A cartoonist remembers Chacha Fazal, a retired Punjab Regiment corporal who worked from 1981 until the late 1990s at ‘The Muslim’, Islamabad’s pioneering independent daily that shaped generations of journalists.
By Akhtar Shah
Some individuals deserve not merely to be remembered; they are to be studied, revisited, and gradually understood. ‘Chacha’ (uncle) Fazal was one such man.
A quintessential fauji (soldier) and a hardened infantryman from the Punjab Regiment in the Pakistan army, he was, in many ways, an institution unto himself, a living embodiment of military discipline, personal history, and old-world character.
During the 1990s, I once asked him about his years in uniform, he spoke not as a man recounting stories, but as someone who had lived through defining chapters of Southasia’s military past. He had fought in both the 1965 and 1971 wars against India, and his reflections carried the unmistakable tone of a soldier who had seen battle firsthand.
Battlefield humanity
His assessment of the “enemy” was notably professional, even generous at times. He spoke highly of the Gurkha soldiers, admiring their courage and competence, once remarking in Punjabi that there was barely any difference between them and Pakistani soldiers, a colloquial way of acknowledging their humanness.
His opinion of Sikh soldiers was often tied to his belief that alcohol played a role in their battlefield temperament. Yet even in such remarks, one sensed not hatred, but the candid, unfiltered observations of a veteran shaped by war.
Among the many stories he shared, one from the 1971 war stood out for its unusual humanity. He recalled seeing a Sikh soldier, apparently intoxicated, walking openly with a bottle in hand and taunting Pakistani troops to shoot.
One of the Pakistani soldiers fired warning shots near him, hoping to frighten him into retreat. But the man persisted, shouting abuses and refusing to back down.
Chacha Fazal said that at that point he was left with no option but to fire his G-3 rifle. Yet he took care to aim at the man’s legs. The soldier fell, wounded, but alive. In Chacha’s own telling, the decision was deliberate; the man was drunk, reckless, and foolish, but not someone he felt compelled to kill.
That episode revealed something essential about him. Beneath the hardened shell of a battle-tested infantryman was a man who still retained restraint, judgment, and a rare sense of measured humanity. He could easily have taken an enemy soldier’s life in that moment but chose otherwise. That, perhaps, was Chacha Fazal in essence: A typical fauji in discipline and temperament, yet not untouched by compassion.
Deep convictions
He also had an unexpectedly soft and artistic side. He could imitate the sound of a tabla with astonishing skill, reproducing its rhythm and intensity with remarkable precision.
Despite his advancing age, he retained the bearing of a disciplined serviceman: He stood straight, almost ceremonially so, rarely sitting or leaning casually as most people do. Often, he would be seen standing in what resembled a relaxed military posture; back firm, body composed, as if the army had long ceased to be a profession and had become part of his physical grammar. His jet-black dyed moustache and hair, usually tucked beneath a simple cotton cap, added to his unmistakable presence.
He was widely respected, not because he was an ex-serviceman, but because he possessed a certain moral force. Once, when I had a disagreement with the management over an issue, Chacha Fazal came to know about it. In his own dramatic way, he would later relate how the management had issued a show-cause notice to the cartoonist, assuming him to be just another employee, but that he had bluntly told them off.
Like many gifted raconteurs, Chacha would embellish events for effect, but his exaggerations were never malicious. They were part of his storytelling instinct, meant to entertain, energize, and defend those he cared about.
What made him particularly compelled was not his military past or his flair for narration, but the depth of his convictions. In one especially reflective moment, he spoke sorrowfully about the many divisions that plague Pakistanis as a nation: Caste, ethnicity, language, and countless other social fractures. His view was simple but powerful: the more we divide ourselves, the smaller and weaker we become. Why, he wondered, could we not remain united, as one person?
This lament eventually led him toward his broader political worldview. Like many Pakistanis of his generation, he held strong anti-American sentiments and believed that the Muslim world’s troubles were deeply tied to U.S.A. interference.
He was also a fervent admirer of Ayatollah Khomeini and the ideals of the Islamic Revolution, despite being a Hanafi Sunni himself. In his eyes, Pakistan needed a leader of similar conviction and transformative force.
He was also very helpful by nature, the sort of man who could be relied upon if anyone needed assistance. There were several retired servicemen at ‘The Muslim’ but Chacha Fazal was the most interactive of them all, the most accessible, and the most memorable.
He was not just another retired soldier passing time among old acquaintances; he was a presence, a personality, and in many ways, a bridge to an older Pakistan, one of convictions, contradictions, and unforgettable characters.
In the end, Chacha Fazal was more than a former infantryman or a veteran of two wars. He was a man of strong opinions, old loyalties, dramatic flair, and surprising tenderness, a soldier who carried both the harshness of history and the softness of human instinct within him. People like him do not merely belong to memory; they become part of folklore.
Akhtar Shah is a senior illustrator and cartoonist from Islamabad. He adapted this piece for Sapan Blog from his series about The Muslim era, published on Facebook.
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The Sapan Blog is a space for reflection, commentary, and conversation by members of the Southasia Peace Action Network community. Here, Sapaners, journalists, peacebuilders, artists, and thinkers share personal essays and perspectives that connect Southasia’s stories, challenges, and triumphs. From culture to climate, sport to solidarity, these blogs go beyond the headlines to bring you the region’s heart and humour.
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