by Mukul Deva
Digging in
‘And if you look at the list of people wounded, you will see that’s how it turned out eventually. Most of the injuries were splinter wounds caused by the air burst,’ he added.
Major Chauhan, then Adm (Administrative) Company Commander, was about to speak when Major Chandrakant preempted him: ‘In fact Chauhan was one of the first to be hit by an airburst. He had actually been talking to the Commandant when he was hit. This was sometime in July or August 1971.’
Chauhan made a deprecating gesture, but Chandrakant continued: ‘I’d like to share something about the airburst. Henry Shrapnel, a Britisher, invented it in 1780, to increase the effectiveness of the canister shot. However, it was the variable time fuse and proximity fuse added to it during the Second World War by the Americans that brought out the true, devilish potential of this weapon. They used it to deadly effect during the Vietnam War. In fact, it is safe to say that it was one of the game changing weapons that turned the tide during the Second World War. They relied on it so much that once, in Europe, the Americans even delayed their advance when the consignment of airburst shells did not reach in time. Now Pakistanis had truckloads of these shells, and used them freely. They were what caused the maximum casualties to Indian troops.’
I glanced through the 4 Guards casualty list handed over to me by Major V.K. Dewan. ‘Splinter Wound’ seemed to be the recurring theme in that list. And it was a sadly long list.
I wondered how their Commandant had handled it. Curious, I asked, ‘Tell me about Colonel Himmeth Singh.’
‘Take a look at this,’ Major Chandrakant handed me some papers. ‘They will give you a complete idea of what Himmeth was all about.’
I took the papers he was offering me. Right on top were two photographs. The first looked familiar. Then I remembered why; Himmeth’s son had shown it to me recently. I also remembered his answer when I had asked him the same question about his father.
‘It is hard to talk about one’s father,’ Mrityunja Singh Ajairajpura, a pilot by profession, who told me he preferred being called Meetu, had replied.
I wondered if he realized he was displaying the same reticence to seek the limelight that his father had been known for.
‘The most prominent thing I remember about him was that he taught and led by example. Whether it was helping the servants clear up after a party, or something far deeper, like living within one’s means, dad always led the way. All in all, he was a fabulous embodiment of the maxim, ”If your father isn’t your role model, you’re both fixed!” I was really lucky. I don’t think any son could have asked for a better role model.’
The words ‘role model’ struck me. This was the third time in as many days that I had heard Himmeth being referred to as one. First by Brigadier Mac Devaiah, who, as a Captain, had served as Himmeth’s ADC (Aide-de-camp). And then, the very next day, by General Shamsher Mehta, who had served with 4 Guards during the war. Unaware of my thoughts, Meetu proceeded.
‘The other thing was that he was a very self-effacing man.’ Perhaps he realized that was not a very self-effacing statement, and elaborated: ‘The best example I can give you is when I was in college and had gone to visit my parents in Dehradun, where dad was posted as the Commandant of the IMA. During my tour of the Chetwood Hall, the curator informed me that father had been the only cadet to have commanded two passing out parades, that of the batch senior to him and his own. Dad never talked about such things. Even when I asked him about it, he casually brushed it aside.’
‘Tell me more,’ I prodded, keen to get a picture of the man, not the soldier.
‘Just what are you looking for?’ Meetu looked puzzled. ‘Background stuff?’
‘No. That I have. I already know that he was born in June 1928, passed out from the Indian Military Academy with the Sword of Honour, served as an instructor at Infantry School, Mhow, and the Guards Training Centre. I also know that he saw action during the 1962 war with China, had served with the Indian UN Mission in Gaza, and had been an advisor to Emperor Haile Selasie’s bodyguards when he was a Lieutnant Colonel before he led the unit through the 1971 Indo-Pak war.’
‘That’s correct,’ Meetu confirmed. ‘He also not only commanded a brigade at Fazilka, but also raised a mechanized brigade at Babina, commanded a division at Jammu, and a Corps at Bhatinda.’
Major Chandrakant, who had taken on the role of my shepherd, and been with us that day, too, added, ‘Himmeth also served as an instructor at the College of Combat¸ Mhow and later as its Commandant. He also served as the Commandant of IMA, Dehradun, and National Defence College, Delhi.’
I was already aware of the IMA tenure, since Himmeth had taken over as Commandant just after I had been commissioned from there. It made me wish I’d met him there; I may have had a better idea of the man whose battalion I was writing about today.
‘After that,’ Meetu concluded, ‘in 1987, dad retired. He served for a while as the personal advisor to the then Defence Minister, and subsequently the Emir of Qatar, His Excellency Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani, before he finally hung up his spurs and settled down in Jaipur.’
‘Why Jaipur?’ I asked, not so much curious as needing a respite, since I was still processing that long and illustrious innings.
‘You see, we are from the Rajput house of Ajairajpura. Hence, Rajasthan has always been home for us,’ Meetu answered. ‘Also, it is from this background that our love for shikar and all things martial spring,’ he added with a grin.
Having served and been friends with many Rajputs, I understood that. I remember one of them telling me: Once a Rajput, always a Rajput. ‘That’s the kind of stuff I want to know about him. His personal beliefs, views on religion, etc.’
This time it was Major Chandrakant, also a Rajput, who took up the narration. ‘Himmeth had all the required martial blood running in his veins, but he also had a very finely developed sense of values. That is why he never condoned any unsoldierly or cowardly acts like looting or ill-treatment of prisoners. The Old Man was very strict about things like that.’
Now more than ever, I wished I had met the man, and not just because of this book. If everything emerging about Himmeth were true, he would indeed have been a rare man. I now turned to the second photo. This showed the same man, but now with a grizzled beard.
‘What’s with the beard?’ I asked.
‘Himmeth was so sure we would win the war that he decided he would shave only when we captured Dacca,’ Chandrakant explained, and then laughed. Eager to get the joke I’d obviously missed, I lifted a quizzical eyebrow at him. ‘I just remembered what Mrs Himmeth said when she met him immediately after the war.’ He laughed again, and explained: ‘She said thank god the war only lasted two weeks, else I would have met Rip Van Winkle.’
Lieutenant Colonel Himmeth Singh – Dec ‘71
I went back to the papers after we stopped laughing. It was important for me to get a sense of the man who had led the battalion to war.
My eyes again sought out Himmeth’s photos as the men around me ran out of words.
Lieutenant General Himmeth Singh PVSM (Retd).
Despite having heard so much about him and having gone through the recordings Colonel Pyarelal of USI, Delhi, had made whilst interviewing him, I wish I knew the man better. Perhaps my need was more visible than I realized because Colonel Surinder Singh elaborated.
‘Colonel Himmeth was not an easy commanding officer to serve under. He was not only very tough, but also a man with very strong likes and dislikes.’ I put down the photos when Colonel Surinder began to speak. ‘Why, just yesterday his wife was saying the same thing, that with Himmeth every thing was either black or white.’
‘Absolutely true!’ Lietenant Colonel Midha chipped in. ‘He was full of josh and completely focused on whatever he got fixated on, but…’ a smile creased his face. ‘With him, you were either an angel or a demon; nothing in between.’
‘Which were you?’ I couldn’t help asking.
‘A
demon, to begin with.’ Midha retorted.
This time the laughter took a while to subside.
‘That notwithstanding, let me tell you that even today, if I ever have to go into battle again, he is the man I would want us to lead,’ Colonel Surinder took over the conversation again. ‘Himmeth had tremendous confidence in the paltan. And rightly so, since this was the same battalion he had been commissioned in. Did you know that on 1 December 1971, the day we went into attack, he left us free to get things organized and actually went off to play a round of golf,’ Colonel Surinder gave a faraway smile. ‘Himmeth was a soldier’s soldier; tough as nails, but what a charismatic person. Ask Glucose and he will tell…’
‘Who is Glucose?’ I could not help interrupting.
‘I!’ Major Dewan, lounging in the far corner, raised a half finger.
‘If anyone knows Himmeth, he does. Glucose was the adjutant back then and with him during the operation, almost every minute right from start to finish,’ Colonel Surinder explained.
I had spent a good hour with the gentlemen in question the previous evening, and was unable to correlate the person to the nickname. ‘Why on earth did they call you Glucose?’
‘Because he was such a Glaxo baby,’ Surinder did not wait for Glucose to reply.
Everyone in the room roared with laughter. I threw a quick look around. I am sure they must have heard this story many times before, but they all seemed as engrossed in it as I was.
‘All of us had nicknames,’ Glucose clarified. ‘When I joined the unit, Som … Colonel Somanna, who had been the Commandant then, gave me two options, Glucose or Glaxo baby,’ another loud guffaw, ‘and so I obviously opted for Glucose.’
His logic was far from obvious to me, and I was still unclear about the correlation, but fascinated nonetheless. ‘And you?’ I turned back to Surinder. ‘What was your nickname?’
‘I was nicknamed Granthi (Sikh religious teacher),’ Surinder replied with a naughty grin. ‘They called me that because I’m a Sikh, and did not cut my beard and I didn’t drink either. So one day, when we were playing football and I missed the ball, Pup Mann (General H.R.S. Mann) yelled at me, “Come on, you granthi”, and the name just stuck,’ he finished, amid laughter.
Looking at the sixty-plus man sitting before me, honestly, it was hard for me to imagine that he had once been young. I struggled momentarily to picture a young captain, improbably and illogically nicknamed Granthi.
‘Paunchy. That’s me,’ Major Chandrakant, tall even while sitting, swarthy, with black, horn-rimmed spectacles that would have been considered nerdy even in the dotcom era, flashed a cheeky smile. ‘I always had a paunch, even when I was a cadet.’
‘And Tuffy was my nickname,’ Major S.P. Marwah gave a broad smile. Looking at the slim, not so tall man seated before me, I had trouble figuring out why they’d given him that nickname.
I was aware that Army nicknames, though fascinating, are seldom based on anything logical. ‘And Colonel Himmeth? What did you guys call him?’ I asked.
‘Himmeth?’ Granthi guffawed. ‘Himmeth was Himmeth. Nothing else.’
‘No, really, I mean it. Himmeth was just Himmeth. We either called him that, or Old Man, like in the other units.’
I shrugged and gave him a please-go-ahead wave. He started to, but Glucose got in there first.
‘Colonel Surinder is right. Himmeth was a tough taskmaster. His fundas in life were very clear. A soldier had to know how to shoot straight and had to have the will to win. That’s all there was to it, as far as he was concerned.’ There was a very short pause. ‘In the same way, Himmeth also believed that every officer had to have three things to be a good regimental officer.’
I could not keep down a quizzical eyebrow.
‘An officer had to be able to play bridge, play golf, and have a rucksack.’
I understood the fetish about the games; these were common to many Army officers across the world, but the third one went past me. ‘Rucksack? What’s with the rucksack?’ I asked.
‘During the months that we were preparing for war, I remember one day Himmeth was returning from his daily round of golf when he saw us practising with the RCL gun.’ My rucksack query got swept aside by Lieutenant Colonel Midha. ‘We were doing the usual mount-dismount drill, when Himmeth happened to be driving past. He stopped the jeep and gave us a shouting right there and then, telling us to stop the nonsense. He said: “Just make sure that every soldier in your company can point the gun at the enemy tanks, aim it and fire it. That’s all that is needed.”’
Much as I was relishing this picture of the man who had led the battalion to war, I now felt the urge to get to the war itself.
‘So you were saying,’ I turned again to Granthi, ‘that it felt just like any other exercise.’
‘Like he said,’ before Granthi could get started, Midha broke in, ‘we were all very much in the training mode. So much so that even when we were waiting in the assembly area near the International Border, for the operation to begin, many of us fell asleep.’ He looked around at the others for confirmation. ‘I know I did. The whole day had been so hectic; gathering our stores, distributing them and the ammunition amongst the men, checking weapons, writing letters to our families, just in case…’
Just in case… The words held my attention. That’s how it always is for soldiers, in any uniform, in any country, in any era. Three simple words: just in case … they never come back, being the unsaid part of it.
Midha’s voice intruded my thoughts. ‘There had been a hundred things to do. None of us had slept a wink the past twenty-thirty hours. That is why many of us fell asleep the minute we got to the assembly area,’ he said. ‘In fact, when we got orders to start the operation, some of us kept on sleeping and so there was considerable confusion. The ones who got up late had lost sight of the men in front and had no idea where to go. It was pretty dark, and visibility was terrible. Himmeth got so mad at Major Kharbanda, our company commander, that he really yelled at him,’ he continued.
Naik Hoshiar Singh, the radio operator who had been with Himmeth almost every minute of those sixteen days, must have witnessed the confusion first hand. He was nodding vigorously.
‘Commandant sahib was with the soldiers in front. He ordered them to fire tracer rounds so that the Bravo Company could see them and catch up,’ he said.
‘Tracers?’ I was surprised. ‘That must have done wonders to the element of surprise.’
Honorary Captain Subedar Major Hoshiar Singh (Retd.)
‘Surprise?’ Midha laughed a very sarcastic laugh. ‘What surprise? The Pakistanis had started firing on us almost as soon as we crossed the border. We had barely gone hundred yards when they started off with mortars and artillery.’
‘True.’ That was Glucose. ‘They may not have known what was being thrown at them, but they certainly knew we were up and about. They were holding Akhaura in strength and were very well-prepared to defend.’
The Pakistanis had done their homework. Fields of fire had been carefully worked out and cleared. Artillery and mortars had identified defensive fire tasks along the most likely approaches to Akhaura and were stocked up for an extended engagement. Armour, too, had been sited along tankable approaches. Barbed wire and minefields lay in a deadly ring around Akhaura.
Located almost directly opposite Agartala, the East Pakistani town of Akhaura was an important rail, road and water communication centre close to the Indian border. It was imperative to capture it and secure the area up to the west bank of the Titas river since not only was it the first major hurdle on the road to Dacca, but also because the Pakistani artillery located there was often used to shell Agartala and the Indian BOPs.
In keeping with the Pakistani High Command’s strategy of halting any Indian offensive on the border itself, all major towns and cities on all possible approaches to East Pakistan heartland had been heavily fortified. Each of these towns was very well equipped and stocked to fight a protracted defensive battle, meant to d
eter and deny the Indian Army from making any territorial gains. Akhaura was one of such strongpoint.
Till such time as the Indian offensive made a breakthrough somewhere, they would not be able to hit the heartland of East Pakistan.
The God of War’s arrow had landed on Akhaura. That is where the storm of the Indian offensive would be unleashed first.
That is where the Garud struck first.
The Tripura border is a low lying marshland. The Titas river criss-crosses that particular stretch of land, which the 4 Guards (1 Rajput) would be traversing that night.
There were over eight hundred of them present in the battalion on that day. And each one of them was aware that there was a strong possibility that they may not return alive from this foray. Or maybe they would, but without an arm or a leg. However, whatever apprehensions may have nestled in their hearts, there was only firm resolve on their faces. This, after all, was the day that they had been groomed and trained for. This, after all, is the raison d’etre of every soldier; to live with honour and, if required, to die with dignity. But, in either case, ensure that the mission is completed.
The gravity of the occasion may not have yet sunk in, but the enormity of the task facing them began to, within minutes of crossing the border.
‘The original plan had been for our battalion to capture Akhaura with a frontal attack,’ Granthi leaned forward and pointed it out on the map spread on the bed between us. ‘We had planned everything accordingly. We had even carried out the recce and all.’
‘4 Guards, along with a squadron of tanks, was given this task,’ Paunchy elaborated. ‘We were to carry out the attack with three companies and the tanks from the south, and the fourth company, mine, was to infiltrate behind Akhaura and set up a block to cut it off.’
