Harking back: A journalist’s tale of the ‘hijacking’ of an Indian aircraft

In the 28 years starting from 1971, a total of 16 Indian aircrafts were hijacked, with most happening to land in Lahore. The first was torched on Feb 2 of that year, after Pakistan released everyone and refused permission for a replacement crew.

The second hijacking was on Sept 10, 1976, when the Srinagar to Delhi flight was carried out by six Kashmiri freedom fighters of the JKLF. They consisted of Hameed Dewani, Ahsan Rathore, Rashid Malik, Ghulam Rasool and Khawaja Ghulam Nabi Itoo. They wanted to fly to Libya, but because they did not have enough fuel they landed in Lahore.

This is the point where this ‘pen-pusher’ enters the picture. As a staff reporter of the now defunct newspaper “The Pakistan Times”, I happened to be one of a team of four reporters and two photographers sent to the airport to cover the hijacking. The airport was swarming with journalists and security persons. It was difficult to see the aircraft for it was parked at the furthest end.

As one roamed around trying to find a clue for a story, a young man in civilian clothes approached me and said: “Are you Majid Sheikh?” Surprised at a stranger knowing my name he added: “I am Captain Shahid of the ISI.” That got me thinking of eking a story out of him. But before I could unveil my plan he offered: “Would you like to go and meet the hijackers?” Gosh, this was opportunity impossible. He then added: “But only if your photographer comes along”.

So as Chaudhary Ghias was assigned to remain with me I rushed to him. He gave it a thought and said: “No way, I do not want to get killed as I have small children. You are crazy anyway so take my camera”. As my father had presented me a Leica camera, the 36 photographs-to-a-reel type, I knew how to operate it. Off on a military jeep we sped and along the way commandos could be seen hidden in the tall grass.

About a hundred yards from the aircraft the jeep stopped. Captain Shahid (I hope that was his real name) said: “You are on your own now”. So there I was facing the Indian 737 Boeing aircraft with the name Indian Airlines written across the huge aeroplane. If ever there was a feeling of helplessness with emptiness all around this was it.

Suddenly the aircraft door opened. Out came a tall bearded hijacker with a huge pistol in his hand. He smiled, walked up to me and immediately put the gun to my forehead. “I am going to blow your brains out unless you identify yourself”, he roared. I must confess that not an iota of fear entered my mind, for the story was more important. I pulled out my old dirty PT identity card and presented it to him. He read it and commented: “What a dirty ID card”. I smiled and said that I have been seven years on the job, so it was bound to get dirty.

As we got talking I took three snaps of the hijacker. Then I asked him why had they hijacked the aircraft? He looked with amazement at just how naïve could a journalist be. “We are freedom fighters and we want to win our freedom from all oppressors, and hijacking is just one high profile act and part of a greater plan.” That made sense as I had partially, from a distance, observed the Munich Olympics events vis-à-vis Palestinian freedom fighters.

I asked him whether the passengers were safe. “So far we have not killed anyone, but if they create trouble we will not hesitate”. He sounded grim and serious. “Can I meet the passengers so that my story has a ‘human touch’”? Now that I think of the request, it was a dangerous one. But the hijacker gave it a thought and said: “Sure, but no tricks”.

So into the aircraft we climbed with the pistol firmly on my neck. I will confess even now that I was not scared for the story was always more important. Call it naïve or stupid, but that was the sole consideration. The camera kept clicking away and I talked to a few passengers, all scared as you know like what. I took notes and names and tried in those brief moments to capture in my ‘mind’s eye’ everything possible.

Then came the moment when the camera reel had taken its 36 photographs. The bearded hijacker signalled that it was time to leave. I could see that the passengers wanted to get out of harm’s way. The hijackers had, strangely, not been threatening. Once back on the tarmac the bearded hijacker shook my hand and said goodbye. I walked into the wilderness again. Phew, no harm done as it dawned on me that I had survived. That is when fear returned to my mind for the first time.

From the horizon raced the jeep driven by Captain Shahid. I sat in it and he drove me to the main building. There he snatched the camera and informed me that I was under arrest. He took me, or let’s say pushed me, into the main hall where a brigadier and a number of officers confronted me. The senior officer shouted: “If you do anything funny, we will shoot you”. I plucked up the courage to respond: “But, but ..”. “Shut up or we will shoot you here and now”. Better sense prevailed.

The army men were discussing just how to get the photographs printed and rushed to Islamabad, for Prime Minister Bhutto wanted to see the hijackers’ faces. One officer said that it will take 24 hours to do that. For a good story chances have a habit of opening up. I took courage and said: “Let me take it to the PT dark room and you will have your photographs in an hour. We do it every day”. They looked amazed. “No problem, let us get Ghias Chaudhary and send two officers and within an hour you will have your photographs”. They fell for it.

On the way to office I told Ghias in his ear to use two papers per photograph and throw one in the waste paper basket. He nodded to tell me that would not be a problem. So in the dark room the trick was carried out. The two officers were as pleased as punch at the photographs and promised me one or two the next day. I can still feel today the feeling of politely calling them ‘naive’.

I took the finished 36 photographs and rushed to the house of the chief sub-editor, an amazing journalist named QZ Malik. There on his typewriter I ‘punged’ out my story as the journalistic saying goes. The story and photographs I handed over to QZ and he advised that I not go to office that night.

The next morning the ISI swarmed my place and took me to their Lawrence Road office. They tied me to a chair with a bright light in my eyes. “Why did you cheat us?” they screamed. “Because as a journalist my loyalty is to my story, not you folk”. They seemed shocked at the response.

Before they could start thrashing me suddenly an officer rushed in to inform that ZA Bhutto had requested that I be released. Phew, that was close. When next on airport duty I met ZA Bhutto, he walked up to me smiling, and said: “Darn good story, but beware of those nasty chaps”.