Simply Fly

by Capt G R Gopinath

  The unit began moving at five in the morning. It consisted of a convoy of over 100 trucks carrying all that was needed to fight a war, including engineers and doctors. On the first day the unit halted at Siliguri, close to the border where the 33 Corps had its headquarters. I accompanied the CO wherever he went and began getting an insider’s view of a major war from the perspective of the top brass.

  In a war the artillery supports the fighting arms—the infantry and the armour. A brigade has all the wherewithal to support the soldier who goes out to face the enemy. Artillery support allows the foot soldier of the infantry to physically engage the enemy in hand-to-hand combat.

  Arrangements were made swiftly every day. These included administering the unit and checking whether supply lines were open and the troops were well provided for. Napoleon is known to have said that an army marches on its stomach. What this implied was that an army needs to ensure that the soldier has everything he needs to fight a war: food, boots, guns, and vehicles on time.

  At Siliguri, I accompanied my CO to the brigade commander for a briefing. Until then I had only read about war and military strategy. I now found myself at an actual meeting being held in the large underground command headquarters where the general officer commanding the division, a major general, and the brigade commander planned their strategy of invading and liberating East Pakistan. I listened in awe as their grand plan unfolded. In the bunker, I stood next to the brigade commander and the major general as they laid out their battle plans. I made notes, kept records, and passed on instructions issued by my CO.

  In the course of the next three or four days our unit would move into East Pakistan. We were to move under cover of darkness and penetrate deep into enemy territory. It would be an infantry-led attack, supported by the artillery and armour. I encountered many of my batchmates from the academy, meeting in the makeshift mess at night. We were told that guns would be placed just behind the infantry lines, and that an officer from each of the nine artillery regiments stationed in Siliguri would be accompanying the infantry in the attack.

  The artillery also had air observation posts known as Air OPs, comprising small helicopters and aeroplanes. That was when the foundation of Deccan Aviation was laid. When the situation demanded, a helicopter or aeroplane circled above the attacking infantry, the pilots observing and directing the artillery fire. However, in all attacks there is an artillery officer, called the forward observation officer (FOO), who moves along with the attacking forces to direct the artillery fire. This fire is provided by the gun position officer (GPO).

  The orders for the advance were issued and I returned from the mess, privy to the battle plan. Nobody else in the unit knew about it. They would learn about it only when the CO briefed the unit later in the day. Lt. Col. Singh drew the battle plan for the unit and said that the infantry would move in and mount an attack in four days. Guns were also to advance and deploy to provide the necessary back-up support. One officer from each of the battery units would accompany the infantry during the attack and there were to be nine to twelve such units. We, therefore, knew that we would part with one another the following morning. We were asked not to indicate our locations or plans in the letters we wrote, and these were read and censored whenever necessary by army intelligence.

  I was careful about what I wrote in the letters to my mother. Mother poured her heart out in her letters and told me she was undertaking pilgrimages and praying for my safe return. I wrote back asking her not to worry and that I wasn’t anywhere near the front. On a personal level, each of us knew that these were defining moments; that we might not see each other again and that some of us might never return from the engagement.

  Armed with the battle plan, we gathered for a drink in the officer’s mess. Just before we left, General Manekshaw visited our camp in Siliguri, and I had the good fortune to catch a glimpse of him for a few fleeting moments at the headquarters. He shook hands with me and I was struck by his charisma.

  I vividly remember the eve of our move into East Pakistan territory. It was a sultry October night. The local civilian authorities had organized a farewell dinner for the armed forces, attended by the heads of police and the civil services, my CO, people from the intelligence services.

  Then the campaign began. We moved in and prepared our gun positions. The first attack was launched on a small village in Dinajpur district called Bhurangmari, which the Pakistani army unit had made its headquarters. The attack began at about ten at night. The infantry attack was led by Maj. M.C. Nanjappa. I was with my CO during the attack, speaking with Maj. Nanjappa (who later became a general), on my CO’s behalf while he was coordinating the artillery support for the entire brigade. We were talking to another officer, Lt. Manjunath, in Kannada to avoid interception. At one point, Manjunath reported that he had become isolated by heavy gunfire and needed urgent support. He was grievously wounded in the battle and succumbed to his injuries after two days of fighting. The Pakistanis fought desperately to hold on to their positions and it took us two days and two nights to overrun their headquarters in the village. Once the crust was cracked, the Indian Army made good progress.

  Loss of close associates is a bitter reality in army life. Before he died, Manjunath and I had had a drink together. I discovered that he was from Shimoga, a neighbouring district of Hassan. There was another officer from my unit to whom I was very close. He was hit by shrapnel from an exploding shell which pierced his helmet and opened up his skull. Fortunately he survived. Maj. Nanjappa was decorated for his role in the war and received the Vir Chakra for his gallantry. In the same battle, another colleague Capt. Tirath Singh of my unit, who was the FOO, took over command of the attacking infantry when their company commander was injured. He successfully led the attack with a small band of infantry soldiers and, along with Maj. Nanjappa, captured the Pakistani headquarters at Bhurangmari. He too was awarded the Vir Chakra.

  Along our march, we saw that entire villages had been abandoned. Thousands of people crossed over to India as refugees to escape persecution. The Pakistan army had occupied Bangla territory for over a year and a half. It was technically not an occupation but amounted to that because of the repression and torture of Mukti Bahini cadres and leadership. The Pakistan army had captured many women who were held as hostages and human shields in village houses and were regularly raped. The Pakistan army authorities supported these heinous acts and to avoid pregnancy, liberally supplied condoms to its men. I saw with my own eyes that the women were in a terrible and pathetic condition. They were pathologically fearful of everything and everyone around them, as they had been dishonoured, exploited, and physically abused for months.

  We rescued the women, sent them to rehabilitation camps and moved on. The war was far from over. As the strength of our officers was depleted due to injuries, my CO called me and announced that he could no longer afford the luxury of an intelligence officer. I, therefore, became a gun position officer (GPO), and this move sent me right into the thick of battle.

  The GPO is required to respond promptly and accurately to the call for fire from the OP officer. He has to deploy the guns at the right place at the right time and ensure that they are ready to provide supporting fire. His efficiency has a direct bearing on the success of an attack. The responsibilities shouldered by a GPO are immense. A regiment has three batteries, each with six guns. In any war, the artillery can wreak great devastation upon the enemy. Artillery gun positions are sometimes isolated and are vulnerable to enemy attacks. During war, there is round-the-clock activity. Even eating and sleeping are activities undertaken in a state of high alert. During prolonged periods of engagement with the enemy and notwithstanding the lack of proper meals or sound sleep, there is an inexplicable kind of adrenaline rush.

  However, even in the midst of pitched battles, shelling, and air raids, we would not hesitate to grab a drink with buddies and fellow soldiers during a brief lull. During these times, the uncertainty of life became more pronounced and constantly playe
d on one’s mind. After the initial phase, our troops moved with lightning speed. The aim was not to allow the enemy time to regroup. This was especially so in the Dinajpur and Chittagong zones. Whilst Capt. K.J. Samuel and I were in the eastern sector, many of my course-mates like Jayanth Poovaiah were fighting in the west.

  The Indian Army’s strategy was based on the riparian geography of East Pakistan. The idea was to cut off supplies by demolishing bridges that spanned a number of rivers. The campaign ensured isolation of Pakistani divisions. The Pakistanis initially fought fierce battles but were soon on the run. One important reason for their defeat was their moral degradation. The Pakistani soldiers were degenerate and misbehaved with the local people, so they did not receive any local support. Our army received ample help from the local people, Mukti Bahini cadres, and from our own officers disguised as members of the Mukti Bahini. History is replete with instances where occupying armies which had become morally degraded eventually lost the will to fight and suffered defeat at the hands of those who occupied a higher moral plane. The contrast was obvious. While on the western front the Pakistani Army was highly motivated, and fought bravely and well, on the eastern front it was a dispirited force.

  The rapidity of the retreat of the Pakistan Army was also manifested by how quickly we moved from place to place. In fact, we often received orders to move while getting the guns in position for attack. During three battles I was at the guns. We kept firing all day and night. There was one occasion when I encountered the enemy at close quarters. My battery commander Maj. Balkar Singh called me to say that Pakistani commandos had infiltrated our lines. They would be targeting my unit’s artillery gun positions because they are easily identifiable sitting targets. Sometime earlier Pakistani soldiers had placed grenades in the barrels and killed some artillery men and destroyed the guns.

  I received a call late that night, that radio communication had been intercepted between Pakistani commandos. When decoded, the communication indicated that they were planning an ambush close to where I was. We therefore dug trenches in front of the guns and my gunners got ready to defend their positions from the impending raid. I commanded 100 men and had six artillery guns to protect. It was a critical moment. I remembered what my instructor Capt. J.S.Verma had said: ‘to command the loyalty and confidence of your men, you have to work harder and put your men before yourself .…’

  I did not know from which direction the Pakistani commandos would come. My orders were to repel them and prevent casualties and damage on our side. I spent the night walking from trench to trench under cover of darkness. It is not that we were not scared. Courage is the counterpoint of fear. Courage appears when in war or business, one is indeed scared. It was something akin to what the actor John Wayne had once said: ‘It is not that you are not scared. You are scared but you saddle up anyway.’ I was watchful all the time. I kept talking to my men and inspired them to stay awake. Thankfully, the Pakistani commandos sprang no surprise on us. Soon thereafter the entire Pakistani army had been surrounded and asked to surrender. I was listening to the radio at the time. It was one of the most inspiring moments of my life.

  Our unit and brigade moved into Bangladesh in October and entrenched itself. We fought a series of battles. However, full-scale war lasted only about two weeks. General Manekshaw addressed the Pakistani troops over radio. He asked them to lay down arms and surrender. ‘Brothers from the Pakistan Army,’ he said. ‘You are surrounded. You have no way out. Lay down your arms. We will not harm you. You have one last chance. So I urge you: Surrender, surrender, surrender!’

  His words must have sent shivers down the spine of the Pakistan Army. To us it was wonderfully inspiring. The Pakistan Army had been surrounded on all sides. They were completely cornered and their spirit broken. Had we attacked them we would have perpetrated the biggest bloodbath in modern history. The surrender came. It was like a scene from a movie. The commander of the armed forces of Pakistan in East Pakistan was made to surrender along with the troops at a public ceremony. They were disarmed and the surrendered soldiers were sent to POW camps located at various locations in India. It was the largest surrender in history: over 100,000 fighting troops surrendered to the Indian Army.

  We then moved out of what is now Bangladesh. My unit was moved to Sikkim. People cheered us all along the road from Dinajpur to Rangpur to Sikkim. They were celebrating on the streets, and raised a victory cry, ‘Indira Gandhi zindabad,’ ‘Indian Army zindabad’, ‘Manekshaw zindabad’. In the towns and villages, even in the smallest of hamlets, people had woken to a sense of freedom and of being citizens of a newly independent Bangladesh. Peasants, common people, college girls and children welcomed us with garlands and flowers; they gave us sweets as a token of friendship.

  After the war, I was posted in Sikkim for a year and a half. This was the beginning of a period of deep spiritual awakening within me. Sikkim was a kingdom and not yet a part of India. It was however an Indian protectorate, with India looking after its economic and foreign affairs, its army, and its infrastructural needs.

  After Sikkim I was posted at a picket called 4752 on the Sino-Indian border. This picket adjoins the famous Nathu La pass where some fierce battles were fought during the India–China war of 1962. India had lost the war on account of lack of anticipation and failure of leadership. Picket 4752 is the highest picket in the region: it translates to 4,752 metres (15,586 feet) above mean sea level (MSL). I was posted as observation post officer, with the responsibility to observe the Chinese border and give a daily report. This posting was with the infantry and was my first engagement with the Himalayan terrain. I had accessed the lower ranges of the Himalaya as a cadet at the HMI, Darjeeling, but this was a forbidding height. We had to move up to the altitude in stages allowing the body to acclimatize. One of the first camps was before the famous Changu Lake at a height of over 3,000 metres. It was breathtakingly beautiful, its water a turquoise blue and crystal clear. I had heard that it froze completely in winter and one could drive a jeep across the ice. From there on, you moved further up along the road for about three or four kilometres and set up another transit camp. The road ended there and you had to trek for about four hours up the steep mountain slopes to reach 4752. Some stretches were perennially snowbound. My picket was attached to the Jammu and Kashmir Rifles. I was the only officer in the bunker and the rest of the unit was about 60 metres feet below me. I had the support of two jawans from the artillery who also billeted in a bunker a little below.

  Those were amongst the finest days of my life. I rose each morning to the sight of the majestic range of Kanchenjunga bathed in pre-dawn sunlight. We enjoyed clear weather from six to about nine in the morning most of the year. Visibility fell to zero after that. Below my picket and down the slope, there was a lake that froze in winter. It was my first experience of a frozen lake. The frozen surface was sufficiently hard to permit animals to walk across it. It had however no formal name, an unnamed lake on the map lying between the Indian picket and the Chinese border. Every day the Chinese blared Chinese music at us for two to three hours. They followed this up with lectures on the greatness of the communist way of life. In turn, the Indian army played two or three hours of Hindi music, and followed this up with an account in Hindi, English, and Chinese of the wonders of life in India.

  I closely observed the Chinese soldier on the opposite side and he reciprocated in kind. There was a cold war between us. I had to send a daily situation report (SITREP). On some days I heard blasts on the other side and reckoned that they were part of road-building, bunker-construction, or embankment-erection projects to facilitate gun positions. I often saw packs of mules on the move. Sometimes I saw mountain yaks. The yak is the kamadhenu, or the multipurpose miracle cow of Hindu mythical lore, for the local tribals of the Himalaya. It is used for its milk, meat, and hide, and also for transportation.

  It was painfully cold out there and we felt numb to the bone in the chill. The sights are heavenly but the acute climate is inhospita
ble, to say the least, accompanied by oxygen deficiency. The maximum day temperature in summer would touch a ‘high’ of minus two or three degrees Celsius. Night temperatures dropped to minus twenty degrees Celsius.

  The assignment was really challenging. There was no fresh water and Sherpas had to drill a hole through the ice cover to reach the underground water level, scoop up water in ladlefuls, and carry it up to the picket in jerrycans. I lived on canned food. The army supply line to Gangtok was two to three days away. Sometimes I was cut off altogether because of the snow. Food rations were airdropped during such emergencies. It is extremely difficult for troops, even when they are not engaged in war, to spend prolonged periods in this hostile environment. Soldiers are completely deprived of the comforting visions and experiences of mundane existence: that of women and children going about their daily chores, of running water, greenery, and of the humdrum of normal human life elsewhere, which we take for granted. There is nothing to comfort starved eyes and the parched mind in this barren, icy wilderness, except the occasional mountain goat that strays into those heights or the snow leopard poised for a possible kill. The sound of running water and the sight of greenery after four months of camp life in these desolate reaches of the Himalayas, seemed to me like rebirth.

  The relative isolation of the picket had its merits too. I had plenty of time to read my favourite authors and spent hours devouring Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Camus, Maupassant, Somerset Maugham, Pushkin, Sartre, and Sholokhov. The second good thing that came my way was the wonderful experience of enjoying rare mountain sights. I volunteered for long range patrols (LRP) in the mountains which involved long treks along the Indo–Tibetan border and lasted fifteen to twenty days, when we scaled such forbidding heights of 6000 metres above the MSL. These patrols were designed to monitor possible infiltration by Chinese troops and identify for us suitable gun positions. On my first patrol, I was awestricken by the sights the mountains offered. I saw the most spectacular scenes, of gushing waterfalls, snow-capped mountain peaks, and winding rivers. I was immersed in Tagore’s poetry at the time and the entire experience was deeply spiritual. As a bonus, I visited remote places in Sikkim where the residents had never seen a motor-vehicle before. We distributed medicines in these high-altitude settlements, drank yak milk and survived on yak meat on those mountain forays.