THE GARUD STRIKES

by Mukul Deva

  And they did all this merely for regimental honour, for the Garud that adorns the flag that they marched under. And for India, of course.

  Mukul Deva

  PREFACE

  Indians, Pakistanis and a host of other military scholars of various hues have written much about the 1971 war. And I am sure much will continue to be written about it. After all, the Lightning Campaign, as the Indo-Pak war of 1971 came to be known, was a landmark in the history of warfare.

  Few campaigns in history have caused as much surprise and speculation as the liberation of Bangladesh by the Indian Armed Forces, in 1971. In a mere twelve days, operating over one of the world’s most difficult riverine terrains, the Indian Armed Forces brought a formidable, well-equipped and well-entrenched enemy to its knees, took ninety-three thousand Pakistani prisoners and gave the seventy-five million tormented people of Bangladesh their independence.

  Sheikh Mujib-ur-Rehman and Lieutenant Colonel Himmeth – A Farewell to Arms -- Dacca, 12 March 1972 Front page of Bangla Bani dated 13 March 1972

  On 12 December 1971, London’s Sunday Times wrote, ‘It took only 12 days for the Indian Army to smash its way to Dacca, an achievement reminiscent of the German blitzkrieg across France in 1940. The strategy was the same: speed, ferocity and flexibility.’

  This is perhaps the only instance where a nation won a war without winning a single major battle. In fact, the war was over before the battles were won. Just as the pride of the German Army stood waiting behind the Defence Wall at Calais when the Allies invaded Normandy and were still intact when the war ended, the bulk of the Pakistani Eastern Army was captured unbloodied.

  The Indian aim for this campaign was to install a Bangladeshi interim government in East Pakistani territory before the cessation of hostilities. The problems facing the Indian Army Chief, Sam Manekshaw, were as follows:

  1.On the eastern front, enough territory had to be captured to enable the establishment of the Bangladeshi government

  2.On the western front, Pakistan had to be denied the capture of any Indian territory, and whatever Pakistani territory could be captured here would help at the negotiating table when the war ended

  3.On the Sino-Indian borders, adequate forces had to be maintained. The Chinese were firm allies of Pakistan and had been making threatening noises ever since India was compelled (by the flood of refugees) to intervene in the East Pakistan issue

  4.For the campaign to be successful, it had to be swift. India was well aware that the United Nations and the world community, especially America, would mount great pressure, and the Russians had indicated that they did not want to exercise their veto any longer

  Pakistani commanders were keenly aware of this basic dynamic. The Pakistanis knew India had been preparing for war for some months, but they were not perturbed. On the contrary, they were confident that a stalemate was all India would be able to achieve. Thus they decided to do the following:

  1.Delay the Indian advance into East Pakistan: Hence, the Pakistani Army Commander in the East, Lieutenant General Amir Abdullah Khan Niazi, heavily fortified the towns and approaches to the East Pakistani heartland. He even boasted that should hostilities begin, he would take the battle inside India.

  2.Seize strategically important Indian territory on the western front: Hence, Pakistan concentrated virtually all its forces in the West. Their Air Force was equipped with Starfighters, new Chinese F-6s and newer versions of the F-86 Sabre. Their Army had a lot of firepower in the form of heavy artillery, new Chinese built T-59 tanks and US-built Patton tanks.

  Keeping in view the geography and terrain of East Pakistan, the brief given by General Manekshaw to the Indian Army Eastern Command was very limited: occupy the Chittagong and Khulna areas of East Pakistan so that an interim Bangladeshi government could be established there. This aim may have been limited; the task confronting the Indian commanders was not.

  Three major rivers — the Brahmaputra, the Ganga and the Meghna — divided the then East Pakistan into four natural regions. Each of these rivers was wider than any European river. Each subregion was further divided into several pockets cut by smaller rivers and their tributaries. The idea that an attacking army could bridge these, get its war machinery across, fight the enemy and then capture territory — all within a couple of weeks — was ludicrous.

  The Pakistani Eastern Army was well-entrenched and adequately supplied to fight a defensive battle for months. As was the usual practice with Pakistan, it had diverted the millions of dollars received as aid and for development activity towards building and reinforcing massive defence fortifications on both fronts.

  Although the Indian Army headquarters felt they were too ambitious, the Eastern Command went ahead with its plans for a lightning thrust into the then East Pakistan. In November 1971, the Indian Army and the Mukti Bahini guerrillas were ready for battle with the Pakistanis, who were well dug-in and awaiting the Indian assault. The Indian forces outnumbered the Pakistanis by a ratio of about 2:1, although conventional infantry wisdom dictates that an attacking army should have a 3:1 superiority. This, however, was all that could be spared by the Indian Army, considering its other strategic and tactical compulsions.

  When all other attempts by India to convince Pakistani to remedy the situation in East Pakistan failed, and India was no longer able to sustain the millions of refugees from the area, war was finally waged on 1 December 1971. Within six days, against all odds, troops of 57 Division (of 4 Corps of the Indian Army) had raced deep into East Pakistan territory. By the seventh day of the war, the Pakistani Army High Command in Rawalpindi was in complete panic. Their border garrisons stood intact and unbloodied as Lieutenant General Sagat, the 4 Corps Commander, spotted an opportunity and decided to exploit it.

  The capture of Dacca, which had never been part of the plan, became an irresistible possibility as soon as the Meghna was crossed. Soon, the Indian Army had either bypassed Pakistani strong holds or contained them with small forces, and was racing forward towards Dacca at an incredible speed, rivers and terrain notwithstanding.

  Sheikh Mujib-ur-Rehman and Lieutenant Colonel Himmeth reviewing the farewell parade given by 4 Guards

  The day Dacca fell to Indian troops, almost all the heavily fortified Pakistani strong holds in East Pakistan stood intact. Pakistanis were stunned by the speed and momentum of the Indian offensive. They had been beaten: strategically, tactically and psychologically. Their capability to fight had been degraded, and their will to fight decimated.

  One of the less remarked upon aspects of the 1971 war was the varied character of the men planning and executing the operations. The best known, of course, was the flamboyant Indian Army Chief, General Sam Manekshaw, who had earlier won the Military Cross in World War II. To the Indian public, Sam, with his twirled moustache, Gurkha cap and baton, was the symbolic hero.

  Sam Bahadur with the troops

  Yet, below him, there were a few good men who planned and executed their own battles. The Western Army was commanded by Lieutenant General K.P. Candeth, and the Eastern Army by Lieutenant General J.S. Aurora. Lieutenant General Aurora’s Chief of Staff was Major General J.F.R. Jacob. Each of them had a major role to play as history unfolded.

  However, it was Lieutenant General Sagat Singh, General Officer Commanding, 4 Corps, who led the charge and created panic in Pakistani minds by using the forces available to him with ingenuity and courage.

  It was Sagat who pulled the plug on the Pakistanis by breaching the Meghna. He made it impossible for General Niazi, the Pakistani Eastern Army Commander, to even consider continuing the battle.

  Lieutenant General Sagat Singh, PVSM, AVSM, Padma Bhushan. GOC 4 Corps

  Even less remarked upon is the role played by thousands of unknown Indian soldiers, many of who did not return home to enjoy the fruits of this stupendous victory. Some returned, but not intact. Almost all of them live on or have passed on, unsung and unheard of.

  The Garud Strikes acknowledges each and every
Indian soldier who took part in this war. However it focusses only on the stories of some of these men—those of the 4 Guards (1 Rajput), and their families.

  This book does not, in any manner, wish to undermine the efforts of the other units that took part in this war; nor does it claim that it was 4 Guards alone that turned the tide and won the war. In fact, the story told in these pages could well be that of any of the other Indian Army units that took part in this campaign. Every unit and every man in these units was just one more cog in the wheel that won the war and helped free a nation.

  MEETING THE GARUD

  There was a familiar jeep waiting for me when I exited the airport. The rising sun lent a strange reddish hue to the gleaming olive green jeep. It immediately brought back memories of the years that I had spent in the olive green uniform.

  How many times had such a jeep met me? At countless bus stands, railway stations and airports all over the country. Almost fifteen years had passed since the day I had hung up my boots. But they were swept away in a flash as the impeccably turned out Guards NCO saluted.

  ‘Ram-ram, sahib. Havildar Sachinder Singh, 4 Guards, 1 Rajput, sir. I am your Liaison Officer.’ Nothing in his dress or demeanour betrayed the fact that he had driven through the night and been waiting for me at the airport for over three hours now, kind courtesy a delayed flight.

  Suddenly I was (almost) ashamed of my baggy T-shirt, faded jeans and shoulder length hair. Reminding myself that I was now an author, and hence allowed a certain artistic licence, I pulled myself together, stiffened the spine, returned his salute, declined the inevitable cup of tea that accompanies such pick-up parties and got into the jeep. We were on our way.

  Having been in the air, in the closed confines of an economy class seat, for almost nine hours and on the road for well nigh eighteen, I relished the opportunity to spread my legs. The cool morning breeze slicing in through the open windows more than made up for the lack of an air conditioner. Chiding myself for being a spoilt brat, I leaned back and allowed my mind to rest. It did not take long for me to doze off as we sped through the still deserted roads.

  The cry of the sentry bulldozed its way past my layers of sleep. I awoke with a start as the jeep nosed past the quarter guard and halted in front of the 4 Guards officers’ mess. Still fighting sleep, I shook hands with the captain, a slim young man, in his mid-twenties, who had been waiting for me at the mess gates.

  All vestiges of sleep fell away as two bagpipers burst into music and led the way in; past a huge red banner that proclaimed in flame coloured letters—4 Guards (1 Rajput) 214th Raising Day. Right in the middle of the banner was a golden Garud, upright, with its wings spread wide, grandly and reassuringly looking down at all and sundry, as though to say: its okay… you’re on my watch now.

  Almost embarrassed, definitely a bit sheepish, I followed suit; it had been a while since I had been exposed to Army ceremonies. Not to mention the fact that, much as I hate to admit it, I had never been in a 214 year old infantry battalion before. Or maybe I had whilst in service, but had never noticed it.

  The accumulated weight of all that regimental history slammed into me the minute I set foot inside the officers’ mess. There was an avalanche of silver trophies all over the rooms—on the walls, in glass cabinets, on the coffee tables and side tables.

  ‘Most of our silver is still in storage, sir,’ my escort remarked with a smile, when I commented on this. ‘This is temporary accommodation you see. We don’t have much space.’ Then, noting my interest, and aware that I was here on an information gathering mission, he led me to a massive trophy in the middle of the room. ‘This is our centerpiece, sir. It is…’

  Before he could go any further, the Commandant walked in with several other officers and whatever he was going to share with me went unsaid, as pleasantries took over the conversation. However, I was soon to be acquainted with the centerpiece, the very next morning, at the Kasam (oath taking) Parade, which the unit holds every Raising Day.

  The mood was sombre when I entered the shamiana (tent) that had been set up on one side of the unit’s parade ground. Though I was well in time, almost all the seats were taken. Across the parade ground, directly in front of us, was a huge, newly constructed, gate through which the parade would march in. The guardsmen marshalled on the other side of the wall were not yet visible. However, the unit’s colours and their escort, waiting to be marched in, could be seen on our left, towards the far end of the parade ground.

  ‘We are the only battalion in the Commonwealth Nations that has been authorized an extra Junior Commissioned Officer (JCO) to carry our colours,’ an old-timer on my left whispered. ‘As you know, all Indian Army units carry the President’s colours or the regimental colours. However, in the colonial days, the royal regiments had two colours, the regimental ones and either the King’s or Queen’s colours. In 1858, after the mutiny, our battalion was made a royal unit, the 2nd Queen Victoria’s Own Rajput Light Infantry, hence the two colours now. However, in 1805, when serving under General Lord Lake, for the capture of Bharatpur and subsequently Delhi, we were given an honorary colour for exceptional service and one extra JCO was authorized to the battalion for these colours. In 1949, the King’s colours were laid to rest in Chetwood Hall, Indian Military Academy (IMA), Dehradun.’

  I was still assimilating this when the parade began. There was a strong sense of déjà vu as the regimental colours were marched on. An almost forgotten stirring of once familiar emotions swamped me. In the background, the commentator began narrating the story of the attacks on Delhi, in 1803, and then on Bharatpur, in 1805 and 1824; where the unit got the opportunity to avenge its fallen and regain its honour by capturing the fort that had been denied it earlier. How the regimental colours had been decimated during the first attack, and pieces of it preserved by those who could retrieve them!

  I was yet again reminded of how much that simple, metre-long piece of cloth could mean. How willingly men would rally to it and shed blood just to keep that rectangular cloth flying high.

  A few minutes later, the parade ground began to echo with several hundred voices, as the men of 4 Guards renewed the oath: to protect and defend the nation and uphold the regiment’s honour, no matter what the cost.

  The words sounded harsh, the tones gruff, and yet there was something magical in the air; simple, yet incredibly powerful magic. One could sense the passion. And without knowing precisely why, one knew that these were just not words being spouted in some meaningless ceremony. It was evident that these words would be honoured whenever duty came calling. I had experienced such parades before, several times, yet I felt these emotions. It was at that precise moment that I felt connected to this book.

  Echoes of the regimental war cry, Garud ka hoon, bol pyare (I belong to the Garud, say so, dear friend) reverberated in the parade ground long after the parade had marched out.

  An hour later, still feeling all stirred up, I was ensconced in the bachelors’ accommodation, waiting for the first of the 1971 veterans to drop in for an interview. Needless to say, I was excited! I was going to hear the story first-hand; from the very people who had swept by the Pakistani garrisons and been the first to enter Dacca. These were the very men who had helped ninety-five million oppressed people throw off a cruel yoke and helped a nation wrest its freedom. I had little idea that the emotional rollercoaster I had been thrown on earlier that morning was still going to grow larger, more real; almost surreal.

  Twenty minutes later, there was a grown-up man, well into his sixties, crying unabashedly in front of me, as he narrated and re-lived the story of another who had died in his arms. It is only then that realization actually struck… of what this story meant to those who had lived through those tempestuous days.

  One by one they came to tell me their stories; wizened, grizzly, yet incredibly proud—officers, JCOs and Other Ranks—men who had once worn the Garud with a proud flourish. Not even aware that it was they, and men like them, who lent the Garud its sanctity,
and not the other way around. Each of them had a story to tell. And they told it simply, and straight from the heart. Without any embellishments, yet fraught with emotions. Pride, grief, fear, honour, anger, and pain: it all came through with startling, heart-rending clarity.

  By the time dusk fell, the picture in my head was almost complete. As complete as it could be without the smell of gunsmoke, the thunder of guns, the fear that shrouds every battlefield, and people screaming, bleeding and dying. I felt as though I had been through the war myself, right from Agartala to Dacca; that I knew even those who had either fallen on the battlefield or been taken by time. I was brimming with emotions that I was still unable to pin down or understand fully.

  Like many of those old men who told me their stories, that night I, too, cried. An acknowledgement of the feelings those stories had invoked in me. And, for the very first time, as a storyteller, felt the fear that I would not be able to do justice to this book. Though it had been a long and eventful day, sleep wandered nowhere close to me that night.

  As I tossed and turned in bed, through the tiny window of my caravan, the brightly lit banner strung across the officers’ mess gates caught my eye. The Garud proudly holding its head up in the middle of the banner beckoned me. Like for most Hindus, the Garud is sacred for me, too, kind courtesy its association with Lord Vishnu. However, I had but a hazy idea of why it is so. Unable to resist the sudden urge, I powered up my laptop to find out more. It did not take long for Google to provide the answer.

  Kadru and Vinata, the two daughters of King Daksha Prajapati, were married to the great sage Kashyap Muni, who offered a boon to both of them. Kadru asked for a thousand sons and Vinata asked for two, each stronger than her elder sister’s thousand. Soon, Kadru laid a thousand eggs and Vinata two. Unable to control her impatience, Vinata broke open one of them to see what was inside. From it emerged a magnificent warrior. However, he was crippled from waist down. He cursed his mother and warned Vinata not to open the second egg before its time, and then rose in the air and went in search of nectar for his thousand stepbrothers. He defeated Brihaspati and the other gods who guarded the nectar and then carried it to Lord Vishnu, the Sun God. Vishnu blessed him to be immortal and invincible in battle. He also appointed him his official carrier. That is how and when the Garud became sacred.