by Mukul Deva
4 Guards getting ready to breach the Meghna river
Hearing that, also the manner in which it was delivered, gave me a better sense of what Granthi had said earlier, that if he ever had to go to battle again, he would want to do so under Himmeth’s leadership. It also gave me a more precise sense of how wide a shadow this aptly named man had cast over the battalion he had led.
‘That’s true,’ Glucose interrupted my thoughts. ‘I hadn’t seen Himmeth so excited in a long time. No one got a minute to rest. Orders were issued and as usual there was so much to be done … ammunition, food, weapons, casualties, re-distribution of men and equipment… We had no idea where the day went.’
‘It’s all on record,’ Paunchy was beaming with pride. ‘The entire battalion was launched into a heliborne operation with only four hours notice.’ He handed me a sheaf of letters that had been written by several commanders, to Himmeth. I glanced through them; each had a story to tell. So much so that I immediately decided they needed to be a part of this book. That is why you will find them at the end of the book.
‘And mind you,’ Paunchy wagged an impatient, important finger when I looked up from the letters, ‘we had been in constant contact with the enemy for eight solid days by now. We had taken many casualties including several key officers, and the boys were tired as hell. But inspite of all that, we were ready to go, at the impossibly short notice of four hours.’
The first sortie of ten MI4 choppers landed in Brahmanbaria stadium by 1500 hours.
‘We gathered the men and quickly explained the basics of heliborne operations to them,’ Granthi explained. ‘Those who wanted to, were given the opportunity to try out the mounting and dismounting drill. Especially the dismounting drill, since we knew that we would most probably be dismounting from the choppers in the face of the enemy.’
‘To be fair, in the year gone by, whilst the unit had been operating in the Mizo hills, we had carried out a number of heliborne operations against the Mizo hostiles,’ Glucose pointed. ‘Though none of these operations had been on as large a scale as the one we were embarking on right now, but they had given the boys a basic idea of how to operate in such conditions.’
The drills were being explained to the men when the first hiccup happened. Squadron Commander Sandhu, who was in charge of the sortie, learnt that they would be landing at an unsecured landing ground across the Meghna. Immediately, there was some hesitation on his part. Perhaps he had been affected by some bad experience during the earlier Silhit operations.
Luckily, before matters could escalate, Group Captain Chandan landed and took charge. At 1600 hours, the first assault wave was ready to go.
‘It had been decided that my Company would be leading the charge across the Meghna,’ Paunchy was still beaming with pride, as though it was happening all over again. ‘The Old Man decided to accompany us in the first sortie. When we were getting into the chopper, we saw Group Captain Chandan already ensconced inside. Colonel Himmeth was surprised and asked him what he was doing there. I can never forget Chandan’s cheeky grin as he replied that he was coming along to ensure we Army footsloggers got out of the choppers fast enough. None of us said anything. There was no need to. It was courage such as this that had kept us going all these days. It was this attitude, displayed by commanders at all levels that would win the war for us.’
cAir Vice Marshal Chandan Singh, MVC, VrC, AVSM, (Retd.) M.B.I.M (London)
Though the MI4 chopper usually carries between eight to twelve men with their full battleload, that day the guardsmen had crammed in fourteen to sixteen men in each. In addition, there were also two or three Mukti Bahini guides-cum-porters. Luckily, the choppers were flying out from the stadium so they had enough space to take off. Had they been forced to take off vertically, it is doubtful they could have lifted so many men.
The thirty minute long flight across the Meghna seemed to take forever.
The rear boom doors were open during the flight so the guardsmen could see the river down below.
‘In full spate, the Meghna looks more like a sea than a river,’ Puanchy remarked. ‘It was an endless expanse of water and no matter where one looked, one could not see the other bank of the river. No unit could have hoped to get across it in any other way and reach the other end as a cohesive, tactically viable, fighting force.’
This was especially true considering the time frame; the Indians did want to keep the Pakistanis on the run and ensure they were not able to fall back in an orderly fashion and defend Dacca.
Despite the two Gnat fighters flying a Combat Air Patrol (CAP), to provide the required protection from enemy air, tension was high, and it was visible in the way men gripped their weapons. The roar of the rotors was an absolute conversation killer. At yet another level, time seemed to move incredibly fast. Soon, Raipura was in sight. Stress was building up as they swept in to land. Every man on board knew this was the most vulnerable moment. Even a couple of Pakistanis with rifles could have inflicted a terrible toll. Until such time the guardsmen managed to get their boots on the ground and secure it.
Group Captain C.S. Sandhu, VrC, VM
That is what (then) Squadron Leader Sandhu had been apprehensive about earlier.
‘It is so easy for you Army guys to say: “Get me across the river and land me there at night.” But let me give you an idea of the complexities involved,’ Sandhu, now retired, but still standing tall and upright, every bit the officer even today, elaborated. ‘Please remember, that most of my pilots had not been trained for night flying, and in those days, choppers had no fancy night flying equipment. Moonlit nights were one thing, but dark nights were totally out of the question. Navigation lights on choppers were out of the question if secrecy had to be maintained, and there used to be no landing lights waiting for us at the other end since we would be going into enemy territory. To add to it, in such operations, generally, strict radio silence is enforced. So everything had to be done by the pilots relying only on their senses, and coordination with each other.’
I tried to visualize the picture he was painting. To be fair, it did sound dark and gloomy.
On that fateful evening, when 4 Guards took off, the chopper pilots had trained to the extent that each one of them was able to reach the exact same spot at distances of sixty kilometres, at precise intervals of sixty seconds. This would deliver rich dividends today.
‘Remember that each chopper was carrying far more than the permissible load, because we did want to ensure you guys would reach with your heavy weapons and ammunition,’ Sandhu resumed talking when he saw me nod. ‘We had to cover dozens of kilometres and find the exact spot in darkness so the navigation and plotting had to be spot on,’ he leaned forward to emphasize. ‘180 kmph meant a hundred and eighty kmph. Not hundred seventy-nine; and not hundred eighty-one. Because with every passing mile, the effect of the smallest error would get magnified. Now, once we did manage this near impossible task of reaching the right place, each chopper had between fifteen to twenty seconds to hover, off-load and be away, otherwise the next one would smash into it. Do also remember, with visibility almost nil and the bird in front not showing any lights,’ another emphatic finger jab, ‘no one could see the guy in front.’
Since the landing ground had not been prepared or secured, the first flight of choppers did not land; they hovered about a foot above the ground, and the guardsmen jumped out. Despite not having much experience of such operations, the men were out of the birds in fifteen to thirty seconds, while the choppers headed back to get the next lot.
‘Luckily, our boys had some prior experience of flying with the MI4,’ Paunchy explained. ‘The MI4 door has a very tricky catch and there is a particular trick to opening and closing it. To make matters worse, the tail rotor is very low, so one has to be careful when de-planing. You have to move left or right as soon as you get off, else it can chop you up. In fact, that is what happened to one of the 10 Bihar boys.’
Now, even with men on ground to light up the way
for the next set of choppers, the situation got only marginally easier.
‘We had experimented with all kinds of lights for such operations. But in the end, what worked best were empty food tins filled with sand soaked in kerosene,’ Sandhu smiled at the incredulous expressions all around. ‘Yes, they would keep burning even with the downdraft from the chopper blades hammering at them.’
Pilot Officer Daljit Singh was one of the first men out of the choppers. He, as was his habit, rapidly took in the lay of the land, identified the best position for himself in case he had to direct an airstrike. In the event that the enemy tried to interfere with the landing ground. It was also his job to ensure he lit up the way for the next in-bound sortie of choppers.
However, the Gods of War were kind, and the guardsmen encountered no enemy at Raipura. What they did meet was a throng of ecstatic locals who proved invaluable in helping to unload the choppers and also helped to carry their stores and ammunitions.
Within minutes of landing, Alpha Company had fanned out and secured the landing ground. With this major worry resolved, as ordered by Himmeth, Paunchy now headed towards Methikanda with a radio operator and a couple of men, to check out what lay ahead.
Paunchy had been specifically tasked to carry out a quiet patrol. However, the Indian military planners had forgotten to plan for a critical and unexpected factor—the exuberant and vociferous Bengali locals.
It scarcely took any time before Paunchy’s men had been surrounded by a mob of ecstasic locals. Joyous shouts of Joy Bangla, Joy Hindustan and Joy Indira Gandhi shook the area around.
This throng burgeoned and grew louder with every passing moment. The atmosphere prevalent was more like a country fete than a deadly military operation deep behind enemy lines.
The Pakistanis, about a company worth of irregulars, the East Pakistan Civil Affairs Force (EPCAF) and Razakars, dug in at Methikanda about two kilometres away would have heard it. They did not respond, but their counterparts located at their main defensive position in Ashuganj did attempt to disrupt the landing with artillery fire for a good five to ten minutes. However, the landing ground had been chosen with due consideration for this threat and their shells landed almost a kilometre short.
While choosing the landing ground, General Sagat had also borne in mind the fact that the Pakistani GOC 14 Infantry Division, who was directing most of the Pakistani war effort in this area, was located at Bhairab Bazar, not too far away. Co-located with him was a troop of the light Pakistani Chaffe tanks. It was imperative to ensure that neither of them could interfere with an unsecured landing by the guards.
The risk was high since even a few lightly armed men could have dealt havoc on the inbound choppers.
Dusk was falling when Paunchy, accompanied by a radio operator and a couple of men, reached the outskirts of Methikanda, surrounded of course by a raucous mob of Bengalis. A company of Pakistanis held Methikanda, about two or two-and-a-half kilometres away from the landing ground.
By now, the Pakistanis deployed at Methikanda were so badly spooked that they had loaded up all their stuff in a railway wagon and were using locals to push it along the track, rapidly making their way towards Narsinghdi.
‘Though they were really far away, we fired a couple of rounds in their direction to encourage them to keep moving,’ Paunchy laughed. ‘Of course we were mindful of the locals pushing the wagon, and therefore aimed high.’
In any case, the Pakistanis had had enough. They withdrew towards Narsinghdi, leaving Methikanda to the guardsmen.
At the landing ground, Colonel Himmeth settled down to wait for the rest of the paltan to fly in. The plan had been to complete the build-up as soon as possible, and then resume the advance. However, shortly thereafter, a message was received that there would be a delay before the next sortie landed due to some problems at the other end.
It was around 2300 hours that the sorties resumed.
It is hard to forget Daljit running around organizing the makeshift landing lights. Of the thunderous roar of ten choppers coming in out of the darkness, only switching on the lights when they were barely hundred feet off the ground. Of Daljit standing there like Misa, billowed and buffeted by the downdraft, and illuminated eerily by the flashing strobe-like landing lights, as he cajoled the choppers in.
Going over Colonel Pyarelal’s notes, I could imagine the sight Himmeth had painted. I could almost hear the volley of shouted orders and see the heart-warming sight of guardsmen racing out of the choppers, guns at the ready.
Five times, the choppers returned that night and by 0300 hours on 10 December 1971, the last guardsman had crossed the Meghna.
Just to give you an idea of the intricacies of a heliborne operation: a MI4 carries between eight to twelve men, depending on the combat load being carried. In the six sorties (of ten choppers per sortie), 4 Guards managed to get about six hundred men across. They also ferried across four MMGs, four of their 81 mm mortars, two 106 mm RCL guns, their entire complement of 1st and 2nd line ammunition, and a troop of 120 mm heavy mortars.
Meanwhile, a few kilometres away, at Methikhanda, Paunchy went to ground and settled down to wait for Granthi to link up with him.
Methikanda was a critical link (more of a railway yard, actually) on the Ashuganj-Dacca railway line. Its importance lay in the fact that it lay west of the Meghna, and hence could be used to move cargo by road via Ashuganj, as well as via rail. Mehtikanda could also be used for cargo that was carried along the Meghna and could be off-loaded in the vicinity.
Strict radio silence was in place, so Paunchy had no way of knowing what was happening back at the landing ground. However, he was within earshot and his worry began to mount when no choppers could be heard coming in for a while. Eventually, he could hear the choppers again, but there was still no sign of Granthi, who was supposed to link up with him.
As the hours ticked away, and the dawn of 10th December inched closer, Paunchy was concerned about Granthi’s absence.
DAY TEN
10 DECEMBER 1971
U nknown to Paunchy, things were not going very well for Delta Company. They had landed safely alongwith the rest of the battalion, and immediately on landing, as per Himmeth’s plan, had set out to link up with Paunchy at Methikhanda.
Delta Company was barely a mile away from the landing ground when, silently, without any warning whatsoever, the deadliest enemy known to any Army anywhere in the world struck—a young officer trying to make sense of a map.
‘Look,’ Paunchy explained, ‘I don’t blame the poor guy. It can happen to anyone. I mean, even I have gotten lost. But that night, it was the limit. I was sitting there, almost alone. There were just a handful of us, deep inside enemy territory, and Granthi didn’t show up and I was sitting there cursing him.’
Unfortunately for Granthi, Paunchy’s curses were the least of his worries when he misread the map and took a wrong turn. Unknown to him, Granthi was now headed straight into the lion’s den—the main Pakistani 14 Division defences at Bhairab Bazar.
As soon as 4 Guards landed across the Meghna, the final major hurdle to Dacca had been crossed. The Indians knew that the bulk of the Pakistani Eastern Army stood between them, un-blooded and well equipped. But they also knew they had the Pakistanis on the run. The psychological war had already been won: the Pakistani brass had been tested and found wanting.
Perhaps the Pakistanis had been misled by the experiences of the 1965 Indo-Pak conflict, where the Indian Army had conceptually fought many battles with limited aims and small manouevres. They may have expected this conflict to be a replay of the previous one. It is certain that they had not expected the Indians to have Dacca as the final objective.
‘And certainly, they had not expected us to maintain the kind of speed that we did, considering the arduous and treacherous terrain we had to navigate. In either case, we had them on the run,’ said Glucose. Having been the adjutant during the operations, he had obviously been most exposed to the thinking of the Indian high comman
d. ‘Once we had broken past the outer crust, the Pakistanis had little in depth to contain us.’
Sagat’s decision, once he decided to use heliborne forces to cross the Meghna, was the final nail in the Pakistani coffin; it sealed the deal for them. They lost all hope of winning the war, and withdrew rapidly. They were now as shaky in the mind as on the ground. The only thing left to be delivered now was the coup de grace.
The panic in the minds of the Pakistani leadership was evident from the message sent by General Niazi to the Pakistani Army HQ: Enemy heli-dropped one brigade at Narsinghdi. Keeping this in view, it was hardly surprising that on 9th Decemeber 1971, General Yayha Khan approached the United Nations pleading for a ceasefire.
The first nail in this coffin was driven in completely inadvertently. And that was by the misguided Captain Surinder Singh and his mistake with the map.
Granthi only realized the gravity of his situation when he blundered into the main Pakistani defences and all hell broke loose.
‘My detachment was now with Delta Company,’ Mukund came to life suddenly. ‘We were moving from Raipura to Methikanda to link up with Major Chandrakant when we got lost. We only realized something had gone wrong when enemy artillery began to rain down on us. They had told us back at Raipura that the enemy had already withdrawn from Mehtikhanda to Narsinghdi, so we knew something had gone seriously wrong. The firing was very intense, and to make it worse, the Pakistani Artillery OP directing the fire was really good and the shells landed spot on. With no time to dig in, we scattered and took cover as best we could.’