Author: Zameen Zaag
War is not merely a clash of weapons and strategies; it is a journey of survival, a path to independence, and the ultimate test of courage. It purges cowardice, forges resilience, and draws a clear line between the brave and the timid. It is both destruction and creation, despair and hope, a burden and a responsibility. Through war, nations preserve their identity, culture, and language, ensuring their place in history. It is the fire that tempers warriors, the force that shatters illusions, and the light that dispels the darkness of oppression.
From the moment Pakistan occupied Balochistan, the war for national liberation has never ceased. Generations have sacrificed their most precious souls for this cause, proving that true freedom is never granted—it is fought for. Among these warriors was Beig Mohammad, alias Tariq, lovingly called “Lali” by his comrades. His life, struggle, and ultimate sacrifice are not just the story of an individual but of an entire movement that refuses to submit.
In Bolan, where mountains stand like guardians of the Baloch struggle, Lali walked a path few could endure. My encounter with him was brief, yet it left a profound mark on my soul. He was not just a fighter; he was the living embodiment of resilience, commitment, and wisdom, forged in the fires of war.
The journey to Koman, Bolan, took us three grueling days, traversing the harsh landscape that had become home to the warriors of the Baloch Liberation Army (BLA). The mountains, shaped by time and conflict, seemed to protect those who fought for their people. Arriving at dusk—what we call Roolah—we collapsed in exhaustion, sharing stories and a meager meal before sleep claimed us.
The next morning, Fidayee Ghous Bakhsh Baloch (alias Talib) and other comrades joined us, bringing news from Machh. Shortly after, Lali arrived—his presence both commanding and humble. He did not waste words, focusing instead on finding a better location for us—a tactical mind always at work. Even in those first moments, I sensed something different about him—a presence that spoke of experience, of battles fought, of a life lived in the mountains.
I saw in his eyes the weight of history, the burden of battles fought and sacrifices made. His unkempt hair and broken nails told of years spent in the mountains, far from the comforts of ordinary life. He was a mystery to me, and I longed to understand the man behind the warrior.
That night, after relocating to a safer site, we sat around a small fire as Talib prepared tea. Lali asked for Haal-Hawal, the Marri-Baloch tradition of exchanging updates. It was more than mere conversation—it was a way of keeping the struggle alive, ensuring that every comrade was aware of the shifting tides of war.
Two days later, while the others went on assignments, I found myself walking with Comrade Bolani and Talib deep into the mountains. To my surprise, we came upon a small dwelling where Lali’s wife and child lived. He greeted us warmly, serving tea with a quiet smile.
That night, I asked Comrade Bolani about Lali’s journey. He told me that Lali had joined the BLA in 2018 and, in a short time, had risen through the ranks through sheer dedication. Despite being uneducated, he had an instinctive intelligence and an unmatched work ethic. Unlike many fighters who took short breaks to see their families, Lali never left his post—not for a single day. His only family was the movement, his only home the mountains.
Living alongside him for days, I saw his humanity beyond the warrior. We watched documentaries on the Kurdish struggle, drawing inspiration from other oppressed nations. We walked together to find an internet connection, each moment reinforcing my respect for him.
One day, as we climbed for better reception, a Pakistani military helicopter appeared suddenly, roaring above us. Lali, more agile than I, moved swiftly across the rocks, urging me to run faster. “A guerrilla must always be prepared,” he told me afterward. “One mistake, one hesitation, and the enemy will take everything.”
He was not just a fighter; he was a teacher, a strategist—an artist of war. Lali was a man of action. When an attack was planned, he was always the first to step forward, never hesitating to leave behind his family, his comforts, or even his life. His bravery was unquestionable, his commitment unwavering.
When the Dara-e-Bolan operation was announced, the news of his martyrdom came alongside an honor few ever receive—the Sagaar-e-Baloch (Sword of Baloch), the second-highest award in the BLA. At that moment, I understood what it truly meant to earn such recognition. It was not just about fighting; it was about living every second for the cause—never wavering, never retreating.
War takes everything—friends, comrades, loved ones. It leaves behind memories, unfinished conversations, and unfulfilled dreams. War, in all its forms, is a heavy burden. It takes everything, shatters lives, and leaves scars that never fade. But when the enemy is an oppressive state—one that seeks to erase identities, crush freedoms, and silence resistance—then war becomes not just a necessity, but an obligation.
Victory and defeat matter, but what matters more is resistance. As long as warriors like Lali rise, as long as mountains shelter the oppressed, as long as even one voice refuses to be silenced, the struggle lives on. We do not fight because we love war. We fight because we refuse to live as slaves. We fight for independence, for dignity, for the right to exist. And if war is the price of freedom, then so be it.
Lali’s legacy is not just in the battles he fought, but in the hearts he ignited. And as long as his story is told, he will never truly die. Our Lali was not the first to fall, and he will not be the last. But as long as his name is remembered, as long as his sacrifices inspire others, he will never truly be gone. His story, like that of so many before him, will live on—in the mountains, in the songs of revolution, in the hearts of those who continue the fight.
For in war, as in life, some deaths are not an end, but a beginning.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of The Balochistan Post or any of its editors.