To most people who read this rambling and inadequate piece on the life of a very extraordinary man, the reaction could well be, "so what is unusual?" It is also likely that many wouldn't even know about him. He was one of the thousands of young men who went into the army and left far too early. But what makes his story somewhat special is that Major Sardar Amanullah belongs to the breed of young officers who have long gone - what we have are now astute real estate developers and with them a way of living has gone as well. These were not just men but characters of unique disposition, who cared nothing for the shallow world-values or the hankering after wealth, power or limelight that now define the very essence of our armed forces and almost all of our civilians too.

A few evenings back in Islamabad's F/8, Pervez (Patty) and Javaid (Papoo) Khan, nephews of Major Aman, gathered with me. Papoo put on one of Major's favourite records, a plaintive Scottish melody straight out of the highlands of Scotland and followed that up with the inspirational 'Colonel Bogey's March'. We then switched beats to a lilting Latin number 'Anna', a melody that Major would dance to in the army messes and night clubs of yesteryear and dance it to perfection. We turned to another of Major's favourite albums, a collection of love songs by Dean Martin. One particular song, 'I'll never forget you' was the one that would bring tears to Major's eyes because it was a song that was associated with his first wife, Denise, a girl he met at St. Denny's in Murree and married. On a trip back to Kakul about three months after a deliriously happy romance leading to his marriage with the love of his life, on a stormy night, Major's Wolsely rammed into a large cart with no lights and carrying lethal long iron rods which were protruding out. Denise died almost instantly as one can imagine and the car desperate for a foothold fell into a ravine. Major was never the same again.

That night in Islamabad, we raised a silent toast in the blessed memory of one of the greatest characters of all times, Major (r) Sardar Amanullah Khan, better known as 'Colt 45', to his legion of friends and admirers. Major passed away towards the end of this Ramadan in a hospital although he hated being there and kept wanting to be moved to his ramshackle farmhouse on the outskirts of Islamabad, but that was perhaps one of the few things he didn't quite manage to do. He passed on in silence and dignity bringing to an end a life remarkable in so many ways.

How does one even begin to describe him? He was simply extraordinary, a man with so many dimensions, with thousands of stories and incidents each interwoven in what was a rich and unique life. He was above everything else a fabulous human being, simplicity and humility in such large proportions woven into his personality, an almost hermit-like disdain for the riches of the world, the great creature comforts we all yearn and slave for all our living days. His life was full of adventure and camaraderie, a sense of fun and the impossible present in all he did and an enviable contempt for people with egos and over-sized complexes.

Major Aman got his name 'Colt' from his dexterity with firearms. He had acquired a pair of Colt 45s as an officer with the Tochi Scouts, North Waziristan in 1954 and these he wore around his waist in an open holster while chasing the eminent and infamous brigand, the Faqir of Ippi. And thus the name Colt Aman. He was a superb shot, a champion and sharp shooter and he handled guns of every description with an uncanny familiarity and intricate knowledge. He was of the first IMA-PMA course out of Kakul and was possibly in the same batch of young officers who were commissioned just about the time Pakistan came into being. My late brother, Brig. Bashir Ahmad, 'Bashira' always to Major, was of the same vintage as were Mujeeb ur Rehman, Ejaz Azim and many other officers who made the Pakistan Army a unique institution, not the plot-grabbing shallow property dealers and real estate speculators that it has become sadly over the last many years. Major was from that generation which loved the army to distraction and wouldn't have traded places with anyone else.

While at PMA, the stories of Major's escapades were already legion. Many years ago, I was told that he rode one of the ceremonial canons all by himself down that steep PMA incline until he crashed into the flower pots. During his days there, always up to any kind of foolhardy venture, he showed up at a fancy dress show dressed up as a pirate complete with cutlass and an eye patch. The Commandant's wife, playing 'Little Bo Peep' had the misfortune to be ahead of the Major and as they danced round and round to an appreciative audience with the Commandant presiding, Major every now and then tucked up her frock with his cutlass and let out a throaty drunken sailor growl. The Commandant was not amused.

Gen. Habibullah & Major

Some years later, having been promoted Captain, he was about to lead his platoon to assault on the "enemy" in a mock battle of the first Army Manoeuvers of 1954 in the Tarraki Hills near Jhelum. His Commanding General (Gen. Habibullah Khan Khattak, father of Gen Ali Kuli, and later Chairman of Ghandhara Industries) suddenly turned up at the scene. "Captain," he orders, "your Battalion Commander, the 2 I.C and all other superiors are dead. You take over the full command of the Battalion and pass on the orders for a full assault." Captain Aman gave a command performance at the spur of the moment. General Habibullah was so impressed that he tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Captain some day you will go right to the top." That did not happen for a number of reasons, but the young dashing Captain had made such an impression on the General that he never forgot Major Aman till his dying day. On many occasions he offered the Major to accept a top tier job in Gandhara Industries, which General Habibullah had set up, but Major always politely declined. When the General established his own 'Pakistan Wildlife Appeal', the Major stayed as his right-hand man throughout.

In the seventies, at a gathering, Lt Gen Wajahat Hussain (also a great polo player and brother-in-law of Syed Tariq Ali), said that Major Aman had the making of a General and this he had assessed when he was a Senior Under Officer at the Indian Military Academy and Cadet Aman was two terms his junior. Captain Shamim Alam Khan -- later a full General and Joint Chief of Staff -- just after the 1965 war, decorated with a Sitara e Jurrat, told Patty at Murree's Lintotts (now a sad memory) "that no officer in the entire Pakistan Army is a patch on Sid," the legendary late Lt. Col. Saeed Durrani. And over a dozen years later, Sid and Patty were talking and Patty asked Sid that while at Lawrence College, Ghora Galli, he was one hell of a chap in flying gliders and it would have been logical that he should have joined the PAF as a fighter pilot. Instead he had ended up in the Army. Sid's reply is a classic.

"Yes that's true about my fondness for the Air Force. But there was also a lot that fascinated me about the Army. I was indecisive. I had gone to Peshawar and went for a drink to the Peshawar Club. At the bar I was listening to some fantastic tales, by this young and a dashing Captain. I was so overwhelmed and impressed, that I said to myself that if this guy is from the Army then I must be a part of it too. The young Captain was your uncle, Sardar Amanullah Khan."

With such accolades and numerous others predicting a great future for this officer, Major stayed a Major. Despite pleas by his well-wishers in the Army to take the Staff College exam, he simply ignored his career. Many of his course mates both in the Pakistan and the Indian Army made it to two and three star generals. Not Major. Though the Army could have made him a Lt. Col. but an incident, revealing in many ways, took place.

Last Army Job

Major's last job with the Army was as a weapon man in 1967-68 at the School of Infantry, Quetta. The Directorate of Weapons Purchase (or whatever it's called) at the GHJQ sent over three samples of Light Machine Gun (LMG) which the Army was planning to induct in its Infantry Divisions. These weapons were from France, Germany and probably Belgium. Their performance at the Infantry School was rigorously tested. One of these failed as, after continuously firing for some time, the barrel heated and then jammed. The Belgian weapon -- most likely or was it French or German -- doesn't really matter was the best in the tests. Major signed and sent the report. GHQ was not pleased and insisted that he should declare the worst weapon as the best weapon -- things were changing in the Army! To mildly pressurise him there was even a call from a 'friendly' General - an infamous fellow as became evident in the 1971 fiasco in East Pakistan who asked Major to modify his stand. Obviously there was much money in kickbacks to be made through this inferior weapon. Major, by habit a stubborn and honest man, did not succumb. Most others would have 'negotiated' and made millions. He told this General friend that "if I change my decision today then maybe a few years later in actual battle conditions many a poor subaltern of this soil would lose their lives just because somebody made an ignoble decision at the Infantry School. I have to live with my conscience, General. This you may not understand." Soon after this he asked, whether for this reason alone or others, for release from the Army.

Civilian Life

As he turned to civilian life, he began to spend more and more time in the great outdoors of Pakistan. His passion for trekking and finding remote areas took him on many perilous journeys. Every one can boast of toughness in their 20s or 30s, but even in his 60s and 70s, Major had the stamina of a horse and an unbelievable capacity for physical endurance. It was late Dec 1989. Major was at Khunjerab Pass, over 14,000 feet high with temperature around minus 25, conducting an Ibex hunt for one of his lady clients from France, the best trophy hunter of her country. The hunt over, Major who had an ancient Wagoner from the 60s with no power steering, hardly any heating or creature comforts, drove back non-stop five hundred miles plus to Islamabad to get her to the airport for her flight to Paris.

Having done that, he headed home to do bandobast (arrangements) for his Italian clients -- two couples, both millionaires and their stunning looking daughter who were arriving next morning from Italy. He slept perhaps for two or three hours was up at 5am, collected his nephew Papoo in the freezing cold of Islamabad and was at the airport. As per plan, Papoo would take the ladies for nice and easy tourism in Swat, Peshawar and Lahore. As for Major, he took the hunting husbands (owners of the AGIP, the six legged fire breathing animal which you see at petrol stations in Italy) straight from the airport to Kohistan, 300 miles away! He was 67 at the time! Till the age of 81, each winter Major took several trips to the Salt Range, Chashma Barrage area and camped in the winter cold for duck shoots. He was a man for the outdoors but when indoors, was able to narrate endless stories that would keep listeners riveted, hanging on to every word.

George Schaller

Amongst the many companions and friends Major Aman had, one was Dr. George Schaller, the eminent wildlife field biologist, who was recently hailed by his contemporaries and peers as the 20th century's greatest naturalist. In his bestselling book, Stones of Silence, this is what Schaller wrote about Major.

"...Amanullah Khan holds a special place in my esteem and a few words cannot acknowledge my debt to him. Intermittently over a period of four years we travelled together, from the heights of the Hindu Kush to the deserts of Sind. His interest and assistance were a major contribution to the project...The Major (Aman) was invaluable on these surveys. Trim and tidy, with an affable personality and an ability to speak various languages, he allayed the suspicions with which villagers view all outsiders. His interest in, and knowledge of, hunting and firearms soon had him in animated discussion with local men, discussions which after many cups of tea always provided us with useful information and perhaps a few dusty trophies to measure. As a former army man, he had acquaintances everywhere. The commander of some forlorn outpost might well turn out to be an old friend. After several hearty hugs, it was time to inquire about mutual acquaintances: "Where is Babar now? Have you heard of Mahmood lately?" This led to hours of swapping stories, of past pranks and partridge shoots, the conversation in the mixture of English and Urdu that is so typical of the educated Pakistani."

"Our surveys were tiring and often tedious. The hours of driving through heat and dust over bumpy tracks... all tended to fray the nerves. Given these conditions, I was continually surprised that the Major and I travelled together for days and weeks without altercation, especially since our characters are so dissimilar. I am teutonically punctual whereas he is generously mindless of time even by Asiatic standards... We adapted well to each other's idiosyncrasies and greatly enjoyed our travels."

Schaller has written much more about Major in this book and others like Mountain Monarchs as well as in articles and scientific reports in the New York Zoological Magazine and National Geographic. So deep and profound was Major's knowledge about the wildlife especially the wild mountain goats and sheep like Markhor and Ibex that in many scientific reports and essays Schaller has credited Major's name alongside his as an author, even though Major did not write a single line in these.

Patty Khan said, "on my travels with Schaller in 1973 through 1975 for the National Geogrpahic he was of utmost praise for Major. I remember on one occasion Schaller remarked -- had Major Aman been in some other country and pursued his interest in wildlife, he had every chance of becoming internationally famous. It's a pity that here the moment a Pakistani is seen soaring up to international fame he is ignored, discouraged and clubbed down."

The current formula applied by the Wildlife Department of the Government for the hunting of Markhor, Ibex, Urial and Shapu in the Northern Areas, is entirely the dream child of Major Aman, devised and formulated by him and published in WWF journal/magazines in 1978. Briefly it said that to save and conserve these animals from poaching by the locals, military and government officials, the village communities must be given charge of their wildlife stocks in their respective Nullahs. A very high fee to be charged for hunting a certain number of animals per area from foreigners ($ 3000 for Ibex and $60,000 for Markhor are the current prices) and for locals a lower sum. Eighty percent of the fees to be given to the local village community which can then be utilized for building schools, dispensaries, irrigation canals and other communal activities.

Even to this day no Pakistani or a foreigner can travel freely or feel safe amongst the Chilasis and the Kohistanis in the Northern Areas. These people are amongst the most dangerous and wicked in the world. When Major Aman began his little seasonal business for Trophy Hunting for the foreigners some thirty years ago (and incidentally he was most likely a pioneer in this business) practically for all his clients he personally took to these valleys, he always hired a murderous bunch of locals as guides and cooks! His affable qualities had a magical spell on these people and never ever was there an unhappy incidence. Even today perhaps no other outfitter would dare venture into these places.

Early Days

Major Aman was from the 2nd last Indian Military Academy course at the time of Partition. He was initially inducted into the Ordinance Corp of Pak Army. Posted at Nowshera as a 2nd Lt. the CO directed him to destroy a huge quantity of explosive material like canon shells and TNT etc. which is technically done piece by piece in small quantities. However, Lt. Aman had his own ideas. He piled up the entire lot, several tons (far more than the amount used in the September blast at the Marriott) to the range at Nowshera. He then detonated it in one go. The shock blast was heard and felt from the Khyber to Attock. The crater was deeper than 25 feet. Major had pictures of this pile-up and the after effects. The Army decided that this was their man for the infantry. He was then immediately posted in the Duke of Connaught's (Connaught Place Delhi fame) 11th Baluch. The 1948 Infantry School Course, in which he excelled as a student at Quetta, immediately appointed him as an Instructor.

He was a man for all seasons. Not just an expert on the small arm weapons of the Army and a vast knowledge about the hunting rifles and shot guns but also a complete person when it came to wine, women, song and dance. A couple of years ago, Major said that he had his first drink, first cigarette, first dance and first girl at the Telegraph Club in Delhi at the age of 14. And along with his immense outdoor activities right until the age of 82 he also kept abreast and rather excelled in some of the former.

He was a Sialkoti -- aren't they all? His mother was a Punjabi from Sialkot and father a Mohmand Pathan whose ancestors had settled, in the 19th century, somewhere close to Sialkot. He was a great lover of Latin American music and excelled as a great Samba dancer (which he learnt from the wives of the South American officers who were his colleagues at the US School of Infantry, Fort Benning, Georgia in 1957-58) and in his heydays when he was a captain and young major in the fifties and sixties. Wajahat Latif, a retired IG of Police (also from Sialkot) often mentions Captain Aman gracefully dancing with sexy and pretty girls, the samba in the nightclubs of Lahore, now long gone -- Casino, Burt Institute, Faletti's, and several other places of dance and music on the Mall. Seeing him dancing was one of the highlights of their student day visits to these places. He played the mouth organ well especially tunes like La Paloma, Peanut Vendor and other perennial Latin American favourites.

Major's Gang

His drinking escapades with his friends like the great Shahsab -- Syed Anis Haider Shah and Ch. Zaheer, to name just a few; his fist fights, all in merriment and jest, in the nightclubs of Lahore and Officer Messes and Services Clubs all over the country were well known in those days. About seven years ago, Major Aman was cruising down the road through some small village around the Attock area when he noticed something unusual lying alongside the road. He stopped and walked across. It was a dead body of some poor soul. Just a few feet away were some men, mostly the bearded variety and the type who would at the first call run to the mosque for prayers. They were chatting and having tea. On inquiry Major found out that the body was some lawaris - a nobody. He picked him up the dead man, deposited him in the back seat of his ancient green Wagoner and delivered to the Edhi Trust for burial. On several occasions while driving on the roads he had picked up scores of injured animals, dogs, cats, goats and once a donkey, and personally took them to the vet for treatment.

The E-Type

My earliest recollection of Major was in Lahore because he had this fabulous creamy white Jaguar XKE 120 convertible marked with a sparkling red Chitral 7 number. Zaheer says there were only two such cars in Pakistan at the time and one of these, before the Major got it, belonged to the stable of the Nawab of Khairpur, whom Major had befriended. The car, having done just about 7,000 miles in all, caught the Major's eye and when he asked for it, the Nawab graciously consented. Just about this time, Major got his posting orders and left the project of driving the car to Lahore in the hands of his friend, Gohar Zaman Khan of the Khairpur Police. The story goes that 200 miles or so on the road to Lahore, the Jaguar inexplicably died. Apparently, the car had been standing unused for so long that the engine oil had gone bad. Gohar never checked it in spite of Major's request. The Jag made a lame entry into Lahore on the back of a goods truck and was fixed. For a couple of years around 1972-1973, it was seen careening all over town driven by Major Aman and sometimes by Syed Shahid Ali, the eminent polo player but eventually landed in a workshop in Model Town, where it disappeared since Major had no funds to fix it.

But in the 1970s when we were still green around the ears, stories and escapades of Major were plenty. He and Anis Haider Shah were forever going away in search of what became the Holy Grail, "the Mighty Masher" as we began to call it. This was the biggest Masher fish of all times and both were determined to catch it first, but Anis had the devil's own luck. He would cast and cast in pools and rivers and deep streams where fish swam in great numbers but would not catch a thing while nearby in an area where there seemed hardly any fish Major would be reeling them in by the basketful. Anis would then force Major to change places and start casting at exactly the same spot, without catching a single fish, while Major chuckling to himself and whistling reeled them in one after another. Of course, on some trips, they'd catch nothing and return to Lahore in the dead of night having purchased a couple of Masher on the way. These were for show to convince Nasrene Shah, Anis's lovely and patient wife who would be woken up and the driver asked to show 'Begum sahib' the fish. Nasrene declined such offers in her usual unruffled and classy style.

Dream Projects

The dream projects that Anis, Major and STA (Syed Tariq Ali) cooked up could take several volumes, but from mining in the high mountains of Garam Chashma in Chitral to farms, poultry, game, lakes, reserves and whatever else Anis's fertile imagination conjured up, the projects came and went without ever seeing the light of the day. The last one still under action is in the foothills of Murree where Major had dug a trench from which oozed a trickle of spring water which he kept secret from where Anis was parked and where Anis is building something that no one can quite identify. Shah Sahib as we have learnt is unstoppable. It was Shah Sahib's great project in the late 70s to make vodka in his lawn, buried under ground. Apparently the project was a great success except no one could get anywhere near the buried bottles!

A great deal of action that unfolded over the years took place at 56 Main Gulberg, Shah Sahib's home (and that of Sir Abdur Rashid who gave oath to Mohammad Ali Jinnah), in Shah Jamal and earlier near Walton, called "The Nest". The characters always included Ch. Zaheer and Anis's younger brother and my friend Sami Shah with Shamail Waheed making up for the chorus. The escapades were almost always hilarious including the night that Anis disappeared with the bottle and couldn't be found for love or money but still made loud gurgling noises from the shrubbery which led Zaheer to fire warning shots and for us to get the hell out of there. Was the Major afoot that night? Certainly! It was Major's idea to bolt all doors and not allow Zaheer access to the Chivas Regal -- orders implicitly followed by the long-suffering Masqeen or Maskers, who fed the clan and did all manner of things. It was always in good fun and the players would eventually collapse in merriment. At such times, Maskers, Jeeves reincarnated would produce another fabulous dinner and that would be that. Smoking at the dining table always met with a disapproving look from Maskers.

When Major started to go down hill with cancer, a chapter in many lives that he had touched began to close too. I recall a few months before he passed away that the Major having heard my eldest brother Brig. Bashir Ahmad had died some time back called me out of the blue and commiserated. He always used to call him Basheera and he said, "Yar, Basheera barra yaad aa raya ay" -- "I am missing Basheera". That was the last time I spoke to him. When he died, he was so emaciated and wasted that it was not a man in that hospital bed, but a little child and when he passed on, it was quietly and with dignity having a couple of days earlier fooled the young doctor into allowing him a healthy amount of the stuff that cheers and warms the heart. That was the Major, in form to the bitter end!