Col R Hariharan VSM | July 25, 2021
[This is an updated version of a draft written in July 7, 2015 for a book on 1965 India-Pakistan war.]
After nearly five decades, some memories of Kutch operation still linger in my mind. Soon after commissioning in June 1963, I joined 11 Field Regiment in New Mal (North Bengal) in 27 Mountain Division. The lingering memories of Chinese threat had galvanised the army in the Northeast and we were training day in and day out in New Mal.
The South Indian regiment was an old unit, raised towards last phase of World War II. It had participated in Kashmir operations, with a gunner decorated with a Vir Chakra for valour at Zojila Pass. The well trained unit worked with clock work precision. The officer ranks were full of neophytes like me, who had joined the army, when struck by a bout of patriotism during Chinese agression. Perhaps, because of our shortened training, we needed a bigger dose of regimentation than normal to come to terms with army life and its cast iron discipline. But we took it in our stride, grumbling like our seasoned soldiers.
There were some unique experiences. I became the gun position officer of the battery, who deploys and commands six guns fo the batter at the gun end. I remember, one day I had taken our Battery of 25 pounders (of World War II vintage), out for an exercise on the road near Jalpaiguri. Suddenly, a funnily dressed policeman appeared in the middle of our way and asked us to stop the convoy. He asked me to turn back. I was furious; which policeman has the audacity to stop the Indian army moving in their own country? I asked.
He replied in chaste Urdu, “wohi tho problem hai Sab, yeh Bharat nahi hai, abhi aap Pakistan ke andhar aagaye hain Sab (Sir, that is the problem. This is not India, now you have entered Pakistan Sir)”! It was my turn to apologize and silently get out of the large Pak border enclave. That was the state of wide open borders in East Pakistan in those days! Now, I cannot believe such a bonhomie existed once upon a time between India and Pakistan; it will snowball into a major border incident, with both sides lodging official protests. Worse than that, the officer responsible for the "international" incident (yours truly) would be hauled upon by commanders, to face disciplinary action.
We were moved from the steaming tea garden setting of New Mal, to the laid back cantonment town of Deolali (Maharashtra), the home of Indian artillery, in mid 1964. The journey from New Mal in the military special provided me the first lesson of the reality of civil-military cooperation in action. We boarded the 'military special' - sad looking derelict carriages of WW-II vintage. I was the train duty officer getting impatient as our departure was delayed for too long. I called the station master for an expalantion. He reported to me the train was ready. I asked him if the train was ready, why were we waiting for the last eight hours? He smiled at my ignorance and said "sir, power hasn't come". I was puzzled. What power? He pointed out that the engine wasn't there. I learnt that unlike the army, for the civilian system, thought is more important than action!
We were the training regiment for artillery school in Deolali. Our training duties kept us busy in field firing ranges. Our holdings of vehicles and equipment were scaled down to 'peace scale', which meant accepting shortages of equipment and arms. However, I gained rich experience in the gunnery of not only our 25 pounders, but also medium guns and mortars. Our gunners, including the recruits, also mastered their gunnery skills under the watchful eyes of expee trienced JCOs and NCOs.r
Of course, we had our share of peace station drudgery of endless station courts of inquiry and boards as well as formal dinner nights at the end of many a hard day’s work. But every small regimental experience meant greater bonding among us. This came in handy a few months later, in Kutch when we fought the Pak army.
In January 1965 as IO (Intelligence officer) of the regiment, I went with my CO Lt Col 'Henry' Srinivasan to the Rann of Kutch in Gujarat for recce of our area of operational responsibility along Pakistan border. We familiarised ourselves with the terrain of the Rann, which was unique. The CO went on target selection which were surveyed by our teams.
I remember going out with the CO and our brigade commander on a recce, all of us were dressed in Gujarat police uniform. We went along with a Gujarat armed police patrol (in those days they were manning the Kutch border).We met a Pak Ranger patrol, apparently at a prearranged point. The Pak patrol commander halted and read out a pompous protest in urdu, saying that we were intruding in Pak territory and should turn back. I expected an immediate flare up.
But it became absurd theater, when our patrol commander took out a sheet of paper and read out a rejoinder in Hindi. It was worded in equally strong language and delivered in the same serious monotonous tone. Then both sides sat down. We drink tea readily brewed by the jawans of Sikh LI (of course in police uniform). Pakistanis enjoyed the brew and chit chatted freely.
If I remember correct, Brig Pahlajani our commander, who was with us in a police sepoy’s uniform, asked the Pak inspector "Ustad yeh track kahan chalta hai" (Sir, where does this track go?). The Pak inspector got up and smartly saluted him. When our commander protested that he was only sepoy, the Pak inspector laughed. He said "Huzur kya baat kar rahen hai, aap tho afsar hai. Jawan thodai ‘track’ bolega! (Sir, what are you talking, you are an officer. No sepoy will use the word track)." And everyone of the paramilitary laughed, we tried to look serious. I could spot some smart looking Pak men in police uniform also looking equally sheepish. I am giving this instance at the level of bonhomie that existed between the two neighbours, till the shooting war started and turned the tide.
When we returned to Deolali, the unit sent a team of gun detachments to the training area in Little Rann, located well away from border, but identical to the peculiar desert terrain of the Rann. Though, we never expected to fight a war, professionally we were ready for one in our allotted operational area. I realised training 24x7 is the hall mark of Indian army, to be ready to fight a shooting war at short notice.
A few months later in summer, one day we were ordered to move within 12 hours from Deolali to Rann of Kutch for operations. As we were a training regiment of the artillery school, we carried limited ammunition. Nearly one third of our vehicles were unserviceable and off road. In any case, they were of World War II vintage. Guns required barrel replacement, as they were worn out due to firing almost daily for training at the artillery school cadets. But, we had no time to sort out these issues. And on top of it all, we were to move over 800 km distance by road using our own transport!
As a trained regiment with well honed skills in artillery deployement, we had no problem to get ready and move the same night, as per drill. But, nobody briefed us on the operational situation. But the trickle down information of cookhouse gossip (lungar gup, the troops grapevine) indicated Pak troops had attacked and a killed a few policemen manning the border post in our operational area.
Two of my battery gun-towers (they are called FAT -field artillery tractors) broke down enroute, between Baroda and Surendranagar. As the senior battery heading the convoy, we were asked to get a camp ready for the regiment. I had the thankless task of selecting an open area in the outskirts of Surendranagar for a camp for 500 troops, 18 field guns and 70 assorted vehicles in total darkness. By morning, our operational deployment orders were expected. I was dead tired by late in the night and slept soundly in the pup tent my orderly had pitched.
In the morning, I woke up to find I was at the bottom of a pit. It was still dark, I could see Gunner Mohammed Sharif, my batman, peering down at me from the top with concern. "Sab, get out quickly," he held out his hand sheepishly!
When I stepped out, I was aghast to find my orderly had pitched my tent on a grave on the edge of a khabaristan (Muslim graveyard)! And I had slept on top of a grave stone, which sank into the grave due to my weight! My batman, a god fearing Muslim, ran to the town to fetch a pir baba. The pir dressed in black, blew holy smoke at at me and mumbled some chant. He felt happy when I paid him a princely sum of rupees two and said I had nothing to worry. It was a talkative old woman's grave who died long back. He joked the woman would still be busy talking in jannat (heaven)! So much, for my military skill in selecting a camping site for my regiment!
We stayed on there for one more day and my batman requested me not to talk about the 'grave' incident. He gavely said it would be construed as bad omen before ops! Of course, my tent was now pitched well away from the clumsily desecrated grave. By then our vehicles stranded en route had also fetched up. We drove into our gun position which I had reconnoitered.
The terrain was flat as a billiard table and we spent next two days digging down deep to construct our bunkers. We moved into the bunkers as and when they were completed. In the first night, I and my orderly hunted out twenty one scorpions crawling under the tarpaulin on which my camp bed was to be made. They probably found the my tent floor cooler, than the sweltering heat of desert soil. So my nights were restless.
The first thing the regiment did was to line up everybody; our regimental doctor and nursing assistant gave us each two shots of inoculation for typhoid and cholera. This is a precaution military units follow in war and peace to keep men fit at all time. I remember, when we were deployed in New Mal earlier, we were given a tablet of chloroquin and the gunners were asked to show their empty hand confirm they have swallowed it immediately. This was to prevent deadly Malaria, that is endemic in Northeast India.
We sent out patrols to clear the nearby area full of low dried up shrubs. There was a ‘lone tree’ – a twisted contortion of a five feet high thorny kikar tree. I sited the command post close to it, because the tree was a surveyed land mark. I and my two colleagues – all 2/Lts – sited the three light machine guns (still called as Bren guns by troops) for protection of our gun position. We netted our HF sets with the battery commander located at Sardar Post with 1 Mahar the forward battalion. It was commanded by Lt Col Sundarji (who went on to become the Army Chief). The second battalion of the brigade - 2 Sikh LI - was commanded by Lt Col Henry Haus. (Apparently, this battalion failed to follow the inoculation regimen and we learnt a few score of troops were struck by typhoid, after they were deployed. Disciplinary action was taken for this aberration.)
Though the Pakistanis had run over the Sardar post before we came, they had not occupied it. A section of them were trapped and killed in the mine field in front of the post. In fact, one well sited LMG at the post killed some of the attackers, causing panic among them. Surprisingly, they never came back to collect the dead bodies, after leaving the unlucky place. I was sad to see our counter part in the Pak artillery a captain a hapless FOO (forward observation officer, who directs artillery fire) was among the dead bodies rotting there.
However, Maharis found one SSG (Special Services Group - commando force) officer Major Zordar Afridi, wounded but still alive, trapped inside the minefield. One of the brave officers of Mahar went into the mine field to carry him back, alive and unscathed. This was the first Pakistani interrogation of a prisoner I had seen. Later over the years, as a Military Intelligence officer I had interrogated hundreds of Pakistani soldiers and officers. But I remember Afridi as the only one among them, who totally refused to give out any details other than his name number and rank. (In 1971 war, I came across two other prisoners, who refused to given even their names and resisted interrogation. But we found both were mentally deranged.)
In those, artillery depended on tenuous line communication which was disrupted due to enemy action. So we had to constantly check them. Once, I took it upon myself to change the alignment of the cable line to avoid disruption, I ended up at 1 Mahar defences. I had a look at the rotting Pakistani bodies trapped inside the minefields. Their bodies could not be brought without the risk of setting off the mines; efforts to burn them off attracted Pakistani artillery and mortar fire. In the night, jackals would sneak in to drag the bodies, setting off the flares and mines.
As it was the desert, we could see the fireworks of flares and exploding mines lighting up the FDLs (forward defended localities) when jackals try to drag them out. In day time, it was the turn of vultures tearing up the bodies to set off the mines. The depressing experience turned grim, when swarms of flies and blue bottles bred on the rotting corpse. They were all over, often landing on troops in swarms. I remember when a Mahar JCO offered me a cup of tea at the FDLs, he advised me to cover with the hand to prevent the landing of the swarm of flies hovering around us.
Only the Indian army soldier can endure such ordeals in the battlefield, because even in his normal life in the village living on bare bare sustenance was equally tough. It was these tough soldiers who inspired me to stay on in the army, though I never joined it to make a career of it.
The artillery regiments on both sides traded fire regularly. It was predictable that Pakistanis would fire on us in the mornings, when the sunlight lit up our side. In the evening, it was our turn to shell. After the first few days, we got accustomed to the routine and would take cover based on the trajectory of shells indicated by the noise. (If you hear the noise, that means you have survived, because artillery shell travels faster than sound). Luckily, we were well camouflaged and apparently the Pakistanis had to depend upon sound ranging equipment data to fire upon us.
I presume we were equally good or bad; we also had our sound ranging unit joining us rather late. But, Pakistani soldiers were guiding us by loose talk on radio, which indicated where our rounds were falling. One day, I decided to break the firing routine and opened fire in the morning. Apparently, it irritated the Pakistani gunners, who kept firing the whole day. And I got a mouthful for my action from everyone.
There were two serious attempts to put us out of action after the Pakistanis got their air OP planes. Their Bird Dog aircraft in tandem came up frequently to locate us, when we were firing. I remember a conversation between the two Pak pilots when they saw our bren gun carrier – the small tracked vehicle of World War II vintage – moving near the FDLs. “Arre Bhai, I see a tank moving at three o’clock. Do you see it” the first pilot said. “Have no fear brother, Shastriji (obviously Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri) will never have the guts to bring tanks against us” was the arrogant reply of the other pilot.
But apparently they had zeroed on our location accurately, because the next day heavy bombardment of medium guns was brought down upon us. I remember there were around 109 shells, each weighing 100 lbs, landed on our gun position and rear area. We could hear the splinters landing on top of our bunkers. Some of the air burst shells burst above us.
The nerve wracking sound was very much like two rail engines colliding together overhead. After that experience for a few years, I used to hear that noise suddenly in my dreams and wake up. But, luckily we escaped with little damage. Two of our trucks in the rear area were put out of action. One shell landed in the gun position and damaged a part of the gun. There was no loss of life or injury. I admired our troops, who kept their discipline and did not move or open fire. But tension was palpable among all of us.
For days we had no water to bathe; it was rationed to one bath in ten days. I cut my hair very short, and ordered the troops to follow, after body lice started making our life miserable. Our RMO (regimental medical officer) dutifully came to inspect our sanitation and sprayed DDT on our bodies to eliminate the lice. Apparently, they defied him and on his advice we got some more water allotted for bathing, which became twice a week.
A second experience was the night a SSG patrol tried to break into our gun position. Our night patrols reported seeing a jeep with a machine gun mounted on top in the silhouette. I also saw the approaching jeep, backlit in the night light of the desert. I warned all the gun positions and asked them to lay the gun for direct fire and not to fire without my orders. But the Pak patrol stumbled into our low wire entanglement. One excited gunner at the gun end opened rifle fire! Then hell broke loose, with all the LMG’s and rifles opening fire wildly. I totally lost control of them.
The Pak patrol beat a hasty retreat and vanished in the desert. I alerted the Battery Commander about the incident and got a mouthful for my inability to instill discipline on my troops. But thanks to him, 1 Mahar CO Lt Col Sundarji visited my gun position and inspected our siting of LMGs. He made some minor adjustments and asked me not to be unnerved by the machine guns. He explained to me that it was probably an SSG patrol trying to make a surprise attack the gun position. Probably, on his recommendation, we were allotted an MMG detachment from Raj Rif for our protection.
There was an incident of human interest. As the 'lone tree' kicker provided a good marker for Pak artillery observation flights to locate our command post, I ordered the BHM (Battery Havildar Major - equivalent of Battery Seargent Major) to cut it down. He ordered a gunner to chop it down. The gunner refused to do so. He was marched up (believe it or not, in the midst of operation they do march them up) before me for disobeying a lawful order, a serious crime in operational area. I asked him why he disobeyed the order. He said, there were two chicks in a small nest in the tree, which reminded him of his own two kids. He did not have the heart to cut down the tree because the chicks would surely die.
I and the BHM dutifully inspected the tree. There they were - the two chicks with their mouth wide open- awaiting their mother to feed them. I decided, in unmilitary fashion, to let the tree survive. Apparently, my order disgusted the BHM. "He said Gunnerxxxx has disobeyed lawful command. He cannot be allowed to go free", the agitated old soldier said. I gave the errant gunner three days night duty and warned him next time I would not be so kind.
This story had a sequel enacted the same night. A battery of medium guns was asked to build up the support on our battery's left flank. They came on the radio and said they were lost; their GPO asked me "sir can you indicate your position with a landmark on the surveyed list." I asked him whether he can see the "lone tree." He replied me that he could see it in the silouhett as the only tree standing and thanked me as it would help him to take the correct course to his location. Next day, a smiling BHM attributed my decision not to cut the tree to "Bhagwan ka leela (a caper of god)".
I remember the day a local ceasefire was worked out; our air op Major Loganathan (later Brigadier) was up and was directing our fire on Pakistani SP guns, which were moving. We were right on target with our gun fire, scattering them when the call came from my CO on the radio to ceasefire immediately. I was irritated and immature and wanted to punish the Pakistanis ceasefire or no ceasefire.
I pressed the presser switch to cut off the conversation without acknowledging his order. On my own ordered three rounds gun fire and 18 shells landed on the Pakistani side. The CO came on telephone and I pretended I could not hear him. He called for another officer to take charge and placed me under open arrest for disobeying his order. A local ceasefire came into effect immediately. I was asked to report to the Brigade Headquarters to be marched up before the Commander for disobedience of orders during operation.
I had my Subedar Major Kalaiah with me in the jeep. He was a wily old war horse of WWII vintage. He told me, “Sir, you have committed a serious offence by not obeying the CO's order to ceasefire, that too in the middle of operations. I suggest you pretend you have gone deaf due to all the firing and shelling we have been facing. Deafness is common among artillerymen. So you say you could not make out what the CO was saying.” I thought it was a good idea.
A grim CO marched me up before Brigadier Pahlajani. The Brigadier sounded serious; “Well young fellow what is all this? Disobedience of orders during operations. Do you know the punishment for this under Army Act?” I acted as though I cannot hear him.
I said I am hard of hearing due to all the artillery firing. Suddenly, I had a brainwave; I said the CO said "cease firing" which was not the proper command as per Artillery drill book. I explained this to the Brigadier.
The Brigadier laughed at me, “Idiot you thought you are clever pretending to be deaf; now you say the order was not a lawful command. So stop pretending and hear me. You are starting your career so I don’t want to ruin your life in army. You are admonished and let me not have you before me once again,” he dismissed me with a smirk.
When the CO went out, the Commander asked me to stay and answer his question. “Why did you do the stupid thing tell me honestly” he asked.
I said “after eluding our fire all these days, I had their SPguns right on my target and the ceasefire order came when we had fired only two rounds gun fire. Only that morning they had fired 18 rounds upon us. So my blood was boiling and I let them have it”.
The good old soldier smiled and said “probably I would have done the same. Don’t tell others to do it again.” I came out and apologized to my CO, who was in no mood to accept my words.
After that the ceasefire came and it was drudgery to await our orders to go back to Deolali. Meanwhile I got my posting orders to move forthwith to Headquarters 4 Corps in Tezpur as GSO3(Int). And I went there making the longest journey I ever made on Indian railways from Bhuj to Tezpur traversing the whole of India from West to East. I reached Tezpur as a seasoned soldier within the first two years of service, who has had a brush with curtain raiser of the war. It flared up in real earnest in the next few months. Actually, 4 Corps was getting ready to face the Chinese, because there was still apprehension about their intention.
