General Rani! The Ugly Face of Nationalism

The Story of General Rani

Born in 1932 in Gujarat, British India, Aqleem Akhtar hailed from a conservative family. Even in her early years, Aqleem exhibited interests and hobbies more commonly associated with boys. She left school after completing her matriculation, and soon after, her family arranged her marriage to Ghulam Raza, a police officer in Karachi, who was twice her age. Though she was unhappy with this marriage, Aqleem conformed to family pressures, maintained her modest appearance by wearing a veil, and had six children.

During a visit to Murree, however, an unexpected gust of wind blew the veil from her face, igniting a spark long suppressed within her. She decided to cast aside her veil and rebel against the constraints that bound her. This marked the beginning of her defiance, which eventually led to a separation from her husband. When she sought support from her family, they only offered assistance on the condition that she reconcile with her husband. Aqleem resolved to live life on her own terms, and with that decision, her journey from Aqleem to “General Rani” began.

Disillusioned with her family, Aqleem began associating with wealthy individuals, leveraging these connections as stepping stones until she ultimately reached General Yahya Khan. Recognizing General Yahya's vices—particularly his susceptibility to alcohol and pleasure—Aqleem used her influence to the fullest. She captivated Yahya to the point that those seeking favors from him would approach Aqleem first, leading her to gain widespread influence. Yahya, despite being a competent and strategic officer who became Pakistan’s youngest major general, fell to the lure of indulgence, leaving a controversial legacy in the country’s military history. Tragically, his vices overshadowed his accomplishments, and he inflicted irreparable damage upon Pakistan. Yet, despite this, Pakistan continued to honor him with a pension and military accolades until his death in 1980. Such leniency has contributed to the country’s setbacks, as failures to hold individuals accountable for their mistakes often prevent a nation from learning valuable lessons from its past.

Aqleem, henceforth known as “General Rani”—likely a moniker bestowed by a shrewd and eloquent lawyer, perhaps even Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto—became a celebrated yet enigmatic figure. It was General Rani who famously introduced the renowned singer Noor Jehan to General Yahya. Noor Jehan, known as the Queen of Melody, was simultaneously inspiring Pakistan’s soldiers and distracting its most senior military leader. When generals succumb to distractions, the morale and focus of those serving under them are bound to suffer.

In the wake of Pakistan’s military defeat in 1971, Yahya was stripped of his power, and General Rani found herself imprisoned. Her case was championed by the prominent lawyer S.M. Zafar, and she was later released in a deal with Bhutto, who was keen to erase or conceal memories of the events that had led to the tragedy of Bangladesh’s secession. Without this deal, many revered figures of the time might have seen their reputations exposed.

When the Hamoodur Rahman Commission later inquired about Aqleem Akhtar’s involvement with Yahya, he dismissed her as a "sisterly figure." But during Bhutto’s tenure, General Rani lived under a shadow of restraint. Her influence and knowledge posed potential threats to the stability of the young state, forcing her into a quiet, nearly invisible life. In the 1990s, a movie titled Madam Rani was made, inspired by her life. General Rani passed away in Lahore in 2002 after a battle with cancer. 

Among her children, Arusa Alam stands out as a prominent defense journalist and the mother of well-known Pakistani singer Fakhr-e-Alam.

Arusa’s close friendship with Captain Amarinder Singh, the Congress leader and Maharaja of Patiala, garnered her significant attention in India and Pakistan. In India, she has been controversially labeled as an agent of Pakistan’s ISI. The renowned Pakistani journalist Hamid Mir has also hinted at her in less-than-flattering terms.

Every December 16th, as Pakistan remembers the fall of Dhaka, the names of such figures inevitably resurface—those whose actions are seen as having shaped the country’s defeat.