'Mock drills began almost two days before the war', recalls journalist who witnessed the India-Pakistan 1971 war

More than half a century ago, long before India became a digitally connected nation with surveillance satellites and missile defence systems, ordinary citizens practiced for war in the most analog way possible—by switching off lights, hiding under tables, and tuning in to All India Radio. In December 1971, as India braced for war with Pakistan, those preparations were quiet, tense, and deeply etched into memory.

Madhurendra Prasad Sinha was only a teenager then, studying in college and living in Dumka, part of the Santhal Pargana division of then Bihar (now Jharkhand). Today, at 71, he still remembers those days with startling clarity, according to a report by Times now.

“I was in college back then and we would hear sirens go off at 7 pm. This meant that we now had to turn the lights off,” Sinha, who is a journalist by profession, was quoted as saying by Times Now. “At times, there were announcements on All India Radio’s Patna Centre. The PSAs also told us to turn off the lights.”

The birth of Bangladesh: A witness account

The drills, Sinha recalls, started just two to four days before the war broke out in early December and continued until the very end—December 16, when Pakistan’s Lieutenant General A. A. K. Niazi surrendered to Indian forces in Dhaka. That act marked not only the end of the war but the birth of Bangladesh.

Sinha’s recollections are rich with detail. As he describes it, the entire city would retreat indoors by 6:30 pm. The fear was real, but there was also an eerie sense of order.

“There was never a situation of panic,” he says. “We were asked to put off lights and run underneath any table or chowki whenever the sound of sirens reverberated.”

In Kishanganj, a town near the then East Pakistan border, Sinha witnessed similar drills during the 1965 war. “The city was taken over by the army for a long duration,” he recalls. “There were not many cars with sirens. So whenever we heard one, we knew it was time for drills. When lights went off, we used lanterns.”

In the small town of Narayanpur in North 24 Parganas, West Bengal—just a few hours’ drive from the Bangladesh border—a five-year-old named Babon (name changed) huddled under furniture during those same sirens.

“It was a mixed experience of fear and excitement,” Babon told Times Now. “Everybody was supposed to be in whispering mode, adding more thrill to the situation.”

He remembers his father once travelling by train when the siren sounded. The train, he said, “took a whistling speed to shelter itself under the roof of a station.” But for them, blackouts were hardly unusual. “No electricity was nothing special. We were anyway burning candles and small lamps.”

The wartime paranoia spread beyond the borders. In Kanpur, an industrial hub in Uttar Pradesh, Mousumi Roy—then only three—grew up on stories from her mother. There were rumours that Kanpur could be targeted to cripple India’s economy.

“There were conversations that Kanpur would be hit so they can take down India’s economy,” Roy recalled.

When the Taj Mahal was shrouded in black

But the image that haunts her memory is of the Taj Mahal shrouded in black cloth—a visual reminder of how real the threat was. This wasn’t the first time the monument had been camouflaged; it had happened during World War II and the 1965 war as well.

“Back then there was no high-precision GPS or satellite imagery, so covering Taj Mahal with black cloth would make the bomber plane look at it like nothing but a bamboo stockpile,” Times Now quoted her as saying. Her mother would put cotton in her ears when the sirens howled, and the windows were painted black to block all light.

Drills weren’t limited to blackouts. RK Sharma, a retired government official, remembers specific protocols, according to a report by Times Now.

“You had to cover the glasses with paper, and if you were outside and heard the siren, you were supposed to lie down on the floor and shut your ears,” he recalled. Offices would shut early so people could reach home before nightfall, although schools often remained open.

Now, as India prepares for a nationwide civil defence mock drill once again—its largest since 1971—Sinha reflects on how much has changed.

“There are so many servers, so many ways of communication now,” he says. “The most we will do for mock drills is to use stairs or get out of a big building, like a mall.”

In his day, the city magistrate—his own father—would personally patrol the streets, ensuring everyone complied with the blackout. There were no mobile phones, no quick calls to check on loved ones. Just faith, silence, and the sound of sirens cutting through the night.