The Brave: Param Vir Chakra Stories (11 page)

Ram Chander holds him in a tight embrace and rolls down into the ravine with him. Then, carrying his company commander on his back, he walks 800 metres and, stopping near a boulder, lays down the major. He meets another soldier, who is injured and bleeding. They get caught in enemy crossfire.

Realizing that his men will not have a chance to escape if they have to carry him, Maj Shaitan Singh orders them to leave him where he is and save their own lives. ‘Go back and tell them how we fought till the last. This is my company. I want to die here. Yeh aapke liye aadesh hai,’ (This is my order) he insists, his breath coming in painful gasps.

It is 8. 15 a. m. The snow is still falling and the sky is a dull grey. Reluctantly, the soldiers leave. They find their way to the quarter master’s shed only to find it burning. It has been set on fire by their own men, who had received orders to destroy everything and come back to battalion HQ in Chushul. The survivors walk six miles to reach the battalion.

Meanwhile, Nihal escapes that night from enemy custody and manages to reach his post. He finds bodies scattered like rag dolls. Maj Shaitan Singh’s tent lies shredded to bits. His friend Chiman has his head blown off. Mahender from Mandola village is dragging himself around, his legs crushed.

‘Bhai mujhe bhi le chal (Buddy, take me along),’ Mahender implores him, but Nihal tells him he is helpless since his own arms are useless.

‘I couldn’t help Mahender,’ he says sadly.

‘Theek hai bhai, phir tu nikal (Alright buddy, you carry on),’ Mahender tells him and Nihal turns to find his way back to his battalion headquarter. He sees the enemy firing illumination rounds into the air to spot him, but his white parka blends in with the falling snow and he manages to climb down the ridge undetected.

When he is tired and lost, Tommy, a big local dog from a nearby village, who has been a routine visitor to their post for meat, finds him. Nihal follows the dog blindly, tripping and falling on the slope.

Many hours later, a soldier at the battalion HQ in Chushul, looking through his binoculars, finds a wounded man pulling himself through the snow. He is recognized as Nihal ofC Company. Both his arms are hanging limply by his side, his uniform is bloodstained and tattered, he has lost a lot of blood and is weak from lack of food and water. Nihal is brought back quickly, fed halwa and tea and then sent to Jammu hospital for treatment.

He is one of the survivors of Rezang La; he recounts the brave tale of the handful of men who tried desperately to save their post from falling into enemy hands. He speaks of the 1310 dead enemy soldiers whose bodies were taken back by the Chinese. He says the Chinese got 25 trucks in which they loaded the bodies of their men.

After the ceasefire, Rezang La falls into no man’s land, which means it is disputed and not to be occupied by either country. Maj Shaitan Singh and his men lie frozen there till a shepherd discovers their bodies three months later.

‘It is a credit to Maj Shaitan Singh’s courage, devotion to duty and leadership that his men fought so bravely till the end despite knowing that the odds were against them. They did this because he was the perfect leader, who inspired them with his own example,’ says Brigadier (Retired) R. V. Jatar, who was commanding D Company during the ‘62 war. ‘The written orders that all company commanders had received from the battalion commander during that war were that you will fight to the last man, the last round. Shaitan was the kind of man, who followed orders to the T.’

Jatar talks about Maj Shaitan Singh with a lot of affection. ‘His name was Shaitan Singh, but he was one of the finest gentlemen I have ever come across. Gentle and shy otherwise, he proved that he was a lion in war. The jawans loved him,’ he says. He remembers how Shaitan’s company had won a defence preparedness competition at Baramulla just five months before the war. ‘In Rezang La they had very limited material, they could not even build proper overhead covering since they didn’t have tin sheds and their company was completely bombarded. They couldn’t have saved themselves.’ Jatar recounts a story about when Shaitan and another officer were in a train and they chanced upon an astrologer. Just for fun they asked him to read their palms. ‘When the astrologer saw Shaitan’s hand, he prophesized that he was headed for great glory. Maybe he saw death, but he did not mention that, ‘ says Jatar.

Great glory did come to Maj Shaitan Singh in a war that is mostly remembered with shame. Every man of C Company who fought at Rezang La was a hero. The name of Maj Shaitan Singh, who inspired his men so much that they preferred death to surrender, will live forever in the pages of India’s military history. His supreme courage, leadership and exemplary devotion to duty inspired his company to fight gallantly to the last man. For this act of undaunted courage in the face of the enemy, he was awarded with the Param Vir Chakra (posthumously).

Shaitan Singh was born on 1 December 1924 at Banasar village in Jodhpur district, Rajasthan. The village is now known as Shaitan Singh Nagar. He belonged to the Bhati clan of Rajputs. He was from an Army family and was greatly inspired by his father Lieutenant Colonel Hem Singh, who had served with the Jodhpur Lancers and been injured in France during World War I; he had been awarded the OBE for his bravery and devotion to duty.

Shaitan studied in the Rajput High School, Chopasni at Jodhpur. He was a quiet and soft-spoken boy and good at sports, particularly football. He went on to play for the forces and had even played the Durand Cup. After completing his graduation, he joined the Jodhpur Lancers (Horse Squadron) and when the State Forces merged with the Indian Army, he joined the Kumaon Regiment.

Army officers, who bring their families for a holiday to Pangong Tso, the brilliant blue lake in Ladakh, often continue to drive up the mud track to Chushul, racing the wild horses called kiangs and watching grazing herds of blue sheep, or napo. They startle marmots nibbling on strands of grass and continue driving over the rocky road till they reach the Rezang La memorial.

The memorial has been built on the site where the men of C Company were cremated. There, inscribed on a white marble block, are the names of the martyrs of Rezang La and the following lines by Lord Thomas Macaulay: How can a man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his gods.

It is March 2014. A dilapidated, old house stands in the middle of golden wheat fields that are ready to be harvested in Dhamupur village, district Ghazipur, Uttar Pradesh. Many years ago this was the place where Abdul Hamid sat with a sewing machine, stitching clothes for people, with the chatter of his children echoing through the house.

Now even his wife Rasoolan Bibi doesn’t live here. The fields have been rented out for cultivation while Hamid’s family has shifted three kilometres away, near Dhulapur Railway Station from where Jameel, Rasoolan Bibi’s grandson, says, it is easier to commute and to get medicine for his grandmother. Jameel takes a local train to commute to Varanasi every day for work.

There are only two things that Ghazipur is famous for, he says: the opium factory and his grandfather. ‘Vir Abdul Hamid’ (Abdul Hamid, the Brave) is a chapter that class six students read in their Hindi literature books. When Jameel was in school, he read it too, and says he felt very proud that it was his grandfather that the teacher was telling the boys about.

Dhulapur Railway station is the same from where Hamid caught the local train to Varanasi in 1965 to his unit. It was deployed in the Khem Karan sector. That evening had brought with it some bad omens, as Rasoolan likes to call them, and she had tried her best to discourage her husband from leaving. But he had shrugged it off with a half smile. For him, the Army had always come first.

Hamid presses his rolled-up bedding with his knee and knots the thick rope binding it together. He is giving it another tug to make the bed roll tighter when the rope suddenly snaps, leaving one half in his hand. The bedding unfolds, spilling the contents. Amongst these is a muffler that Rasoolan has bought for her husband from a fair in a nearby village. She is in tears. ‘That is a bad omen,’ she says, ‘Don’t go today.’

Hamid says he cannot stay back; he has to join his battalion as per the orders. Telling her not to worry, and ‘Didn’t I return safe from the ‘62 war?’, he gets on with his packing.

A little later, he leaves the house accompanied by relatives, and his friend Bachu Singh carrying his trunk and holdall on a bicycle; the chain of the cycle breaks. The villagers take this to be another bad sign and try to convince him to stay back for the night and take another train the next morning.

But Hamid does not listen. By the time he finally reaches the station the train has left. Undeterred, Hamid says he shall wait for the night train. He tells his friends and family to return. That is the last they will see of him.

The fields are rustling with sugar cane and even as Hamid sits in the passenger seat of his jeep, which has mounted on it a recoilless (RCL) gun, he can hear the wind. The jeep trundles over a narrow mud track ahead ofCheema village. Hamid knows Pakistan has launched an attack with a regiment of Patton tanks that has barged right into the forward position. He hears the rumble of armour first and then catches sight of a few tanks that are heading towards his battalion.

Taking cover behind the tall crop, Hamid points his gun in their direction and then waits. The Grenadiers hold their fire so as not to warn the enemy. Just as the tanks come within 30 yards, Hamid asks his loader to load the gun and shoot. He watches the shell go up and arch towards the first enemy tank. Even as he picks up his binoculars, he hears the blast. The tank is burning in front of his eyes.

Hamid and his men rejoice. ‘Shabaash!’, Bravo, he mouths and they exchange wide smiles. They spot the crew of the two following tanks dismount and run away. Hamid orders the driver to reverse and move.

Around 11. 30 a. m., the battalion is subjected to heavy artillery shelling and then they hear the familiar rumble again. Hamid whips out his binoculars. Three more tanks are heading in their direction. He positions his jeep in the midst of the field to hide it from view and, positioning his gun, waits. The moment the tank comes within shooting distance, he signals to the loader and watches the trajectory of the shell. It hits target and one more tank is burning in front of his eyes while the remaining two are again abandoned by the Pakistanis. By the end of the day, Hamid has destroyed two tanks while four have been abandoned.

Demands are now made on the engineers to lay out anti-tank mines in the area since that is where the enemy tanks are coming in from. They do the best they can under the time available. It is clear that the battalion is facing a brigade-level attack from the Pakistani armoured forces and all they have to fight them with are RCL guns. That doesn’t bother the soldiers who in high spirits after their initial victories.

The next morning Hamid is back at his job and he destroys two more tanks with his RCL gun. The battalion also faces an air attack from Pakistani Sabre jets but these don’t do much damage. By the end of the day, Hamid and his team have shot down two more tanks. It is a remarkable achievement.

That night Abdul Hamid sleeps well. He is happy with his achievement. His citation has been sent for a Param Vir Chakra (PVC). It credits him with the destruction of four tanks.

The next day Hamid shows up on the battlefield yet again. He will destroy three more tanks (according to Jameel, who has heard about the battle from a survivor, who died a few years back). This, however, will not get entered into his records since his citation has already been sent.

4 Grenadiers comes under heavy enemy shelling. After that there is another assault by enemy tanks. They are moving in a formation of three. Hamid waits under cover of vegetation and when the first tank gets close, he blows it up, quickly asking his driver to move away. Just as they do, a tank shell drops and bursts at the very spot where they were a few minutes ago.

The brave Grenadiers have moved to another point behind a thicket from where they are training their gun on another Patton. They shoot it down as well. By now, the shelling has started. The enemy tanks have noticed the jeeps and they concentrate machine gunfire on them. Hamid is tricking them by constantly changing his position and by keeping his jeep camouflaged by the tall sugar cane crop. Another tank slowly lumbers towards him, but he does not have the time to move since they have both spotted each other. Both place each other in their sights and shoot. Both shells hit their targets. There is a loud blast, fire and smoke. Even as the tank is blown up, its shell hits the jeep. The impact flings it in the air. There are screams of pain, a lound crash and then complete silence intercepted only by the crackle of flames.

Abdul Hamid is dead. He has blown up a total of seven enemy tanks, even more than an armoured formation can hope for.

For his remarkable achievement, bravery and courage, Abdul Hamid is awarded the PVC posthumously. The battalion is awarded the Battle Honour of Asal Uttar and the Theatre Honour (Punjab). For first time in military history a battalion with only RCL guns at its disposal has fought off an armoured division.

Abdul Hamid was born on 1 July 1933 in Dhamupur village of district Ghazipur in Uttar Pradesh to Sakina Begum and Mohammad Usman, who had three more boys and two girls. Abdul’s father was a tailor by profession and Abdul would often help him stitch clothes before he decided to join the Army.

He began his schooling at the Basic Primary School, Dhamupur, and passed his class eight from Junior High School, Deva. Nature’s child, Abdul enjoyed wrestling, swimming, hunting and gatka, a kind of sword fighting. When just 14, he was married to Rasoolan Bibi, and they had five children, one daughter and four sons.

Abdul was a proud man. His grandson Jameel recounts an incident when Haseen Ahmed, the zamindar of a nearby village, who was a good marksman, offered big prize money to anyone who would shoot down a particular bird which Ahmed himself had not been able to do.

Abdul borrowed his friend Bachu’s gun and shot the bird, but refused to go to the zamindar for the prize money. It was Bachu who went there instead and when the zamindar asked for Abdul to come collect the prize, Abdul refused, saying, ‘I might be poor, but I don’t go begging to people’s houses.’ The zamindar later had the prize money sent to his house.

Hamid was 20 years old when he was recruited at Varanasi into the Army. After undergoing his training at the Grenadiers Regimental Centre at Nasirabad, he was posted to 4 Grenadiers in 1955. Initially, he served in a rifle company and was then posted to a recoilless platoon. He fought in the ‘62 war in Thang La, then in the North-East Frontier Province, as part of the 7 Mountain Brigade, 4 Mountain Division, and came back disappointed with the war. After ceasefire was declared his unit moved to Ambala where Abdul was appointed Company Quarter Master Havildar (CQMH) of an administration company.

When Pakistan attacked in the Rann of Kutch area in April 1965, 4 Grenadiers was ordered to move forward and to collect their 106 RCL guns from the nearest ordnance depot. Hamid was one of the non-commissioned instructors. Due to absence of anti-tank detachment commanders, he was told to take over an anti-tank detachment. A very good marksman and an expert anti-tank gunner with a new anti-tank gun at his disposal, he made a big difference to the outcome of the war.

Hamid died on 10 September 1965. Though his citation credits him with destroying four enemy tanks, according to officers serving in the unit at that time, he actually destroyed three more. Since his citation was sent on 9 September, it did not count the three tanks he destroyed the next day; he was killed in action during the last fight with the seventh tank.

NOTE

There is ambiguity about how many tanks Hamid destroyed. According to
War Despatches: Indo-Pak conflict 1965
by Lieutenant General Harbaksh Singh, Hamid spotted four tanks in a sugar cane field, heading towards his company. Hiding his jeep behind a mound, he shot three of them from point-blank range. He also managed to hit the fourth but was blown to bits when a 90 mm shell hit his jeep.

An interesting aside of the ‘65 war is that after the Battle of Asal Uttar, meaning befitting reply, where the Pakistani tank division was completely routed, the deserted and damaged Pakistani Patton tanks were collected as war trophies. As many as 70 of them lay dumped in a place called Bhikkiwind, which the locals began calling Patton Nagar! According to Gen Harbaksh’s book, in three days of the war, 75 Pakistani tanks were destroyed or abandoned, including the entire tank fleet of 4 Cavalry, whose commanding officer, 12 officers and several other ranks surrendered on the morning of 11 September.

After the ceasefire there sprang up a tank cemetery at Bhikkiwind, where some 70 Pakistani tanks were collected and parked before evacuation. The locals’ name for it, Patton Nagar, was a unique memorial to all those who fought and fell at Asal Uttar or survived the ordeal of that battlefield to fight another day. The Pattons were displayed for a while after which they were taken to different Army cantonments across the country to be displayed as war trophies.