IAN CARDOZO

1971
Stories of Grit and Glory from The Indo–Pak War

PENGUIN BOOKS
 Contents

Preface
Preamble

1. The Hunt for the Vikrant

2. The Gates of Rattoke
3. Mission Karachi
4. The Beeb’s Best Broadcast
5. Long Shot at Longewala
6. Good Is Better Than Best
7. A Touch of Luck
8. Vazir
9. A Bullet for Breakfast
10. And Then There Was One
11. The Sinking of INS Khukri: A Captain’s Dilemma
12. The Beginning of the End
13. The Race for Dhaka
14. The Last Straw
Afterword

Footnotes
Preamble
1. The Hunt for the Vikrant
2. The Gates of Rattoke
3. Mission Karachi
4. The Beeb’s Best Broadcast
5. Long Shot at Longewala
6. Good Is Better Than Best
 7. A Touch of Luck
8. Vazir
9. A Bullet for Breakfast
10. And Then There Was One
11. The Sinking of INS Khukri: A Captain’s Dilemma
12. The Beginning of the End
13. The Race for Dhaka
14. The Last Straw
Afterword
Bibliography
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
 EBURY PRESS
1971

Major General Ian Cardozo was commissioned at the Indian Military

Academy into the 1st Battalion of the 5th Gorkha Rifles (Frontier Force),
where he received his basic grounding as a young officer. Thereafter, he
took part in the Sino–Indian war of 1962, the Indo–Pak war of 1965 and the
Indo–Pak war of 1971.
Wounded in the battle of Sylhet in Bangladesh, he overcame the
disability of losing a leg and became the first disabled officer of the Indian
Army to be approved for command of an infantry battalion and brigade. He
retired from this appointment as Chief of Staff of a corps in the north-east.
On retirement, he worked in the area of disability with an NGO and as vice
president of the War Wounded Foundation, before being appointed by the
Government of India as chairman of the Rehabilitation Council of India,
where he worked for nine years.
He has taken up writing as a hobby, and his books Param Vir, The
Sinking of INS Khukri, The Bravest of the Brave: The Indian VCs of World
War I, The Indian Army in World War I: 1914–18 and Lieutenant General
Bilimoria: His Life and Times have been widely acclaimed. He is also
working with an illustrator on graphic novels—about the courage,
competence and sacrifice of the Indian soldier—of which eleven have been
published so far.
 Advance Praise for the Book

‘This is a unique compilation. Never have I learnt about a war through such
vivid, personalized and humane stories. One comprehends not just the
planning and execution of the war but most importantly the psyche and
conduct of the soldiers in battlefields; their courage, dedication, honour and
sacrifice. The story “And Then There Was One” left me with goosebumps.
Ian Cardozo, himself wounded and decorated in this war, has produced a
masterly account in this racy (like this war) and unputdownable book’—
General V.P. Malik, PVSM, AVSM, ADC, former Chief of the Army Staff

‘A splendid anthology of wartime tales from the inspired pen of an iconic

soldier and war hero who brings alive, in these pages, India’s finest hour, in
all its fascinating dimensions and often through the enemy’s eyes. These
compelling stories of sacrifice and valour of our soldiers, sailors and airmen
are a “must-read” for every Indian—especially the Gen X and
millennials’—Admiral Arun Prakash, PVSM, AVSM, VrC, VSM, former
Chief of the Naval Staff

‘Ian Cardozo’s collection of short stories on the 1971 war are crucial for
understanding why the “two-nation theory” behind the partition of British
India in 1947 was decisively rejected after the independence of Bangladesh.
Written with humanism and pride in the professionalism of India’s armed
forces, this book highlights the importance of treasuring our soldiers’ acts
of valour and sacrifice, which have for more than a century provided the
foundation for India’s proactive role in international relations’—Asoke
Mukerji, former Ambassador of India to the United Nations

‘This book is a delightful bouquet of short stories with the backdrop of the
1971 Indo–Pak war, encompassing all three defence services and both the
theatres. Each story is gripping and holds one’s attention from start to
finish. Reading through these stories, one gets a flavour of how operations
are conducted in combat and the human elements involved in them. Written
in an easy style, the book is a must-read and leaves you yearning for
more’—Major General A.J.S. Sandhu, VSM (retd), author and military
historian

‘The author, an iconic soldier, has skilfully put together the personal
experiences of soldiers, sailors and airmen in a book that tells the stories of
what really happens in war. His own first-hand experience of the wars of
1962, 1965 and 1971 makes each story come alive with the drama of life
and death. The stories include views of the other side of the hill and bring
out rare insights into the human side of the protagonists. The book is a
complete package of true, gripping and inspiring sagas; a must-read for all
well-wishers of India’—Major General Gopal Gurung, AVSM, SM (retd),
second-generation soldier of the 5th Gorkha Rifles (FF)

‘Reading General Ian Cardozo’s 1971 is like going on a historical walk with
a guide who knows every nook and corner of the warzone, and is willing to
show it all to you. He holds your hand and takes you through tales of
incredible bravery, but also pain and loss, bringing you so close to his
characters that you almost feel their breath upon your face. Seeped in
history, peppered with fascinating anecdotes, these stories are told with
great flair, sometimes making you laugh, sometimes bringing a tear to the
eye. And to his credit, despite having been in the war himself, he shows you
both sides of the conflict, often taking you inside the borders of Pakistan
and into the minds of the decision-makers on the enemy side as well,
paying odes to the courage of both armies. There would be very few people
now living who know more about the 1971 war than General Cardozo; after
all, he fought it himself. But for me, the most endearing quality of the book
was that he wears that distinction so lightly, narrating his own stories with
delightful wit and self-effacing charm. He features in a few of the narratives
but walks in and out of these with such reticence that you recognize him
only if you look closely enough. Often, he does not even mention himself
by name. General Ian Cardozo’s 1971 is a book that I shall keep at my
bedside for a long time. No one else could have written it’—Rachna Bisht
Rawat, author

‘The Indian armed forces have served the nation with honour and fidelity in
numerous conflicts since Independence and before it. Their tales of valour
and devotion to duty are legends. Yet these have been largely confined to
the domain of the officers’ mess or the unit langar or narrated around
campfires in remote border outposts. These true stories—woven together by
a master storyteller and one of India’s most distinguished soldiers—bring to
life intrepid deeds of our nation’s soldiers, sailors and airmen during India’s
finest hour—the 1971 Indo–Pak conflict’—Squadron Leader Rana T.S.
Chhina, MBE (retd), Secretary, USI Centre for Military History and
Conflict Studies

‘1971—authored by the Hero of Heroes, General Ian Cardozo—is a first-

hand account of a war hero for whom it was always “do or die” in the line
of duty for his country. Many men can make history, but only great men can
write it. General Cardozo is one of those who can do both. His book is
about the Liberation War of Bangladesh of 1971, the sacrifices and birth of
a nation through a tidal wave of blood. This war was fought for the cause of
humanity, which makes it a just war. His book reflects the tremendous
cooperation between the Indian forces, Mukti Bahini and the common
people of Bangladesh. It reflects the brotherhood of men at arms who chose
to fight on their feet rather than die on their knees. Let history say that they
together brought to Bangladesh the winds of freedom and justice. I had the
honour to see this brave commander being almost blown apart in the
battlefield of Mirapara near Sylhet, and I dare say that despite the severe
pain he had to endure, he refused to receive transfusion of blood of
Pakistani soldiers. To me, this book revives my memory of that day when
he bled almost to death under the shadow of the sword. These stories appear
to me more of a ballad of blood and sacrifice than a record of history. His
blood has mingled with the muddy soil of Bangladesh, and victory was
achieved by sacrifices such as his. The author has told us tales few can tell.
As such, his indomitable spirit is reflected in his writings in this book’—Lt
Col (retd) Quazi Sajjad Ali Zahir, Bir Protik, Swadhinata Padak, Padma
Shri

‘Breath-holding suspense and drama of a race against time galvanize the

epic sweep of action over land, seas and skies in Ian Cardozo’s wartime
stories. The psychological depth of his deft, finely nuanced character
delineation and his vigilant eye for situational ironies and philosophical
inferences are striking. The stories highlight the remarkable leadership,
ingenuity and exemplary heroism of our troops in the face of heavy odds
and casualties suffered during a thirteen-day war that effectively stopped a
barbaric genocide in India’s neighborhood’—Vanita Singh, folk singer,
composer and writer
 To
the men and women of the Indian armed forces,
the Mukti Bahini
and the peoples of India and Bangladesh,
who stood together in this moment of trial
and ultimately savoured victory in war,
the liberation of East Pakistan
and
the birth of Bangladesh
 Preface

‘The greatest love a person can have for his friends is to give his life for them.’

—Gospel of John, 15: 9–17

The year 2021 marks fifty years since the 1971 war was fought between
India and Pakistan. Probably, very few people today would remember that
war. Besides, a new generation has grown up that has no memory of it at
all. The fiftieth anniversary of that war is therefore an opportune moment
for the people of India to know how the war started, was conducted and
brought to a close.
An official history of the war has been written and published by the
Government of India, but history makes heavy reading, and perhaps the
time has arrived for every citizen of India to have access to what happened
during those turbulent days in the form of stories. Everyone loves a good
story, and I hope these true stories from the battlefield will reach a wider
audience and open a window to the man in the street as to what happens
during a war in the life of a nation, and in the lives of the officers and the
men they lead into battle.
Leading men into battle is a privilege given to very few. It is an awesome
responsibility because of the underlying understanding in the minds of the
combatants that they may never come back alive. Leadership, therefore, has
necessarily to be of the highest order. The officers of the Indian Army lead
from the front and the exhortation is ‘Follow me!’ Therefore, percentage-
wise, the casualty rate of officers of the Indian Army is very high. In my
own battalion, the 4th Battalion of the 5th Gorkha Rifles (FF), we entered
the 1971 war with eighteen officers, and at the end of a thirteen-day war,
four were killed and seven badly wounded. Only seven were left unscathed
or with minor wounds.
 The Indian soldier is among the best in the world. He follows his officers
unquestioningly and with great courage, and undergoes great discomfort in
unbelievably difficult circumstances. Together, the officer and the men he
leads are a formidable combination.
The accounts that follow are true stories based on the personal
experiences of participants, on oral and written narratives, and on historical
fact and recorded interviews of officers and soldiers of both sides,
conducted after the war was concluded. However, some of the dialogues of
the Pakistani military hierarchy have been reconstructed on the basis of the
information available at that time, and are probably very close to what took
place. On the Indian side, those who are part of these stories would
recognize themselves; and then there are others who were part of these
events but may not have known the whole story.
I have tried to make these stories reader-friendly. Detailed descriptions of
operations have been avoided to ensure that the reader does not find it
difficult to follow the flow of events, and the accounts have been shorn of
military terminology. Footnotes give the meaning of military terms that
could not be avoided. A bibliography is also available at the end of the book
for those who would like to refer to books that give more details of the war.
The preamble that precedes the stories paints an overall picture of the
war. It is important that the reader reads it first, as it will facilitate an
understanding of the stories that follow.
Each story has a message, and it is up to the reader to look for it and
examine whether it could add meaning to his or her life.
Men and women of the armed forces are brought up on the credo of
‘country first and self last’. This has become a way of life for us. Courage,
honour, duty, discipline and sacrifice are values that are held in high esteem
and are parameters by which we judge ourselves. War becomes a testing
ground for the conduct of service personnel, and it is the manner in which
we live and behave in peace that determines how we will fight and die in
war.
I hope these stories will give the reader a reasonable insight into life in
the armed forces—a profession that has no equal.
 Preamble

‘India wants to avoid a war at all costs but it is not a one-sided affair, you cannot shake
hands with a clenched fist.’

—Indira Gandhi*

The origins of the Indo–Pak war of 1971 lay within Pakistan itself. In the
spring of 1969, General Yahya Khan took charge from General Ayub Khan
as President of Pakistan and announced that elections would be held in
1970. He, however, failed to anticipate the possible consequences of this
election. The Pakistan National Assembly election of 17 December 1970
resulted in Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s Awami League of East Pakistan
winning an overwhelming victory by securing 167 out of a total of 311
seats, which was twice the number of seats of Zulfikar Bhutto’s Pakistan’s
People’s Party. This totally upset the plans and perceptions of the Pakistani
government with regard to retention of power.
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman and the people of East Pakistan were greatly
elated at this landslide victory, which reflected the simmering discontent
that prevailed in the eastern wing of Pakistan against the dictatorial
domination perpetuated by successive military dictatorships of West
Pakistan. Except for religion, there was nothing common between the two
wings. The clear mandate won by Mujib brought Bengali aspirations to a
high point, and Mujib’s ‘Six Point Programme’ promised to remove
political and economic disparity between East and West Pakistan. The
outcome also meant that the President, Prime Minister and most ministers
of the Pakistani cabinet would be Bengalis from East Pakistan.
To the people of East Pakistan, this victory could not have been sweeter
because ever since the creation of Pakistan in 1947, the western province
had relentlessly usurped the authority and resources of her eastern partner.
Most galling was the attempt to force the Bengalis to adopt Urdu as the
national language. All that would now be a thing of the past, and East
Pakistan would emerge as ‘Sonar Bangla’* in her own right and with her old
cultural traditions intact.
Sheikh Mujib, however, did not reckon with the predatory predilection of
the politicians and the military junta of West Pakistan. Dismayed by this
unexpected result, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who had no intention of letting
power slip from his hands, threatened to plunge Pakistan into a civil war if
Mujib was allowed to form the government. Yahya Khan also could not
accept the prospect of power shifting to East Pakistan and of giving up
military rule.
On 21 February 1971, President Yahya Khan dissolved his cabinet,
imposed martial law on the country and, on March 1, announced an
indefinite postponement of the promised National Assembly session. This
infuriated the Bengalis, and the burning discontent of decades of oppression
broke loose. All government and semi-government offices, central and
provincial, shut down and agitated crowds took to the streets.
Curfew was imposed in Dhaka to quell the protests, but by 3 March
1971, Mujib’s writ ran wide in East Pakistan. He called for a non-violent
non-cooperation movement, but even he could not control the mobs. The
Pakistan Army was deployed to suppress the agitation, and a large number
of Bengalis were killed. Mujib demanded withdrawal of troops to the
barracks, failing which he would intensify the agitation. Lieutenant General
Sahibzada Yakub Khan, the Lieutenant Governor and Martial Law
Administrator of Pakistan, a mature and balanced officer who had served
with the Garhwal Rifles before Partition, agreed to Mujib’s demand, and the
troops were pulled back. This was taken as a great victory by the Bengalis,
and Mujib became the virtual ruler of East Pakistan.
Yahya Khan and the military viewed these developments with disquiet.
On 6 March 1971, Yahya Khan announced that the National Assembly
would meet in Dhaka on 25 March 1971. Simultaneously, a massive airlift
of troops to East Pakistan commenced.
It was evident that the proposed date for the National Assembly meeting
on 25 March was just a ruse to play for time, and all discussion during this
period was a sham. On 7 March 1971, Mujib addressed over a million
people at a public meeting and made four demands for participating in the
National Assembly. These were: withdrawal of martial law, withdrawal of
troops, inquiry into the killings by the army, and transfer of power to the
elected representatives of the people.
Yahya Khan removed Lieutenant General Sahibzada Yakub Khan and
replaced him with Lieutenant General Tikka Khan, who was soon to be
known as the ‘Butcher of Bangladesh’. Tikka Khan let loose a reign of
terror and destruction, the likes of which have few parallels in history. In
what became infamous as ‘Operation Searchlight’, the Pakistan Army used
machine guns, tanks and rocket launchers against unarmed Bengali citizens.
Men were slaughtered and women and young girls raped in an
unprecedented orgy of violence by the military, which will forever be a blot
on the officers and soldiers of the Pakistan Army. More than one million
people were killed and thousands of women and girls raped by debauched
Pakistani soldiers led by their depraved officers. The killings and rapes
triggered off a mass exodus of men, women and children from East
Pakistan to safety in India. Their number gradually swelled till they totalled
over ten million. Their shelter, food, medical, hygiene and sanitation needs
became the responsibility of the Government of India. The burden of
refugee relief was estimated at over $700 million.
The tragic irony of this horrific holocaust is that it failed to ignite
international condemnation by the Western world, which had stifled its
conscience at the altar of political expediency. The United States of
America declined to acknowledge the insanity of the situation and failed to
raise its voice against this mass slaughter by her protégé, whom she had
always patronized. This blot on the reputation of the American government
can never be forgotten.
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was imprisoned and spirited away to West
Pakistan, and no one knew where he was held captive or even if he was
alive.
India’s protests went unheeded by Pakistan and the rest of the world.
Besides the intolerable economic burden, it created grave security problems
for India. These consequences—economic, political, social and military—
were becoming unsustainable.
President Yahya Khan of Pakistan had, in the meanwhile, agreed to
broker a meeting between President Richard Nixon of the United States of
America and his Secretary of State, Henry Kissinger, with Chairman Mao
of the Republic of China and his Premier, Zhou Enlai. President Nixon was
deeply gratified and greatly indebted to President Yahya Khan for his offer
to facilitate this meeting, and thereafter Pakistan could do no wrong. India
was effectively isolated by a Pakistani–Chinese–American nexus.
When repeated attempts to find a reasonable solution with Pakistan
failed, India sought the assistance of the international community to
persuade Pakistan to see reason. Indira Gandhi, the Prime Minister of India,
visited all the capitals of the major powers of the Western world to request
them to use their good offices to persuade Pakistan to stop their genocide.
However, the West, led by the United States, was indifferent to the
holocaust in East Pakistan and the Indian dilemma, and they turned a blind
eye to the mass murder being perpetrated by Pakistan against its own
citizens. Western countries, following the lead of the United States,
accepted that this was an internal problem of Pakistan and therefore did not
warrant their intervention. The refugee problem, they stated, was India’s
problem and a solution had to be found bilaterally between India and
Pakistan. The West and the United Nations had killed its conscience,
equating Pakistan, the aggressor, with India, the aggrieved.
Pushed to the wall, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi decided to get into an
‘Agreement of Friendship’ with the USSR to counter the unholy alliance
between America, China and Pakistan. It was an agreement that was to
stand India in good stead throughout the war.
An agitated Indian public began to demand immediate military action
against Pakistan, and pressure continued to build up on the government to
do so without delay.
Towards the end of April 1971, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi summoned
the Army Chief to a cabinet meeting* and asked him to march into East
Pakistan as the situation had become intolerable. General Manekshaw,
however, informed the Prime Minister that the army was not ready. He
stated that his continued requests to the Defence Ministry to make up the
shortfall of arms, ammunition and equipment had been persistently ignored
and that unless these were made up, the army was not in a state to go to war.
He also informed the Prime Minister that the time was not ripe. There were
valid reasons against early intervention—political, military, economic and
climatic—that demanded a self-imposed delay. This, however, encouraged
Pakistan to continue with her orgy of violence in East Pakistan.
It is to the credit of the Prime Minister and her government that they
could withstand public pressure, in deference to the needs and reasons
projected by the Indian military. It is also to the credit of the Indian Army
Chief that he could stand up to the pressures of the government and an
agitating public.
A review was carried out that took into account India’s state of arms and
ammunition, equipment, training, commerce and industry, road and rail
communication, climate, weather, morale, international opinion and enemy
options. All these factors pointed to a particular timetable for war that
would suit India best. Sam Manekshaw emphasized that if war was
inevitable and victory was the objective, then the war had to be fought on
India’s terms. Indian leaders accepted his advice and adhered to his
programme, and the armed forces used the intervening period to gear up to
meet the expected Pakistani offensive.
Each of the three Service Chiefs had their own points to prove in the
1971 War.* In the past, Sam Manekshaw had not been given the opportunity
to command an infantry battalion. After Partition, although he was on the
strength of the 5th Gorkha Rifles (FF) since Partition and subsequently
posted to its 3rd Battalion, he was recalled from the New Delhi railway
station, while he was on his way to join the battalion, and told that he had to
accompany V.P. Menon to Srinagar in connection with Maharaja Hari
Singh’s request for military help against the marauding raiders from
Pakistan. Sam spent the war in Military Operations (MO) Directorate. Prior
to the Sino–Indian war of 1962, Sam had crossed swords with Defence
Minister Krishna Menon, who wanted Sam to criticize the Army Chief,
General Thimayya. Sam refused, and he was consequently effectively
sidelined by Menon. An inquiry on frivolous charges was ordered and his
promotion held up for eighteen months.
It was only when Menon was sacked after the debacle of the 1962 war
that Sam’s career was resurrected. During the 1965 war, Sam was
commanding Eastern Command, which played no part in that war. Now that
a war with Pakistan appeared to be unfolding in 1971, Sam was grateful
that he was being given a chance to do something worthwhile for his
country. He was determined to make sure that India won a resounding
victory.
The Naval Chief, Admiral S.M. Nanda, also had a chip on his shoulder.
During the 1965 Indo–Pak war, the navy had been kept out by an order of
the defence ministry that the Indian Navy must not launch offensive
operations against Pakistan on the west coast, as the government did not
want to escalate the war. This, the navy felt, was a blow to its self-respect.
When questions were asked, the government failed to state that the navy
was left out of the war on its orders. Nanda, who subsequently was FOC-in-
C West, stated that given a chance, he would set Karachi on fire. He put
together a plan to defeat Pakistan in the Arabian Sea and the Bay of Bengal.
The Air Force Chief, Air Marshal P.C. Lal, had a different point to prove.
His services were terminated in September 1962 by Krishna Menon after a
disagreement on the replacement of the aging Dakota aircraft when Lal was
Chairman of Indian Airlines Corporation. He, too, was reinstated only after
Menon was sacked. As the Air Chief, he made sure that the Indian Air
Force was fit in every respect as and when we went to war with Pakistan.
The sequence of these events ensured that the country had the best team
of Service Chiefs to lead it into a war that seemed unavoidable.
Pakistan, as expected, launched her offensive with a pre-emptive air
strike against India on 3 December 1971. By that time, the nation and the
armed forces were well prepared, and counteroffensives launched almost
immediately on the night of 3–4 December 1971.
India’s strategy was based on ‘an offensive in the east and offensive
defence in the south, west and in the north. The east meant East Pakistan;
the west meant the plains of Punjab and the deserts of Rajasthan; and the
north meant the plains, hills and mountains of Jammu and Kashmir and
Ladakh.
The period from April 1971 to December 1971 was used profitably by
the government and the armed forces to review all possible options to
achieve the country’s national objectives. The first was the avoidance of
war, if that was at all possible. Every possible diplomatic effort had been
undertaken to avoid a war that seemed imminent. However, if war was
forced upon India, then militarily, the armed forces needed to make up their
deficiencies in arms, ammunition and equipment, and to train hard for a war
that could take place at any time. Communications were improved, supply
bases were created, bridging equipment was moved up and administrative
plans were streamlined.
The morale of the Indian Army was unprecedentedly high because of
wholehearted support by the government and little or no interference by the
politicians and the bureaucracy. The country was also fortunate that it had at
the helm of the armed forces Chiefs of formidable stature. All officers and
men rallied to the call of their Chiefs to wrap up the war as quickly as
possible, before the Americans, the Chinese and the Middle East countries
could come to the aid of Pakistan. Imbued with this realization, the troops
used whatever was available to cross rivers, minefields and obstacles, and
to get to their objectives as quickly as possible. Improvisation and
innovation were the order of the day, and immediate results were obtained
in surmounting ‘impossible’ obstacles.
Whereas the initial aim in the Eastern sector was to capture as much
territory as possible, so as to be able to be able to send the refugees back
home, so quick were the successes obtained that the aim was changed.
Dhaka was the ‘centre of gravity’ of General Niazi’s defence strategy, and
the capture of Dhaka now became the new aim. So, the race for Dhaka
commenced.
The Mukti Bahini,* or the Mukti Fauj, contributed much to the success of
the operations of the Indian Army. They were trained rigorously by
Brigadier Sant Singh and Brigadier Shabeg Singh to become the eyes and
ears of the Indian Army, to be the interface between the army and the civil
populace, and to conduct guerrilla operations against the Pakistani forces in
East Pakistan. Their role depended on their background. Those who were
ex-soldiers of the East Pakistani regiments and East Bengal Rifles
conducted guerrilla operations against the Pakistani forces. There were
others with no military background, and they served as guides and
interpreters. Senior Majors of the East Bengal Rifles and East Pakistan
regiments assumed the role of Sector Commanders and served alongside the
army. A few of them, like ‘Tiger’ Siddiqui, Ziaur Rahman and Abu Taher,
became known names within the Indian Army.
Officers and men of the navy of East Pakistan operated as ‘frogmen’ in
the riverine areas of Chittagong, Khulna and Chalna, and inflicted heavy
damage on Pakistan’s merchant navy by mining water channels and using
limpet mines to destroy Pakistani merchant naval ships. The naval element
of the Mukti Bahini was later called Force Alpha and integrated with the
Indian Navy.†
The strategy of General Niazi, the GOC-in-C of all Pakistani forces in
East Pakistan, was based on what he called the ‘Fortress Concept’. He had
built his defences on strong points called ‘fortresses’, which he built on
river obstacles and extensive minefields. He believed that the Indian Army
would attack these defences ‘head on’ and get bogged down in trying to
overcome them, allowing time for the Americans and the Chinese and the
Middle East countries to come to his rescue and for the UN to intervene.
Indian forces, however, refrained from falling into this trap; they bypassed
these defences and went for the rear of these defended areas, facilitating the
speed of operations.
The Indian Air Force not only supported the army admirably but was also
successful in interdicting Pakistani troop movements on land and on the
rivers. Total air superiority established by the IAF in East Pakistan early in
the war allowed the army to move on land and on water with impunity, and
heliborne assaults, paradropping operations, air supply, casualty evacuation,
amphibious operations and pamphlet dropping could be carried out by our
troops unhindered. The only problem was that Indian aircraft did not have
night-flying capability.
The amazing success of the Indian Navy needs recognition. In the
Arabian Sea, the Western Flotilla launched an attack on Karachi. Missile
boats of the Indian Navy demolished a destroyer, a minesweeper, two
ammunition ships and badly damaged an oil tanker. They set the Kiamari
oil refinery on fire, and Karachi burned for seven days and nights. The
Pakistan Navy scooted into Karachi harbour and refused to fight. A naval
blockade was established outside Karachi without the presence of Indian
naval warships, and no foreign merchant ship was able to access the
Pakistani port of Karachi without permission from Delhi—so great was the
dominance established by the Indian Navy!
On the eastern seaboard, the Indian Navy was successful in intercepting
all movement in or out of the riverine ports of Comilla, Chittagong, Khulna
and Chalna. Frogmen of the Indian Navy and Force Alpha of the naval
wing of the Mukti Bahini caused considerable damage to the merchant
ships of Pakistan by carrying out underwater destruction of Pakistani
merchant marine ships and rivercraft. The Indian Navy also carried out joint
operations with the Indian Army in the amphibious landings at Cox’s Bazar,
and destruction and interdiction of targets with its aircraft operating from
INS Vikrant. The brilliant conduct of the operations of the ‘Silent Service’
on the western and eastern seaboards needs to be better recognized.
Top leadership in all the three services was at its best. The main factor for
success was ‘timing’ of the Indian offensive, and the timing was perfect.
When Pakistan attacked India on 3 December 1971, India was ready—
counteroffensives on land, sea and in the air were launched almost
immediately. This was also a war where the armed forces, the bureaucracy
and the politicians worked in perfect harmony. P.N. Haksar, the Principal
Private Secretary to the Prime Minister, and D.P. Dhar, Head of the Foreign
Policy Planning Committee, were the ideal interface between the armed
forces and the government. The synergy between the government and the
armed forces was excellent.
 If the army had marched into East Pakistan in April, as was initially
desired by the government, the result would have been disastrous. The state
of the Indian Army’s arms, ammunition and equipment was deplorable. The
troops would have been caught by the monsoon—when rivers turn into seas
and the ground gets swampy—and Indian armour would have got bogged
down. The troops untrained for warfare in the marshes and bogs of East
Pakistan would have performed inadequately. The higher military
leadership, however, had the moral gumption to stand up to the government
and convince them that victory needed a particular timetable when all these
limitations were removed.
When it became clear that Pakistan was going to lose the war, the
Americans and the Pakistanis did their utmost in the United Nations to stop
the war and ensure a ceasefire. It was then that President Nixon ordered the
US Seventh Fleet to move to the Bay of Bengal to rescue his beleaguered
ally.
The Seventh Fleet was a strong naval force of eleven warships,
consisting of the nuclear-powered air carrier USS Enterprise, destroyers,
missile frigates, amphibious assault ships and a helicopter carrier. In a cable
to President Nixon, the US Ambassador to India, Kenneth Keating,
expressed disapproval of the move, stating that deployment of the Carrier
Task Force was an escalation of the war by the United States.*
However, within the first ten days of battle, the Indian Army had broken
the ‘crust’ of the Pakistani defences, and Indian forces were within striking
distance of Dhaka. The paradrop close to Dhaka at Tangail, the artillery
bombardment of Dhaka close to the headquarters of Pakistani’s Eastern
Command, and the air raid on Governor’s House unnerved the Pakistani
civil and military hierarchy, and Dhaka began to wobble. By the time the
American Seventh Fleet reached the Bay of Bengal, the die was cast—the
war had been wrapped up and Bangladesh was born.
The fighting in the Western sector was, however, not as conclusive, but
that was in accordance with India’s planned strategy. Although Pakistan
attacked India in the Western sector, Indian strategy was defensive in
nature, with a few offensive operations to improve the defensive profile.
The Pakistan Army was pushed back and several areas were captured. On
the surrender of the Pakistan Army in East Pakistan, some of our troops
were moved to the Western Front. The United States, which was monitoring
the movement of India’s armed forces, was alarmed and raised an outcry.
However, the unilateral declaration of a ceasefire in the West by Prime
Minister Indira Gandhi scotched world criticism of India being an
expansionist country wanting to demolish Pakistan in its entirety.
The planning and conduct of this war by India makes for a fascinating
narrative, which will unfold in the stories that follow. Suffice it to say at this
stage that Indian planners pushed through an excellent strategy that was
ably executed by well-trained and highly motivated officers, and by the
troops they led into battle. The rest is history.
 The Hunt for the Vikrant

‘He, who has command of the sea, has command over everything.’

—Themistocles

Karachi, 8 November 1971

Commander Zafar Mohammad Khan, Captain of PNS Ghazi, had just teed
off at the Karachi Golf Club* with his foursome when he received a
message that he was wanted immediately at Naval Headquarters. Zafar was
vexed and wondered what could be so urgent to interrupt his game of golf
so early on a Sunday morning!
The Karachi Golf Club was located on Drigh Road, and the headquarters
of the Pakistan Navy was located at Liaquat Barracks,† sector E-8, Karachi.
It being a Sunday, there would be less traffic on the roads; however, it
would still take him twenty minutes to reach the Naval Headquarters. Zafar
hurried to the car park, and his driver came running when he saw Zafar
approaching. Zafar jumped through the door that the driver held open for
him and said, ‘Naval Headquarters.’ The driver, sensing the urgency,
stepped on the accelerator and sped off. A warrant officer who was waiting
for him at Reception took Zafar to the office of the Director Naval Warfare
and Operation Plans.
 US Navy submarine USS Diablo moving towards Karachi
for induction into the Pakistan Navy as PNS Ghazi.

The Director Naval Warfare and Operation Plans, Captain Bhombal, who
was a few years senior to Zafar, was on the telephone talking to someone
from the Submarine Directorate, but the conversation did not seem to
involve anything operational. A cup of coffee lay untouched on his desk
along with the Karachi Times open at the sports page. The situation seemed
relaxed and peaceful. Zafar wondered what was the great immediacy that
had made Bhombal interrupt his game of golf.
Bhombal smiled, waved Zafar to the chair in front of his desk and when
he had finished his telephonic conversation said, ‘I heard that you were on
the golf course, Zafar. Sorry for interrupting your game, but this is urgent
and important. However, first have a cup of coffee and then listen to what is
in store for you.’
Over coffee, Bhombal informed Zafar that a war against India was likely
to take place very soon and he would be playing a very important part in it.
He paused for a while, let his words sink in and said, ‘The Naval Chief has
tasked you to destroy INS Vikrant, the flagship of the Indian Navy’.
Having made this dramatic pronouncement, Captain Bhombal walked
over to a metal cupboard marked with a white diagonal cross, which
indicated that it contained secret documents. He took out a folder and
handed it to Zafar, saying, ‘All that you need to know about the Vikrant is in
this folder.’
The folder had photographs and all the relevant details of the Vikrant—its
draught, deadweight, freeboard, displacement, the thickness of its steel
plates, the location of its ammunition magazine and fuel tanks, its length
(192 metres), beam-wise breadth (24.4 metres), the number and type of
aircraft that she carried, details of its engines and boilers, and a mass of
other technical details. He was also informed that the speed of the Vikrant
had been reduced due to a crack in one of its boilers.
The Director informed Zafar that he had received all this information
from the Pakistani Naval Intelligence and that the latest update was that the
Vikrant was in Chennai, and that he needed to study the approaches to, and
details of, Chennai harbour from naval charts available with the
Hydrographic Section. Finally, he was told to immediately recall all
personnel of the Ghazi who were not on board and to be prepared to leave
within the next ten days to carry out his task.
‘Zafar Bhai, it will be a tremendous achievement if Pakistan could
commence the war with the sinking of the Vikrant, and great honour awaits
you on the successful completion of your task. The Chief rang me an hour
ago. He said, “Brief Zafar immediately, because he will need time to
prepare for this most important mission.” That is why I decided to send for
you without delay.’
The Story of the Pakistan Navy, published twenty years later, in 1991,
states:

The Navy ordered the submarines to slip out of the harbour quietly on various dates
between 14 and 24 November. They were allocated patrol areas covering the west coast
of India, while the Ghazi was dispatched to the Bay of Bengal with the primary objective
of locating the Indian aircraft carrier, the INS Vikrant, which was reported to be operating
in the area.

The book goes on to say:

The strategic soundness of the decision has never been questioned. The Ghazi was the
only ship which had the range and capability to undertake operations in the distant waters
under control by the enemy. The presence of a lucrative target in the shape of the aircraft
 carrier Vikrant, the pride of the Indian fleet was known. The plan had all the ingredients
of daring and surprise, which are essential for success in a situation tilted heavily in
favour of the enemy. Indeed, had the Ghazi been able to sink or even damage the aircraft
carrier, the shock effect alone would have been sufficient to upset Indian naval plans. The
naval situation in the Bay of Bengal would have undergone a drastic transformation and
carrier-supported military operations in the coastal areas would have been affected. So
tempting were the prospects of a possible success, that the mission was approved despite
several factors that militated against it.

The other submarines mentioned in the book were the Daphne-class

submarines that were given other tasks on the western seaboard.
Orders recalling all personnel of the Ghazi on leave were immediately
sent out and Zafar commenced making his plans for the destruction of the
Vikrant. A day later, on 9 November 1971, he called his team of officers to
the war room of the Ghazi and briefed them on their task and his tentative
plan, explaining what he wanted done. He gave them three hours to provide
the details he wanted, so that he could make his plan with specifics. He also
gave directions for the Ghazi to be refuelled and resupplied, and for the
checks to be completed for its tasks before it set out on its long journey to
destroy the Vikrant.

Bombay, June 1970 to November 1971

A year prior to the conversation between Commander Zafar and Captain

Bhombal of the Pakistan Navy, Captain Swaraj Prakash—Captain of the
Vikrant—was looking at the report given to him by his Chief Engineer. The
report stated that cracks and leaks had occurred on the water drum of the
A1 boiler of the Vikrant and that long-term repairs were not feasible
indigenously.
The report put him in a dark and sombre mood. The Vikrant was once
again in trouble. Earlier, during the Indo–Pak war of 1965, the Vikrant had
been unfit for war because of mechanical problems. This time, due to a
crack in a boiler, the Vikrant would now be able to work up a speed of just
twelve knots, making it difficult for her aircraft to take off. Carriers need a
minimum speed of 20–25 knots into the wind to allow them to put their
aircraft in the air.
HMS Hercules, a light-attack fleet carrier, was purchased by the
Government of India from Britain in 1957. She was built in 1943 but could
not take part in World War II, because by the time she became fit for duty
World War II had ended. HMS Hercules had to be overhauled and
refurbished, became part of the Indian Navy in 1961 and was renamed INS
Vikrant. Her new name meant victory and unassailability.
It didn’t seem like the Vikrant was living up to its name. Her slow speed
would also make her a vulnerable target of Pakistani submarines. Unless a
solution to the problem of the errant boiler could be found, it looked as if
the Vikrant would once again be left out of battle in any future war, and that
was not a pleasant thought.
By June 1971, the possibility of a war with Pakistan had arisen.
Concerned about the need for air cover for offensive operations at sea, the
Indian Navy tried to work out how the Vikrant could best be utilized.
Pakistan’s Daphne-class submarines, procured from France, were far
superior to the two Indian submarines of the Western Fleet—INS Karanj
and INS Kursura—and the Vikrant in its present state would be an ideal
target if she sailed in the Arabian Sea. Considering this fact, Naval
Headquarters recommended that it would make more sense for the Vikrant
to be moved to the eastern seaboard, where she would be away from the
threat of the Daphne-class submarines, which did not have the necessary
endurance to function that far from their base at Karachi. If, by that time,
the boiler could be repaired, then the Vikrant could use its aircraft to
conduct operations against the ports of Chittagong and Khulna off East
Pakistan.
Sea trials were conducted for the Vikrant to see how much speed could be
worked up using the other three boilers, and a speed of sixteen knots was
achieved without putting too much pressure on the boilers. The Chief
Engineer felt that a higher speed could be achieved for short periods with
some modifications to the catapult system to launch naval aircraft into the
air.
 In November 1971, events now took place which revealed Pakistan’s
attempts to locate the Vikrant. Pakistani spies holed up in a hotel in Bombay
that could oversee the docks continued to report to their handlers in
Pakistan that the Vikrant was in Bombay. On 13 November, however, they
were unable to locate the Vikrant. The Vikrant had disappeared!
Pakistan’s Naval Intelligence started getting its act together. Some time
later, it was reported that an assistant naval attaché of a Western country
that was supporting Pakistan latched himself to the Aide-De-Camp (ADC)
of the Flag Officer Commander-in-Chief of the Western Fleet at a
diplomatic function in Bombay. This officer was particularly curious to
know about the location of the Vikrant, and the matter was immediately
reported to Indian Naval Intelligence.
One way or another, inimical agents finally found out and reported that
the Vikrant was in Chennai.
Was it also a coincidence that an aircraft of the same Western country
that was supporting Pakistan was sent to Chennai, where it inexplicably
developed mechanical problems that necessitated test flights in and around
Chennai harbour? And were these flights carried out to confirm that the
Vikrant was indeed at Chennai?

Calcutta, 3 October 1971

Major General Jack Jacob, Chief of Staff of Headquarter Eastern

Command, popularly known as Jakes, looked up at the huge map that had
been tacked to the wall of his bedroom. The map* extended from the high
ceiling of the bedroom of his old-world bungalow at Calcutta right down to
the floor. It was a map of East Pakistan and the bordering Indian states. On
it was marked, all in red, the dispositions of the Pakistani forces. In the
Indian Army, enemy forces are always marked in red on maps and on sand
models, and own forces are marked in blue, in order to distinguish one from
the other. The deployment of Indian forces, however, was not marked on
this map, because although General Jacob’s home was reasonably secure, it
was safer that this information remained unmarked. (The deployment of
Indian forces was subsequently marked on the map for purposes of archival
record.)
But detailed information of both sides was marked in detail on maps
pinned to the sliding boards of the Operations Room of Headquarters
Eastern Command, Calcutta, and was updated every day by duty officers
who plotted the latest positions of the opposing forces on the relevant maps.
These maps were covered with transparent talc paper so that the movement
of units and formations and their latest positions could be marked, using
chinagraph pencils, in red and blue arrows indicating current movement of
opposing forces along with dates. The locations of Pakistani and Indian
units were also marked with red and blue pins. To ensure security of
information, the Ops Room was not accessible to anyone without the
permission of General Jacob.

Sketch of the Vikrant.

Placed in front of the map at his home was an easy chair and beside it
were two small tables, one on either side of the chair. On one was placed
dossiers on certain senior officers of the Pakistani armed forces. These
dossiers contained the detailed information of the Pakistani Generals in East
Pakistan and also of some senior commanders of the Pakistan Navy and Air
Force. On the other side was a table that had a decanter of Napoleon
cognac, a brandy goblet, his favourite pipe and a pouch of Balkan Sobranie
tobacco.
General Jacob had been tasked to work out a plan for an offensive into
East Pakistan. He was on a very good equation with General ‘Inder’ Gill,
Director of Operations at MO (Military Operations) Directorate, Army
Headquarters, New Delhi, and the two of them knew exactly what had to be
done should Pakistan launch its offensive against India, as it had threatened
to do.
It was early October 1971, and his task of formulating an offensive plan
included the tying up of myriad issues, like updating the details of the
riverine terrain of East Pakistan; studying the after-effects of the monsoon
on the ground; liaising with the navy and air force, and also with the Mukti
Bahini headquarters-in-exile located in Calcutta; working on the movement
of engineer stores; creating ammunition dumps; creating space in military
and civil hospitals in anticipation of heavy casualties; deciding where
workshop facilities should be positioned; liaising with civil aviation for
possible contingencies; moving forward the supplies of ammunition, food
and other necessities that would be required in the event of a war. All these
activities had kept him extremely busy.
He would return home late in the evening and after a light dinner, sit in
his bedroom and look at this huge map. A glass of cognac helped him
unwind after a strenuous day, and the smoke from his favourite pipe
stimulated his senses. The dossiers on his opponents gave him an insight
into their minds; their qualifications in terms of military courses and past
postings helped him to understand their background. He worked out in his
mind what each enemy commander would do in situations that he himself
would create. Topmost of the dossiers was the one on Lieutenant General
A.A.K. Niazi, General Officer Commanding-in-Chief of all forces in East
Pakistan. There were also dossiers on General Yahya Khan, the Army Chief
of Pakistan; Vice Admiral Muzaffar Hassan, the Pakistani Naval Chief;
Major General Rao Farman Ali, Military Adviser to the Governor of East
Pakistan; Lieutenant General Tika Khan, Martial Law Administrator East
Pakistan; Rear Admiral Mohammad Sharif, the Pakistani Flag Officer
Commanding-in-Chief (FOC-in-C), East Pakistan, and some others.
A few months earlier, Pakistan had cobbled up an alliance with the
United States of America and China, and the balance of power in the
subcontinent had shifted clearly towards Pakistan. In order to checkmate
this malevolent triumvirate, the Indian Prime Minister entered into a Treaty
of Friendship with Russia, an alliance that stood India in good stead before
and during the war. Richard Nixon, for some reason, had a pathological
hatred for India and Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. Perhaps it was because
the Indian Prime Minister refused to toe the American line. Nixon used to
refer to the Indian Prime Minister as ‘that woman’ and other epithets that
are not worth repeating. Nixon and his Secretary of State, Henry Kissinger,
were up to all types of stratagems to help Pakistan in its conflict with India.
Developments on this front also had to be taken cognizance of and
monitored.
By early October 1971, Indian intelligence was piecing together
information concerning Pakistani plans for a war that appeared imminent. It
was already known that Pakistan’s state-of-the-art Daphne-class submarines
were, at that time, the best in the world. What was not known was how and
when she intended to use these deadly underwater weapons of war.
Due to the advantage that the Pakistan Navy had in its underwater
capability, it became increasingly important for India to know the plans of
the Pakistan Navy, in particular as to how it would deploy its submarines.

Eastern Command, 3 October to 26 November 1971

Headquarters Eastern Command (India) had in the meantime set up a series

of wireless interception stations to lock on to radio transmissions between
Karachi, Lahore, Rawalpindi and Dhaka. General Jacob believed that
‘being warned was being forearmed’. These wireless intercepting stations
had been set up in September 1971.
All intercepted transmissions were encrypted in high-level codes, and all
that the Indians had was a mass of encrypted data on the spools of their
Grundig tape recorders. The encrypted information made no sense
whatsoever. It was now early November, and General Jacob was
desperately looking for something meaningful to link the stray bits of
information that would help him to connect the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle
and understand what the Pakistanis were up to.
 On 8 November, Major Dharam Dev Datt, the officer commanding one
of the intercepting wireless stations, was the image of concentration as he
slowly turned the knobs of the Racal RA 150 radio receiver in an attempt to
latch on to the messages between Karachi and Dhaka. A sudden increase in
the number of messages on that day meant that there was something big in
the offing, and it was crucial that India got to know what the Pakistanis
were up to as early as possible. General Yahya Khan had been making
statements like, ‘I am going to teach India a lesson that she will never
forget’ and ‘In a few days I shall be away fighting a war’. War with
Pakistan therefore seemed a certainty, and it was necessary that India got to
know when and where Pakistan would launch her offensives on land and
sea, and from the air.
So far, nothing was known—just a mass of hieroglyphics that made no
sense and small snatches of conversation that had no meaning.
On 9 November, however, an interesting development was about to take
place.
Dharma’s intuition told him that something important was on the horizon,
and although twelve hours had passed, he had not gone home. Better known
as 3D, he had been continuously on the radio receiver looking for the
elusive breakthrough. (Dharam was called 3D because his name in official
records was Dharam Dev Datt—a long name which was reduced to ‘3D’ by
a senior cadet at the National Defence Academy, and the name had stuck.)
Sangeeta, his wife, had sent a towel and a change of clothes, and he had a
cold bath in the toilet of his office. He was, however, once again perspiring,
and this was due more to the tension rather than the weather.
Dharam was a ‘go-getter’. He had lost a leg in counterterrorist
operations, but that had made him even more determined to prove that he
was as competent as non-disabled officers. Given a task, he would not rest
till he had completed it successfully.
One more day and a night had passed with no breakthrough.
3D had by now been continuously on his radio set for the last thirty-six
hours, with short breaks in between, and he was beginning to tire. Whatever
messages he was intercepting, were being recorded and copied and sent
across to the cryptographers. It was important that all messages were
recorded and stored. The unravelling of the content of these messages
would take place later. He had some of the best cryptographers in the
service.
The discs of the tape recorder rotated and stopped intermittently in
accordance with the length of the messages that were flying through space
across the Indian landmass that separated West and East Pakistan, but the
content of the messages was still a mystery.
The tape recorders were linked with an IBM mainframe computer, and
the cryptographers in the adjacent room were hard at it, trying to break the
codes of the cryptograms routed to them by 3D. His team had been working
in shifts and there were some small successes, but the key to the code had
continued to elude them.
Suddenly, on the evening of 10 November, the Pakistan Naval code was
broken and everything fell into place. All the messages of the past few
weeks would be decoded, scrutinized and passed on to the relevant
departments of the army, navy and air force.
3D immediately rang up Major General Jacob. He had direct access to
the General with orders to speak to him at any time if anything important
came up. 3D gave General Jacob the code word that signified that the
Pakistan Naval code had been broken.
The general was quietly elated. His intuition and anticipation had begun
to pay off. He knew that with the breaking of the Pakistan Naval Code, he
now had the upper hand to plan his strokes and counterstrokes.
‘Good show, Dharam,’ he said. ‘Just make sure that no one comes to
know about this. No one means no one! Neither the Pakis nor us! If this
becomes known in the wrong quarters, then all our work would be in vain!’
‘Yes, sir!’ said Dharam and quickly passed orders forbidding anyone
from babbling that the Pakistan Naval code had been broken.
The breaking of the Pakistan Naval code revealed that Pakistan was
moving inexorably towards war. It was clear from the decoded messages
that the primary objective of the Pakistan Navy was to destroy INS Vikrant,
India’s aircraft carrier and the prized warship of the Indian Navy. Pakistan’s
secondary objective was to use its state-of-the-art Daphne-class submarines
—the Hangor, Sushuk and the Mangro—to destroy the warships of India’s
Western Fleet, in Bombay harbour.
Now that it was clear that the core of Pakistan’s strategy was centred on
the destruction of the Vikrant and the ships of the Western Fleet in Bombay
harbour, it became imperative for the Indian Navy to evolve ways and
means to checkmate Pakistani designs on the chessboard of the Arabian Sea
and the Bay of Bengal. All relevant information was passed on to the
relevant branches of the Army and Naval Headquarters on a minute-to-
minute basis.
The decoded Pakistani messages conveyed the Pakistan Navy’s
assessment that the Vikrant was an ideal and primary target—all the more
because their intelligence had found out that the carrier had a crack on one
of its boilers that would slow down its speed considerably. It’s sinking
would be a great moral boost for Pakistan and a demoralizing blow to India.
Pakistan’s PNS Ghazi was the ideal weapon platform to destroy the Vikrant,
irrespective of whether she was operating in the Arabian Sea or the Bay of
Bengal, because the endurance capacity of the Ghazi permitted her to
operate for long distances without refuelling.
This Tench-class submarine had been transferred by the Government of
the United States of America to her protégé Pakistan in 1963, as part of its
continuing military aid programme. Its original American name was USS
Diablo. ‘Diablo’, a Spanish word, means the devil—a name that was by
itself significant!
In 1967, the lease by the United States on the Ghazi had expired. This
was renewed, but the state of the Ghazi had deteriorated, and she was due
for a refit. This was done in Turkey in 1968, but by November 1971 she
was again due for a refit, which could not be done due to the imminence of
Pakistan’s operational plans to wage war against India.
The decoded messages mentioned that it was of importance to the
Pakistan Navy to track the moves of the Vikrant, so that she could be
stalked and destroyed. The messages also revealed that the Chief of the
Pakistan Navy was personally monitoring the progress of the mission given
to the Ghazi, as he desired that the opening blow of the war against India be
delivered by the Pakistan Navy.
All relevant information was further conveyed by Military Operations at
Army Headquarters to those concerned—in this case, to the Indian Navy’s
‘Ops and Plans’, and the Indian Naval and Air Force Chiefs.

At Sea: Western and Eastern Seaboards, November 1971

The Ghazi moved out of Karachi harbour on 14 November for its task to
destroy the Vikrant at Chennai harbour. Details of the harbour had been
carefully studied as well as photographs taken from the air of the Vikrant in
Chennai harbour by the aircraft of the Western country working on behalf
of Pakistan. The Ghazi made a direct run to Sri Lanka, stopping at
Trincomalee on 18 November to refuel and clean up. It was while she was
preparing to head for Chennai from Trincomalee, on 20 November, that
Commander Zafar Khan received a message from Karachi: the aircraft that
had earlier spotted the Vikrant at Chennai had, on its last flight around the
harbour, discovered that the Vikrant was no longer in Chennai and that its
present location was not known.
Alarm bells started ringing! Where was the Vikrant? She had disappeared
without a trace! Commander Zafar felt cheated. He was all set to sink the
Vikrant in Chennai harbour and his prized target had suddenly disappeared!
A flurry of messages between Commander Zafar Khan and the Naval
Headquarters in Karachi was intercepted. After forty-eight hours of
uncertainty, Zafar asked the Naval Headquarters at Karachi as to his next
task, now that the Vikrant had disappeared.
Karachi sent messages to Rear Admiral Mohammad Sharif, Pakistan’s
Eastern Fleet commander in Dhaka, asking them if they had any
information about the Vikrant—whether she was in the Bay of Bengal or
had moved back to the Arabian Sea. A naval maritime reconnaissance
aircraft was sent by the Pakistan Navy to scour the area under its control,
but the Vikrant had indeed disappeared into thin air!
 These intercepted messages were duly deciphered and sent in code to
Naval Headquarters, New Delhi, and the Western Naval Headquarters,
Bombay. If Bombay and Delhi knew where the Vikrant was, they were
keeping quiet. However, 3D, who was intercepting these messages, was
perplexed. Where was the Vikrant?
On 23 November 1971, the problem of the location of INS Vikrant was
resolved as suddenly as it had occurred.
If India was intercepting Pakistani signal traffic, Pakistan was also
monitoring the air waves and intercepting Indian messages, and
Commander Zafar Khan was informed by Pakistan’s Naval Intelligence that
the Vikrant was in Visakhapatnam! They had intercepted and deciphered
messages from the Vikrant requesting for aircraft fuel, victuals* for its crew
of over a thousand officers and sailors, and fuel for the Vikrant itself. They
obtained a fix from these messages which revealed that the Vikrant was in
Visakhapatnam and that it was waiting to be refuelled and resupplied.
Captain Zafar Khan realized that he had to move fast. He also wanted to
know to which port the Vikrant would be heading towards. This information
was needed in the event that the Vikrant moved out before he could get the
Ghazi there. The Pakistan Navy, however, did not know, because the
intercepted messages did not indicate where the Vikrant would go next. But
it was likely that she would head out to sea only after being refuelled and
resupplied, and the intercepted messages indicated that this would take a
few days.
The Pakistan Naval Headquarters as well as the Captain of the Ghazi,
both realized that the best opportunity to destroy the Vikrant was to attack
her while she was still in Visakhapatnam. As and when the Vikrant left
Visakhapatnam harbour, she would be escorted by destroyers,
minesweepers and frigates, and then it would be more difficult to attack,
sink her and get away. Sinking the Vikrant within the Visakhapatnam
harbour also posed fewer risks.
3D was very upset. It appeared to him that if the Pakistan Navy had given
away its intentions through its messages, the Indian Navy was no better! He
reported his observations to Army Signal Intelligence with an advisory that
the location of the Vikrant had been compromised and remedial action
needed to be taken, because the Ghazi was in Trincomalee, refuelled and
ready to take off to destroy the Vikrant in Visakhapatnam harbour. 3D,
however, got no reply from Naval Headquarters to address his concerns. He
wondered why?
Meanwhile, Pakistan’s Naval Headquarters in Karachi sent out a clutch
of signals directing the Captain of the Ghazi to sink the Vikrant at
Visakhapatnam harbour, before she put out to sea. War was soon to be
declared, and the Pakistan Navy, as mentioned before, wanted the
destruction of the Vikrant to be the opening blow of the war with India.

Visakhapatnam, 1–3 December 1971

The Ghazi, already resupplied and refuelled, moved out of Trincomalee

harbour on the evening of 23 November 1971.*
Commander Zafar examined his options. Firstly, he could lay mines in
the navigation channel of Visakhapatnam harbour and hope that the Vikrant
would pass over these mines, detonate them and be destroyed. However, it
was a moot point as to whether the mines would destroy the Vikrant. And
what if the mines did not detonate?
The second option would be to lie in wait for the Vikrant to move out of
the harbour and to torpedo her as she came out. However, it was not known
as to when the Vikrant would sail out of the harbour, and therefore there
was no guarantee that the sinking of the Vikrant would follow close on the
heels of the declaration of war. Also, she would be closely protected by
Indian naval destroyers and frigates.
The third option was for the Ghazi to enter Visakhapatnam harbour, and
to target and destroy the Vikrant with her torpedoes at the outset of the war.
This appeared to be the best option. The only problem was how long could
the Ghazi remain undiscovered in a harbour where a lot of activity took
place every day. Also, the depth of the navigational channel did not allow
her to go closer than 2.1 nautical miles from the south breakwater of the
harbour. She could not go further into the harbour because the minimum
submergible depth for a submarine was fifteen metres, and the margin was
too small for a big submarine like the Ghazi. So Commander Zafar decided
to let the Ghazi stay where she was and to destroy the Vikrant from her
present position.
All the issues that factored into making the right decision had devolved
on to the shoulders of the Captain of the Ghazi—i.e., the timing of the
attack, the method to be used and the location from where she would
destroy the Vikrant.
Commander Zafar Khan decided to exercise the third option. He called
his officers to work out the details of the plan that he had envisaged. The
meeting was held in the wardroom, and it was a tight fit. The assembled
officers included only those who would be required to carry out the task.
The radar officer confirmed that the large blip on the radar was the Vikrant;
the torpedo and gunnery officer confirmed that all drills had been rehearsed,
the torpedoes were ready for firing and all that he needed was the orders to
fire; but the medical officer declared that obnoxious fumes had polluted the
air in the submarine to dangerous levels, posing a threat not only to the
health of the crew but also to the submarine. The hydrogen content was far
above accepted levels due to the batteries being old and decrepit. He
recommended that the Ghazi surface at night to take in fresh air. This would
also be an opportunity to charge the batteries.
Commander Khan was in a quandary. He realized that it was essential for
the Ghazi to surface not only for the health of his crew but also for the
health of the submarine. If the hydrogen content of the submarine reached
levels above the laid-down safety level, then there was imminent danger of
the Ghazi self-destructing.
It was now the morning of 3 December 1971. The Pakistani advisories to
mercantile shipping and civil air traffic, which had been made two days
earlier, made it clear that Pakistan was on the cusp of going to war and that
evening, at 5.45 p.m., the Pakistan Air Force would attack Indian airfields.
The moment to sink the Vikrant had therefore arrived, but Zafar did not
know this!
 Otherwise, all was quiet. The Indian Army was training and getting ready
for future operations. Admiral Nanda, the Indian Naval Chief, aware of the
plans of the Pakistan Navy, had been to Bombay to give orders to FOC-in-C
West to move the Western Fleet out of Bombay harbour. Prime Minister
Indira Gandhi was in Calcutta attending a political meeting. The Defence
Minister, Babu Jagjivan Ram, was also away from the capital.
Meanwhile, Zafar realized that notwithstanding the issue of the polluted
air within the Ghazi, there was no question of the Ghazi surfacing in broad
daylight. Visibility at sea extended over many miles, and the Ghazi was a
big submarine and therefore could be easily spotted even from the shore.
The earliest that the Ghazi could surface was after dark, when hopefully
there would be no fishermen around. He decided to wait until dark.
At 1700 hours, the executive officer and the medical officer reported to
Captain Zafar that the air within the submarine in the engine room had got
really bad and had crossed danger level, and that one of the sailors had been
knocked unconscious. He suggested that the Ghazi surface as early as
possible and to not wait till darkness set in. Zafar thought about it and
decided that he would surface around dusk. In fading light there would be
fewer chances of the Ghazi being spotted. In the meanwhile, tensions within
the crew of the Ghazi were on the rise. The air was getting fetid. Many were
coughing, and their eyes were getting affected. At around 1800 hours,
Captain Zafar Khan gave orders for the Ghazi to surface to periscope* level
and decided to survey the area around before contemplating any further
action.
The Ghazi was brought up from the deep to twenty-seven feet below the
surface of the sea for an assessment of the scene. Zafar had planned to
charge the batteries and bring in fresh air nine metres below the surface,
with the snorkel pipe raised to suck in air to run the diesel engines, charge
the batteries and rejuvenate the air inside the boat.
Orders were given by the Officer of the Watch for water to be pumped
out of the ballast tanks. As the water got pumped out, the boat† would
become lighter and would gradually make its way to the surface. The tanks
on both sides of the Ghazi—port and starboard—had to empty
simultaneously so that the Ghazi could surface on an even keel. The Ghazi
was fifteen fathoms‡ beneath the sea, and the Officer of the Watch was
giving the countdown as the Ghazi gradually moved to the surface: ‘Fifteen
fathoms, fourteen fathoms, thirteen fathoms, twelve fathoms, eleven
fathoms!’ The Officer of the Watch stopped when the periscope broke
through the surface of the sea nine metres below the surface, at 1.5 fathoms.
Zafar was looking through the eyepiece of the periscope—what he saw
gave him a start!
Hardly a kilometre away was a large Indian naval patrol vessel heading
in their direction. The V-shaped white plume from the bows of the craft
spreading high on both sides indicated that she was moving fast. There was
no time to lose. He immediately gave orders for the Ghazi to dive.
‘Dive the boat!’ Zafar shouted to the Officer of the Watch, and the latter
immediately repeated the order. The Ghazi closed up at ‘Action Stations’*
in less than a minute.
The Control Room watchkeeper shouted over the PA system, ‘Dive!
Dive! Dive!’ The pumps of the ballast tanks began to take in water urgently,
and the boat began to descend. The klaxon sounded the alarm to inform all
that there was an emergency situation on hand. All ballast tanks got flooded
in less than thirty seconds, and the Ghazi went down underwater within one
minute and thirty seconds from Zafar’s order to dive the boat.
The Ghazi descended slowly—too slowly for Commander Khan, but she
managed to get below just in the nick of time. Minutes later, the patrol
vessel passed over the Ghazi, and the wash† from its passage rocked the
Ghazi, indicating that it was a biggish vessel and that it was moving at a
very fast speed. Zafar had heard that the Indian Navy had gone in for
missile boats from Russia, which were designed for the defence of ports,
and also Petya boats, which were patrol boats but much larger. It could have
been either of those.
Captain Khan wondered whether anyone on the patrol vessel had seen the
periscope. If yes, there would be more passes by the same vessel or by
others. Either way, it was too risky to surface just yet. The Ghazi went
down to fifteen fathoms and waited in a state of suspended animation.
 Captain Khan decided to ‘lie doggo’* for some more time. The medical
officer, however, came once again to say that the situation was very bad and
that it was imperative that the boat surface as early as possible. Zafar
informed him of the danger of being discovered and destroyed, and said that
the earliest it would be safe to surface would be around midnight.
They would get approximately four hours to charge the batteries, have
the air pumped out of the submarine and fresh air inducted. They would
have to finish all their tasks by four in the morning—as that was the time
when fishermen put out to sea—and would have to dive down before that.
And so, it was decided that the Ghazi would surface around the midnight
of 3–4 December 1971 and, having carried out its maintenance tasks, go
down once again at 0400 hours on 4 December to position itself to destroy
the Vikrant. Zafar then instructed his officers to tell the crew to write letters
to their families and said that the letters would be posted from the Fleet
Mail Office at Trincomalee on the way back home.
Unbeknown to Zafar, at 1745 hours on 3 December 1971, the Pakistan
Air Force attacked Indian airfields in Ambala, Uttarlai, Jodhpur, Pathankot,
Srinagar and Avantipur, and so India and Pakistan were already at war!
Zafar was already late!
Vice Admiral Muzzaffar Hassan, the Pakistani Naval Chief, was pacing
up and down in his office in Karachi, waiting for news from Zafar that he
had destroyed the Vikrant, but there was no communication from the Ghazi
on the success of its task—only silence! The moment for the Ghazi to
destroy the Vikrant had arrived, and he had no news whatsoever from
the Ghazi.

Calcutta–Lucknow–Delhi, 3 December 1971

Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, the Defence Minister, Jagjivan Ram, and the
External Affairs Minister, Swaran Singh, were away from Delhi when
Pakistan struck the first blow of the 1971 Indo–Pak war. The timing of the
air attacks was such that it appeared that Pakistan knew that Indian political
leadership would be away from the capital on 3 December and that this was
the right time to strike.
Mrs Gandhi was in Calcutta on 3 December, and she finished her
engagements late in the evening. The attack by Pakistan on Indian airfields
took place at 5.45 p.m. and the PM’s aircraft had got airborne for Delhi at
around 6.30 p.m. Her aircraft was an Indian Air force VIP Squadron
transport aircraft, a TU-124, and it was in grave danger of being shot down
by Pakistani Sabre jets. Air Headquarters got in touch with the pilot of the
PM’s aircraft, briefed him about what had happened and directed the pilot
to divert the aircraft to Lucknow, as the Pakistani air strikes were still on
and a large lumbering transport aircraft of the VIP Squadron would be an
attractive target for a Pakistani fighter jet. The Prime Minister’s party
included D.P. Dhar, Secretary to the Prime Minister’s Office and adviser to
the Prime Minister for Bangladesh; J.N. Dixit, Director, Special Division,
East Pakistan; and Peter Sinai, officer from the Ministry of External Affairs,
Government of India.
What happened on the aircraft and thereafter is best described by J.N.
Dixit in his book Liberation and Beyond. He says:
As the plane reached the airspace a little east of Lucknow, the pilot of the plane came up
to DP Dhar and asked him to come to the cockpit and speak on the communication
system as there was an urgent message from Delhi. Mr. Dhar spent about 3 to 4 minutes
in the cockpit, came out and spoke to Mrs. Gandhi, walked back to his seat and turned to
us who were sitting behind him and said: ‘The fool has done exactly what one had
expected.’ He went on to inform us that General Yahya Khan had carried out pre-emptive
air strikes on Indian airbases in north western India, in Jammu, Punjab and in Rajasthan.
He added that General Yahya Khan had also launched ground attacks against Indian
territory. General Manekshaw, the Chief of the Army Staff, had already commenced
retaliatory action. Most of northern and north central India was under a black out in
anticipation of Pakistani air strikes.

Mrs Gandhi’s plane instead of flying to Delhi was diverted to Lucknow

airport. Mrs Gandhi remained at the airport for nearly two hours and took
off around 10 p.m., landing at Palam around 10.45 p.m. Defence Minister
Jagjivan Ram was at the airport to receive Mrs Gandhi. The Prime Minister
and her officials were driven directly to South Block. Mrs Gandhi, Jagjivan
Ram, Swaran Singh and senior officials went straight into the Ops Room.
General Manekshaw proceeded to brief Mrs Gandhi and her cabinet
colleagues about the counter-offensive which India had launched in the
western sector. He also asked Mrs Gandhi’s permission to commence
operations in the eastern sector which was immediately given. Mrs Gandhi
proceeded to the Cabinet Room in the western wing of South Block to
preside over an emergency meeting which she had summoned while flying
into Delhi.
When Mrs Gandhi walked into the Operations Room of Army
Headquarters, she expected feverish activity and some amount of tension
but found total calm and no flurry of activity of any sort. The Army Chief,
General Sam Manekshaw, was relaxed and awaiting the arrival of his Prime
Minister. ‘What’s happening Sam?’ she asked. ‘Aren’t we at war?’ The
Chief replied, ‘Yes, Madam Prime Minister, we are at war—at last! The
army is already on the move and by early morning tomorrow, the army will
be hitting its objectives. This is the moment we have been waiting for and
you will not find us wanting.’
The Army Chief thereafter proceeded to brief the Prime Minister about
the ongoing operations and the moves that had already commenced. He
informed her that the Indian Navy was also on the move and that the Indian
Air Force would commence attacking their targets at daybreak.
The Prime Minister was impressed not only at the preparedness of the
Armed Forces but also at the calm efficiency with which they worked. She
felt assured that the conduct of the war was in safe and capable hands.
The Prime Minister left the Ops Room and went to the Cabinet which
was waiting for her. She met her ministers and briefed them about the
urgency of the situation and the ongoing war. Shortly before midnight, she
addressed the nation and informed its citizens about Pakistan’s attack on
Indian airfields that evening, and that India was consequently at war with
Pakistan. While the Prime Minister was in the middle of her address, there
was a tremendous explosion in the waters of Visakhapatnam harbour. The
explosion shattered the windowpanes of the houses that faced the harbour
and passers-by witnessed a huge plume of water that reached high into the
sky.

Visakhapatnam, 3–4 December 1971

In Visakhapatnam, there was general perplexity at the huge explosion that

had taken place. However, it was not the Vikrant that had been blown up.
Something else had happened! Some thought that they were being bombed
by the Pakistan Air Force! No one knew what had happened, and how and
why the explosion had taken place.
On the afternoon of 4 December, some fishermen brought objects from
the sea that happened to be the debris of the Ghazi, which had surfaced
from the bottom of the sea. Putting two and two together, the Commander
of the naval station of Visakhapatnam came to the conclusion that the Ghazi
had come into the harbour of Visakhapatnam and had self-destructed.
The twist in this story is that the Vikrant was never in Visakhapatnam.
She was in fact somewhere else! INS Rajput, an obsolete destroyer about to
be decommissioned, was performing the role of a decoy ship, simulating
signal traffic for rations, fuel for the aircraft aboard the Vikrant and fuel for
the Vikrant itself, conveying to ‘all who were listening’ that the Vikrant was
in Visakhapatnam harbour, whereas she was in a secure harbour in the
Andaman and Nicobar Islands! These messages were in low-grade cipher,
allowing the Pakistanis to break the code and be deceived as to the actual
situation.
The engineers on the Vikrant, meanwhile, managed to do a great job in
getting the recalcitrant boiler into reasonable shape, allowing the Vikrant to
work up a reasonable speed that allowed its aircraft to take off from its deck
to support operations against the ports of Khulna and Chittagong. And so,
the Vikrant redeemed itself in carrying out its legitimate role in giving air
cover for naval and ground operations in the eastern theatre.
The Ghazi lies today in her watery grave, at the bottom of
Visakhapatnam harbour. Indian naval divers, who went down to the wreck
the day after the sinking, confirmed that it was in fact the Ghazi that lay at
the bottom of the sea. They reported that the submarine had been ripped
apart from the conning tower to the snub, indicating that she had self-
destructed due to an internal explosion. The cause was not known, but
indications were that this had happened due primarily to the detonation of
combustible gas, as there had been similar instances with submarines of
other navies worldwide around that time.
If, as it had earlier been reported, the Ghazi had been blown up on its
own mines that it was laying, then the bottom of the submarine would have
been ripped apart, which, according to the divers, was not the case.
The wreck of the Ghazi lies at 17 degrees, 41 minutes, 05.7 seconds
north; and 83 degrees, 21 minutes, 04.7 seconds east; and is 2.1 nautical
miles from the South Breakwater at a depth of 20.4 metres. It could not go
further into the harbour because submarines need a submergible depth of at
least fifteen metres, and the margin was too small for a big submarine like
the Ghazi.
The Americans offered to recover the Ghazi on grounds that it was an
American submarine given to Pakistan on lease and that they therefore had
the right to recover it. India refused permission stating that the Ghazi had
entered Indian territorial waters illegally and was destroyed after Pakistan
had attacked India. The Ghazi’s presence during the war in Visakhapatnam
harbour, India said, was an act of war, which made her a ‘war trophy’ and
therefore the property of the Indian government. So, the permission to
recover her could not be given. The Pakistan Navy offered to recover the
Ghazi on the basis that it was her vessel. This request was turned down for
the same reasons that were given to the Americans.
However, it was the efforts of men like General Jacob and 3D and his
team, who were able to intercept and interpret the aims and intentions of
Pakistan, that enabled the Indian armed forces to take countermeasures to
thwart Pakistan’s plans. The deception measures by the Indian Navy’s
Eastern Command succeeded in convincing the Pakistan Navy that the
Vikrant was in Visakhapatnam harbour when she was elsewhere. The
Pakistan Navy ordered the Ghazi to occupy ‘Zone Victor’ (presumably
Pakistan’s code word for Visakhapatnam). The message recovered from the
Ghazi states: ‘Occupy Zone Victor with all dispatch. Intelligence indicates
carrier in port.’*
Unfortunately for the Ghazi and her crew, the percentage of hydrogen
within the submarine seems to have gone well beyond the danger mark. A
large number of signals sent by the Ghazi, as recovered from her message
logbook, explicitly state that the submarine had a major problem of
hydrogen building up inside.
Most probably, when the build-up of hydrogen exceeded safety limits, an
explosion took place, setting up a sympathetic detonation of whatever
ordnance she was carrying—mines, torpedoes, everything went off together,
blowing the submarine apart. Interestingly, just before the onset of
hostilities between India and Pakistan, a BBC news item mentioned that an
explosion had taken place in a British submarine while it was charging its
batteries in the harbour and that the damage caused the submarine to sink.*
With hindsight, it can be presumed that at around the midnight of 3
December, as the Ghazi attempted to surface, a spark from one of the
batteries ignited the volatile gas within the submarine, and the Ghazi blew
up in a huge explosion. According to witnesses, a massive plume of water
spewed up to a height of nearly a thousand feet and all the glass panes of
buildings on the waterfront shattered.
The people of Visakhapatnam were not asleep. They were, in fact, wide
awake, listening to a broadcast of Mrs Gandhi, who was informing her
people that Pakistan had attacked Indian airfields, that this was an act of
war and that the armed forces would give Pakistan a befitting reply. When
the blast occurred, the citizens of Visakhapatnam thought that they were
being attacked by Pakistan. They were quite close to the truth, but not
entirely.
The plan of the Commander-in-Chief, Pakistan Navy, and Chief of Naval
Staff, Vice Admiral Muzzaffar Hassan, had backfired. Instead of the
Pakistan Navy striking the first blow in Pakistan’s war against India, the
opposite had happened when the Ghazi self-destructed in Visakhapatnam
harbour.
 All this transpired because General Jacob understood that the key to
knowing the strategy and plans of Pakistan was to use his own methods to
find out what Pakistan was up to. His intercepting radio stations and
cryptographers gave him the answers he was looking for. The strategy and
plans of the Pakistan Navy fell into his lap, enabling the Indian Navy to
ensure the security of the Vikrant and the ships of the Western Fleet, as well
as to inform the Indian Army and Air Force about the timing of Pakistan’s
land, sea and air operations. The success of India’s strategy and plans owes
much to the information provided by General Jacob’s teams of interceptors
and cryptographers.
Half a century has passed since the Ghazi went down along with her
complement of officers and men. She lies there alone and abandoned. All
she has today for company are the fish who swim in and out of her shell,
wondering what this was all about, and nobody can tell them what really
happened.

Postscript

Commander (retd) K.P. Mathew, who was instrumental in recovering

equipment and documents from PNS Ghazi, has this to say about the self-
destruction of the submarine:
The sinking of INS Sindhurakshak, that took place in Mumbai harbour on 14 August
2013, has an uncanny resemblance in many respects to the sinking of PNS Ghazi. INS
Sindhurakshak sank, with its eighteen crew members, when a blast ripped through its
torpedo compartment. It has a great deal of similarity to the sinking of the Ghazi. PNS
Ghazi was a US Navy Tench-class diesel electric submarine of World War II vintage—
original name USS Diablo—on lease to the Pakistan Navy since 1963.
The submarine rescue ship INS Nistar recovered equipment from the Ghazi that
included logbooks, charts, message files, spool-type recording tapes, etc. The items of
intelligence value were used to analyse and reconstruct the operational deployment and
activities of PNS Ghazi. It was clear from these recoveries that the primary wartime
mission of the Ghazi was to seek and destroy INS Vikrant, which was operating on the
east coast, and that its destruction was caused by an excessive accumulation of hydrogen
from the lead acid batteries that got ignited.
This story is based on factual information gleaned from The History of the Indian
Navy, 1945 to 1971, by Vice Admiral Hiranandani; Lieutenant General J.F.R. Jacob’s
books Surrender at Dacca and An Odyssey of War and Peace; long discussions with him
at the United Service Institution on the 1971 war; and discussions with naval personnel
involved in the recovery of equipment and documents from PNS Ghazi.
I am aware that two movies have been made on the sinking of the Ghazi. The theory
that the Ghazi was sunk by an Indian Naval ship/submarine has been refuted by the
Indian Navy in the history of the Indian Navy mentioned . . . above and by General Jacob
in his book Surrender at Dacca. I have no comments to offer on either of these movies. It
is up to the reader to decide on the authenticity or otherwise of their stories.

Sketch of the Ghazi at the bottom of the sea at Visakhapatnam.

 The Gates of Rattoke

‘Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. Courage is also what it takes to sit down
and listen.’

—Winston Churchill

The tension in the sand model room at the Division Headquarters was
palpable. The Divisional Commander was perturbed but kept his calm. The
Corps Commander looked grumpy and grim. The Brigade Commander was
uneasy and uncomfortable. The cause of all this discomfort was the
Commanding Officer (CO) of the 1st Battalion, the 5th Gorkha Rifles
(Frontier Force). He had stated that the corps plan for the capture of the
Sejhra Bulge was not workable!
It was towards the end of November 1971; Pakistan had not yet declared
war on India. However, in anticipation of the war, the ‘nuts and bolts’ for
counteroffensive tasks by India in the Western Sector had been finalized a
few weeks earlier. This Gorkha Battalion had to launch its counterattack,
should Pakistan open the war. Intelligence inputs indicated that Pakistan
would soon attack, and here was the Battalion Commander informing his
superiors that the corps plan was not workable!

The overall Indian strategy for the war was a swift offensive in the east, and
an offensive defence in the south, west and north. The east meant East
Pakistan, the west meant the plains of Punjab, the south meant the desert
region of Rajasthan and the north meant Jammu and Kashmir. With the
strategy of limited offensives in the west, south and north, India aimed at
defending our borders and at the same time capturing sufficient Pakistani
territory, so as to be able to be in a position of strength for negotiating the
exchange of ground that normally took place when such wars concluded.

Landscape of Sejhra.

In this instance, the Sejhra Bulge was the focus of attention. This bulge
was like a fist that extended into Indian territory and was the outcome of the
Radcliffe Line, drawn on a map by Sir Cyril Radcliffe in 1946. Radcliffe
was a lawyer by profession, had never been to India and had no idea about
the cultures of, and rivalries between, the two major communities of the
subcontinent. He was tasked by the British government to draw the
boundary line that would delineate the two emerging countries of India and
Pakistan. He did just that with a thick-nibbed pen and returned to Britain
unaware that his line would cause the greatest migration in human history
and that millions of people would be condemned to die due to the line
drawn by his pen that ran roughshod through districts, villages and homes.
The Sejhra Bulge was of great advantage to Pakistan as it facilitated
ingress into Indian territory. During the Indo–Pak war of 1965, Pakistan
used the Sejhra Bulge to launch its offensive on Khemkaran, and Pakistani
civilians from Sejhra, backed by Pakistani Rangers, transgressed across the
boundaries of the Bulge and raided and looted Indian villages. The Indian
Army had decided that if war did break out this time, there would be no
repetition of what happened in this area in 1965.
 The 1st Battalion, the 5th Gorkha Rifles was commanded by Lieutenant
Colonel Suresh Gupta. He had taken command of the battalion while it was
in Naga Hills. After its field tenure, the battalion was posted to Ferozepur,
and a few months later, the families joined the battalion. The CO’s wife and
his two young sons arrived at Ferozepur and settled down to life in a peace
station after a break of three years.
While the CO was busy ensuring that the battalion settled down to its
operational tasks, Mrs Gupta got the boys enrolled at the local school. One
day, while she was driving the boys to school in her car, she took a sharp
turn; the car door flew open and the boys tumbled out. An oncoming truck
ran over the boys and both were crushed to death. Mrs Gupta and Colonel
Gupta were devastated by this. Mrs Gupta felt responsible for the tragedy
and was inconsolable.
The possibility of a war with Pakistan had, in the meanwhile, been
gathering momentum, and the battalion had already been nominated to
carry out the offensive. Now, some officers at higher headquarters
questioned the wisdom of appointing a unit whose CO had yet to get over
such a deep personal tragedy.
The Divisional Commander, who was from the same regiment as Colonel
Gupta, put it across gently to Colonel Gupta that he could give the task to
another unit if necessary. Colonel Gupta took this as an affront to his
reputation, both personal and professional, as well as to his role as the
Commanding Officer of a reputed battalion. He replied that his personal
distress had nothing to do with his duty and commitment to the army and
his country, and that he would continue to ensure that no stone was left
unturned for the success of the offensive. The General Officer Commanding
of the division let the matter rest. However, some officers questioned the
wisdom of this decision.
The task given to the Gorkhas was the straightening of the Sejhra Bulge
by the capture of Sejhra. Command Headquarters had approved the plan but
left the planning and conduct of the offensive to the Corps Headquarters.
Meticulous planning and detailed reconnaissance by the artillery, armoured
corps, other infantry battalions, the signals, the engineers, the administrative
services, the medical branch and all the formation headquarters were
undertaken, and all that was now left was the launching of the
counteroffensive by the Gorkhas.
However, the Commanding Officer of the Gorkhas stated that repeated
front-line recces by units and formations had alerted the Pakistanis. Not
only did they know that an Indian attack in this sector was in the offing, but
multiple reconnaissance patrols had given away the direction of the
approach for the attack to be launched by his battalion. Convinced that the
Indians would attack along this approach, the Pakistanis had, within the last
one month, concretized their bunkers, laid extensive minefields,
strengthened their barbed wire entanglements and were presently digging a
deep ditch on the home side of their minefield to deny this approach. The
digging work was being done by mechanical diggers in broad daylight. The
CO stated that all these developments had been intimated to higher
headquarters through his daily sitreps,* but it appeared to him that no
cognizance of his reports had been taken by anyone up the chain of
command.
Lieutenant Colonel Suresh Gupta was quiet and soft spoken but not the
type to be browbeaten by distressing circumstances or intimidating
superiors. He was calm and collected even in his personal tragedy. He
managed to pull his wife out of her despair by his exceptional care and
compassion, while at the same time subordinating his personal grief. It was
difficult, but his belief and trust in God helped him overcome his
misfortune. The battalion rallied round the CO and his family, and Mrs
Gupta, much like her husband in his stoic acceptance of what had
happened, gradually came around.
A week prior to the sand model discussion, on a visit to the forward area,
Lieutenant Colonel Gupta heard the soothing sound of the Gurbani† coming
from a gurudwara close to one of his forward companies located in Rattoke.
After he had finished his work, the Commanding Officer decided to visit
the gurudwara.
Before entering the gurudwara, he took off his footwear and covered his
head, as is done when a person enters the precincts of a holy place, and paid
obeisance to the holy Guru Granth Sahib. He sat cross-legged on the floor
in quiet contemplation, listening to the ardas* by the granthi. After fifteen
minutes, as the CO was getting up to leave, the ragi jathas† commenced a
kirtan. He put on his boots at the jora ghar‡ when one of the sevadars§ came
to him and said that the granthi would like to speak with him. Chairs were
brought, and the CO and the granthi met in the courtyard.
Speaking in Punjabi, the granthi said: ‘Sahibji, it is a matter of great
happiness that you have come to us at last. We have been waiting for you.’
‘Waiting for me?’ said the CO with surprise. ‘Why were you waiting for
me?’
‘Sahibji, it has been foretold that one day a CO Sahib from a Gorkha
paltan would come to us and bring our gates back.’
The CO was mystified. ‘Gates? What gates?’ He asked.
‘Has nobody told you?’ said the granthi. ‘The gates of our gurudwara—
the gurudwara of Rattoke!’
‘No,’ said the CO. ‘Nobody has told me anything about the gates of the
Rattoke Gurudwara. Where have they gone?’
This was too much for the granthi. He said, ‘Sahibji, it is a long story,
and if you are the one who would bring our gates back, you need to know
what happened. Please have guru ka langar¶ with us, and I will tell you the
story of the gates of our gurudwara.’ Without waiting for an answer, he
clapped his hands and a sevadar appeared.
‘Call the CO Sahib’s driver inside and give him food, and also bring
some for us—kaali daal and garam-garam rotiyan.’
The CO looked at his watch and felt that he needed to know the story of
the gates of Rattoke, particularly since it had been ordained that he would
bring the gates back. There was no other commitment that evening, so he
waited to hear the story.
This is what the granthi said:

‘I don’t remember the exact date sahib, but during the 1965 war, sometime around the
second week of September, villagers from Sejhra, backed by Pakistani soldiers, came
across the border and raided our village and our gurudwara, and not finding anything
useful, they took away our gates. We had decided to make new gates for the gurudwara,
 but the previous granthi, before passing away, had said no to our proposal. He had said
that the original gates would come back and that they would be brought back by a Gorkha
paltan, and here you are today, Sahibji, visiting us just as the old granthi had said you
would come. The war will soon start, and we look forward to getting our gates back.’

Lieutenant Colonel Suresh Gupta was in a reflective mood as he drove back

to his Battalion Headquarters. He felt incensed at the thought of a whole
horde of villagers backed by the Pakistan Army Rangers, coming across the
international border to loot the Indian village of Rattoke and, in particular,
to steal the gates of a gurudwara. After listening to the granthi, he felt it
would be good if he could get those gates back.
However, Sejhra had first to be captured, and the Pakistanis, by
strengthening their defences, were making the task increasingly impossible.
Repeated reconnaissances by our own units, had given the game away. The
Pakistanis now knew that Sejhra was the objective of an Indian offensive
and also the approach along which the Indians would attack.

The gurudwara in Rattoke.

The CO was convinced that attacking according to the original plan was
virtual suicide, and he was determined to prevent that from happening. He
looked for alternative routes to the objective. One of the approaches that
had been rejected was to the west of the Sejhra defences. It had been
rejected because there was a natural obstacle in the form of a river,
approximately 40 feet wide and 8–9 feet deep, that blocked this approach.
But that was in the month of September, soon after the monsoon! It was
now mid-November. Surely, the depth and width of the river would have
reduced?
He decided to find out. He recalled how Alexander had defeated Porus at
the Battle of Hydaspes by deceiving his opponent as to the place of attack.
Alexander’s decision to cross the monsoon-swollen river in order to catch
Porus’s army from a flank has been referred to as one of his ‘masterpieces’.
Lieutenant Colonel Suresh Gupta determined to do what history was trying
to teach him. Alexander had left his campfires burning to deceive and
surprise the enemy. In Colonel Gupta’s case, this could be replicated by
other means, i.e., by letting the Pakistanis believe that India would attack
along the expected eastern approach, whereas he would be attacking from
somewhere else!
Patrols were sent out to determine whether there were places along the
river which could be crossed. The patrols brought back information that the
depth of the river had indeed reduced to about 4–5 feet. However, even that
was too deep, because the Gorkha soldier averaged five feet in height, and
he would be encumbered with his arms, ammunition and equipment.
Further recces found that there were more crossing places which averaged
four feet. That was more than neck deep for the Gorkha soldier. Was the
risk too great?
The CO decided to take the problem to his company commanders and the
JCOs.
The officers and JCOs were all in favour of the river approach. They had
seen the enemy preparations on the approach selected by the formation
headquarters and knew that the eastern approach was suicidal. They were
unanimous that the river approach was far better. The banks of the river on
both sides had bushes and trees, which would give them adequate cover.
The CO decided to share his concerns with the Brigade Commander and
to offer an alternative plan. The Brigade Commander saw the logic of the
CO’s plan, but there were many matters to consider. Firstly, the Pakistani
offensive was imminent, and there was barely any time to put together a
new plan based on a different approach. Secondly, what would be the
reaction of the formation headquarters? After all, the plan had been
approved by the division, corps and command, and that had involved
meticulous planning by the artillery, armour, engineers, the administrative
staff and units, including presentations and sand-model discussions. The
detailed operation plan included the artillery fire plan, armour, engineer
support and the signal communication system, and these had been
dovetailed with the administrative requirements that included the resupply
of arms, ammunition, food, water and the evacuation of casualties after
Sejhra had been captured. The only thing now left was to launch the attack,
as and when required.
The Brigade Commander and the CO took the issue to the Division
Headquarters. The Divisional Commander, Major General Freemantle, was
taken aback by this late development and said: ‘What’s the matter, Suresh?
Why these doubts at the last minute? Getting cold feet?’
Colonel Suresh Gupta did not want to be disrespectful. Also, the
Divisional Commander was from his regiment. So, all that he said was: ‘Sir,
we are all working for the same aim. Please look at the logic of what I am
saying. This problem has not been caused by my battalion. Instead, it is due
to the over insurance of the units of the division who have continued to
recce the forward area, time and again, from where the attack is to be
launched, despite my protests—verbally and in writing.’
‘So, where do we go from here?’ asked the Divisional Commander.
‘Let me do it my way,’ said the CO.
‘And what is that?’ asked General Freemantle,
‘To attack from the west, across the river.’
‘But that has been ruled out due to the depth and width of the river and
the speed of the current,’ said the Divisional Commander.
‘Yes, sir, but that was in September, soon after the monsoon! I have
carried out fresh recces of the river, and I have found places where we can
cross. This river is rain-fed. It is now the end of November. The river has
slowed down, and its width and depth have reduced.’
 ‘Have you spoken with your officers and JCOs?’
‘Yes, sir, I have. They are all for it.’
The Divisional Commander saw the merit of what the Commanding
Officer of the Gorkhas was saying. The problem was that the attack had to
be launched soon, and there was no time whatsoever for the supporting
arms and administrative units to rework their plans at this late stage,
particularly the artillery fire plan.
The Divisional Commander called for an immediate conference. He put
the problem to the Commander Artillery, the supporting arm commanders
and the heads of the administrative units.
As expected, there was a bedlam of protests. In fact, everyone was
outraged and upset at the demand for a last-minute change by the
Commanding Officer of the Gorkhas. To them, it meant that the detailed
planning and reconnaissance over the last two months were now being
junked. Would they be required to abandon ‘Plan A’ and make a new ‘Plan
B’? Would they be required to start all over again? Where was the time?
Some of the officers, who had doubted the wisdom of giving the task of the
offensive to Lieutenant Colonel Gupta because of his personal tragedy,
began to say: ‘See, we told you not to give this task to the Gorkhas!’
The Divisional Commander had meanwhile informed the Corps
Commander that there were some hiccups over the attack by the Gorkhas,
and that he was sorting things out.
The Corps Commander was surprised when he heard about what was
going on and asked to be briefed. What he heard made him very angry.
As commander of a holding corps, whose main task was defensive, he
had been asked to undertake just a few battalion-level offensives. He had
accepted that with alacrity, and all action had been taken to ensure success.
The Gorkha Battalion had been given all the support it would require. And
here was this Battalion Commander saying that the plan was not workable
and that too at the last minute! He felt he was justified to be annoyed and
made no attempts to conceal his displeasure.
Also, his reputation was at stake! He had acquitted himself well at the
battle of Walong as the Brigade Commander during the Sino–Indian war of
1962, where he undertook a fighting withdrawal against overwhelming
hordes of the Chinese army. He had thereafter established the Haile Selassie
Academy in Ethiopia and commanded an infantry division successfully in
Ladakh.
The Divisional Commander was also disappointed at the turn of events.
He was from the same regiment as the battalion selected to attack. When
asked initially by the Corps Commander to select the infantry battalion to
undertake the offensive, he promptly selected the 1st Battalion, the 5th
Gorkha Rifles. He had told the Corps Commander that this battalion had an
excellent reputation for success in war and in peace, and that it would
deliver. When advised that the offensive should be given to another unit
because of the personal tragedy of the Commanding Officer of the Gorkha
Battalion, he had overruled them and insisted that there would be no
change. His own reputation was now at stake, not only as the Divisional
Commander but also as an officer of this famous regiment.
Fortunately, the Brigade Commander was from the same regiment as the
Corps Commander—the Brigade of the Guards. They had served together
and known each other and their families over many years and across several
locations. A thorough gentleman, he accepted the reasoning of the Battalion
Commander but was also aware of the problems of a last-minute change.
He decided to meet the Corps Commander informally and to request him to
hear out the Commanding Officer of the Gorkhas as early as possible.
The Corps Commander was displeased at this upheaval, but he
grudgingly agreed to come to the Divisional Headquarters the next day to
listen to what the Battalion Commander and the Heads of the Arms and
Services had to say.
The discussion was held in the sand model room at the Divisional
Headquarters. The attendees were invited on a ‘need-to-know basis’. That
meant that only those directly concerned with the offensive would attend.
Even so, the number of officers attending the discussion came to a total of
seventeen. Strictest secrecy was required, and no one was allowed to take
notes.
 The situation, in fact, had the appearance of a court-room scene, with the
Battalion Commander as the defendant in the dock. The judge was the
Corps Commander, and the one-man jury was the Divisional Commander.
The prosecution would be led by the Commander Artillery, who would
make the case, against the change of plans, on behalf of the Heads of the
Arms and Services.
The Corps Commander would listen to the prosecution and the defence,
and would give his decision after the Divisional Commander gave his
‘summing up’, having heard the arguments of both sides.
The Divisional Commander, General Freemantle, made the opening
statement in a matter-of-fact manner. He stated that the corps had been
tasked with a few offensives and that it was important that these offensives
succeeded without a hitch. He recalled the meticulous planning at all levels
by the supporting arms and services and the staff—all that was left was the
offensive to be launched as planned. Whereas the other offensives posed no
problems and would go according to plan, the offensive by the Gorkhas
threw up issues that needed consideration. Since the desired outcome was
‘success’, it was important that the Battalion Commander charged with the
offensive be heard.
Lieutenant Colonel Suresh Gupta stated his case in a simple yet effective
manner. He gave the reasons for the change of plans, and reminded the
gathering of the principle of ‘surprise’ in war, the need to bring flexibility
into their thinking and not insist on reinforcing a plan that was not
workable. He asked all concerned to apply their minds to the issue as it
existed today, as opposed to what it was a few days earlier. He added that
his modified plan would ensure minimum changes in the already approved
plan.
The first to speak from the opposition was the Commander Artillery of
the division. First of all, he thanked the Corps Commander for the artillery
resources given to him by the corps and said that the artillery plan had been
made in great detail to ensure the success of the offensive. He stated that all
contingencies had been taken into consideration and that every phase of the
offensive had been accounted for, including unforeseen enemy defences
that might come alive during the assault. Forward Observation Officers
accompanying the assaulting companies would take on opportunity targets
during the assault and reorganization stages.* The artillery fire plan, in his
opinion, left nothing to chance and was perfect. He saw no reason for
‘second thoughts’ and said that the assault should go ahead as planned. If
there was going to be a change in the conduct of the offensive, then more
time would be required to make a new plan, which would delay the
offensive from whatever date it would be required to be launched.
There was some murmuring of assent among the listeners, and the
Divisional Commander had to ask for silence.
The Commander Artillery then stated that it would be better that the
Heads of the Arms and Services speak for themselves, and that he would
intervene when required.
Next to speak was the Squadron Commander of the Armoured Regiment,
in support of the assault. He stated that if there was a change in the plan, he
would have to look at the ground situation and would provide whatever
support possible.
However, it might not be possible to support the assaulting troops from a
flank, as had originally been planned, because he did not know the
alternative approach. He could, however, look at the new approach and see
how the plan could be modified.
The Commander Engineers stated that his role commenced only after the
objective was captured, to commence de-mining operations and make the
vehicle-safe lanes,† and therefore there was no change in tasks. He was all
right with a change in plans, provided there was no change in the location
of the vehicle-safe lanes that he would have to make.
The Commander Signals also said that he would establish line
communication once the objective was captured and the vehicle-safe lanes
were made. However, if the communication cables to be laid were to follow
the assaulting troops along a different approach, then there might be
problems. However, such problems could be resolved in cooperation with
the signal platoon of the battalion.
 The Col Adm. (Colonel-in-Charge Administration) stated that his task to
resupply the troops would commence once the objective was captured and
he would ensure that the reorganization stores reached the assaulting troops
as soon as the vehicle-safe lanes were made. He foresaw no difficulty if
there was a change in approach as long as the safe lanes were made in time.
The ADMS (Assistant Director Medical Services) spoke next. He said
that whereas the method for the evacuation of casualties had been made
according to the existing plan, there would not be a change in his plans as
they would follow the safe lanes. However, there could be a problem if the
fighting on the objective took longer than anticipated, as that would delay
the making of the safe lanes, which in turn would delay the evacuation of
casualties.
It was now left to Lieutenant Colonel Suresh Gupta, the Commanding
Officer, to defend his plan and state how his alternative approach would be
better than the existing plan.
General Freemantle asked permission from the Corps Commander for a
ten-minute tea break. Permission was granted, and the buzz of conversation
that had been suppressed all this time broke out anew.
Lieutenant Colonel Gupta kept sitting where he was. General Freemantle
walked up to him and said: ‘Suresh, what is the matter? Are you all right?’
‘Absolutely okay, sir. I am just trying to collect my thoughts before I take
the stand again.’
While Lieutenant Colonel Gupta was making his notes for his answers to
the issues raised, an officer whom he knew well came up to him and said:
‘Suresh, I hope you know that if your offensive according to your last-
minute change of plans fails, then you will most probably have to face a
court martial.’
‘Yes,’ was Lieutenant Colonel Gupta’s reply. ‘And I hope you also
understand that no one can court martial dead bodies, which will be the case
if I am forced to attack according to the existing plan.’
After the break, once everyone had settled down, General Freemantle
asked Lieutenant Colonel Gupta if he was ready to make his closing
statement. He added that his defence had better be good, because during the
tea break some of the officers had come up to him and said that it looked
like the CO of the 5th Gorkhas had developed cold feet.
Lieutenant Colonel Gupta stood beside the sand model, took a deep
breath and said: ‘I will not comment on that frivolous remark regarding
cold feet, except to say that it depends on the wearer of the shoe. I am the
Commanding Officer of my battalion and I am aware of my responsibilities
and that the reputation of the corps, of my regiment, my men and my own
reputation, depends on the success of this offensive. Before stating my case
and answering the observations made by the previous speakers, I would like
to point out a few landmarks on the sand model, so that you would be able
to follow my line of thought.’
Lieutenant Colonel Gupta then began to point out the important features
on the sand model. He focused on the objective, the two possible
approaches and the river that flowed in the vicinity of the western approach.
‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘despite my objections to all concerned—and who
happen to be here today—on the frequent recces made by officers and men
of the supporting arms and services, those recces continued, and my
objections were ignored. As a consequence, the enemy has not only got
wind of the fact that we are planning an offensive in this area, but they are
also quite clear of the approach that we are going to take. Alarmed by our
frequent reconnaissances, they have concretized their defences, laid
extensive minefields and barbed-wire entanglements, and are now in the
process of digging a deep ditch forward of their defences. We are aware that
the Pakistani battalions have medium machine guns as part of their
companies, and I have no doubt that they would have concentrated
maximum machine guns along this approach. As all of you are aware, there
is no cover whatsoever on this approach.
‘Secondly, with regard to artillery of both sides: intelligence reports
conveyed to us indicate that the quantum of enemy artillery allotted to the
sector opposite to us has greatly increased. So, whereas our own artillery
will have minimum effect on their concrete bunkers, my men will be
exposed to the heavy punishment of enemy fire that includes medium and
heavy artillery concentrated on this approach.
 ‘With regard to armour, since I will be attacking across a river, it might
be difficult for the tanks to shoot us on to the objective. However, the
squadron commander in support is on my radio net. Should I require him to
destroy opportunity targets during the reorg stage, I will ask him to do so.
An officer or a JCO with a radio link, who would accompany us, would be
helpful even on this approach.
‘With regard to the Engineers and the Signals, there is no change to the
existing plans. The vehicle-safe lanes will be made by the engineers
through the enemy minefields after the objective has been captured under
cover of our existing artillery fire plan. And the brigade signal detachment,
which is already with me, is aware of what needs to be done along the river
approach. The Detachment Commander has been with me and has seen the
approach I intend to use. He has arranged for the cable that would be
required. In addition, the Commander Signals would, I am sure, be making
duplicate arrangements through the vehicle-safe lanes.
‘The Col Adm. of the division has given his views, which I concur with.
And as far as the casualties are concerned, my regimental medical officer
has made adequate arrangements for their evacuation. I have spoken to my
officers and JCOs, and we are prepared to accept delay in the evacuation of
casualties. This is based on our firm conviction that if we attack the way we
want, there will be no delay as far as the task given to my battalion is
concerned, and the casualties would be minimal because of the surprise
factor.
‘I am convinced that an unexpected approach will guarantee success. I
intend to attack the enemy in the hours of darkness, and the key to the
success of this offensive is the principle of surprise.
‘On the objections raised with regard to artillery support, I would like to
emphatically suggest that the existing fire plan must in no way be changed.
The enemy must be convinced that we will be attacking along the approach
that he expects us to use. He will be expending his ammunition on this
approach, but we will not be there. We will be elsewhere, on an approach
that he least expects.
 ‘The principal reason why the enemy does not expect us on the approach
that we have selected is that he is under the impression that the river is a
formidable obstacle to an assault from that direction, due to the depth of
water. However, we have found crossing places that meet our needs. This
approach also has sufficient vegetation along the banks of the river to
conceal our movement.
‘In light of what I have said, if we attack on the original approach, there
is no chance of success. You will only be confronted with a failed attack
and the bodies of me and my men. However, if you let me launch the
offensive the way I want, then I would like to extend an invitation to the
formation commanders to have breakfast with me on the objective at eleven
o’clock on the morning of the attack.’
The CO ended by saying, ‘There is also the issue of the gates of Rattoke
that have to be brought back.’
The GOC said, ‘Suresh, what is that you said towards the end?’
‘Nothing, sir.’
The GOC gave the CO a quizzical look but did not take the matter
further.
It was now left to the GOC to sum up the arguments and for the Corps
Commander to take a decision. In fact, there was nothing much to say.
General Freemantle summed it up as follows:

‘Firstly, I thank the Corps Commander for taking the trouble to come to the Division
Headquarters and to listen to this contentious issue of the change of plans at the last
minute for the capture of the Sejhra Bulge.
‘Secondly, I appreciate the manner in which this discussion has been held and the
manner in which this controversial issue has been logically examined and objectively
analysed by all the participants.
‘Thirdly, after hearing out the Commanding Officer of the Gorkhas, I see that he has
dovetailed his new plan nicely into the previous one and there will actually be no change
in the plans of the supporting arms and services. There will only be a change in the
direction of approach by the battalion.
‘Lastly, the Battalion Commander will have to justify his request for a change in the
direction of approach by succeeding in the capture of the objective within the timeline
stipulated by us.
‘I now request the Corps Commander to give us his views.’
The Corps Commander said, ‘Well, gentlemen, we have heard the Battalion
Commander’s plan on how he would like to capture Sejhra. I do not like
last-minute changes, but I understand and accept the Commanding Officer’s
line of argument, but he has to translate his arguments into action, by doing
what he says he will do. I hold him and his battalion to deliver as stated. I
am sure he understands that the reputation of the corps, the Indian Army
and his Regiment rests on his shoulders and that of the men of his battalion.
I expect the supporting arms and services to make sure his plan succeeds. In
any case, I will not accept failure under any circumstance, or any shortfall
by him or anyone else, in the execution of the new plan. I wish all of you
the best of luck for this offensive.’
Lieutenant Colonel Gupta breathed a big sigh of relief.
The granthi of the gurudwara of the village of Rattoke was also praying
for the success of the attack by the Gorkhas. He led the ardas, which
continued for seven days, praying for the success of the offensive by the
Gorkhas.
Pakistan attacked India on the evening of 3 December, and the Indian
counteroffensive by the Brigade went ahead as planned, on the night of 5–6
December. A battalion of the Brigade, 6 Mahar, moved off after dark to
establish a roadblock south-west of Sejhra to cut off the enemy’s escape
routes, and 9 Sikh LI commenced their operations around the same time, to
capture the border posts to ensure free movement of our troops for
subsequent operations. The 1st Battalion, the 5th Gorkha Rifles commenced
their approach march to Sejhra at 7 p.m.
The Western Army Commander, Lieutenant General K.P. Candeth
describes Sejhra, its strategical importance and the manner in which it was
captured in his book The Western Front: The Indo–Pakistan War 1971. This
is what he says:

[Sejhra] is a Pakistani salient of about 55 square kilometres jutting into Indian territory,
just north of Ferozepur and south east of Khemkaran. The responsibility of holding it was
that of Pakistan’s 52 Infantry Brigade. They had inside the bulge about a battalion
strength of troops consisting of 25 Baluch, Sutlej Rangers and Mujahids supported by
elements of their reconnaissance and support battalion and some anti-tank guns. The
village of Sejhra itself was a formidable position, situated on an escarpment 20 feet high,
 and protected by extensive minefields on the north, east and west and in the south by a
stream called the ‘Snake’ which was 5 feet deep.
As the area provided to Pakistan a secure base from where to attack our main defences
at Voltaha and from where their armour could be launched to attack and capture Harike
bridge which was vital to us, it was decided to eliminate this bulge . . .
Meanwhile 1/5 Gorkha Rifles left their assembly position at 7 p.m. and carried out a
brilliant approach march and got behind the enemy without being detected even by the
village dogs. However, the depth of the ‘Snake’ came as a surprise but holding their
weapons high over their heads, the Gorkhas forded the stream and attacked the position,
shouting their battle cry of AYO GORKHALI. The enemy had a network of bunkers and
put up a stiff resistance but they were winkled out bunker by bunker. The position fell and
by 6 a.m. on the 6th Sejhra was in our hands.

Sejhra was captured much ahead of the laid down timelines. Huge amounts
of arms and ammunition were captured, including two anti-tank guns, six
mortars, many medium and light machine guns, and large quantities of
small arms and ammunition that filled three three-ton trucks. The American
magazine Newsweek published an article with photographs that showed that
the enemy commander had left his trousers behind, having been caught
literally with his pants down! The Corps Commander, the Divisional
Commander and the Brigade Commander were able to have mugs of tea on
the captured objective at eleven o’clock on the morning of the attack.
The Divisional Commander and the Brigade Commander were at the rear
of the Assembly Area on the night of the attack, watching as the Gorkhas
moved silently to their FUP* and waiting anxiously for the success signal of
the Gorkhas. In the early hours of the morning, they heard the war cry of
the Gorkhas—‘Ayo Gorkhali!’—as the attack went in. They were also
witness to the colossal fire from the enemy artillery, mortars and medium
machine guns on the approach that the enemy expected the Gorkhas to use
and came to realize that no troops in the world could have survived the
immensity of that concentrated fire. By three o’clock in the morning, the
battalion had captured Sejhra and radioed their success signal.
The battalion lost one JCO and eight other ranks; there were twenty-three
other ranks among the wounded. For its exceptional performance, the
battalion was honoured with ‘Sejhra’ as a Battle Honour and ‘Punjab 1971’
as a Theatre Honour; it was also awarded four Vir Chakras and five Sena
Medals.*
The 1st Battalion, the 5th Gorkha Rifles lived up to its reputation and
was presented a silver cup by the Corps Commander for the unit that
performed best in the Corps Zone during the 1971 war.
However, what especially pleased Lieutenant Colonel Suresh Gupta and
the battalion was the fact that they could bring back and return the gates of
the Rattoke gurudwara, fulfilling the prediction of the old granthi who had
foretold that the gates would be brought back one day by a Gorkha
battalion.
After the war had concluded, the Commanding Officer of the Gorkhas,
his officers, JCOs and some of his men were invited to the gurudwara to
celebrate the return of the gates, participate in the path† and partake of the
guru ka langar. It was a joyous celebration, and the Commanding Officer
felt particularly happy that he was able to bring the gates back.
For many years thereafter, the gurudwara continued to mention the 1st
Battalion, the 5th Gorkhas (FF) as part of its ardas, thanks to which the
battalion has been blessed and continues to do exceptionally well in all its
endeavours.

Postscript

Convinced that he was right, Lieutenant Colonel Suresh Gupta, VrC, did
not waver in his conviction, irrespective of the outrage and opposition of all
the commanders and staff in the chain of command for the last-minute
change of plans. Backing his conviction was his professional competence,
his ability to evaluate risks and the courage of his officers, JCOs and men
who ensured an outstanding success. The stance that he took, despite the
overwhelming opposition he faced, convincingly proves that moral courage
is as important as physical courage, and that although flexibility in not a
principle of war, it is something important to consider when a better option
presents itself rather than reinforcing a plan that will not work.
 The Commanding Officer also proved that there is no point in reinforcing
the probability of failure when an alternative plan, even at the last minute,
can succeed. And, most importantly, the element of ‘surprise’ in war must
never be forgotten.
Finally, the granthi of the gurudwara in Rattoke was overjoyed that the
gates of the gurudwara had come back, just as the old granthi had predicted,
and he bestowed his blessings on the Gorkhas, who, together with the
granthi, exclaim, ‘Waheguruji ka khalsa! Waheguruji ki fateh!’
 Mission Karachi

‘From the days when humans first began to use the sea, the great lesson of history is that
the nation that is confined to a land strategy is in the end defeated.’

—Anonymous

Prelude to the War of 1971

Admiral B.S. Soman, Chief of the Indian Navy, looked at the file that had
just been put up to him and at the noting signed by H.C. Sarin, Secretary,
Defence Production, Ministry of Defence.* The noting stated

With reference to the notings mentioned above, the ongoing operations by the Army and
Air Force and the current situation with regard to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands: the
Indian Navy will not initiate any action against Pakistan at sea and will not proceed more
than 200 nautical miles beyond Bombay nor operate north of the latitude of Porbandar,
except in pursuit of any Pakistan Navy offensive action.

On the morning of 6 September 1965, the Indian Army had attacked across
the international border in response to Pakistan’s ‘Operation Grand Slam’,
which had been launched for the capture of Akhnur during the war of 1965.
One of the options to counter Pakistan’s assault on Jammu and Kashmir
was the opening of a second front in Punjab. Thanks to the courage and
sense of purpose of Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri, the Indian Army
had crossed the international border and gone on the offensive in the
Lahore, Sialkot and Dera Baba Nanak sectors. The reasoning of the Prime
Minister was that Pakistan needed to understand that if they attack Jammu
and Kashmir, they attack India.
After a series of hard-fought battles, the Indian Army had reached the
outskirts of Lahore as the Indian Air Force fought for the control of the sky.
The Indian Navy, however, had been left out of battle. The galling message
from the Ministry of Defence, that the Navy should not widen the war and
in that context was not to proceed more than 200 nautical miles beyond
Bombay, effectively prohibited the Indian Navy from launching offensive
operations against Pakistan.

The Western Fleet heading for Karachi.

Admiral Soman, the Naval Chief, was indignant and extremely unhappy
with this communication from the Ministry of Defence and asked for an
appointment with the Defence Minister. The Naval Chief and the Indian
Navy were straining at the leash to attack Pakistan across the sea, but the
message from the ministry restricted them from doing so.
The next morning, the Naval Chief met Defence Minister Y.B. Chavan.
The Defence Minister noticed that the Naval Chief was visibly upset. After
asking the Naval Chief to sit down, he said, ‘Yes, Admiral, what can I do
for you?’
‘Mr Chavan, I have received this communication yesterday from a Joint
Secretary from your ministry,’ said the Naval Chief as he slipped the file
with the errant note across to the Defence Minister.* ‘Why is the Navy
being stopped from carrying out its legitimate operational role?’
The Defence Minister, without looking at the note, said, ‘Admiral, the
bulk of your Navy is already on our eastern seaboard carrying out its
legitimate role of preventing Indonesia from capturing the Nicobar Islands,
which, as you know, from intelligence sources, is a very real threat. So,
what are you so upset about?’
‘Mr Chavan, the role of the Navy encompasses the Bay of Bengal, the
Arabian Sea and much of the Indian Ocean. So, if, as you say, we are
carrying out our role in the Bay of Bengal, then what about the rest of the
role that we are tasked to do?’
‘Admiral, I must admit, that the ministry has not done enough to upgrade
the Navy as we have done for the other two services after the 1962 war.
However, it is an issue of available resources versus priorities. We are
aware of this shortcoming, and I propose to address this matter soon after
the present situation is resolved. Till then, you must not escalate the
situation on the west coast. You do not have the resources to fight
offensively on both fronts.’
‘Mr Chavan, it is good news that the ministry has realized at last, that it
has not met the Navy’s needs. However, my officers and men are prepared
to fight with whatever we have. A passive policy will set a wrong
precedent. What is the purpose of having a Navy if it is not allowed to
fight? Failure to fight offensively on the west coast will adversely affect the
morale of the Navy and that, Minister, is not acceptable.’
‘Admiral, it is my duty as the Defence Minister to listen to the Service
Chiefs and to take decisions. I have listened earlier to you, as well as the
other Service Chiefs, and it is my decision, in the interest of the country,
that the Navy will take on a defensive role on the west coast and will not do
anything that will escalate the situation.’
‘Minister, if it was your decision, then why was it conveyed to me by a
secretary of your ministry?’
The Minister took the offending note that was lying in front of him,
initialed it and slid it across to the Naval Chief. ‘Is it all right now?’ he said.
‘Thank you, Minister,’ said the Naval Chief. ‘I would, however, like to
see the Prime Minister on this issue.’
The meeting was quickly processed and the next morning, the Naval
Chief was ushered into the Prime Minister’s office. Chavan was already
there, sitting next to Lal Bahadur Shastri.
Prime Minister Shastri opened the conversation with, ‘Well, Admiral
Soman, I understand that you wish to see me?’
‘Yes, Prime Minister. It is with regard to a direction from the Ministry of
Defence, that the Indian Navy will not undertake offensive operations of
any kind against Pakistan on the west coast or cross the 24th parallel, and
will not do anything that might escalate the situation unless attacked.’
‘Yes, that is true. We have examined the issue in detail. You are aware, I
am sure, of the collusion between Indonesia and Pakistan with regard to an
effort by Indonesia to take over some of our islands in the Nicobar chain,
and that recently there has been increased activity in the sea around the
Nicobar Islands. Ensure that nothing untoward happens there, Admiral.
That is where your priority lies. As far as the Pakistan Navy is concerned,
we do not perceive a threat from them as of now. We are aware of your
resources and have decided that the navy will adopt a defensive posture on
the west coast unless attacked. I do not want the situation on the west coast
to escalate into a full-blown war. We have enough on our hands already.’
‘Prime Minister, as the Naval Chief, I am aware of my tasks and my
priorities, as far as the security of our seas, our island territories and the
Indian Ocean is concerned. I am glad that this situation has brought to light
the fact that the navy needs to have its sources upgraded, if it is to carry out
its legitimate role, and we do hope that, as the Defence Minister has said,
this matter will soon be addressed. I have consulted my officers and we are
prepared to fight with whatever we have. Our inability to fight offensively
will send the wrong message, that we are unwilling to fight. That will
adversely affect the morale of the navy.’
‘Admiral, your reservations have been conveyed to me by the Defence
Minister. We have once more reviewed the situation, and there is no change
in our decision and you need to accept it.’
‘Prime Minister, I do understand your reservations. However, I need your
permission to meet the President, who is the Commander-in-Chief of the
Armed Forces.’
 ‘No, Admiral. Permission is denied. Please do as you have been ordered.
Thank you.’
The Prime Minister was firm, and the Naval Chief had put forward his
view up to a point. After all, orders were orders, and that was that.
These orders from the government prevented the Indian Navy from
undertaking any offensive operations against Pakistan, even when the
Pakistan Navy bombarded Dwarka on the west coast with impunity.
Although this gave Pakistan no military advantage, it gave the Pakistan
Navy a boost in morale. To the Indian Navy, it was a humiliating affront.
Officers and men of the Indian Navy found it difficult to understand that
although it was the Defence Ministry that had issued these directions, it was
the navy that had to answer questions from the public and the media as to
why the Indian Navy did not react to the Pakistani raid. As a consequence,
the reputation of the navy plummeted to a very low level.
After the war, an article titled ‘1965: Somnath and Ghaznavi’ appeared in
a Pakistani naval magazine, which extolled the shelling of Dwarka by the
Pakistan Navy and played up the event as a great naval victory. The article
likened the raid by the Pakistan Navy to the raids by Mehmud Ghaznavi on
Gujarat and the destruction of the Somnath temple in the eleventh century.
PNS Khyber was a destroyer that was part of the raiding force, and there
was great excitement on board that ship, because the name of the Torpedo
and Anti-Submarine Officer on board happened to be Lieutenant
Commander P.N. Ghaznavi. The ship’s crew was told on the intercom that
they were repeating history and that they were going to do what Mehmud
Ghaznavi did a thousand years earlier, except that Mehmud Ghaznavi’s
horses were replaced by steel warships and that they were attacking from
the sea. This story was all the more irritating to the officers and men of the
Indian Navy, because the Pakistan Navy was taking mileage from a non-
event.
In early 1966, a debrief* of the 1965 war was held at Naval Headquarters,
New Delhi. The Indian Navy’s operational directive and the note sent by the
Ministry of Defence were read out, and the aspect that the Indian Navy
should not ‘widen’ the war was also narrated. There was an uncomfortable
silence, till Captain K.K. Nayyar got up and spoke.
Captain Nayyar pointed out that the navy was also accountable to the
people of India and to Parliament, who needed to know about the role
played by the Indian Navy in the 1965 war, and that he and others wearing
the naval uniform had no answer. Since it was the decision of the
government to restrict the role of the navy in the 1965 war, then the least
that the government could have done was to have made a public statement
after the war that it had directed the navy to adopt a defensive posture on
the west coast to not allow the situation to develop into a ‘full-blown war’.
By failing to do so, the government had let down the navy very badly.
Nayyar’s plain-speaking raised the level of the debate, and his comments
probably shaped the thinking of several future naval chiefs as well.
Ultimately, the repercussions of this debate had a useful outcome, as this
was the primary factor that motivated the navy and some senior naval
officers, like Admiral Nanda, to make sure that the Indian Navy played its
rightful role in the next conflict.
Three years later, Admiral Nanda was in Bombay as Fleet Officer
Commander-in-Chief, Western Naval Command, and was in line to be the
next Naval Chief.
Still smarting from the humiliation of the navy not being able to take an
effective part in the 1965 Indo–Pak war, he made a statement that was
published in Blitz, a Bombay newspaper. He said that having spent his early
years as a young naval officer in Karachi, he knew the layout of the harbour
and its waters like the back of his hand, and that, given the opportunity, he
would set Karachi on fire!
Meanwhile, being aware of Pakistan’s obsession to use force to settle
disputes, the Indian Navy decided to acquire missile boats for the defence
of its ports and harbours. These hard-hitting, high-speed missile platforms
had been designed by the Russian Navy to take on targets at great distance
and with great accuracy. They were primarily designed to be used only as
defensive weapons.
 A team under Captain K.K. Nayyar was sent to the Soviet Union to be
trained by their naval experts and get fully proficient in the understanding
and handling of these sophisticated missile boats. This team consisted of
specially selected, highly qualified and enthusiastic young naval officers,
mostly in the rank of Lieutenant Commanders, who had expertise in
navigation, gunnery, torpedo and anti-submarine operations, engineering,
communication, etc. The team spent a year training in the Soviet Union and
not only mastered the handling of this weapon platform but also learnt the
Russian language, which was essential to understand the technology and
nuances of handling these missiles and missile boats.
The training was carried out at Vladivostok, where the team weathered
Arctic-like conditions during one of Russia’s coldest winters. It was while
they were there that Captain Nayyar tossed a question to the team as to
whether they could think about the possibility of using these missile boats
in an offensive role? This was an exciting proposition, which triggered a
whole new line of thinking as to how missile boats, a weapon meant for
defence tasks, could be used in an offensive mode.
There were a number of issues to consider. These were boats designed for
speed but not for travelling long distances in the open sea. Due to the need
for speed, these boats powered by modified aircraft engines guzzled great
quantities of fuel and their endurance was therefore limited to less than 500
nautical miles. So, how could they go all the way to Karachi and get back?
Also, due to the necessity of speed, the waterline of these boats was low
and therefore not at all suitable for an ocean-going mission, as high waves
could swamp the boats. All these aspects were exercising the minds of the
officers. They were, however, told never to speak about the possibility of
using these missile boats in an offensive role; not even in their dreams,
because the mission could only succeed if the element of surprise was
ensured.
At the end of the training programme, which had lasted for over a year,
the Russian instructors were pleased to see the knowledge and competence
of the Indian team, who had taken them far beyond the frontiers of their
own specialized knowledge. The Russians admitted that they had to prepare
assiduously for each training session, because of the in-depth questions that
were asked by the Indian team on every aspect of the missile and the boats.
The use of the missile boats in an offensive role was, however, never
mentioned.
The use of these missile boats in the attack role was discussed ‘in house’,
among a select few officers. One of the officers, Lieutenant Commander
Vijay Jerath, was asked to write a paper on how these boats could be used
in the offensive role. This paper, duly vetted by Captain Nayyar, was sent
by hand to Naval Ops and Plans at Naval Headquarters, New Delhi.
Nothing further was heard about the paper thereafter.
The dispatch of the missile boats to India commenced in January 1971.
Each missile boat, stripped to its bare essentials, weighed approximately
180 tonnes, and it was learnt that Mumbai did not have heavy-duty cranes
big enough to unload the boats from the mother ship, and so the missile
boats would have to be unloaded at Calcutta. The next problem was how
such boats, with limited endurance and ocean-going capability, would make
their way from Calcutta to the west coast. After a number of experiments, a
towing gadget was designed, by Lieutenant Commander Kwatra, for each
missile boat, and they were towed around the Indian peninsula, from
Calcutta to Bombay. The towing gadget had to ensure there was no collision
between the towing boat and the missile boat. There were eight missile
boats, and an equal number of ships were required to tow them.
The rest of the Indian Navy was unaware of the characteristics and
capabilities of these missile boats, as they had only just been inducted into
the navy. Some senior officers were sceptical about the claims being made
about the capability and accuracy of the missile boats, and a demonstration
was asked for. Tests were initiated to evaluate the missiles on distant
targets, and the results were spectacularly successful. A naval exercise was
also held, and the officers and men of the navy, who witnessed these tests
for the first time, were astonished at the radar range of the missile boats and
the accurate hit-precision of their missiles.

The Indo–Pak War of 1971

Meanwhile, far away in East Pakistan, politics had taken an ugly turn. A
series of events had led to a state of confrontation between India and
Pakistan, and war became a real possibility.
On 3 December 1971, at 5.45 p.m., Pakistan opened the war by attacking
Indian airfields in the northern and western sectors. Prime Minister Indira
Gandhi, Foreign Minister Sardar Swaran Singh and Defence Minister Babu
Jagjivan Ram were all away from Delhi. It appeared as though Pakistan was
aware that the Prime Minister of India and her Ministers of Defence and
External Affairs would be away from Delhi on that day.
The Indian Armed Forces, however, had been preparing for an offensive
by Pakistan. Admiral Nanda had just returned from Bombay that morning;
he had gone there to speak to the officers and men about a war that
everyone felt would soon take place. Admiral Nanda had made it clear that
if Pakistan did attack, he would take the war on the sea to Karachi. He also
made it clear that he would not accept any shortfall in performance and that
anyone having any reservations about the offensive would be free to step
back. There was no one who had any reservations.
At his briefing in Bombay, on 1 December 1971, Admiral Nanda shared
with his officers the information he had received that there was a strong
probability of Pakistani submarines launching sneak attacks on ships of the
Western Fleet within Bombay harbour. Concerned about such a situation, he
ordered the fleet to be out of the confines of the harbour the next day and to
head out to the open sea.

A missile boat in action.

His premonition was correct. PNS Hangor, a state-of-the-art Daphne-

class Pakistani submarine was lying in wait outside Bombay harbour,
waiting for the war to start, so that as soon as war was declared, they could
destroy ships of the Western Fleet as they emerged from Mumbai harbour.
But unfortunately for the Pakistani submariners, the Western Fleet had
moved out of harm’s way before the start of the war, thanks to the intuition
of the Naval Chief. The Pakistani submarine could therefore not take
advantage of the excellent position it had placed itself in.
The ships of India’s Western Fleet passed over the waiting Pakistani
submariners without the Pakistanis being able to do anything about it.
Within hours of the Pakistani offensive against India, the Western Fleet was
on its way to Pakistani waters. Pakistan was caught off guard by the
quickness of the Indian response.
Prior to the war, Admiral Nanda had outlined his vision, strategy and
action plan should there be a war with Pakistan and shared them with his
Commanders-in-Chief East and West. Recounting the discussions he had
with Admiral Nanda, Admiral Krishnan, Flag Officer Commanding-in-
Chief East, said:

. . . We talked at length of our tasks ahead. All our discussions stemmed from one
overriding thought, a firm conviction, bordering on obsession, that should war come, the
Navy should throw everything it had into battle and our entire strategy from the very
onset of hostilities should be one of bold offensive. We should scrap, erase and wipe off
from our minds any ideas of a defensive posture, we must seek action, taking any risks
that were necessary and destroy the enemy in his ports and at sea . . .*

The Missile Squadron, meanwhile, had already assembled south of the

coast of Saurashastra by the end of November and launched its attacks
against the Pakistan Navy. Three attacks by the Missile Squadron on
Karachi had been planned—Operations Trident, Python and Triumph.
The first attack by the Missile Squadron was executed by the missile
boats Nipat, Nirghat and Veer. The missile boats were escorted by two
Petya-class frigates, the Kiltan and Katchal, on 4 December1971.
Ironically and in fitting retribution, the first Pakistani naval ship to be
destroyed by the Missile Squadron was PNS Khyber, the ship that had
bombed Dwarka during the 1965 Indo–Pak war and the crew of which had
exulted in replicating the raids by Mehmud of Ghazni and in having a
Lieutenant Commander Mohamed Ghaznavi on board.
PNS Khyber was patrolling the south-west approaches to Karachi. At
about 2215 hours, her radar informed her that an enemy force was
approaching Karachi. The enemy consisted of the missile boats escorted by
the Petyas in arrowhead formation and moving at full speed towards
Karachi, with INS Nipat in the lead and Nirghat and Veer following behind.
The closing range with which the Khyber and the Nirghat were approaching
each other was approximately 60 knots. At about 2240 hours, when the
Khyber was at a distance of approximately 20 nautical miles, Nirghat fired
its first missile. The crew of the Khyber mistook the approaching missile to
be an enemy aircraft and opened up with her close-range anti-aircraft guns
but failed in preventing the missile from hitting her. The missile struck the
Khyber on the starboard side. Her boiler room was hit and her speed greatly
reduced. A huge flame shot up in No. 1 boiler room, and dense black smoke
poured out of her funnel. The ship was plunged into darkness. The wireless
operator passed on a message that the ship was under air attack. This
incorrect assessment of what had hit them delayed the rescue of the
survivors by almost a day.
Commander Yadav, the leader of this group who had positioned himself
on INS Nipat and had ordered the first missile to be fired, now ordered the
second missile to be fired by Nirghat at the Khyber, which was now 17
nautical miles away. After the second missile hit the Khyber, her speed
came down to zero. The ship caught fire and dense smoke emanated from
her. At 2200 hours Pakistan Standard Time, the Captain of the Khyber
decided to abandon ship; her list to port* had become dangerous. By 2215
hours, the ship was abandoned by all who could leave. Explosions due to
bursting ammunition continued to rock the ship as men jumped overboard
from the sinking destroyer. The Khyber sank stern first at 2230 hours. On
the radar screen of the Indian missile boats, the Khyber had first showed as
a blip. After she was hit, the blip kept diminishing in size, till it disappeared
altogether. The Khyber was no more. She sank approximately 35 nautical
miles south-west of Karachi.
 The second ship to be destroyed was PNS Muhafiz, a Pakistani
minesweeper. The Muhafiz was on patrol and was probably sent to assist
the Khyber. While she was heading towards the Khyber, she saw a ball of
light hurtling towards her and suffered a direct missile hit on the port side,
towards the rear. She caught fire and disintegrated without being able to
even send out a distress message. The ship’s structure continued to burn till
it finally sank, with the survivors floating amid the burning debris. Two
more ships carrying ammunition, the Shahjahan and Venus Challenger,
were also destroyed.
The orders were that maximum missiles should be fired in the first attack,
as surprise was considered to be the dominant factor for overall success. So,
INS Nipat carried on towards Karachi. Nipat’s radar picked up the Kiamari
oil tanks, and when the range was 18 miles Nipat fired a missile at the oil
tanks. There was an explosion on the horizon. Huge flames leapt into the
sky. The explosions, caused by the destruction of the ships carrying
ammunition and the burning oilfields together, resulted in a firework
display that many who were watching the raid from the other Indian ships
will long remember.
Operation Python, the second attack on Karachi, which was to be carried
out on 6 December, had to be postponed due to bad weather and rough seas.
This attack was carried out on 8 December by missile boat INS Vinash,
escorted by two frigates, Trishul and Talwar. This single missile boat,
commanded by Lieutenant Commander Vijay Jerath, not only severely
damaged the Pakistani oil tanker PNS Dacca, but also destroyed and sank
two other vessels. Its fourth missile smashed into an oil tank at the Kiamari
oil farm and set it once again on fire. The huge flames shooting into the sky
could be seen by ships from as far as 60 nautical miles. IAF pilots who
went to bomb Karachi the next morning reported that it was the biggest
bonfire in Asia. The fire raged for seven days and nights, enveloping
Karachi in a pall of black smoke that shut out the sun for three days. It
shocked the Pakistan Navy, which promptly recalled all its ships into the
safety of the inner harbour.
 The third attack, code-named Operation Triumph, had to be called off
because by the time the regrouping of resources could take place, the war
had come to a close.
Admiral Nanda’s promise was carried out three years after he made his
statement that he would set Karachi on fire! What is more, the Pakistan
Navy bolted into Karachi harbour and refused to come out and fight.
Unfortunately for them, the Pakistan Air Force refused to come to the aid of
their sister service, and the Indian Navy and Air Force had a field day
around and above Karachi. The Indian Navy was now in firm control of the
Arabian Sea, and no merchant ship or aircraft of any country was allowed
to enter or leave Karachi’s territorial waters or airspace without the
permission of the Government of India!
Russian satellites, in the meanwhile, were relaying to the Russian Naval
Chief, Admiral Gorshkov, the naval battle in the North Arabian Sea.
Satellite images of Indian missile boats attacking the Pakistan Navy and
Karachi at first surprised the Russian Naval Chief, who could not believe
what he was seeing! But surprise and consternation soon gave way to
amazement and admiration at the way the Indians were using Russian
missile boats. So much so that he shouted with laughter and joy and did a
little jig in the Russian Naval Ops Room, to the surprise and amusement of
his staff!
Pakistan had all along relied on America and China coming to its aid.
The Indian armed forces, however, had wrapped up the war in thirteen days,
before any intervention could take place. President of the United States,
Richard Nixon, frustrated at Pakistan’s performance in the war, had ordered
the American Seventh Fleet to enter the Bay of Bengal. But his orders to the
American Fleet Commander were imprecise, and the American Admiral
was not clear as to whether the American Navy was to intimidate the Indian
Navy, or to rescue Pakistani and American officials holed up in Dacca, or to
attack the Indian Navy. In any case, it was too late. By the time the US
Seventh Fleet entered the Bay of Bengal, the Indian armed forces had
wrapped up the war, East Pakistan had been liberated, and Bangladesh, a
new nation, had been born.
 Soon after the war, Admiral Gorshkov of the Russian Navy arrived at
Mumbai harbour with part of his fleet. He expressed his amazement and
delight at the manner in which the Indian Navy had used the Russian
missile boats in an offensive role, when they had been created and designed
only for the defence of ports and harbours. He told the Indian Naval Chief,
Admiral Nanda, that he would like to meet the intrepid officers of the
Missile Squadron who had used his Russian missile boats to such
devastating effect. The occasion was a celebratory dinner aboard INS
Vikrant, the Indian aircraft carrier. All invitees, Indian and Russian were in
their ceremonial mess dress. The missile boat commanders were, however,
still in their combat dress. The Russian Admiral was informed that the
missile boat commanders would not be able to attend the dinner as they
were inappropriately dressed. But the Russian Admiral requested Admiral
Nanda to let them come for the dinner, and his request was acceded to.
Admiral Gorshkov met the commanders of the missile boats, personally
congratulated them and gave each of them the characteristic Russian ‘bear
hug’. He told them how impressed he was with their performance. He also
said something that is important but is not generally known. He said: ‘You
need to know that you were not alone. We were monitoring the movement
of the Seventh Fleet of the US Navy and would have intervened if it
became necessary. Nevertheless, you boys have used our missile boats
better than we could have ever imagined, even in our wildest dreams. Well
done and heartiest congratulations!’*

Postscript

This story brings out how innovative and bold use of weapons can lead to
outstanding results in war, and the important part the Indian Navy plays in
safeguarding our national interests. Good leaders ensure that wars do not
take place, but that can only happen if we are strong. The strength of a
nation is contingent not only on political and military will but also on the
weapons and infrastructure made available to the armed forces to carry out
their tasks.
 The Beeb’s Best Broadcast

‘Battles are won or lost in the minds of men, before they are won or lost on the ground.’

—Brigadier Desmond Hayde, MVC

Lieutenant Colonel Arun Bhimrao Harolikar, Commanding Officer of the

4th Battalion, 5th Gorkha Rifles (FF), was in a reflective mood. The
battalion had fought two fierce battles at Atgram and Gazipur, and had
come out on top. At Atgram, it had decimated ‘B’ company of Pakistan’s 31
Punjab, and had ravaged 22 Baluch at the battle of Gazipur. The khukri* had
struck terror in the hearts and minds of the Pakistani soldiers as the Gorkhas
slashed and severed heads with abandon. Pakistani soldiers who survived
passed on the fear of cold steel to the other soldiers of those units. Those
who had survived the glint of the khukri, on those moonlit nights, would
probably never forget the blood-curdling cry of ‘Ayo Gorkhali’ as the
Gorkhas went about their business of war.
 The heliborne attack: Battle of Sylhet.

The morale of the battalion was sky high, but it had paid a heavy price for
those victories. Hawa Singh and Johri, two of the young officers whom
Harolikar had groomed and trained, were no more. Kelkar, his Second-in-
Command and college mate, had also been killed. Four more—Yeshwant
Rawat, Virender Rawat, Young Bharat* and Rajesh Sherawat—had been
wounded. The battalion had entered the war with eighteen officers, and in
one week three had been killed and four wounded. Only eleven officers
were left to execute future tasks. These two gruesome battles had cost his
battalion the lives of three officers, one JCO and nineteen other ranks, with
four officers and seventy-four other ranks wounded. Leave parties from
Nepal had not yet fetched up with the battalion, and the strength of the Rifle
Companies ranged from fifty-three to sixty-two, against an authorized
strength of 114. He had asked for a replacement of his Second-in-
Command, but there was no news as to who this would be and when he
would arrive.
The rifle companies had to be reorganized, Company Commanders
replaced, men had to fill in the places of those who had been killed or
wounded, and the new incumbents briefed and trained in their new roles.
During training, Harolikar had emphasized that every individual should be
able to take on more than one role, and he had to now make it work. The
reality of war was so different! The battalion had been blooded, but it had
also been bloodied. It was not easy to forget that some of the youngsters
who, just a few days earlier, had been so keen to get to grips with the enemy
were no more! It was not fair that they should have died so young.
Doing well in battle has a price, which is that you are given more and
more difficult tasks. That was what happened after the success at Atgram.
Another battalion had attacked and failed to capture a strongly entrenched
enemy in Gazipur, and the Corps Commander, General Sagat Singh, had
said: ‘Send in the Gorkhas.’ And so, they went in and captured Gazipur, but
at great cost.
Colonel Harolikar had to write to the next of kin, and that was a daunting
task. Army Headquarters would send an impersonal telegram, starting with
the words, ‘Regret to inform you that . . .’, a message that every army wife
or mother dreaded to receive. It was better to have no news than to receive
that message. However, as the head of the family of the 4th Battalion, he
had to write a more personal letter telling the wife or mother how well her
husband/son had done in battle. He also had to write the citations for those
who had been extraordinarily brave and courageous. He felt that he needed
a few days’ break before he could carry out the next task that would
inevitably be allotted to his battalion.
He had messaged Brigade Commander Bunty Quinn that his battalion
needed a few days to rest and reorganize. The Brigade Commander had
readily acquiesced, and Harolikar had been given a break of four days to
reorganize for their next task.
The battalion had commenced moving to the rear areas, and the
Quartermaster and his party had left to find a suitable forest grove where
shade and water would be available. The men had not had the opportunity
to bathe for six days, nor had they had hot food during this period. A break,
therefore, was welcome. The cremations of the deceased compatriots had
been done, but a lot of paperwork had to follow. A few days were also
needed to clean the weapons, replenish ammunition, wash clothes, send
letters to families and lay down telecommunication lines to the Brigade
Headquarters.
The men had just finished bathing in a jungle stream. Their clothes were
being dried while the men waited for their first hot meal after what seemed
an eternity. But then, there was a telephone call for the Commanding
Officer from the Brigade Headquarters.
The Commanding Officer took the call. He was told that his battalion
was given yet another task and that they needed to move immediately.
Colonel Harolikar protested that his men needed a break. They had not
slept for four days. What was so important that could not be done by
another battalion? There was so much to be done before he could be ready
for the next task. The Brigade Commander, Bunty Quinn, listened quietly
and said: ‘Harry, I am sure you know that I would have protested as much
as you are protesting now, and that my protests have been overruled.’
That was true. Brigadier Quinn was known to be an officer who was fair
and just, and would never put his troops in harm’s way if he thought that it
was not right. Harolikar knew that and answered: ‘All right, sir, tell me:
When do I have to move?’
Brigadier Quinn said: ‘Harry, can’t spell out the details over the phone. I
am coming over to you right now.’
An hour later, Brigadier Quinn drove up to where the battalion was
located and informed Colonel Harolikar that his battalion had been given
the task of undertaking the Indian Army’s first heliborne assault, and that
the objective was Sylhet in East Pakistan.
On the morning of 6 December, the same day that the Gorkhas had
moved to their rest area, the Corps Commander, Lieutenant General Sagat
Singh, had met with Brigadier Quinn. Sagat Singh informed Brigadier
Quinn that he had learnt Sylhet had been evacuated by the Pakistani troops.
The Corps Commander felt that it was imperative that the Indian Army
occupied Sylhet at the earliest. An advance on foot through enemy-held
territory in the required timeframe was not possible. But Sagat had ten
helicopters available in Agartala, as a corps resource. He informed Quinn
that a battalion had to be airlifted to Sylhet the next day and that he wanted
the Gorkhas for this task. He added that they had to move immediately to
Kalaura, the place nominated as the launch pad for the heliborne operation.
Brigadier Quinn informed Lieutenant Colonel Harolikar that Sylhet was
strategically important because it gave depth to Dhaka and formed part of
the ‘Fortress Concept’—General Niazi’s strategy for the defence of East
Pakistan. The early capture of Sylhet would facilitate General Sagat’s
intention to be the first to reach Dhaka. The mission involved the capture of
an airfield, a communication centre and a road junction—a task which
would normally have been given to a brigade.
The Brigade Commander informed General Sagat that he had given the
Gorkhas four days to rest and reorganize after the battles in Atgram and
Gazipur. The Corps Commander told Quinn to cancel his orders and said
that the Gorkhas should be asked to start moving immediately. He said he
knew the Gorkhas and that they were best suited for such a task. There was
no time to waste.
General Sagat was relentless in the execution of his tasks. If the Gorkhas
had done well in Atgram and Gazipur, then he would use them again for
more difficult tasks to achieve his aim, even though they had suffered heavy
casualties in officers and men.
Initial intelligence at Headquarter 4 Corps indicated that Pakistan’s 202
Infantry Brigade, along with its supporting arms, was holding Sylhet. That
was the equivalent of over 3000 troops. But according to the Corps
Commander, the brigade had moved out, for the defence of Dhaka, and
there were now only about 200 irregulars holding Sylhet.
Sagat Singh, General Officer Commanding 4 Corps, knew that speed was
essential for the success of this task, but Sylhet was many miles in the
interior and far ahead of his advancing forces. The only way of ensuring the
speedy capture of Sylhet would be the use of faster modes of transport.
Group Captain Chandan Singh, the air force officer on the staff of General
Sagat’s headquarters, had ten helicopters available, but they were meant
only for logistical purposes; they were soft-skinned and had no protection
whatsoever, even against small-arms fire.
The main problem, however, was not only that the helicopters were
vulnerable to small-arms fire but also that there were no means of softening
up the enemy weapons that would be aimed at the helicopters in the air and
the troops on the ground. The Indian Air Force did not have attack
helicopters, and their fighter aircraft did not have night-fighting capabilities.
Besides, Sylhet was far beyond the range of the Indian artillery. The
Gorkhas would therefore be on their own, without any fire support.
The Corps Commander and Group Captain Chandan Singh realized the
risks involved, but both believed that taking risks was part of decision-
making in war. So they decided to take that risk.
Immediately after speaking with the Brigade Commander on the morning
of 6 December 1971, General Sagat briefed the General Officer
Commanding 8 Mountain Division, General Krishna Rao, on his plan to
capture Sylhet and directed him to fly out and brief the Brigade
Commander and the Commanding Officer of the 4th Battalion, 5th Gorkha
Rifles (FF) immediately. There was no time to lose.
The battalion moved to Kalaura, the launch pad for the heliborne
operation. Major General Krishna Rao and Brigadier Bunty Quinn were
waiting for them, and briefed the Commanding Officer. They told him that
the plan required the entire battalion to be on the ground at Sylhet by the
end of 7 December and that it would be linked up with another ground
thrust coming from the north in the next forty-eight hours.
Colonel Harolikar had reservations about the information that Sylhet was
undefended and also about the planned link-up happening in the forecasted
timeframe of forty-eight hours. He said so to the GOC in clear terms. In
fact, he stated that it would be the division and the corps who would be
responsible if things did not go right due to this insistence on a plan based
on unconfirmed and uncorroborated information.* As a disciplined officer,
this was not easy for him to say, but he did say it, because a failed operation
would impact not only on the reputation of his battalion but also on the
Indian Army as a whole.
The Corps Commander was prepared to take the risk, but he was the
Corps Commander—many levels removed from the man who had to
actually execute the task on the ground, behind enemy lines! And that man
was Colonel Harolikar, the Commanding Officer of the Gorkha Battalion,
who had a more realistic appreciation of the ground risks involved.
There were many questions to which there were no answers. Had 202
Pakistani Infantry Brigade actually moved out of Sylhet? Did it make sense
for the Pakistanis to move the brigade from Sylhet when it would be better
to fight a defensive battle away from Dhaka rather than from within the
city’s boundaries? Would there only be 200–300 irregulars holding Sylhet?
How would he capture his objectives without artillery support? Would the
link-up with his battalion actually take place within forty-eight hours? How
would casualties be evacuated? Most important, who would take over from
him if he became a casualty? His Second-in-Command had been killed at
Gazipur, and his replacement had not yet arrived. The remaining officers
were too young and inexperienced to lead the battalion.
But the critical question was this: What was the strength of enemy
defences holding Sylhet? The Corps Headquarters had repeatedly stated that
Sylhet was held by approximately 200–300 razakars.† However, the
strategy of Lieutenant General A.A.K. Niazi, Pakistan’s General Officer
Commanding-in-Chief East Pakistan, was to defend his territory by a string
of strong fortresses based on river obstacles and deep minefields. Sylhet
was one such fortress, and it was out of tune with his strategy to give up
such a key fortress without a fight. In addition to this unanswered question,
there were several issues that needed to be resolved if the operation was to
succeed.
The first was that the capacity of the Indian Air Force to heli-lift troops
in this operation was limited. Would it be able to lift his whole battalion in
one day before last light on 7 December? The lift-off was scheduled for
2.30 p.m. and last light was at 4.30 p.m., which meant they had just two
hours to complete the lift. It was known that the first one hour was crucial
in holding ground against an enemy counterattack in heliborne or para-drop
operations, and therefore there had to be enough troops on the ground to
hold it against the inevitable counterattacks.
Secondly, the advancing friendly forces from the north were many miles
away and were not part of 4 Corps. They, too, would have to fight their way
against enemy opposition. Laid down principles of heliborne or para-drop
operations behind enemy lines required the advancing forces to link up with
the force dropped behind enemy lines within forty-eight hours. It was
accepted in principle that if the link-up within this period was not achieved,
the ability of the force that had been placed behind the enemy would
gradually get degraded, till it would eventually disintegrate and be
destroyed, due to enemy offensive action, increase in the number of
casualties and lack of supplies and reinforcements.
It was not clear as to who would ensure that this force linked up with the
battalion within the given timeframe of forty-eight hours. In any army,
especially in war, responsibility and accountability are very important, as no
one would like to take the blame for a task gone wrong.
The Commanding Officer of the Gorkhas was not convinced that
Pakistan’s 202 Infantry Brigade had withdrawn to Dhaka. If indeed they
were still there, then the odds would be greatly in favour of the Pakistanis.
However, in light of the repeated assurances that 202 Pakistani Infantry
Brigade had moved away from Sylhet, he had no option but to fall in line
and go ahead with his plan for its capture. In the Indian Army, you could
protest up to a point. After that, orders were orders!
Considering all these uncertainties, the Commanding Officer decided to
make his own plans to fight the battle at Sylhet. He consulted his officers
and JCOs and suggested that they would need to take more ammunition and
grenades to hold out if the link-up did not take place on time, and that this
would have to be at the expense of rations, water and their big packs that
contained their second pair of uniform, a blanket and other small
accessories.
The officers and JCOs accepted the Commanding Officer’s suggestion,
but they also asked when the promised link-up would take place. To this,
the Commanding Officer had no answer and he said as much. He was alive
to the fact that when you lead men into battle, you need to tell them the
truth. Evasive answers would not do.
By this time, it was common knowledge that Pakistan had allied itself
with the United States of America and China, and that both these countries
had made a commitment that they would come to the aid of Pakistan if it
was attacked. The orders from Delhi, therefore, were to wrap up the
liberation of East Pakistan as early as possible, before the Chinese or the
Americans could intervene. In that context, the Corps Commander’s plan to
leapfrog and capture Sylhet, which had been denuded of its defenders, made
sense.
Less than an hour after the meeting on 7 December, between General
K.V.K. Rao, Brigadier Quinn and Colonel Harolikar, Group Captain
Chandan Singh arrived at Kalaura in an Alouette helicopter for a
reconnaissance of the Sylhet area. Brigadier Quinn and Colonel Harolikar
accompanied him. Chandan Singh had been deputed to IV Corps HQ to
facilitate army–air force cooperation. Sagat and Chandan Singh had
developed a strong working relationship and between them planned one of
the quickest heliborne operations in military history.* The battalion received
orders for the heliborne operation at 7.30 a.m., the reconnaissance was
carried out at 9.30 a.m., and the heli-lift started at 2.30 p.m.—all on the
same day!
The three officers flew over Sylhet on an aerial recce and from the air
itself selected a landing site near Mirapara on the northern bank of the
Surma River, south-east of Sylhet, about 2 km from the railway bridge.
They did not detect any Pakistani movement, nor did they encounter any
ground fire. This seemingly confirmed that Sylhet was undefended.†
The Commanding Officer of the Gorkhas told the Division and Brigade
Commanders that, given the strength of the enemy as communicated to him,
he was confident of capturing his objectives. His question, however, was
how long he was expected to hold on to the captured objectives without
artillery support. Being a key location, the Pakistanis would most certainly
counterattack, and he would be hard put to defend the objectives which
were spread out over a large area. It was therefore critically important that
the rest of the brigade linked up as quickly as possible.
The GOC reminded Colonel Harolikar that they had flown over the area,
and that there was no evidence of regular troops defending Sylhet. He
added that in any case, he would do his best to ensure that the link-up took
place within forty-eight hours.
Colonel Harolikar knew that moving without enemy opposition would
take any force more than forty-eight hours to link up. Against determined
enemy opposition, it was anybody’s guess as to how much time the link-up
would actually take. But he kept these thoughts to himself. How much
could he protest? What if the GOC and Corps Commander were right and
there were no regular troops defending Sylhet?
Notwithstanding all these obvious disadvantages, the battalion prepared
to move at short notice for the capture of Sylhet. At Staff College, the
teaching was that heliborne operations required at least a week’s joint
planning between the army and the air force, and here the battalion was
being tasked to conduct the Indian Army’s first heliborne operation at a
moment’s notice!
It was a mammoth task that the battalion had been given. Considering the
spread and size of the targets, the Commanding Officer would have to
divide his force, and the necessity of a Second-in-Command became all that
more important. What would happen if he himself became a casualty?
Command and control was crucial in an operation like this. This was the
Indian Army’s first heliborne operation, and failure was not an option.
The Commanding Officer had been told that an officer who was doing
the course at the Staff College was already on the move to join his battalion
as its new Second-in-Command. They were from the same regiment but had
never met. The battalion, meanwhile, was gearing up for the heliborne
offensive. The battalion area was a frenzy of activity. Load tables were
being made; arms, ammunition, rations and equipment were being weighed,
because the helicopters could take only a limited load, and every additional
load, however small, mattered. The tactical plan was being worked out and
battle drills rehearsed. The officers and men were excited at their battalion
being chosen for the first heliborne operation of the Indian Army, and the
Section and Platoon Commanders were busy briefing their commands on
their tasks. The Commanding Officer was, however, alone with his
thoughts.
He got just thirty minutes to give his operational orders for the capture of
Sylhet to his Company and Platoon Commanders. He briefed them on the
strength of the enemy they were likely to meet, the order in which the
companies would be flown in, the allotment of tasks, the likely
counterattacks by the enemy and how they would be repulsed, the need to
dig in and automatically take an all-round defensive position with mutual
support, the allotment of a force to protect the landing ground, and the need
to be offensive and aggressive in whatever they did. Before he commenced
his orders, he had asked who would volunteer to be the first to fly in, and
Major Mane Malik, ‘C’ Company Commander, had raised his hand.
The heliborne operation for Sylhet began at 2.30 p.m. as scheduled, with
the first Mi-4s taking off from Kalaura, carrying the troops of the 4th
Battalion of 5th Gorkha Rifles, Squadron Leader Sandhu, CO of 105 HU
(Helicopter Unit), led the first wave of seven Mi-4s. The troops of 4/5 GR
had no specialized training in heliborne operations; indeed, this was the first
time they had ever moved by helicopter. Heliborne operations were still a
novelty for the Indian Army, and no unit had acquired any expertise or
training with helicopters.6
Led by Major Mani Malik, the ‘C’ Company of 4/5 GR landed in Sylhet
at approximately 3.30 p.m., along with the Commanding Officer and his
Tactical Headquarters. As the first helicopters of the first wave landed, they
encountered heavy fire from the Pakistanis. As the troops were jumping off
the helicopters, the Pakistanis attempted to assault the landing with cries of
‘Allah hu Akbar’. The Gorkhas, however, hit the ground running and
charged at the enemy with the regimental war cry of ‘Ayo Gorkhali’.
Describing the initial moments of the landing, the Commanding Officer
stated: ‘Our boys charged at the enemy straightaway on landing, and I could
see the enemy running away—an unbelievable sight, because the earlier
battles at Atgram and Gazipur had been fiercely contested. I then realized
that these troops must be the razakars I had been told about. I was wrong! I
later came to know that these were the soldiers of 31 Punjab, who had had a
taste of the khukri at Atgram. The fear of the khukri had taken root and was
now paying handsome dividends.’*
The enemy now resorted to plastering the landing ground with artillery,
mortar and medium machine gun fire, and our casualties started mounting.
The Adjutant, Major Karan Puri, was severely wounded in the abdomen and
had to be evacuated. He finally passed away at Guwahati Military Hospital.
He and others who had been wounded in the initial landing were evacuated
in the returning helicopters.
The Commanding Officer’s radio set had not been loaded on this sortie,
and Colonel Harolikar was not able to inform the Brigade Commander
about the progress of the battle.
The second sortie came after an hour, bringing the remainder of the ‘C’
Company and part of the ‘B’ Company. The enemy increased its rate of
artillery, mortar and medium machine gun fire with greater accuracy.
The third sortie brought the remainder of the ‘B’ Company and the CO’s
wireless set. Thus, by last light on 7 December, two rifle companies, the
CO’s Tactical Headquarters, two sections of three-inch mortars and two
detachments of medium machine guns had been landed. A total strength of
254 all ranks.
By this time, within the first three hours of landing, the battalion had
managed to capture the landing ground, beat back a number of
counterattacks and partially dig in. In order to project a strength larger than
they were, the battalion kept moving its automatic weapons peripherally
while at the same time establishing a perimeter defence. The enemy was
trying to establish a cordon around the troops that had landed, but their
attempts were thwarted by counterattacks by the Gorkhas.
The GOC, General Krishna Rao, and the Brigade Commander, Bunty
Quinn, watched the Gorkhas take off on their mission to capture Sylhet with
a silent prayer. Both were aware of the risks involved, but there was nothing
they could do once the mission was launched. So, they stayed there, waiting
for news of the battle from the returning sorties.
In the meanwhile, the officer from Staff College, who belonged to the
unit and had been posted as the Second-in-Command, was doing his best to
reach his battalion as quickly as possible. He had travelled by day and night
from Wellington in south India without rest and managed to reach Kalaura
at around 3 a.m. on 8 December.
The Gorkha troops of his battalion were lying on the fields in tactical
groups. Most were asleep. Soldiers learn to sleep anywhere and anytime,
because one never knows when the next opportunity to rest would come.
The JCOs and NCOs, however, were wide awake, checking on the men and
equipment, and waiting for the choppers to return. They were talking in
whispers. There was absolutely no need for whispers as the enemy was very
far away, but the occasion seemed to demand it.
The officer who had arrived saw three persons standing on a field some
distance away. He walked up to them to find out who they were. The tallest
one spoke in a kind but authoritative voice. ‘Who is it?’ he asked.
The officer answered and informed him that he was Major Ian Cardozo,
the Second-in-Command designate of the 4th Battalion, 5th Gorkha Rifles
(FF), and that he was reporting for duty. The tall officer happened to be
Major General K.V.K. Rao, the General Officer Commanding, 8 Infantry
Division. He shook hands with the officer and welcomed him to the
division. The other two were Brigade Commander, Brigadier Bunty Quinn,
and the Commander Engineers Colonel, ‘Billoo’ Suri.
The Brigade Commander took the Major aside, informed him that most
of his battalion had been heli-lifted to Sylhet, and briefed him about the
operational situation and the task given to his battalion.
While he was being briefed, he could hear the hum of the returning
helicopters in the stillness of the night. The NCOs started waking up the
men. The choppers landed, and the pilots got down and asked for help to
unload the casualties they had brought back.
For these casualties the war was over, but they would now face different
and difficult challenges in their lives ahead.
After the wounded had been taken out, the pilots examined their aircraft,
pointing to the bullet holes that had pierced the soft bodies of the choppers.
Luckily, no fuel tank had been pierced and no fuel line damaged. While the
troops embarked, the returning pilots briefed the pilots of the next wave on
the enemy fire they would encounter, and the ground and air situation. The
pilots were young, brave, confident and enthusiastic.
The fourth sortie took off early, at 4 a.m., on 8 December. The remainder
of the battalion embarked, and the helicopters constituting the last wave
rose and hovered for a while before they headed for Sylhet. This sortie
carried the remainder of the Rifle Companies and battalion support
weapons, the Regimental Medical Officer with his medical platoon and
Major Ian Cardozo, the Second-in-Command designate.
The flight to the objective took twenty minutes. As they were in the ‘run
in’ for the landing, the pilot announced over the intercom, ‘Sit on your
packs. It may help to protect you against ground fire.’ Everyone would have
liked to do as advised, but their big packs had been left behind! The
Adjutant of the battalion had been seriously wounded by ground fire while
being flown in on the second wave. One could hear the crack of the bullets
as they pierced the soft aluminum bodies of the helicopters. There was
nothing one could do except hope and pray that he would be spared the
indignity of being shot in his bottom. The last waves of the morning of 8
December were able to land the remainder of the battalion, including the
Second-in-Command, bringing the total strength to 384 all ranks. In
addition to the men, two mountain guns were lifted into the perimeter held
by the Gorkhas.
Slowly, the choppers landed in a clearing among the bamboo groves. The
landing area was marked by small flames called ‘goose necks’, which were
kettle-like contraptions with a long spout at the end of which a small flame
burned in the darkness, giving indication to the choppers in the sky as to the
location of the landing area. The landing was met with a lot of fire from the
entrenched Pakistani defenders. The crump of enemy mortar bombs, and
the whine and crash of their artillery fire indicated that the enemy was
determined to beat back the heliborne attack.
Artillery shells threw up huge mounds of earth and showers of shrapnel.
The volume of fire reached a crescendo as the enemy tried to destroy the
choppers and the disembarking troops. It was clear from the volume of fire
that the enemy was in considerable strength.
By now, the formation headquarters seemed to understand the
overwhelming opposition being faced by the battalion, and orders to capture
the railway bridge and radio station were cancelled. The battalion was told
to hold on to the landing ground and to carry out aggressive defence.
The enemy, with its overwhelming strength, was in an excellent position
to destroy this under-strength battalion but failed to do so. Yet, Radio
Pakistan, with its typical ability to propagate false propaganda, announced
that ‘the 4th Battalion of the 5th Gorkhas of the Indian Army, while
attempting to land at Sylhet, were wiped out. There were no survivors.’
A resumption of the heli-lift on 8 and 9 December brought in two
mountain guns as well as the Battery Commander Major Segan, but with
limited ammunition. The resumption of the heli-lift, however, created an
impression in the minds of the Pakistanis that a second battalion of Gorkhas
had landed.
The heliborne landings are best described in the words of P.V.S. Jagan
Mohan and Samir Chopra. In their book Eagles over Bangladesh, they
write:

The sudden appearance of IAF helicopters and the landing of Gorkha troops unnerved the
Pakistani Brigade commander at Sylhet. Contrary to the Indian assessment, Pakistan’s
202 Infantry Brigade had not withdrawn from Sylhet, nor had they any intention to do so.
General Sagat had felt that the Gorkhas would face minimal resistance but they were now
caught in an awkward situation with a strong enemy just outside their landing area and
with lines of supply restricted to aerial ones.

The Pakistan Army now sent an ad-hoc force of troops to the landing zone
to engage the IAF helicopters and the Gorkha Rifles with small-arms fire.
The small landing force could have been easily overwhelmed had they been
attacked with gumption, for in the first crucial hour Indian forces barely
measured company strength. But the Pakistan Army preferred to surround
the landing area and engage in small-arms fire. The Gorkhas fought back
vigorously and soon established a perimeter the Pakistan Army was unable
to breach. The Gorkhas were only carrying pouch ammunition and had to
exercise strict fire discipline, opening fire only when sure of hitting their
targets. The Pakistanis had brought in several MMGs and automatic
weapons but even then, failed to carry out an infantry charge on the landing
zone; a bayonet assault by the Pakistanis would have cleared the landing
area and put paid to the heliborne operation. And neither was the ad-hoc
force reinforced.
When the first wave of helicopters returned to Kalaura with bullet
damage, it was obvious this was no unopposed landing. As the Kilo Flight
Alouette was the only one in Eastern Command rigged with two rocket
pods, Flight Lieutenant C.M. Singla, with his co-pilot, Squadron Leader
Sultan Ahmed, took off ahead of the second wave of Mi-4s. Arriving at the
helipad, he laid down suppressive fire on Pakistani positions, diverting
attention from the Mi-4s that followed him.
The second wave of Mi-4s was led by the flight commander of 105 HU
and made the twenty-minute flight in receding light, carrying with them
another company of 4/5 GR troops and their CO, Lieutenant Colonel
Harolikar. Dusk was fast approaching. Sunset was at approximately 4.45
p.m., and it would be dark at 5.05 p.m. It was obviously too late to send the
third wave of MI-4s, and Pakistan ground fire was now steadily on the
increase. By the time the day’s operations were called off in the evening,
the helicopters had airlifted 254 personnel to the landing zone in two waves
of twenty-two sorties.
Flight Lieutenant Vaid carried out the last sortie of the day, carrying an
air control team (ACT) led by Flying Officer Satish Chandra Sharma. The
ACT, along with their radio equipment, was dropped at the landing area at 5
p.m. in almost complete darkness. The ACT came under small-arms and
mortar fire immediately on landing. Gathering his wits, S.C. Sharma
assembled his men and moved them to cover. Within minutes he had moved
to a vantage position from where he could observe Pakistani positions. He
contacted an armed Alouette of the Kilo Flight, which did some useful work
in suppressing Pakistani fire.
The strike effectively silenced the Pakistani probes on the landing area
for the night.
Helicopter operations were not yet done. After the last sortie was flown
out at 5 p.m., Group Captain Chandan Singh had ordered the helicopter
force to stand down. This upset army commanders who wanted to send in
more troops and supplies. After hectic discussion, Chandan Singh directed
Flight Lieutenant Vaid to fly another sortie in the dark of the night, at 10
p.m. Dressed in the ubiquitous ‘lungi’, a Bengali civilian dress, Vaid and his
co-pilot, Flying Officer B.L.K. Reddy, carried out three sorties to and from
Kalaura, dropping supplies, troops and even evacuating a wounded soldier.
 The Pakistan Army had been deceived by the number of sorties flown by
the IAF helicopters and had estimated a far greater opposition. It had
assumed that the heliborne force was being transported by the larger Mi-8
helicopters—which had not entered service yet—and estimates of a
brigade-sized force made the rounds. The fierce opposition put up by the
Gorkhas in the battle for the landing zone also distorted whatever
reasonable estimates the Pakistanis may have had. One can only conjecture
what the Pakistanis might have done if they had known the heliborne
landing had only managed to drop 254 troops.
By now it was clear to the Gorkhas that the force holding Sylhet was
certainly many times more than the 200 razakars as estimated by the corps.
What was not known to them was that 202 Infantry Brigade was still at
Sylhet! It had not moved to Dhaka! Not only that, Sylhet had been
reinforced by 313 Pakistan Infantry Brigade! This brigade had reached
Sylhet on 7 December, the same day that the Gorkhas had landed. By the
time the battalion had consolidated its defences around its defence
perimeter, enemy forces at Sylhet would have increased to nearly a division
consisting of two Pakistani infantry brigades and the Sylhet Garrison, which
was commanded by a brigadier. But the Gorkhas did not know this.
The Pakistanis were now in overwhelming superiority; the impossibly
unequal ratio between the Gorkhas and the Pakistanis had become 1:20.
Whereas the strength of the Pakistani forces would keep increasing by the
day as fresh troops joined in, the strength of the Gorkhas would keep
decreasing due to casualties. There was no hope of resupply because the
helicopters were required to fulfil their main role, which was to provide
administrative support for the advancing troops elsewhere. The strength of
the Gorkhas was limited to just 384 all ranks, due firstly to the heavy
casualties suffered in previous operations; secondly, because the returning
leave parties had not yet caught up with the battalion; and lastly, the
helicopter lift could not take a force larger than this within the specified
timeframe. This meant in effect that the strength of the Gorkhas was less
than half an infantry battalion.
 On the first day itself, the Gorkhas found themselves fighting with their
backs to the wall. Heavy medium machine gun fire, artillery and mortar
concentrations caused many casualties. It was now only a matter of time
before the Pakistanis would come to know about their own overwhelming
superiority and be encouraged to eliminate the Gorkhas. The situation for
the Gorkhas had become critical. By the afternoon of 9 December, forty-
eight hours had elapsed and the promised link-up had not taken place.
Casualties were mounting. They had already run out of food and water, and
their ammunition was running dangerously low. IV Corps realized the
predicament of the Gorkhas and organized support by IAF fighter aircraft at
Kumbhigram and Agartala by day, and in the absence of helicopter support
requested for air drops of supplies and ammunition.
It was at this stage, when the situation had become critically dangerous,
that the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) came to the rescue.
In a radio broadcast, the BBC mistakenly announced that ‘a brigade of
Gorkhas had been heli-landed at Sylhet’. It is not known whether the BBC
war correspondent who had filed his report got mixed up between the terms
‘battalion’ and ‘brigade’, and whether he knew that a brigade was three
times the strength of a battalion!
The world knew that the BBC was a source of authentic news. Generally,
they managed to not only get their facts right but also get their reports out
ahead of everyone else. Their enterprising war correspondents were given
permission by the Indian government to accompany the advancing forces
and were therefore able to send back reports straight from the battlefield.
Everyone therefore listened to what the BBC said and believed it to be true.
By broadcasting the truth, the BBC rendered Pakistani propaganda useless,
and no one believed Radio Pakistan any more. The world listened to the
BBC because the BBC always told the truth. This time, however, it had
made a mistake—a mistake that the Gorkhas could use to their advantage.
It took a little time for the battalion at Sylhet to understand the import of
the BBC’s error in reporting that a ‘brigade’ of Gorkhas had landed at
Sylhet when in fact it was only a battalion, and that too a battalion at
reduced strength, of just 384 all ranks when they were heli-landed. Now
they were even fewer, owing to the attrition suffered due to those who were
killed and wounded.
On the night of the BBC broadcast, officers of both armies that were
facing each other at Sylhet were also listening to the news on their
transistors. Colonel Harolikar of the Gorkhas said, ‘Did you hear that? The
BBC has just said that a brigade of Gorkhas has landed at Sylhet!’
One of the officers said, ‘Yes, sir. Wonder how they got it so wrong?’
The Battalion Second-in-Command, however, said excitedly, ‘They
haven’t got it wrong, sir. They’ve got it right! We must capitalize on this
broadcast! The Pakistanis must also be listening! We need to simulate that
we are in fact a brigade. The opposition here seems to be much more than a
battalion. If we are able to bluff them that we are here in brigade-strength, it
would impose caution on them.’
The answer for the Gorkhas was to bluff the Pakistanis that they were a
brigade!
The Commanding Officer thought about it. Nearly three days had elapsed
since the battalion had landed at Sylhet—twelve hours more than the
anticipated link-up! The battalion had already suffered a number of
casualties and was running low on ammunition. The rations and water that
they had brought had finished, and they were managing on what little grain
was available in a few abandoned huts within the perimeter of their
defences. There was no water to drink, except water from dirty ponds that
they had to strain through handkerchiefs.
Simulating a brigade would mean dispersing the battalion over a wider
area, and such a move had several disadvantages. It opened the risk of the
companies being destroyed individually, and inter-company support would
not be available due to dispersion. The advancing Indian forces were still
many miles away. It was not clear as to when the link-up would take place.
The risk was enormous, but it was worth taking, and the Commanding
Officer took it.
The Commanding Officer and the Second-in-Command relocated the
companies, dispersing them over a wider area. Nests of small groups of
soldiers, armed with automatic weapons, were placed in the gaps between
companies to prevent Pakistani patrols from discovering that the Indian
force holding Sylhet was in fact half a battalion and not a brigade.
In some cases, the companies had to fight their way to occupy new areas.
In one case, a platoon was tasked to occupy a mound which, if occupied by
the Pakistanis, would give them effective ability to observe and fire at the
Gorkha defences. Apparently, the Pakistanis thought of occupying this
mound at the same time, but the Gorkhas got there first and brought
effective fire on them. Confused fighting took place, but the Gorkhas had
the upper hand with the use of their khukris. The Pakistani attack failed, and
they were seen carrying away their dead and wounded.
The Gorkhas extended the area of their defensive perimeter during the
day, when the Indian Air Force was able to support them. Thanks to the
Flight Lieutenant and his ACT (Air Control Tentacle), close air support
arrived whenever the enemy was observed to be collecting in large
numbers, and this was a morale booster for the Gorkha troops, who clapped
their hands in glee when the IAF MiG-21s and Hunters blasted away at the
Pakistani forces assembling for their counterattacks. At night, Gorkha
patrols dominated the ground forward of the companies.
On 11 December, the request to resupply the Gorkhas was routed to 33
Squadron at Guwahati. Most transport aircraft were being prepared for an
upcoming para operation on the outskirts of Dhaka, but Caribous were
available. Flying Officer Rudra Bishnoi was detailed to carry out the drop,
with H.S. Sahni as his co-pilot. They were accompanied by a navigator and
a two-man ejection crew. After loading up at Agartala and Kumbhigram, he
proceeded to Sylhet to drop his load of ammunition and supplies.*
The Caribou, with Bishnoi at the controls, arrived over the drop zone at
Sylhet on schedule—in near darkness, with heavy fighting underway in the
battle zone. The aircrew could observe Sylhet in flames due to the Indian
strikes as well as the artillery from the Pakistanis and the mountain guns
with the Gorkhas.
Bishnoi circled for a while and then ejected his loads on the ground
marked by the Gorkhas with parachutes which were discernable even
though it was dark. As he did so, he was hit by ground fire but managed to
get away.†
The Second-in-Command and a group of Gorkhas rushed into the drop
zone to collect the ammunition. The Pakistani artillery zeroed in on the drop
zone. Despite heavy shelling, the Gorkhas cut loose the ammunition from
the parachutes with their khukris. Fortunately, there were no casualties. On
examining the loads that were dropped, the Gorkhas were disappointed to
find that they consisted of artillery and mortar ammunition but not what
they really needed—small arms ammunition or rations. The next urgent
requirement was the evacuation of the dead and wounded. This need was
also met by Group Captain Chandan Singh. He sent two helicopters at night
for this purpose. Goosenecks were lit to mark the helipad at night.
The evacuation of the dead and wounded was another big morale booster
for the troops. The reappearance of Indian Air Force helicopters at night
apparently convinced the Pakistanis that the Gorkhas continued to be
reinforced, whereas in actual fact the helicopters had only come for casualty
evacuation.
All these actions convinced the Pakistanis not only that the Gorkhas were
in brigade-strength but also that they had been reinforced. The Gorkha
Battalion’s reputation for extensive use of their khukris demoralized them
further and made them cautious.
The presumption on the part of the Gorkhas that the Pakistanis would
have also heard the BBC broadcast was correct, but they still did not know
the strength of the Pakistani force opposing them.
The Gorkhas continued their active patrolling and ambushes. Small-arms
ammunition, however, was running alarmingly low. As he went around the
defensive positions, the Commanding Officer found the Gorkhas
sharpening their khukris. When asked why they were doing this, they
answered, ‘Sahib, if we run out of ammunition, we would use our most
trusted weapon—our khukris.’
From 9–14 December, the Pakistanis strengthened their cordon around
the Gorkhas and made futile attempts to evict them with relentless pounding
by artillery fire. The Pakistanis, however, kept at a safe distance and seemed
to lack the stomach to get involved in close combat with the Gorkhas at
Sylhet, due to 31 Punjab and 22 Baluch having been at the receiving end of
khukri attacks by the Gorkhas at the battles of Atgram and Gazipur.
The Gorkhas, on the other hand, aggressively dominated the areas around
the airfield by strong patrols, well-laid ambushes and roadblocks, and
cutting road communication between Sylhet and Khadimnagar. These
strong patrols also carried out raids on the enemy dispositions. In one such
raid, they captured the regimental colours of 31 Punjab Regiment. These
regimental colours are considered sacrosanct and fought for till the last man
and the last round. The 31 Punjab regimental colours are now displayed in
the Museum of the Indian Military Academy, Dehradun. It speaks volumes
about the tenacity, grit, determination and indomitable spirit of all ranks of
the battalion that held their ground for nine days in the face of fierce
opposition, nearly twenty times its own strength. Even two brigades and the
Sylhet Garrison, commanded by a brigadier, with their artillery and
overflowing ammunition dumps, could not wipe out a handful of
determined Gorkhas.
On 11, 12 and 13 December, the Indian Army Chief, General Sam
Manekshaw, issued ultimatums to General Niazi to surrender. In these
ultimatums, the Army Chief reiterated that he would ensure the safety of all
West Pakistanis who laid down their arms. Along with the ultimatum,
General Manekshaw also issued a caveat that if they did not surrender, they
alone would be accountable for the casualties they would suffer.
At 0900 hours, on 15 December 1971, two days after Sam Manekshaw’s
call for surrender of all Pakistani forces in East Pakistan, two Pakistani
officers approached the defended area of the Gorkhas with a white flag. The
account is given in Forever in Operations by Colonel R.D. Palsokar, MC.
He states: ‘In the early hours of 15th December 1971, the Pakistani
Garrison Commander at Sylhet sent a team of two officers with a few men
carrying a white flag to the 4/5 Gorkha Rifles defended location. The
officers conveyed that their Commander wanted to surrender his troops at
Sylhet to 4/5 Gorkha Rifles.’
 Actually, when Major Mane Malik, Company Commander of ‘C’
Company, observed this small party with a white flag emerging from a
wooded area some 1500 metres away, he informed the Commanding
Officer and asked for instructions. Lieutenant Colonel Harolikar went
forward and observed a large group of some 1000–2000 armed Pakistani
soldiers gathered at the edge of the forest while a small party with a white
flag was moving towards ‘C’ Company. There was, at this time, no
information about a ceasefire or surrender in the rest of the war zone of East
Pakistan from the Brigade Headquarters, nor any news on our lone
transistor radio. The CO therefore became suspicious of Pakistani
intentions.
The officers handed over a note saying that the Garrison Commander at
Sylhet wanted to surrender the entire garrison to the Indian Brigade
Commander. The Commanding Officer of the Gorkhas immediately
realized that the deception carried out by his battalion to simulate a brigade-
sized force had worked. However, he also realized that even at this stage, if
the Pakistanis came to know that it was only half a battalion that was facing
them at Sylhet, the situation could get difficult. The Indian Brigade
Commander was many miles away, and it was essential that he came as
soon as possible to take the surrender.
The officers were told to go back and inform their Garrison Commander
to come in person to discuss the modalities of the surrender. As the two
officers were on their way back and were halfway there, the battalion
noticed that the large group of Pakistani soldiers had started running
forward, towards our defended locality. Realizing that this could be a ploy
to overcome our company with sheer strength of numbers, Major Malik
ordered his light machine gun detachment to fire a couple of bursts, as a
warning for the Pakistanis to not come closer. As soon as the warning bursts
were fired, the Pakistani soldiers went to ground. Major Malik told them to
go back. This must have been the first offer to surrender by the Pakistan
Army in East Pakistan even before the ceasefire was announced later that
evening. The Pakistani group returned to their defences.
 A message in code, as to what had transpired that morning, was passed
on to the brigade, and the Brigade Commander was asked to come over to
take the surrender.
On the afternoon of 15 December 1971, Brigadier Bunty Quinn arrived
by helicopter to accept the Pakistani surrender. The Pakistan Garrison
Commander met Brigadier Quinn at 1500 hours, and the modalities of the
surrender were discussed. On 16 December, the Sylhet Garrison
surrendered, bringing an end to the battle of Sylhet.
However, there were new surprises for everyone. The Pakistanis were
surprised to see the Brigade Commander come by helicopter and were
astonished to learn from him, after he had landed, that the Gorkha troops
holding Sylhet was only half a battalion. The Gorkhas were even more
surprised to learn that it was not a battalion but two brigades and the Sylhet
garrison that had faced them at Sylhet. Three brigadiers, 173 officers, 290
JCOs and nearly 8000 troops surrendered to the Commanding Officer of 4/5
Gorkha Rifles. The three Brigadiers were Brigadier Salimullah Khan,
Commander, 202 Pakistani Infantry Brigade; Brigadier Iftikhar Rana,
Commander, 313 Pakistani Infantry Brigade; and Brigadier S.A. Hassan,
Commander of the Sylhet Garrison.*
After the surrender, the Pakistani Garrison Commander was chivalrous
enough to convey to Brigadier Quinn that, ‘If this battalion was not here in
Sylhet, we would have held Sylhet for another ten days.’
The troops who surrendered belonged to 31 Punjab, 91 Mujahid
Battalion, 12 Azad Kashmir Rifles, 22 Baluch, 30 Frontier Force, 31 Field
Regiment, 88 Independent Mortar Battery, and troops from Khyber Rifles,
Thal Scouts and Tochi Scouts. The strength of the Gorkha Battalion had
been reduced to just seven officers and 329 other ranks.
What came out clearly after the surrender, however, was that 4/5 Gorkha
Rifles had not only captured and held on to Sylhet against a force twenty
times its strength but also tied down two Pakistani Infantry Brigades and
the forces of the Sylhet Garrison from 7–15 December, thereby hastening
the fall of Dhaka.
 With regard to the action at Sylhet, General J.F.R. Jacob, Chief of Staff of
Eastern Command, Calcutta, has this to say in his book Surrender at Dacca:
On 7 December, 4/5 Gorkha Rifles of 59 Mountain Brigade had been lifted by helicopters
to the south-east of Sylhet across the Surma River. The Pakistanis had evacuated the civil
population from Sylhet and fortified the town. The defences were held by Pakistani 202
Infantry Brigade. Pakistani 313 Infantry Brigade, ex- Maulvi Bazar, joined the Sylhet
Garrison, bringing the strength up to six battalions, one regiment of 105 mm guns and
one battery of 120 mm mortars. The move of the Pakistani 313 Brigade from Maulvi
Bazar to Sylhet had not been anticipated by us at Command Headquarters and came as a
surprise. We had expected this brigade would fall back to the Coronation Bridge on the
Meghna for the defence of the Meghna crossing and Dhaka. Had they done so, IV Corps’
progress across the Meghna would have been very difficult. When we got radio intercepts
confirming their move to Sylhet, we were very relieved. It meant for all practical
purposes, that two infantry brigades were out on a limb at Sylhet where they could be
contained and their effectiveness neutralised. After the war, whilst interrogating the GOC
of the division, Major General Abdul Quazi, I asked him why he had moved this brigade
to Sylhet. He replied that he was determined that he would not let us capture Sylhet.
Niazi’s fortress strategy and the Divisional Commander’s implementation of this policy
speeded up the disintegration of Pakistan’s defence capabilities and facilitated the capture
of Dhaka.

Major General Fazal Muqueem Khan of Pakistan, in his book,* states that
Pakistan’s 202 Brigade was reinforced by 313 Brigade, but he gives no
explanation as to how and why it happened. However, Lieutenant General
A.A.K. Niazi, Army Commander, East Pakistan, in his book The Betrayal
of Dhaka, says that Commander 313 Pakistan Brigade, which had been
ordered by his GOC to fall back for the defence of Dhaka, disobeyed his
orders and for unknown reasons joined 202 Brigade at Sylhet.
The move of Pakistan’s 313 Infantry Brigade to Sylhet instead of Dhaka
led to the sacking of Major General Qazi Abdul Majid, General Officer
Commanding 14 Infantry Division, of which this brigade was a part. The
failure of this brigade to also evict 4/5 Gorkha Rifles from Sylhet must have
added fuel to the fire.
However, those nine days in Sylhet extracted a heavy price in fourteen
killed, including one officer, two JCOs and eleven other ranks, and thirty-
nine wounded. Although he had been evacuated, Major Karan Puri passed
away at the Guwahati Military Hospital. Overall, in the 1971 war, the
battalion lost thirty men, including four officers and three JCOs, with 123
wounded, including seven officers. The Commanding Officer, Lieutenant
Colonel Harolikar, was awarded the Maha Vir Chakra for his outstanding
courage and leadership in the battles of Atgram, Gazipur and Sylhet; the Air
Force Officer, Flying Officer Satish Chandra Sharma, was awarded the Vir
Chakra for his courage and impressive control of the air battle over Sylhet.
Captain Sengupta, the Regimental Medical Officer, Naib Subedar
Tirthabahadur and Captain Rana* were awarded Sena Medals for their brave
conduct at Sylhet. Some of the company commanders, like Yeshwant
Rawat, Dinesh Rana, Virendra Rawat, Mane Malik and the Battery
Commander Major K.D. Segan as well as many JCOs, NCOs and men
ought to have been decorated for their outstanding courage and
performance at the battles fought by the battalion at Atgram, Gazipur and
Sylhet, but their bravery has not been recognized. If the senior leaders
thought that the battalion needed to be repeatedly given difficult missions,
then the courage of its personnel deserved better recognition.
The success of the Gorkhas was tempered by the loss of many of their
officers and men, who were not around to savour this moment of victory of
the Indian armed forces in which they had undoubtedly played a memorable
part. Much of the credit in facilitating the Gorkhas to capture Sylhet and to
hold on to it needs to be given to the Indian Air Force, who supported them
in every possible way. The Gorkhas, however, were also deeply aware of
the crucial role played by the BBC in facilitating their survival.
Without doubt, the BBC’s mistake in reporting that a ‘brigade of Gorkhas
had landed at Sylhet’ helped 4/5 Gorkha Rifles substantially in working out
a strategy to deal effectively with a force more than twenty times its size. It
was this historic error by a media house known for its authentic reporting
that helped the Gorkhas to turn the tables on a far superior force.

Postscript

Although all this happened fifty years ago, the surviving officers and men
of the 4th Battalion of the 5th Gorkha Rifles (FF) take this opportunity to
say ‘thank you’ to the British Broadcasting Corporation for their historic
error. For them, it was the BBC’s best broadcast, and it is never too late to
say thank you.
 Long Shot at Longewala

‘The battlefield is a scene of inevitable chaos. The winner will be the one who controls
that chaos; both his and the enemy’s.’

—Napoleon Bonaparte

‘Hold on my child. Joy comes in the morning

The darkest hour means dawn is just in sight.’

—Words from the song ‘Joy Comes in the Morning’

Longewala, 3 December 1971

All was quiet on the southern front. Major Kuldip Singh Chandpuri,
Company Commander, ‘A’ Company of the 23rd Battalion of the Punjab
Regiment, gave an involuntary shiver as he looked across the vast expanse
of the rolling sand dunes ahead of him. It was the night of 3–4 December
1971, and it was cold, as nights in the desert always are. The moon was on
the wane, but it had been a full moon the previous night. It was now like a
lamp in the sky, and he could see far into the distance by its soft light. The
desert in front of him looked very much like a sea. He remembered bits and
pieces of the lecture at the Indian Military Academy on ‘Navigation by
Stars’. The instructor had compared operations in the desert to operations at
sea. Both were devoid of landmarks, and in both cases one had to rely on
the stars for direction.
 The armoured column of Pakistan being attacked by IAF Hunters.

The border area of Rajasthan–Sind is generally desert terrain with very

little road or rail communication. Indian strategists expected Pakistan to be
generally on the defensive in this sector and maybe launch limited, local
offensives to improve its defensive stance. They did not realize how wrong
they were in their assessment.
That evening, of 3 December 1971, All India Radio had informed its
listeners that Pakistan had attacked Indian airfields at 5.45 p.m., and among
them were the Jodhpur and Uttarlai airfields, which fell within Southern
Command. Major Chandpuri’s battalion, brigade and division were also part
of this command.
It was around midnight. Venus was dipping towards the horizon when he
heard Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s speech informing citizens that
Pakistan had attacked India, and that the nation had no option but to defend
herself and fight back.
 Major Kuldip Singh Chandpuri informed the Screen Position
Commander, who was about three miles ahead of Longewala, that the war
had begun and that he needed to be extraordinarily alert. The Screen was a
strong detachment ahead of the main defences, which were his ‘eyes and
ears’. Its task was to give early warning of the strength and direction of
enemy movement.
Major Chandpuri searched the area in front of him and on either side, but
there was no movement or sound of any sort. Sound carries far in the desert
because there are no buildings or trees to absorb sound waves; but at that
moment, there was total silence. He went around the company-defended
locality to check on the sentries and to inform the Platoon Commanders that
the war had finally started. He wondered whether Pakistan had any
intention to launch offensive operations in his area. His was a lone
company, out on a limb, with no armour and very little artillery support. He
was aware that in the desert, mobility was the answer to success in battle
and that tanks were a battle-winning factor in desert warfare.
He had learnt earlier that a brigade* from his division† (12 Indian Infantry
Division) was to launch an offensive across the International Border, in the
area of Rahimyar Khan, and that most armour and artillery resources had
been allotted for the offensive. He was many miles away from Sadhewala,
the location of his Battalion Headquarters, which was his only source of
support. On his request for anti-tank resources, he was told not to worry, as
no threat was envisaged in his area, and that anti-tank mines would be sent
to him. Major Chandpuri decided to lay the mines when they came and, in
the meanwhile, he decided to stretch a single strand of barbed wire across
his front to indicate a deep minefield, which in fact did not exist.
Unknown to the Indians, Pakistan General Headquarters had approved an
offensive plan that had Longewala as its first objective, and ‘A’ Company
23 Punjab would be bang in the middle of the Pakistani assault. Pakistan’s
18 Infantry Division, in addition to deploying a brigade group for the
defence of the Rajasthan–Sind sector, had two infantry brigade groups in
reserve for offensive operations.
 Major General B.M. Mustafa, GOC, Pakistan’s 18 Infantry Division, had
called for a conference on 16 October 1971, to explain his concept of his
forthcoming offensive. Since the operation was armour-centric, he had
called Lieutenant Colonel Z.A. Khan, Commanding Officer 38 Cav
(Sherman tanks), and Lieutenant Colonel Akram Hussain Syed,
Commanding Officer 22 Cav (T-59 tanks), to hear his plan and give
comments on the feasibility of the operation. His Colonel Staff, Wajid Ali
Shah, made the initial presentation.*
General Mustafa explained that the plan was to hold the front south of
Rahimyar Khan and Barmer with a brigade, and to launch an offensive with
two brigades supported by armour against Ramgarh along the Tanot–
Longewala approach and thereafter exploit to Jaisalmer. He proposed to do
this by outflanking the Indian left flank, and then seize Ramgarh and
Jaisalmer. One brigade, with an armoured regiment in support, was to seize
Ramgarh, and another brigade, with another armoured regiment, was to
neutralize the airfield at Jaisalmer. The GOC asked for comments on the
practicality of his plan from the tankman’s point of view. The presentation
also mentioned that GHQ required the approach march from firm base to
Jaisalmer, a distance of 120 miles, to be covered in one day. The armoured
regimental commanders said that the plan was feasible provided that: the
approach march to the border and advance to Jaisalmer was made in two
nights; and air cover was made available from the first day, from dawn to
dusk, till Ramgarh and Jaisalmer were secured. The GOC accepted the
suggestions and said that the plan was top secret and was not to be talked
about at all.
This was his initial plan but changes would keep creeping in as time
passed.
In the first week of November, the Army Chief, General Abdul Hamid
Khan, and the Air Force Chief, Air Marshal Rahim, came to Rahimyar
Khan, where the 18 Pakistan Infantry Division plan was discussed. On
being asked for confirmation that air support for the offensive would be
available, Air Chief Rahim said that air support would be given.*
 On 2 December 1971, Lieutenant Colonel Z.A. Khan, Commanding
Officer of 38 Cav, among others, was called to the Pakistan 18 Division
Headquarters and told that the move for the offensive would commence that
night. He was given the details of the offensive—51 Pakistan Infantry
Brigade with 22 Cavalry was tasked with capturing Ramgarh and Jaisalmer,
and 206 Pakistan Infantry Brigade with capturing Longewala. 38 Cavalry
was to follow 51 Pakistan Infantry Brigade up to Longewala, and after the
capture of Longewala, it was to proceed to Jaisalmer to neutralize the
airfield. The H-Hr† for the offensive was 2130 hours, 3 December. The
launch of the offensive was later postponed by a day and changed to 0200
hours, 4 December.
 The area of operations.

On conclusion of the briefing, those assembled were asked if there were

any questions. During the question-and-answer session, Lieutenant Colonel
Z.A. Khan observed that there were some shortcomings in the planning of
the offensive. The Indian infantry division opposing them was 12 Indian
Infantry Division and not 11 Indian Infantry Division as mentioned in the
briefing. The maps held by the Pakistani division and the artillery in support
were blank in the areas across the border. Worst of all, there was no
confirmation that air support was available. A Pakistan Air Force Wing
Commander, who came for the orders, stated that the PAF would not be
able to support the offensive because the Jacobabad airfield had not been
activated. Commanders of 51, 55 and 206 Pakistan Infantry Brigades were
taken aback and asked the GOC to cancel the offensive, because without air
support the offensive was likely to fail.
The GOC telephoned General G.S. Hassan, the Chief of General Staff
and discussed the viability of the offensive without air support. After some
discussion, the GOC informed the ‘O’ Group that the offensive had to be
conducted even without air support, ‘in national interest’! The Brigade
Commanders once again urged the GOC to refuse to launch the offensive
without air support, saying that the operation might fail. But the GOC
Pakistan 18 Infantry Division replied that he would conduct the offensive
anyway, because if he didn’t, he would be labelled as ‘a general who lost
his nerve’.

The Pakistani Offensive Plan

In brief, the final plan for the offensive of 18 Pakistan Infantry Division was
as under:

The division to conduct an approach march of about 60 miles to the

IB (International Border) on the night of 3 December.
A further move of 40 miles from the IB to Ramgarh by 51 Pakistani
Infantry with 22 Cav and 38 Baluch. After the capture of Ramgarh,
the brigade to proceed to Jaisalmer to neutralize the airfield.
22 Cav to bypass Longewala and take up a position to counter any
counteroffensive by 12 Indian Infantry Division.
 206 Pakistan Brigade to leave one battalion for the defence of
Rahimyar Khan and to secure Longewala as a Firm Base.
38 Cav less a squadron with 1 Punjab and a mortar battery to
follow 51 Pakistan Brigade till the metal road to Jaisalmer is
reached and then continue to Jaisalmer to carry out their task to
neutralize the airfield.

Headquarters Southern Command (India)

Headquarters Southern Command, under Lieutenant General G.G. Bewoor,

was responsible for the Sind–Rajasthan sector. He had two divisions under
his command—11 and 12 Infantry Divisions. For ease of command and
control, he had set up an Advance Headquarters at Jodhpur.
Southern Command had deployed one brigade each in the Barmer (11
Infantry Division) and Jaisalmer (12 Infantry Division) sectors to cover the
move of the remainder of the divisions from their respective cantonments.
Subsequently, both divisions were to launch offensive operations against
Pakistan. Accordingly, one brigade was deployed in the Kishengarh–Tanot–
Sadhewala area and another in the Munnabao–Gadra Road area. This was
the first time that major operations were being conducted in desert terrain
by Southern Command.
Commanded by Brigadier Ramadoss, 30 Indian Infantry Brigade was
earmarked to lead the advance of the 12 Division offensive in the Thar
sector and was located 2 km west of Sadhewala, where Brigadier Ramadoss
had concentrated his three infantry battalions—17 Rajputana Rifles, 13
Kumaon and 6th Battalion of the 5th Gorkha Rifles. His task was to capture
Rahimyar Khan and was to move at first light on 5 December. The Brigade
had twenty Lancers (AMX tanks) and 6 Independent Armoured Squadron
(T-55 tanks) as its armour complement, located at Kishengarh, 80 km to the
north-east. It also had four tanks of the Replacement Tank Troop, located at
Sadhewala for use in an emergency on orders of the GOC. Air cover for the
division was being provided by six Hunters from the Armament Training
Wing, Jamnagar, on detachment at Jaisalmer. The IAF Station at Jaisalmer
was commanded by Wing Commander M.S. Bawa. Southern Command
also had 10 and 220 Squadrons, with HF-24s at Uttarlai and Jodhpur for
close air support. It could also call for support of Canberras located at Pune.
It appeared that both India and Pakistani forces in this area were
launching offensive operations against each other, and neither knew about
the other’s offensives on axes that were parallel to each other but separated
by vast desert terrain.

Sequence of Events

4 December 1971

On the night of 4 December, the Pakistani offensive force approached the

Indian Border Post No. 635, at around 2330 hours.
On the night of 4–5 December, at around 2400 hours, the Indian Screen
position ahead of Longewala reported the sound of enemy armour to his
Company Commander, Major Chandpuri.
Major Chandpuri reported developments to his battalion and brigade.

5 December 1971

At 0030 hours, Pakistani artillery opened up on the post at Longewala in

support of advancing Pakistani armour. Chandpuri’s troops engaged
Pakistan armour and infantry with their anti-tank and small-arms weapons.
The Indian force at Longewala was just one infantry company of less
than 100 soldiers, with one jeep-mounted RCL gun, and MMGs and
mortars.*
The Pakistani force consisted of 51 Infantry Brigade Group consisting of
22 Cavalry with T-59 Patton tanks and elements of 28 Recce and Support
Battalion, 10 Punjab and 38 Baluch and were poised north of Longewala.
Pakistani 206 Infantry Brigade with 38 Cavalry (Sherman tanks) were in
depth. Their task was to secure Longewala after Pakistani 51 Infantry
Brigade moved off for the capture of Ramgarh.
 The aim of the force was to move ahead for the capture of Ramgarh and
Jaisalmer after Longewala was captured.
The advance elements of Pakistan’s 51 Infantry Brigade, probing for an
expected minefield, came across the single strand of barbed wire. They
mistook the barbed wire surrounding Kuldip Chandpuri’s company to be a
minefield marker and lost valuable time trying to breach a minefield that
didn’t exist.
At 0230 hours, messages of what was going on were relayed to HQ 12
Infantry Division. Major General R.F. Khambatta contacted Wing
Commander M.S. Bawa at Jaisalmer for close air support to the company at
Longewala, but Wing Commander Bawa said that the aircraft at his base did
not have night-flying capability and that he could give support only at first
light. The aircraft at the Jaisalmer airfield were Hawker Hunters.
This limitation meant that from 0230 hours on 5 December, to first light,
Major Chandpuri’s ‘A’ Company was on its own. While the forward
Infantry elements of the Pakistan Brigade were busy trying to probe the
depth and extent of the minefield, Pakistani artillery and tanks brought
down heavy fire on the company holding Longewala.
Almost every defence structure of the company locality was blown to
bits. The mandir, which is part of the Longewala locality, was the only
structure that was left standing. The fodder for the camels caught fire, and
by the light of its burning, the Pakistani artillery and tank fire became more
accurate. However, it also lit up the Pakistani forces. Major Chandpuri’s
company was able to knock out one Pakistani tank while their medium
machine gun and small-arms fire managed to keep the Pakistani force at
bay.
For some reason, which came to be known much later through an
interview of the Commanding Officer of 38 Cavalry, the Pakistan Infantry
Brigade failed to press home their attack.
At 0700 hours, a squadron of armour and two companies launched an
attack on the Longewala position. They were engaged by the Indians from
Longewala with anti-tank guns, medium machine guns and small-arms fire.
 ‘At this stage, enemy aircraft appeared on the scene. The tanks were out
in the open without anti-aircraft protection and without any hope of friendly
air cover. The Indian aircraft had a free run. 22 Cavalry lost eighteen tanks
and several other vehicles. Frantic requests were made for friendly air
cover. But there was no response.’*
Squadron Leader D.K. Das of the IAF spotted tanks ahead of the
Longewala post. Initially, the IAF pilots did not fire at the Pakistani tanks,
stating that they could not distinguish between Indian and Pakistani tanks.
Lieutenant Colonel Atma Singh of the Air OP had to go up into the air and
communicate with the IAF pilots and clarify that there were no Indian tanks
in the area. Thereafter, the IAF had a clear run and began to take on the
Pakistani offensive force north of Longewala.
By noon, IAF aircraft had decimated the attacking Pak force. Over 100
vehicles, including twenty-two tanks, were destroyed by the IAF.
Extracts from Air Battle of Longewala, an account by the Base
Commander of the IAF Station Jaisalmer, Air Commodore M.S. Bawa:
At about 0715 hours (7.15 a.m.), when the post at Longewala was about to be overrun,
the first Hunter mission arrived on the scene scanning the road from Ramgarh to
Longewala. The mission immediately reported the presence of T-59 tanks, confirmed also
by the Air OP. The mission lost no time in engaging the tanks advancing towards
Longewala post . . . Missions were launched one behind the other in quick succession to
beat and destroy the enemy’s armoured thrust. This turned out to be a clean battle, one of
its kind, between Pakistan armour and the Indian Air Force. Never before in history was a
more decisive battle fought of aircraft versus armour as was done at Longewala.
Tracks of despair imprinted on the sand by the Pakistani tanks, which were seeking to evade
the attacks by the Indian aircraft.

With a total of four Hunter aircraft available at the disposal of the Base Commander,
the Base was able to launch 17 sorties, destroying 50% of the enemy’s armour. The tanks
were seen ablaze, as reported by the Air OP and the Company at Longewala.
An intercept of an enemy transmission by our Army revealed the sagging morale of the
Pakistani offensive force, indicating casualties in men and material and SOS calls for
close air support, without which the armour advance was considered impossible. This is
what the intercept said:
‘Dushman ka Hawai Fauj ne nak me dam kardiya hai. Har ek hawai jahaz jata hai aur
doosra atta hai aur bees bees minute oopar nachta hai. Chalis Fisadi Fauj aur saman
hallak aur tabah ho chuka hai. Age jana ya peche murna be mushkil ho gaya hai. Jaldi
hawai fauj madad ke lie bejo warna wapas murna na mumkin hai (Enemy Air Force has
made our lives miserable. Each aircraft comes and dances above for up to twenty
minutes. Forty per cent of our tanks and personnel have been destroyed. Not just going
forward, even moving back has become difficult. Send our Air Force for immediate help
or else turning back will not be possible.’
6 December 1971

The Air Base once again mounted pressure at Longewala. The tanks were
picked off one by one and were hit repeatedly till they began to burn. By the
evening of 6 December, nearly thirty-seven tanks lay burning/damaged in
this belt of the Thar Desert. The battle of Longewala was, in fact, over.
Longewala, in the district of Jaisalmer in Rajasthan, became the biggest
graveyard of Pakistani armour.

7–9 December 1971

During daytime on 7 December, the Air Base launched twenty sorties,

pounding the area between Longewala, BP 638 and Ghabbar, depriving the
enemy of its much-needed vehicles and guns, which lay burning. During the
first mission of the day and his very first mission, Wing Commander
Donald Melvyn Conquest, Officer Commanding 122 Squadron from
Jaisalmer, sustained bullet injuries (from small-arms fire by the enemy)
while engaging an enemy tank. But he brought the aircraft safely to the
base. On 8 December, the Air Base launched a total of fourteen sorties in
pursuit of its aim to destroy the enemy. It claimed the destruction of one
tank and sixteen vehicles. On this day, the force was supplemented with
additional aircraft from Jamnagar, raising the total force to fourteen Hunter
aircraft, and the Base Commander flashed a message to state that the force
was not being utilized fully, requesting better utilization. On 9 December, a
total of twenty-two Hunter sorties were launched, and the Squadron claimed
the destruction of nine tanks, three artillery guns, thirty-two vehicles and
one armored personnel carrier, as well as damage to three tanks and six
vehicles.*
By this time, close air support was needed for the offensives by 12
Infantry Division and 11 Infantry Division, in the areas of Rahimyar Khan
and Nayachor–Gadra City, respectively, and the air effort was directed to
these areas. Then, on the last day of the war, 17 December, the base at
Jaisalmer launched fourteen Hunter sorties, including in the Longewala
area, destroying fourteen artillery guns and other miscellaneous targets.
According to 122 Squadron, seventy-eight enemy tanks were
destroyed/damaged, and two armoured regiments of the Pakistan Army
were rendered inoperative. The enemy had entered the Longewala
battleground with two armoured regiments, consisting of ninety tanks, and
by the end of the battle of Longewala, less than a squadron of enemy
armour was left intact. A large number of enemy artillery guns and
innumerable vehicles were also claimed as destroyed.
Carl von Clausewitz, the nineteenth-century Prussian General and
eminent military strategist, in his book On War repeatedly says that the aim
of war should be the destruction of the enemy’s war machine and his will to
fight. With regard to the first, the Indian Air Force succeeded admirably in
decimating two Pakistani armoured regiments. The desert sands around
Longewala became their burial ground. Besides the tanks, artillery guns and
over a hundred vehicles were also destroyed.
With regard to the destruction of the will to fight, it appeared that the
Pakistan Army was itself responsible for its irresolute leadership. One often
wondered why a huge force, of two Pakistan infantry brigades supported by
two armoured regiments and the whole divisional artillery, was unable to
destroy an isolated infantry company of less than a hundred men much
before the Indian Air Force arrived on the scene.
Brigadier Z.A. Khan gives us a clue as to what actually happened in the
context of Pakistan’s wavering leadership that led to the debacle at
Longewala. He was at that time the Commanding Officer of 38 Cavalry:*
On the evening of 2 December 1971, I went to Headquarter 51 Infantry Brigade.
Lieutenant Colonel Akram Syed, Commanding Officer 22 Cavalry, was already there. He
told me that the Brigade Commander, Brigadier Tariq Mir was shaken and had lost his
nerve (after hearing that air support would not be available). A little later the Brigade
Commander came to the tent where the ‘O’ Group had assembled. He appeared shaken.
The GSO3 (Junior Staff Officer) laid out the maps of the area of operations. The Indian
territory was blank squares on the map. The Brigade had not collected the latest maps
from the Division Headquarter. I placed my maps instead on the table which showed both
sides of the terrain. The deployment of the Indians was not known and even the number
 of the Indian Division opposite us was wrongly given as 11 Infantry Division, instead of
12 Infantry Division.
From the discussion that followed, it appeared that the mind of the Brigade
Commander 51 Brigade had stopped functioning. I explained the divisional plan to the
Brigade Commander. The Commander 51 Brigade accepted the plan.
When the ‘O’ Group dispersed, the Commander of the Artillery Regiment in support,
asked for the maps of 38 Cavalry, as his maps of the Indian terrain were also blank.
It appears that even before the offensive was to start, the Brigade Commander who was
to lead the offensive had got demoralized on being informed that air support would not be
available. Also, the preparations for the offensive appeared to be shoddy and many loose
ends had not been tied.

Brigadier Khan continues:

On 4 December, at 0400 hours, when the Brigade had reached close to Longewala, I
learned that the lorries carrying POL (petrol, oil and lubricants) were stuck in the sand
near Darki.
During the day of 4 December, on advice of the Brigade Commanders the attack on
Jaisalmer airfield was abandoned.
At about 0730 hours, explosions were heard in the direction of Longewala and columns
of smoke were rising. I along with my adjutant drove towards the smoke and from a sand
ridge overlooking Longewala I saw five tanks of 22 Cavalry burning. Four Hawker
Hunters of the IAF were circling and after expending their rockets they went away.
This was the start of a series of continuous sorties that caused much damage to
Pakistani armour, artillery guns and miscellaneous vehicles that has already been
described.
At 2100 hours, Lieutenant Colonel Syed, Commanding Officer 22 Cavalry told me that
Brigadier Tariq Mir was behaving very badly and that he had no intention of going
beyond Longewala.
Next morning while we were still at Headquarter 51 Brigade, a helicopter landed with
orders from the GOC ordering 51 Brigade to capture Longewala and Ghotaru, a place ten
miles on the road to Jaisalmer.
On receiving these orders, Brigadier Tariq Mir, Commander 51 Pakistan Infantry
Brigade, announced that he would not comply with these orders as the Indians were too
strong for a brigade attack. He later stated that two Indian armoured regiments were
turning his flanks in order to cut him off! (Imaginary fears of the Brigade Commander.)
While we were witnessing the Brigade Commander’s refusal to obey the Divisional
Commander’s orders, Indian aircraft again attacked and we all took cover.
The description of the above is just to show the state of confusion in the
preparation and conduct of the Pakistani offensive. Lack of air support for
the offensive was not the only cause of their failure. It appears that there
were major leadership and administrative failures that caused the operation
to fail.
In all of this, we see the shining example of an Indian Army Infantry
Company Commander holding his ground in the face of an attacking force
nearly a division-strong. His bold courage, resilience and commitment to
the call of duty is an example for every citizen to do what is right
irrespective of the consequences. He was awarded the Mahavir Chakra for
his qualities of leadership and courage that went beyond the call of duty.
The Indian Air Force proved beyond doubt the importance of air power
and the need for close cooperation between the services. Among other
awards, seven Vir Chakras were awarded to IAF pilots and two to Army Air
OP pilots.
The Battle of Longewala exemplified the never-say-die spirit of the
Indian Army, which turned the prospect of defeat into a decisive victory.
It was a long shot at Longewala, but it worked!

Postscript
1. This account of the battle of Longewala has been put together from,
in addition to written narratives, accounts of Indian as well as
Pakistani participants.
2. The offensives by 11 and 12 Indian Infantry Divisions were largely
successful, and many hundreds of square kilometres were captured
by them. Those are separate stories by themselves and are not
discussed here. However, this battle demonstrates that it is more
important to destroy an enemy than capture ground across the
international border, which in any case we have to return after a
ceasefire.
3. A single strand of barbed wire and the indomitable spirit of an Indian
infantry company, led by a brave, determined officer, was all that it
 took to stop a huge Pakistani force of infantry and armour in its
tracks.
4. The Indian Air Force played a prominent and critical part in the total
destruction of the enemy force. Lack of air support to the Pakistani
offensive contributed to the destruction of the Pakistani offensive
and the demoralization of its Commanders. This effectively
highlights the importance of air power.
5. Incidentally, 22 Cavalry was the armoured regiment that was once
commanded by General Zia-ul-Haq.
6. General Mustafa was removed from command. The new GOC,
Major General Abdul Hameed Khan, took command and ordered 18
Pakistan Infantry Division to withdraw to its original position.
7. Lieutenant General Eric Vaz, the iconic Commandant of the Indian
Army’s College of Combat, used to start his lecture on the Indo–Pak
war of 1971 with these words: ‘Two factors favoured our actions
during this war: God and good luck! We had plenty of both at
Longewala!’
 Good Is Better Than Best

‘An army of sheep led by a lion will prove to be far better than an army of lions led by a
sheep.’

—Anonymous

It was the first week of October 1971, and Shimla looked resplendent in the
glory of its last days of autumn. Trees had just begun to shed their leaves of
gold and ochre, and in the upper reaches of the Shimla hills, bare branches
pointed towards the sky in anticipation of a cold winter. Lieutenant General
K.P. Candeth, GOC-in-C Western Command, however, had no inclination
to take notice of nature’s beauty at its best. He was instead in the Ops
Room* of Headquarters Western Command, looking at the map that gave
the dispositions of his formations that stretched from the deserts of
Rajasthan through the plains of Punjab, the hills of Jammu and Kashmir up
to the icy wastes of Ladakh. It was a long, extended border, and he had had
great plans which he felt would deliver decisive outcomes. But now, that
was not going to happen.
 BSF posts which had to be recaptured by 6 Garhwal.

Some of his formations had been taken away from him by Sam Manekshaw,
the Army Chief, for operations on the border of East Pakistan. This put him
in a pensive mood, because it effectively cut down the offensive plans that
he and his staff had worked out in anticipation of a war with Pakistan. He
knew that as an Army Commander he needed to have sound plans and
sufficient reserves. With the reserves taken away from him, he would not be
able to implement his plans.
What was left, brought him to near parity with Pakistani formations on
the Western Front. In fact, Pakistan was now stronger in armour and
artillery. For offensive operations, he still had a Strike Corps* and two
independent armoured brigades, but that was not enough to execute the
plans he had in mind to teach Pakistan a lesson they needed to learn.
The overall strategy of the Indian Army was ‘offence in the east and
offensive defence† on the Western‡ and Northern§ fronts’. In compliance
with this strategy and his reduced reserves, he had directed the divisions
that remained with him to work out their plans for offensives from within
their own resources, in order to improve the overall posture of Western
Command.
Somewhere along this long border, in the RS Pura sector of Jammu and
Kashmir, was the 6th Battalion of the Garhwal Rifles. Its Commanding
Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Ahobala Krishnamoorthy, was surveying the
ground in front of him. The fields where wheat had recently been sown
were just turning green. Beyond these fields were the enemy positions, and
he could see what they were doing through his binoculars. Moorthy had
worked out in his mind the various contingencies that could occur once the
war started. He had discussed and rehearsed these with his companies and
platoons, but he also told their commanders to be prepared for the
unexpected. He did not realize at that time, that the unexpected was exactly
what was going to happen.
Ever since he had assumed command of 6 Garhwal, Lieutenant Colonel
Moorthy’s only passion was to train every soldier of his battalion to be part
of an efficient fighting machine, and he could just not wait to test his
battalion in actual war.
As a Major, Moorthy had fought the Indo–Pak war of 1965 with the 1st
Garhwal Rifles in the deserts of Rajasthan. In that war, 1st Garhwal, led by
Lieutenant Colonel P.K. Lahiri, distinguished itself in operations to take
Gadra City, putting up a fine display of infantry tactics in desert terrain
without artillery support.
As the war continued, Moorthy was one day moving in his jeep when he
was attacked by a Pak Sabre jet. Seeing a lone Indian Army jeep moving
slowly along the sand dunes territory, the Sabre pilot made a low pass over
Moorthy’s jeep and let loose a sighter burst* from his guns. Moorthy and his
driver, Naik Prem Singh, jumped out of the jeep and rolled into the sand
dunes, with rocket and canon fire trying to seek them out. The Sabre made
another pass, but the pilot, seeing the jeep at rest and the occupants on the
sand, presumed that he had destroyed his target. Miraculously, neither
Moorthy nor Prem Singh was hurt, nor was the jeep damaged. They got up,
dusted themselves and continued on their journey. The Indian soldier
believes in God and the efficacy of prayer. There is a saying: ‘An army wife
was praying for the safety of her husband, and somewhere, far away, a
bullet missed its target.’
In that war, which continued from September to November, 1st Garhwal
went on to capture Jesse Ke Par, Nawa Tala and Miajlar. The battalion was
awarded the Battle Honour of Gadra City and the Theatre Honour
‘Rajasthan’. In this operation, seven valiant soldiers were killed, and two
officers and thirty-eight brave Bulas* were wounded. The Commanding
Officer and Lieutenant Jasbir Singh were awarded Vir Chakras. Moorthy
and Naik Prem Singh were lucky to get away alive, and word went around
the langar† that, ‘Moorthy Sa’ab ke saath jaoge toh bomb bhi nahin marega
(if you go with Moorthy Sir, even bombs won’t kill you).’
It was now the end of November, and there were many indicators that
war was in the offing. Moorthy believed that offence was the best form of
defence, and that in addition to dominating ‘no man’s land’,‡ an aggressive
posture was necessary, which meant some sort of offensive action to
intimidate the enemy.
His problem, however, was similar to General Candeth’s, although many
levels lower in scale. Whereas the Army Commander was upset at some of
his formations being moved away from him, Moorthy’s issue was that
personnel that had been taken away from him on attachment to various
formation headquarters had not yet returned, although orders had been
passed by Army Headquarters that they be reverted to their units
immediately, due to the possibility of war.
Candeth, the Army Commander, was trying to create reserves from
within his command for offensive tasks. Moorthy, the Battalion
Commander of 6 Garhwal, was similarly engaged in trying to find some
way in which he could scrape together at least a couple of platoons to
aggressively dominate the enemy in front of him. Both these Commanders,
at the level of army and battalion, were busy working out how best they
could defeat the enemy and give him a bloody nose, despite the fact that
their strength had unfortunately been drastically reduced.
Towards the south of 6 Garhwal, the Strike Corps of Western Command
had got into its battle positions to carry out its tasks in the area of Basantar.
To the north, the division of which 6 Garhwal was a part was rehearsing its
plans for its own offensive operation, which came to be known as the
‘Chicken’s Neck’ operation.
Moorthy was aware of these operations, but his focus was the defence of
the area entrusted to his charge, and he went all out to ensure that not an
inch of ground would be taken by the enemy. That, he felt, was not difficult
but still not challenging enough. What he wanted was to get to grips with
the enemy, to defeat him in his own area, across the border.
On 3 December 1971, Pakistan attacked Indian airfields in Rajasthan,
Punjab and Jammu and Kashmir. Yahya Khan felt that he could replicate the
success of a similar operation carried out by the Pakistan Air Force in 1965,
but he failed this time because the Indian Air Force had protected its aircraft
and launched counter air operations almost immediately. The PAF, however,
continued to attack the Jammu airfield during the course of the war.
 At their home in Miran Sahib, Moorthy’s wife, Sharada, and their young
daughter, Meghna, were for the first time experiencing the effects of war.
They saw and heard with awe and some amount of fear the night sky lit up
with the tracers of the air defence guns as they fired at the attacking PAF
aircraft. As the walls of their home shook and the windowpanes shattered
due to the bombs that fell, they followed the laid-down drill of moving to
the bunker in their garden, where they spent cold and sleepless nights,
listening to the news about the war on all fronts on their transistor radio. On
the morning after the first air attack, the battalion Panditji came in full
uniform and told Mrs Moorthy to pack a few clothes and move to a safer
location. Many families had moved to their hometowns prior to the war, but
Mrs Moorthy had decided to stay. Now, she quickly packed a few clothes,
essentials and a picture of Goddess Durga, and moved with Meghna to the
family quarters. On the way, they were witness to a sea of humanity on the
move. The roads were packed with people carrying whatever they could on
carts, cycles and on their heads. Rural folk from the villages, who had been
displaced because of the war, were heading away from the scene of conflict.
Able-bodied men and women were carrying frail elderly parents, little
children, even lambs on their shoulders, while cattle and dogs accompanied
their families on foot across the bridge over the Tawi River.
The newly built family quarters were located close to the Jammu airfield.
Sharada Moorthy realized too late that they had moved literally ‘from the
frying pan into the fire’ because now they were closer to the airfield, which
was the constant target of the PAF bombing raids. Anyway, she was now
together with the officers’ and men’s families from the brigade, and as the
only Commanding Officer’s wife, she took charge of the situation, raising
their morale and organizing prayer services to Goddess Durga and also to
Pir Baba, a revered Muslim saint, for the safety of the soldiers on the front
and of Mother India.
The rooms were barely furnished with just a few cots and a couple of
chairs. The windows had been covered with black paper, and there were
only candles for light at night. From 4 December to the end of the war, the
Jammu airfield continued to be subjected to air raids by Pakistani aircraft,
but the children lost their sense of fear and rushed out of their homes as
soon as the ‘All Clear’ was sounded, to search for shrapnel and bomb
splinters. On one occasion, during the day, they were excited to see a dog
fight in the sky between our own and enemy aircraft.
Ahead of 6 Garhwal, the Border Security Force (BSF) was holding two
positions close to the border. In peacetime, the BSF is required to hold
positions along the Indo–Pak border, to prevent cross-border infiltration and
smuggling. These posts are taken over by the Army on the outbreak of war,
and the BSF moves to alternative tasks in the hinterland. Two such posts
were held by the BSF at Nawapind and Jogne Chak to the right and left of
the 6th Garhwal defences. Unbeknown to Lieutenant Colonel Moorthy, on
the night of 4 December the BSF had vacated their positions and moved out
without being relieved. That same night, the Pakistanis, who were keeping a
close watch on these locations, had quickly occupied the vacated positions
that were gifted to them without firing a shot. The intrusion and occupation
of Nawapind and Jogne Chak positions were detected at first light on the
morning of 5 December by the battalion screen* position.
Early on the morning of 5 December, Second Lieutenant G.S. Rathore,
who was manning the Screen position ahead of the defences of 6 Garhwal,
reported that Pakistani troops had moved in and occupied the BSF
localities, and that the BSF were nowhere to be seen. Lieutenant Colonel
Moorthy moved immediately to the Screen position. Looking through his
binoculars he could clearly see the Pakistani troops in their khaki uniforms
busy improving their defences.
Intensely irritated by the behaviour of the BSF and his formation
headquarters for allowing such a thing to happen, Moorthy immediately
ordered his mortars and medium machine guns to engage these positions. A
situation report was sent to the Brigade with a copy to the division,
informing all concerned of what had happened and his proposed action to
evict the Pakistanis from these two locations. Having done this, he moved
back to his headquarters. Soon after he reached his headquarters, at about
0700 hours, Moorthy set into motion his plans to evict the Pakistanis.
 At around 0900 hours, just as he was about to give his orders for the
assault on these posts, the Brigade Commander arrived at Moorthy’s
headquarters. He appeared disturbed about what had happened and
apprehensive of Lieutenant Colonel Moorthy’s plans to evict the Pakistanis.
The Brigade Commander said that he would need to get permission from
the General Officer Commanding the Division (GOC) to permit the
Garhwalis to launch an offensive to recapture the BSF positions.
Moorthy was beginning to find the attitude of the Brigade Commander
annoying. He said: ‘Sir, I have copied my sitrep to the division as to what
has happened, so they are aware of my plans. I can’t wait for permission of
the division to launch operations within our own area to recover positions
that have been lost due to the BSF vacating their posts. If we wait for the
division to analyse the situation and then decide on what action is to be
taken, the enemy would reinforce its position with infantry and armour, and
that would require a brigade attack organized and conducted by the Brigade.
I am preventing that from happening, and you should be happy that I am
saving you the trouble of having to plan and conduct such an attack.’
The Brigade Commander knew that Moorthy was right but was still
apprehensive of the ability of the Garhwalis to evict the Pakistanis without
proper support. He said: ‘Are you aware that the division is launching an
offensive tonight in the area of Chicken’s Neck, and you will therefore not
get the support of the divisional artillery. What shall I tell the GOC about
your stubbornness?
‘No, sir. You have not so far informed me about what the division is up
to. I have committed support from the artillery in support of my battalion.
That is for the Brigade to ensure. And even if that is not available, I will
still go in with the support of my mortars, medium machine guns and
RCLs.’
The Battalion ‘O’ Group* had meanwhile assembled at the viewpoint,
ready to take orders, and the Battalion ‘R’ Group† had formed up some
distance away, waiting to move forward.
At that moment, the Brigade Commander was called to the telephone and
was told that the GOC had sent a message to him telling him to advise
Lieutenant Colonel Moorthy to go in for a night attack rather than a day
attack, as the former would reduce casualties. The Brigade Commander
passed on the message to Moorthy.
Lieutenant Colonel Moorthy listened politely to the Brigade Commander
and said: ‘Sir, you can thank the GOC for his advice to launch my attacks at
night to avoid casualties. I am aware that the cover of darkness helps in
reducing casualties. However, by that time, the Pakistanis, who are already
digging themselves in, would have reinforced these positions, and we
would need many more men to do the same job. My battalion is responsible
for defending other positions along the border, and I will not want to pull
out my boys later on and risk an enemy attack elsewhere. I know what I am
doing. My success depends entirely on attacking immediately, before they
have time to settle down and be reinforced. The GOC would also know that
counterattacks are successful only when they are launched immediately. We
have already lost time, and I am not prepared to lose any more time.’
The Brigade Commander, who saw that Lieutenant Colonel Moorthy was
adamant and not prepared to take no for an answer, said: ‘All right. I will
try to get our armoured squadron to shoot you on to your objectives.’ With
that, the Brigade Commander left for his headquarters, and Moorthy gave
out his orders for the assault on Jogne Chak and Nawapind.
Naib Subedar Gopal Dutt Joshi was given the task of capturing Jogne
Chak with his platoon. Jogne Chak was attacked at 1000 hours, and the
platoon went in with their war cry of ‘Bolo Badri Vishal Lal ki jai’, with the
battalion mortars and medium machine guns in support. The platoon was
well trained, and within half an hour the position was captured. The enemy
just ran away as soon as the attack was mounted. Two enemy soldiers were
killed and a few weapons captured.
The attack at Nawapind had to be staggered because the battalion
mortars, medium machine guns and RCL guns could not support both
attacks at the same time. For the attack on Nawapind, Lieutenant Colonel
Moorthy had lifted a platoon from the Screen position commanded by
Second Lieutenant G.S. Rathore and the Commando Platoon was under
Captain P.K. Sinha. Both these officers were very junior but keen and
spirited.
The platoons were quickly moved to their FUPs* behind the Screen
Position to the north-west of the battalion defences and facing Nawapind.
The attack on Nawapind was to go in at 1100 hours, but the Brigade
Commander asked for the postponement of the attack, as the troop of tanks
he had asked for had not fetched up to support the attack. The time for the
attack had to be changed to 1415 hrs.
The Mortar Platoon gave the platoons covering fire, and the battalion’s
RCL guns engaged the enemy MMG detachment, which was firing at the
assaulting troops. The RCL guns accurately engaged the MMG bunker,
which was destroyed and three enemy soldiers manning the MMG were
killed. Second Lieutenant G.S. Rathore assaulted the enemy from the west
and overran the eastern portion of the post. The enemy retreated to the
western edge of the locality and occupied the trenches in that area. Second
Lieutenant Rathore used one of his LMGs to block the enemy’s route of
withdrawal and closed in on the enemy, who continued to fire at him. At
that moment, radio contact with Rathore was lost.
Lieutenant Colonel Moorthy quickly dispatched a wireless set with
Second Lieutenant R.K. Tandon to re-establish contact with Rathore’s
platoon. When Tandon reported that he could not move forward because the
enemy fire was too strong, the CO ordered Captain Sinha’s platoon to attack
from the north-east. The enemy was now encircled from the west and north-
east, and Nawapind fell to the Garhwalis at 1500 hours after some hand-to-
hand fighting on the objective.
Since there was no time to brief the tank commanders in detail, Major
Tejinder Singh, a Company Commander, was sent to guide the armour. The
tanks found it difficult to support the assault, and so they were used to
engage the enemy, who was trying to retreat to the rear.
Three JCOs and fifteen enemy soldiers were taken prisoner. They
belonged to Pakistan’s 37 Frontier Force Rifles and 7 Engineer Regiment.
They were moved to the Screen position, and then sent to the rear and
handed over to the military police for dispatch to the prisoner of war camp.
During the mopping-up of the post, dead bodies of one JCO, three NCOs
and twelve enemy soldiers were found. The haul of sixty-five weapons
included four LMGs, one MMG, one rocket launcher, three Sten guns,
thirty automatic rifles, seventeen rifles, and lots of hand grenades and
ammunition.
The battalion lost two brave men during this battle.
As Lieutenant General K.P. Candeth states in his book The Western
Front: The Indo–Pakistan War 1971, except for the Chicken’s Neck
operation, there was little or no activity in the 26 Infantry Division Sector.
The only operation was the recapture on 5 December of the Nawa Pind
post, which had been vacated earlier by the BSF, and some raids on various
enemy posts.
Looking at the haul of sixty-five weapons, it was obvious that the
Nawapind post was held by an enemy force of a Rifle Company, as the
strength of a company in war is about that much. At the very least, it must
have been held by two platoons in full strength. And so, an enemy position
consisting of two platoons was destroyed by a force of equal strength,
whereas the teaching is that in attack, the attacking force has to be in a ratio
of 3:1. Therefore, it was only the boldness of the Commanding Officer and
the fighting spirit of the battalion that won the day.
Also, it must be remembered that in this battle, the Commanding Officer
resisted the temptation of using his Company Commanders (Majors) for
this critical operation. He had full faith in his junior-most leaders, and he let
them exercise their command in battle. After all, even though they were
junior in rank, they were keen to lead their men in battle, and they were the
commanders who had trained them. It was only right, therefore, that they
lead them into battle. This experience would stand them in good stead in a
future war.
Most important, the Commanding Officer knew that immediate action
was of primary importance. He believed in his men, had trained them well
and was confident that his plan to seize the moment with courage would
yield the desired outcome, rather than delaying the attack and allowing the
enemy to build up his strength. His success far exceeded the expectations of
his Formation Commanders.
Far away from 6 Garhwal, General K.P. Candeth had to be content that
the armoured brigades of his Strike Corps had destroyed the bulk of
Pakistani armour that had been deployed against him. Lieutenant Colonel
Ahobala Krishnamoorthy by his bold and timely action, had validated six of
the ten principles of war. These were: selection and maintenance of aim;
offensive action; surprise; concentration of force; economy of effort; and
maintenance of momentum. His faith in his troops, belief in himself and
conviction that what he was doing was right resulted in a victory far in
excess of the meagre resources that were available to him. The recapture of
the two posts vacated by the BSF, the capture of three JCOs and fifteen
Pakistani soldiers, and the killing of one JCO, three NCOs and twelve
enemy soldiers, as well as a huge haul of weapons—all of it goes to show
what a Battalion Commander can do with minimum resources. After
retaking Nawapind, the battalion carried the defensive battle into enemy
territory, mounting three strong raids on enemy posts opposite its area.
Gallantry awards received by the battalion were just one Vir Chakra and
two Mentioned-in-Dispatches.
This story has a simple message—that a good plan, executed in time with
courage and energy, is far better than a perfect plan carried out too late.

Postscript
1. Among the captured Pakistani JCOs was the famous Abdul Khaliq,
an ace sprinter who had represented Pakistan at the Olympic Games
in Melbourne and Rome. He had won gold medals in the 100- and
200-metre races in the 1954 Asian Games and in the 100 metres in
the 1958 Asian Games, but lost out to Milkha Singh in the 200
metres in the 1958 Asian Games. Both were Subedars in their
respective armies. After being taken prisoner, Abdul Khaliq asked if
he could meet Milkha Singh, India’s ‘Flying Sikh’. Milkha met him
at the POW camp; though they met with the joy of fellow athletes,
the circumstances this time were different.*
2. In a lighter vein, Moorthy’s daughter had asked: ‘But, Daddy, how
did you catch him if he could run so fast?’†
3. The officers and men of 6 Garhwal knew that they had done a good
job, and as is natural with soldiers, they hoped that the battalion
would get its fair share of gallantry awards. Although the battalion
received one VrC and two Mentioned-in-Dispatches, it felt it
deserved better. Was it because the Formation Commanders felt that
the Commanding Officer was too independent and insensitive to
their advice? Nobody could answer this question, but the men were
disappointed. They had fought well, and yet it appeared that the
higher command did not recognize their acts of courage. The
Commanding Officer, however, reminded them, ‘It is better to
deserve awards and not get them, rather than have awards you do not
deserve.’
 A Touch of Luck

‘In war, in addition to good generalship, great strategy, sound tactics and excellent
leadership, sometimes luck plays its own part in deciding the fortunes of war. Before
appointing senior generals to critically key appointments, Napoleon used to ask, “Is he
lucky?”’

—Anonymous

Ever since Partition, Pakistan had been oscillating between military rule and
civilian governments. However, as far as the Pakistani armed forces were
concerned, irrespective of the form of government, it was the army that had
arrogated to itself the role of decision-maker.
The Pakistan Navy decided that they needed to do something to make
their presence felt and came to the conclusion that supremacy under the
waves in the war at sea would be the best answer. From the early 1960s,
they had decided to concentrate on building their underwater capability.* In
1964, the Pakistan Navy acquired USS Diablo,* an ocean-going submarine,
on lease and renamed it PNS Ghazi.
 INS Katchal, an Indian naval ship, being targeted by a Pakistani midget submarine.

Their next move, acquisition of three Daphne-class submarines, was a

masterstroke. The submarines were commissioned into the Pakistan Navy
between 1 December 1969 and 5 August 1970. Named after species of three
deadly sharks in Pakistani waters—the Hangor, the Sushuk and the Mangro
—these French submarines were the best world-class submarines of that
era. But not content with having established the Pakistan Navy in an already
superior position in underwater warfare, the Pakistani Naval Chief went in
for the purchase of midget-class† submarines and chariots‡ from Italy to
consolidate and enhance that predominance.
The Indian Navy was intrigued and wondered how the Pakistan Navy
would use their midget submarines. These could not navigate the open seas
on their own and would therefore have to be towed to the area of
operations. This made it difficult to use them in offensive operations. Thus,
the Indian Navy concluded that the midget submarines and the Chariots
would be kept in reserve, and used for the defence of harbours or when
suitable opportunities presented themselves.
Towards the middle of 1971 it was clear to the armed forces of Pakistan
that there was every likelihood of their country going to war with India. So
the Pakistan Navy began to finalize its operational plans. The focus of their
strategy was to strike the first blow as soon as ‘the balloon went up’.* With
this, the Pakistani Naval Chief hoped to give the Pakistan Navy its rightful
place in the eyes of his countrymen.
 By the end of November 1971, it was clear that General Yahya Khan
would attack very soon, but the date and time of the attack was not known.
In anticipation of the signal to commence hostilities, the Pakistan Navy set
her plans in motion. On 14 November 1971, PNS Ghazi left Karachi
harbour in her quest to destroy the Vikrant, which was somewhere in the
Bay of Bengal. The Mangro, too, left for Bombay around 14 November,
and the Hangor left Karachi on 23 November for a patrol off the Kathiawar
coast. The Hangor and Mangro were to take turns outside Mumbai harbour,
so that they could destroy INS Mysore and the ships of India’s Western
Fleet once war was declared. But unbeknown to the Pakistani Naval Chief,
Indian intelligence had got wind of the plans of the Pakistan Navy.
Being aware of Pakistan’s intentions, the Indian Naval Chief, Admiral
S.M. Nanda, ordered the Western Fleet out of Bombay harbour a day before
Pakistan launched its attack on India. While the previous stories in this
book—‘The Hunt for the Vikrant’ and ‘Mission Karachi’—serve as a
background to this one, the focus here is on one of the midget submarines
of the Pakistan Navy.
The midget submarines were small 62-tonne underwater craft, which
could not carry a torpedo. This inability to carry a torpedo limited their role
to transporting frogmen* to enemy harbours, into depths where larger
submarines could not penetrate. The naval element of the Pakistani Special
Service Group manning the midget submarines were an elite, rigorously
trained force. Midget crews were trained to be towed underwater by larger
submarines. For sorties longer than three days, the relief crew took over on
passage, and the attack crew took over just before being detached to attack.
In order to enhance the capability of these midget submarines, the
Pakistan Navy improvised a system by which the midgets could launch
torpedoes at enemy ships. Trials were carried out, and the system worked
admirably. The torpedoes were of French origin and were fixed externally
to the Italian-designed midget submarines by means of locally made
torpedo cages. The torpedoes could be launched by air-operated pistons that
were actuated from within the submarine.
 The procedure for firing these torpedoes was very basic. They had to just
point the midget submarine at an enemy warship and shoot, allowing for the
speed of the enemy warship and the direction in which it was travelling.
The torpedo’s homing head would do the rest.
During the 1971 war, on 6 December, one of these midget submarines
was on a patrol off the coast of Kathiawar, on the lookout for a suitable
target to confirm its ability to destroy an enemy naval craft.
Meanwhile, after the Indian Navy’s successful attack on Karachi on 4
and 5 December 1971, Lieutenant Commander Kailash Nath Zadu, Captain
of the Indian Navy’s INS Katchal, was tasked to sweep down the coast of
Kathiawar along with the missile boats Nirghat and Nashak, on the off
chance that there could be some enemy activity in those regions.
After forty-eight hours of intensive patrolling, Lieutenant Commander
Zadu, who had been given overall command of the Katchal, Nirghat and
Nashak, came to the conclusion that there was no possibility of enemy
submarines operating off the Kathiawar coast, so far from their base at
Karachi. After the first attack on Karachi on 4 December, the Pakistan Navy
had bolted into Karachi harbour and had refused to fight.
But Commanders of the Petya and the missile boats did not realize how
wrong they were!
After the first attack on Karachi, the Katchal’s engine was heating up,
and Zadu decided to task his crew with the servicing of the engine, which
had been used extensively on the mission to Karachi. After the engine had
been serviced, the three ships were cruising at a comfortable speed towards
their rendezvous off Porbandar, in preparation for the next attack on
Karachi, scheduled for 8 December.
The sea was calm and the day was sunny, with clear blue skies. Zadu
decided that he now had the time to look at the letters delivered to him by
the Fleet Mail Office, just before the Western Fleet had taken off for the
attack on Karachi.
At that moment, he did not have the faintest idea that his ship, the
Katchal, was being watched through the periscope of a Pakistani midget
submarine, which was following the Katchal at a safe distance.
 Zadu closed his eyes, sat back and decided to take a break.
Meanwhile, the Pakistani midget submarine was getting into position to
destroy the Katchal. The ship was right in the middle of the cross hairs of
the submarine’s aiming device. The Katchal was sailing along at a
comfortable speed, its crew oblivious that the ship was being stalked by a
Pakistani submarine.
It is best that we now let Pakistan’s Vice Admiral S.T.H. Naqvi, the
Captain of this midget submarine at that time, tell the rest of the story:*

We had been on patrol for some days; now it was 6 December and we were off Veraval
on the Kathiawar coast. A short while ago, at the start of the first dog-watch,† we’d been
operating at a deep depth when our very basic type of sonar picked up some propeller
noises seaward‡ of us. My crew of five was alert and ready as I pointed the midget
towards the noise and groped our way to periscope depth. As my periscope broke surface,
there was the ship filling my entire periscope view, right ahead of me. I recognized her as
a Petya, a Russian-built, anti-submarine frigate of the Indian Navy. She was at a distance
of 1200 yards only. I had been waiting for such a ship to show up, and now one had
tumbled into my lap.
The Captain of the Petya was very relaxed as he sat on the bridge* of his ship. It was a
pleasant and sunny day in winter and the sea was calm. The signalman came and stood
beside him with the signal log† and the Captain flipped through those pages as Captains
do all over the world. There was peace and tranquility on the upper decks, a couple of
sailors were smoking and shooting the breeze amid ship‡ near the funnel area, as sailors
are wont to do. One of them was wearing a blue boiler suit.§ It was a picture-postcard
scene of a ship sailing towards the sunset.

When one looks at an enemy target through a periscope, time is at a

premium, because the head of the periscope is above the water and if
discovered, the roles would be reversed and the submarine would become
the ‘hunted’ instead of being the ‘hunter’. Having observed the scene for a
few seconds, the midget submarine’s crew commenced action drills for
destruction of the Katchal:

Excited, I ordered a quick alteration of course to starboard for the aim off and as we
turned, I took in the details of the Petya. I could see the whole length of her starboard side
and her bow wave indicated that she was doing moderate, economical speed. The ship’s
hull number had been obliterated, which is normal practice in wartime. She was
proceeding with normal, cruising watch-keepers closed up; the guns were not manned,
and we could hear no sonar transmissions emanating from her.
 The Petya simply had no idea that I was around. The moment we arrived at the correct
heading, I ordered, ‘Shoot’, and the crew went through their carefully drilled movements.
I held my breath and waited for the moment of truth.
‘Shoot! Damn it!’ I yelled, tearing my eyes from the telescope.
‘Use more air pressure.’
There was a flurry of further activity; somebody swore loudly, but still—nothing!
The crew tried everything—and I exhausted my favourite collection of profanities
reserved for such occasions—but there was no making that fish* swim out of its cage. It
had become an obstinate mule that no amount of flogging could budge.

The Captain of the midget submarine once again looked at the Petya
through his periscope and was surprised to now see a pair of OSA missile
boats that were escorting the Petya and were moving on either side of her.
One of them suddenly changed course and started heading for the midget
submarine at full speed. The submarine Captain realized that he had been
probably discovered and quickly ordered the submarine to dive fast and
deep to avoid being run over by the OSA missile boat. By the time the
midget submarine was able to come back to periscope depth, the Petya had
moved away, and as far as the submarine was concerned, the chance of a
lifetime had passed. The Captain of the midget submarine went on to say:

Later, there were the inevitable recriminations all round. Some blamed the torpedo.
Others said that it was the up-angle of the midget at that precise moment that had
prevented the torpedo from swimming out. There were many conjectures and theories.
But when all was said and done, I couldn’t but marvel at the luck of the Indian Captain I
had watched through the periscope that day.

The Captain of the Petya was a lucky man indeed. He did not even know
what a close shave he he’d had.
However, Vice Admiral Hiranandani of the Indian Navy says in his book
Transition to Triumph: ‘There were also reports that the Pakistan Navy, on
their own, fitted two midgets with external torpedo tubes for firing MK-44
torpedoes. During the war these midgets were deployed 30 miles from
Karachi. When one of them tried to fire against an Indian ship, the fire-
control system did not work.’
 After the second successful attack on Karachi, the Western Fleet returned
to Bombay. On conclusion of the war, Admiral Gorshkov, who had come to
Bombay with part of the Russian fleet, asked to meet the commanders of
the Petya and the missile boats. He wanted to congratulate them on the
innovative use of the Russian naval craft. Among them was Zadu, who was
awarded the Vir Chakra for his courage and tenacity during the attack on
Karachi. He was lucky to be alive to receive his award. Maybe someone’s
prayers had saved him on that fateful day when a torpedo aimed to destroy
him failed to get ignited.

Postscript
1. When asked about this incident, Vice Admiral Hiranandani, author of
Transition to Triumph, stated, ‘A torpedo fired by a midget, close to
Karachi, failed to swim away. I feel that the author of the story [Vice
Admiral S.T.H. Naqvi of the Pakistan Navy] may have got the dates
wrong when he says the incident took place on 6 December 1971.’
2. Zadu was promoted to Captain’s rank and continued to serve the
Indian Navy with distinction, and it was expected that he would
reach higher ranks. It was at this time, that the Ministry of Defence
passed an order that no person from the armed forces could marry a
foreign national. If the marriage had to take place, then the lady
would have to adopt Indian nationality, or the officer had to resign.
Faced with this situation, many officers were forced to resign, and
the Indian Navy lost some excellent officers. Some of them were
potential Naval Chiefs—Zadu was one of them.
 Vazir

‘There are many things that are beyond our understanding.’

—Ian Cardozo

The Pakistan Air Force’s F-86 Sabre jets circled for a second time before
going in for the kill. They were a pair. They always came in pairs.
Earlier that morning, when a patrol from the 4th Battalion of the 5th
Gorkha Rifles (FF) had left the battalion firm base, they had seen a pair of
fighter jets roaming the skies, unchallenged. Like quicksilver, they glinted
in the sun, streaking in and out of scattered cumulous clouds, and then
climbed high till they became small silver specks in the canopy of the blue
sky. Are these fighters ours or those of the enemy? the patrol leader
wondered.
The patrol was operating in the mountains of Jammu and Kashmir. They
had been tasked to locate and destroy caches of arms and ammunition
hidden by the infiltrators in the area of Pir Kalewa.* The infiltrators had
crossed over into J&K from Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK) a few days
earlier. Later in the day, when the patrol was returning after carrying out its
mission, they saw two Pakistani Sabre jets attacking targets far away. The
patrol leader wondered whether they were the same ones they had seen
earlier that morning. Several pine-covered ridges separated the patrol from
the attacking Sabre jets. They could, however, even at this distance, see the
flash of their blazing cannons and hear the thunder of their jet engines. But
the intervening ridges prevented the patrol from seeing the targets that were
being engaged.

The attack by Pak Sabre jets.

Five days had passed since Pakistan had launched Operation Gibraltar, on
5 August 1965. A Pakistani force of 30,000 guerrillas, under the overall
command and control of Major General Akhtar Hussain Malik, General
Officer Commanding of Pakistan’s 12 Infantry Division, had crossed the
ceasefire line (CFL) in a second attempt by Pakistan to take J&K by force.
Field Marshal Ayub Khan, President of Pakistan, had himself addressed
this force at Murree in the second week of July 1965, before it crossed the
CFL. Ayub had decided that the best way to consolidate his power in
Pakistan was to capture J&K. He reckoned that India had yet to recover
from the reverse suffered during the Sino–Indian War of 1962. Jawaharlal
Nehru had passed away, and the diminutive Lal Bahadur Shastri did not fill
Ayub with a sense of awe. Pakistan, on the other hand, had been in receipt
of massive economic and military aid from the United States of America,
and Ayub felt that the situation could never be better and that this was just
the right moment to strike. Part of the military arms and equipment received
by Pakistan were four squadrons of F-86 Sabre jets. It was two of these
aircrafts that the Indian Army patrol saw that morning. India had raised
objections to the USA’s transfer of these aircrafts and gift of a huge amount
of military hardware to Pakistan. In response, General Dwight Eisenhower,
President of the United States, sent a message to Pandit Nehru, dated 24
February 1954, which said:

. . . and I am confirming publicly that if our aid to any country, including Pakistan, is
misused and is directed at another in aggression, I will undertake immediately, in
accordance with my constitutional authority, appropriate action both within and without
the United Nations to thwart such aggression.*

Needless to say, no action was taken by the US at this flagrant violation of

its agreement with Pakistan and the world that these arms and equipment
would not be used against any country, which in this case was specifically
India.
So much for the duplicity of Pakistan and the credibility of a President of
the United States of America!
The capture of Pakistani Junior Commissioned Officers (JCOs) and Non-
Commissioned Officers (NCOs) of Pakistan’s Gibraltar Force by the
Gorkhas during subsequent days of these operations rebutted the Pakistani
claim that this was purely an uprising of the people of J&K. These captured
personnel of the Pakistani armed forces revealed to the Gorkhas that the
aim of Operation Gibraltar was to create a law-and-order situation behind
the front line and to call it a civil uprising.
Once this happened, Pakistan would initiate a strong military offensive
(Operation Grand Slam), with regular Pakistani troops to capture Akhnur,
which was part of the district of Jammu. Akhnur was strategically important
because of its proximity to Jammu and because its capture would sever the
Indian line of communication between Pathankot and Poonch. They hoped
that the Indian Army would be sandwiched by the Pakistan Army from the
front and by the infiltrators from the rear.
On the morning of this incident, the patrol leader from the 4th Battalion
of the 5th Gorkha Rifles (FF) was oblivious of Pakistan’s grand strategy.
War, in fact, had not even been declared, and here was Pakistan attacking
them on the ground and from the air. Were the mandarins in Delhi aware of
what was happening in J&K? he wondered.
It was only when the patrol leader reached their base that he learnt that
the Pakistani Sabre jets that they were watching from afar had, in fact, been
attacking his own Battalion Headquarters! An Army Supply Corps (ASC)
vehicle column had parked their vehicles ‘line ahead’ on the road running
alongside their battalion. It was this collection of vehicles that had attracted
the attention of the Pakistani Sabre jets. The target was no doubt attractive.
Damage inflicted was considerable, but what was unacceptable and a blot
on the conduct of the Pakistan Air Force was that they had used napalm
bombs to destroy their targets. Napalm bombs create great walls of fire
which move with the momentum and force of their delivery, burning
anything and everything in their path to cinders. Use of napalm was banned
by the Geneva Conventions, to which India and Pakistan were both
signatories.
Pakistan, however, has never cared for conventions and agreements.
After agreeing to abide by them, its leaders would disregard them and go
into denial mode if questioned; and if caught in a lie, they were thick-
skinned enough to refuse to admit their misdemeanours. A few months
earlier, Pakistan had launched Operation Desert Hawk in the area of Kutch.
India protested at the use of force. Harold Wilson, Prime Minister of Great
Britain, brokered a ceasefire in April 1965 between the two countries, and
Pakistan had endorsed the idea that force should not be used to resolve
territorial disputes. In fact, while the ink of their signature on the Kutch
Agreement had yet to dry, she was preparing her second invasion of J&K,
which was launched a few months later, in August of the same year. It was
this invasion that the Indian Army was now facing.
Survivors recounting this action stated that the Sabre jets had initially
used their cannons and rockets, causing considerable damage. Not satisfied,
they came around once more and used napalm bombs with deadly effect.
Great clouds of orange fire and black smoke engulfed the targets on the
ground. In addition to the vehicles, they burned to death the Second-in-
Command of the Gorkhas, who was trying to organize the protection of his
Battalion Headquarters. Nothing much was left of him.
This was the first Second-in-Command of the 4th Battalion of the Fifth
Gorkha Rifles to die since the battalion was re-raised in January 1963. The
battalion was now without a Second-in-Command.*
A replacement for the Second-in-Command was difficult to find due to
the expansion of the Indian Army after the 1962 Sino–Indian war. The 4th
Battalion, in fact, was raised as part of this expansion, and the other
battalions of the regiment had already been milked to find the necessary
officers to man them.
Eventually a major posted at Khadki, a cantonment of Pune, was posted
in as Second-in-Command. The battalion, by this time, was holding a string
of picquets on the CFL after the Indo–Pak war of 1965, including a high-
hill feature called Bir Badeshar on which was located an ancient temple and
a pir’s grave. The Commanding Officer’s Tactical Headquarters was located
on a lower ridge, and the newly posted Second-in-Command was asked to
report here.
It was known to the battalion that this officer was on the verge of
retirement, but nobody from the battalion knew that the major was very
unwell. Despite his failing health, the officer, knowing that the battalion
was involved in a conflict with Pakistan in Jammu and Kashmir, did not
want to make his ill-health an excuse to not join the battalion. He made the
effort to climb to the Headquarters, which involved a steep climb of nearly
2000 feet. The effort was too much for an officer who was ailing, had been
away from active duty for a long time and was soon to retire. Just short of
the Tactical Headquarters, the major fell down, never to rise again.
Two Seconds-in-Command had died within a space of two months.
Army Headquarters once again began searching for a replacement. This
time, they found a regimental officer who was located at a Station
Headquarters in Lucknow. The Commanding Officer made it a point to
meet him down below at the base. He initiated him in the role and tasks of
the battalion. The new Second-in-Command was taken to all the picquets
and given adequate time to get accustomed to the hilly terrain and develop
an understanding of the battalion’s counterinsurgency plans. After three
months, the officer was fully acquainted with all that he needed to know.
The year, however, was coming to an end, and the officer asked for a few
days’ leave to spend Christmas with his family.
His leave was sanctioned, but he never came back. He was run over by a
bus in Lucknow. The battalion had now lost three Seconds-in-Command in
a matter of six months!
Military Secretary’s Branch (MS Branch), which is responsible for the
career planning of officers and the staffing of units and formations, now
began to get concerned. Word had got around that the appointment of the
Second-in-Command of the unit was jinxed. The battalion, however, needed
a Second-in-Command urgently. The situation on the border was once again
getting tense. There were reports of infiltration attempts in the border areas
of Poonch and in the area where the battalion was located. MS Branch once
again began their search for an officer not already posted to a battalion on
active duty or to a sensitive post. This time, they were able to find a
considerably young officer. The officer was on his way back to India from
the UK, where he had been posted as India’s Assistant Military Adviser.
By this time, the Subedar Major and Junior Commissioned Officers of
the unit were also getting perturbed at the rapid rate of attrition when it
came to the Seconds-in-Command of the unit. The Subedar Major is the
senior-most JCO of the unit. This rank is the highest that a soldier can
aspire to, other than getting a commission as an officer. The Subedar Major
is usually a JCO with a lot of service, loads of experience, and he advises
the Commanding Officer on matters concerning the morale and welfare of
the men and their families. He is therefore a JCO who is respected and
whose advice on such matters carries a lot of weight.
The Subedar Major decided that he needed to speak to the Commanding
Officer on the matter concerning the Seconds-in-Command of the battalion.
It was strictly not his area of responsibility, because it was a matter that
concerned officers. But it affected the morale of the unit, so he decided to
voice his concern.
 Soon after the new Second-in-Command arrived from the UK, the
Subedar Major reported to the Commanding Officer and said that the high
casualty rate of Seconds-in-Command of the battalion was beginning to get
disturbing. He suggested to the Commanding Officer that the newly arrived
officer be sent to the ancient temple at Bir Badeshar to pay his respects to
the deity, which had been installed there more than a thousand years ago,
and also to the pir who was buried close to the temple. The pir was reputed
to grant favours to those who visited his grave, and people came from
distant villages to seek his blessings. The temple at Bir Badeshar was within
the battalion-defended area and so was the pir’s grave. The CO spoke to the
newly arrived Second-in-Command and told him what the Subedar Major
had said. The newly arrived officer acted on the advice of the Subedar
Major, and all went well. The officer not only survived but, after a year, was
promoted in command of another battalion of the regiment.
On the departure of this officer, another officer had to be found and
posted as the Second-in-Command of the battalion. This time, as soon as he
arrived, the officer was dispatched to the temple at Bir Badeshar and to the
pir’s grave. He, too, survived and in later years rose to the rank of
Lieutenant General. All now seemed well as far as the appointment of
Seconds-in-Command of the unit was concerned. The jinx appeared to have
been put to rest.
Sometime later, the battalion had to move away from Bir Badeshar,
towards the border with East Pakistan, in the third quarter of 1971. This was
the period just prior to the 1971 war.
In December 1970, Sheikh Mujibur Rehman had won a landslide victory
in the elections in East Pakistan. Based on this election, major positions in
the Pakistani government would be held by Bengali Muslims. But the Prime
Minister of Pakistan, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, and President General Yahya
Khan were not prepared to accept this. They initiated Operation Torchlight,
leading to the extermination over a million East Pakistanis, and followed up
with the persecution of the Bengali personnel of the Pakistan Army. This
led to the formation of an East Pakistan government in exile and the
formation of the Mukti Bahini, or Freedom Fighters, who were determined
to free their country from the stranglehold of West Pakistan. Mukti Bahini
personnel commenced guerrilla warfare against Pakistan, and these clashes
sometimes spilled over across the border into Indian territory.
When these skirmishes resulted in casualties to Indian Army personnel,
the 4th Battalion of the 5th Gorkha Regiment, which had moved to this part
of the border with East Pakistan, also got involved in confrontations with
the Pakistan Army. The Second-in-Command, who at this time was the
sixth Second-in-Command of the battalion, took part and led counterattacks
against the Pakistanis, who had encroached into Indian territory. There was,
however, no temple or pir’s grave in the battle zone where this Second-in-
Command could offer prayers, as had been the case with the two Seconds-
in-Command at the previous location.
The sixth Second-in-Command got killed when leading an attack. He
received a bullet in his head and died on the spot. It appeared that the
Second-in-Command jinx had returned to haunt the battalion once again!
MS2, the section of Military Secretary’s branch that dealt with infantry
officers, once again had to resume its search for a Second-in-Command for
the unit. By now, the jinx had become well known. Between 10 August
1965 and 10 December 1971, the battalion had a turnover of six Seconds-
in-Command in six years. Four of them had succumbed to fate and
circumstance, and only two had survived, possibly because they had the
opportunity to pray at a temple and a pir’s grave.
The officer in charge of infantry postings at Military Secretary’s Branch,
Army Headquarters (AMS2) called for the panel of officers of the regiment.
He had to pull out someone from somewhere to be posted as Second-in-
Command of this battalion. However, all the battalions of the regiment were
committed to battle either in the Western or the Eastern sectors. The officer
to be selected had also to have the required level of seniority and experience
to take over as Commanding Officer, if required. An in-depth search
indicated that one such officer was available. He was doing the staff course
at the Defence Services Staff College at Wellington, in the Nilgiri Hills in
Tamil Nadu.
 In the meanwhile, orders had been issued by Army Headquarters for the
termination of all courses in anticipation of a war that seemed imminent.
This officer’s posting on staff had already been issued to a formation in the
Eastern Sector. The need of the battalion, however, was greater, and
necessity demanded his return to the unit. If posted, he would be the
seventh Second-in-Command at the battalion in six years.
Lieutenant Colonel Madhok, the officer in charge of the career planning
of infantry officers, could not help wondering whether these unfortunate
events were a matter of pure coincidence or there was really a jinx at work.
He decided to check with Military Operations (MO Directorate) as to what
was happening on the ground. MO Directorate was the department that
monitored all military operations—they knew exactly what was happening
on both fronts. They would also know the situation in the battalion, as to
where they were, what they were doing and what operations had been
planned for them.
He rang up Lieutenant Colonel Rai Singh, who headed the Section that
dealt with the north-east and East Pakistan.
Lieutenant Colonel Rai Singh, after checking, stated that the battalion
was doing extremely well but in the process had taken a lot of casualties. It
had eighteen officers at the start of the war, and in less than a week, three of
its officers had been killed and four officers wounded. Among those killed
was the Second-in-Command. Lieutenant Rai Singh also stated that it
would be necessary to post a Second-in-Command immediately and also
some more officers, because the Corps Commander had detailed this
battalion for another important task. He also stated that he would be
forwarding to MS Branch signals from the Corps Headquarters and Eastern
Command, requesting that the officer situation in this battalion be addressed
on an ‘Op Immediate’ basis.
Lieutenant Colonel Madhok thanked Rai Singh for the information. He
wondered as to what important task could be given to a unit that had
already suffered such heavy losses. He wondered also about the officer who
had now to be posted as the Second-in-Command to this unit. What would
be his fate? Would he meet the same end as his predecessors? However,
Lieutenant Colonel Madhok needed the approval of Deputy Military
Secretary (A) to cancel the earlier posting on staff and issue a new order
posting the new Second-in-Command to his battalion.
The Brigadier was busy. He was looking at the officer situation of an
army at war. Messages were pouring in about officer casualties on the
Eastern and Western fronts, and formations were clamouring for
replacements. The telephones on his table were all ringing simultaneously,
demanding immediate attention. Officers of the Indian Army led from the
front, and so officer casualties were bound to be heavy.
The Brigadier looked up and said, ‘Yes, Madhok. What is it?’ The
Brigadier, like many other officers, had been in office the whole of the
previous night. He had gone home only for a shave and to change his
uniform, and was back at his desk early that morning.
Lieutenant Colonel Madhok explained the situation. The Brigadier took
no time to decide. He said, ‘Post the officer from Staff College as Second-
in-Command immediately. Also look at the panels of other battalions of this
regiment and see who else can be posted to this battalion as it has already
suffered heavy officer casualties. This battalion has been tasked to conduct
the army’s first heliborne operation. They are bound to take more casualties.
I’ve been receiving urgent messages from Corps and Command.’
The Brigadier waved him off and turned to the bunch of telephones that
were all ringing together.
Lieutenant Colonel Madhok went back to his office. He now knew the
important task given to this battalion! The war in the east was moving fast
—too fast. He issued the order posting the officer as Second-in-Command
to the unit and also rang up the Defence Services Staff College with
instructions to convey the message personally to the officer before he
moved. He once again wondered what the fate of this officer would be.
On the ground, far away in the Eastern Sector, the Commanding Officer
of the Gorkha Battalion was wrestling with the problems connected with the
heliborne operation for the capture of an airfield, a bridge and the junction
of two roads at a place called Sylhet. Only a limited number of helicopters
were available for the heli-lift. It was a daunting task that his battalion had
been given. Considering the spread and size of the targets, the Commanding
Officer would have to divide his force, and the necessity of a Second-in-
Command became all the more important. The operation was a hazardous
one. The CO’s battalion was to be inducted nearly a hundred kilometres into
the heart of the enemy defences. He recalled the Chindit operations of
World War II on the Burma front, where a division-sized force was flown in
gliders deep behind Japanese lines. They did a great job, but there were
very few survivors! Also, what would happen if he himself became a
casualty? Command and control were crucial in an operation like this.
Where, he wondered, was the Second-in-Command that had been promised
to him? This was the army’s first heliborne operation and success was vital.
But unbeknown to the CO, the officer from the Staff College was already
on the move to join the battalion.
The battalion, meanwhile, was gearing up for the heliborne offensive.
Since only eight MI-4 helicopters were available for the heli-lift, only a
limited number of troops could be heli-lifted for the operation. The area was
a frenzy of activity. Load tables were being made; arms, ammunition,
rations and equipment were being weighed because the helicopters could
take only a limited load, and every additional load, however small,
mattered. The tactical plan was being worked out and battle drills rehearsed.
The officers and men were excited at their battalion being chosen for the
first heliborne operation of the Indian Army, and the section and platoon
commanders were busy briefing their commands on their tasks.
The CO, however, was alone with his thoughts. Once again, he wondered
whether he would get the Second-in-Command he had asked for, and
whether he would arrive on time for the operation. There was much to
discuss and innumerable contingencies to be worked out.
The battalion was to be landed deep inside enemy territory, but there was
a commitment from the corps that they would be linked up within forty-
eight hours. What would happen if the link-up did not happen as promised?
If they were on their own, what would be more important—ammunition, or
food and water? How would casualties be evacuated? What about the dead?
There were bound to be heavy casualties.
 These and a number of other concerns ran through his mind, and there
was no one senior enough to consult and discuss this with. He finally
decided that the men would carry as much ammunition as possible, and that
food and clothing would take a lower priority. After all, military teaching
and practice accepted that a heliborne or para-dropped force had to be
linked up within forty-eight hours, failing which that unit would be
considered as having been destroyed. He had been assured that the battalion
would definitely be linked within forty-eight hours, so he felt that
ammunition was more important than food and clothing.
In the meanwhile, the officer from Staff College was doing his best to
reach the battalion as early as possible. He arrived at Kalaura, the launch
pad for the heliborne operation, early on the morning after the launch of
some of the Rifle Companies and the Battalion Headquarters and he was
able to catch the last wave of helicopters to battleground Sylhet.
The helicopters landed amid heavy fire from enemy artillery, mortars and
medium machine guns. Some of the Gorkhas, who were on duty to protect
the helipad, seemed to be aware that the Major was on board one of the
choppers and came searching for him. This officer had led his company in a
number of actions in the 1965 Indo–Pak war, and his men were glad to have
him back. The Gorkhas are fearless and also fun-loving. Oblivious of the
bullets and shrapnel flying around, they hoisted the Major on their
shoulders and started dancing to celebrate his arrival.
The Major was as glad as his soldiers to be back with them once again,
but they were in the middle of a battle and he had a job to do. He asked
them to put him down so that he could go and meet the Commanding
Officer, but it took some amount of persuasion before they finally put him
down. The Major went in search of the CO and found him in a clearing,
speaking on the wireless set and directing the battle. The CO was
communicating with his rifle companies in Gorkhali so that the Pakistanis,
trying to intercept his messages, would not be able to understand what he
was saying.
The choppers took off and the small-arms fire was once again directed at
them. Luckily, they managed to get away safely.
 The CO was glad that his Second-in-Command had finally arrived, and
that the dead and wounded had been evacuated in the returning choppers.
Soon, silver streaks of dawn lit up the horizon and birds began to chirp. The
CO wondered whether the birds knew that there was a war on. Were they
heard only when the firing stopped and silent when the battle raged?
The Major, who belonged to the battalion, was meeting the CO for the
first time, as the latter had come from another battalion of the regiment. The
CO welcomed his Second-in-Command and started briefing him on the
battle situation so that he was ‘in the picture’. Soon after he finished, the
CO’s runner reported that the senior Subedar had come up to speak to the
CO.
The JCO appeared, saluted and, speaking in Gorkhali, said, ‘We are
happy, sahib, that Major Sahib has returned to the battalion, but we don’t
want anything to happen to him. The JCOs who had served with the
battalion during World War II in Burma told us that during that war, two
Seconds-in-Command of the battalion were killed one after the other, and
two other Seconds-in-Command, who went on to become Commanding
Officers during that war, also died in battle. Recently, we have lost four out
of six Seconds-in-Command. I have been talking to our JCOs, and it is our
suggestion that since there is no mandir out here for Major Sahib to do puja,
we should not call him 2IC or Second-in-Command.’
‘So, what should we call him?’ asked the CO.
‘Sahib,’ said the JCO, ‘we can call him by any other name. The
Pakistanis call their officers by code names like Bada Imam, Chota Imam,
Kazi and Vazir. We should call him by some such name.’
‘Tell me then,’ said the CO. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘Vazir, sahib. It is the suggestion of the JCOs that we call him Vazir,
because this word is closest to the role of a Second-in-Command.’
The CO looked at the Major and asked him if it was all right to call him
Vazir?
‘Yes, sir,’ said the Second-in-Command, ‘it’s not an issue. You can call
me whatever you like.’
 So, word was passed to the companies that the term ‘Second-in-
Command’ would not be used, and that henceforth the term for Second-in-
Command would be Vazir.
But the CO, unfortunately, would often forget the word ‘Vazir’ and
would call for ‘Kazi’ instead, and the troops would get confused. In one
such incident, the battalion missed ambushing an enemy convoy, and the
CO spoke to the Major and said: ‘Looks like I have a mental block on the
word “Vazir”. I keep saying “Kazi” instead of “Vazir”. It has been
happening too often. Is it all right if we call you Kazi instead of Vazir?’
The Second-in-Command said that it was all right to call him by any
name that he wished.
So, orders were passed accordingly, and the CO began using the word
‘Kazi’ instead of ‘Vazir’. This, however, caused more confusion because
the troops had earlier been told that ‘Vazir’ was the word to be used for
Second-in-Command. The companies were widely separated, and patrols
and ambush parties were moving in and out, so it was difficult to get the
change of the codename across. In exasperation, the CO spoke to the
Second-in-Command once again and asked him whether he believed that
bad luck was associated with the term ‘Second-in-Command’ and if it was
okay to revert to the official nomenclature of ‘Second-in-Command’. The
Major said that it was okay to call him anything that the CO felt was
appropriate.
And so, the battalion reverted to calling the Major ‘Second-in-
Command’, in keeping with official terminology.
A few days later, the seventh Second-in-Command was blown up in an
enemy minefield. He was lucky to be alive but was badly wounded, and his
left leg had to be amputated.
The battalion was upset but there was nothing they could do about it,
except to revert to the term ‘Vazir’ instead of Second-in-Command. And so,
it was decided from that day, amid the din and dust of the battle of Sylhet,
that the Second-in-Command of 4/5 Gorkha Rifles would be called Vazir on
a permanent basis.
 The war terminated on 16 December 1971, and the unit, like all other
units of the Indian Army, kept moving to other stations. For a while, all
went well. As long as ‘Vazir’ was the term used to refer to him, the Second-
in-Command of the unit continued to be safe.
Some years later, around 1978, during the course of a unit inspection, the
Formation Commander, a Brigadier, who was the inspecting officer, noticed
the name board saying ‘Vazir’ outside the Second-in-Command’s office.
‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing to the name board.
The Brigadier was given the background. He wasn’t happy, as he did not
like the sound of the word ‘Vazir’, but he let it pass. In his inspection report,
he wrote:

The Battalion has performed very well during the period of this report. During the last
one year, this unit has won almost all professional and sports competitions in the Brigade
and Division. Its morale is high, and it executes all tasks very efficiently. There is,
however, a strange legacy in this unit, where the Second-in-Command is called ‘Vazir’
due to a series of unfortunate incidents resulting in the death/disability of a series of
previous Seconds-in-Command. Although this is a departure from accepted
nomenclature, I have let it remain, giving due regard to the sensitivities of a fine, highly
efficient and motivated unit.

Some more years passed. Successive Vazirs survived and went on to other
postings and promotions. In 1985, however, during a unit inspection, a
month prior to its move to Sri Lanka, the Formation Commander, once
again a Brigadier, objected to the term ‘Vazir’ in place of the official
terminology of ‘Second-in-Command’. He, too, was given the background
of the story, but he refused to accept the battalion’s point of view. He
ordered the unit, in writing, to remove all traces of ‘Vazir’ from its name
boards, stationery, bills, receipts, etc., and to revert to the term Second-in-
Command. The battalion’s sensitivity on this issue was ignored.
Immediately after this inspection, the battalion was moved to Sri Lanka
for Operation Pawan and hit the ground running. Immediately on landing, it
was tasked with the rescue of another unit that was trapped in a major
ambush. In the fierce fighting that followed with the Tamil Tigers, the
Commanding Officer and a senior Company Commander were both killed.
The deaths occurred less than a month after the battalion had been ordered
to change the nomenclature from ‘Vazir’ to ‘Second-in-Command’.
The battalion felt angry, but there was nothing they could do. With regard
to the future, they decided that they could not let this state of affairs
continue. It was all very well for others to say that all this was a matter of
coincidence, but as far as the battalion was concerned, obedience had its
limits, and enough was enough. Losing five Seconds-in-Command one after
the other was no joke. It decided to inform the Brigade that they were
reverting to ‘Vazir’ instead of ‘Second-in-Command’, and that if anyone
had any questions, they should contact the Colonel of the regiment at Army
Headquarters.
Army Headquarters now had to find replacements for both the
Commanding Officer as well as the Second-in-Command. The battalion
was in an operational area in Sri Lanka, and it was imperative that a
Commanding Officer be posted without delay. All available Colonels,
however, were already commanding units or had finished command. It was
finally decided by Army Headquarter to post a Lieutenant Colonel as
Second-in-Command to the unit as Officiating Commanding Officer, till a
Colonel could be pulled out from somewhere to command the battalion.
After an in-depth search, there was only one Lieutenant Colonel available
who could fit the bill. He was posted as Second-in-Command as well as
Officiating CO.
By a strange coincidence, the seventh Second-in-Command, who had
been wounded and had lost a leg at Sylhet, was posted at this time as
Deputy Military Secretary (A), i.e., the Brigadier in charge of postings at
MS Branch, Army Headquarters. He knew only too well the story of the
Seconds-in-Command of the battalion, and the portent of using the term
‘Second-in-Command’. So, he drafted the signal himself and made it ‘Op
Immediate’. This is what he wrote:
Lt Col Ravinder Singh posted as ‘Vazir’ 4/5GR (FF). Offr to assume appt of Officiating
CO till further orders. Offr to move immediately without relief. Confirm. All ack.*
The Brigadier signed the posting order himself and sent it down to the
section dealing with infantry postings which was located in the basement of
South Block, for immediate dispatch. The Colonel in charge of MS2,
however, came rushing up from the basement to meet the Brigadier and
said: ‘Sir, what is this word “Vazir” that you have included in the signal. Is
it a typographical error or does it mean something?’
The Brigadier and the Colonel were both due to go to Air Headquarters
for a meeting. The Brigadier said, ‘Just send the signal off quickly and
come back soon or we will be late for the meeting. I will brief you in the
car.’
The Colonel sent the signal off to the Army Headquarters Signal Centre
for dispatch to all concerned, and, with the Brigadier, proceeded to Air
Headquarters for the meeting. En route to the meeting, the Brigadier told
the Colonel the story of the Seconds-in-Command of 4/5GR (FF), and the
significance of the word ‘Vazir’.
In the meanwhile, personnel at the Army Headquarters Signal Centre
were puzzling over the word ‘Vazir’ in the signal they had just received.
They consulted their book of code names but could not locate the word
‘Vazir’ anywhere. They next looked at their list of nicknames but failed to
find the word. They consulted their officer in charge of the Signal Centre,
who in turn consulted the Duty Signal Officer, who said, ‘Send it back to
the originator for clarification.’ And so the signal came back to MS Branch.
Other than the Brigadier and the Colonel dealing with infantry postings,
no one knew the meaning or significance of the word ‘Vazir’. The signal
had been signed by the Brigadier himself, which was unusual, and he had
marked it as ‘Op Immediate’. This meant that the signal had to be sent off at
once. The officer who had to now act on the signal had some idea from the
text of the message that ‘Vazir’ probably meant Second-in-Command.
However, he did not want to change the text of the signal because the
Brigadier and Colonel had both cleared the signal and therefore knew what
they were doing. So, he decided to take the signal to the Major General,
who was the overall in-charge of postings. The Major General asked the
officer what he thought ‘Vazir’ meant. The officer said that he thought it
meant Second-in-Command. The General scratched out the word ‘Vazir’
and replaced it with ‘Second-in-Command’, and told the officer to send the
signal off as this was an urgent matter.
As directed by Army Headquarters, Lieutenant Colonel Ravinder Singh
reported to the battalion in Sri Lanka as Second-in-Command, Officiating
CO. Within a week, he became a casualty and had to be evacuated. It was
only emergency medical intervention that saved him.
The Brigade Headquarters, the Divisional Headquarters, Army
Headquarters and all those who had to deal with the battalion now began to
realize that possibly there was some meaning and merit in the request, the
need, of the unit to use the term ‘Vazir’ for the battalion’s Second-in-
Command.
Thereafter, Army Headquarters posted a Colonel who had already
finished command of another unit and had volunteered to take command of
the battalion in its hour of need. The battalion did extremely well under the
new Commanding Officer, and the senior-most Company Commander took
on the appointment of Vazir.
Since then, the battalion has had only a ‘Vazir’ and not a ‘Second-in-
Command’, and it has never had to look back.
If you ever happen to visit the 4th Battalion of the 5th Gorkha Rifles
(FF), and if you look for the Second-in-Command, you won’t find him. You
will only find a Vazir.

Postscript

Those who hear the story for the first time often ask, ‘Is there really a jinx
on the Seconds-in-Command of this battalion?’ No one really knows. But
the battalion does not want any more proof and to take any more chances.
They say, ‘Just leave it as it is. We have had enough!’
 A Bullet for Breakfast

‘Often the test of courage is not to die, but to live.’

—Conte Vittorio Alfieri (1749–1803)

Lieutenant Colonel ‘Bulbul’ Brar* looked at Jamalpur through his

binoculars. It stood there far away, shimmering on the horizon, seemingly
suspended in mid-air in the early morning mist. Its early capture was
important. The war needed to be wrapped up quickly, before outside help
could arrive, and this was one of the obstacles that needed to be removed to
speed up the advance of 95 Indian Infantry Brigade.
Intelligence reports indicated that Jamalpur was strongly held by 31
Baluch, along with a battery of 120 mm mortars, a detachment of six-
pounder anti-tank guns and a large number of medium machine guns. The
Commanding Officer, Colonel Sultan Ahmad, had built his battalion-
defended locality on the north bank of a river that covered the approaches
from the north. A railway embankment covered the southern approach.
Maximum use had been made of built-up areas. The weapons were sited in
strong concrete bunkers, with enough ammunition to last him weeks. The
garrison had a strong defence potential that would make it difficult to
capture.*
 Sketch of the letter and the bullet sent by the Pakistani Garrison Commander.

Lieutenant Colonel K.S. (‘Bulbul’) Brar, the Commanding Officer of the 1st
Battalion, the Maratha Light Infantry, was tasked with the capture of
Jamalpur. His battalion had an enviable reputation of war-fighting. It was
known as ‘Jangi Paltan’, which indicated that it was a battalion that always
did well in war.
Brigadier H.S. Kler, Commander, 95 Indian Infantry Brigade, was the
Brigade Commander. He had sited his Tactical Headquarters alongside the
Battalion Headquarters of the Marathas. He was from the Corps of Signals.
Kler was under pressure to capture Jamalpur at the earliest. To
accomplish this task, the battalions of his Brigade had laid roadblocks on
the approaches and exits to the Jamalpur Garrison. But after doing that, he
had no reserves to assault it. The only option was to lay siege to the
garrison. However, that would be a time-consuming process, and time was
at a premium. The 101 Communication Zone Commander wanted Kler to
get on with the capture of Jamalpur and then move on towards other
objectives that blocked the way to Dhaka.
In preparation for the attack, patrols sent out by the Marathas on 8–9
December, to find out details of the enemy defences, clashed with Pakistani
soldiers from the Jamalpur Garrison. Lieutenant Colonel Sultan Ahmad
learnt of the roadblocks behind and in front of him only when a vehicle
carrying Captain Jamsher Ahmad, a Para Commando officer, was ambushed
by the Marathas. The vehicle was captured, but the officer managed to
escape to tell Lieutenant Colonel Ahmad that his garrison had been
encircled by the Marathas and a battalion of the Guards.
Aware of the strength of the Jamalpur defences, and the time and effort
that would be required to capture this strong fortress-like structure,
Brigadier Kler decided it would be better to use a bit of psychological
warfare and push the Commander of the Jamalpur Garrison to surrender,
rather than to spend a lot of time and effort in assaulting a very strong
defensive position. He and Lieutenant Colonel Brar sat down and dictated a
note, which they sent to Lieutenant Colonel Sultan Ahmad, informing him
that his battalion had been surrounded and it would be better if he
surrendered, as many lives would be saved. This is what the note said:
9 Dec 1971
To,
The Commander
Jamalpur Garrison
1. I am directed to inform you that your garrison has been cut off from all sides and you
have no escape routes available to you. One brigade with its complement of artillery has
already been built up and another will be striking by the morning. In addition, you have
been given a foretaste of a small element of our Air Force, with a lot more to come. The
situation as far as you are concerned is hopeless. Your higher commanders have already
ditched you.
2. As a soldier to soldier, I give you an assurance of safety and honourable treatment when
you surrender—since that is the only course left to you. I am sure you will not be
foolhardy in risking the lives of the men under your command for your personal ego.
You may have heard of the appeal of our Army Chief and I once again reiterate, if you
wish to be re-united with your families—the only course open to you is to surrender. We
will arrive at formalities as soon as I get your reply. It may be pertinent to point out that
if you fall in the hands of the Mukti Fauj or their sympathizers, they are unlikely to
spare your lives. Your colleague, Captain Ashan Malik, wisely surrendered to me at
Kamalpur on 4 December. He and his men have been well looked after as per the
Geneva Conventions. I expect your reply by 6.30 p.m. today, failing which I shall be
constrained to deliver the final blow, for which forty sorties of MiGs have been allotted
to me. In this morning’s action, the prisoners captured by us have given us your strength
and dispositions and are in a position to let you down. They are being well looked after.
The treatment I expect to be given to this civil messenger shall be according to a
 gentlemanly code of honour and no harm should come to him. An immediate reply is
solicited.

Sd/Brig. H.S. Kler*

This note was given to a Mukti Bahini volunteer. He was sent to the
Jamalpur Garrison on a cycle with a white flag. The Marathas were on the
Jamalpur–Tangail road and the distance to the Jamalpur Garrison was about
four kilometres. The messenger was stopped and taken to the Garrison
Commander. Lieutenant Colonel Ahmad read the note and sent a note back
in reply. This is what he said:

Jamalpur
Dec 091735
Dear Brig,
1. Hope this finds you in high spirits. Thanks for the letter. We here in Jamalpur are
waiting for the fight to commence. It has not started yet. So, let’s not talk and start it.
2. Forty sorties, I may point out are highly inadequate. Please ask your Government for
many more.
3. Your remark about your messenger being given proper treatment was superfluous.
Shows how you underestimate the hospitality of Pakistan troops. I hope he liked his cup
of tea. Give my love to the Mukties. Hoping to find you with a sten gun in your hand
next time instead of the pen—as you seem to have so much mastery over.

I am your most
Sincerely,
Lt Col Sultan Ahmad
Jamalpur Forces*

The note came wrapped around a bullet, possibly to signify the need for
combat on ground rather than the combat of words. The Marathas, as would
anyone else in uniform, were impressed by the spirited reply of the
Commander of the Jamalpur Garrison. It was what any good military
commander would have said.
Brigadier Kler realized that he was being sandwiched between his higher
formation commanders, who wanted him to get on with the quick capture of
Jamalpur, and the Jamalpur Garrison Commander, who was enticing him to
attack him. An interesting situation was developing, and the officers of
Jangi Paltan wondered what would happen next.
Colonel Sultan Ahmad had given a good account of himself earlier at the
battle of Bakshiganj. He had withdrawn from that position only after he had
caused considerable delay. His aim was to fight the main defensive battle at
Jamalpur. Although Bakshiganj was captured in the early hours of 5
December, Kler was not able to follow up fast enough, allowing the
Pakistani defenders to withdraw unhindered to their main defensive position
at Jamalpur.
The decision to attack or not to attack Jamalpur, however, was taken out
of the hands of the main protagonists in this stand-off between Brigadier
Kler and Lieutenant Colonel Sultan Ahmad. General A.A.K. Niazi, General
Officer Commanding-in-Chief of all forces in East Pakistan, realized that
the promised intervention by the Americans and the Chinese might not
happen, and that he needed to do something for the defence of Dhaka. He
had not earmarked troops for its defence, confident that Pakistan’s allies
would come to his rescue. However, that had not happened. He therefore
asked Brigadier Qadir, Commander, Pakistan 93 Ad Hoc Brigade, whether
he could send some troops for the defence of Dhaka. Brigadier Qadir passed
on the request to Lieutenant Colonel Ahmad, and asked him whether he
could break through the siege and reach Dhaka. Lieutenant Colonel Ahmad
stated that it would be better for the Indians to break their heads against his
strong defensive position at Jamalpur, which he had prepared with such
diligence. However, when he was explained the problem of the highest
Pakistani Commander in the field, Lieutenant Colonel Ahmad stated
confidently that he saw no problem of breaking out of the cordon
established by the Indians. However, he made the mistake of trying to
soften up the likely roadblock locations with artillery fire. This gave away
his intention that he would attempt to break out that night. The 1st Marathas
and 13 Guards, one of the other battalions of the Brigade, made their plans
to ambush* any enemy troops trying to exit the Jamalpur Garrison.
At about 2350 hours on 10 December, some movement was heard along
the Tangail road approaching the forward-company-defended localities. The
Marathas held their fire till the Pakistani troops came well within range and
then opened fire, mowing down all those who were in the vicinity of the
ambush site. The Pakistanis came in, wave after wave, shouting their war
cries of ‘Allah-hu-Akbar, Pakistan Paindabad’. The Commanding Officer
and the officers, JCOs and NCOs of the Marathas, however, displayed
leadership skill of a high order in a classic, cleverly laid and well-executed
ambush. The battle at the ambush site ended only at dawn of 11 December.
With sunrise, the fog lifted from the ambush site. The area was littered with
bodies of the soldiers of the Jamalpur Garrison. Three hundred thirty enemy
soldiers were killed, twenty-three wounded and sixty-one Pakistani soldiers
were captured as prisoners. Lieutenant Colonel Sultan Ahmad, however,
seemed to have a charmed life. He had managed to escape along with 200
of his men.*
Later that morning, a wireless intercept picked up an appeal from a
Pakistani officer. It was the Second-in-Command of the Jamalpur Garrison
and of 31 Baluch, asking for acceptance of surrender.
Lieutenant Colonel K.S. Brar directed Major Satish Nambiar, Company
Commander, ‘Y’ Company,† to go and accept the surrender. The
Commanding Officer’s party followed closely along with Captain H.K.
Malhotra, the Regimental Medical Officer, who commenced giving first aid
to his own troops as well as to that of the opponents.
Three hundred seventy-six all ranks of the Pakistani Army surrendered,
of which two officers, nine JCOs, 209 other ranks and a doctor belonged to
31 Baluch. Nine others belonged to the artillery and paramilitary forces. A
large number of small arms, three 120 mm mortars, one 106 mm and three
57 mm recoilless guns, as well as a huge amount of ammunition and rations
also fell into Indian hands.*
Interrogation of prisoners later revealed that Ahmad’s Brigade
Commander, Brigadier Qadir, had ordered Ahmad to pull out on the night
of 10–11 December. Although Ahmad was reluctant to leave his well-
prepared defences, he was obliged to obey this order. He personally led the
breakout the same night and managed to get away with about 200 of his
soldiers. Although the Pakistani soldiers tried to provoke the Marathas to
make them fire and reveal their positions, the Maratha fire discipline was
good. They held their fire, and the Pakistanis thought that the Marathas had
vacated their positions. The withdrawing Pakistani soldiers were allowed to
enter deep into the killing zone before the orders to open fire were given.
Brigadier Qadir’s decision to make Ahmad withdraw from the Jamalpur
defences was fortunate for Kler, as it removed the need to assault this very
strong position, and this probably saved many lives. As it is, ten soldiers of
the Marathas were killed and eight were wounded; the Guards lost one JCO,
who was killed during the conduct of the ambush.†
The Marathas had moved on man-pack basis‡ and had to be replenished.
But when they resumed their advance on 12 December, Lieutenant Colonel
Sultan Ahmad and his approximately two companies of 31 Baluch had
disappeared from the scene and had moved for the defence of Dhaka.
Kler’s 95 Infantry Brigade continued to advance towards Dhaka. By the
night of 15–16 December, Kler’s brigade came across strong opposition
holding up their advance. It was none other than Lieutenant Colonel Sultan
Ahmad of 31 Baluch. He, together with 400–500 men and three tanks, was
holding a crossroads against the Indian troops advancing towards Dhaka.
About midday of 16 December, while preparations were being made for
Niazi’s formal surrender of all Pakistani forces in East Pakistan, Lieutenant
Colonel Ahmad attempted to break through the Indian forces and join the
defences at Tungi. This bid failed, with heavy casualties on both sides.
Apparently, Lieutenant Colonel Ahmad had not been told to halt hostilities.
Fighting continued till late in the afternoon, when emissaries with white
flags communicated that a ceasefire was in effect and that the war was over.
This officer, who had earlier desired a showdown at Jamalpur but was
ordered to leave for the defence of Dhaka, now refused to surrender and
decided to break through with men from his own battalion and some others.
With this last encounter, hostilities came to an end in East Pakistan.
Brigadier Kler, a paratrooper himself, linked up with Lieutenant Colonel
Pannu, Commanding Officer of the 2nd Para Battalion, who had the
previous day been paradropped at Tangail. Brigadier Sant Singh, who was
leading with the Mukti Bahini, also joined them. All three met at the Mirpur
Bridge. By this time, 2 Corps, 33 Corps and 4 Corps had already reached
the outskirts of Dhaka.
Sometime later in the day, Kler reached Niazi’s headquarters, along with
Major General Nagra, GOC, 101 Communication Zone. Noticing that Kler
was wearing a purple turban and para wings, Niazi asked him whether he
was commanding the Para Brigade that had been dropped at Tangail. Kler
replied that only one para battalion had been dropped and not the brigade.
But Niazi found this difficult to believe. He then asked Kler to name his
regiment. Kler replied that he was from the Corps of Signals. Niazi stated
that in the Pakistan Army they did not give brigades to Signal officers. Kler
retorted: ‘No wonder you lost the war.’*
After the surrender, Brigadier Kler went looking for Lieutenant Colonel
Sultan Ahmad, who was his opponent initially at Jamalpur and
subsequently on the outskirts of Dhaka. They finally met in a makeshift
prisoner-of-war camp and faced each other for the first time. From a
scenario of a combat of shadows, they finally met in the flesh. Lieutenant
Colonel Ahmad saluted Brigadier Kler, who returned the salute and shook
his hand. Kler regarded Ahmad as a worthy opponent on the battlefield.
They sat down and discussed the action at Jamalpur. During the
discussion, Lieutenant Colonel Ahmad said that being a staff college
graduate, he could not comprehend how the Indians could put across the
river in front of the Jamalpur position anything more than a weak battalion,
with no bridging or rafting equipment. Brigadier Kler, ever ready with a
reply, said with a smile: ‘The only snag in your thinking, Ahmad, is that
you were only a student at Staff College, whereas I had been there as an
instructor! Your second mistake was to use artillery fire on the night you
attempted to break out, because that gave your intention away.’
The 1st Marathas once again did well. For this war, among other awards,
the Commanding Officer Lieutenant Colonel K.S. Brar, Major Satish
Nambiar, Major R.S.V. Dafle, Havildar Laxman Rane and Havildar Krishna
Gaurav were awarded Vir Chakras for conspicuous courage and leadership
in battle. Brigadier Kler was awarded the Mahavir Chakra.
 It was admitted that Lieutenant Colonel Sultan Ahmad was a good
officer. The problem was that he was on the losing side!
Thus, ended a duel that commenced with an exchange of written notes.
The note from Lieutenant Colonel Sultan Ahmad was wrapped around a
bullet. A bullet for breakfast!

Postscript

The duel of words in the exchange of notes between Brigadier Kler and
Lieutenant Colonel Sultan Ahmad ought to have been followed up with
combat on the ground. However, the three battles that ought to have
followed sequentially, at Jamalpur, Mymensingh and Dhaka, never took
place. Jamalpur capitulated, the battle for Mymensingh evaporated and the
battle for Dhaka fell through with the surrender of all Pakistani forces in
East Pakistan. The rest is history.
 And Then There Was One

‘Destiny—is it a matter of choice or a matter of chance?’

—Ian Cardozo

8 January 1972

There were four of us in the beginning. Actually, it was the beginning of the
end! But we did not know it—not at that time!
We arrived at the Artificial Limb Centre on the same day, 8 January
1972. We had lost our limbs on various battlefields across the war zone of
the 1971 war—in East Pakistan, the Punjab, the Rajasthan desert and
Jammu and Kashmir, and had converged from diverse military hospitals
across the subcontinent to Poona, because that was where the Artificial
Limb Centre was located.
That morning, the four of us in wheelchairs reported at the Reception
Centre of the Command Military Hospital, Southern Command, Pune.
Although the Limb Centre would give us our artificial legs, it did not have
beds for patients, and so we had to be admitted to the Command Hospital.
That is where we stayed from the time the corrective surgery was done, our
wounds healed, measurements for our artificial legs taken and we were
given our wooden* legs to walk out of hospital and face life anew.
 Artificial Limb Centre, Pune.

The 1971 war for the liberation of East Pakistan was fought with a sense of
urgency, as there was a need to wrap up the war quickly, before other
countries could arrive to assist Pakistan. But the price we paid was heavy.
Three thousand eight hundred forty-three Indian armed forces personnel
were killed and 9851 were wounded. The four of us belonged to the latter
category.
The four of us were: Major Abu Taher of the Baluch Regiment of the
Pakistan Army and, later on, part of the Mukti Bahini of Bangladesh; Major
S. Kipgen, SM, of the 2nd Battalion of the Assam Regiment; Major J.V.
Raju of the artillery; and me.
Being senior majors, the four of us were quartered in the new wing of the
hospital, built after the Sino–Indian war of 1962. Each of us had an
individual room to ourselves, with an attached bathroom, which was a
luxury not given to us in any other hospital we had been to before this.
After reaching Pune, Kipgen, Raju, I and some others had to undergo
another amputation for various reasons—either the stump was not shaped
properly by the amputations carried out on the battlefield, or the length of
the stump needed modification, or, as in my case, infection had set in due to
lack of medication during the chain of evacuation. So, the first few months
were spent by all of us in the hospital, till the limb healed and the stump
was in a fit state to be measured for the artificial limb. During this period,
we had to live by the hospital rules and routines, which were quite strict.
The officer battle casualties were mostly young and, notwithstanding the
loss of limb, bursting with energy. We wanted to break out of the strict
discipline of the hospital regime which we were being subjected to. The
hospital authorities, however, understood our predicament and closed their
eyes to the many small infringements of laid down rules and procedures.
It is to their credit that they still managed to maintain discipline and to
our credit that we did not cross the Lakshman Rekha.*
For the first month, we were restricted to our beds. Time passed slowly,
and the hours were whiled away playing scrabble, reading books brought to
us by the Red Cross sister, or just talking to each other about what the
future held for us. After a while, however, we were seen all over Poona with
our bandaged stumps and on crutches—we were at the Poona Race Course,
betting on horses as though our lives depended on it; watching the Asian
Lawn Tennis, which that year was held in Poona; at cinemas; at the
Southern Command Officers’ Mess bar; and at the restaurants on Main
Street.* We were everywhere, and the citizens of Poona not only got used to
us but also accepted us as their own. We lived beyond our means by
borrowing money from a moneylender off Main Street at exorbitant rates of
interest. Looking back, we lived like this perhaps because we were told that
the army might not keep us, and this was something we did not want to
face. So, we lived as if there was no tomorrow, because what was left of the
future seemed so bleak.
The world over, hospital routine must be the same. We were not allowed
to loll around in our beds. We were woken up at 6 a.m. with a cup of tea.
We had to complete our ablutions by 7 a.m., finish breakfast by 8 a.m. and,
once our wounds had healed, be ready to move to the ALC at 8.30 a.m.
Thereafter, our measurements were taken and the sockets for our stumps
were made. A piece of willow wood† was attached to the socket and a
rubberized foot was attached to the piece of wood with a metal bolt, and we
had to walk, walk and walk, all the while being closely scrutinized by a
battery of limb fitters and technicians who made adjustments to our
artificial legs till our gait was just right. Once this was done, a duplicate
limb was made, because we needed a reserve leg in case anything untoward
happened to the first one. At around 12.30 p.m., an ambulance would come
and take us to our wards for lunch and rest, and then back to the ALC for
more trials till 4.30 p.m., after which we were generally free. Leaving the
hospital premises required an ‘out’ pass, but we had to be back latest by 9
p.m. and in bed by 10.
Abu Taher was in a hurry to get back to his country. He was the only one
among us who was not in need of corrective surgery. He asked that the
making of his limb be prioritized. This was sanctioned, and he moved ahead
of us in the programme of limb-making. Although all four of us were
Majors at the time we were admitted to hospital, Abu Taher was promoted
to Lieutenant Colonel and once again to Colonel’s rank while we were still
waiting for our limbs, and so he became as senior in rank as the
Commandant of the Hospital and the Commandant of the Artificial Limb
Centre.
A few days after he was promoted, Abu Taher left for his country—
Bangladesh. The three of us saw him off at the Poona airport. As he was
leaving, he turned around and said: ‘So, when are you guys coming to
Dhaka? What you have done for my country needs to be reciprocated. Do
come with your families. I would, on behalf of my country, like to host
you.’ The three of us looked at each other, undecided. I answered for myself
and said, ‘Yes, Abu, I would love to come. However, things need to settle
down a bit. If I am still in the army, it will be difficult.’ Raju said that he
was thinking of leaving the army and would need to settle down in his job
on Civvy Street and that would take time. Kippy said that instead, he would
like all of us to come to Manipur. I kept my thoughts to myself. During the
war I did not need a passport to go to East Pakistan, but I knew that if I was
still in the army, going to a foreign country in peacetime would be a big
hassle. Finally, the three of us decided that we would go to Dhaka after a
period of ten years, and the date was fixed for 16 December 1982. Abu,
Kippy, Raju and I placed our right hands one on top of the other and sealed
our decision. With that, Abu walked away. He did not look back even once.
He walked out of our sight and out of our lives! We did not realize that we
would never see him again. We came to know about his adventures only
four years later, when his story appeared in newspapers worldwide.
In the meanwhile, Kippy,* Raju and I spent our remaining days at the
hospital, trying to figure out what we should do with our lives. Our
percentage of disability, which was calculated according to international
standards, was the same. It depended on the length and health of the stump.
This worked out to 60 per cent for all three of us.
Grateful governments—central and state—were offering generous
concessions in return for the sacrifices that the armed forces had made
during the war, but to access most of these concessions, we had to be
invalided out of the army. That, I was not prepared to accept. The army was
the only life I knew, and I had no desire to leave a life that I had grown to
love. My battalion and my regiment meant the world to me, and I could not
imagine living any other sort of life. Kippy held a similar view, but Raju
said he had had enough. His state was offering him land and many other
concessions. Raju had earned a degree before joining the army and was
academically bright. He felt confident that he would do well in civilian life
and agreed to be invalided out. Kippy and I were products of the National
Defence Academy and unlike cadets of today, we had no degrees.
During our stay in hospital, the Red Cross sister, who visited us once a
week, gave me a book to read: Reach for the Sky by Paul Brickhill. It was
an inspiring story about Squadron Leader Douglas Bader, DFO, DFC, a
British Royal Air Force fighter pilot who had lost both legs in an accident
but continued to fly Spitfires during World War II and became an ‘air ace’
by shooting down twenty-one German planes. I said to myself that if he
could do this after losing both his legs, what was there to prevent me from
fulfilling my role as an infantry officer? However, I did not know at that
time how I would make this happen.
 All four of us had earlier agreed that none of us wanted to spend the rest
of our lives as ‘babus’ in uniform, but each of us was ordained to find
different solutions to this issue. Abu Taher had not only been accepted as a
valuable asset to his army but had already been promoted twice while he
was still in hospital! As soon as he reported to his Army Headquarters at
Dhaka, he was appointed as Adjutant General of the Army of Bangladesh.
Raju felt that although the Indian Army had gone through World Wars I and
II, the wars of 1947–48, 1962 and 1965, it had not allowed a single battle
casualty who had lost a limb to command troops. So, how and why would
the system change now?
By the first week of September, all three of us were discharged from the
Limb Centre. Raju was invalided out of the army and had already been
offered a job in a corporate house in Hyderabad. He was happy to leave.
Kippy was posted to his Regimental Centre at Shillong. And I was posted to
Army Headquarters, Delhi.
By the time we joined our new postings, Abu Taher was well on his way
in his attempt to reorganize his army and shape the future of his country.
During our time together in hospital, Abu never once gave us an insight
into his thoughts and philosophy; we came to know later that they were, in
fact, quite radical and revolutionary. Strangely, while we were in hospital,
none of us ever discussed the stories of our battle experiences of the war.
Probably, we had had enough of the war and did not want to regurgitate
what happened during those thirteen fateful days. I learnt about the stories
of Abu Taher, Kippy and Raju from other sources. These are our stories.

Our Stories Before We Met

Abu Taher

Abu Taher was commissioned into the Baluch Regiment of the Pakistan
Army.* Bengali officers from East Pakistan were normally recruited into the
East Bengal Regiment and the East Bengal Rifles, but Abu was specially
selected for an elite regiment of the Pakistan Army, which indicates that he
was, from the very beginning, someone who was considered to be special.
As part of the Baluch Regiment, he once again proved his worth by being
selected for the Special Services Group and as the only Bengali officer of
that time to be sent to the USA to do two courses at the Ranger Training
Command at Fort Benning, Georgia and the Special Forces Training
Institute, Fort Bragg, North Carolina. While he was with the Special
Services Group, he had done 135 static-line jumps and was awarded the
Purple Para badge in recognition for the number of jumps to his credit.
On termination of these courses, Abu returned to Pakistan from the USA
in December 1970, to hear that the Awami League in East Pakistan had won
the general election with an overwhelming majority. Two months after the
election result, he sensed that there was going to be trouble, so he sent his
wife to his hometown in Mymensingh, in early February 1971.
On 25 March 1971, he was attending a course at the School of Infantry
and Tactics in Quetta when he learnt of the crackdown by the Pakistan
Army on the citizens of East Pakistan. He was very disturbed and spent the
whole night walking on the deserted streets of Quetta, unable to sleep.
On 28 March, the course was called off and the officers told to join their
units. As he was preparing to leave, Abu was detained and charges were
brought against him, because he had expressed his displeasure at the
atrocities being committed against his people in East Pakistan.
At that time, there were over a thousand Bengali officers in West
Pakistan. Many junior officers came to him for advice as to what they
should do. He told them quite categorically that they should escape from
West Pakistan and join the War of Liberation. He himself and a few others
had decided to do so. After two failed attempts, Abu Taher bought a
second-hand car and with two others, drove to the Sialkot cantonment,
crossed the border on foot to India and then made their way to East
Pakistan. On reaching East Pakistan, he was put in charge of 11 Sector,
consisting of the districts of Tangail and Mymensingh.
While we were together in hospital in Poona, we did not know that Abu
Taher was an expert in guerrilla warfare and a firm believer in Marxist
philosophy. He had concluded that as far as the Mukti Bahini was
concerned, the only way they could win against a vastly superior Pakistan
Army, was through guerrilla warfare. His views ran against the thinking of
the military hierarchy heading the government of Bangladesh in exile. He
pointed out to his superiors the weaknesses of the prevailing concepts of the
military hierarchy in the conduct of operations by the Mukti Bahini. He
stated firstly that political leadership was essential in guerrilla warfare and
that the Awami League had failed to provide that leadership. Secondly, the
current military leadership in the Mukti Bahini had no concept of guerrilla
warfare. Thirdly, in a liberation war, the focus had to be on guerrilla warfare
and to turn to conventional warfare only when the war had achieved
sufficient success. Fourthly, the Provisional Government of Bangladesh and
the Sector Headquarters needed to move into East Pakistan rather than
remaining on Indian soil. His views, understandably, provoked a lot of
antagonism among the hierarchy of the Mukti Bahini and did not endear
him to them.
Abu Taher was prepared to align himself with anyone who understood
the advantages of guerrilla warfare. One of them was Subedar Aftab, who
was handling a sub-sector under Taher. Together, they planned a raid
against a Pakistani unit lodged on a river island. They lured this force into a
killing ground and destroyed them when they fell into their trap. The rest
fled. Encouraged by the success of this guerrilla attack, Abu planned a raid
in mid-September on a strong defensive Pakistani unit at Chilmari held by
two Pakistani Infantry Companies. A force led by Abu Taher raided the
Chilmari position and came back after a successful operation with a huge
haul of arms, ammunition and prisoners. On 13 November, Abu Taher
ordered a full-scale attack on Kamalpur and led the assault himself.
Kamalpur was captured, but, in the process, he was grievously wounded
and lost a leg.
Abu Taher was deeply disappointed at being wounded, primarily because
he felt that now he would not be able to realize his dream to lead his
beloved country to freedom.
He was evacuated through a chain of medical units and his main
amputation was done at Guwahati Military Hospital. Finally, he landed up
at the Artificial Limb Centre and Command Military Hospital in Poona, at
around the same time as the three of us.
All of Abu Taher’s six brothers and two sisters fought in the War of
Liberation. Due to the involvement of his family in the struggle for
freedom, their village was ransacked and their parents put in prison.

Kipgen

After the four of us met for the first time at the Reception Centre at the
Command Military Hospital, we met again an hour later, in the corridor of
the New Wing of the Upper Officers’ Ward. We were waiting for our rooms
to be prepared. We rolled our wheelchairs towards each other and began
talking. Kipgen came across as very open and friendly. He had a round face,
with twinkling eyes and an infectious smile. He was bald but the lack of
hair only emphasized his cherubic countenance and his friendly disposition.
Kipgen was his surname. His first name was Shehkogin, and his nickname,
in his village, was Pagin. But we found it more convenient to call him
Kippy. He was born in June 1942 in Manipur, at the height of World War II,
when the Japanese had invaded Burma and were on their way to take
Imphal, the capital of Manipur, by force. Kippy’s family braced themselves
for the expected war, but the battles fought in Imphal were in areas
fortunately away from his village.
Kippy joined the NDA in January 1960 and proved to be an excellent
sportsman. He was awarded a football ‘Blue’ at the NDA and captained the
NDA football team.
He was commissioned into the 2nd Battalion, the Assam Regiment, from
the Indian Military Academy in June 1963. In January 1967, he successfully
captured a group of army deserters, for which he was awarded the Sena
Medal for gallantry. His first posting outside his battalion was as a
Divisional Officer at the National Defence Academy, Khadakvasla—an
excellent posting for a young officer. Kippy enjoyed shaping the orientation
and character of the cadets under his charge. By the end of his tenure, there
were indications that a war was brewing, and he moved to his battalion.
 On arrival in the battalion, he was promoted to the rank of Major and
given command of a Rifle Company. The battalion was in Jammu and
Kashmir, holding pickets on the Line of Control near Baramulla. Soon after
the ’71 war started, Kippy was tasked to take a strong patrol to raid an
enemy post and to bring back information about the strength of the enemy
and their firepower. The enemy, however, detected their presence and
brought down heavy fire on the patrol. One of his soldiers got blown up on
a mine. Kippy went to his rescue and got blown up on a mine himself. He
managed to crawl to safety, but his leg was in a bad way. By this time, the
enemy picket brought down heavy fire on the patrol. It appeared that the
patrol had been caught in the killing zone of the enemy. Kippy realized that
the patrol needed to move out of the area as quickly as possible, and
ordered the patrol to leave him and move to safety. His men, however,
refused to leave him and carried him and the other injured soldier to safety.
The battalion stretcher-bearers came and took him to the Regimental Aid
Post. From there, he was evacuated to Army Hospital in Srinagar, where his
leg was amputated, and from there to Delhi. From Delhi, he was once again
moved to Poona. Corrective surgery was done—yet another amputation—at
Command Hospital, Poona, where we all met.

Raju

Major J.V. Raju was commissioned soon after the Sino–Indian war of 1962.
He already had a degree in commerce before he was commissioned. During
the 1971 war, he was the FOO (Forward Observation Officer)
accompanying an infantry battalion in an attack on an enemy objective
somewhere in the Western Sector. His job was to bring artillery fire on to
the enemy position. While assaulting the enemy position, he stepped on an
anti-personnel mine and his leg blew up. The attack had gone in at night,
and the fighting on the objective took till morning, when the enemy position
was finally captured. All that while, he remained where he fell, and it was
only in the morning that a mine-clearing party, followed by the unit’s
stretcher-bearers, was able to retrieve him and some others from the enemy
minefield. By this time, he had lost a lot of blood. He described those
moments waiting for help as the worst moments of his life. He thought that
he would not survive.

Ian Cardozo

My story has been scripted in two preceding stories in this book—‘The

Beeb’s Best Broadcast’ and ‘Vazir’. However, in order to bring some form
of completeness to this story, I will very briefly recapitulate.
I reached the battalion on the night of 7–8 December, just in time to catch
the last wave of helicopters that was inducting the battalion into Sylhet in
what was to be the Indian Army’s first heliborne operation.
The battalion had been wrongly informed that the Pakistani Brigade that
was holding Sylhet had moved for the defence of Dhaka and that there were
just a few razakars (irregular soldiers) holding Sylhet. Not only was 202
Pakistan Infantry Brigade still holding Sylhet, but 313 Pakistan Infantry
Brigade too had landed up to reinforce Sylhet, and there was also the Sylhet
Garrison in location. So, when we landed, we were facing a force
approximating three enemy brigades. Fortunately, we did not know this. All
we knew was that we were facing a strong enemy force. The strength of our
battalion, when we landed, was just 384 all ranks, due to the heavy
casualties suffered in two earlier battles and also because our leave parties
had not yet fetched up from Nepal.
We were assured, however, that we would be linked up within forty-eight
hours. Despite the best of intentions of all involved, the link-up never took
place till after the surrender. We fought an enemy who were
overwhelmingly superior to us for nine days and nights. During that time, a
BBC war correspondent mistakenly made a broadcast that a ‘brigade’ of
Gorkhas had landed at Sylhet. Using this bit of misinformation to our
advantage, we deployed our limited force to project that we were a brigade.
After fierce fighting for nine days, on 15 December, the Pakistani force
decided to surrender. They were astonished to learn that we were an
understrength battalion and not a brigade, and we were equally astonished
when three Brigadiers, two Colonels, 173 officers, 290 JCOs and
approximately 8000 troops surrendered to us. By this time, our strength had
reduced to 352 all ranks. We had suffered severe casualties. By the end of
the war, we had lost thirty killed (including four officers and three JCOs)
and 123 wounded (including seven officers and three JCOs). I was among
the wounded, having lost a leg on a Pakistani minefield.
During the battle, our Regimental Aid Post (battalion-level medical
facility) was destroyed by Pakistani artillery, and when I got wounded, there
were no instruments to amputate my leg. So, I cut it off with my khukri. A
proper amputation was done later in the day, by a Pakistani doctor, as by
that time all Pakistani forces in Sylhet had surrendered to my battalion.
Subsequently, I moved through a series of medical facilities, at Kalashehr,
Dharmanagar, Silchar, Guwahati and finally Poona, where Abu Taher,
Kippy, Raju and I met for the first time.

The Challenges We Faced after Hospitalization

Abu Taher

Colonel Abu Taher had returned to his country more than five months after
he got wounded. During that time, the situation in Bangladesh had
undergone a drastic and dramatic change. It appeared that the officers of the
Mukti Bahini heading the different sectors of East Pakistan felt that those
who had not fought the war did not deserve to be holding the most
important posts in the country. They had a similar opinion about those
senior officers who headed the Bangladesh government in exile. This was
an unhealthy and dangerous trend, as it meant not only that they were
ignoring the part played by these persons in the struggle for freedom, but
also that some officers in the military were aspiring for political power.*
On returning to East Pakistan from the Limb Centre in April 1972, Abu
Taher was appointed as the Adjutant General of the Bangladesh Army. Part
of his charter of duties was the morale and discipline of the army. Abu put
into practice his values and beliefs. In this, he antagonized not only the top
hierarchy of the Mukti Bahini, but many others who had used their
authority to illegally grab property belonging to the Pakistanis who had
returned to West Pakistan. He took up cases not only against the senior
hierarchy but also against anyone who had taken equipment which was not
theirs. Anything that had been acquired illegally had to be returned.*
Sometime later, Abu Taher took over 44 Brigade, and his friend
Ziauddin, with whom he had crossed over from Pakistan to India, took over
the Dhaka Brigade. In the execution of their duties, both Taher and
Ziauddin propounded their beliefs that Bangladesh needed to be self-reliant,
and they worked towards this aim within their brigades.
By this time, foreign powers were attempting to enter the political arena
to control Bangladesh. In the two and a half years since independence,
Bangladesh received more financial aid than it had received in the previous
twenty-three years. Corruption was making itself felt in the life of the
country. Dependence on outside aid and lack of self-reliance resulted in a
man-made famine in Bangladesh, where thousands of people perished. This
did not sit well with many in the army; Abu Tahir was one of them.
In 1975, Bangladesh entered a new phase of disastrous political
upheavals. Three coups and countercoups took place in quick succession on
15 August, 3 November and 7 November 1975.
The coup of 15 August 1975 was led by six army Majors, during which
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman and many of his family members were
assassinated. This putsch did not have the support of the people. Taking
advantage of the situation, Brigadier Khaled Musharraf staged a
countercoup on 3 November 1975, and Brigadier Ziaur Rahman was
arrested.
Khaled Musharraf did not have the support of the rank and file of the
army, who were fed up with their senior officers looking at personal benefit
rather than the good of the country. Immediately after the coup by Khaled
Musharraf, the rank and file of the army converged on Narayanganj and
came to Abu Taher, asking for a countercoup. Most of them belonged to the
Revolutionary Soldiers’ Organisation. Rather than allowing a rebellion by a
mass upsurge of soldiers, Abu Taher took charge, and the first thing he did
was to rescue Brigadier Zia, who had been held by the insurrectionists.
Together, Zia and Taher were able to restore some semblance of law and
order, but subsequent developments proved that Abu Taher was considered
a threat due to his radical views by senior army officers.
On 15 November, Zia ignored all that Taher had done and had him
arrested on grounds of treason. Zia had betrayed the very person who had
put him in power. Perhaps he feared the magnetic hold Taher had over the
officers and men of the army, and he wanted him removed.
On 7 November, Zia had backed Taher. Within two weeks, he had him
arrested. Locked away in a Dhaka jail, Taher was placed in solitary
confinement, tried by a Special Military Tribunal, charged with mutiny and
high treason, and a news blackout was imposed on the conduct of the court
martial under tight security.
At first, Taher refused to attend the tribunal, calling it an instrument of
the government to commit crimes in the name of justice. Taher’s lawyers,
however, persuaded him to participate. This was a mistake. Taher’s
sentence was decided even before the trial commenced.
Abu Taher’s problem was that he was too clean, too patriotic and too
honest. But he was also too radical. If he was allowed to survive, he would
have become a cult figure. He was, in fact, already on the way to becoming
one when the others decided to lock him up in jail, bring a case of treason
against him and have him executed.
On 17 July, at three o’clock in the afternoon, the verdict was delivered—
a death sentence for Taher . . . People all over the country were shocked,
because the government could not prove anything. Taher told the barristers:
‘This government, which I have brought to power—you are not to ask
anything from them.’
At the same time, hearing them declare the sentence, he broke into
laughter. He told everybody: ‘If lives are not sacrificed this way, how will
the common people be liberated? Don’t bow your heads. I do not fear death.
If you can feel proud—that is enough.’
 On 18 July 1976, Abu Taher wrote his last letter to his father, mother, his
wife, Lutfa, and his brothers and sisters, and his children, Nitu, Jishu and
Mishu. Three days later, on 21 July 1976, he was hanged.
Extracts from his letter are given below:*

Respected Father, Mother, my dearest Lutfa, my brothers and sisters,

Yesterday afternoon the tribunal announced its verdict against us. I have been
sentenced to death . . .
. . . I made it clear to them that no appeal will be issued. We had installed this president
and I would not petition my life from these traitors.
. . . I was taken to Cell No. 8. It is the cell assigned to prisoners who are to be hanged.
In the cells next to mine there are three other victims for the gallows. It is a small cell.
Quite clean. It is all right.
. . . When standing face to face with death, I turn to look back at my life and find
nothing to be ashamed of. Instead, I see many events that unite me irrevocably with my
people. Can I have a greater joy or happiness than this?
Nitu, Jishu, Mishu . . . everyone comes crowding into my memory. I have not left any
wealth or property for my children, but this entire nation is there for their future. We have
seen thousands of naked children deprived of love and affection. We wanted a home for
them. Is this dawn too distant for the Bengali people? No, it is not too far off. The sun is
about to rise.
I have given my blood for the creation of this country. And now, I shall give my life.
Let this illuminate and infuse new strength in the souls of our people. What greater
reward can there be for me?
No one can kill me. I live in the midst of the masses. My pulse beats in their pulse. If I
am to be killed, the entire people must also be killed. What force can do that? None . . .
This morning’s papers have just come in. They have published the news of my death
sentence and the sentences of the rest on the front page. The description of the
proceedings that have been published are entirely false. It has been alleged during the
trial and on evidence of State witnesses that the Sepoy Revolution of the 7th November
occurred during my leadership. This I do not deny.
It is my ardent hope that our lawyers, Ataur Rahman, Zulmat Ali and all others who
were present will expose the secret behind this trial and protest this false propaganda. I do
not fear death. Zia is a traitor and a conspirator and has taken refuge in lies to discredit
me in front of the people. Tell Ataur Rahman and others that it is their moral
responsibility to expose the truth – and if they fail in this duty, history will not forgive
them.
My greatest respect, my love and my everlasting affection be with you all.

Taher
The day after the verdict, banner headlines screamed ‘Taher to Die’.
In London, Amnesty International issued an appeal to the President of
Bangladesh to grant Taher clemency. It said: ‘A martial law trial held in
camera inside jail falls short of internationally accepted standards as laid
down in the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights. Before criminal
courts, the case against the accused can be established according to the
normal process of law and with all legal safeguards, including right of
appeal to the highest judicial authorities.’
Amnesty called for a complete retrial for Taher and other Jatyo
Samajtantrik Dal (JSD) leaders. Its appeal to the Bangladesh President went
out on 20 July.
The next morning, at 4 a.m., Taher was hanged in Dhaka Central Jail.
On the evening of 20 July, Taher had been informed that on 21 July, early
in the morning at four o’clock, the death sentence would be carried out. He
accepted the news and thanked those who had delivered the message. After
that, he took his dinner completely normally. Later, the maulvi was brought
to seek absolution for Taher’s sins. Taher said: ‘I am not touched by the
evils of your society nor have I ever been. I am pure. You go now. I wish to
sleep.’ He went to sleep quietly. At three o’clock, he was woken up. He
asked how much time was left. After knowing the time, he cleaned his
teeth, shaved and bathed. Some came forward to help him. He forbade them
to do so, saying: ‘I don’t want you to touch me. My body which is pure.’
After his bath, he told the others to prepare tea and to cut the mangoes his
friends had sent. He put on his artificial limb, his trousers, his best shirt, his
wristwatch and smoked cigarettes with all those present. Looking at his
courage, some burst into tears. He consoled everyone, saying: ‘Come on,
laugh. Why are you so gloomy? Death cannot defeat me.’
He was asked for his last wish.
He said: ‘In exchange for my death—peace for the common man.’
After that, Taher said: ‘Is there any time left?’
They answered, ‘A little bit.’
He said: ‘In that case, I shall recite a poem to you.’
 He read out a poem about duty and his feelings. And then he said: ‘All
right. I am ready. Go ahead. Do your duty.’ He walked towards the gallows
and put the noose around his neck with his own hands.
He said: ‘Goodbye, my countrymen. Long live Bangladesh! Long live
revolution.’
He then told them to press the button, but nobody came forward.
He said: ‘Why don’t you have courage?’
Then someone did it. It was all over.
That day, not a single prisoner among the 7500 there took their meal.
Taher’s body was given to the relations at 2.50 p.m. in the midst of the
tightest security.
A car was taken into the jail, and his body was put into it. Five trucks and
buses filled with heavy security guards escorted the car to the helipad, and
he was lifted into the helicopter. At around 7.50 p.m., he was buried in the
family graveyard.
A special camp was set up near the gravesite, and the grave was guarded
for twenty-one days. The government of that time feared him even in death.
He has left the people of Bangladesh but has left behind a rich legacy of
courage, honour and truth.

Kippy

Kippy, Raju and I reviewed the news of Abu Taher’s death with disquiet,
little knowing that there was to be more in store for us.
Kippy accepted with equanimity his appointment as a staff officer at the
101 Communication Zone Headquarters in Shillong. He picked up golf
once again and being the excellent sportsman that he was, he soon achieved
a single-figure handicap of 4, which was quite remarkable. He was so good
that he represented Eastern Command at the Army Golf Championships in
Delhi in 1973 and 1974.
There were, however, two aspects in his life where something was
missing. He missed serving with his troops, and he missed a partner in his
personal life. There had been a girl who was close to him, but she moved
away after he lost his leg. He was anxious to prove that he was as good as
the next man but did not want any sympathy.
His Regimental Centre was also in Shillong. He would go there quite
often to be with his men. No party or barakhana was complete without him,
and he was the life of every party. He wanted to serve with his troops but
felt that he could not give them his best.
Though he felt that he was no less than anyone else, he did not relish the
thought of serving at desk appointments for the rest of his life. He
continued to feel he was a ‘passenger’ unable to contribute fully, and so,
against the advice of his friends and colleagues, he left the army and
Shillong in 1975. He was invalided out of the army on 7 May 1975, as a
battle casualty of the Indo–Pak war of 1971. Later on, he learnt that
command appointments opened up for battle casualties and some achieved
high rank, but he never regretted his decision. He had made up his mind to
work for the simple village folk of Manipur and returned to civilian life.
The first few months of retirement were a nightmare for Kippy. Having
become used to the discipline and rigours of life in the army, he was lost in
the easy-going pace of rural Manipur. However, he decided to work to
improve the grassroots-level economy of Manipur’s villages—especially of
his own village, Haipi.
The first thing he did after being invalided out of the army was to get
academically qualified. He appeared for the BA examination at Guwahati
University as a private candidate and got qualified on 30 August 1976.
He decided to invest his hard-earned pension money in the printing of
Christian hymnbooks for a Baptist association in Manipur with a firm
conviction that not only would he be doing something for the community,
but that he would also get a return on his investment. In fact, he did not
even get back his capital.
Refusing to get discouraged, Kippy threw himself wholeheartedly into
welfare schemes. He assisted the Ministry of Social Welfare of the
Government of India in setting up ‘Disability Cells’ to help the disabled
people of Manipur. He established contact with the All India Institute of
Medical Sciences, New Delhi, the Artificial Limb Centre, Poona, and many
other institutions caring for persons with disabilities. He also set up
economic development schemes with the aid of Canadian and German
international aid agencies to help villagers in the isolated hills of Manipur.
These practical schemes gained much popularity in the villages of Manipur,
putting many households on firm economic foundation. The people of Haipi
started selling their produce in local markets. He instituted schemes for
running water in the villages, as well as for bathrooms and indoor latrines.
Through his voluntary organizations, twenty-four villages, with a total of
7000 people, were covered. Kippy motivated the villagers to take up
cultivation of cash crops on a commercial scale. He initiated the
introduction of winter crops and social forestry, set up public health camps
and helped the needy to get bank loans for self-employment schemes.
Through his army connections, he got a football ground made for his
village, which was an instant success with the youngsters. He also
facilitated the building of a new village church, which was something the
villagers had wanted for a long time. Kippy’s popularity grew not only in
his own community but all over Manipur and beyond.
Although Kippy was doing well in his work, he was lonely, and his
family perceived the need of a companion. Kippy was perhaps reluctant at
first because of his earlier experience, but to his family’s great joy he met a
beautiful young lady from a neighbouring village. Her name was Maman,
and they were married at the Centre Church in Imphal on 10 September
1983. Subsequently, they had three children—the eldest, a son, was born in
1984, followed by a daughter in 1986 and another son in 1988.
Meanwhile, people who saw the tremendous good that he was doing with
his community work and welfare schemes felt that he could do much more
if he belonged to a political party. Politics was abhorrent to him, but he was
persuaded by the thought that he could do better work for the people of
Manipur in general, and for the rural folk in particular, if he had political
power. With this in view, he joined the Manipur People’s Party (MPP) and
later became the president of Ex-Servicemen’s Congress in the Manipur
Pradesh Congress (I). He did an excellent job in handling the general
election in 1984, and his role was highly appreciated by the party high
command. He contested for a Lok Sabha seat as a party candidate of the
MPP in 1980 but was placed second, and as a Congress (S) candidate in
1992 but lost once again. He also contested for the state assembly seat from
the Kangpoki constituency, which he lost by a narrow margin of nine votes.*
By this time, the political situation worsened, with several underground
movements springing up all over the state. The state government could no
longer contain the situation. Kippy was in no way involved in these political
movements. He was therefore amazed when he received a threatening letter
from the National Socialist Council of Nagaland demanding that he
disassociate himself from the Kuki National Front (KNF). He did not take
the warning seriously, because he had never been involved with the KNF in
any way.
In April 1993, he attended a conference of Action for Food Production in
New Delhi. After the conference, he stayed back in Delhi for a few days,
with his eldest brother at Pandara Road, to make arrangements for the
schooling of his eldest son, Jem. While he was there, he was asked to lead
the family prayers. He spoke well and chose verses from the Bible which
later assumed some significance. The verses were from Chapter 3 of
Ecclesiastes.
The verses began like this:

For everything its season, and for every activity under heaven its time:
A time to be born and a time to die;
A time to plant and a time to uproot . . .

No one realized the significance of these words. However, Maman, Kippy’s

wife, sensing a premonition of disaster asked him to stay on in New Delhi,
but Kippy had too much work in Manipur. He returned to Manipur to find
that the law-and-order situation had worsened, with curfews in force and
life brought almost to a standstill. Frustrated by the enforced inactivity,
Kippy decided to visit a sick friend who lived just a few houses away.
It was early on a Sunday evening, 9 May 1993, that Kippy, his wife,
Maman, and their little girl took the short fateful journey to his friend’s
house. They were followed by three Naga militants who had been lying in
wait for him, and when the family returned sometime later, they shot Kippy
at point-blank range, pumping a total of twenty-seven bullets into him, right
in front of his wife and daughter. He was rushed to hospital, but he had lost
too much blood and died within half an hour, at 7.45 p.m. ‘Henno, annai
(Mother, it is painful)’ were his last words.
The brutal assassination by Naga hostiles, for no reason whatsoever, was
so unexpected that it shook the people of Manipur, and there was a sudden
emptiness all around. The family, community and locals were shattered.
Kippy’s mortal remains were laid to rest in the cemetery at Haipi, the
village for which he had sacrificed so much of his time and effort. The
funeral took place on Tuesday, 11 May 1993, at 4 p.m. Hundreds of
mourners attended the funeral—people from all walks of life, from all
communities, irrespective of caste, creed or background, came from across
Manipur to pay their last tribute to their leader, benefactor and friend.
Mourning continued for weeks as streams of visitors came from various
parts of India to pay their last respects to a man they loved and
acknowledged as a friend, a man who had worked selflessly for his people.
In many ways, it was an irreparable loss. The grief-stricken family lost a
beloved husband, father and brother. Haipi villagers lost a distinguished
member of their chief’s family. His clan lost a kinsman who had devoted
himself to the cause of their economic and social well-being. The social
welfare organizations lost an effective spokesman for their cause. And the
disabled lost a mentor who was kind, compassionate and caring. Kippy will
be missed for his qualities of constructive leadership, straightforwardness,
integrity, clarity of thought, understanding, vision and direction. Manipur
and indeed India lost a distinguished son. Following his demise, there was a
deathly hush at home, in the village and indeed in the land.
Sometime before this happened, Priscilla, my wife, was to spend the
Dussehra holidays with me at Tezpur, where I was the Chief of Staff of 4
Corps. I was waiting for her at the Guwahati airport when the airplane
overflew Guwahati and went on to Imphal, as there was some sort of strike
at the Guwahati airport. She had to spend the night in Imphal. While there,
she contacted Kippy, who drove over and took her to his home for dinner.
There she met Maman and their children, and spent a pleasant evening with
them, talking about old times and about our days spent together at the
Artificial Limb Centre and Poona MH.
It took a week for the report of Kippy’s death to percolate down to us.
Maman was in touch with Priscilla, and it was she who told us about what
had happened. I retired from the army on 31 August 1993, a few months
after Kippy had been assassinated.

J.V. Raju

Raju continued to prosper in his post-retirement life. He belonged to the

state of Andhra Pradesh, and his hometown was Hyderabad. The company
he worked for, which was in the business of making fruit juices, jams and
similar products, was also located in Hyderabad. His competence, hard
work, integrity and commitment impressed his employers to no end, and he
rose rapidly from the position of production supervisor to production
manager to general manager and CEO. The company thrived and grew
exponentially under his care. So much so that the owner offered him a
partnership in the firm. This, along with the concessions from the central
and state governments, put him in a very comfortable position.
Raju would often come to Delhi on business and would drop by at home
whenever he learnt that I was in town. The deaths of Abu Taher and Kippy,
and the manner of their dying had upset him considerably. He would recall
our days spent together at Poona MH. Priscilla had spent a month in Poona
while I was in hospital, so she knew most of the battle casualties. The
hospital was short-staffed for nurses, and Priscilla used to help out. So there
were lots of shared experiences to talk about. However, it appeared to
Priscilla and me that for Raju, work had become an obsession.
We also noted a radical change in Raju’s behaviour. He could now never
sit still and had become a chain-smoker. When talking to us at home, he
would be pacing up and down puffing away at a cigarette. He would come
to our house by taxi and keep the taxi waiting, and after a couple of drinks
he would take us to his hotel for a meal. The hotels he used to stay at were
always five-star. Raju was doing well, but we could see that the stress of
business was taking a toll on his physical and mental health and well-being.
We tried to tell him to slow down, that he had done enough in his life and
had nothing more to prove—but it was of no use. A couple of years later,
Raju passed away of a massive heart attack.
Raju was also sentimental. He was deeply affected by the violent deaths
of Abu Taher and Kippy, and felt that the world had gone mad to have
allowed the lives of such wonderful persons to end so violently. During our
conversations, he used to say that only two of us were now left of our ‘gang
of four’ and that I’d better look after myself. I now wonder if he was also
thinking about himself and whether he had some premonition of his own
death.

Ian Cardozo

And now there is only one left of the four of us who started life together as
amputee patients at the Artificial Limb Centre on that faraway day of 8
January 1971. Each of us has had a checkered life, vastly different but
dramatic all the same, shaped by our individual destinies but controlled by
the collective destiny of war. I often think about war and the effects of war
on those who are left behind. So many have died for a cause and for their
country. But has the sacrifice made the world a better place for our
children? Why do wars take place? Why can’t countries be happy and
content with what they have? And if the world cannot learn the lessons of
history, then why can’t leaders understand that the best way to prevent war
is to be prepared for it?
After the war, the fates of the four of us, as well as of the other war-
disabled at military hospitals all over India, were uncertain. At that time,
Army Headquarters came to the conclusion that the war-disabled could not
serve in command appointments. It took me seven years to prove to Army
Headquarters that the war-disabled needed the opportunity to prove
themselves and that some of us were as good as the non-disabled! Army
Headquarters eventually changed its policy and permitted battle casualties
to serve in command of troops. Three war-disabled officers went on to
become Army Commanders, and one of them had lost both legs! The war-
disabled now wait for the day when a war-disabled army officer will
become the Army Chief.
Each of the four of us proved that destiny was a matter of choice, but fate
or chance also intervened to play its part in what the future would hold for
us. As far as our individual destinies are concerned, each of us—Abu Taher,
Kipgen, Raju and me—was dealt with our own set of cards, and we played
our hands to the best of our individual abilities. Chance, however,
intervened in different ways and took us to our eventual destinations.
What is it that we can learn from this story? Maybe it is that each one of
us should do whatever is right, irrespective of the consequences, and leave
the rest to fate or destiny or whatever one may call it.
Que sera sera! Whatever will be, will be!

Postscript

The High Court of Bangladesh has declared the constitution of the military
tribunal by General Ziaur Rahman as illegal, and dismissed the trial and
execution of Colonel Abu Taher.*
 The Sinking of INS Khukri: A Captain’s Dilemma

‘The great battles for supremacy have been fought for centuries on the sea. For a period,
they have been fought over the sea. Perhaps in future, they will be fought under the sea.’

—Anonymous

Colaba, Bombay, 7 August 1971

Dark clouds covered the sky and the colour grey dominated the seascape,
making it difficult to separate sky from sea. The south-west monsoon had
hit Bombay six weeks earlier, and the deluge had turned the Arabian Sea to
a shade of gunmetal as it moved and heaved like a huge living being. A
dense sheet of rain rapidly approached the Yacht Club which fronted the
Apollo Bunder. The deluge beat a tattoo on the roof of the veranda, forcing
torrents of water from its eaves to gurgle down its ancient drainpipes. A
strong breeze that accompanied the rain invaded the wide veranda,
spreading water on the floor and making it a very wet scene.

INS Khukri.
Seated at a table were two naval officers who seemed oblivious of the rain
and the wetness all around. What they were discussing remains unknown,
but it was known that the Flag Officer commanding the Western Fleet had
had a conference that morning, and it is possible that their talk centred on
future operations on the western seaboard. There were problems on the
Indo–Pak border in the east, and Pakistan was openly making statements
that there was every likelihood of its going to war with India.
So animated were their discussions that although the waiter attending to
them kept refilling their mugs with beer, the officers did not seem to notice.
Their names as signed in the register of the Yacht Club that morning were—
Captain Mahendra Nath Mulla and Lieutenant Commander Manu Sharma.
A week earlier, the Naval Chief, Admiral S.M. Nanda, had directed the
Flag Officer Commanding-in-Chief, Western Fleet (FOC-in-C West), Vice
Admiral S.N. Kohli, to make his plans for an attack on Karachi, and
Admiral Kohli did not think this to be a great idea. Karachi harbour had two
air force bases at Drig Road and PAF Masrur, in close proximity. These, he
felt, would be a major threat to the Indian warships attacking the Pakistan
Navy in the vicinity of Karachi harbour. The large number of ships would
make ideal targets for the Pakistan Air Force. INS Vikrant had developed a
crack on one of her boilers, and it was doubtful whether she could give air
cover to the Western Fleet.
Those who had been called for Admiral Kohli’s conference that morning
were the Captains and Executive Officers of the ships of the Western Fleet
—mostly Commanders and Lieutenant Commanders of the Indian Navy.
Most of them supported the concept of the Naval Chief’s option to attack
Karachi. A few, however, doubted the wisdom of going on an offensive
from the sea without air cover. The comparative ability of Indian warships
against Pakistani submarines was another issue. It is possible that the two
naval officers were discussing these issues so animatedly.
Captain Mulla and Lieutenant Commander Manu Sharma were the
Captain and Executive Officer, respectively, of INS Khukri, which was part
of a three-ship squadron of frigates. INS Kirpan and INS Kuthar were the
other two frigates. The squadron was part of the Western Fleet. These
frigates were Blackwood anti-submarine frigates built in Britain in the
1950s and inducted into the Indian Navy towards the end of 1959. They
would be nearly twenty years old and close to obsolescence by the time the
war would take place.
According to Admiral Raja Menon, the Indian Navy was unhappy with
the short-range sonars that were being given with the Blackwood-class anti-
submarine frigates and had asked Britain for better medium-range sonars.*
The reply given, according to the Admiral, was that the better range sonars
were being given only to NATO countries. This was strange, considering
India’s contribution to both the World Wars, and the fact that India was part
of the Commonwealth and that the sonar was not a lethal weapon. However,
that was how it was.*
The three frigates were part of 14 FS Squadron, and Captain Mulla, being
senior-most, was placed in command. Its role was the protection of the
Western Fleet from enemy submarines.

New Delhi, 12 October 1971

Admiral Nanda, the Chief of the Indian Navy, believed that unless ‘the
selection and maintenance of aim’—the first principle of war—was clear,
nothing of consequence would follow. He was also firm in his conviction
that only ‘offensive action’ would obtain conclusive results. Keeping in
mind these two principles of war, he felt that the best option to win the war
on the Arabian Sea was to attack the Pakistan Navy in its own waters. He
had got wind of the doubts expressed at the conference held by the FOC-in-
C West. A number of meetings were held to resolve these differences, but
he made it unambiguously clear that he would brook no half-hearted
attempt to achieve his aim. Gradually, these differences got buried, and all
those who had expressed their doubts about the offensive now fell in line.
All agreed to follow the Naval Chief’s plan to attack Karachi.†
In the conduct of anti-submarine warfare, two basic parameters are of
paramount importance. Firstly, naval ships need to be able to move fast; and
secondly, they need to have a sonar system that can detect enemy
submarines at a reasonable distance. The Khukri, Kirpan and Kuthar, when
handed over to India by Britain, were designated as ‘second-class anti-
submarine frigates’ and were deficient in both these important parameters.
Built in the 1950s, these Blackwood-class frigates could work up a
maximum speed of only 14 knots in ideal conditions, and their sonar
capability was just 2500 metres.
Opposing them were the Pakistan Navy’s French-made state-of-the-art
Daphne-class submarines, which had a sonar detection capability of 25,000
metres—that is, ten times more than the Indian frigates. And Pakistan had
three of them. They were so incredibly swift under the waves that they were
named the Hangor, Mangro and Sushuk, after species of deadly sharks
found in Pakistani waters. Considering the interoperating parameters
between the two opposing weapon platforms, the submarines were to prove
vicious and dangerous. They could sense the presence of the frigates when
they were over twenty miles away.
Captain Mulla and Lieutenant Commander Manu Sharma supported the
planned offensive against Karachi. What worried them, however, was the
ability of their frigates to protect the Western Fleet from these particularly
dangerous denizens of the deep.
Admiral Nanda’s views on the war at sea were well known. His talks and
discussions with his officers projected a strong conviction, bordering on
obsession, to take the offensive should war come, to throw everything the
navy had into battle and to destroy the Pakistan Navy in its own territorial
waters.*
The conference held on 7 August 1971 by Admiral Kohli was the first of
a series that would culminate in the presentation of plans to the three
Service Chiefs and the Defence Minister in Delhi on 23 November 1971.
Conscious of the limitations of the aging anti-submarine frigates of the
14 FS Squadron to protect the Western Fleet, Captain Mahendra Nath Mulla
put forward his views frankly at these discussions but was told that the navy
had to fight with what it had, and that this was all that was available.
Being aware of the limitations of the sonars of the anti- submarine
frigates, Headquarters Western Naval Command had requested the
assistance of the Bhabha Atomic Research Centre in Bombay (BARC), to
find some way to increase the range of their sonars. The BARC had done
some research and modification on the sonars held by the Indian Navy.
Results looked promising, but further improvements were needed and live
trials considered necessary. But the time to experiment was extremely
limited as war was close at hand.

1 December 1971

A week after the Fleet Commanders had presented their operational plans to
the Service Chiefs at the Combined Chiefs of Staff Committee on 23
November, intelligence intercepts indicated that Pakistan was close to
waging war against India. These intercepts also revealed that the Daphne-
class submarines—the Hangor and Mangro—had been tasked to take turns
to destroy ships of the Western Fleet in Bombay harbour, once war was
declared. The Ghazi had already moved out of Karachi on 14 November for
its task to destroy the Vikrant, and the Mangro had moved towards Bombay
around the same date to lie in wait outside the harbour. The Hangor sailed
from Karachi on 23 November for a patrol off the Saurashtra coast and on 1
December was ordered to relieve Mangro, her sister ship, who had by this
time finished her patrol outside Bombay harbour.
Aware of the need for urgent and immediate action, Admiral Nanda made
a flying visit to Bombay on 1 December, to address the officers and sailors
of the Western Fleet and to move the fleet out of harm’s way into the open
sea.
The Western Fleet moved out of Bombay harbour on the night of 2–3
December 1971. It consisted of the cruiser Mysore; the 15th Frigate
Squadron Trishul and Talwar; the 14th Frigate Squadron Khukri, Kirpan
and Kuthar; Betwa (an anti-aircraft frigate); Kadmatt (a Russian Petya);
Ranjit (an old destroyer); Deepak (a tanker); Sagardeep (a requisitioned
light-house tender); and two missile boats, Vijeta and Vinash.
In his assessment of the comparative strengths of the opposing navies,
Admiral Kohli, FOC-in-C West, had accepted that the Pakistan Navy’s
Daphne-class submarines were far superior to our submarines and our
surface ships. Accordingly, all naval ships coming to or leaving Bombay
hugged the shallow waters of the coast, north and south of Bombay, and
altered their routes landwards/seawards at random, so that enemy
submarines could never predict where to wait for targets.
On the night of 2–3 December, the Hangor detected the Western Fleet
approaching from Bombay harbour. She had the mortification of sensing the
whole fleet above her but could not launch her torpedoes, as war had not yet
been declared. It was learnt later that the Executive Officer of the Hangor
tried to persuade Commander Tasnim Ahmed, the Captain of the Hangor, to
launch her torpedoes at the ships as such an opportunity would never occur
again, but Ahmed decided against it. Tasnim Ahmed was to learn that it was
only around twelve hours later that Pakistan attacked Indian airfields, at
5.45 p.m. on 3 December; which in fact was a declaration of war.
The Western Fleet, in the meanwhile, was on its way towards Karachi
when, on 4 December, the Kuthar suffered a boiler explosion and the Fleet
Commander ordered the Kirpan to tow her back to Bombay, escorted by the
Khukri. On 5 December, on the way back to Bombay, the Khukri detected
the presence of an enemy submarine and carried out an attack. A hit was
recorded, but the Khukri did not linger around in the area, as the three ships
were in a vulnerable position and the squadron proceeded southwards to
Bombay. The squadron arrived in Bombay on 6 December, and the Kuthar
was taken in for repairs. Captain Mulla made a report of the encounter with
an enemy submarine and stated that a hit was recorded, but he added that he
could not wait to collect evidence, as the squadron was in a very vulnerable
position.
Soon after, there were reports of submarine sightings off Diu Head and
confirmed bearings of a submarine that had transmitted a wireless message
to Karachi. It was decided by Western Naval Command to eliminate this
threat. The Khukri and Kirpan was the only force available for this task,
along with the Sea King helicopters. After considering the gravity of the
situation and the decreased anti-submarine capability without the Kuthar,
FOC-in-C West ordered the Khukri and the Kirpan to join the Navy’s latest
anti-submarine Sea King helicopters operating from Bombay, to eliminate
the submarine threat off Diu. Orders were issued to Captain Mulla to sail on
8 December towards the last known position of the submarine, to hunt and
destroy it. By the morning of 9 December, the Khukri and Kirpan were
approaching the reported location of the enemy submarine.
This submarine, in fact, was the Hangor.
With a sonar range capability ten times better than that of the Khukri and
the Kirpan, the Hangor detected the presence of the frigates that were
searching for her early on the morning of 9 December, when they were
twenty miles away. The hunt had begun.
By the evening of 9 December, the Hangor was able to discern that the
frigates were carrying out a rectangular pattern of search. Her sensors also
warned her of the presence of the Sea King helicopters, which too were
looking for her with their ‘dunking sonars’.*
The Hangor was able to discern not only the search pattern being
followed by the frigates but also that they were operating at a slow speed of
12 knots. The distance between the Hangor and the frigates began to close.
The Hangor still kept a safe distance because of the Sea King helicopters.
However, close to dusk, by 1830 hours, the Sea King helicopters left the
scene. The Hangor saw the opportunity she was looking for. Forecasting the
position of the frigates along the well-known rectangular pattern of search,
she was able to position herself at around 1900 hours in a tactically
advantageous position on the path of the approaching frigates. The crucial
moment that the Hangor had waited for had arrived, and she was in a
position to attack.
While the Khukri was in Bombay after escorting the Kuthar to safety,
Admiral Kohli had ordered the experimental mechanism developed by the
BARC to increase the range of the sonar capability of the frigates, to be
taken on board the Khukri. Lieutenant V.K. Jain, who was working on this
project, boarded the Khukri on 6 December.*
On board the Khukri, Captain Mulla was having difficulty coping with
the sonar, as this equipment, still in its experimental stage, required him to
reduce his speed, whereas when conducting hunter-killer anti-submarine
operations, speed was essential to outmanoeuvre and destroy a lurking
enemy submarine. He was also aware that according to laid-down practice,
he was required to zigzag—a procedure followed to frustrate enemy
submarine commanders. This would, however, further slow the Khukri
down. Captain Mulla was already irked at having to reduce his speed from a
maximum speed of 14 knots to 12 knots because of the errant experimental
sonar; zigzagging would reduce his speed further. Captain Mulla was
therefore in a dilemma. He was faced with two contradictory requirements
—zigzagging to evade the submarine or speed to destroy it.
Commander Manu Sharma, the Executive Officer, states that the Khukri
was in fact zigzagging, and this, along with the needs of the sonar, had
reduced its speed considerably. Captain Mulla expressed his exasperation to
Lieutenant Jain, who decided to once again explain to Captain Mulla how
the experimental sonar functioned. He moved off to get some red and blue
pencils from the sonar room, to explain this on a chart.
The Hangor, meanwhile, waited for the Khukri and the Kirpan to come
to the area she anticipated was the best to fire her torpedoes at. The first
target, in fact, was not the Khukri but the Kirpan, the first to come within
the designated target area. The Hangor’s torpedoes were meant to activate
below the keel of the target ship, so that it would break the keel. The
torpedo homed in on the Kirpan but failed to explode, due probably to a
faulty mechanism. With the firing of this torpedo, the presence and position
of the Hangor was given away, and she had the option of slipping away or
to fire another torpedo. Since both the frigates were still quite some distance
away, the Hangor decided to fire another torpedo. But the Kirpan, now
alerted, took evasive action.
The Hangor then turned her attention to the Khukri, which was moving
towards her, and fired a torpedo, her third, at her. This time, the torpedo
found its mark and exploded below the keel of the Khukri near the
magazine, breaking it in two. The time was 2045 hours, 9 December 1971.
The Khukri sank within minutes.
An Account of What Happened on the Night of 9 December, by
Commander Manu Sharma

‘After the Sea King helicopters left, Captain Mulla was apprehensive about
the situation. Being on action stations continuously since 2 December was a
great strain. Officers were required to be relieved for meals and sleep. The
Operations Room had to be continuously manned, communications had to
be constantly maintained, as also all the weapon platforms. Therefore,
instead of a day of three shifts of four hours each, the crew was constantly
at action stations, where duties became 50–50, i.e., four hours on and four
hours off. Captain Mulla, however, was constantly on the bridge, as also the
Officer of the Watch, the Navigation Direction Officer, the Midshipman on
Training and the Quartermaster who was doing the steering just next to the
bridge. At around 8.30 p.m., Captain Mulla went down for about ten
minutes, and on his return he asked whether there was any news about the
replacement of the Sea King helicopters. I confirmed that they had not
returned, which in effect meant that their area of search was not being
patrolled. He was also concerned about the speed of the ship and to what
degree the sonar capability was affecting it. He wanted to know whether the
speed could be increased without adversely affecting the functioning of the
sonar. At that time the Khukri was doing 12 knots. The message was passed
on to Lieutenant Jain, who felt that he could best explain with the help of
coloured pencils and proceeded to the sonar room, which was close to the
bridge. Soon after, the Khukri was struck by a torpedo.
‘There were two massive explosions, one after the other, and the Khukri
keeled over to one side by about fifteen degrees. Captain Mulla was thrown
off his chair. He hit the bulkhead and cut his head quite badly. Immediate
loss of power followed the second explosion. Captain Mulla ordered “Full
Ahead”—for both engines—but there was no response. Due to loss of
power, no communication was possible between the bridge and the engine
room.
‘The Khukri by now was down by the stern and flames were coming
from the funnel. The ship started tilting to starboard, presumably because of
intake of water caused by the hole made by the torpedo. I recommended to
Captain Mulla that we should “abandon ship” as the Khukri was definitely
sinking. There was, however, no means by which we could communicate
these orders to the crew of the ship, as there was no power supply. So
Kundan Mall and I started yelling these orders to abandon ship through the
ship’s blower and outside.
‘Meanwhile, Captain Mulla and those of us who were on the bridge were
trying to help the sailors coming up the only escape route, which was open
from the decks below to the top. However, the sailors coming up through
this narrow stairway choked the staircase. The situation was made worse by
those who were wearing their life jackets, which were very bulky causing
further delay when every moment was so precious.
‘The ship by now was sinking fast and had tilted dangerously towards
starboard. Water flooded the bridge and created a major hazard by sealing
the only escape route. The escape route was limited to only one because
during “action stations” all hatches and doors are closed, leaving just a few
stairways open. In this case, the stairway near the stern was already
underwater, and the only stairway that was open was choked by sailors
trying to clamber to safety. Kundan Mall and I continued to pull out sailors
from this hatch, and some of them started jumping into the sea.
‘Once the level of the water had reached the bridge and the tilt of the
bridge was nearly 90 degrees, Captain Mulla pushed Kundan Mall and me
off the bridge. We tried to take him along with us, but he refused and
ordered us to jump to safety. We both jumped into the sea from the
starboard side. The sea was on fire, with all the fuel ablaze, so we had to
dive under the fires in order to swim to safety. When I cleared the part of
the sea which was on fire and came up the other side, I looked for Kundan
Mall, who was a good swimmer, but I could not see him anywhere.
‘I looked at the ship at this point of time and saw that its bow was
pointing upwards at an angle of 80 degrees and sinking slowly. The light of
the fires illuminated the ship. I got a glimpse of Captain Mulla. He was
hanging on to a railing. I could also see a few sailors hanging on to the
fo’c’sle (the forward part of the ship) of the Khukri, which was by now
close to vertical. They were clinging on to the guard rails desperately, trying
to stay above the water. Most of them remained hanging and went down
with Captain Mulla as the Khukri, with a great sigh, finally slid into the
water. As the Khukri sank, there was a great suction effect, taking a lot of
sailors and debris in the vicinity down with her. A number of sailors, who
had tried to swim through the fires, were badly burnt, and many of them
who had been thrown off the ship by the explosion had lost their limbs.
There was much shouting for help, but after the Khukri went down there
was an eerie silence for a moment, as all of us were awestruck by the
sinking of our ship.
‘As the ship went down, a number of fires were put out by the resultant
suction. The cries for help now resumed. Those who were not injured tried
to help their injured comrades to hang on to some of the debris floating in
the vicinity. I, along with some uninjured sailors, tried to get as many as
possible on to the safety of the rafts, but as the capacity of the rafts was
limited, most of us opted to hold on to the edge of the rafts and put the
injured on board. Two of the rafts remained close to each other, whereas the
third raft had drifted quite far. This being December, the water was icy cold,
and the sea was rough with waves five to six feet high.
‘We were hoping that the Kirpan, our sister ship, would come to rescue
us, but we saw her sailing away from the area. Knowing there were no other
ships in the vicinity, we now realized that we would have to fend for
ourselves. Some of us took turns to get on to the raft as the water was very
cold and while on the raft, we had to keep a lookout for ships and aircraft
which we hoped would come to look for us. We were also concerned about
the enemy resurfacing and taking us as prisoners of war, so I got rid of my
epaulets (badges of rank). At one stage, in the middle of the night, a
maritime reconnaissance plane flew quite low over us. We fired a flare to
attract its attention, but we remained undetected.
‘The next morning, another aircraft flew over us and threw us some
supplies, but we could not retrieve them because the sea was too rough. It
was a great relief the next morning, around 1000 hours, when we saw a
Petya closing in on us. This was INS Katchal, which took us on board. All
the survivors were given blankets and hot beverages. Meanwhile, one of the
sailors had died on the raft. We gave him a sea burial, conducted by Captain
Zadu, the Captain of the ship. The body was wrapped in the national flag,
and the ship’s bell was rung as a mark of respect for the dead.
‘In light of my qualification as a Communication Officer, I helped
Captain Zadu in his search-and-rescue effort for other survivors. It was
while I was doing this duty that I came to know that the hunt for the enemy
submarine had commenced. I came to know later that this exercise was
codenamed Operation Falcon. This operation continued till 16 December
when the ceasefire took place.
‘Sometime later, I was posted to the Cabinet Secretariat, and I had the
opportunity to have an informal meeting with the Second-in-Command of
PNS Hangor. He was an officer from East Pakistan and was placed under
house arrest when the Hangor reached Karachi. He had escaped from there
and was on his way to Bangladesh via Delhi. He made the following
statements which are relevant to what had happened. He said:
PNS Hangor had a mechanical problem on 5 and 6 December and had made a radio
transmission for permission to return to Karachi. (This ties up with the report by Captain
Mulla that it had had an encounter with an enemy submarine and had recorded a hit and
that this could have been the cause of Hangor’s problem which caused her to make a
transmission to Karachi. It was this transmission, which was intercepted, that gave
indication that an enemy submarine was in the vicinity of Diu Head.)
The crew of the Hangor was very apprehensive of taking action against the Khukri and
the Kirpan because of the presence of the Sea King helicopters, and it was only when the
Sea Kings did not reappear that she realized that she should take on the Indian frigates
before the Sea Kings returned and then head for Karachi, for which permission had been
received.

‘Operation Falcon came very close to destroying the Hangor. Two depth
charges had bracketed the Hangor, and they waited for the next depth
charge that would have destroyed them, but that destructive blow never
came.
‘Operation Falcon pulled out all the stops to hunt and destroy the
Hangor, but we failed to get her.
 ‘The Hangor survived probably because it headed out to the open sea and
did not return to Karachi by following a route close to the coast, for if she
had, the Sea Kings would have detected and destroyed her.’

Excerpts from the Account of Sub-Lieutenant Anil Kakkar,

Another Survivor Who Was on Board the Khukri

‘I was given duties on the bridge as Officer of the Watch. Due to a bit of a
science background, I was subsequently appointed to assist Lieutenant V.K.
Jain.
‘On the evening of 9 December 1971, the system produced an echo
indicating the presence of what could be a submarine, and Captain Mulla
decided to take evasive action. After taking evasive action, Captain Mulla
altered course so as to prosecute the target; however, there was no further
confirmation of the presence of a submarine. The Khukri and the Kirpan
now decided to carry out an anti-submarine search operation, adopting the
rectangular pattern for this purpose.
‘Just before the torpedo struck the Khukri, Captain Mulla, Lieutenant
Jain and I were on the bridge as the ship was at “action stations” for quite a
while. In fact, Captain Mulla was mostly on the bridge—he very rarely, if
ever, left it. When the torpedo hit the Khukri, the ship shuddered and the
lights went out. The emergency lights came on, and I noticed that the ship’s
gyro-failure alarm started ringing. I lifted one of the ship’s blinds that
covered a porthole and looked out, and I was astonished to see that the after
part of the ship was burning. I now heard a series of loud explosions that
shook the ship violently. This must have been the anti-submarine
ammunition which was stored just above the propellor exploding, or it
could have been that the Khukri was struck by another torpedo. Soon after
the second explosion, the ship started listing very rapidly towards starboard.
By the time I had climbed ten steps of the companionway (ladder) that
connected with the bridge, the Khukri had listed more than 30 degrees
towards starboard. I now found it difficult to climb up the companionway,
and I had to hold on to the railing with both hands. I realized that the ship
was sinking rapidly and that the best escape route for me was via the bridge.
The ship had by now listed to about 45 degrees. I remembered I had placed
my life jacket below the radar, but now, when I searched, it was not there!
‘I sensed that the port side would be the better side to get off the ship,
and with great difficulty I managed to cross over to the bridge. At this
moment, I saw Captain Mulla on the bridge. He was calm and collected, as
if he had made up his mind to go down with his ship. The Khukri had listed
to about 45 degrees, and Captain Mulla was holding on to the guard rail.
The ship started sinking very rapidly. It was now totally dark, and the water
was close to my head. I was trapped between the awning and the bulwark of
the bridge, the gap between them being about one and a half feet. The ship
now began to sink vertically, and I thought that this was the end. Then, all
of a sudden, some air trapped in the ship tried to escape, and this escaping
air with great force pushed me out from where I was trapped. While I was
going down with the ship, I must have swallowed a lot of water and fuel. I
came up coughing and spluttering, and my left eye was burning, due
probably to the ship’s fuel. In retrospect, I think I was very lucky not to
have been able to locate my life jacket, which was made of some synthetic
material with a thick canvas cover. If I had found and worn my life jacket, I
would have remained stuck between the awning and the bulwark of the
bridge, and the air escaping from below would not have been able to push
me out.’

Excerpts from the Account of Sub-Lieutenant S.K. Basu

‘On the morning of 9 December 1971, we got underwater submarine

contacts. All these contacts were homed in on and attacked, when the
contacts were within attacking range of the ship, with projectiles and depth
charges. All these attacks, however, had no positive outcome.
‘At 2000 hours, I handed over watch to Sub-Lieutenant Khanzode and
went to the “cowshed” to catch up on some sleep as I was again on duty at
midnight. The cowshed was a small compartment on the Khukri where
junior officers used to stay.
 ‘As I switched on the radio at around 8.45 p.m., I heard a tremendous
explosion, and the entire ship shook. The gyro room was next to the
cowshed, and the gyro alarm started ringing. I thought it was “action alarm”
and rushed to my action station, which was the bridge. While I was on my
way, there was another explosion, and the ship’s propulsion and power
generation systems failed. There was total darkness everywhere.
‘When I reached the bridge, I heard Captain Mulla telling the Chief
Yeoman to make a signal to FOC-in-C West that we had been hit. Chief
Yeoman Prosperin was taking down the message when there was yet
another explosion, and the ship started listing to starboard.
‘Captain Mulla was telling others on the bridge to leave the ship. I saw
Lieutenant Kundan Mall crossing the guard rail and jumping into the sea.
Some others were also jumping into the sea. I collected my life jacket and
prepared to follow suit.
‘The bridge was on the fourth deck and approximately forty feet above
the waterline. Captain Mulla looked at me and said, “Bachcho, utro (Son,
go down)”. I got into the choppy Arabian Sea, leaving the solid safety of
the steel deck.
‘The moment I got into the water, I started swimming away from the ship
and from the fires in the water. The huge mast was leaning towards the
starboard side as the ship had taken a starboard list. Once I got clear of the
ship, I saw the forward part of the ship suddenly go straight up with a
loud noise. Personnel were shouting for help, but nobody could see
anybody in the darkness.
‘In the background of all this noise and confusion, the Khukri started
sinking with her stern down. In a matter of moments, it vanished from our
sight forever. We had lost our battleship. It was a very sad moment for us.
That night, eighteen officers and 176 sailors lost their lives.
‘Among the survivors picked up by INS Katchal from the second life
raft, one of the crew had died. His name was Thomas, and he was from
Kerala. He was on duty near the projectile room, and he must have got
injured when the torpedo hit the ship. He died that night on the life raft. A
sea burial, with full military honours, was given to him, and the Christian
burial ritual was followed.
‘All the survivors remained on board the Katchal while it joined the
search-and-destruction operation for the submarine that sank the Khukri. On
14 December, we set course for Bombay and disembarked on 15 December,
at around 2030 hours, at Break Water Berth. We went thereafter to INS
Angre for our accommodation. I had my medical done there.
‘A court of inquiry was held. All the survivors were full of great praise
for Captain Mahendra Nath Mulla. We were sent on special leave for a
month. There were sixty-six survivors, which included six officers.’

Reminiscences of Her Father: Recollections of the War and Its

Aftermath, by Dr Ameeta Mulla Wattal

This story would be incomplete without an understanding of the person and

psyche of Captain Mahendra Nath Mulla. This is best told in the words of
his elder daughter, Dr Ameeta Mulla Wattal, the iconic principal of
Springdales School, Pusa Road, Delhi. It is important for the reader to see
what she says, because this is not only the story of a war and of a ship, but
also of a man who lived and died by his strong values—very important in
today’s confusing times. It is also an account of the aftermath of war in the
lives of those who lose their loved ones—something which the average
citizen of India knows very little about.
‘I have often wondered what made my father go down with his ship after
it was torpedoed during the 1971 Indo–Pak war. Did he want his name to be
enshrined in history books as a man of valour? Did he do it because of an
old archaic naval tradition? Or did he accompany his ship to the womb of
the sea, because he felt it was the right thing to do?
‘My sister and I had come home from school for the winter holidays just
before the war. Earlier, we children used to play war games with tin sailors
and paper boats, which, if broken, could always be put together again. The
anti-aircraft guns that opened up on the night of 5 December at Bombay
were, for us, an enchanting display of bright fireworks, which we looked at
with glee from our balconies of Navy Nagar. To us, war, destruction and
death were just fast-moving images of World War II movies seen in the
security of the United Services Club, from where one could easily escape
by walking out of the darkened auditorium. It was this innocence which was
torn apart on the night of 9 December 1971, for the torpedo that struck the
Khukri was no toy and the ship, which was not made of paper, could never
be put together again. Unlike the reel-life adventures shown at the club
auditorium, this real-life battle had no exits.
‘The news of the sinking of the Khukri was brought home to my mother
along with weak assurances that the Captain of the ship had also been
rescued. However, to this day, I recall that my mother felt a hopeless
despair, because she knew that her husband was not the type of man who
would put his own safety before the safety of his men.
‘As the list of survivors started arriving, news was also received that the
Captain was last seen helping men out of the sinking ship with silent and
calm determination, which in turn transferred to his men. When the last life
raft pulled away from the doomed ship that was rapidly sinking to its
watery grave, they saw their Captain on the bridge—a sentinel to his
battleship for eternity.
‘Five decades have by now rolled by, and we have all been involved in
the journey of growing up; our household was then all women—my mother,
my younger sister and me.
‘I remember my sister Anju’s reaction to the news of the sinking of the
Khukri. She was merely a child of eleven. She took the news with silent
calm, her eyes not leaving my mother’s face. Anju had the inner strength,
which she has inherited from my father. She would get up every new day
and lay out Papa’s uniform and attach his medals and epaulettes with such
intense care that I felt her faith alone would bring our father back. She
would answer every doorbell and telephone call with the firm conviction
that it would be our father at the door or at the other end of the line.
‘Our house seemed to be a multitude of humanity, and the days rolled by
and mingled into one another. My mother became deeply involved with the
widows of the crew of the Khukri, seeing to their emotional and physical
needs. She put away her own tragedy and worked with grim determination
to bring solace and comfort to the families of those who had lost their men
of the house. Their needs seemed to obsess her, for she felt she had taken
the place of their Captain.
‘When all the tumult and the crowds faded away, we were left, just the
three of us—one brave woman and two scared children. I remember asking
my mother as to what she would do and where we would go, and she
replied, “The world is big and has room for everyone, and the three of us
are strong enough to find our own place in the sun.” That day I knew that
there was nothing that the three of us couldn’t do.
‘How do I remember a parent who died fifty years ago but who continues
to deeply influence my every living moment? I was six years old when I
became conscious that the tall handsome man with light-brown eyes was
my father.
‘Father was a Kashmiri Pandit and belonged to one of the most illustrious
families of the state of Uttar Pradesh. He could count among his kith and
kin Chief Justices, poets, Constitution framers, criminal lawyers and even a
dignified scoundrel or two, but they were all brilliant people, uniformly
addicted to the romance of living. Veeru (as he was affectionately called)
was a man of deep faith. He accepted religion as part of his being, but he
never let it prejudice him. He believed that an understanding of different
faiths was important because essentially all of them preached the innate
goodness of mankind.
‘I remember being once influenced by a pamphlet titled “Soldiers of
God”, in which there was a line that read, “make a sacrifice and save a
sinner”. I righteously went about putting this into practice. One day, my
father noticed me refusing something he knew I was particularly fond of,
with an expression of pained tragedy. He asked me why, and I replied,
“Sacrificing.” He smiled and said, “Never call your best action a sacrifice.
If one fights for a cause, it is because one is prepared to live without certain
things.” I never understood him then, but I do now, that is, that the cause
has to be such that one should not count the cost.
 ‘Our father was a voracious reader and encouraged us to read as well.
When he returned from a trip, I never expected a doll or a bauble. It always
had to be a book.
‘The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam was the first book that I received from
him at the age of eight, inscribed with the words, “To my dear daughter. To
thine own self be true and the rest follows as the night the day, then thou
cans’t be false to any man.” Six months before his death, on my fourteenth
birthday, he wrote to me at school, “These are the formative years of your
life. Your sole aim should be to imbibe knowledge, let not your mind
wander . . . The time for life, love and laughter will come later. For those
who fritter away this precious time, the good things will never seem to
arrive. Their future is blighted. This is the inexorable law of Karma.” He
also remarked that the business of war, if left to the unintelligent, could only
result in disaster, and so it was with every profession. I wonder now
whether he had a premonition of his end when he made those remarks to
me.
‘Papa was not always serious; he loved a good laugh. Mother used to say
that you can always vouch for the sincerity of a man who laughs openly and
without inhibition. However, with me his humour was always tempered
with an injunction. Complaining about the severity of life at the Convent of
Jesus and Mary, I wrote to him that the food was not even fit for worms.
“My dear worm,” he replied, “I am glad to learn that the food is fit for you.
I am also happy to be informed that there are not frequent outings on the
Mall, where misguided young ladies promenade in unbecoming apparel. I
am delighted that you are kept ‘far from the madding crowd’s ignoble
strife’. I think it is excellent training.”
‘Because of Papa, whenever I was home in Navy Nagar, I never saw
boys. They were terrified of him and vanished when his silver-blue Renault
appeared. I guess I could not have been very popular with the young crowd,
but I did not mind. I wanted to spend every waking hour with my father,
talking to him, going for long walks through the countryside or trying to
beat him at Scrabble. Whenever I challenged him on a particular word, not
only would he show it to me in the dictionary, but he would also give me its
etymology. He once explained that the reason why English was a
progressive and a living language was because it borrowed freely from all
languages without fear of losing its own identity, a principle which could be
sensibly applied to life as well.
‘My father had a histrionic talent too, shared by many members of the
family, but he delighted in playing the villain. At the Defence Services Staff
College, he played the role of Henry Touchard in We Are No Angels. He
apparently was very successful in his portrayal and he began to be
recognized by the educated gentry of the Nilgiris. He said that to act well, it
was more important to get into the character’s mind rather than to be
concerned about style and nuances of voice.
‘Most children have a lifetime with their parents; I had only fourteen
years. Yet Papa taught me all the games that I enjoy playing, all the songs I
still love to sing and all the stories I relate to my son. I think he was born
200 years too late. His thoughts were medieval, and his compulsions dated
to a period in Indian history where parents were the sole arbiters of a child’s
future. Though well-read, well-travelled and well-informed, he still
fervently believed in the religious tenets of faith, duty and accountability,
which have largely taken a back seat in the present-day world. He began
treating me as an adult very early in life. When other children read comics
and Enid Blyton, I was introduced to Chaucer and Wordsworth. He also
made it a point never to neglect our religious upbringing. “Hinduism is a
way of life,” he used to say. “It has been a repository of the wisdom and
culture of this subcontinent for thousands of years. Never forget this, and
never belittle your priceless heritage.” Today, when I witness crimes being
committed all over the world in the name of religion, I realize that it is faith
alone that preserves the dignity of mankind.
‘Our move from the busy metropolis of Bombay to Shimla was not the
longest we had taken in our lives, but it seemed an enormous distance in
terms of moving from one life pattern to another, and the trauma stayed
with us for a long time. In Shimla, the healing process started for bruised
and battered spirits. I remember the minuscule two-room flat that my
mother had rented and how she joked that we were lucky, for who had a
parlour, a bedsitter and a kitchen all rolled into one? Thereafter, we grew up
in that flat. It had in it all our dreams and illusions, and it now houses all the
memories of our adolescence. It also had in it my father’s books on religion,
poetry and humour. I feel that P.G. Woodhouse—coupled with a song our
father had taught us, ‘We are going to sink the Bismarck and the world
depends on us’—ironically enough, helped see us through a lot of grey
patches.
‘I remember the winters in Shimla used to be terribly severe. Everyone
would leave for the plains, and a blanket of snow would cover everything.
Water was a problem as the pipes would freeze and burst. My sister or Mom
would fill the aluminum bukhari with coal, and we would crack walnuts,
drink innumerable cups of tea and generally lead a mole’s existence. My
sister, however, was one of those tireless workers who seemed to be always
around, giving us emotional strength. My father’s death had affected her
deeply. I often felt that she realized our mother had become the “man” of
the family, so she took on the mantle of a mother. It was ironic how her
doll’s house existence before the war took on a real-life dimension
afterwards. In many ways, it was Anju who made our cold, rented house a
home. Often at night, when it was still and we were wrapped up in our
thoughts, she would silently come close to my mother and stroke her face to
see if there were any tears, and then she would go back to bed. I wonder
now whether Anju’s eyes were ever moist when she went back to sleep.
‘The Forest Hill Road was a five-kilometre winding road that linked our
flat to the school and college. My mother, sister and I used to traverse that
road twice a day. Those walks are etched in my mind. They were difficult
days for my mother, for she was trying to come to terms with her existence,
and I with mine, and often my intensities would catch fire and burn. That
road and that house have been silent spectators to many a storm that passed
over our lives.
‘Nearly fifty years have passed. We have long since moved out of that
flat on the hill and moved to broader horizons, newer lives with different
people; towards being wives, mothers, teachers, executives, writers, but
always striving to be women of strength. My entire life has been a
testimony to a man who died for his country, and I believe that I have to
live for it. The irony, however, is in never being able to come up to his
expectations because of the exemplary way in which he lived and died.
‘On 9 December when his ship was struck by a torpedo and started to
sink, he spared no effort in getting as many sailors and officers to the safety
of the life rafts and the sea. And when he had done his duty, he took the
decision to go down with his ship. I suppose he saw himself as the master
of a ship hundreds of years ago, nurtured by the traditions of the sea that
required him to stay with his vessel. Not because it was the right thing to
do, nor because it was expected of him, but because knowing him as I did,
it was the only thing to do. He was the first Captain of independent India’s
navy to go down with his ship and hopefully the last. One such man is
enough to bring honour to an entire nation for a lifetime.
‘I imagine him now striding purposefully through the vast void of space
and his words reach out to me, “Let not your dreams be transformed into
nightmares—remember the honour of the Mullas.”’
Vice Admiral Hiranandani, in his book Transition to Triumph: History of
the Indian Navy 1965–1975,* states that after the war, there was
considerable debate on:

Whether two ships were a viable enough force to send on an anti-

Daphne Hunter Killer mission without anti-submarine air effort in
direct support.
Whether the Khukri’s doing so slow a speed was related to the
experimental Sonar 170 modification.
Whether the Sea Kings could have been used more offensively.
Whether the Kirpan was justified in withdrawing from the scene
after the Khukri’s sinking, instead of immediately going to rescue
the Khukri’s survivors.
Why Operation Falcon was unable to locate the Pakistani
submarine.
Since the Daphne-class submarine’s anti-ship capability was known
to be, and accepted to be, superior to our anti-submarine capability,
 should the anti-submarine operation have been launched at all?
Were the two frigates and Sea Kings deployed on 8 December
adequate to cope with a Daphne-class submarine?

The answers to some of the questions were as follows:

The consensus was that in war, it is unacceptable to let an enemy

submarine threaten you on your doorstep—it has to be hunted.
The Sea King helicopters, which were the navy’s latest and best
anti-submarine system, could have been better utilized operating
from Diu (instead of from Bombay), although they were considered
defenceless if attacked by Pakistani aircraft. However, Super
Connie maritime recce aircraft and Alize anti-submarine aircraft
should have been utilized in support of the operation from the
moment it started on 8 December.
It is of utmost importance that any new sensors which have a direct
bearing on the safety of the ship should not be experimented with
during war, when the ships are engaged in active operations,
especially so, if this experimentation would place restrictions on the
speed and movement of the ship.

The questions that were asked and only some of which have been answered,
indicate the following:

That Captain Mahendra Nath Mulla was aware of the issues

mentioned above but had to do whatever was within his power to
do his duty to hunt and destroy the Pakistani submarine.
That Captain Mulla had to do whatever he could to increase the
range of the experimental sonar that was ordered on board by
Western Naval Headquarters, despite the disadvantages inherent to
the experiment.
That Captain Mulla was in a dilemma as to whether he should focus
on speed to avoid destruction by enemy submarines or to increase
 the range of the experimental sonar to detect enemy submarines, so
that he could destroy them.
That when his ship was struck with a torpedo and started to sink, he
felt it would be unethical to save his own life when he was aware
that many of his sailors would perish.

What emerges is:

Success in war is the destruction of the enemy and at the same time
ensuring the security of own forces.
No military commander should be given a task without a fair
chance of success.

This is a story not only of a war, or of a ship, but also of a man who went
unflinchingly into battle against far superior odds. Captain Mahendra Nath
Mulla was a colossus as far as human character is concerned—a leader who
practised what he believed was right, to his very last breath. He carried out
his duty to the best of his ability, knowing full well the difficulties of his
task and the limitations of his resources. When faced with the option of
saving his own life, he rejected the easier option, because it was not in his
character to save his own life when he knew that many of his men were
trapped in the sinking ship, and his last moments were spent helping others
to get off the sinking ship. Personal acts of cold courage like this are rare to
come by, and when they do, they shake the world by the immensity of their
heroic content.

Postscript

There are many lessons to be learnt from this story, the most important
being that in a future war, the armed forces are not denied the wherewithal
to defend the nation. Although the Indian Navy performed outstandingly in
the war at sea in 1971, there are lessons to be learnt in the manner in which
the Khukri had to fight its battle against extraordinary disadvantages.
Hopefully, this type of situation will never again be repeated.
 The Beginning of the End

‘If you must play, decide three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stakes and the
quitting time.’

—Proverb

It was the middle of April 1971, and the genocide by Pakistan against the
citizens of her eastern province was at its peak. The holocaust had caused a
huge influx of refugees who came to seek shelter in India. By the third
week of April, the number had crossed ten million. Prime Minister Indira
Gandhi was deeply disturbed by this development on our border—a
situation that continued to escalate. The Chief Ministers of the states of
West Bengal, Orissa and Tripura had declared that their administrative
resources had been strained to breaking point, and they pleaded with the
Prime Minister that they could take no more. They also stated that along
with the refugees, subversive Pakistani elements had entered India; they
feared a law-and-order situation.
The Prime Minister visited the states, which had been engulfed with
refugees, to assess the situation. What she saw shocked her beyond belief.
The state of suffering humanity that continued to pour across the border tore
at her heart. The carnage and savagery inflicted by the Pakistan Army on
helpless men, women and children went way beyond anyone’s imagination.
She met some of the elders from the refugee camps and was horrified by the
stories narrated by them. It was difficult to believe that human beings could
treat fellow humans with such barbaric savagery. She listened aghast at
accounts of young girls and women raped in front of their menfolk, of
throats being slit and men being beaten to death in front of their families, of
men being thrown alive into burning furnaces of factories and being fed
alive to caged leopards.* Most of the men and women that she met had a
glazed, blank look, as though they had lost all sense of reality and were
walking through a bad dream.

The refugees coming across to India.

A very disturbed Mrs Gandhi returned to Delhi. She appealed to Pakistan

to stop the pogrom, citing the difficulties this humanitarian crisis was
causing the people of East Pakistan and India. Her protests, however, fell on
deaf ears. In fact, it appeared that Pakistan took mischievous delight in the
discomfort that it was causing India. They asserted that this was an internal
problem of Pakistan, and that India must keep away and not interfere.
Indignant at this response, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi took up the matter
with the United Nations but fared no better—the UN accepted the
contention of Pakistan that it was its internal matter, and that the issue of
refugees should be solved bilaterally between India and Pakistan. The
Security Council, led by the United States of America, equated Pakistan the
belligerent, with India the aggrieved.
Pakistan continued to receive support from the United States. Regarding
the continuing genocide in East Pakistan, the Western nations followed the
lead of the USA, all of whom had ditched their sense of morality and killed
their conscience on the altar of political expediency.
Lieutenant General J.F.R. Jacob, in his biography An Odyssey in War and
Peace, says:

The Americans were supportive of the Pakistani position regarding the Eastern Wing
being an inseparable part of Pakistan. Dr. Henry Kissinger, the Secretary of State, was
under an obligation to Pakistan for their arranging Nixon’s visit to China as also making a
rapprochement between China and the U.S. Nixon too favoured tilting towards Pakistan,
comfortable with the Pakistani military regime and very uncomfortable with Mrs Indira
Gandhi, who he intensely disliked. On 6 July he visited Delhi en route to Islamabad,
achieving little in Delhi. The American and Chinese support for Pakistan grew, and to
counter this, Mrs Gandhi turned to the Soviet Union. She sent feelers to Moscow
regarding a Treaty of Friendship that had been mooted since 1969 and received a
favourable Soviet response. A Treaty of Friendship was signed without compromising
Indian sovereignty or our Non-Aligned policy and was almost tailor-made to suit our
requirements. The core element of the Treaty states: ‘In the event of either party being
subject to an attack or threat thereof, the high contracting parties shall enter into mutual
consultations in order to remove any threat and to make appropriate effective measures to
ensure the peace and security of their countries.’*

This was a masterstroke by Mrs Gandhi. It put the Chinese on the back foot
and also the Americans.
Meanwhile, in India, pressure by the Opposition in Parliament, protests
by the public and outcry by the media continued to build up against the
Prime Minister for the failure of her government to take action against
Pakistan. The public demanded immediate military action against Pakistan
so that the refugees could return to their homes.
The Indian Prime Minister, however, had her own compulsions—
political, social and moral—against hasty military action. The problem of
the refugees was a crisis of gigantic proportions, and she believed that the
humanitarian aspect had to be resolved first. This involved food, housing
and medical attention that the refugees urgently needed. Most of them had
crossed the border with nothing but the clothes they wore.
The act of invading a neighbouring country, for whatever reason, would
be difficult to defend. Would the world accept the enormity of the refugee
problem as a justified reason to warrant military action? The problem of the
refugees was, however, spiralling out of control. Towards the end of April,
Mrs Gandhi decided to ask the Army Chief, General Sam Manekshaw, to
brief her on the military situation.
Brigadier Behram Panthaki and his wife, Zenobia, have described what
happened at this meeting in their book Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw: The
Man and his Times:

. . . the Army Chief was invited to a cabinet meeting. The Prime Minister and her cabinet
wanted the army to launch an immediate offensive against Pakistan. Sam stood his
ground. The knee-jerk reaction of the government and the proposal emanating from the
government was completely flawed. Spelling out facts that were germane to any military
planning, he queried the impulse to jump the gun. The timing was not right. He needed
time to mobilise formations to their operational locations and ensure adequate and
uninterrupted logistical support. This would entail requisitioning trains, railway wagons
and civilian aircraft. Crops were ready to be harvested in the Punjab and the diversion of
railway stock would result in food shortages. To ensure uninterrupted reinforcements and
supplies to forward locations, additional roads would have to be built by the Border
Roads Organisation (BRO). Logistically any operation in summer spelt disaster with the
entire delta region of West Bengal turning into a vast swamp with the monsoon rains.
This would confine the movement of armoured vehicles to the roads and expose his plans
to the enemy. Air support would be restricted because of poor visibility. Any entry into
East Pakistan would be suicidal until the rivers had ebbed and the snows had blocked the
Chinese from opening a third front along the northern border. The army was not
adequately equipped. The Armoured Division had just eleven tanks in operational
condition out of 189; requisitions for purchase were pending with the Ministry of
Finance. Sam refused to be bulldozed into a misadventure.*
This is corroborated by S. Muthiah in his book Born to Win: The Life of
Lieutenant General Inderjit Singh Gill. He says:

The Chief of Army Staff, Sam Manekshaw briefed the Cabinet on the situation and,
despite the bureaucracy’s snide whispered comments questioning the military’s courage
and efficiency, stuck to his guns saying that the Army would be ready to move only by
late November, after the monsoon, and when it did move, he assured them, it would be
victorious within weeks. He offered Prime Minister Indira Gandhi his resignation if she
did not like his military plans, but she accepted them, and preparations began on the
diplomatic, military and logistical fronts keeping the target date in mind.*

In his book, Behram Panthaki goes on to say:

The Army Chief assured the Prime Minister that East Pakistan would capitulate within a
month, but only if he was given a free hand, if the timing was of his choice and if he had
only one political master to report to – the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister agreed to
his terms. With that began the most brilliant plan in Indian military history. Preparation
and coordination with departments of government and ministries commenced. The Army
Chief and representatives of key ministries met weekly to track progress. For the first
month the civil government continued to drag its feet which left Sam with no option but
to convey his frustration to the Prime Minister; he was losing valuable time. The next
meeting was held in the Ops Room of Army Headquarters. Sam summed up the situation:
progress had been glacial. The Finance Ministry had yet to approve expenditures and
release funds to line ministries. The Army was awaiting approval from the Defence
Ministry to make up deficiencies. The Railways had reneged on all deadlines; work on
extending railheads up to the borders had not commenced nor had railway stock been
released, holding up the movement of troops and material. A furious Prime Minister
turned on her ministers.
Each of them was made to commit to a deadline and with that preparations for war
began in earnest.

The cabinet meeting was followed by a briefing at the Operations Room at

Army Headquarters which was attended by the Prime Minister, Mrs Gandhi
who was accompanied by the Defence Minister Jagjivan Ram, Y.B. Chavan
and the Defence Secretary K.B. Lall. A presentation was made to the Prime
Minister based on a brief prepared at Headquarter Eastern Command. After
the presentation, General Manekshaw asked for a postponement of
operations till 15 November. Some retired generals publicly argued in
favour of immediate action before Pakistan reinforced her Eastern Wing
with additional forces. They argued that more time given to Pakistan would
make any venture in that country all the more costly. It was rumoured that
Defence Minister Jagjivan Ram backed by Finance Minister Y.B. Chavan
had urged Mrs Gandhi to resort to armed action immediately, adding that if
Manekshaw had any misgivings, he should be replaced.*
General Manekshaw, however, stuck to his position. He made it clear that
the army was not in a fit situation to go to war. The present state of the
army was due to the failure of the defence and finance ministries to give the
army the wherewithal it needed for war, and if immediate action was
insisted upon, then his resignation would be on the Prime Minister’s table.
Fortunately, the Prime Minister supported the Army Chief and accepted
that intervention would have to take place at a time most suitable to India,
allowing him to make his plans in the time frame that he had asked for.
However, she was disappointed that immediate military action was not
possible and that the return of the refugees would therefore be deferred.
Mrs Gandhi realized that something needed to be done in the meanwhile,
to make things difficult for the Pakistan Army to operate in East Pakistan
with impunity and continue their genocide; and that the answer to that lay in
assisting the Mukti Bahini in their efforts to liberate their homeland.
The core of the Mukti Bahini consisted of military personnel of the East
Bengal Rifles and the East Bengal Regiment, who had escaped from the
Pakistan Army in West and East Pakistan. They were joined by young men
eager to liberate their homeland. The military aim of the Mukti Bahini was
to harass the Pakistan Army through guerrilla operations and to make it
difficult for them to function by attacking and destroying bridges, supply
dumps, rear administrative units and to disrupt their lines of
communication. The Mukti Bahini, however, had to be trained in guerrilla
warfare, especially the youth who had no military experience at all. The
government permitted camps to be set up in India for the training of these
cadres, acknowledging that only when they were properly trained could
their operations be successful. The Mukti Bahini was split into platoon-,
company- and battalion-sized groups, and allotted sectors and subsectors
from where they were to operate. Initially, they operated through the Border
Security Force sectors. Later on, they operated on their own but in liaison
with the army formations under which they fell. The basic deployment that
was made by Eastern Command put Major Zia in charge of the Chittagong
sector, Khalid Musharraf for Comilla, Major Safiullah for Mymensingh,
Wing Commander Bashar for Rangpur, Lieutenant Colonel Zaman for
Rajshahi, Major Usman for Kushtia, Major Jalil for Khulna and Tiger
Siddiqui for Tangail.*
Thereafter, Mrs Gandhi undertook a diplomatic offensive, during the
third quarter of 1971. She visited the capitals of the major countries of the
world to bring home to them the reality of continuing genocide in East
Pakistan and the need to rein in the Pakistani military, who were going all
out to destroy the democratic rights of the people of East Pakistan. Her
efforts, however, met with a cynical response. Not one of them condemned
Pakistan or acknowledged the genocide. The general attitude was that it was
an internal matter of Pakistan.
The initial lack of a military response from India, the failure of the world
to condemn the genocide and the move of additional Pakistani troops from
West to East Pakistan only emboldened the Pakistan Army, making them
more reckless and ruthless. Border incidents multiplied. This brought
Pakistan and Indian paramilitary units in direct confrontation with each
other.
As these clashes grew in number and intensity, Indian border posts
manned by the BSF had to be reinforced by the Indian Army in October
1971.
By the end of October 1971, these border clashes had become more
violent and had escalated to military operations that were accompanied by
mortar and artillery fire by both sides.
The essence of this story centres on the operations of the Mukti Bahini in
a subsector contiguous to the police station at Boyra. In this sector, the
Mukti Bahini had caused considerable damage by destroying bridges and
disrupting the Pakistan Army’s line of communications. Incensed by the
audacity of the Mukti Bahini, the Pakistani Brigade Commander launched a
joint operation with armour, artillery and air power to destroy the Mukti
Bahini and the bases from which they were operating. These operations
spilled across the border into India, causing considerable damage and
casualties to the BSF and Indian Army personnel.
The offensive by the Pakistanis took place on 21 November. War had not
been declared, and the use of this large a quantum of force, that too in a
joint operation launched by the Pakistan Army and Air Force, called for a
strong counterattack by the Indian forces. A fierce encounter took place
with troops of 9 Indian Infantry Division. The Pakistanis withdrew after
they suffered heavy casualties. Thirteen Chafee tanks were destroyed by 45
Cav, the Indian tank regiment, and three tanks, which were in running
condition and abandoned by the Pakistanis, were driven off by personnel of
the Indian tank regiment and the damaged tanks towed across to the Indian
side of the border.
The next day, 22 November, a Monday, was bright and sunny, but the
beauty of the day was marred by a succession of air attacks by Pak Sabre
jets. These attacks appeared to be in retaliation to the damage the Indian
forces had inflicted on Pakistani ground forces on 21 November. The
attacks continued from 1000 hours onwards.
When the concerted assault on Indian Army positions by Pakistani
ground and air elements was underway on 21 November, 350 Indian
Infantry Brigade had asked for air cover, but their request was turned down
by the Indian Air Force, probably because war had not been declared.
The officers and men of the Indian Army units on the ground who were
bearing the brunt of the Pakistani air attacks were indignant at the denial of
air support. The ground forces deployed near the Boyra salient consisted of
Headquarters 350 Indian Infantry Brigade, which had 4 Sikh, 26 Madras
and the 1st Jammu and Kashmir Rifles on its strength. It appeared to them
that higher headquarters seemed blind to their predicament.
The absence of the IAF allowed the Pakistani Sabre jets to operate with
ease. Their aircraft would climb leisurely to about 2000 feet, dive down to
level off at about 500 feet before unleashing their bombs and armament on
the hapless Indian troops below.
Finally, when it became clear that the Pakistanis were operating freely
and without constraint against our troops on our side of the border, air
support was sanctioned. Indian Gnats, which were located at Dum Dum
airport near Calcutta, made an appearance. However, by the time they
arrived, the Sabres had exited the area.
At around 1440 hours the same day, the pilots appeared to have
anticipated a call. A set of four young pilots—Flt Lt Roy Andrew Massey,
with Flying Officer Sunith Soares as his wingman, and Flt Lt Ganapathy
and Flying Officer Don Lazarus at Number 3 and 4 positions—were ready
and waiting. The Forward Air Controller (FAC) was Flt Lt Sharad Savur
and the Fighter Controller was Flying Officer Bagchi.
An eyewitness account of what happened next is given by Brigadier Ajit
Apte (retd), who at that time was the Gun Position Officer in 14 Field
Regiment, which was in support of 350 Indian Infantry Brigade. He says:
All was quiet on the Eastern Front. Sunith Soares and Don Lazarus were playing scrabble
and the others were relaxing when suddenly the klaxon* started blaring. Indian radar had
picked up the intrusion of three enemy Sabres at 1440 hours and within minutes the
Operational Readiness Platform at Dum Dum had scrambled four Gnats who were
airborne and hurtling at tree top level towards Boyra.
The Gnats soon reached the International Border (IB) and Bagchi told Massey on the
Air Defence Radio Channel: Enemy two o’clock. Four nautical miles.
Massey replied, ‘Contact! I see them. Pulling up.’
Ganapathy and Don being on the right flank couldn’t spot the enemy aircraft.
Soares spotted one enemy aircraft at three kilometres which was perched to commence
a dive and called out ‘Contact!’
The officers and soldiers of the army units on the ground came out of their defensive
positions to watch the dogfight with growing excitement and interest.
Massey spotted an enemy Sabre and maneuvered to get behind it. The Sabre tried to
evade, but Massey got within firing range and fired a small canon burst. It missed the
target but he followed quickly with another burst, which slammed into the right wing of
the Sabre and the aircraft spiraled out of control. Khalil Ahmed, the enemy pilot, ejected.
Massey, Soares, Ganapathy and Lazarus now latched on to the remaining Sabres.
Ganapathy fired a burst at a Sabre and missed and the third Sabre got behind him at a
distance of 200 yards; Don swerved and got behind him and his cannons slammed onto
the Sabre, causing it to explode, with the debris hitting Don’s aircraft on its nose and drop
tank. This pilot also ejected. He was Flt Lt Pervez Mehdi.
Ganapathy meanwhile fired accurately at the remaining Sabre and hit it on its right
wing and set it aflame. The aircraft was badly damaged but it managed to straggle across
 the border, trailing smoke. This was probably Wg Cdr Chaudhury, the Pak mission leader
from Pakistan’s Air Force 14 Squadron.
As soon as the dogfight was over, the Gnats did a victory roll over the Brigade location
and returned home.
Flt Lt Pervez Mehdi, who was the second Pak pilot to eject, parachuted into the field
defences of 4 Sikh, where Captain HS Panag (who later rose to be the Army Commander
of Northern Command) was the Adjutant of the battalion. He quickly got into a jeep and
picked up Pervez Mehdi. Flg Offr Khalil Ahmed, the first pilot to eject, landed within the
defences of 1st Jak Rifles. Both pilots were sent to 14 Field Regiment, which was 1500
metres to the rear and to a flank. They were properly treated, given a cup of tea and
blindfolded and sent to Headquarter 350 Brigade. No one knew at that time that Flt Lt
Pervez Mehdi would one day rise to be a future Chief of the Pakistan Air Force.
Massey, Ganapathy and Lazarus were awarded VrCs, and Flg Offr Bagchi was
awarded with the VM for his effective control of the air battle. The next day, All India
Radio and the newspapers announced the news of this air battle and the award of the
nation’s first three gallantry awards.*

The Gnats hurtling towards Boyra.

The next day, far away in Islamabad, in West Pakistan, a different story was
unfolding.
Agha Mohamed Yahya Khan, Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces
and President of Pakistan, had heard about the debacle at Boyra and was in
an ugly mood. The cause of his anger was a BBC broadcast he had heard on
the evening of 22 November. He had immediately telephoned Lieutenant
General Gul Hassan, his Chief of General Staff. On the directions of the
President, General Hassan called for a meeting the next day. Officers
holding key appointments in the Pakistan Army and Air Force were
directed to attend.
 The next day, the approach to the Army Chief’s office on what is now
Iftikhar Janjua road, Rawalpindi, was cordoned off by the military police to
facilitate the smooth passage of the senior officers who were to attend the
meeting. The air was filled with the wailing of vehicle sirens that
announced the arrival of the members of Pakistan’s military hierarchy.
The BBC broadcast of the previous evening had announced that the
Pakistan Army had suffered heavy casualties, on 21 and 22 November
1971, in a clash with the Indian Army and Air Force at a place called
Boyra. What infuriated Yahya Khan was that there was hardly any time lag
between when he was briefed about the incident and the broadcast by the
BBC, which gave more details of the battle than he had received at his
briefing.
The BBC reported that the Pakistani forces had suffered the loss of three
F-86 Sabre jets and thirteen Chaffee tanks in a battle with elements of the
Indian Army and Air Force that had taken place on the border with East
Pakistan on 21 and 22 November 1971. The BBC added that two of the
Pakistan Sabre jets had fallen well within Indian territory, and that the
pilots, who had ejected, had been captured.
The third Sabre jet, which was severely damaged, had managed to
straggle across the border and had fallen within the territory of East
Pakistan.
The destruction of the tanks and the fighter aircraft, and the capture of
the two Pakistani Air Force pilots well within Indian territory, had given the
Indian Army moral high ground even before the war had started. This
infuriated General Yahya Khan. It proved conclusively that it was the
Pakistani forces that were committing acts of aggression across the border,
which was the opposite of what Pakistan was trying to tell the world.
The destroyed tanks had been recovered by the Indians, and the three that
had been abandoned in good running condition were driven off and shown
to foreign war correspondents. This, too, was reported by the BBC. The loss
of these tanks and aircraft meant that these precious ground and air
resources would not be available to Pakistan for a war with India, which
appeared to be increasingly imminent.
 The meeting at Army Headquarters was scheduled for 23 November
1971, 11 a.m.
The staff cars had begun to arrive 10 a.m. onwards. The first to arrive
was the Director of Military Operations, and the last to arrive was Air
Marshal Rahim Khan, the Chief of Air Staff. In between, came the Principal
Staff Officers and heads of some of the arms and services, the Corps
Commanders and the Chief of the General Staff. The Corps Commanders of
the corps located at Kharian, Lahore and Bahawalpur were in attendance.
The line-up of the officers, including the Commanders of the ‘Strike Corps’
meant for offensive operations, indicated that the meeting was very much
an ‘Operation of War’ conference. Some wondered whether the President
was going to give them the date of the launch for the long-expected
offensive against India. The President had been making statements like ‘In
ten days’ time, I shall be off fighting a war’, and ‘I shall teach India a
lesson that she will never forget’. In the beginning of November, Yahya
Khan had told Newsweek magazine that war with India was imminent, and
that the Chinese could be counted on to come to Pakistan’s aid with arms
and ammunition. He went a step further the following week and said, in an
interview with Columbia Broadcasting System, that China would intervene
if Pakistan was attacked by India. These statements by the Pakistani Army
Chief made it clear that war was around the corner.

The dogfight.
 When General Yahya Khan arrived at the meeting, at 11.15 a.m., he
looked as though he had not slept at all the previous night. He was bear-like
in appearance—not very tall, heavily built, with a florid complexion and a
full head of hair, greying slightly at the sides.
The President was visibly angry. He responded to the ‘Salaam Walekum’
by the assembled officers, who stood up when he walked in, with a growl
and that too very grudgingly. He followed it up with a dressing-down of all
those present and also those who were absent. He made no pretense of
telling them exactly what he thought of them in language that was colourful
and typical of the man. He also expressed vividly what he thought of those
responsible for the debacle of the battle at Boyra.
There was tension in the air, but all kept quiet.
His first question was, ‘Who was the officer who planned the operations
at Boyra, and who was the commander of the force who botched it up so
badly?’ The question hung in the air and remained unanswered. The silence
was taut with suspense. No one knew what would follow. Success has many
claimants—failure has none. More importantly, no one wanted to become a
scapegoat for someone else’s failure.
Yahya Khan glowered at the Director of Military Operations and
growled, ‘Give me a report on what actually happened within the next
twenty-four hours. I learnt more about this damn fiasco from the BBC than
from yesterday’s briefing. No frills, no cover ups. Someone will have to pay
for this. I will not accept failures of this kind.’
‘Secondly,’ he asked, ‘how was it that the action which was fought the
day before yesterday and yesterday was broadcast by the BBC yesterday
evening with full details of our losses? I was briefed on the action only
yesterday, and the story was told a few hours later by the BBC to the whole
world!’
‘Thirdly,’ he continued, ‘if, as it appears, the Indian Army is able to
instantly communicate with the foreign press, what are you damn fellows
doing to ensure similar media coverage?’
The Chief of the General Staff explained that the Indian Army had
allowed foreign war correspondents to co-locate with front-line troops and
to report as they thought fit. No restrictions were placed on them. They
lived and marched with the troops. What he could not say openly was that
the atrocities perpetrated by the Pakistan Army on the hapless people of
East Pakistan had given them such a bad image worldwide that it was not
possible to allow foreign reporters to accompany Pakistani troops. They had
too much to hide.
Yahya Khan got the message. He was aware of the atrocities perpetrated
by the Pakistan Army on the people of East Pakistan, and he knew that
allowing foreign correspondents to move with Pakistani front-line troops
was, therefore, out of question. He was, however, irritated at the advantage
that the Indian Army had achieved in using foreign media to broadcast
authentic front-line action but decided not to say anything more, because of
his own complicity in the ravaging of East Pakistan.
For a brief moment, his thoughts went back to the evening of 25 March
1971, when he had left Dhaka secretly, accompanied to the airport only by
Lieutenant General Tikka Khan, the newly appointed Military Governor
and Martial Law Administrator of East Pakistan.
He had gone to East Pakistan ostensibly to apprise himself of the
situation that had developed there as a result of the landslide victory of the
Awami League, but actually to give final orders for administering a coup de
grâce to the movement in East Pakistan for greater freedom and autonomy.
He recalled his last words to Tikka Khan, uttered at 6.14 p.m., as he entered
the military aircraft that was taking him back to Islamabad. He had turned
around and said to the Military Governor, ‘Now sort them out.’
Those four words spoken in English were a death sentence for the people
of East Pakistan, who had voted against military rule. The killings that
followed were pure genocide, and the massacres were to earn Tikka Khan
the sobriquet of the ‘Butcher of Bangladesh’ in addition to the title that he
had already notched up as the ‘Butcher of Baluchistan’.
Coming back to the conversation at hand, he switched to the war that he
said would soon take place. The Director of Military Operations, the
Director Armoured Corps and the Air Chief felt relieved that explanations
from them for the Boyra fiasco were not immediately demanded. The
remainder waited for the orders they felt would come. If they were to go to
war with India, then there was a lot of work that had yet to be done.
The President then took off on a tirade against India, which he said was
interfering in the internal affairs of Pakistan and that he would teach the
country a lesson she would never forget. The USA and China, he added,
had guaranteed support to Pakistan, and the Middle East had always
provided help and could be relied upon to come to their assistance once
again. War with India, he said, was inevitable. He repeated that he did not
therefore want precious resources to be frittered away on inconsequential
skirmishes in an undeclared war between India and Pakistan in the eastern
theatre.
It was these losses and their accurate reporting by the BBC that had
infuriated the Pakistani President. Although it was clear from the escalation
of attacks by Pakistani troops on Indian border posts that war was inevitable
and close at hand, it was not clear as to when this would happen. But this
incident probably hastened the Pakistani timetable for war. The conference
now turned to a discussion of dates and timings and moves of formations on
the Eastern and Western fronts, in which the Corps Commanders, the
Director of Military Operations, the Quartermaster General and the
Pakistani Air Chief had important parts to play.
It was on 23 November 1971, after the Pakistani debacle at Boyra, that
Yahya Khan probably took the fatal decision to launch his offensive against
India. After he had heard about the Boyra incident, he had called his Strike
Corps Commanders and Principal Staff Officers to his headquarters in
Rawalpindi. The composition of this Operational Conference and the time
lag between this meeting and the launching of his offensive on 3 December
1971, are prime indicators that it was on this day that he finally decided on
the date and time of his attack on India. It was after this meeting, on 23
November, that a state of emergency was declared in Pakistan.
Strangely, far away in New Delhi, at 11 a.m. on 23 November 1971, a
similar meeting had been ordered by the Chiefs of Staff Committee. All the
Commanders-in-Chief of the three services made presentations of their
operational plans to their Chiefs of Staff. The Defence Minister and
Defence Secretary were present. These presentations enabled each C-in-C
to know what the others were planning and to tie up the loose ends.*
The return of the refugees to East Pakistan was the core issue. Their
return, however, was contingent on the destruction of the Pakistani military
machine in East Pakistan. War plans had been made and Indian forces
deployed against Pakistani forces in East and West Pakistan, in anticipation
of the Pakistani offensive. The Indian armed forces were close to finalizing
their war plans. Both sides had finalized their D-Day. An unstated problem
was: How could the Pakistani armed forces be destroyed if there was no
war? What would the Indian armed forces do if Pakistan did not attack?
Ultimately, Yahya Khan resolved the issue by attacking Indian airfields
on 3 December, at 5.45 p.m. Incensed and irritated by the guerrilla tactics of
the Mukti Bahini and the incident at Boyra, Yahya Khan attacked India
from the air and on the ground. He had, however, waited too long. Yahya
Khan had hoped to destroy the Indian Air Force on the ground. But he was
to be disappointed. India was ready and prepared. IAF aircraft had been
protected and concealed, and India’s counteroffensive over land, sea and air
was launched the very next day. Pakistan was taken aback by the swiftness
and precision of the Indian response. For India, the main criterion for the
counteroffensive had to be speed because Yahya Khan had openly spoken
of help from the USA, China and the Middle East. Sam Manekshaw had
therefore decided that the war had to be decisively wrapped up well before
outside help from these countries could arrive.
Pakistan attacked exactly ten days after the conference of 23 November.
It would take about that much time for an offensive of such a magnitude to
be launched by the three services from the moment the order was given.
General Yahya Khan did not realize that this decision of his was going to
cost Pakistan dearly and that it would result in the loss of half of Pakistan.
In the words of Brigadier Siddiqi of Pakistan, ‘This was a self-imposed war
with India.’* Yahya Khan’s decision heralded the beginning of the 1971 war
and the end of East Pakistan.
As the title of this story suggests, it was ‘The Beginning of the End’!
Postscript

It was, in fact, the beginning of the end in many other ways as well! It was a
new beginning for the people of East Pakistan who were freed from
overwhelming, ruthless domination. It was also the end of an era which had
bled the eastern wing of all her resources, without it getting anything back
in return. It was also the beginning of the return to the rich traditions and
culture of Sonar Bangla, and the end of forceful imposition of the Urdu
language on the people of East Pakistan. Finally, it was the beginning of
Bangladesh and the end of the ‘two-nation theory’.
 The Race for Dhaka

‘A good plan is like a road map; it shows you your final destination and usually the best
way to get there.’

—Anonymous

The decision taken by General Yahya Khan to commence the war against
India on or around 3 December 1971 came to be known to General Jacob at
Headquarters Eastern Command on 1 December. His radio intercepting
stations reported a message from West to East Pakistan regarding a warning
to merchant shipping not to enter the Bay of Bengal and restricting civilian
aircraft from flying near the Indian border. These intercepts indicated that
Pakistan intended to attack India in the course of the next few days. General
Jacob passed this information to the Indian Army, Navy and Air Force, who
took action accordingly.* The credence of this information was reinforced
when the Australian military attaché, called on General Inder Singh Gill,
Director of Military Operations, Indian Army a few days before the war,
and stated that something was brewing in Pakistan, because all the women
and children were being asked to leave in twenty-four hours, and it looked
as if Pakistan was getting ready to move militarily. General Gill
immediately informed General Manekshaw, who in turn informed Prime
Minister Indira Gandhi.*
The overall aim of the three protagonists was not difficult to discern.
India just wanted the genocide of the people of East Pakistan to stop, so that
the refugees could go back to their homes. Pakistan, on the other hand,
wanted to forever crush the democratic aspirations of East Pakistan, and
their dreams of autonomy and self-rule. The aim of the Bangladesh
government in exile was to free themselves forever from the oppressive rule
of Pakistan.
The overall military strategy laid down by India was ‘offence in the east;
offensive defence in the south, west and the north’. The east meant East
Pakistan; the south meant the desert region of Rajasthan; the west meant the
plains of Punjab; and the north meant the plains and hills of Jammu and
Kashmir, and the snow-clad mountains of Ladakh. The navy’s strategy was
to go on the offensive on both the western and eastern seaboards, and the air
force decided that their best strategy was to destroy the air element of East
Pakistan in the early stages of the war.
The focus of offensive operations was in the east because that was where
the problem had started and that was where it needed to be finished. Time
was critical, and in keeping with the principles of war of ‘offensive action’,
‘concentration of force’ and ‘maintenance of momentum’, additional forces
had to be allocated to Eastern Command to ensure quick success.
In line with the military strategy, preparations had begun well in advance.
The Army Chief accepted the risk of diverting some of Army Headquarters
reserves facing the north to provide the necessary resources to Eastern
Command for the offensive. He sent two divisions to the east and ordered
the raising of a new corps headquarters—Headquarters 2 Corps—for
command and control of these divisions under the Eastern Army. The
infantry divisions in Nagaland and Mizoram were extricated from their
commitments and made available for operations in the east grouped under a
headquarters loaned by 4 Corps. These divisions had no artillery, and this
deficiency had to be made up by denuding other fronts. A regiment of
medium armour and two regiments of light tanks were also diverted to
Eastern Command. Bridging resources were built up to the extent that the
Eastern Army could and did lay 10,000 feet of bridging—the largest
bridging effort in military history.*
 The divisions that had been moved from Western Command to the east
meant that Army Commander Western Command was denuded of the
forces he had planned to use for offensives on the Western Front. This was
very disappointing, and he said as much to the Army Chief.
Eastern Command, however, would bear the brunt of the war, and a lot of
preparation had to be done before war broke out. This meant that road
communication to forward areas had to be improved, landing grounds
constructed, ammunition of various categories moved up and dumps
created, cables laid to ensure an infallible communication system, bridging
equipment and stores moved forward in anticipation of the need to cross
river obstacles. Arrangements had to be made for evacuation of casualties
and space requested in civil hospitals. Contingency plans had to cater for
the use of rivercraft to move troops across rivers, road space demanded for
the movement of convoys, railway trains requisitioned to move troops
forward, and workshops moved to forward areas to repair transport and
equipment. Liaison had also to be carried out with the state governments
bordering East Pakistan, to warn them of the possible effects of the war and
get the assistance that might be required from them.
The army realized that the major problems of the defence policy could
not be dealt with purely on military terms, and that these had to be
dovetailed with internal, external and financial policies. The Army Chief’s
close rapport with the Prime Minister helped. As Chairman of the Chiefs of
Staff Committee, General Manekshaw pressed for the political involvement
of the government in evolving a broad strategy and clear directive for the
achievement of military aims. For this, he was able to secure the
involvement of D.P. Dhar, Chairman of the Planning Committee of the
Ministry of External Affairs. He reactivated the Joint Intelligence
Committee and the Joint Planning Committee, and commenced work as a
Combined Service Operational Headquarters, thus facilitating coordination
and cooperation between the three services. On the civil side, a Secretaries
Committee was set up to take executive decisions dealing with the
preparation for war. The Committee consisted of Secretaries of defence,
home, finance and foreign affairs. Other secretaries were co-opted as and
when required, as also the Director Generals of the paramilitary forces and
Civil Defence. The apex level of coordination, however, remained with
General Manekshaw and Dhar. The Prime Minister was kept informed, and
the Public Affairs Committee was briefed when necessary. The Chief
brooked no delay, whether in giving decisions or oiling the wheels of
sluggish machinery to get things moving. He was ‘on the spot’, whether in
the national capital or in the field.*
Yet there were differences of opinion between Eastern Command and
Army Headquarters on the possible intervention of the Chinese and the
capture of Dhaka. General Jacob, who had been monitoring the movement
of Chinese Army formations, was convinced that the Chinese would not
intervene, but Army Headquarters thought otherwise. With regard to the
capture of Dhaka, Eastern Command was clear that Dhaka, the geopolitical
and geostrategic heart of East Pakistan, was the primary and final objective.
Army Headquarters, on the other hand, felt that in keeping with the political
aim, the objectives should be the river line bordering the capital, and that
Dhaka would automatically fall once the formations reached there. These
differences between Eastern Command and Army Headquarters continued
till the closing stages of the war.
The implications of Chinese and US intervention were that Indian forces
in the north and the east could not be withdrawn from their locations till it
was clear that the passes were closed due to the winter snows. It was
decided that the answer to this problem was to complete the offensive in the
east in the shortest possible time, before external forces could come into
play.
General A.A.K. Niazi, the General Officer commanding all Pakistani
forces in East Pakistan, had adopted the strategy of what he called the
‘Fortress Concept’, i.e., a very strong belt of defences based on points
which he called fortresses. He hoped the Indians would attack these strong
defences, and he planned to defeat them by a process of attrition. This
strategy ensured a strong outer crust, but there were hardly any reserves to
cater for unforeseen situations. He demanded additional forces, and a
massive airlift of troops took place from West Pakistan. These troops had to
fly into East Pakistan via Sri Lanka, because the Indian government had
stopped all flights by Pakistan across Indian territory.
Dhaka was the citadel and core of Pakistan’s defences in East Pakistan,
and it became increasingly clear that it was the pivot on which the whole
concept of Niazi’s survival depended. However, deliberate defence of
Dhaka was not conceived of by the Pakistanis, and they hadn’t nominated
any force for its protection. Nor had India planned for its capture.
A plan for a paradrop on the outskirts of Dhaka had been made to
facilitate its capture if and when the need arose. The plan was made by Air
Vice Marshal Devasher, Brigadier Mathew Thomas, the Commander of the
Para Brigade and General Jacob. The plan envisaged the paradrop to take
place at Tangail, and a link-up with 101 Communication Zone coming from
the north and the Mukti Bahini located in the area.
Tangail, in central East Pakistan, was chosen for the paradrop because it
was the road junction where highways from Mymensingh and Jamalpur met
the road to Dhaka. Its capture would prevent Pakistan from reinforcing its
forces in the north and prevent withdrawal of the Pakistani forces stationed
there.
Before Independence, India and Pakistan had been trained by the British
to attack defensive positions where the enemy was strongest and to proceed
further only after the enemy position was destroyed. This is what General
Niazi hoped India would do. But Generals of the Indian Army realized that
if they fell into this trap, they would get involved in a hard slogging match
and do exactly what the Pakistani planners wanted, i.e., to impose delay till
outside help arrived.
India therefore decided to exploit the gaps between the fortresses, bypass
the strongholds and head for the interior areas. The Indian Army strategy
was based on mobility and speed. All units and formations were imbued
with the importance of the time factor and understood that irrespective of
difficulties, it was essential that the offensive be successfully concluded
before other countries or the UN could intervene. Every soldier was
encouraged and motivated to improvise and move fast, and to wrap up the
operations as quickly as possible.
 The Army Chief, General Sam Manekshaw, had visited all front-line
troops and, in his own inimitable way, told them he wanted a quick victory
so that the citizens of East Pakistan could go back to their homes and the
Indian Army to its barracks. This was a war where everyone in the armed
forces, right from the top leaders to the soldiers on the ground, knew what
was required of them—what was to be done, how it was to be done and by
when it was to be done!
It also needs to be remembered that Sam Manekshaw and Yahya Khan
were the senior-most generals in their respective armies. Prior to Partition,
Sam and Yahya had worked in the same section in the Military Operations
Directorate. Sam was the GSO1, and Yahya was his GSO2, serving directly
under him.* Sam could therefore read Yahya like a book and anticipate his
every move.
Meanwhile, General Niazi was strengthening all the communication
centres and towns to prevent advancing forces from getting through to the
interior areas. He consequently based his defences on the important
communication centres of Jessore, Jhenida, Bogra, Rangpur, Jamalpur,
Mymensingh, Sylhet, Bhairab Bazar, Comilla and Chittagong as theatre
fortresses. He felt that the Indian attacking forces could be held by these
strong defences based on river obstacles and deep minefields. He grouped
the theatre fortresses in the various sectors so that they fell within the
command and control of his divisions and brigades.
The basic flaw in this concept was that whereas the outer crust of his
defence line was strong, it did not have depth, and he did not have reserves
against enemy assaulting forces that got through the gaps between the
fortresses.
The Indian concept of ‘jugaad’* was very much in evidence! Bicycles and
rickshaws were used to move battalion mortars and machine guns. Local
boats and rafts made of bamboo and the trunks of banana plants were used
to ferry ammunition and stores across rivers, and the people of East
Pakistan helped the Indian Army in every possible way.
The Indian Army advanced into East Pakistan from three different
directions. The success of bypassing strong points and heading for interior
communication centres by the Indian Army was paying off well.
Encouraged by the success of the innovative methods used by battalions to
move fast across river obstacles, and the speed of the advancing Indian
forces, the Indian Corps Commanders now began to set their eyes on
Dhaka, as it became increasingly obvious that Dhaka needed to be the main
focus of operations both militarily and politically. Dhaka was the centre of
gravity of Pakistan’s civil and military government in East Pakistan, and if
Dhaka wobbled and fell, the Pakistani government in East Pakistan would
collapse.
East Pakistan was surrounded by India on three sides. Accordingly, it was
decided to launch the land and air offensives from three directions while the
Indian Navy would blockade the fourth, which was open to the sea. It was
also important that the Pakistan Air Force in East Pakistan was knocked out
of the war as early as possible, to ensure air superiority.
Though the initial military plan had been the capture of all territory of
East Pakistan up to the river lines, it now became necessary to keep Dhaka
as the ultimate objective. Early capture of the river lines and the ferries
would facilitate operations into Dhaka and its ultimate capture. Eastern
Command was initially given the task of destroying Pakistani forces and
occupying all important areas of East Pakistan. It tasked the corps and the
communication zone accordingly. Orders were subsequently modified to
liberate the whole of East Pakistan, and that included Dhaka. A flexible
response to new opportunities was necessary, and the army responded
magnificently.
The race for Dhaka had begun.

The Race for Dhaka

India’s border with East Pakistan was approximately 4000 kilometres long.
It was surrounded by the state of West Bengal to the west, Meghalaya to the
north, the Cachar state of Assam and the state of Tripura to the east, and the
Bay of Bengal to the south. To the south-east lay the Chittagong Hills,
which had a common border with Burma. East Pakistan had three major
rivers flowing through it—the Padma, the Jamuna and the Meghna. Before
emptying into the Bay of Bengal, these rivers form vast deltas that reach far
inland. With the exception of the Chittagong Hill Tracts and Sylhet, the
countryside is low-lying and waterlogged, consisting as it does mostly of
land intersected by numerous rivers and rivulets. A large part of the country
is marshy due to the cultivation of rice and jute. The rivers flow from north
to south, are very wide and become tidal in the lower reaches. Hills, lakes
and marshland cover the southern region. The monsoon breaks with full
force in the middle of May and lasts till mid-October. The heavy rains make
the rivers into seas and the low-lying country into lakes.
India’s Eastern Army, which had been tasked for offensive operations
against East Pakistan, comprised 2 Corps in the South-Western Sector, 33
Corps in the North-Western Sector, 101 Communication Zone in the
Northern Sector and 4 Corps in the Eastern Sector.

2 Corps

Commanded by Lieutenant General T.N. Raina, 2 Corps had on its orbat*

two mountain divisions, a para brigade less a battalion, a regiment of
armour (PT-76) and a squadron of T-55 tanks to capture Jhenida, Jessore
and subsequently Hardinge Bridge, Goalundo Ghat, the Faridpur ferries and
Khulna, and then move on to Dhaka.
This sector had excellent road and rail communications, and 2 Corps
stood the best chance of making it first to Dhaka. Several important
objectives lay on its approach. Jessore, in fact, was next only in importance
to Dhaka, especially as it had an airfield which, when captured, would
facilitate IAF operations in the corps sector. The Ferry sites and river
crossings, if speedily captured, would threaten Dhaka. Facing 2 Corps was
a Pakistani infantry division commanded by Major General M.H. Ansari.

33 Corps

Commanded by Lieutenant General M.L. Thapan, 33 Corps had on its orbat

a mountain division and a mountain brigade to cut the line Hilli-Gaibanda,
and to capture Bogra and Rampur. The corps was operating in the north-
western sector of East Pakistan, and its eastern limits were bounded by the
Brahmaputra–Jamuna rivers. The 33 Corps sector was not considered of
strategic value as it did not offer a quick route to Dhaka or other towns or
cities whose capture would be of propaganda value.
This sector, however, contained the largest chunk of the Pakistani Army
as well as the bulk of Pakistani armour. The key objectives of the corps
were the theatre fortresses of Rangpur and Bogra, and the important
communication centres of Hilli, Nawabganj and Dinajpur. General Officer
Commanding 16 Pakistan Division had deployed his forces well ahead of
the fortresses and the communication centres to deny them to the advancing
Indian forces. These forces were to fall back if pressed hard by the Indians.

4 Corps

Commanded by Lieutenant General Sagat Singh, 4 Corps had on its orbat

three mountain divisions. Its area of operations was east of the Meghna
River, which was a natural line of defence to the Dhaka area, encompassing
the Sylhet sector in the north-east to Chandpur in the east and the
Chittagong Hill Tracts to the south. In addition to the mountain divisions, it
had armoured elements, an independent brigade and several East Bengal
Infantry battalions. The three divisions were tasked with the capture of the
Sylhet, Comilla and Chandpur sectors, respectively.
To be sure, 4 Corps had a critical advantage over the other sectors in that
it held all helicopter assets for heliborne operations. The Hunters operating
from Kumbhigram and the MiGs operating from Guwahati could provide it
with close air support.

101 Communication Zone

Commanded by Major General Gurbaksh Sing Gill and later on by Major

General Nagra (after General Gill got wounded), 101 Communication Zone
had on its orbat 95 Infantry Brigade and FJ Sector. It was tasked to capture
Jamalpur, Mymensingh and subsequently Tangail. It had the closest
approach to Dhaka.

50 Independent Para Brigade

The Para Brigade consisted of a brigade less a battalion. It was commanded

by Brigadier Mathew Thomas. A paradrop was to take place at Tangail
independently of the Para Brigade.

Conduct of Operations

On the 2 Corps front, General Raina sent his infantry divisions in two
thrusts to liberate areas west of the Madhumati River. Niazi’s strongholds
were contained while fast-moving columns bypassed them and raced
towards key areas in the interior. The two divisional thrusts broke up into
several columns heading for Jhenida, Jessore, Khulna and Barisal—to cut
the Khulna–Jessore–Khustia rail line and prevent the lateral move of the
enemy. Raina considered Jessore to be the key to this sector.
Sketch showing offensives by the three corps and 101 Communication Zone.
 The brigades in all the sectors moved on foot across paddy fields,
streams, rivers and marshland, carrying all their gear. Every form of local
transport was used, including cycles, cycle rickshaws, bullock carts, village
boats and rafts, and the locals were only too eager to help the Indian Army
to go cross-country into battle. By 7 December, the rail link was cut and
Jhenida captured. On the same day, Jessore, considered to be a very strong
fortress, was vacated by the enemy without a fight.
Jessore was held by an infantry brigade group supported by tanks and
artillery—a force of over 5000 men. Yet, when the time came to fight, the
enemy just melted away. In less than twenty-four hours, Indian forces took
an objective they had estimated would take a week of bitter fighting. By 12
December, Khustia and Hardinge Bridge were taken after severe fighting.
Meanwhile, Gnats and Hunters from Kalaikunda and Sukhois from
Panagarh attacked Pakistani troops trying to use ferries to withdraw across
the Padma. By 14 December, 2 Corps were on the outskirts of Dhaka. The
fall of Jessore without a fight had facilitated the speed by which 2 Corps
reached the periphery of the capital of East Pakistan.
On the 33 Corps front, Rangpur and Bogra were fortresses and Hilli,
Dinajpur and Nawabganj important communication centres. Major General
Nazar Hussain Shah deployed his forces well ahead of the fortresses to
deny axes of advance to the Indians. These forces were to fall back to the
fortresses when forced to yield ground. Strong concrete bunkers were
constructed along the routes of ingress. Hilli, in particular, was very
strongly held. At some places, whole railway coaches had been dug into the
ground to serve as pillboxes. The enemy in this sector resisted to the last.
Hilli was invested on 6 December, and every bunker had to be virtually
destroyed before it could be captured. Indian troops suffered heavy
casualties. The Bogra defences, on the other hand, were contacted on 13
December and captured by the next day after heavy fighting.
By 14 December, Bogra was cleared and the Brigade, commanded by
Bakshi Joginder Singh, was earmarked for operations in the Western Sector.
So it marched out of the east to the Western Front. The remaining elements
of 20 Indian Infantry Division headed for Rangpur and, on the of night 14–
15 December, arrived on the outskirts of Dhaka.
Under Lieutenant General Sagat Singh, 4 Corps was the strongest corps
of India’s Eastern Army. It had the longest stretch of border as its
operational front. Its task was to liberate all territory of East Pakistan up to
the Meghna River. General Sagat felt that if he could close up to the
Meghna in the area of Daudkhandi–Chandpur, he could pose a threat to
Dhaka. At the same time, he had to ensure that enemy forces in the area of
the Sylhet–Maulvi Bazar sector and the Feni–Chittagong sector did not
interfere with his operations.
He accordingly launched General K.V.K. Rao towards Sylhet to capture
Maulvi Bazar, the Sherpur Ferries and, if possible, Sylhet. General Ben
Gonsalves was tasked to capture Akhaura, Daudkhandi and Chittagong.
Major General R.D. Hira was made responsible for operations in the
Chandpur sector and for the clearance of the enemy from the Lalmai Hills.
Constantly hovering over the battle areas in his helicopter, Sagat learnt
that an enemy brigade was withdrawing from the Sylhet sector for the
defence of Dhaka. He concluded that this was 202 Pakistan Infantry
Brigade, which was holding Sylhet, and he tasked the 4th Battalion of the
5th Gorkha Rifles (FF) to capture Sylhet in the Indian Army’s first
heliborne operation. This battalion had already fought two fierce battles at
Atgram and Gazipur, and had suffered heavy casualties. It was, in fact, less
than half its original strength.
Unknown to General Sagat Singh, the brigade that was to withdraw to
Dhaka was not 202 Pakistani Brigade that was holding Sylhet; it was
Pakistan’s 313 Brigade at Maulvi Bazar. This brigade, instead of
withdrawing to Dhaka, moved to Sylhet. So, by the time the Gorkha
Battalion landed in Sylhet on the evening of 7 December, it was faced with
an enemy strength of two brigades and the Sylhet Garrison in the
disadvantageous ratio of 1:20. The battalion, however, hung on to Sylhet for
nine days and nights in an epic defensive operation that kept the strength of
nearly a division’s worth of enemy troops away from the main battle for
Dhaka, allowing the corps to operate across the Meghna without
interference.
Gangasagar was taken on 4 December and Akhaura on 5 December after
heavy fighting (Lance Naik Albert Ekka was awarded the Param Vir Chakra
for his courage at the battle of Gangasagar). On 9 December, Sagat moved 4
Guards and 10 Bihar by his small helicopter force across the Meghna after
two spans of the bridge across the Meghna had been destroyed. By 12
December, Sagat had lined up a divisional-sized force to assault Dhaka
from different directions. Later, the whole of 311 Indian Infantry Brigade
concentrated at Narsinghdi for the main attack on Dhaka, which was
planned for the night 14–15 December. Medium guns mounted on rafts for
the investment of Dhaka were towed across the Meghna by motor launches.
By its sudden and spectacular heliborne crossing of the Meghna, 4 Corps
surprised everyone. Commanders at all levels showed courage, innovation
and initiative. The exemplary drive and boldness of General Sagat Singh
brought 4 Corps to the gates of Dhaka on 14 December, in record time.
Events followed one after another that put General A.A.K. Niazi on the
back foot and made him apprehensive of his ability to hold the Indians who
were converging on to Dhaka. Among these offensive actions was the
paradrop at Tangail.
Foreign correspondents had noticed Indian paratroopers at Dumdum
airport in their distinctive camouflage jackets, maroon berets, cap badges
and insignia, which make this elite group of soldiers recognizable all over
the world. War correspondents sought clarification from Eastern Command
as to whether this force was the Indian Parachute Brigade. The Chief of
Staff of Eastern Command, Major General Jacob, deliberately gave no
clarification. All he said was, ‘We have no comments. You can come to
your own conclusions.’
The foreign correspondents came to the conclusion that if Headquarters
Eastern Command was not clearly indicating the strength of the
paratroopers, their strength must therefore be on the higher side. They
therefore came to the wrong conclusion that the force was a para brigade.
The force, in fact, was only a para battalion.
 On the afternoon of 11 December, the 2nd Battalion of the Parachute
Regiment was dropped on the outskirts of Dhaka. Based on the mistaken
assumption that the paratroopers were in brigade-strength, the CBS network
reported that an Indian para brigade had been dropped around Dhaka. So,
once again, an exaggerated strength of Indian forces was reported by
reliable news agencies, causing panic and consternation in the ranks of the
Pakistani higher command. The Pakistani military high command in Dhaka
felt greatly intimidated to see the sky covered by the parachutes of hundreds
of paratroopers literally dropping out of the sky on the outskirts of their
garrison.
Earlier, in the fighting around Sylhet, the BBC had mistakenly broadcast
that a Gorkha Brigade had landed at Sylhet, whereas it was an under-
strength Gorkha Battalion. So, genuine mistakes by foreign correspondents
pushed the Pakistanis to believe that they were being attacked by forces
larger than they were actually facing. This shaped their perception on the
unfolding events of the war and had a profound effect on their decision-
making.
By 13 December 1971, Indian forces had begun closing in on Dhaka,
bypassing the Pakistani brigades and divisions which were left holding on
to their defensive positions. Meanwhile, Sam Manekshaw, the Indian Army
Chief, made three broadcasts advising the Pakistani forces to surrender or to
accept destruction.
In his broadcast of 14 December, the Indian Army Chief warned Major
General Rao Farman Ali, who was commanding the Dhaka garrison, of the
futility of protracting the conflict. The Indian Army Chief reiterated his
guarantee of complete protection and just treatment under the Geneva
Conventions. In his final warning, General Manekshaw said:
I have appealed to you twice already. But there has been no response from you so far. I
wish to repeat that further resistance is senseless and will mean death to many poor
soldiers under your command quite unnecessarily. I reiterate my guarantee of complete
protection and just treatment under the Geneva Conventions to military and quasi-
military personnel who surrender to my forces. Neither need you have any apprehension
with regard to the forces of Bangladesh as they are all under a joint operation command
 and the Government of Bangladesh has issued instructions for the compliance of the
provisions of the Geneva Conventions.
My forces are now closing in around Dhaka and your garrisons there are within range
of my artillery. I have issued instructions to my troops to afford complete protection to
foreign nationals and all ethnic minorities. It should be the duty of all commanders to
prevent useless shedding of innocent blood and I am therefore appealing to you once
again to cooperate with me in discharging this humane responsibility.
Should you, however, decide to continue to offer resistance, may I strongly urge that
you ensure that all civilians and foreign nationals are removed to safe distance from the
area of conflict. For the sake of your own men, I hope you will not compel me to reduce
your garrison by the use of force.

On14, 15 and 16 December, events took place that were critical to the fall
of Dhaka.
By the night of 14–15 December, the advance elements of the three corps
of the Eastern Army and 101 Communication Zone, which had converged
on the outskirts of Dhaka, were stopped from continuing their offensive
operations. Poised as they were on the outskirts of the capital of East
Pakistan, the formations were straining at the leash for their entry into the
city, but their move forward was stopped by Headquarters Eastern
Command on orders from Army Headquarters, New Delhi. Entry by our
troops into Dhaka would have resulted in bloody street fighting and would
have resulted in heavy civilian casualties which the Government of India
wanted to avoid. A unilateral ceasefire was ordered by the Indian Army
Chief from 7 p.m. on 15 December to 9 a.m. on 16 December, to give the
Pakistani military and political hierarchy time to make up their minds to
surrender or continue the war.
The race for Dhaka was terminated just before India’s offensive
formations could cross the finish line!
In the meanwhile, in the Security Council of the UN, resolution after
resolution backed by the Americans and their allies was being passed to
order a ceasefire. But the Soviets were able to veto these resolutions till it
became quite impossible for them to exercise their veto any longer, and they
urged Delhi to wind up the war quickly.
 On the evening of 14 December, it was learnt that the nuclear-powered
aircraft carrier USS Enterprise, of the American Seventh Fleet,
accompanied by a fleet of eleven warships consisting of a mix of
destroyers, missile frigates, amphibious assault ships and a helicopter
carrier, had crossed the Straits of Malacca on the night 13–14 December
and were on their way to the Bay of Bengal. The fleet had been ordered by
President Nixon to come to the rescue of Pakistan, his beleaguered ally.
On the morning of 14 December, while Rao Farman Ali and his advisers
were still dithering on a possible response to General Manekshaw’s call for
surrender, the Army Chief walked from his office to Military Operations
Directorate, known as ‘the Cage’, and swung into the office of Major Vijay
Oberoi, the then GSO2 of the section dealing with East Pakistan. This
section had a direct ‘hotline’ with Headquarters Eastern Command,
Calcutta.
Major Oberoi was surprised to see the Chief walk into his office, just like
that! The Chief, however, in his own inimitable style, put Oberoi at ease
and asked him to put him through to the Chief of Staff Eastern Command.
Vijay picked up the phone, and there was an immediate response from the
other end.
‘Hi, Vijay,’ said a voice from Eastern Command. ‘What is it now?’
Vijay said, ‘Can you please get General Jacob on the line? The Chief
would like to speak with him.’ There was a response from the officer which
Vijay did not want the Chief to hear—but he did.
The Chief smiled and said, ‘Give me the phone . . . Sam here, can I speak
with the Chief of Staff immediately please?’
After a minute, the Chief of Staff Eastern Command was on the line.
‘Jakes here, sir.’
‘What is their response to my ultimatum?’
‘Nothing yet.’
‘Do you think a few artillery rounds in the vicinity of Abdullah’s*
headquarters would speed things up a bit?’
‘Yes, I do. I was thinking of doing something on those lines myself.’
 ‘Okay. Go ahead. Place a few rounds as close as possible to his
headquarters and repeat the salvo every ten minutes. Let’s hope they
understand we mean business.’
‘Wilco,† sir. Is that all? Anything else?’
‘No. Just keep Inder* informed.’
Although the race for Dhaka was terminated on the city’s outskirts by
Army Headquarters, Major General Nagra, GOC, 101 Communication
Zone, accompanied by Brigadier Kler, Commander, 95 Infantry Brigade,
and Brigadier Sant Singh reached the area of Mirpur Bridge on the outskirts
of Dhaka, being held by 2 Para which had been paradropped on the
outskirts of Dhaka on 11 December. Nagra sent a message to Niazi through
his ADC and two officers of 2 Para. The message read as follows:
My dear Abdullah, I am here. The game is up. I suggest you give yourself up to me, and I
will look after you.†

Nagra had been posted some years earlier as the Indian Military Attache to
Pakistan and knew Niazi personally.
So, was there a race after all for the capture of Dhaka?
The answer is ‘Yes’. GOC 4 Corps, by his statements and actions,
certainly indicated that he wanted to be the first into Dhaka and used
heliborne forces to reach there on 14 December. As 2 Corps was best placed
to reach Dhaka early, it justified this expectation, helped perhaps by the fact
that Jessore fell without a fight. Closest to Dhaka from the north was 101
Communication Zone. It aimed to reach Dhaka first but arrived on the same
day as the other formations. It was, however, the first to enter Dhaka.
Furthest away was 33 Corps, and it had the bulk of Pakistani opposition
facing it. So there was no question of its participating in any race. Yet it
reached the outskirts of Dhaka around the same time as the others.
It must be remembered, however, that in addition to the race by the
offensive formations to reach Dhaka first, the real race for Dhaka was a race
against time!
It was imperative for the Indian Army to reach Dhaka soonest, so as to
wrap up the war before the Americans, the Chinese or the United Nations
could intervene. In this race against time, the Russians were extremely
helpful. They exercised their power of the veto time and again in the UN,
preventing the Americans, the Chinese and the Pakistanis, who were
desperately trying to stop the war through their calls for a ceasefire. The
veto by the Russians and the amazing speed with which the Indian armed
forces wrapped up the war on the Eastern Front got India the time it
critically needed to terminate the war on its own terms.
Although India’s Eastern Army was euphoric about the speed with which
the formations had reached the outskirts of Dhaka, there was an element of
disappointment with the directive that prevented them from continuing the
war. Commanders wanted to capture objectives in Dhaka that were well
within their reach, but Delhi had decided to call a halt to further operations,
and the formations had to fall in line.
The offensive formations of the Indian Army were stopped from entering
the city, on orders from Delhi to prevent unnecessary bloodshed—but the
threat of further fighting shook the Pakistani government in East Pakistan.
Dhaka trembled, toppled and fell.
By the time USS Enterprise and the rest of the American Seventh Fleet
could reach the Bay of Bengal, East Pakistan had been liberated and
Bangladesh was born.
The arrival of the Seventh Fleet in the Bay of Bengal triggered a response
from the Soviets, who directed a taskforce which was already operating in
the Indian Ocean to move towards the American Fleet, should it be required
to do so. A nuclear-powered submarine was part of this force. Seeing that
the situation in East Pakistan had gone beyond redemption, the Seventh
Fleet hung around for a few days and returned from where it had come.
The world now sat up and took notice. They were taken aback by the
speed with which the Indian armed forces had defeated an entrenched
enemy. The world, including the United States of America and the United
Kingdom, had no option but to express grudging admiration for the manner
in which the war was conducted and wrapped up in record time.
The speed of operations and the winding up of the war by the Indian
Army in East Pakistan in just thirteen days was compared by some Western
authors to the blitzkrieg conducted by Germany over Western Europe
during World War II. The part played by the IAF in knocking out the
Pakistan Air Force in East Pakistan was a major contributary factor in this
victory, because by destroying the PAF in East Pakistan during the early
stages of the war, the Indian Army and Navy were able to carry out their
operations without hindrance.
The Indian soldier came in for his share of praise for his conduct in the
war. The Indian government’s permission to allow foreign war
correspondents to accompany our front-line troops in the offensives gave
the world unbiased reportage on the war and the ethical way in which the
war had been conducted by India.
It is worth listening to what Sydney Schanberg of the New York Times
had to say about the conduct of the soldiers of the Indian Army: 12
I don’t like sitting around praising armies. I don’t like armies because armies mean war –
and I don’t like wars. But this (the Indian Army) was something . . . They were great all
the way. There was never a black mark . . . I lived with the officers and I walked, rode
with the jawans – and they were all great. Sure, some of them were scared at first – they
wouldn’t be human if they weren’t. But I never saw a man flinch because he was scared.
There is a tremendous spirit (in the Indian Army) and it did one good to experience it . . .
I have seen our boys in Viet Nam – and this army was different. Their (the Indian
Army’s) arms and equipment weren’t as good – but what they had, they used with effect .
. . and could they improvise! I saw recoilless guns carried on shoulders, big guns pushed
across marshes like ox-carts by jawans, villagers, officers; everybody was in it together . .
. And they were the most perfect gentlemen – I have never seen them do a wrong thing –
not even when they saw how bestial the enemy had been.*

There were other reasons why the Pakistan Army in the east was defeated
so decisively and quickly. As the Sunday Telegraph of 19 December put it,
‘India won above all, because of a sense of vision, a carefully defined and
maintained sense of purpose with which the leadership, inspired, by Mrs.
Indira Gandhi had imbued the nation.’†
The 1971 war also revealed the competence of the leadership in the
armed forces, and among them, Lieutenant General Sagat Singh proved to
be one of the finest strategic and tactical Commanders that the war
produced. His aggressiveness, ability to quickly read the battle situation,
propensity to take risks, belief in the competence of his subordinate
Commanders and the soldiers gained for him the reputation of being a
soldier’s General. He was on the top of every battle situation that presented
itself. He could read the mind of the enemy Commander and anticipate
what he would do and take action, giving no respite to his opponent. He
showed imagination and innovation in his heliborne operations in the
capture of Sylhet and his crossing of the Meghna, by surprising the enemy
and leaving him flat-footed.
Sagat was fortunate in having colleagues like Group Captain Chandan
Singh and Battalion Commanders like Lieutenant Colonel Harolikar, who
matched his energy, commitment and resolve. The guts, perseverance and
determination of the helicopter pilots also played a big part in the success of
these operations. A conversation with his Army Commander, General J.S.
Aurora, with regard to the crossing of the Meghna, indicates General
Sagat’s firm resolve to let nothing stop him from being the first to reach
Dhaka. He is reported to have said:
Jaggi, I am a Corps Commander, I am expected to exploit an opportunity. If an
opportunity presents itself to cross the Meghna, and gives you an aim plus, I will take it. I
am giving you the West Bank and beyond; you should be happy.*

The ‘race for Dhaka’ can in some ways be compared to the ‘race for Berlin’
during World War II. In that war, it was a race between the Allied Forces—
the British, the Americans and the Russians—to reach Berlin first. Berlin,
too, was never captured. Berlin fell!
But there was a difference, and the difference was that the fall of Berlin
was precipitated by a lot of street fighting. The Allies at the close of the war
were racing forward for the conquest of territory and spheres of influence
for their respective countries. India, however, was fighting for the liberation
of East Pakistan and the creation of Bangladesh, and not for the conquest of
territory. Fighting on the streets of Dhaka was to be avoided, to prevent
unnecessary bloodshed and ensure that lives of the citizens of Dhaka were
not jeopardized.
 It also needs to be remembered that one of the causes of the success of
Indian operations was the fact that it was faced with a rabble of officers and
soldiers—as an enemy—not a disciplined army!
The wanton killings, rape of women and children, lack of respect for
ethics and accepted rules for the conduct of war in East Pakistan by
depraved soldiers of the Pakistan Army, led by its debauched officers, broke
the bond of trust between their officers and men. Lack of self-respect of
every individual of that army permeated right from General Niazi down to
the last soldier. How could such an army fight? Yes, in some battles, the
Pakistani soldiers, who were well led, did fight well, but overall, it was a
debased, dissolute and immoral army that had lost the will to fight.
After the war, Sam Manekshaw, the Indian Army Chief, was asked to
comment on the war. In his inimitable and humorous way, he said: ‘Many
years ago, before Independence and the Partition of India, Yahya and I
served together at Military Operations Branch, Army Headquarters, New
Delhi. I had a motorbike which Yahya wanted. I gave it to him for Rs 1000.
He said he would pay me later. He never did. However, nearly twenty-five
years later, he paid me back with half his country!’

Postscript
1. The account of this story terminates here. The sequel, which
elaborates on the final days of the war and the surrender by General
Niazi and all Pakistani forces in East Pakistan, falls into the pages of
the next story, ‘The Last Straw’.
2. This narrative gives the reader some idea of how the war was
conducted. I have deliberately not gone into detailed descriptions of
the conduct of operations, as the reader would get bogged down with
military detail. What has been described is the barest minimum.
Those who are interested in specifics may refer to the bibliography,
which gives a list of books by military authors from both India and
Pakistan that offer detailed descriptions of the operations and also
views from the ‘other side of the hill’.
 The Last Straw

‘It was the last straw that broke the camel’s back.’

—Proverb

Although the race for Dhaka was dramatic, there was more drama to follow.
This time, it was the Indian Air Force and General J.F.R. Jacob who would
hold centre stage during the final days of the war.
Whereas India was looking for the surrender of all Pakistani forces on the
Eastern Front, Pakistan was doing its level best, both in the United Nations
and through its diplomatic channels, to ensure a ceasefire and not a
surrender.
Time was at a premium. The United States of America and her acolytes
were pushing the UN for a closure of the war and for a ceasefire. However,
there was not a single reference, either by the UN or in the many US
motions, to the genocide perpetrated by Pakistan on the hapless citizens of
its eastern wing or on the political aspirations of an independent
Bangladesh, let alone the manner in which these could be fulfilled. The
resolutions moved by France, UK and the non-permanent members of the
Security Council conformed to the contents of the US motions. The
Russians were doing their best to exercise their veto to let the Indian Army
conclude the war to its advantage, but they were also urging India to finish
the war as quickly as possible, because they were running out of reasons to
continue exercising their veto.
 Meanwhile, a taskforce of the American Seventh Fleet from the Pacific
was on its way to aid Pakistan—America’s beleaguered ally. The American
nuclear aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise, and its support ships had crossed
the Straits of Malacca on the night of 13–14 December and would soon be
entering the Bay of Bengal. The Indian Navy did not know what to make of
it, and what would happen when the two navies faced each other in Indian
territorial waters.
There was also concern at Army Headquarters New Delhi, as to the status
of the towns and fortresses that had been bypassed by the Indian attacking
formations. If it was going to be a ceasefire, then technically, those areas
that had not been captured would be considered as islands of Pakistani
territory, and that would cause major problems for India and Bangladesh.
This made it all the more important to force the Government of East
Pakistan to surrender. A ceasefire was just not acceptable.
Time was running out on all fronts, and something had to be done to
ensure the capitulation of East Pakistan and the early surrender of all its
forces.
In the course of the war, 14 December was an important day. It was the
day when elements of the Indian Army formations were approaching the
outskirts of Dhaka; it was the day when the Indian Army Chief gave time to
the East Pakistani military and political hierarchy to surrender or accept the
consequences; and it was the day that the Seventh Fleet of the United States
Navy had entered the Bay of Bengal. It was also the day when something
happened that would set in motion a series of events that would have far
reaching effects on the closure of the war.

The USS Enterprise and ships of the Seventh Fleet.

 On the morning of 14 December 1971, the telephone operator at the
Intercontinental Hotel in Dhaka answered an urgent call by a representative
of the East Pakistan government. The caller asked for John Kelly, the
representative of the UN High Commission for Refugees, who was taking
sanctuary in the hotel, which now functioned as a Red Cross-designated
neutral zone. The caller put Kelly through to Dr A.M. Malik, the Governor
of East Pakistan. Malik asked Kelly and his colleague Peter Wheeler to visit
him at Governor’s House, to attend a meeting with his cabinet and tender
advice. The invitation had also been extended to Sven Lampell, the
representative of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC).
These radio telephonic conversations were intercepted by an Indian Air
Force wireless interception unit operating in unison with similar units of the
Indian Army’s Eastern Command. The conversations were encrypted, and
on decoding it was learnt that the list of those who would also attend the
meeting included the Martial Law Administrator and the Air Officer
Commanding, Pakistan Air Force Dhaka, among others. Lieutenant Colonel
P.C. Bhalla, officer in charge of Signal Intelligence at Eastern Command
Calcutta, brought the intercept to Major General Jacob at 0930 hours.
General Jacob immediately phoned Air Vice Marshal Devasher, Senior Air
Staff Officer at Eastern Air Command in Shillong. Both felt that a
disruption of the meeting would help push the Governor to accept the call
for surrender. Governor Malik was the highest decision-making person in
East Pakistan and could take decisions on future courses of action to
prolong or to terminate the war by insisting on a ceasefire or accepting a
surrender. An airstrike on the Conference Room where the meeting was to
be held would help to move the decision in India’s favour, by paralysing the
decision-making process.
The communication from the office of the Governor indicated that the
meeting would be held at the conference room of Governor’s House. The
message not only indicated the room but also the time. The scheduled time
for the meeting was twelve o’clock on the afternoon of 14 December 1971.
It was concluded by the Indian high command that if Indian fighter
aircraft could target the conference room with a few rockets, a few minutes
before the scheduled time of the conference, it would push the cabinet of
the Governor of East Pakistan to decide that surrender was a preferable
option, as their very lives were at stake. A ceasefire was of no use to a dead
Governor and dead members of the cabinet. Fear was the key to this plan!
Air Headquarters instructed Eastern Air Command barely an hour before
the meeting was to take place, to take immediate action. Eastern Air
Command quickly sent orders out to its squadrons at Guwahati and
Hashimara for an airstrike.
Time was running out and the minutes went ticking by—pilots had to be
briefed, aircraft fuelled and armed, and then pilots had to fly all the way to
Dhaka, which was nearly twenty minutes’ flying time away. The window of
opportunity was small and was getting smaller by the minute.
Group Captain Wollen at Guwahati was told that the meeting would take
place at the Circuit House. The pilots at Guwahati were not familiar with
individual buildings in Dhaka. How would the pilots know which was the
Circuit House in the mass of buildings in an extremely populous town? And
how could they know the exact location of the room where the meeting was
to be held? A frantic search for a map was initiated, but all that could be
found was a Burma Shell tourist map of Dhaka, which gave the pilots some
very basic information.
Wollen rushed to the Operations Room to find Wing Commander B.K.
Bishnoi and a group of pilots, who had just returned from a close support
mission, having a cup of tea. He quickly briefed them on the mission and
the need to hit the target by 11.20 a.m. Indian Standard Time and 11.50 East
Pakistan Time. The time was 10.55 a.m. IST. Bishnoi was sceptical. Flying
time to Dhaka was a little more than twenty minutes, and he had no clue
where the Circuit House was. Briefing Bishnoi from the Burma Shell tourist
map, Wollen indicated the Circuit House, which was located north of the
Race Course in a densely populated area.
The strike would be led by Bishnoi with Flight Lieutenant Chandrashekar
as his wingman. Flight Lieutenant G. Bala and Flight Lieutenant Hemu
Sardesai would follow. All four MiG-21s were armed with rockets. Bishnoi
and Chandrashekar ran towards their fighter aircraft, which had already
been refuelled and rearmed in accordance with standing orders and battle
drills. Bishnoi tucked the map in his side pocket. They had barely strapped
in and started their engines when Bishnoi noticed an officer from his
squadron running towards his aircraft waving a piece of paper, which was
handed over to him.
Bishnoi looked at the paper. On it were a few hastily scribbled words:
‘NOT CIRCUIT HOUSE—GOVERNOR’S HOUSE!’ Bishnoi
acknowledged the message, but it was too late to inform the other three
pilots. Bishnoi decided to maintain radio silence for fear of his
communication being intercepted. He decided to fly to Dhaka, read the map
en route and locate the Governor’s House once he was over Dhaka.
Equipped with this scanty information, Bishnoi and his wingman took off
for Dhaka on their critical mission, followed by Bala and Sardesai.
Meanwhile, 150 miles to the west, at Hashimara, Wing Commander S.K.
Kaul was similarly briefed for the same mission. However, he was correctly
informed that the target was Governor’s House. No one knew the location
of Governor’s House, but here too a Burma Shell tourist map was produced.
Kaul and his wingman, Flying Officer Harish Masand, would go in with
only front guns. Another pair of aircraft, armed with T-10 rockets and flown
by Squadron Leader A.A. Bose, with Flight Lieutenant K.B. Menon as
wingman, would follow. Wing Commander Kaul’s first question was:
‘Where is Governor’s House?’ As in the case of Bishnoi, the only available
map was the Burma Shell tourist map! This is what Kaul said:

It was a one-inch map. I couldn’t make head or tail of it. It showed a cluster of buildings.
From where it was produced or how it came there, how it was found in the underground
operations room of Hashimara, which had no town or anything, is a mystery! It was a
road map of Burmah Shell of Dacca town, which you can buy from a railway station.
How it appeared there I don’t know, don’t ask me. But it was there!

Meanwhile, Bishnoi, who had taken off first, took the map out of his pocket
and looked at it again when he was a few minutes away from the capital. As
he and his wingman pulled up over Dhaka, he radioed Chandrashekar, Bala
and Sardesai that the target was Governor’s House and not the Circuit
House. Sardesai acknowledged the change in target and said that he could
see Governor’s House. It was the only prominent building close to the
Dhaka railway station: a magnificent old building, in a lush green
compound, similar to the Raj Bhavans found in India; and that the house
and the surrounding lawns and gardens stood out starkly against the sprawl
of shops and houses around it. Governor’s House was located close to the
Dhaka cricket stadium, which was a prominent landmark.
Down below on the ground, it was nearing midday at Governor’s House.
The pilots could see a few cars parked outside the house belonging
probably to the Governor and officials of the East Pakistani government.
The Governor, A.M. Malik, John Kelly, the UN representative, and his
colleague Peter Wheeler had already arrived ahead of the others. Malik took
Kelly and Wheeler to a room adjoining the conference room to ask about
the situation. Dr Malik, frightened, asked Kelly, ‘Should we give up now,
do you think?’ Kelly did not want to commit on behalf of the United
Nations and hedged. However, Kelly warned him that he and his cabinet
would be in grave danger when the war was brought to a close, and that it
would be safer for him, his officials and his family to seek refuge at the
Intercontinental Hotel, the designated neutral zone.
While they were talking, Bishnoi and his wingman in their MiG-21s had
arrived over the target area. Bishnoi noticed the dome of Governor’s House
and reasoned that the conference room would be the largest room in the
building and that it would be immediately below the dome. He accordingly
briefed his wingman, and the aircraft that were following, as to what he was
going to do and specified the room as the target. In the first pass, Bishnoi
and his wingman each fired a salvo of sixteen rockets and went around and
fired their remaining rockets in the second pass. Inside the building there
was pandemonium. Kelly exited the building. This is what he says in his
book Three Days in Dacca 1971:

During the first part of the attack, Muzzaffar Hussain, then Chief Secretary, emerged
looking very pale and we exchanged salutations. As the strike continued, I ran to a trench
twenty yards away which was already full of soldiers and lay on top of them. General
Rao Farman Ali ran past, also looking for shelter, and said to me as he passed, ‘Why are
the Indians doing this to us?’ Under the circumstances it did not seem a suitable occasion
to engage in a discussion and I let General Farman carry on to find his own shelter. The
 sound of the attacks was deafening. All this time I kept a running commentary of the
attack over the walkie-talkie to Paul Mark-Henri at the UN location.*

Bishnoi and his wingman, Chandrashekar, had fired 128 rockets into
Governor’s House. After they finished, the building was covered with
smoke. As soon as they exited and pulled out, Bala and Sardesai entered the
arena in their MiG-21s and made four passes, firing four rockets each from
their pods. Their multiple passes attracted some feeble ground fire. As the
pilots exited from the area, Sardesai noticed that the Intercontinental Hotel
rooftops were teeming with onlookers, resembling spectators watching a
cricket match. In fact, the thundering crescendo of the jets had residents
hanging out of their windows to view the spectacle of fighter aircraft flying
well below the tops of their buildings in a drama they thought they would
never witness again. Little did they realize that there was more to follow.

MiG-21s attacking Governor’s House.

 In the meanwhile, Sven Lampell, the ICRC representative, arrived at
Governor’s House. He was late for the meeting and was approaching
Governor’s House when the air attack started. He stopped his car to watch
the raid and entered after the ‘All Clear’. His account of what he saw is
worth noting. He said:

Nobody was guarding the main entrance. We walked in without any hindrance and
entered the room where the Governor was sitting along with his cabinet colleagues. These
were the people who were once radiant in their pride and authority, and who pulled all
sorts of bureaucratic strings to interfere in our day-to-day activities. It was hard to believe
that these people were the same breed as the poor and miserable ones we were trying to
help. The men sitting around the table looked pale, exhausted, broken and uncertain.
They had not heard anything from President Yahya after their last message about a
possible negotiation. They could not wait anymore; they wanted to take refuge in a
‘neutral zone’. Their lives were in our hands. Fate was indeed having the last laugh. I felt
like an actor standing on the stage of a Greek tragedy.*

The council room of Governor’s House was a mess, and every window of
the building had been shattered. Kelly and his colleague returned to their
UN office and briefed Marc-Henri about what had happened. Gavin Young,
the London Observer correspondent, suggested that he and Kelly return to
Governor’s House to review the situation. Gavin felt that if the aircraft
planned to return, they would take time to get to base, refuel, re-arm and
return, and so it would be safe for another hour or so to be in the vicinity of
Governor’s House. They got into a jeep and drove to Governor’s House.
By the time Kelly and Gavin Young arrived at Governor’s House, which
was still smoking from the air attack, the Governor and his staff had moved
into a bunker on the building’s grounds. When the bunker was being made,
the Governor had felt that there would never be a need for him to take
shelter there. He now realized how wrong he was. Kelly resumed the
conversation with the Governor that had been interrupted by the air attack.
Malik was still undecided about resigning. Kelly once again reminded him
about the danger that they were in when their discussion was once again
interrupted by the clatter of yet another raid by the IAF.
Kelly found himself once again running for cover. This time it was Kaul
and Masand in their Hunters. Wing Commander Kaul and Flying Officer
Harish Masand pulled up before their target. They did an improvised glide
from 6000 feet, located Governor’s House, which was still smoking, and
attacked it. There was plenty of anti-aircraft fire from guns that had awoken
to the fact that the city was being attacked by the Indian Air Force, but their
fire was ineffectual. Kaul and Masand used their front guns and were able
to assess the damage they were causing to the building more clearly than
they would have been able to if they had been using rockets. After a couple
of passes, both the Hunters exited the target area, flying past the Dhaka
Intercontinental Hotel, where Masand also noticed that a huge crowd of
spectators had gathered on the terrace and were watching the attacks with
great interest.
Kaul and Masand were followed by Squadron Leader A.A. Bose and
Flight Lieutenant K.B. Menon. Menon, during his interview with P.V.S.
Jagan Mohan, said that there was heavy anti-aircraft fire and the sky was
covered by black puffs. Based on the information radioed to them by Kaul
and Masand, they easily identified Governor’s House, and they too attacked
the target. After expending their rockets, the duo headed home.
The Hunter attacks were the last straw for Governor Malik. Gavin Young
sent out a story that was broadcast around the world. This is what it said:
The jets made a shattering row. The ground crashed and heaved outside. ‘We are refugees
now, too,’ choked Mr. Malik. There seemed nothing to say to that. Kelly looked at me,
silently saying ‘What led me to come back here?’ Then Malik produced a shaking pen
and a sheet of office paper. The ministers mumbled, held on together. Between one crash
and the next, Kelly and I looked at the paper and saw that it was addressed to President
Yahya Khan and that Malik had at last resigned. Then, the raid still seething round us,
Malik, a devout Muslim, took off his shoes and socks, carefully washed his feet in a small
washroom opening into the bunker, spread a white handkerchief over his head, and knelt
down in a corner of the bunker and said his prayers. That was the end of Governor’s
House. That was the end of the last Government—of East Pakistan.*

Soon after, Malik and his colleagues fled to the Intercontinental Hotel. They
had had enough. The IAF attack was an act of intimidation that struck a
visible blow to East Pakistan’s civil government—a government that was a
willing partner to the genocide perpetrated by the army of West Pakistan.
That regime had now been rendered a toothless shadow of its former self
and had packed up like a house of cards.
India’s former Foreign Secretary, J.N. Dixit, has this to say about this
incident in his book Liberation and Beyond:
Indian Air Force jets carried out a precision rocket attack on this room a few minutes
before the meeting was due to begin. No other part of the building was damaged. I saw
this room after the surrender on December 16. The rockets hit and extensively damaged
only this room and its conference table. My Bangladeshi friends told me later that this air
operation specially unnerved the East Pakistani rulers and perhaps hastened a quick
response to the call for unconditional surrender.*

The army of East Pakistan was, however, still holding out against the
demand for surrender. It had about 30,000 troops within the city of Dhaka
and could easily hold out for at least another week. But it would be a
bloody battle of fighting in the streets of Dhaka, which was something that
the Indian government wished to avoid because in such a scenario, civil
casualties would have been high.
In the meantime, a signal had been received from General Yahya Khan
addressed to Malik and General Niazi. The signal noted that ‘they had
fought heroic battles against overwhelming odds’ but had ‘reached a stage
where further resistance is no longer humanly possible nor serves any
useful purpose’. Accordingly, Yahya Khan urged Niazi and Malik ‘to take
necessary steps to stop the fighting and preserve the lives of all personnel’.
The signal made no mention whether cessation of hostilities would be
through a ceasefire or a surrender!
This was the option that Niazi was hoping for. He wanted space to
negotiate for a ceasefire, and a withdrawal and safe passage of Pakistani
forces and civilians under the auspices of the UN. On the evening of 14
December, he, along with Major General Rao Farman Ali, went to the
office of the US Consul General in Dhaka to meet Herbert Spivak, the
Consul General. Niazi requested Spivak to negotiate the terms for a
ceasefire with the Indian forces. Both Niazi and Farman Ali avoided the
term ‘surrender’. Spivak told Niazi that he could only assist in passing his
message and that he had no authority to negotiate on his behalf.
 Niazi and Farman Ali drafted a message to the Indian Army Chief, Sam
Manekshaw, calling for a ceasefire. Spivak, instead of sending the message
to the American embassy in New Delhi, sent it to Washington, thereby
causing a delay of a day. Insistence of a ceasefire by Niazi instead of a
surrender was an invitation for more air attacks on Pakistan Army
installations in and around Dhaka.
Late on the afternoon of 15 December, Niazi received a response to the
request for a ceasefire through a broadcast on All India Radio by General
Manekshaw. He had received Niazi’s request to end the fighting at 2.30
p.m. from the American embassy. In the broadcast, Manekshaw reiterated
that it had to be a surrender and not a ceasefire, and that he would ensure
the safety of those who laid down their arms. He declared that the Indian
Army and Air Force would cease operations from 5 p.m. to 9 a.m. the next
day, to allow them time to decide on his ultimatum, and gave the radio
frequencies to be used by Pakistani Eastern Command to contact him.
Notwithstanding the demand by General Manekshaw for a surrender and
Governor Malik’s acceptance of surrender, Niazi was still insisting on a
ceasefire and not a surrender. A few minutes before the ceasefire was to
expire at 9 a.m. on 16 December, a message was received from Pakistan
Army HQ for an extension of the ceasefire and for an officer to be sent
from Delhi to Dhaka to finalize the laying down of arms.
At 9.15 a.m., General Manekshaw called the Indian Army’s Eastern
Command HQ at Fort William and instructed General Jacob, the Chief of
Staff, to fly out to Dhaka and meet General Niazi to finalize the terms of
surrender. General Manekshaw instructed Eastern Command to ensure that
the surrender took place the same day in the afternoon. A draft ‘Instrument
of Surrender’ had been prepared; General Jacob was to fly to Dhaka in an
IAF helicopter along with this draft.
General Jacob, Air Commodore Purushotam from Advance Air
Headquarters Eastern Air Command, and Colonel M.S. Khara of the
Intelligence Corps left in a Chetak helicopter. The team changed helicopters
at Jessore and took off again for Dhaka.
 The city of Dhaka was in a volatile state and close to chaos. No Indian
troops had been allowed to enter the city on orders from Delhi and Calcutta
—although now the presence of Indian troops was necessary. It had been
reasoned earlier that if the troops entered the city, fighting might break out
again. No one knew what had been decided—ceasefire or surrender.
Anything could happen if the combatants faced each other again within the
city. Niazi was still holding out. In this state of confusion, the Mukti Bahini
had entered the city. Prominent among them was ‘Tiger Siddiqui’, with
about 20,000 of his troops all thirsting for revenge.
General Jacob’s helicopter was tracked by Pakistani anti-aircraft guns till
it landed. On landing, Jacob was met by his East Pakistani counterpart,
Brigadier Baqar Siddiqui. Also present was the UN representative at Dhaka,
who offered his good offices to negotiate with the Pakistanis, but General
Jacob had no intention of involving the United Nations, as he could see no
role for them in the current situation. The foreign press corps was also
present. On the way to Niazi’s headquarters, Jacob’s jeep was stopped by
the Mukti Bahini. General Jacob and his team were unarmed. About that
day, he said:
They were in a very belligerent mood and ready to go on the rampage. Representatives of
the international press were with them. I explained to them that the war was over and the
surrender of the Pakistani Army would take place on the Race Course. They started
shouting and wanted to take over the Pakistan Eastern Command Headquarters and to
mete out retribution to Niazi and his staff. Heated words were exchanged. I made it clear
that there would have to be a bloodless transfer of power to the Bangladesh government
whose members would be arriving in Dacca shortly to take over charge. I asked the Mukti
Bahini to ensure that law and order was maintained and that there were no reprisals. Since
there was a ceasefire in force and the Pakistani High Command had agreed to surrender,
the provisions of the Geneva Conventions would have to be respected. They shouted
slogans and threatened to act unilaterally. I told them that we would ensure that the
provisions of the Geneva Conventions would be honoured. The foreign press reported
instead that I had threatened to shoot them. They then let us pass and we reached the
Headquarters at 1500 hrs.*

General Jacob was received by General Niazi in his office. Along with
him were Major General Rao Farman Ali, Major General Jamshed, Rear
Admiral Sharif, the Naval Chief, Air Commodore Imam, the Air Force
Commander and Brigadier Baqar Siddiqui. Major General G.C. Nagra,
General Officer Commanding 101 Communication Zone of the Indian
Army, was also there. He was closer to the capital than the other formations
which had been stopped on the outskirts of the city. A day after the
temporary ceasefire came into effect, Nagra had contacted one of the
Pakistani outposts and sent a message to Niazi saying: ‘My dear Abdullah. I
am here. The game is up. I suggest you give yourself up to me and I will
look after you.’ Niazi, who was expecting General Jacob, was at a loss as to
what to make of it; he was not aware if Nagra had any role in the surrender
negotiations.
Nagra had no orders to enter Dhaka and had acted on his own. It was,
however, fortunate that he was in Dhaka, as there were no Indian troops in
the city at that time and fighting was going on between the Pakistan Army
and the Mukti Bahini. Jacob called Nagra outside and told him to move
sufficient troops into Dhaka in order to establish law and order, and to be
prepared to organize the surrender ceremony. He explained to Nagra that it
would have to be a public surrender in full view of the people of Dhaka
who had suffered so terribly at the hands of the Pakistan Army. He was also
told to organize a guard of honour by the Parachute Regiment, who had by
this time started trickling into Dhaka, and also by a Pakistani unit. The
world over, surrender ceremonies after a war are organized with due time
for preparation—but on this occasion the situation was fluid, resources were
scant and only a few hours given to organize the surrender and a guard of
honour. Nagra was told to have a table and two chairs for the signing of the
surrender document. He was also told to ensure the protection of the
Intercontinental Hotel, where the United Nations personnel, the Red Cross,
members of the East Pakistan government and foreign residents had taken
shelter; to leave a small escort and a radio detachment to permit him to
carry out his functions; and to receive the Army Commander, who was
flying in from Calcutta.
General Jacob then returned to Niazi’s office and informed him that
sporadic fighting was still taking place and that he should issue instructions
to his troops to cease fighting.
 It is best to report what followed in the words of General Jacob. In his
book An Odyssey in War and Peace, he says:
I re-entered the building. The draft Instrument of Surrender was read out. Niazi, with
tears rolling down his cheeks, said: ‘Who said I’m surrendering? You have only come to
discuss a ceasefire and withdrawal as proposed by me.’ The Service Chiefs present also
voiced their objections. Rao Farman Ali objected surrendering to a ‘Joint Command’.
Time was running out so I called Niazi aside. I told him that if he did not surrender, I
could not take the responsibility for their families and ethnic minorities but if he did, I
would ensure their protection. I asked him to reconsider, again reminding him that if he
did not surrender, I would not be responsible for the safety of their families. I then added
that I would give him 30 minutes to reconsider and if he did not, I would order
resumption of hostilities and the bombing of Dacca. I then walked out to be met by the
press. I was extremely worried. Niazi had 26,400 troops in Dacca. We had about 3,000
some 30 miles out. I was in a quandary as to what to do in the event of his refusing.
Aurora and his entourage were to land in an hour or two and the ceasefire was to expire
shortly. I had nothing in hand. The Pakistan Commission of Enquiry report later stated,
‘there was General Jacob pacing outside calmly puffing his pipe’. Far from it. I was
extremely worried and tense. I spoke to the Pakistani sentry and asked him about his
family. He burst into tears saying that I as an Indian Officer was speaking to him while
his own officers did not. After 30 minutes I walked in to be met with a deathly silence,
my draft surrender document was lying on the table. I asked Niazi if he accepted this
document, to which he did not reply. I repeated the enquiry thrice. He still did not
respond. I then held up the document, holding it high, and said ‘I take it as accepted’.
Tears rolled down Niazi’s cheeks, and there were glares from those present. I then called
Niazi aside and then told him that I had arranged for the signing to take place at the Race
Course in public. He objected strongly. I then told him that he would have to surrender
his sword. He said that he did not have a sword but he would surrender his revolver. I
then told him he would have to provide a guard of honour . . . Niazi said there was no one
to command it. I pointed to his ADC and said that he should command it. I permitted
them to retain their weapons for their protection until such time as we could disarm
them.*

At around 1500 hours, Jacob asked Niazi to accompany him to the airport.
Since Nagra had not left a jeep for Jacob, he went in Niazi’s staff car, with
his pilot jeep leading the way. Niazi’s car was like a red rag to a bull. The
Mukti Bahini tried to prevent the car from moving forward. Some of them
threw themselves on to the bonnet of the car. It was fortunate that Colonel
Khara, a Sikh, was also in the car. He stuck his head out to indicate that
they were Indians, that Niazi was a prisoner and that they should not
impede them in bringing the surrender to its logical conclusion. The
cavalcade reached the airport with great difficulty. En route, they came
across a jeep with two Indian paratroopers who appeared to be lost. This
was a stroke of luck, as Jacob now had at least two Indian soldiers to give
them protection. Other than the two paratroopers, there were no Indian
troops in sight.
General Jacob told Colonel Khara to get hold of some Indian troops and,
if possible, some tanks. Jacob knew that 4 Corps was trying to swim some
tanks across the Meghna on the evening of 15 December. Khara went off to
see what he could find while he sat with Niazi in his staff car. Jacob and
Niazi were now alone except for the two Indian paratroopers. At this
precarious moment, a truck arrived at the other side of the runway with
armed Mukti Bahini soldiers. General Jacob describes the situation as
under:
A man wearing our olive-green uniform, wearing the badges of rank of a Major General,
approached us followed by two armed men. I placed the man as ‘Tiger’ Siddiqui, and
sensed trouble . . . I felt they had come to kill Niazi. I had to ensure that Niazi lived to
sign the Instrument of Surrender and asked the two paratroopers to protect Niazi. I
walked towards Siddiqui. I told the two paratroopers to cover Niazi and to point their
rifles at Siddiqui. I politely asked Siddiqui to leave the airfield. He did not respond. I
repeated this request. He still did not respond. I then shouted to him, to get the truckload
of fighters off the airfield and heaved a sigh of relief when they finally left.*

A little while later, Khara returned with a PT-76.† General Aurora and his
entourage, which included Lieutenant General Sagat Singh and Vice
Admiral Krishnan, arrived in a fleet of five Mi-4 and four Alloutte
helicopters at 1630 hours. Generals Jacob and Niazi received them, and
they all proceeded to the Race Course ground for the surrender ceremony.
After General Aurora and General Niazi inspected the combined guard of
honour, they proceeded to the table that had been placed for the signing
ceremony. The surrender documents that had been brought with General
Aurora were placed before them. Niazi glanced at them curiously and
signed, followed by General Aurora. Niazi then undid his epaulette and
removed his .38 revolver with attached lanyard and handed it over to
General Aurora. There were tears in his eyes. By this time it had got dark,
and the crowd at the Race Course started shouting anti-Niazi and anti-
Pakistan slogans and abuses. General Jacob was concerned about Niazi’s
safety, so the senior officers of the Indian armed forces formed a cordon
around Niazi and escorted him to the Indian Army jeep. General Jacob then
briefed General Sagat Singh regarding the disarming of all Pakistani
soldiers, the maintenance of law and order and the movement of prisoners
of war to India.
As the war was proceeding inexorably towards the defeat of the Pakistan
Army in East Pakistan, the Security Council met on 16 December. Zulfikar
Ali Bhutto, who was leading the Pakistan delegation, was strong in his
condemnation of India. However, Sardar Swaran Singh sometime during
the debate was able to inform the Security Council that Pakistani forces in
East Pakistan had surrendered and that India had declared a unilateral
ceasefire on the Western Front, to commence from 8 p.m., 17 December.
Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who was sitting three to four yards away from Sardar
Swaran Singh, was infuriated. He tore up the Council documents, accused
India of violence and aggression, stated that the Security Council could not
play any useful role in the vital interest of member countries, and stormed
out of the meeting. His tantrums did not help the Pakistani cause in any
way; in fact, it reduced whatever little sympathy members of the Council
had for that renegade country. The announcement of Pakistan’s surrender,
however, brought to an end any further resolutions demanding a ceasefire.
There are many factors that forced Niazi and the High Command in East
Pakistan to finally accept that they had no option but to surrender. First was
the realization that Niazi’s strategy of fortresses to defend East Pakistan had
failed. Second was the fact that the Indian Army had enveloped Dhaka from
all dimensions—land, sea and air. The Indian Army had encircled Dhaka;
the Indian Air Force were dominating the skies and were pulverizing the
city; and the Indian Navy had blocked the escape route via the sea. The
paradrop in Tangail, on the outskirts of Dhaka, only served to enhance their
feeling of isolation. Third, was the fact that neither the Americans not the
Chinese had come to Niazi’s aid as promised, and that even his Army Chief
and President had failed to come to his rescue. Last, but not least, was the
fact that if Niazi failed to surrender, he, his staff and the remnants of his
forces would be destroyed by the Indian Army or, worse still, left to the
mercy of the Mukti Bahini and the citizens of Bangladesh.
The ceremony at the Race Course had an unreal finality about it. This
was the end of a war that had brought so much agony to a people who
suffered only because they had exercised their democratic rights for better
self-governance. The 1971 war in the east had come to an end, but the
raucous crowds could not believe that their oppressors had finally been
given the boot. The perpetrators were there in front of them, and nothing
would please them better than to deliver to them the same treatment that
they had suffered for so many months at their hands. What they could not
understand was why the Indian armed forces, who had intervened to save
them, were now protecting these war criminals. They would realize only
later that had they been allowed to lynch these Pakistani marauders, their
action would stain forever the birth of ‘Sonar Bangla’. But they found it
difficult to believe that they were finally free from these accursed
oppressors, and that from now onwards they had the opportunity to have a
new beginning and start a new life.
The Pakistani officers and soldiers were escorted away by soldiers of the
Indian Army, who by this time had arrived in sufficient numbers. The
Pakistanis must have felt a sense of shame that they were led away like
cattle by the very soldiers that they had been trying so desperately to kill.
However, they must have also felt a sense of relief that these very soldiers
were now all that stood between them and the crowds who were baying for
their blood.
The picture of the surrender has made history and hangs on a wall of the
library of the United Service Institution, New Delhi, along with a copy of
the surrender document. On another wall is displayed the huge map on
which General Jacob had planned his operations. The map extends from
ceiling to floor, and on it are marked the Pakistani and Indian formations,
with arrows depicting the thrust lines of the advancing formations of the
Indian Army and the locations of units of both sides. When I saw the map
for the first time, and the symbols depicting our formations, I looked for
Sylhet, where I had fought, and wondered whether future generations would
ever understand what those symbols on that map mean, or know the
meaning of war or comprehend the agony of death and destruction which is
what war is all about. Many of my comrades in arms had died on the
battlefields spread across that map. Only those who have lived with death
will understand the value and meaning of life. The final ecstasy of victory
was robbed by the tragedy of the ultimate sacrifice made by thousands of
brave Indian soldiers and their courageous officers. The epitaph at the
Kohima War Memorial conveys this sentiment aptly. It says, ‘When you go
back, tell them of us and say, for your tomorrow, we gave our today.’
Looking back, one cannot but help recall that the surrender that
symbolized that victory was facilitated by two events. First, the attack on
Governor’s House on 14 December by Indian Air Force pilots who, at a
moment’s notice and an extremely short window of space and time, forced
the collapse of the civil government of East Pakistan. Second, the ability of
General Jacob, who entered a volatile city of Dhaka armed only with a draft
surrender document, and used psychological pressure to force a stubborn
and recalcitrant Niazi to understand that he was in an extremely dangerous
situation and had no option but to surrender, rather than be held responsible
for the defeat and destruction of his troops and himself. As General Jacob
said: ‘It was a very close thing.’
It was in fact these last two events that constituted the ‘last straw’ that
finally broke the back of the civil and military government of East Pakistan.
The rest is history.

Postscript

In all wars and in every battle, there comes a moment when the situation
can go either way. It devolves on a Commander to grasp an opportunity to
tilt the balance in his favour. In the case of the fall of the civil government
of East Pakistan in Dhaka, the opportunity was the intercepted signal that
gave away the location and time of the meeting at Governor’s House.
Although the time available was minimal, Indian military leaders exploited
the opportunity; the air force accepted the challenge, and targeted the
conference room. This was enough to intimidate the Governor and his
colleagues to call for an unconditional surrender.
In the case of the military, it was the intuition of Major General Jacob,
his understanding of the mental make-up of Niazi, Rao Farman Ali and the
other military leaders that confronted him—to make Niazi and the military
hierarchy understand that they had no option but to give up. Please see
‘Hunt for the Vikrant’ in this book, to understand why a study of your
opponent in any field of endeavour is critically important.
Both these actions used psychology as a weapon of war to unnerve the
opposition and to force them to surrender. It was this last straw that
enforced a surrender and ensured the avoidance of a bloody finale to the
war.
 Afterword

‘If you must play, decide three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stakes and the
quitting time.’

—Proverb

Through the stories in this book, I have attempted to give the reader some
understanding of what happened on the ground, in the air and at sea during
the Indo–Pak war of 1971. India’s strategy and conduct of the war was
exceptional. At the highest level, the synergy between the armed forces, the
politicians and bureaucrats outshone past record, thereby ensuring a
strategy that fully met India’s political and military aims.
In the east, Pakistan’s strategy of strong defences on river obstacles
fortified by dense minefields was based on the outworn belief that the
Indian Army would assault these well-fortified defences and get bogged
down in a war of attrition, giving the United States of America, China and
the countries of the Middle East time to come to Pakistan’s aid.
Indian tacticians saw through Pakistan’s intention and countered her plan
by bypassing these defences and thrusting through the gaps. The Pakistan
Army was outwitted and outmanoeuvred—and it collapsed. The war was
won by India in a span of just thirteen days.
This victory was a result of meticulous planning and hard training.
During the conduct of the war, word went out to the troops that the war
needed to be wrapped up before the Americans and the Chinese could
intervene. The troops improvised and innovated to move speedily over
marshy ground and river obstacles. Jugaad was the order of the day, and
RCL guns and mortars were moved on bullock carts and cycle rickshaws,
and rivers were crossed on improvised rafts made from bamboo and trunks
of banana trees.
 In the north, west and south, the strategy was ‘offensive defence’, and we
did pretty well with large areas captured in the northern areas of Ladakh,
Jammu and Kashmir and the Rajasthan–Sind deserts. In the Punjab there
was some amount of ‘give and take’, but overall we had the upper hand.
Every individual in uniform rallied to the call for speed in operations and
more importantly, their vigour was accompanied by ethical behaviour. War
correspondents had converged on to the war zone from most of the Western
countries, and the decision by the Indian government to allow foreign war
correspondents to accompany the troops was a good one. In consequence,
the world got unbiased reportage on the war and grudgingly accepted that
the Indian Army had been and was ethical in its fighting on ground, in the
air and at sea.
Before the start of the war, Sam Manekshaw, the Army Chief, made it
quite clear that the excesses of war would not be tolerated. After the war,
even though the atrocities perpetrated by the Pakistan Army exceeded
imagination, the Indian Army went beyond the Geneva Conventions to
ensure that the 93,000 Pakistani prisoners were treated fairly. Indian troops
were made to vacate their barracks and moved into tents so that the
Pakistani prisoners were suitably housed.
In remembering the successes of the 1971 war, we need to remember the
sacrifice by the servicemen and citizens of both Bangladesh and India. In
this war, 3843 Indian servicemen were killed and 9851 wounded*—some of
them disabled for life. Lights in the homes of the dead and disabled went
out when reports about their loved ones reached them through that dreaded
telegram that starts with the words, ‘Regret to inform you that . . .’, creating
sadness beyond words.
The war concluded with the liberation of East Pakistan and the birth of
Bangladesh. It also resulted in the dismemberment of Pakistan, with the loss
of its eastern wing and the capture of 93,000 Pakistani prisoners of war—
the largest number since World War II!
Reacting to pressure from her own people who were demanding an
explanation for this abysmal defeat, Pakistan went through the motion of
instituting a Commission of Inquiry to find out what had happened and
why. The Hamoodur Commission, among its other findings, revealed and
condemned the atrocities committed by the Pakistan Army, but they had to
withdraw this report on orders from the military junta and to replace it with
a watered-down version that displayed a dramatic disregard of what really
happened. As a result, unlike the Nuremburg trials after World War II, no
Pakistani person—military or civil—was taken to the International Court of
Justice and punished for the war crimes they had committed.
As a matter of reflection, one wonders what would have happened had
Prime Minister Indira Gandhi delayed the ceasefire in the west for a couple
of more days. The psychological pressure on Pakistan would have been
colossal. Pakistan had her back to the wall, and even they must have
wondered why we left them off the hook!
Unfortunately, the Army Chief General Manekshaw had no say in the
negotiations at Shimla, where critical decisions were to be taken. What was
won by the military on the battlefield was lost by politicians and
bureaucrats at the negotiating table. The synergy—between the armed
forces, politicians and bureaucrats—which had helped us win the war
evaporated soon after the war, and the politicians and bureaucrat reverted to
type by excluding the military from the negotiating table—a development
that is unheard of in any country after any war. The result is there for all to
see. We had the upper hand with 93,000 prisoners of war with us, and the
Pakistani people were ranting for their return. We failed to use this
opportunity to solve outstanding issues. Not only that, we failed to even
ensure the return of fifty-four Indian service personnel who are still
languishing today in Pakistani jails, if not already tortured
to death.
General Jacob, in his book Surrender at Dacca: Birth of a Nation, has
this to say about the Shimla Conference: ‘It has been reported that Bhutto
had agreed that the Cease Fire Line or the Line of Control be the basis for
delimitation of the international boundary, but insisted that this not be
committed to writing for it would jeopardise his political future. In this
context, it may be appropriate to recall a famous Sam Goldwynism: “A
verbal contract is not worth the paper it is written on.”’
 It has been fifty years since that outstanding victory. The question is,
have we learnt the lessons of history? Are the armed forces well equipped
to fight a two-front war against China and Pakistan? These are questions
that need to be asked and answered as war clouds once again gather on our
borders.
—Ian Cardozo

‘When you go back, tell them of us and say,

For your tomorrow, we gave our today.’
—Epitaph to the war dead at the
Kohima War Cemetery
 *
New York Times, 20 October 1971, p. 6.
*
Sonar Bangla: Golden Bengal.
*
Brigadier Behram M. Pantakhi and Zenobia Pantakhi, Field Marshal
Sam Manekshaw: The Man and His Times (New Delhi: Niyogi Books,
2014),
pp. 108-10.
*
Air Vice Marshal Arjun Subramaniam, India’s Wars: A Military History
1947-1971 (Noida: HarperCollins, 2016), pp. 359– 60.
*
Mukti Bahini/Mukti Fauj: army of freedom fighters.
†
Arjun Subramaniam, India’s Wars: A Military History 1947–1971, p.
357.
*
Ibid., p. 391.
 *
The Chief of the Pakistan Navy was the patron-in-chief of the Karachi
Golf Club and the Senior Naval Commander in Karachi its President. Naval
officers posted to Karachi therefore felt encouraged and motivated to play
golf.
†
Pakistan’s Naval Headquarters, which was established in 1947 at
Karachi, moved to Islamabad only on 15 March 1975.
*
This map is now on a wall at the library of the United Service
Institution of India, New Delhi.
*
Victuals: naval term for food supplies, pronounced as ‘vittles’.
*
Dates of departure of the Ghazi from Trincomalee, till its arrival in the
navigational channel of Visakhapatnam, are approximations. Exact dates
are not available.
*
Periscope: an apparatus consisting of a tube within which are placed a
series of prisms and mirrors by which an observer in a submerged
submarine can see things above the sea that would be otherwise not be
visible.
†
Boat: an informal term for a submarine.
††
Fathom: a unit of length equal to six feet, used mainly to
measure/specify marine depths.
*
Action Stations: the posts to be occupied by personnel of a ship during
active operations.
†
Wash: surge or rush of water due to movement by an extraneous force.
*
Lie doggo: to keep out of sight/stay hidden.
*
Vice Admiral G.M. Hiranandani, Transition to Triumph: History of the
Indian Navy, 1965–1975 (New Delhi: Lancer Publishers, 1999), p. 142.
*
Ibid., pp. 150–51.
 *
Sitrep: Situation Report that gives the latest information about terrain
and activities about the enemy and own troops.
†
Gurbani: Teachings of all the Sikh Gurus, compiled by the Fifth Guru,
Guru Arjun Dev, who summarized the message from the Guru Granth Sahib
on how to lead a good life. Contents of the Gurbani are rendered by the
granthi, the Sikh priest, in the form of kirtan (hymns).
*
Ardas: Prayer by the granthi, asking the Almighty to take care of his
people.
†
Ragi jathas: Musicians who recite the kirtan. One plays the harmonium
and two are on tablas.
‡
Jora ghar: The place where the footwear of the congregation is kept.
§
Sevadar: One who serves. In this case, one who assists the granthi in
carrying out his duties.
¶
Guru ka langar: Food cooked in the kitchen of a gurudwara.
*
Reorganization stage: A stage in the operation of war of defence where
all action is taken to defeat the inevitable counterattack by an enemy. This
includes the resupply of arms, ammunition and other supplies, and the
evacuation of casualties.
†
Vehicle-safe lanes: Paths cleared by the engineers through the enemy
minefields to allow vehicles carrying ammunition, supplies and
reorganization stores to reach the captured objective and to enable the
evacuation of casualties.
*
FUP: Forming-up place, where troops line up to attack an objective.
*
Vir Chakra and Sena Medal are awards given for gallantry. Vir Chakras
were awarded to the Commanding Officer Lieutenant Colonel S. Gupta,
two Company Commanders, Majors Sheel Puri and K.S. Gill, and a Platoon
Commander, Naib Subedar Narbahadur Gurung.
†
Path: Prayer.
 *
Vice Admiral G.M. Hiranandani, Transition to Triumph: History of the
Indian Navy, 1965–1975 (New Delhi: Lancer Publishers, 1999), p. 30.
*
Conversations as reported by Admiral Soman. See Transition to
Triumph,
p. 31.
*
A ‘debrief’ is an analysis and discussion on an operation/event that has
taken place, to examine the conduct of the operation and to see if there are
any lessons to be learnt or any corrective action needs to be taken.
*
Transition to Triumph, p. 120.
*
List to port: When the angle of inclination of the ship is towards the left.
*
Transition to Triumph, p. 169.
 *
Khukri: A knife used by Gorkhas. It has a curved blade, about 14 inches
long, thicker on the top and tapering towards the cutting edge, which is very
sharp. The handle is made of bone or wood or metal. The blade has a small
notch on the cutting edge close to the handle, to prevent blood flowing on to
the handle and making it slippery.
*
Named Young Bharat by his grandfather because he was born on 15
August 1947.
*
Confirmed by Commanding Officer 9 Guards, Lieutenant Colonel
Raghubir Singh, who was present at the meeting that took place on 7
December 1971.
†
Razakars: Irregular soldiers.
*
P.V.S. Jagan Mohan and Samir Chopra, Eagles over Bangladesh: The
Indian Air Force in the 1971 Liberation War (Noida: HarperCollins India,
2013),
p. 218.
†
Ibid.
*
Ibid., p. 220.
*
Ibid., pp. 279–80.
†
Ibid., p. 280.
*
Major General Shaukat Riza, The Pakistan Army 1966-71 (Lahore:
Services Book Club, 1990).
*
Major General Fazal Muqeem Khan, Pakistan’s Crisis in Leadership
(Islamabad: National Book Foundation, 1973), p. 180.
*
Captain Rana was an officer from the Army Service Corps who came to
Sylhet in one of the helicopters and voluntarily stayed behind. Due to the
shortage of officers and JCOs, he was given a platoon to command, and he
did an excellent job.
 *
An infantry brigade consists of three infantry battalions. Each battalion
has on its strength about a thousand soldiers. An infantry brigade group, in
addition to infantry, has other arms and services, like armour, artillery, etc.,
grouped with it.
†
An infantry division generally has three infantry brigades, an artillery
brigade and units of engineers, signals, ordnance, army supply and
transport, and army medical corps. It is an organization that is self-
contained and capable of fighting independently.
*
Extracts from a January 2002 interview, by Narendar Singh, of
Brigadier Z.A. Khan, who was the Commanding Officer of 38 Cavalry
during the battle of what the Pakistanis call ‘Loganewala’:
http://www.strategicfront.org/forums/threads/battle-of-longewala-dec1971-
pakistani-perspective-brigadier-za-khan-pakistani-army-then-commanding-
officer-38-cavalry.2495
*
Ibid.
†
H-Hr is the commencement time for an operation.
*
An area support weapon, often referred to as the Battalion
Commander’s artillery.
*
Major General Shaukat Riza, The Pakistan Army 1966–71 (Services
Book Club, 1990). p. 208.
*
Air Marshal M.S. Bawa, PVSM, AVSM, VM, Air Battle of Longewala,
Occasional Paper No. IV, Centre for Armed Forces Historical Research,
United Service Institution, New Delhi, 2016.
*
https://www.strategicfront.org/forums/threads/battle-of-longewala-dec-
1971-pakistani-perspective-brigadier-za-khan-pakistan-army-then-
commanding-officer-38-cavalry.2495/
 *
Ops Room: A high security room with sliding boards on which are
pinned maps that cover the operation plans for each sector of a formation.
Only those concerned with these operations have access to this room. In
Army HQ, the Military Operations Directorate is known as the ‘Cage’.
*
Strike Corps: a corps tasked to conduct offensive operations.
†
Offensive defence: a defensive plan that includes limited offensive
operations.
‡
Western Front: the plains of Punjab.
§
Northern Front: the plains and hill sector of J&K and the area of
Ladakh.
*
Sighter burst: a check by a fighter pilot to see whether his guns are
properly aligned.
*
Bula: Regimental term for a Garhwali soldier. In the same way as a
Gorkha soldier is called a ‘Johnny’.
†
Langar: cookhouse. ‘Langar gupp’ means barrack-room stories.
‡
No man’s land: the ground between own forces and the enemy.
*
Screen: a small body of troops, normally a section, placed ahead of the
forward companies to report on enemy activities. In the event of an enemy
offensive, they report the strength and direction of the enemy attack.
*
‘O’ Group, or the Order Group, consists of commanders who take
orders for the contemplated action.
†
‘R’ Group, or the Fighting Group, executes the action on the ground.
*
Forming-up place, where the assaulting troops collect to capture an
objective. This place is normally square to the objective.
*
Sagat Shaunik (ed), Untold Battlefield Tales (Navi Mumbai: Fauji
Foundation, 2019), p. 80.
†
Ibid.
 *
Vice Admiral G. Hiranandani, Transition to Triumph, p. 108.
*
‘Diablo’ is Spanish for ‘the devil’.
†
Midget submarines are small underwater craft built to carry frogmen
into harbours where larger submarines cannot penetrate or to launch small
torpedoes at enemy ships.
‡
A chariot is an underwater craft smaller than a midget submarine, with
one or two men riding ‘horseback’ on it. These could be used as an
underwater approach to an enemy ship, to attach a limpet mine and to move
away before it blew up at a time set on its mechanism.
*
The phrase ‘balloon goes up’ indicates that something is going to start.
In this case, an indication that the war was about to commence.
*
Frogman: a swimmer, normally from the navy, equipped with breathing
apparatus and other equipment, such as a rubber suit and flippers, to
execute underwater operations.
*
The Pakistani account of this story is from a Pakistani naval book titled
Bubbles of Water (Islamabad: PN Book Club, NES Directorate, NHQ,
2001).
†
Dog-watch: a period of time aboard a ship when only a part of the crew
is assigned to duty.
‡
Seaward: moving or lying in the direction of the sea.
*
Bridge: a crossways platform or area above the main deck of a ship,
from which the ship is controlled.
†
Signal log: a book in which a record of a ship’s speed, progress, radio
transmissions and events of navigational importance is kept.
‡
Amid ship: middle of a ship.
§
Boiler suit: a worker’s suit combining shirt and overalls in one piece.
*
Fish: naval slang for torpedo.
 *
Pir Kalewa: A high mountain peak which is part of a range south of
Rajauri. A battle was fought here during the Indo–Pak war of 1947.
*
General K.V. Krishna Rao, PVSM, Prepare or Perish (New Delhi:
Lancer Publishers, 1991), p. 119.
*
A Second-in-Command (2IC) is the right-hand man of the Commanding
Officer, and takes over command as and when the Commanding Officer is
absent or when he becomes a casualty. He is therefore an important part of a
battalion team.
*
‘Ack’ means acknowledge.
 *
Nobody knows why he was given this name. But then, why was
General Francis Dias called ‘Dick’ Dias, or General Christopher Baretto
called ‘Bobby’ Baretto? It appears that the armed forces find it amusing to
add a rhyming name—an alliteration—to certain names that lend
themselves to such imaginative wordplay.
*
Major General Sukhwant Singh, The Liberation of Bangladesh (New
Delhi: Vikas Publishing House Pvt. Ltd., 1981), pp. 195–96.
*
‘Reminiscences of Three Wars’, an article dated 27 July 2016, written
by Lieutenant Colonel K.S. Puntambekar, 1st Battalion, the Maratha Light
Infantry. pp. 30–1.
*
Ibid., p. 31.
*
Major General Sukhwant Singh, The Liberation of Bangladesh (New
Delhi: Vikas Publishing House Pvt. Ltd., 1981), p. 197.
*
Lieutenant Colonel K.S. Puntambekar, Reminiscences of Three Wars, p.
37.
†
1 Maratha is the only unit in the Indian Army that has a ‘Y’ Company,
so named when ‘B’ Company continued to consistently receive heavy
casualties during World War II in Italy, so much so that it changed its name
to ‘Y’ Company.
*
Maj. Gen. Sukhwant Singh, The Liberation of Bangladesh, p. 198.
†
Ibid., p. 198.
‡
Man-pack basis: a unit sometimes moves for short-duration operations
on a self-contained basis, where each soldier carries the wherewithal for the
operation, which includes weapons, ammunition, food and clothing.
*
Ibid., p. 214.
 *
At that time, an artificial leg consisted of a plastic socket into which the
stump was inserted. The socket was attached to a piece of wood and to this,
a rubber foot was attached by means of a metal bolt. The wooden leg was
shaped to look like a leg and attached to the thigh with a leather strap.
*
Lakshman Rekha: a line that one should not cross. Part of the story of
the Ramayana where Sita was told not to cross a particular boundary has
now become a phrase reminding us to remain within limits.
*
Main Street has now been renamed as Mahatma Gandhi Road or MG
Road.
†
Willow wood: wood from the willow tree out of which cricket bats and
hockey sticks are made.
*
Kippy: short for Kipgen.
*
All information on Abu Taher has been gleaned from Taher’s Last
Testament: Bangladesh: The Unfinished Revolution by Lawrence
Lifschultz.
*
Lawrence Lifschultz, Taher’s Last Testament: Bangladesh.
*
Ibid.
*
Lawrence Lifschultz, Taher’s Last Testament, pp. 2–4.
*
A Life in Service, biography of Major S. Kipgen, SM, p. 44. Published
by family members of the late Major Kipgen in 1998.
*
Syed Badrul Ahsan, ‘The Strange Case of Colonel Taher’, Indian
Express, 22 Mar 2011,
https://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/the-strange-case-of-
colonel-taher/
 *
Sonar: an apparatus used in submarines that uses acoustic waves to
detect submerged objects.
*
Major General Ian Cardozo, The Sinking of INS Khukri: Survivors’
Stories (New Delhi: Roli Books, 2016), pp. 69–70.
†
Admiral S.M. Nanda, Padma Vibhushan, PVSM, AVSM, The Man Who
Bombed Karachi (New Delhi: HarperCollins, 2004), pp. 212–213.
*
Vice Admiral G. Hiranandani, Transition to Triumph: History of the
Indian Navy 1965–1975, pp. 118–20.
*
Dunking Sonars: sonars that are let down into the sea from the Sea King
helicopter. The Sinking of INS Khukri: Survivors’ Stories, p. 79.
*
The Sinking of INS Khukri, p. 71.
*
Transition to Triumph, pp. 210–11.
 *
Ian Cardozo (ed.), In Quest of Freedom: Personal Accounts of Soldiers
from India and Bangladesh (New Delhi: Bloomsbury, 2016), pp. 12–59.
*
Lieutenant General J.F.R. Jacob, An Odyssey of War and Peace (New
Delhi: Roli Books, 2011), pp. 93–94.
*
Sam Manekshaw: The Man and His Times (New Delhi: Niyogi Books,
2014), pp. 109–111. Behram Panthaki, earlier on, was Sam Manekshaw’s
ADC.
*
Born to Win: The Life of Lieutenant General Inderjit Singh Gill (New
Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2008), p. 181.
*
Major General Sukhwant Singh, The Liberation of Bangladesh (New
Delhi: Vikas Publishing House Pvt. Ltd., 1981), p. 18.
*
Lt Gen. J.F.R. Jacob, An Odyssey in War and Peace, p. 68.
*
Klaxon: A loud hooter or horn used to give a warning signal of some
sort.
*
Extracts from an account given in a WhatsApp message. The account is
by Brigadier Ajit Apte (retd), who was a Gun Position Officer of 14 Field
Regiment and a witness to this dogfight that took place on 22 November
1971.
*
Vice Admiral G.M. Hiranandani, Transition to Triumph, pp. 125–26.
*
Brigadier Abdul Rehman Siddiqi, East Pakistan: The End Game: An
Onlooker’s Journal (Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2004), p. 15.
 *
Lieutenant General J.F.R. Jacob, An Odyssey in War and Peace (New
Delhi: Roli Books, 2011), p. 77.
*
S. Muthiah, Born to Win: The Life of General Inder Singh Gill (New
Delhi: Penguin Viking, 2008), p. 186.
*
Major General D.K. Palit, The Lightning Campaign (New Delhi:
Thomson Press, 1972), pp. 68–9.
*
Major General Sukhwant Singh, India’s Wars Since Independence, pp.
54–5.
*
GSO1 and GSO2: General Staff Officer Grade 1 and General Staff
Officer Grade 2.
*
Jugaad: the concept of improvisation and innovation.
*
Orbat: Order of battle. The formations and units allotted to a formation
for a particular operation.
*
Abdullah: General A.A.K. Niazi, General Officer Commanding-in-
Chief in command of all Pakistani forces in East Pakistan.
†
‘Wilco’ is army slang for ‘will comply with your orders’.
*
Inder: Major General Inder Gill, Director, Military Operations, Army
Headquarters.
†
Major General Sukhwant Singh, The Liberation of Bangladesh (New
Delhi: Vikas Publishing House Pvt Ltd, 1981), p. 213.
*
The Indian Army: A Brief History, p. 157.
†
Major General D.K. Palit, The Lightning Campaign, p. 16.
*
Conversation between Lieutenant General Sagat Singh, GOC, 4 Corps,
and Lieutenant General Jagjit Singh Aurora, Army Commander, Eastern
Command. From A Talent for War: The Military Biography of Lieutenant
General Sagat Singh by Randhir Sinh (New Delhi, Vij Books, 2013),
p. 81–3.
 *
John Kelly, Three Days in Dacca 1971, Bangladesh Documents, 8
March 1972, pp. 649–55; and P.V.S. Jagan Mohan and Samir Chopra,
Eagles over Bangladesh (Noida: HarperCollins, 2013), pp. 326–36.
*
P.V.S. Jagan Mohan and Samir Chopra, Eagles over Bangladesh, pp.
333–34.
*
Ibid., p. 336.
*
J.N. Dixit, Liberation and Beyond (Delhi: Konark Publishers Pvt Ltd,
1999), p. 101.
*
Ibid, p. 140.
*
Lt Gen. J.F.R. Jacob, An Odyssey in War and Peace (New Delhi: Roli
Books, Lotus Collection, 2011), pp. 124–25.
*
Ibid., p. 125.
†
PT-76 is a light tank.
*
War Book in the Library of the United Service Institution, New Delhi.
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Books India, New Delhi, 2008
Major General Ian Cardozo, AVSM, SM (ed), The Indian Army: A Brief
History, Centre for Armed Forces Historical Research, USI, New Delhi,
2006
Commander Vijay Jerath, VrC, 25 Missile Boat Squadron: An Untold Story,
Prakash Books India Pvt Ltd, New Delhi, 2013
Major General Sukhwant Singh, India’s Wars Since Independence: The
Liberation of Bangladesh, Vikas Publishing House Pvt Ltd, New Delhi,
1981
Siddiq Salik, Witness to Surrender: Onlooker’s Journal 1969–1971, Oxford
University Press, Karachi, 1977
Brigadier Abdul Rahman Siddiqi, East Pakistan: The End Game: An
Onlooker’s Journal, Oxford University Press, Karachi, 2004
Major General Ian Cardozo, AVSM, SM, The Sinking of INS Khukri, Roli
Books Pvt Ltd, New Delhi, 2006
Gary J. Bass, The Blood Telegram, Random House India, Noida, 2013
Sagat Shaunik (ed), Untold Battlefield Tales, Fauji Foundation, Navi
Mumbai, 2019
Major General Shaukat Riza, The Pakistan Army: 1966–71, Book Club,
Lahore, Pakistan, 1990
Sentinels of the Sea: The Pakistan Navy 1947–1997, PN Book Club, Public
Relations Directorate, Naval Headquarters, Islamabad, 1997
Major General Ian Cardozo, AVSM, SM, First Five Gorkha Rifles: An
Illustrated History, the Khukri Connection, New Delhi, 2008
A Life in Service: The Biography of Major S. Kipgen, SM, by his wife
Maman, and published by members of his family, Imphal, Manipur, 1998
‘Indian Navy’s Submarine Arm Turns 50’, Shub Yatra (the in-flight
magazine of Air India), vol. 5, issue 11, December 2017
 Acknowledgements

There are many reasons why the 1971 Indo–Pak war resulted in one of the
quickest victories in modern military history. One of them being that the
victory happened because the synergy between the armed forces, politicians
and bureaucrats was perfect. The Service Chiefs thereafter provided the
leadership, and the soldiers, sailors and airmen did the rest. This needs to be
acknowledged.
In recognition of the principle of cooperation, I take this opportunity to
thank all those who have helped me to bring to life stories of events that
took place half a century ago.
Their names, in no particular order, are given below.

Brigadier Arun Harolikar, MVC

Colonel Yeshwant Rawat
Major General A.J.S. Sandhu, VSM
Brigadier Madhav Prasad
Air Vice Marshal B.K. Bishnoi, VrC
Lieutenant General J.F.R. Jacob, PVSM
Lieutenant General Satish Nambiar, PVSM, AVSM, VrC
Commander Arun Saigal, IN
Brigadier Kulvender Singh, AVSM
Lieutenant Colonel Quazi Sajjad Ali Zahir, Swadhinata Padak, Bir Protik
Lieutenant Colonel K.S. Puntambekar
Vice Admiral Mihir K. Roy, PVSM, AVSM
Lieutenant General Vijay Oberoi, PVSM, AVSM, VSM
Squadron Leader Rana Chhina, MBE
Commander Vijay Jerath, VrC
Commander Vinayak Agashe
Admiral S.M. Nanda, Padma Vibhushan, PVSM, AVSM, NM
Admiral (Podgy) Kulkarni, PVSM, AVSM, VSM
Colonel Abu Taher, Bir Uttam
Major S. Kipgen, SM
Major J.V. Raju
Air Vice Marshal Bishnoi, VrC
Brigadier Kuldip S. Chandpuri, MVC
Major General Suresh Gupta, VrC
Lieutenant General Anil Nandal, PVSM, AVSM
Lieutenant Colonel D.B.S. Mian, SM
Lieutenant Colonel Amolak Sharma
Colonel Sheel Puri, VrC
Manish Bawa
Colonel Sunith Cardozo
Colonel M.M.P. Kala
Lieutenant Colonel B.S. Verma
1/5 Gorkha Rifles (FF)
4/5 Gorkha Rifles (FF)
1 Maratha Light Infantry
Centre for Armed Forces Historical Research
United Service Institution of India

In addition to the names given above, I would like to also acknowledge the
special contribution to these stories by the persons as listed below.
Admiral S.M. Nanda, Padma Vibhushan, PVSM, AVSM, for elaborating
the facts given in his book The Man Who Bombed Karachi during an
interview at the Claridges hotel—facts that have embellished the stories
‘Mission Karachi’ and ‘The Hunt for the Vikrant’.
Lieutenant General J.F.R. Jacob, PVSM, for additions to the events
described in his books Surrender at Dacca and An Odyssey in War and
Peace during frequent interactions at the USI, New Delhi, that have added
spice to the stories ‘The Hunt for the Vikrant’, ‘The Beginning of the End,’
‘The Race for Dhaka’ and ‘The Last Straw’.
 Vice Admiral Mihir K. Roy, for his encouraging support and for
facilitating my introduction to those who led the attack on Karachi, and to
the experts on submarine and anti-submarine warfare, all of whom
contributed to the stories ‘The Hunt for the Vikrant’, ‘Mission Karachi’ and
‘The Sinking of the Khukri: A Captain’s Dilemma’.
Ameeta Mulla Vattal, for her inputs into the life of her father, Captain
Mahendra Nath Mulla, MVC, and the values he believed in and lived by, in
the story of the ‘The Sinking of the Khukri: A Captain’s Dilemma.’
Brigadier Kuldip S. Chandpuri, MVC, for elaborating on what happened
at Longewala during the Indo–Pak war of 1971 during an interview at
Panchkula in 2015; glimpses of his courage and that of his men can be seen
in the story ‘Long Shot at Longewala’.
Air Marshal M.S. Bawa, PVSM, AVSM, VM, for his ‘Occasional Paper
No. IV’ on ‘The Air Battle of Longewala’, which gives an account of how
the air battle at Longewala was fought and the fabulous outcome that was
achieved by the Indian Air Force.
Major General Suresh Gupta, VrC, for interminable discussions on what
really happened during the battle of Sejhra during the 1971 Indo–Pak war
on the Western Front, as described in the story ‘The Gates of Rattoke’. The
story highlights that it is not only physical courage that wins battles—moral
courage is equally important.
Brigadier Arun Bhimrao Harolikar, MVC, for his written account,
interjections and clarifications as Commanding Officer of the 4th Battalion,
5th Gorkha Rifles (FF), and also other officers of the battalion on what
really happened at the battles of Atgram, Gazipur and Sylhet during the
1971 war as described in the stories ‘The Beeb’s Best Broadcast’ and ‘The
Race for Dhaka’.
Air Vice Marshal B.K. Bishnoi, for the narration of an incident that
hastened the surrender of the Pak Army at Dhaka in the story ‘The Last
Straw’.
The Pakistani book of naval anecdotes, titled Bubbles of Water, which I
read a long time ago. The book was with the Maritime History Society,
Mumbai. It is one of the anecdotes from this book, combined with a
corresponding account from Transition to Triumph: History of the Indian
Navy 1965–1975, that forms the basis of the story ‘Touch of Luck’.
Lieutenant General Satish Nambiar, PVSM, AVSM, VrC, for his personal
narration of the battle of Jamalpur, which forms the background to the story
‘A Bullet for Breakfast’.
Lieutenant Colonel K.S. Puntambekar, whose written account of his
experience of the battle of Jamalpur helped in fleshing out ‘A Bullet for
Breakfast’.
The family of Colonel Abu Taher, whom I had the good fortune to meet
at the Dhaka airport, filled me in on the story of this incredible and
indomitable officer of the Bangladesh Army, narrated in ‘And Then There
Was One’.
Maman Kipgen, for her book A Life in Service: The Biography of Major
S. Kipgen, SM on her husband, Major S. Kipgen, an outstanding officer of
the Indian Army who was killed by terrorists in Manipur; they gunned him
down in front of his wife and children. His story forms part of ‘And Then
There Was One’.
Commander Vijay Jerath, VrC, for numerous conversations on the Indian
naval attack on Karachi during the 1971 war, and his book 25 Missile
Squadron: An Untold Story, which formed the basis of the story ‘Mission
Karachi’.
The underwater aspects of warfare, mentioned in ‘The Hunt for the
Vikrant’, ‘A Touch of Luck’, ‘Mission Karachi’ and ‘The Sinking of INS
Khukri: A Captain’s Dilemma’, have been gleaned from Transition to
Triumph: The History of the Indian Navy 1965–1971, and from oral
descriptions from submarine Commanders of the Indian Navy about what
happens in war under the sea.
The details of ‘The Last Straw’, which gives the story of the last days of
Dhaka before the surrender, have been gleaned from the book Eagles over
Bangladesh by P.V.S. Jagan Mohan and Samir Chopra; and from Surrender
at Dhaka: Birth of a Nation and An Odyssey of War and Peace by
Lieutenant General J.F.R. Jacob. Whereas I had the opportunity to discuss
the details with General Jacob, I have never had the good fortune to meet
Jagan Mohan and Samir Chopra, whose accounts of the air aspects of the
battle of Sylhet and the raid on Governor’s House in Dhaka have made my
accounts of these events come alive.
I would like to specially thank Major General A.J.S. Sandhu, better
known as ‘Abdo’, for his intervention as a military historian. His comments
and suggestions helped greatly to put the stories in the correct historical
perspective. And Brigadier Madhav Prasad, who is a close friend, for
reading each story and for his encouraging words.
I would most specially like to thank Meghna Girish for taking the trouble
to edit each story and for giving me valuable suggestions to make each
story ‘special’. She owns this book as much as I do.
My grateful thanks to Rachna Bisht Rawat for introducing me to Gurveen
Chadha, the commissioning editor at Penguin Random House India.
Gurveen shepherded me in the writing of this book, guiding me all along.
Thank you, Gurveen. Thanks also to Vineet Gill, my editor, for his
meticulous editing of the stories and for his patience.
Most of all, I wish to thank Priscilla, my wife, who in the evening of our
lives allowed me to spend long hours researching and writing these stories
at the cost of time spent together.
 THE BEGINNING

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This collection published 2021

Copyright © Ian Cardozo 2021
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Ahlawat Gunjan
This digital edition published in 2021.
e-ISBN: 978-9-354-92028-8
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