by Mukul Deva
At the point at which they were deployed, the river was not too wide; perhaps two hundred and fifty feet. That was the good news.
The bad news was that the Pakistani defenders on the opposite bank could bring down aimed fire on the guardsmen and even their 2-inch mortars were effective. Any attempt to cross the river within gun range would have meant a bloodbath and the Pakistani Army would have decimated the attackers. Another bad news was that the current was swift, therefore swimming across the river with full battle gear was not an option.
With that option not available, Granthi ordered his men to start looking for as many and whatever type of boats they could lay their hands on. Most of the boats had already been commandeered by the Pakistani Army and could be seen tied up in small lots across the river.
Search parties from Delta Company fanned out on both sides of the river, as the rest of the company got ready for the attack.
Just then, a couple of Pakistani soldiers emerged on the further bank. They were waving a makeshift white flag. It seemed like the war was over. However, the significance of the white flag took a while to register.
DAY SIXTEEN
16 DECEMBER 1971
‘The Commandant was going around meeting the boys from Delta Company when the call came from the Brigade HQ. That’s why I took the call. We came to know that the Pakistanis had surrendered,’ Glucose beamed. ‘What was even more thrilling was that our unit had been chosen to give a guard of honour to the Army Commander at 1600 hours that very day.’
The Adjutant immediately sent a radio message to all the company commanders that the Pakistanis had surrendered, and then ran to give the good news to Himmeth personally.
‘At almost the same time as they were waving white flags, I got word from Glucose that the Pakistanis had surrendered.’ Stepping up to the edge of the river, Granthi shouted to the Pakistanis to send across their boats. That triggered a mini-conference at the other end. Finally, some boats began to cross over to the Indian side.
‘They may have surrendered, but they were still fully armed, and emotions were running high even then, or perhaps especially then. Surrender can never be a worthy option for any fighting man,’ Granthi commented. ‘Let me tell you, there were some very tense moments during the crossing.’
Eventually, the first elements of Delta Company landed on the other side.
In keeping with the lead-from-the-front tradition of the Indian Army, Granthi was in the first boat that crossed and the first to reach the Pakistani defences.
‘It was quite funny,’ Granthi grinned, ‘because when I reached their location, I was dressed like a real junglee. I had not bathed for the last sixteen days,’ he laughed, ‘though it felt like much longer. And my uniform was totally torn. Can you imagine, I was wearing trousers I had taken from a dead Pakistani and boots from another! Even those were in tatters. And on top was my Indian Army shirt, which was really ragged.’
I tried to imagine him stepping out of the boat dressed like that. It was a hard sell.
In stark contrast, the Pakistani officer who came up to greet the first boatload of Indian troops was in full ceremonial dress, a medley of shining brass and gold. So confident had the Pakistani High Command been (of emerging victorious over the Indians), that all their officers had carried their ceremonial uniforms with them in battle.
‘Perhaps, if they had brought their fighting spirit along, it may have held them in better stead.’ That comment came from a corner of the room.
‘Hand over your pistol,’ Granthi told the officer, ‘and tell your men to get all their weapons and deposit them here in one lot.’
‘Who the hell are you?’ the Pakistani officer retorted rudely. ‘I will only talk to your officer.’
‘I am the Company Commander, my friend,’ Granthi replied evenly, aware that he was quite a sight to look at.
One of the Pakistani JCOs came up and accosted Granthi, ‘Oye! Don’t you dare speak to my sahib like that.’ He admonished in Punjabi, ‘Get your Company Commander here.’
‘I am the Company Commander,’ Granthi repeated again, more firmly this time.
Then the rest of the guardsmen surged around their Company Commander and their behaviour made the fact too obvious too ignore.
The Pakistani officer appeared stunned as he quietly removed his weapon and handed it over to Granthi.
That look on the Pakistani JCO’s face remained long after they had gone through the surrender formalities, of which there were not many.
Finally, unable to stop himself any longer, the Pakistani JCO came up to Granthi and said, ‘You know sahib, your officers and our men, we can win any war together.’ There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. His tone was low, as though voicing that thought was some kind of betrayal.
‘But that was what most of the Pakistani soldiers felt about their officers,’ Granthi’s eyes, too, were strangely moist. ‘I remember, even at one of their BOPs (Border Out Post), when we had been about to attack, their company commander left the post and returned to the rear. We heard the exchange of words he had with his platoon JCO over the radio. His JCO openly told him that even when he (the officer) had said he was going back to get reinforcements, all of them had known he would not come back to face the Indian attack.’
There was a long pause as we all mulled over that. Every man present in the room had worn the Olive Green, had led men into battle. Not one had any ambiguity that commanders do not leave their men alone to face the music. This was the code, a very basic code, which all warriors live by. And die for.
We could all empathize with the Pakistani JCO; the very fact that he had so openly voiced this feeling to an outsider, and an enemy no less, was a clear indication of how deep the rot had run into their officer cadre, and how dark the resentment in their rank and file.
I said nothing. There was nothing to say, really.
Himmeth was obviously thrilled when he got orders that 4 Guards would be giving a guard of honour to the Army Commander at Dacca. It was as though all the blood and sweat spilt by his men in the past sixteen days had been vindicated. He ordered Tuffy Marwah to lead the Guard of Honour.
Frantic activity broke out in the battalion, as the guardsmen got ready to rush to Dacca.
It was already past noon and time was short. They had a river to cross, eight miles to cover, and a parade to prepare for. The switch from battle mode to ceremonial mode is not easy, even in the best of times. Doing so after sixteen days of non-stop battle, with virtually no notice and right when they were in the thick of executing an attack, was infinitely harder.
Also, the Pakistanis were not in an exceptionally co-operative mood. Despite the truce having been declared by the Pakistani Eastern Army Commander, General A.A.K. Niazi, some of the the lower ranks and the isolated pockets of troops who had yet not received the orders to surrender, kept fighting. All Indian attempts to reach out with the white flag were also rebuffed initially.
Finally, either the sustained pressure, or fresh orders from their bosses, got to them, because they were asked to surrender. However, it did not seem like the gods wanted the guardsmen to be a part of the parade.
As soon as the guardsmen crossed the river, thousands of Bengalis surrounded them. Though the Pakistani Army had been unable to stop the sweeping tide of the Indian Army, the Bangaldeshis certainly did.
‘Moving even an inch in any direction was impossible,’ Glucose gave a rueful smile. ‘They were all over us, and the mood of the crowd was so boisterous and euphoric,’ he broke off. Finally, after a very long pause, ‘It is hard to explain what everyone was feeling.’
His choked voice and moist eyes communicated that to me far more easily than any words could have.
With the guardsmen out of the running, it was finally the Pakistani troops who gave the ceremonial parade. Perhaps beffitingly so, the monster that had tortured and tormented the populace for so long was finally kneeling before it.
Glocuse handed me some photographs of the parade.
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One person who was unable to enjoy or participate in the victory celebrations was Daljit Singh Shaheed.
The brave, young pilot collapsed within hours of reaching Dacca, and was hospitalized in a very acute condition.
So commendable had been his performance throughout those sixteen days that Himmeth had no hesitation in recommending him for the Vir Chakra; despite being one of the youngest Forward Air Controllers he had not only brought down very effective air strikes on the enemy, but often volunteered to accompany patrols into enemy territory. For his stellar role in the war Shaheed was awarded the Vayu Sena Medal.
With the flurry of surrender ceremonies behind them, one of the first things that Himmeth did was to take a round of all the places where the Pakistanis were holding Indian prisoners of war, at least the few that they had not summarily executed.
The Jagganath Hostel, which used to house the Hindu students of Dacca University, was one such place. The Dacca University had been a focal point for the development of the East Pakistan freedom movement and as such drawn the ire of the Pakistani top brass. In March 1971, on the orders of General Yahya Khan and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, the Pakistani armed forces had launched ‘Operation Searchlight’ to destroy this freedom movement. Armed with heavy weapons and accompanied by tanks, three task forces had encircled the university on 25 March 1971; Unit 41 from the east, Unit 88 from the south and Unit 26 from the north. Jagganath hostel had drawn special attention of the attacking forces since it housed Hindu students; hundreds of them were massacred.
Guardsman Suresh Singh, of Number Three Platoon, Alpha Company, had been taken into Pakistani captivity on 2 December 1971. Though badly wounded, he had received little medical treatment and even less food in the past two weeks. He and other prisoners were stuffed in filthy rooms, which were never cleaned.
‘In fact the first time a doctor even came to see us was only on 15 December 1971,’ Suresh explained. ‘That day, they had the rooms cleaned and also gave us food. We all got worried thinking they were going to kill us after this last meal.’
Guardsman Suresh Singh
When Suresh saw Himmeth walk into the prison, he thought their Commandant had also been taken prisoner and was dismayed.
‘Then I saw the same doctor who had come to see us the previous day come scurrying up to Colonel Himmeth and say, “I have looked after your men really well, sir.” But Commandant sahib just ignored him. He came straight up and hugged all of us one by one. He then told us to gather all the 4 Guards boys in the prison. That is when we realized that the Pakistanis had surrendered. Soon, we were all crying with happiness.’
Suresh had been one of the Alpha Company boys who had been captured during the fateful Pakistani counter-attack on Desraj's platoon at the smaller bridge at Kodda on 2nd December. He had witnessed every second of that bloody battle.
‘Our platoon, alongwith an Artillery OP officer Captain M.P. Singh, was ordered by Major Chandrakant to deploy on the smaller bridge on the railway line between Akhaura and Brahmanbaria, while he moved ahead with the rest of the company to capture the railway station at Kodda. We had started digging foxholes when we saw a railway engine and two or three bogies coming towards our position from Kodda railway station. We knew there were Pakistanis in them and started digging faster so that we would be able to defend the position. However, it was worrying, since our platoon was taking up position on both sides of the railway track and the wagons coming towards us would split apart our defences.’ Using a stick, Suresh drew a rough diagram on the ground.
And then continued: ‘Just then, we also saw some tanks coming towards us. That brought a lot of relief since we thought they were our tanks. We knew our tanks had gotten stuck the previous night on the other side of the Titas river, but assumed they had managed to cross over somewhow. To our horror, the tanks began firing at us. That totally confused us, and even now we did not return fire thinking they had made a mistake. By now, the wagons had also stopped in the middle of our position, dividing us in two, and they also opened fire. Many of our men were killed, and many more wounded. Then to add to our problems, some Pakistani infantry also attacked us. By now, we also started fighting back. I saw my section commander Naik Ram Khilawan run up to a tank and toss a grenade inside. He even pulled out a Pakistani soldier and hit him, but by then the others attacked him and he went down. I could see he was badly wounded, but the Pakistanis didn’t show any mercy. They poured diesel on him and burnt him alive. It was such a cruel and cowardly thing to do.’
Suresh’s expression made it evident that despite the passage of years, the horror was still fresh in his mind.
‘Badly wounded by now, the three of us, Lance Naik Pirabhu Ram, Guardsman Giranth Singh and myself, were taken prisoners. Before my eyes, the Pakistanis shot Pirabhu and Giranth. I asked them why they were doing this when we had surrendered, but that made no difference to them and they shot a couple of other men, too. However, for some reason, perhaps thinking that I was badly wounded and would die soon anyway, they did not shoot at me again. Lying outside my foxhole, I saw them use their tanks to crush Lakpath Singh and Topo. That is when I fainted.’
From the expressions visible on the faces around, it was obvious I was not the only one having trouble reconciling with such bestial behaviour from soldiers. One of the men in the room said angrily, ‘What’s surprising? These Pakistanis were animals then and are animals now. They tortured and mutilated the bodies of our soldiers in Kargil and still go around beheading people. Nothing has changed.’ Suresh resumed his narrative.
‘When I recovered, there were many Pakistani soldiers, including some officers, looking at us. I was picked up along with some other wounded people and shoved into a truck and moved from there. It was a horrid journey. We were given neither adequate food nor any medical treatment. They rushed us away by trucks and boats and a week later, we arrived in Dacca. And that’s where we remained till Commandant sahib walked in to rescue us.’
Suresh was one of the seven guardsmen picked up from that camp by Himmeth. These were the lucky seven, still alive, since General Niazi had asked for the 4 Guards boys to be brought to Dacca for interrogation. However, that had proved to be the only saving grace for them.
‘I was put on a stretcher and taken along with the other prisoners to the battalion headquarters, from where we were sent by helicopter to Agartala. After two surgeries, I was transferred first to Guwahati and then to Delhi. That is where, after all these months, I met my family.’
The damage caused to Suresh, as well as many others, by the refusal of the Pakistanis to render any medical aid, was horrendous. In Suresh’s case, his wounds had turned gangreneous. It was only after months of hospitalization and several surgeries that some of them finally made it back to the unit. Many others were invalided out.
Himmeth returned to the battalion with his seven battered, but happy, men when he found a message from General Niazi waiting for him.
‘The Pakistani General was originally commissioned in 1 Rajput, which is what we were before we became 4 Guards,’ Glucose explained. ‘He had learnt from one of our men who had been captured by the Pakistanis during the battle of Akhaura, that our battalion was leading the charge on Dacca.’
The General was keen to meet Himmeth. However, Himmeth was not. He politely declined the invitation.
‘Himmeth told me that he would never go to meet an officer who had condoned so much cruelty and bestiality by the men under his command,’ Glucose explained. ‘Things like this, which were unbecoming of an officer, a soldier, were anathema to Himmeth.’
I leaned back in my chair.
What better end can there be to a story about a war?
Times will change. Civilizations will rise and fall. And men, being men, wars will be fought, lost and won.
But men like Himmeth lend some semblance of sanity, respect, and dignity to even such a terrible thing as war.
It was as though Glucose had heard my thoughts. ‘Himmeth was Himmeth,’ he summ
ed up.
It was a while before I could move again. Eventually, reaching out, I shut down the recording machine.
My march down this bloody road had ended.
DEATH
OF
A
WAR
&
BIRTH
OF
A
NATION
The 17th of December saw East Pakistan caught in the throes of delirious celebration.
Mishra – mobbed by jubiliant Bangladeshis
More than anywhere else, the streets of Dacca were choked with celebrating masses. It was hard to tell that just hours ago, war had ravaged this country.
4 Guards at General Maneckshaw’s darbar in Dacca – after a well-fought war
Participating in these festivities, albeit far more quietly, were Brigadier Mishra, Commander 311 Mountain Brigade, Colonel Himmeth and Major Shamsher Mehta (the Armoured Squadron Commander). They finally did play the long promised round of golf at the Services Gymkhana Club in Dacca.
The club, inaugurated in 1966 by the Pakistani dictator General Yahya Khan, had once hosted what they thought was the pride of the Pakistani Army.
That day, what it hosted was certainly the pride of the Indian Army.
Sam Bahadur with Himmeth and other officers of 311 Mountain Brigade
A few days later, word filtered down that Sheikh Mujib-ur-Rehman was returning to Dacca. He was finally being released from prison and coming back to Dacca via Delhi and Calcutta in a Caribou aircraft or a helicopter belonging to the Indian Air Force.
4 Guards was given the task of providing protection to him at the Dacca airfield. However, his arrival kept getting delayed. Finally, news filtered down that he had been flown by the Pakistanis to London, and so would come from there in a British RAF Comet 4 aircraft.
