet would have gone straight through it and I would never have been able to write these memoirs.
There was a passenger in the back seat who had accompanied me to see Qadian. He also realized that something perilous had happened, but was not exactly sure what. He gestured to me with his hands, and I did the same in an effort to tell him that we had been shot at. However, he was unable to understand my signals. I immediately changed our direction and flew towards Pasrur rather than Lahore. Worried that the lower part of the engine might have been hit and that it might fail at any minute, I felt that the best thing to do was to enter Pakistani air space so that if a crash landing was required, it could be undertaken in Pakistani territory and the closest point to the border was near Pasrur just by the Ravi River. I breathed a sigh of relief when we reached the Ravi and then I flew along its western bank until we arrived at Walton Airport in Lahore and landed safely.
After we had touched down, I explained to my companion that we had been shot at and showed him the hole in the cockpit roof and the burnt hair on my head. He fainted in shock and fell on the tarmac before coming around a few minutes later. He had accompanied me with great enthusiasm on what for him was a ‘sightseeing’ tour of Qadian. Prior to the trip, he had spent days asking me to take him on an air survey. But after this, he swore off from ever flying with me again.
A second miracle happened a few days later in early September. Huzoor needed to send an important letter to the administration in Qadian. I suggested to him that if we made a tricolor streamer, I could put the letter in it and drop it on the field in front of TI College where Khuddamul Ahmaddiya had set up a temporary camp, and that way the administration in Qadian would receive it. We used to do this during the Second World War when we had to send important messages to our commandos hidden in the jungle on the Burma front. For this we would need a canvas bag about 9 inches by 12 inches, with one side open which could be closed with a button. The opposite side would have three colored streamers—blue, red and yellow—4 inches wide and 3 feet long, sewn onto the bag at one end and free at the other. When the bag would fall, not only would the streamers help secure it, but they would make it visible over a long distance. Overnight, members of the Lahore Lajna Ima’illah prepared two bags made to our specifications. I put Huzoor’s letter in one of them, took it to Walton Airport and started off for Qadian. Since I was certain that I would be fired at, I did not take anyone else with me. I also decided to fly low to avoid being seen from a distance. My plan was to fly straight to the TI College field and drop off the streamer so that by the time the police and soldiers were ready to open fire, I would have made the drop. Afterwards, I would return immediately to Lahore again at a low altitude.
While I was still a few hundred yards away from my target, I flew a little higher and the sound of machine gun fire broke out to my left. Thanks to Allah, despite facing a barrage of bullets, my plane was not hit. I continued to fly ahead and, when I was about 100 feet above the target, I dropped the streamer. I then turned rightwards and returned to Lahore. Later we learned from a telephone call that Huzoor’s letter had reached the intended recipients.
But the story of what exactly happened in Qadian after I had made my drop was only relayed to us when those who were on the ground that day finally came to Lahore. This too was an extraordinary episode.
There was another field slightly north-west of TI College and north of the Jamia Ahmadiyya building, where there was a military and police check post. It was from here that my plane was fired at. When I dropped the streamer, two khuddam on duty saw it fall and ran towards it. However, at the same time, two officers also rushed towards the streamer. They reached the site where the Jalsa Salana used to take place and where the khuddam were present and ordered them to hand over whatever had been dropped from the plane.
Because of the height of the trees, it is unlikely that the officers had seen anything drop out of the plane themselves. They must have assumed this to be the case. The khuddam answered that they had nothing with them. Not believing them, the officers conducted a search but could not find anything on their person. After they had left, the khuddam anxiously looked for the streamer which they had clearly seen fall from the sky. They thought it might have landed further away and went ahead in search of it. When the officers were finally out of sight, the khuddam were approached by a young boy of about 10 or 11, dressed in shorts and a dirty shirt. He lifted his shirt, took out the streamer and handed it to them. He told them that the streamer had fallen near him, but because he had seen two officers approaching, he quickly wrapped the streamer around his body and covered it with his shirt. In this way, Huzoor’s important message reached the administration in Qadian. To this day I do not know if that boy was an angel or just a very intelligent child.
I have never been able to find out who he was.
The third miracle happened a little while after Huzoor’s arrival in Lahore, probably in the third week of September. In those days a convoy of refugees arrived in Lahore from Qadian almost every day and each convoy comprised hundreds of men, women and children. The convoys usually started from Qadian in the morning and reached Lahore in the evening.
One day, a convoy did not arrive and Huzoor was extremely concerned. By nightfall we were unable to determine its whereabouts and Huzoor called an urgent meeting. Someone suggested that we could fly an airplane over the area and search for it with a flashlight. I replied that because it was dark, I would have to fly at a minimum height of 500 feet. In addition, an ordinary flashlight was of no help. As a point of interest, when a plane lands at night, it has all of its landing lights on, the intensity of which is about 20 million candlepower whereas a flashlight would only have about 50 or 60 candlepower. I also told him that our small plane could take off and land at night if the runway was lit, but it had no instruments for navigating in the dark during the flight.
Despite this, I decided to fly out and look for the convoy. Huzoor’s anxiety made my decision for me. I could not bear to see him like this and it gave me all the courage I needed. Sahibzada Mirza Munir Ahmad also decided to come with me on this mission. A few years earlier, he too had received some flight training, before eventually deciding to pursue a career in business.
The two of us along with a driver took the community’s jeep and drove to Walton Airport. We went straight to the airport manager’s home and apprised him of our situation. He told us that, officially, we were not allowed to fly at this time because the airport, and more importantly, air traffic control were closed. But if we wanted to go out at our own risk, then we would have to light the flares needed for take-off and landing at both ends of the runway ourselves. He pointed us to the store where the flares were kept and told us to collect them.
The three of us got into the jeep, collected the flares, and then took them to the start of the shorter runway. Unlike today, where every runway is fitted out with permanent electric lights, back then we used flares that somewhat resembled the fabled lamp of Aladdin. They relied on kerosene oil and had thick cotton wicks which were lit with a match like a lantern. Even in strong winds, these flares did not go out, so once they had been used they had to be extinguished manually. The night was dark and despite having our headlights on, we had great trouble finding our way. After almost an hour, with all three of us working together, we managed to light up enough flares to allow our L-5 to take off and land.
Unfortunately, the airport manager had not told us that there was a Dakota-type airplane parked in the middle of the short runway. Nor did we notice it ourselves. Perhaps he had assumed we would use the longer runway. But I chose the shorter one to save us time as it was closer to where the flares were stored. Therefore, we failed to see the plane, even with the headlights of our car on.
Later we found out that the Pakistani government had chartered a dozen Dakota-type airplanes from the British Overseas Airways Corporation (BOAC), the forerunner of British Airways, through the British government, and these planes made daily flights from Delhi to Lahore and back to Delhi. These were passenger planes reserved for government officials and their families who were coming and going from Delhi to Lahore. On that particular night, one of the planes had engine trouble and could not return to Delhi, therefore, it had been left on the short runway.
But there was another peril ahead of us which we were soon to discover. There was a large refugee camp near Walton Airport where the railway line running towards Karachi was situated (this area is now called Bab-e-Pakistan, the gateway to Pakistan). Back then, hundreds of thousands of Muslim refugees, mostly from eastern Punjab, had come to Pakistan. They had brought with them livestock in the thousands which now grazed on both sides of the railway line. As there were no arrangements for their containment, the livestock would often wander over to graze in the fields between the two runways of the airport.
Oblivious to both these dangers, Sahibzada Mirza Munir Ahmad and I got ready and boarded the plane. I started the engine and taxied towards the smaller runway. After checking everything, I revved up for take-off. We had perhaps moved 150 yards when, with a sharp bang, we crashed into something. The plane’s nose fell against the ground, the tail rose and we somersaulted forward. We landed upside down and continued skidding in this position before eventually coming to a stop. Despite receiving injuries to both knees, I quickly unbuckled my safety belt and ran away from the plane as fast I could, fearful that it would catch on fire from the petrol pouring out of its tank.
However, within moments, I had to rush back because I realized that Sahibzada Munir Ahmad was still in the plane. He was lying head down trapped in his seat. With the plane upside down, his seat was 10 feet above the ground and he could not open his safety belt. With my help, he was able to get out, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, he was able to fall out of the plane. The aircraft, however, was totally wrecked. I put the torch on to find out what had caused the accident. To my surprise I saw that it was a cow. Half of its body lay near us while the other half was sprawled 50 yards behind where we had hit it. After taking in the scene, we proceeded to walk down the runway. We must have gone about 100 yards when a soldier told us to halt. We went closer, turned on our torch, and saw the BOAC airplane ahead of us. The soldier who had stopped us was guarding it. Seeing the plane shook both of us to the core. If Allah had not sent the poor cow to save our lives, we would have hit it with such speed—almost 100 miles per hour—that both our plane and the other one would have been blown to bits. Allah be praised, He truly saved our lives in a miraculous way that night.
Aerial view of the refugee camp adjacent to Walton Airport—September 1947. (Author’s collection)
However, we were not out of the woods quite yet. The sound of the crash caused members of the airport staff to come out to where we were. The airport manager recorded the flight in his report as being both illegal and unauthorized. Other than that there was not much else he could do. It took us a long time to put out the flares and take them back to the store. We returned to Ratan Bagh, where Huzoor was staying, at a very late hour.
In the morning Huzoor learnt of what had happened. In his heart he must have been relieved that we had not been harmed. Outwardly, however, he was furious with us for breaking the discipline of the community and for not obeying his instructions. The previous night he had told us to stop by Chaudhry Zafarullah Khan’s home on our way to the airport and find out if he had received news of the missing convoy. If any information had come to him, we were supposed to abort the assignment. Shortly after we had left for the airport, Chaudhry Zafarullah Khan had phoned Huzoor and told him where the convoy had stopped and that it was safe and would reach Lahore the following afternoon. Thus our night-time mission to find the convoy had been in vain. The reason we had not stopped by Chaudhry Zafarullah Khan’s house was that we did not want to disturb him so late into the night. However, we ended up receiving our due punishment for disobeying Huzoor. After this accident, we were left with only one airplane. However, by then, Deputy Muhammad Latif had taken leave with Huzoor’s permission to look for a job. So just as the community was left with one airplane it was also left with one pilot—myself.
A few days later, we received news that in a place called Ajnala which was within the boundaries of the new Indian border north-west of Amritsar, hundreds of Muslims were trapped in their houses because Hindus and Sikhs were conducting a blockade of their town to starve them out and kill them. Huzoor was very upset at this news and immediately ordered the community in Lahore to prepare thousands of rotis in the langar khana and make small provision packs. I was told to fly to Ajnala and drop these packs on the roofs of the Muslim homes that were under siege.
We took a large number of packs by jeep to Walton Airport. I was helped by Huzoor’s driver, Nazeer. He and I filled all the space behind the back seat of the L-5. We flew to the designated area, and with great care, dropped the packs in twos and threes over the houses. The people below were so desperate with hunger that whenever a person picked up a pack, someone sturdier would snatch it away from them. In this scrimmage, many of the provisions were wasted. The staff at the langar khana had also made the mistake of making the packs out of old newspapers. As soon as they were dropped from the plane, the paper would fly off and the unwrapped rotis would land on the ground. Despite this, these deprived people were still able to receive something to eat. We returned to Walton to pick up more packs and after four flights all of them had been distributed.