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Though now a democratically elected President, Ayub Khan is still a military man and is running Pakistan's side of the war from the map room in his interim capital of Rawalpindi. He rallied his nation and his armed forces with a nationwide broadcast. In a voice quavering with emotion, Ayub declared that "the Indian rulers were never reconciled to the establishment of an independent Pakistan where Moslems could build a homeland of their own. For 18 years they have been arming to crush us." The present Pakistani commander, General Mohammed Musa, also took to the radio to praise the courage of his troops. The army had got its teeth in the enemy, said Musa, and should "bite deeper and deeper until he is destroyed. And destroy him you will, God willing."
India's Prime Minister Lai Bahadur Shastri (TIME cover, Aug. 13) is poles apart from Ayub Khan, physically, emotionally and personally. Scarcely 5 ft. tall, with a clerkish mien and a gentle, self-deprecating voice, the wonder is that Shastri ever became the head of the world's largest democratic state. But Shastri's meekness is deceptive, and, in Pakistani opinion at least, he is a determined, wily and resilient opponent.
Except for daily briefings by India's army chief of staff, tall, mustached General Joyanto N. Chaudhuri, Shastri stays aloof from the war. Explains an aide, "He feels this is a professional matter, and should be left to the professionals." Most of Shastri's day is spent with Parliament and in meetings with an emergency committee made up of five of his Cabinet ministers. Here, Shastri makes the decisions, overruling Defense Minister Yashwantrao B. Chavan, who opposed the digging of slit trenches in New Delhi for fear of alarming the population, and ordering that rationing machinery be set up in case it is needed later.
Once, as the crisis grew worse, he displayed temper, angrily denouncing the U.S. for its failure to condemn Pakistan for its infiltration of Kashmir. Railways Minister S. K. Patil calmed him down, saying "If America went to war in Guatemala or Uruguay, you would tell both sides to stop fighting. You wouldn't tell them who is at fault."
Late Lights. Yet despite the militant posture of both countries, and the lights burning late behind curtained windows in the war rooms of Rawalpindi and New Delhi, there are some curious inconsistencies in the conflict. Neither India nor Pakistan has yet declared war or even severed diplomatic relations. And the communiqués make it clear that none of the attacks represent a major effort; rarely is more than a brigade employed. So far, it has been a war of small battles between tanks, planes and artillery, with neither side trying for a quick knockout or decisive showdown. Since there have been no major infantry clashes, casualties have been less than they might have been—perhaps 1,700 dead on both sides.
What is unclear is whether the seeming hesitancy is a result of design or poor logistics. It has always been difficult to move large bodies of troops speedily in the subcontinent. On either side of the border, the roads are miserable and usually choked with oxcarts, camel caravans and wandering cows. The railways offer the best transportation, but trains—as at Dhankeal—are sitting ducks for rocket-firing jets.