The Brave: Param Vir Chakra Stories

by Rachna Bisht Rawat

‘Kya aapne aisa kaha tha?’ (Did you say that?) I ask again.

  ‘Haan, kaha tha, ‘ Yes, I said that, she says, her voice strong. On her wrinkled face is a glimmer of pride.

  Winter, 1971

  The train whistle shrieked, there was a deep shudder, a jolt, and then the rush of people getting on in a hurry. The Punjab Mail had started to move out of New Delhi railway station. Arun was hanging from the door, waving. His brother Mukesh, studying at IIT, Delhi, was walking along with the moving train, looking at him with envy mingled with anxiety. Arun lifted his eyes to his parents, Brigadier and Mrs Khetarpal, standing on the platform and moving farther from him with every passing moment as the train picked up speed. His father’s arm was around his mother, strained smiles on their faces. He knew they were all trying to be brave. He smiled back at them and then lifted his right hand in a crisp salute. By that time the train had moved too far for him to see the glint of tears in his mother’s eyes.

  Many young officers had been recalled from the Young Officers course they had been attending at Ahmednagar when the war with Pakistan broke out. Second Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal was one of them. He and his unit officer Second Lieutenant Brijendra Singh had got on to a train to Delhi without a reservation. There were no seats for them and they had wangled some space in the pantry car. At Delhi, when they had had a few hours to change trains, Arun had unloaded his motorcycle and ridden it to his parents’ house in Naraina to leave it there. He had returned in time for the Punjab Mail, happily lugging his blue patrol uniform and golf clubs. When Singh asked him why he needed the clubs and the ceremonial uniform on his way to fighting a war, Arun grinned: ‘I plan to play golf in Lahore. And I’m sure there will be a dinner night after we win the war so I’ll need the blue patrol.’

  Wars were not new to the Khetarpals. Arun came from a family of soldiers. His great-grandfather had been in the Sikh army and fought against the British. His grandfather had served in the British Army during World War I and Arun’s father, Brig. M. L. Khetarpal, was a Sapper. After studying at Sanawar, Arun had decided to become an Army officer and had joined the National Defence Academy in 1967. He was commissioned into 17 Poona Horse, an armoured or tank unit of the Indian Army, on 13 June 1971. He had been in the Army six months when the war broke out.

  15 December, 11 p. m.

  The winter night is pitch-dark. The young wheat in the fields is rustling gently in the breeze. In the daytime it had shimmered a brilliant green. At night it is like a soft carpet that shows the tracks of the tanks that have passed over it like ghosts of the night, crushing the fresh fronds under their weight.

  The massive Centurion tanks of the Poona Horse are moving in a single file. Each is locating the one in front by the tiny glow of a red tail light small as the tip of a burning cigarette, directed at the ground so that it cannot be seen by enemy tanks or aircraft, only the tank following it. Their instructions are clear. They have to cross a 1500square yard minefield strewn with anti-tank and anti-personnel mines to reach the infantry in the bridgehead. They have to do it fast.

  That same morning, the commanding officer of 16 Madras had reported that enemy tanks were gathering for a major counterattack and unless the Indian tanks reached them quickly they would not be able to hold on much longer. The retreating Pakistani army had left behind anti- tank and anti-personnel mines. It was up to the engineers to breach this minefield and make a safe passage for the tanks. As the engineers were clearing the minefield with the trawls, the tanks of the regiment started moving behind them so they could speed up the induction into the bridgehead.

  When Colonel (retired) S. S. Cheema, Sena Medal, talks about the war he says every single action flashes in front of his eyes as if it happened yesterday. He was a company commander with 3 Grenadiers and had played a key role in the daring attack on Jarpal as well as holding on in the bridgehead against the subsequent counter attacks by the enemy. It was a joint operation with 17 Horse, 4 Horse (the two armoured regiments) and 16 Madras. He recollects how Lieutenant Colonel Hanut Singh, the commanding officer of 17 Horse, decided that as the trawling by the sappers was going on to clear the minefield, his tanks would follow simultaneously, so that they could save precious time. He knew how much enemy pressure was building against the infantry in the bridgehead and realized that the tanks had to get there fast if they wanted to win this war. ‘It was the most super-coordinated effort by the regiment and the engineers,’ says Col Cheema. ‘The operation is still believed to be miraculous in military history since not one tank was blown up by a mine.’

  16 December

  The squadron commander of B Squadron, 17 Horse, asks for reinforcements as Pakistan’s tanks have started counterattacking at Jarpal, in the Shakargarh Sector. This is the same area that has earlier been captured by 3 Grenadiers in an operation where Major Hoshiar Singh has got his PVC and Maj Cheema his Sena Medal. Captain Malhotra, Lt Ahlawat and 2nd Lt Khetarpal are sent to assist B Squadron. Such is the intensity of the battle that within minutes they have knocked offseven enemy tanks. However, Ahlawat’s tank is hit and it is in flames. Just then Khetarpal’s tank is also hit. Capt. Malhotra orders him to pull back and bail out. But Khetarpal is unstoppable. He starts to chase the withdrawing enemy tanks and even manages to shoot and destroy one. The enemy sends in more tanks.

  In the course of this battle Khetarpal is severely wounded. He is asked to abandon his tank but he realizes that the enemy is continuing to advance in his sector and if he abandons his tank they would break through. ‘No Sir, I will not abandon my tank. My gun is still working and I will get these bastards,’ is what he famously says on radio on being asked to fall back. Malhotra tells him one more time: ‘Don’t be silly. You get out of the tank, otherwise you and your crew will be killed.’ Khetarpal does not come on the air again. He has deliberately switched off his set. Malhotra’s gun has also stopped functioning which makes Khetarpal feel even more responsible for stopping the attack.

  Four enemy tanks are still advancing when he calmly sets about shooting them one by one. The last tank that he shoots is barely 75 yards from him. This is the enemy squadron commander’s tank. (‘It was really one against the other,’ says Cheema, who was holding the area west of Jarpal and was a witness to this action. ) Khetarpal shoots the enemy tank and the enemy tank shoots him back.

  Arun Khetarpal is dead, but he has by his intrepid valour saved the day. The enemy cannot get the passage that it is so desperately seeking. Not one enemy tank gets past Khetarpal. Second Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal is awarded the Param Vir Chakra for displaying the highest qualities of valour, leadership and strength of purpose. The young man of 21 years has performed an act of courage and self-sacrifice that goes far beyond the call of duty.

  Brig. Khetarpal was shaving when the bell rang. He paused for a second and heard his wife’s footsteps going towards the door. Mukesh was getting ready to go to college. All these days they had been living in constant fear, ears glued to the radio, listening to war bulletins and analysing where the action was taking place. They knew a fierce tank fight had taken place in Basantar on 16 December. The brigadier had barely been able to eat any dinner that night. He knew that was the area where Arun’s regiment would be deployed. But all that had passed, the war was over and the Khetarpals were waiting for Arun to return. They had even had Arun’s motorcycle serviced and his room cleaned.

  The front door opened. There was some conversation and then a sound that made his hand stop shaving and his blood freeze; the dry rustle of an envelope changing hands. He sensed the scream before he heard it. He ran across to the front door. A postman was standing there; his wife lying on the floor. In her limp hand was a telegram that said: ‘Deeply regret to inform your son IC 25067 Second Lieut Khetarpal reportedly killed in action sixteenth December. Please accept sincere condolences.’

  In Husainpur village of Nagaur district, Rajasthan, retired Risaldar Major Honorary Captain Nathu Singh still wakes up in the dark sometimes. These are the nights when his memories s
eep into his dreams.

  He is 24 once again, a sawar in the Poona Horse, on the battlefield ofBara Pind, 40 km into Pakistan. Crouched inside the cramped interiors of Famagusta, his Centurion tank, he is watching the flames billow out of the destroyed tanks in front of him. The dead, the dying, the wounded are lost in the scream of shells and the drone of the air strike. Ten Pakistani tanks have been destroyed, of which Famagusta has smashed four. However, it has been hit too and is now on fire.

  Tank driver Prayag Singh is pleading with 2nd Lt Arun Khetarpal: ‘Saab, let’s move back and douse the flames.’ Khetarpal’s face is as dark as the grey smoke emerging from the carcasses of Pakistani Pattons burningfuriously on the battlefield. ‘No!’ he says, his voice cold and firm. ‘Didn’t you hear CO saab on the wireless? He said no one will pull back an inch.’

  In his blue dungarees, Nathu Singh takes position as the gunner once again. In front of him the air is dark with fumes. Mingled with the heat from the flaming tanks is the stench of burningflesh. Right behind him stands his tall and handsome young commander, dark stubble covering his weary face. He is shouting: ‘On tank.’ Nathu Singh aims his gun and fires. The Pakistani Patton tank he has targeted fires back. The massive Centurion shudders and behind him he hears a blood-curdling scream. The shell has come in through the cupola. There is smoke and flesh all around. The loader’s head has been ripped off.

  The brave young Khetarpal has collapsed. His left leg is arched at an impossible angle. Nathu looks down to feel a wet patch and finds blood all over his hand. Splinters have cut deep into his legs.

  He wakes up with a start.

  Seventy-year-old Nathu Singh takes a noisy sip of his tea and smiles. Most days he wears a dhoti and kurta. Sometimes he goes around the village in his jeep. He hasn’t been inside a tank for decades. His days in uniform are long gone. He has put on weight and moves with a shuffling gait. More than 40 years have passed but he still has nightmares about the Battle of Basantar. These nights he wakes up bathed in cold sweat and then lies back on his pillow and stares into the darkness till dawn.

  ‘Other people might have forgotten him but I still dream of Khetarpal saab. I see tanks burning around me. Saab is telling me to fire. He is standing behind me with a half smile on his lips. “On tank, Nathu. Fire!” he is saying. And then I fire. Bahut bahadur aadmi the saab,’ he says putting his ribbed glass of milky tea down on the floor, ‘Other people might have forgotten him but he will keep coming in my dreams till I live. For me he will never die. ‘

  This story is largely based on interviews with Mr Mukesh Khetarpal, Arun’s brother; and Risaldar Major (Retd) Nathu Singh. Mrs Maheshwari Khetarpal died shortly after this piece was written.

  Hoshiar Singh

  Basantar Nala, Shakargarh Sector, Pakistan

  15-16 December 1971

  It is a chilly winter night. Across the shadowy sugar cane and wheat fields that the soldiers of 3 Grenadiers have already crossed flows the Basantar Nala. The water is not in spate and has taken on a gentle, white glow in the moonlight. Looking at its sublime stillness, one cannot guess just how frigid it is. Only after one dips the foot in and the wetness seeps into leather boots and socks, pricking the soles like hundreds of sharp needles does one realize it.

  The 120-plus men of Charlie Company (led by Major Hoshiar Singh) and the 120 of Bravo Company (led by Major S. S. Cheema) wading across the river are oblivious to its beauty and, to an extent, even the coldness. What concerns them more is the near-constant shelling right in their face and the minefields that they know the Pakistanis have laid out on the other side, which they will have to cross to reach their objective—the village of Jarpal. The orders for the two companies are to attack around midnight and capture Jarpal from east and west.

  In their parkas, helmets and ankle boots, with small packs on their back, the soldiers splash across the freezing nala in silence. Each time the ice-cold water lashes the skin it feels like a knife cutting into flesh. After a while their exposed bodies go numb and the men trudge on, water up to their knees, weapons held above their heads to protect them from getting wet. They carry 7. 62 mm rifles and Sten guns while the radio operators have their pistols. Each of them has at least two grenades, if not more. These will be required in the close combat that is expected to follow. Their faces are smeared with mud and gunpowder from the shelling they have endured.

  A grim-faced Maj Hoshiar Singh is standing by as his men go across one by one—trousers soaking wet, his Sten gun in his arms and head covered by a balaclava. He is known for not wearing helmets. The map of Jarpal stamped on his mind, he knows he has to attack in the dark; the enemy has to be taken unawares.

  It is going to be a long night. What he does not know is that his company will be fighting one of the fiercest battles ever fought by the Indian Army, not just in terms of attack but also for the number of vicious counterattacks that come from the enemy.

  Colonel (retd) Cheema, Sena Medal, who later commanded 3 Grenadiers, now lives in Jalandhar. He is preparing for a lecture on the ‘71 War to Army units. He has his maps, notes and slides ready and is brushing up his memory.

  He and Maj Hoshiar Singh were young company commanders together in 1971 and he remembers with a chuckle how both were so eager to face action that fateful day when their commanding officer Col V. P. Airy was to announce which companies would attack the Jarpal area. ‘Hoshiar and I were sitting next to each other,’ he says. ‘He turned to me and said he was going to be really upset if his company was not included in the attack. I told him if my company was not picked up I would go and have it out with the CO!’

  When the announcement finally came, the two officers looked at each other and smiled. Both the companies would be participating in phase one of the attack. Hoshiar Singh’s C Company had been ordered to attack Jarpal from the east and Cheema’s B Company was to attack from the west. Their wishes had come true. Now the time had come to prove their mettle.

  The two officers had been good friends since the ‘65 war, when Hoshiar Singh was a lieutenant and Cheema the battalion adjutant. The task given to their battalion then was to attack a village in the Bikaner sector and evict the enemy holed up there. Lt Hoshiar Singh was sent out for a reconnaissance mission where, on his own initiative, he went dressed as a local riding a camel. He mingled with the Pakistanis and boldly went behind enemy lines, coming back with crucial information about their placement and location. Based on this adventurous outing on 5 October 1965, he briefed the CO in great detail, disclosing the exact enemy position, for which he got a mention in the dispatches. Hoshiar Singh had earned a good name for himself in 1965, but his true calibre would show up in the action in 1971.

  The capture of Jarpal

  After the men of 3 Grenadiers had crossed the international border, their first objective was the capture of Bhaironath temple, a Hindu temple where the enemy had positioned a platoon-strength of soldiers and three Sherman tanks.

  By the time the Indian forces reached the village, it had been deserted by all civilians, who fearing an attack had fled. Shortly after the attack, the Pakistani soldiers fled too, leaving their tanks behind, which were captured by the Indian Army. The battalion then marched on to Bhagor Khurd and then across the first minefield to reach Fatehpur and Dinga Narain Pur. It was decided they would cross the Basantar Nala to establish a bridgehead. The plan was that 16 Madras would capture Saraj Chak in phase one while Jarpal and Lohal would be captured by 3 Grenadiers in phase two of the brigade attack.

  The night the men of Cheema’s B Company and Hoshiar Singh’s C Company were wading across the freezing Basantar Nala was D-day. They had been given the task of capturing Jarpal from west and east by 12. 30 a. m. on 16 December. It was a Herculean task. Not only was the area around Jarpal village heavily mined, it was also occupied by a company of the enemy, which sat there with its deadly machine guns ready for action.

  The moment the attacking companies crossed the nala, emerging with soaked clothes, they encountered a minefi
eld of about 1500 yards. Though the mines were embedded in the soil, they were easy to identify since the Pakistanis had wired the mined area on both sides to warn their own tanks and soldiers and to keep cattle out. Luckily for the infantry, most of these were anti-tank mines which wouldn’t explode under a man’s weight and the soldiers could cross these patches at night. The forming-up place or FUP where the men had to assemble and then proceed on their company missions was 1500 yards from Jarpal. It was very difficult to identify the objective at night because of the dark and enemy fire. ‘We were told by the CO, “naak ki seedh mein chalte raho (keep walking straight),”’ remembers Col Cheema. And that was exactly what the soldiers did, supported by their own artillery and mortar attack, which was aimed at keeping the enemy down.

  Col (retd) S. S. Punia was the mortar platoon commander during the operation. He now lives in Gurgaon and, when the battalion celebrates Jarpal Day, sits down to have a drink with his old colleagues who fought the war with him. He remembers how he was asked to deploy his mortars after the minefield was cleared. ‘Our mortars could fire up to 6 km and we used them to neutralize the enemy that night while the B and C Companies attacked Jarpal. It was a fierce fight, ‘ he remembers. ‘We fired a record number of 800 bombs that night and during the counterattacks. The Pakistanis were chased away and those who were hiding in bunkers were made prisoners of war.’

  Around 12. 30 a. m. on 16 December, the company commanders sent the signal to their CO saying that east and west of Jarpal had been captured. The men then dug trenches and settled down to defend what they had won. Reports had already started coming in that the enemy would go in for a massive offensive to take back its territory. Maj Hoshiar Singh and Maj Cheema both knew that the toughest part of their task was yet to begin.