50 after1965 Indo-Pakistani war, articles, interviews ,pics

This is a personal account of a moderately intense battle by a young Capt who himself was wounded while commanding B Coy, 8th Garhwalis. This battle lasted two days,16 and 17 Sep ’65 and saw three commanding officers killed. First there was Col Taraporewala of Poona Horse and then there was Col Jerry Jhirad of 8th Garhwalis blown to pieces by a direct tank shot just after they had finished conversing on the afternoon of Sep 16. Then on the afternoon of Sep 17, Maj Abdul Rafey Khan, who had assumed command of the Garhwalis the previous day ,was killed again by a direct hit from a tank when he was personally with his Intelligence Officer and the RMO, loading casualties onto a tank on the after noon of Sep 17. Col Taraporewala was awarded an immediate PVC while Col Jhirad was given a Mention in Despatches and Rafey was given a VrC. A Story Straight from the hip – without frills or cover ups.

Buttur Dograndi is a small inconsequential village lying off the road between Chawinda and Pasrur in Pakistan. On Sep 16, Poona Horse and the Eighth Garhwalis, minus even their own supporting weapons, were tasked to capture it as it lay behind Chawinda and on the road to Pasrur because 6 Infantry Division under Gen SK Korla, would be attacking Chawinda from the front.

Typical sledge and hammer tactic to isolate Chawinda from its rear while it was hammered from the front. Sadly while the attack on Chawinda was a pathetic fiasco, the outflanking move to block it also ended in tragedy. In Churchill’s ‘My Ealy Life’ I ha read that it is near impossible to be twice wounded on the same day. This was to be proved wrong in capitals because I was twice wounded within a couple of hours and both times pretty nastily – once while repulsing the morning Counter attack and then while lying patched up near the Doc who was attending to the wounded

Funnily on 16 Sep, while my company was the Van Guard, with Poona Horse busy fighting their own battle, we had to come to a halt as we found that no one was following us. Thus with my three platoons spread eagled holding a broad front, with Lt Gurmukh Balis’ 5 Platoon near a sugar cane field on my Right and Hav Sarweshwar’s 6 Pl near a tube well on my Left, I was with Gabar’s 5 Pl also near a well – waiting for the rest of the unit to catch up. A while later, quite alone and all by himself and without so much as informing me, Maj Abdul Rafey Khan, the unit 2I/c who is now the CO as Jerry has been hit and evacuated in a 3 ton truck, comes from the rear and takes Gurmukh’s platoon without my knowing anything. He goes on to take the outskirts of the village of Buttur Dograndi, all by himself. The platoon suffers some eight casualties from the fire of a Recce and Support Battalion. End of Story!

The war had started on Sep 1 and the armored division had been launched a week later. In that time, the Indian Army had accomplished little. The Pak offensives in Chamb Jaurian had been blunted. Their offensive in the Khem Karan Sector had got mired in the post monsoon wet fields when their Pattons became sitting ducks. Hence defensively we had done better than Okay.

Our offensive on the Lahore front had been stopped by the Ichogil Canal. The one in the Sialkot sector had failed to make headway. Which speaks much about our professional competence at the time.

Six years later in ’71, Sam Manekshaw was to wrap up the Bangla Desh war and capture over 90,000 POWs in under two weeks. The Israelis took a week in the ’67 war and two weeks, even when they were caught on the wrong foot, to rally from behind to claim the ‘73 Yom Kippur War.

Armor offensives are supposed to do one of two things. Either, by passing around strongly held nodes, they drive deep into enemy territory and capture lightly held important areas to make the enemy react and fight by our rules. Or they destroy enemy armor in mobile fast moving tank battles prior to going in for the soft underbelly.

In the Yom Kippur War, the Israelis waited for Egyptian armor to move beyond its SAM umbrella and then made mince meat of it in a fast moving fluid tank battle. In fairness to the Egyptians, they moved forward only because the Syrians were yelling for them to do so in order to take pressure off them.

In our case, whatever the plans in the Sialkot sector, we seemed to have done neither as we neither penetrated deep nor destroyed any armor – most probably because there was none.

After the first week of drift, a decision seemed to have been made to use 6 infantry Division to capture Chawinda. While attacking Chawinda, it would be cut off from Pasrur by Poona horse and the Garhwalis. While Poona Horse was from the armored brigade, the Garhwalis were from the Lorried brigade. They had never trained nor worked together, so essential while fighting alongside.

We had mostly trained with Third Cavalry but they were still in the Khem Karan Sector where they won laurels shooting up the bogged down Pattons of the First Armored Division of Pakistan.

The Everest of professional stuidity was when the Garhwalis were launched without any transport (other than the CO’s jeep) and without even their own integral supporting weapons ie antitank guns, machine guns, mortars. The only other vehicle was the Battery Commander Maj Kochar’s jeep. This guy was awarded a VrC but since he was mostly with me on 16 Sep, I can vouch safe that he was never ever in contact with his guns. And the guy never even gave his jeep for the CO’s evacuation!

As Slim writes, ‘the most pathetic people in the world are Gunners w/o Guns’ Now the story of ‘B’ Company 8 Garhwal Rifles.

The Garhwalis harbored at Chak Deo Singh on night of Sep 15. I had a couple goats, found in the village, slaughtered for a Company Bara Khana. Dear Bakhtawar laid out roast hen for me.

After mid night, I led a strong patrol to near Jassoran. While checking out some dilapidated houses, we found a patrol of 9 Dogra resting. We just managed not to shoot up one another. This was the motorized unit of the armored brigade, which a year back, had returned from a stint in Gaza and with its outstanding athletes, it had out shone in various events. But now these guys certainly did not know what the hell they were doing there.

That night, Som’s Alpha and Suresh’s Delta were used by Jerry to do a recce in force. They went up to the railway line, took some casualties and fell back.

Morning of 16th, Jerry looked happy as he gave his orders. He was wearing a jungle hat and for the first time had on a holstered pistol. Most of us wore steel helmets. I preferred using only the inner part which was very light but which gave no protection. As regards a weapon, I slung an SLR as the carbine was prone to stoppages.

Jerry, cheerful as ever, ordered Bravo to lead behind the Poona Horse Centurions. Bravo was to form the firm base for the attack on Buttur Dograndi. I asked, rather cheekily, as to where exactly he wanted the firm base. Jerry smiled and said I was not to worry as he would be there right beside me. Alas!

Around 9 am the tanks of Poona Horse, with their pennants fluttering, took off, two abreast, charging full steam ahead and raising clouds of dust. It was an impressive, memorable sight. After that I only saw two tanks, one of Maj Ghorpade’s and one of Capt Ajay Singh, who was, to become the Armd Div GI in mid 70s.

As the last of tanks disappeared and the dust settled, I followed with Gabar‘s platoon in the van. Morale was very high. To my surprise and shock I found Som (OC Alpha), Sindhu, the Adjutant and some others, alongside. Most everyone was urging me on despite the fact that there was some arty and mortar shells coming our way. This was specially as we crossed the Chawinda – Jasoran road.

As I haveobserved enemy employment of arty was super duper. There seemed to be some observation guys watching us as we advanced and they were directing accurate fire on us. There was also some air activity which showed that Pakistan was now serious and no longer amused by our antics.

There was as usual no sign of our air despite a divisional attack having been launched and our mission going in deep. Sindhu was lugging one of my LMGs, ready to poop off at any Pak plane. Som was saying I must at least get an MVC for capturing enemy mortars which he swore were just around the next grove.There was a lot of euphoria. I had to tell myself that I was the joker in command, others being mere guests and that I must not get carried away.

It was in such spirits that we swung along. After a while our speed slowed as we had been advancing under a blazing sun. It was around then that I got a message from my rear that there seemed to be no one following behind us. To take stock, I cried halt next to a well which had a few trees. I swung Sarweshwar Prasads platoon to another well with a broken down hut and with a scraggly clump a couple hundred yards to my left. There was a sugar cane grove a hundred or so yards to my right and I ordered Gurmukh Bali’s platoon to that area. We were about 1500 meters short of Buttur Dograndi.

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As we waited, word reached us that Jerry had been hit. Evidently he had finished a pow wow with Col Taraporewala of the Poona Horse. He had then got back in his jeep. Surely some alert enemy tank or antitank gunner had spotted him because the jeep was immediately hit by an anti tank shot. The jeep was torn to pieces and Jerry was nearly cut in half. But Bir Singh the driver had his big toe injured, Vijay Chandra, the IO was unscathed. Puran, the radio operator got a slight ear injury. Surely fate!

Jerry though cut in half was breathing and alive. I am not sure how he was taken to a 3 Ton vehicle. While being evacuated in this vehicle, that late evening, he breathed his last. He had only once asked for water.

It saddens me no end to narrate that a few days after the war, Jerry’s brother in law, Mr George Solomon, came to collect the body. He was led to a hastily dug shallow pit which had Jerry’s remains bundled in a hessian cloth sand bag. These were then taken by him and buried as per Jewish custom in the Jewish cemetery near Kota House in New Delhi. A year later I attended the religious ceremony for Jerry, when Mrs Jhirad reserved the adjacent grave for herself.

Around the time Jerry was hit, the enemy gunner had probably also marked Colonel Taraporewala’s tank because that too got a direct hit, killing him instantaneously. He got a PVC and Jerry was given a Mention-in-Despatches!!!. Know that the COAS was from the Armoured Corps and Shri YB Chavan was the Defense Minister!

Back to my company. My left platoon was drawing enfilade MMG fire from its left, probably from a machine gun on the outer fringes of Chawinda. I went over and directed the men to spread out more and away from the clump. The stolid Abal had taken a bullet on the temple. The poor guys brain was splattered all over. Yet he lay there breathing heavily. I remembered how couple months earlier he, all by himself, had one by one, got back his whole Kabadi team after he had been left all by himself. Tall and big built for a Garhwali, he was the quiet, introverted sort. We buried him under a pile of loose bricks, thinking we would give him a better burial once the situation stabilized.

Back in my headquarters, I got a report that there were couple deserted jeeps lying in some bushes, couple hundred yards forward to the left. I went over to the nearest tank to see if we could get them functional and found myself face to face with the squadron commander, one Maj Ghorpade. This worthy at once sailed into me charging me and my men with cowardice. He said we had not adequately protected his tanks and even the skirting on his tanks had holes.

I was totally taken aback and in no mood for such crap. Specially since I had lost my CO and some of my own men. I told him it was not my job to give him protection – specially by day. Tempers ran high and I found my SLR ominously pointing at him. It was the artillery battery commander, Major Kochar, who was in my area and who intervened. He separated and pacified both. This altercation notwithstanding, it saddened me to learn some years later that Major Ghorpade had, for some reason, committed suicide. Major Kochar got a Vir Chakra despite the fact that his artillery’s contribution, this day and the next, was zilch.

Through out the action, the BC was out of radio contact with his guns and regiment while we were being bludgeoned. How could he get us any artillery support? I maintain that Pak arty made our artllery look like an also ran.

To return. After this bit of melo drama, I got another shock when some one reported that he could not see any body from Gurmukh Bali’s platoon on the Right, in the sugar cane field area. I walked across to check and sure enough there was not a soul in sight. It looked as if the whole platoon had vanished into thin air and was not to be found on the face of the earth.

More shocked than ever, yet deep down I felt ashamed of my professional competence. Here was I who had lost one third of his command without knowing a thing. What sort of a Napoleon was I? Mentally shattered, I returned to the center platoon.

There was some machine gun fire coming from the area forward of my Left Platoon. I took a few boys and went ahead to investigate. Finding one of our Centurions standing nearby, I asked to speak to the tank commander, who was no other than Ajay Singh. I later came across him as the Grade 1 in the Division and then as Corps commander in Tezpur. I told him I suspected enemy infantry ahead and requested him to rake the area with his machine gun. A tall burly Sardar loomed up and holding the 30 Browning casually in both hands, he began to nonchalantly rake the area ahead left to right and near to far. I can recall no more memorable or inspiring sight than this stolid professional casually doing his thing in the most professional manner.

After I had come back, I espied, coming towards us, a sole rifleman with a bandolier like load of water bottles. It was the gallant Bahadur, who had been with me in my commando days. Even with his puny frame, he was a very brave, die hard, no nonsense long distance athlete. He was to die the next day under the most gallant circumstances. Unfortunately, like our RMO, he got no award.

It was from him that I learnt that unknown to us, Rafey had come from behind and led Gurmukh Balis’ platoon to the outskirts of Buttur Dograndi. Of course this platoon had come under murderous machine gun fire and taken seven casualties out of a total strength of some 20. The platoon was pinned down and badly off for water. Bahadur had volunteered to go back and get some water.

Before I could get the bottles filled from the well, I saw Gurmukh and some boys trailing back. I gave him hell for not letting me know. He said Rafey had given him no time. Just then I saw Rafey come directly from the front. I was boiling and ready to sail into him but when I saw his face, ashen and soaked with sweat and grime with his shirt caked with mud and wet, I held my piece.

Rafey looked at me, said nothing but sailed into the other company commanders, who had by now come up, lambasting them – rather unfairly. He ordered Charlie and Delta to immediately form up and clear the area he had come from. After having reorganized I was to pass through these companies with Som’s Alpha and take up defense nearest the village.

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We reached the designated area and began to dig down. It had been a long day and I was bone weary but managed to check the deployment. At midnight, Bhaktawar served me some khichri. For the first ever time, I spent the night in the open trench. There was desultory shelling all night through and I did not think that if I slept out, I would have the energy to roll in, should need arise.

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Morning of Sep 17 was bright and clear and there was a deadly stillness in the air. Having done my stuff, I wandered over to the battalion headquarters. There I found most officers had already gathered. A down cast mood prevailed and there was no contact with brigade. It was a very serious situation.

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Som tried to be cheerful but to no avail. Rafey was serious, sombre, quiet. Then the shelling started. At first slow, it gradually picked up momentum. I did not want to say it but as no one spoke, I said that it looked as if we were about to be counter attacked and had better get back to our companies. Rafey looked at me and said nothing. Slowly we got up and dispersed.

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As I reached my company, the shelling became heavy and we began to get plastered. And then I saw what during exercises we had done so many times while attacking some objective or the other. In the distance, well spread out was a line of enemy walking towards us slowly but steadily. They were more towards my Left and nearest to Gabars’s platoon. I yelled orders to hold fire – not waste ammunition – and to make each round count. More so as we were carrying only pouch ammunition, which came to 50 rounds per rifle and 500 per light machine gun. The unit reserve of 40 and 400 rounds respectively was supposed to be in our ‘F’ echelons vehicles but these had not followed us!

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When the enemy line was about a hundred plus yards away, we began to fire and the line went to ground ie they lay down behind any small bund or whatever cover they could get and began to return our fire. The jokers seemed unwilling to close in and make a fight of it.

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Ahead and to a little left of Gabar’s platoon was a sugar cane field and several of the enemy took cover behind these sugar cane. They came forward, stood up and waved, shouting to Gabar, who was manning a light machine gun, that they were the Jats of the Indian Army. Poor, straight forward, gullible Gabar was taken in, hook line and sinker. He ordered his platoon to stop firing..

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I first thought of sending Gaina, my runner, to tell him to engage them as they damnwell were the enemy. But knowing Gabar was the stubborn sort, I knew that he would argue with Gaina. So I decided to go my self. I raced forward and standing above his trench, I heard him tell me that they were our Jats and the dust and dirt had made their olive greens turn khaki. I peremptorily told him not to be stupid and to commence firing forthwith. He did so and right then and there, an enemy machine gun burst caught him full in the chest. Seeing him slump, I raced back zigzagging.

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Thus the situation remained. We were exchanging small arms fire and Pak artillery was no longer bothering us as their troops were too close. Suddenly a shiver went through the whole company because coming towards us were two Pattons, one behind the other. I was surprised to see them come rather hesitantly and very very slowly.

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Poona Horse was evidently fighting its own battle somewhere and we were on our own. I got Gulab, with his antitank grenades to my command post. I thought of taking the shot myself but thinking that it would be bad for morale if I missed, I coached Gulab who was pretty jittery and forgot to rest his rifle in the corner of the trench. As he fired, we saw the grenade take a slow curved flight towards the leading tank. For a second I thought that my range estimation had been low. But no, the grenade managed to just reach the tank and it hit and burst on the tank tracks. The tank shuddered and came to a dead stop.

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I told Gulab to duck deep as I expected the tank to swivel its main gun in our general direction and blow us to smithereens and kingdom come. For a second, nothing happened. Then we peeped up and to our astonishment saw the crew of the tank clamber down and run back to the rear tank. This tank then slowly pulled back in reverse. Well nigh the whole company took pot shots. I am ashamed to say that our shooting standard was pathetic as no one hit anything.

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With the damaged tank standing there, the desultory shooting by both sides went on. I thought of going onto the tank and taking charge of its machine gun, turn it towards the enemy and shoot them up ala Audie Murphy of Second War fame. Alas, I did not rate myself as a very practical sort and so had no confidence in my ability of using an unfamiliar weapon.

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I found that Sarweshwar Prasads platoon on the Right was becoming jittery. I needed to infuse some courage as Subedar Rameshwar, my second in command, who was there, was also running scared. I got out of the trench and standing tall, yelled encouragement. I told them they were safe in trenches but would be shot down going back in the open. Just then a bullet singed past my right temple, missing my fore head by a mere fraction of a millimeter.

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This was getting dangerous. It sent a shiver down my spine. There was a lot of muck, artillery as well as small arms, flying around. No need to be worried as most went by harmlessly. But this near miss told me that this guy had spotted me as an officer and now had me in his sights and was aiming personally at me. I rationalized that for a while at least, I must lay low till this guy’s attention went else where. I slipped into the trench, waited and watched.

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Alas, after a short while, the Right Platoon was again making pulling back noises. I felt that the risk notwithstanding, I just had to instill some confidence in the poor guys. So, once again I stood up in the open with Bhaktawar and Gaina by my right. The enemy gunner had been waiting for this opportunity. But now there were three of us and greedy guy that he was, he wanted to take all three. His burst caught me on my right arm.

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It felt as if a cannon ball had struck and my right arm was severed and falling down. Desperately I grabbed it with my left hand as I fell into the trench. Bhaktawars shoulders and Gaina’s left upper arm had been hit but luckily they only had flesh wounds. I got Gulab to take off the sling from my SLR and turned it into a make shift sling for my arm. The poor guy was scared to help me walk back in the open. I told him to keep me towards the enemy so that the bullets would have to pass through me before he got hit. He gave me his shoulder and we walked back to the make shift aid post. I yelled to Subedar Rameshwar to take command.

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When I crossed Rafey, his expression was of absolute dumb founded shock. His mouth had fallen wide open and his eyes showed their whites. Maybe he thought if I could get hit, then it must be pretty bad. He seemed totally dumb struck. We had a mutual regard and may be it was just too much for him. But I felt a deep pang as I thought I deserved at least a nod or its OK or something. It was the last time I was to see him.

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A word about Rafey’s passing away. Around 3 pm or a wee later, after he had ordered the position to be abandoned, he himself remained and was busy loading our wounded onto a Poona Horse Centurion. Vijay the IO and Sonkar the doctor, were with him. It was then that an enemy tank or antitank gun caught him plumb in the middle. It was so bad that as per the RMO he could not even be lifted. Yet he was alive though unable to even whisper. He merely waved to both these officers to get the hell out. Because now they could see the enemy infantry coming – slowly and cautiously. Sonkar later said that as a professional his estimate was that Rafey could not have lived for more than ten minutes.

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They gave Rafey a VrC but I heard that there were some stupid idiots who enquired how a muslim could stay behind!!!

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And consider young Vijay. The poor guy had seen his two bosses decimated on two consecutive days.

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.At the aid post, poor Sonkar was super busy as there were a whole lot of chaps needing his attention. He saw me and as he put a splint and bandages, I asked, “Doc, is it a simple fracture or a compound fracture?” Without bothering to smile, he responded, “Don’t worry – it is part of both!”

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The morphine made me dizzy and I moved away some distance and went down in the open. There was no cover at the aid post and as I lay half conscious, an artillery shell landed so close that I probably escaped because I was probably in its umbrella. It covered me with more mud and dust and small shrapnel pierced me all over.

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Luckily my legs remained unhurt but both hands were now useless with some minor broken bones and flesh wounds. To be twice hit within a couple hours shattered my sense of invulnerability but it horrified me to imagine an enemy with a bayonet.. I called to the Doc to come bandage me some more. He was not amused as he seemed to be running out of bandages. But he did come and do the needful. Watching his seriousness, I refrained from banter.

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My legs being OK, I moved further away to an open sparse field which had some crop for shade. The battle went on. Some chaps came over and cheered me up. Som made several trips. I learnt that the situation was not good. Some guys gave me water. The glucose packet I had picked up in the village street some days back, came in very useful.

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As I lay there I wondered that the Dear Omnipotent Almighty God had probably blinked and only then I had got hit. Once was bad enough but twice within the day was a wee much. And now, should the enemy move in, I could only expect to be bayoneted. Thoughts of my folks and how they would take it came flooding in.

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Life had been very kind and good yet I did not seem to over much mind an early departure. The morphine effect, maybe?

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Late after noon, Gurmukh came and said that time for me to get back if I could walk. He said withdrawal had been ordered as we were hurting bad. Most guys had already pulled back. Only Rafey and some others remained. Rafey was helping the wounded on to some Centurions which had come by.

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With Gurmukh giving me a shoulder, I started the walk back. Each time the arty shells whistled by, I wanted to go to ground. Gurmukh berated me saying I was the joker who always said that you would never hear the shell which will hit you. Because it will do so and the sound will follow. Those whistling by were the sweet ones.

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For the first time in these two weeks of intense activity, I had cracked. With frequent rests, Gurmukh helped all the way and without him I doubt if I could have made it. Crossing the Chawinda – Jassoran road was frightening. This area seemed to have been well registered and was apparently under observation. Because if even an ant moved, it drew a barrage.. As one such shelling ended, Gurmukh urged we cross over quick.

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A little later, we saw one of our Centurions. After it got due permission, I was taken on board. I thanked and bade farewell to the gallant Gurmukh, who himself was to be killed under the most pitiful circumstances, in Kashmir in ’91. That is a really very sad pathetic tale.

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The tank commander was an NCO and I had no energy for small talk. He was doing his thing and his boss had evidently asked him to reach a point on the outskirts of Chawinda and await instructions. It seems I must have dozed off because suddenly I found myself in a Jat company position. I wondered why we had come here as this was really and truly being hammered by enemy artillery.

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What we had been through compared to this was table tennis. The tank crew and I went under the tank for safety and the Jats grim and gritty in their trenches. After some half hour, the tank got orders to reach the unit night harbor area. Maybe the experience was to teach me how deafening and murderous is real shelling.

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I found all Poona Horse officers gathered around their officiating commanding officer who seemed a nice, kind, mature man. He was hearing every body out re the days doing. Quite a few Garhwali casualties had been brought in on their tanks and this decent soul ruled that all casualties would be loaded on two tanks under a young Lieutenant, who would then take them to the nearest medicos.

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Being an officer, I was allowed in thru the commanders hatch. As I moved my foot from the seat onto the floor, I stepped on a body. I loudly requested that the dead body be removed, I heard a JCO, who was Soms platoon commander and who had trained me for my weapons course, plead saying he had a wife and kids. Sad but plenty of such stuff which is a reality in every war.

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It showed that the battalion no longer seemed to exist. I learnt that the unit had lost its cohesion and was dispersed all over. Evidently dear Som was now the commandiing officer as Suresh was reported to have gone off for some first aid.

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Poor Som, or rather lucky Som, because the guy made CO in this war and then again in ’71 after Suresh, who had made CO, once again got evacuated.

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Sadly for this gallant unit, the CO sent by Army HQ to get it up and going after Buttur Dograndi, was no other than a guy who had been brought down earlier for some financial impropriety when he was CO of the Third. But now he was again given command. Poor battalion!

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It had gotten dark by this time and I was afraid that we might be going in circles if not deeper into Pakistan. Bhagwan Mall, who, though not wounded, had managed to get on the other tank which had the Poona Horse officer, entered into an argument with that officer as to the direction we were going. The young officer told him to mind his business or get off the tank.

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After some going around this way and that way, the guy got his bearing and without further ado, around midnight, we reached the forward medical post.

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I had reached adequate medical aid after some 15 hours of being patched by the regimental medical officer. How could the more seriously hit survive such ordeals? At this medical post, the doctors were very kind but the bandages had to be removed and a fresh dressing given to all my wounds. It was very, very painful. The smaller the wound, the more pain it gave. At last after a hot cup of tea, I was put on a stretcher and in an ambulance which luckily was a new model, comfortable and capable of moving around without breaking down.

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As it drove us, for the last time, at least in this war, I heard the Pak artillery open up and this time surprisingly on such a small unimportant road. Though we could not have been under observation, yet the guys probably knew of this road being used and hence were plastering it at random for our general entertainment.

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Some how my own second in command, Subedar Rameshwar though not wounded, had managed to get on this ambulance and seemed to be intent on getting the hell out of the theater. At each shelling, he begged the driver to drive faster and faster. But as each bump caused me immense pain, I managed to tell him to shut up or get off the damn vehicle. In a year or so the guy became the next Subedar Major of the unit!

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Around six am we reached the main dressing station. Fortunately the doctors did not open my dressings. After some refreshment I was put on another ambulance which took me to the army hospital at Samba. I slept through the entire ride.

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It happened today 49 years ago. 8th Sep 1965………the day that the youngest tank regiment of the Pakistan Army stopped the Indian 1st Armoured Division

After a wild and fruitless ride of 65 kms through the night to Narowal and back, 25th Cavalry was refueling at Pasrur. At about 0630 hours the commanding officer, ‘Kaka’ Nisar came up to Maj Ahmad ‘B’ Squadron and said ‘Enemy has attacked through Charwa. You have to stop him.’

That was all the information available. Ahmad called in his troop leaders. The squadron was to advance in extended order. Whichever troop saw the enemy was to form a base of fire, around which the other troops would manoeuvre. Nisar went with the squadron up till Phillaurah and as they passed through, the left hand troop reported. “Tanks in front. Whose?”

Ahmad replied, “Enemy, You engage.”

The youngest tank regiment of the Pakistan Army was engaging one of the oldest regiments of the Indian cavalry. 16th Light Cavalry had been raised prior to 1776 as the 3rd Regiment of Native Cavalry in the service of the Nawab of Arcot. What happened in the next few hours is what legends are made of and the defence of Phillaurah on 8th Sep 1965 by 25th Cavalry is a shining star in the history of the Pakistan Army and the armoured corps.

Ahmad hastened forward. He saw an Indian tank bogged down near Gadgor. Two Indian tanks were trying to recover it and he ordered the gunner to engage. The round went wild and the officer cursed the gunner. The man said casually. “Saab this gun has not been zeroed.” (The M48 had just returned from the workshop).

Ahmad changed his tank but was again unlucky. The gun misfired twice. The firing pin was broken. In the meantime two Indian Centurions with 105 mm guns cautiously approached Ahmad’s tanks. There was nothing that the officer could do, except charge. Ahmad’s luck turned, and the Indian tanks hastily withdrew. The tank was driven into a depression where the broken firing pin was replaced. Once again in the open, Ahmad saw six Centurions congregating in a Mango plantation. He could not resist the shoot and took over from the gunner. He indexed 600 yards on the range finder, checked from the loader if an HVAP round was loaded, and fired. The nearest Indian tank blew up. Three more were shot destroyed in quick succession.

The loader got so excited that he started clapping and his asbestos glove fell and stuck in between the breech ring and the recoil cylinder. The gun could not fire and the driver pushed the gun against a tree and inched the tank forward until the glove fell out. Ahmed then ordered the driver to move towards the burning Indian tanks. A shot ricocheted off the turret of his tank jamming the turret ring. A third shot set the tank on fire forcing Ahmad into yet another tank. While maneuvering towards Gadgor with his squadron, Ahmad encountered two Indian tanks directly in his path and shot one but his M48 was hit by the other and the ammunition started exploding. Ahmad was badly burnt and evacuated. His gallantry was rewarded with Sitara-e-Jurat but was modest about his action. He later acknowledged that he should have been more concerned about controlling the squadron battle than in a personal shoot out.

M48s of 25th Cavalry in action in the Battle of Chawinda during the 1965 War:

A maneuver by a squadron of 16th Cavalry ran into ‘A’ Squadron commanded by Effendi which had been brought up by ‘Kaka’ Nisar and deployed to the right of Ahmad’s squadron. The maneuver encountered a troop that had been sent by Effendi to probe forward. In a sharp engagement, the troop destroyed four Centurions but lost a tank. An advance of the left forward regiment of the Indian division went smoothly till Poona Horse ran into an infantry company and lost a tank. Resuming a more cautious advance it was checked by ‘A’ Squadron at Tharoh and Dugri. In an attempt to maneuver for a breakthrough, the squadrons of the two Indian regiments ran into each other and a shoot-out occurred. ‘Kaka’ Nisar was with the forward squadrons all the time and he was not quite yet finished with 16th Cavalry. With the right flank of the armoured brigade still unprotected, he launched the Second World War vintage M36 B2s of ‘C’ Squadron under ‘Ginger’ Raza (Editor: from 3rd PMA) towards Gadgor.

Though the attack could not make much progress, it forced the Indian armoured division to deploy its only reserve, Hodson’s Horse to protect its flank. Against heavy odds the M 36 B2s could not make much progress but managed to destroy two more Centurions of 16th Cavalry before the regiment could disengage under cover of Hodson’s Horse. A second attack by the old M36 B2s of ‘C’ Squadron (with support of ‘A’ Squadron) and a company of infantry before dusk to capture Gadgor, struck the unfortunate 16th Cavalry probably just when it was contemplating going into leaguer for the night. In the resulting confusion, the Indians abandoned eight tanks, two with their engines running

‘Ginger’ Raza was injured in the head but remained with the squadron till relieved. His gallantry was also rewarded by a Sitara-e-Jurat. So also was the commanding officer ‘Kaka’ Nisar who had joined the armoured corps from the Patiala State Forces at Independence and was due to retire as a major but was promoted and raised 25th Cavalry the last of the regular tank units to be raised before the 1965 War.

An Indian Centurion tank knocked out during the Battle of Chawinda:

The total losses to 16th Cavalry in a single day of fighting were 16 tanks against only four of 25th Cavalry. As a consequence of this aggressive defence by one armoured regiment on 8th Sep 1965, a blow to its artillery from a flank by a small but to the Indians very significant actions by two recce and support platoons of 13 Frontier Force Regiment, and ambiguous orders that resulted in a clash between a withdrawing Poona Horse and 2nd Lancers which was leading the advance of the Indian lorried brigade, the offensive of their armoured division stalled.

The Pakistan Air Force which had been very active the whole day and destroyed many vehicles caused a virtual breakdown of administrative support. The armoured division decided to take two days in reorganizing and replenishing which provided a critical respite to the defenders who even till now were still unaware that they were facing the might of the Indian armoured division and had stopped the cream of the Indian cavalry; Hodson’s Horse, Poona Horse and 16th Cavalry.

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This picture below is if 1965 War vintage. It shows Lt Col Anant Singh of 4 Sikh who along with some of his men was captured & made POW. 4 Sikh covered itself in glory one day and the next day at Machike it walked into distress - such are the vagaries of war.

With him is Subedar Gulam Mohammad of 15 Punjab Pak Army. This picture is of a Pak POW camp after the cease fire.

These two had served together in WW 2 and met for the 1st time post partition. A few days ago they would have gladly killed each other. Now that the guns fell silent they met as former colleagues & as soldiers.

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This is a personal account of the 1965 Indo Pak War seen through the eyes of a young company commander – a Captain in Eighth Garhwalis, 43 Lorried Brigade, First Armoured Division. Events, dates, names, of persons and places, are based on notes made nearer the time. Opinions, observations, assessments are personal. Truth is the one element which has not been allowed to become a casualty.
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In the last week of March 1965 it was towards the end of a candle lit dinner in the lush lawn of the Eighth Garhwali Mess in Jhansi, for which Col Joseph Ephrahaim Jhirad and the 2i/c Maj Abdul Rafey Khan with their gracious and charming lady wives had been invited by the constantly dueling Ajaib Mangat and self. An urgent call was received from brigade and the CO and self left for a late night conference. The crux was that next day or rather night, we and the whole First Armoured Division would move North to the Jandiala Guru area in Punjab.
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The GOC of India’s only Armoured Division was Rajinder ‘Sparrow’. He was a simple flamboyant type who had made a name for himself when General Thimaya ordered him, in the 47/48 war, to carry his Stuarts on trucks and numb the Pakistanis ensconced on the formidable Zojila Pass. It was the highest place tanks had been taken anywhere. Sparrow was a decent type who liked erudition. After retirement he became a Congresswala. My only interaction was when he, as colorful and flashy as ever, publicly commended, during a Divisional training event, what he termed my ‘versatility of exposition’.
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His grade one officer was RPS Randhawa of rock steady stature and commanding presence. The guy had never spoken to me but his eyes conveyed recognition. A hardened Risaldar Major when comparing him with Arun Vaidya, who made Chief, said that when Randhawa was the Commandant of the ACC&S, officers were bone scared to even tip toe behind his vacant office. When Vaidya was Commandant, there was a regular ‘mela cum tamasha’ in parade hours right in front of his office. Much later this imposing and grand officer died tragically on the GT Road while on his way to take over this same division.
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The armoured brigade commander was KK Singh, a quiet sombre pro of the spartan variety. The lorried brigade had Harbans Dhillon, who was the aloofish sort. The other two units in the brigade were 5 Jat and 5/9 Gurkhas. My coursemate, the portly yet wonderfully agile and quick BK Das, was the Jat adjutant. He was super sharp and later had even the upright and difficult Gen Raina, who was Chief, eating out of his hand!
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The unit camped on the out skirts of Butari village. Nothing happened over the next few months. In July, the powers that be, moved us to the filthy, rotten, stench filled noxious fumes in the old deserted derelict part of the Hamira Distillery. It was a living hell. To queer the pitch, my posting to IMA arrived on the last day of Aug but the Brigade rightly ruled – No Way. But I got my company command.
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During those months, most every day or two, we carried out detailed recces’ of the area South of Amritsar- the Khem Karan Sector. These were mostly with 3rd Cavalry as we were affiliated with this Regiment. Their Commandant was the sharp, alert, cryptic Salim Caleb, who, poor man, despite his MVC and becoming a Maj Gen, had all through his personal life, a very heavy cross to bear.

Most everybody had plenty of time for Bachan Garewal – the quiet, serious, arrogant, high calibre professional who, due to ill health, was destined to fade and literally pass away as a Station Staff Officer. A year earlier he had in rather cruel fashion, torn apart the CO of 16 Cav, – a Col Sidhu Brar, who was sound as well as a decent gentleman – when the latter was conducting a Div level tactical discussion. There was the young Captain Vadhera, rather like able and lively. Narender Sandhu, who went over to the Dogra’s for his MVC and squeezed more out of it than any one else. CJ Wates, the stylish youngster, who was in the next bed in the Army Hospital in Delhi at war’s end.
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And above all, also of 16 CAV was the inimitable Jojo Sengupta, one of the most genuine and greatest of souls that one can ever meet. He lost both eyes when his Centurion got a direct hit.
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However when the time for fighting came, it was fortunate that 3 CAV with its hardy and robust Centurions, which were the only real match for the Pakistani Pattons, stayed put and helped decimate the Pakistan armored division in the Khem Karan Sector.

In the battalion, the commanding officer, the modest, wholly unassuming but thoroughly professional, Jerry Jhirad, had gone on a bit of hard earned leave. The second in command – the quiet, urbane but solid – Rafey Khan was officiating. The radio news found us rivetted as that was the only source of us getting any news of what was happening out there.

On Sep 2nd the brigade put us on 6 hours notice to go God knew where. Maybe the higher ups were still getting their act together and trying to decide what to do. On the very next day we were put on one hours notice. Rafey Khan went to the brigade for orders and we at last learnt that we were going to Samba near Jammu though we had prepared for the war in the Amritsar area. But thats the way it always is and there were no surprises.

Ravi Mahajan, the suave, super duper professional brigade major, was there on the road watching as we began to move off that night. My company was in the van as Som Jhingons Alpha had gone with some Lancer tanks to guard the Madhopur bridge. These Lancers had had their main armament ‘up gunned’ but it was a pathetic idea because when ever this gun fired, the turret nearly came off – those being the very words of Gui Verma, among other squadron commanders.

We reached our concentration area, West of Samba, by day break Sep 4. A little later Som Jhingons Alpha joined back and we got busy digging down. Because thats what any good unit does when it has nothing else to do!

To return. It was around 4pm that day that the commander of the newly formed Corps, General Dunn of the Gurkhas, meandered into the middle of the sprawled unit. He was as lost as we were and one could hardly blame him. The poor guy was headed for retirement but suddenly found himself raising a Corps HQ for leading a Corps into battle – all courtesy the Pakistani offensive.

Any way, as cheerful and as clueless as any Gurkha, he tried to brief Rafey on the Pak threat and seemed to think that the Ramgarh axis in the 26 Division sector should be reinforced! Evidently neither he nor we seemed to know what really was going on. As thorough professionals, we hardly seemed to care.

On Sep 5, God alone knew why, we moved a few miles to Majua village and began to dig down again and ‘marry up’ with the hapless Second Lancers and their upgunned Shermans. That day Rafey ordered me and my company to go guard the Basantar Bridge while he and the Lancer CO, a Col Sandhu, went to reconnoitre the area upto the Indo Pak border.

Next day Sep 6th saw me deploying my company in as professional a manner as I could muster in order to see off all threats and hold the bridge safe from danger. I had the footballer cum basketballer, Subedar Rameshwar Singh as my deputy and all he seemed to be worried about was becoming SM after the current one retired. My platoon commanders were young Gurmukh Bal and Havildars Gabar, an AX in Weapons and Sarweshwar Prasad who was actually the Company QM Havildar.

The battalion spent the day in joint recces, planning and rehearsals, while on the bridge, I met a lot of officers going Northward. One such was Gen P Chaudhari, a Garhwali who took pains to talk and spend time with a young Captain.

While on this ‘independent mission’, I was sorely tested to drive to Amarkote some 200 miles South, just to check up on my parents, some six miles short of KhemKaran. I weighed my chances and wisely decided against such foolhardiness. Of course it was mainly because I was not confident of my jeep being able to do it without breading down. It would have been rank foolhardiness which could be termed as desertion of post in time of war, which is just about the only offence in the Army Act, which has the death penalty!

I later learnt that while my father was in Amarkot, 30 miles South of Amritsar, my mother was that day travelling back from Bhatinda. The bus had off loaded all passengers at Bhikhiwind, some 9 miles short and she had first hitched a ride in a tonga, then on the back of a cycle and then stoutly walked the final miles. Such is the stuff of our stock and the plight of all who live near the international border.

Bravo Company spent a happy two days as being independent has its own highs. On Sep 7 we returned to find that Col Jerry Jhirad had joined back. Initially we had been told that the Division was to be launched on Sep 7 but maybe to coincide with the attack along the Grand Trunk Road, the launch date was moved to Sep 8.

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While we chatted in the unit HQ, Som Jhingon suggested that he and I, to mark the occasion, symbolically exchange our pistols. I told him that he was being stupid as his was a 9 mm colt whereas mine was a poor czech Lama. In his usual thumping bravura, he told me to stop being a ‘bania’ specially on such a historic occasion!

In the orders for the offensive, the Commanding Officer ruled that Som Jhingon’s Alpa was to lead the unit with the Lancers on the main thrust line, MAJUA – CHANNI FATOWAL – SAIDANWALI – GANGIAL – SABZIPUR – Cross Rds – KALOI – PAGOWAL.

Bravo was grouped with 62 Cavalry for flank protection on the Right of the main thrust.

Of the remainder, Bhagwan Mall was with Charlie, Suresh Gupta, who was the senior most after Rafey Khan, was with Delta. The adjutant was Om Sindhu who had taken over from me in April. The Intelligence officer was Vijay Chandra, and Ramesh Joshi, who had taken over from Ajaib Mangat, was the Quarter Master.

The newly arrived RMO was Capt M Sonkar, who they said, carried rum in his water bottle. He was surely the bravest of the brave, as this narrative will show and rightly deserved the Nation’s top award for valor in face of the enemy. Alas, the poor guy got zilch while it was raining medals for valor on the entire armored corps, courtesy custom, camraderie, Chaudhari and Chavan!

Dressed like a christmas tree – what with my compass, binocs and map case, I headed over to the HQ of 62 Cav where I found the Commandant, a Col BM Singh, promenading in the mango grove with his second in command.

The adjustant asked me my buisness but I said it was specifically with his Commandant. Reluctantly I was ushered into the august presence and he asked as to what he could do for me.

A wee proudly, I announced that I had been put under his command and wanted to know asto where I should locate me and my men in the order of march. He looked at me rather kindly and casually said that I could bum along in the rear as his tanks woiild blast any and every thing, that came in the way, to kingdom come!

I was taken aback and felt bad that I and my company would be left out of all the glory. But a small voice whispered that this way, I would lose less men and be spared the blood and gore. So, having taken the time for the advance as 5am, I returned home. That evening the routes were marked.

Late evening the 3 ton lorries drove into the unit area and I got four for the platoons and the HQ. I got no jeep but only a 1 ton for my ‘F’ echelon as Sub Sain Singh, the MT JCO could spare nothing more.

In the evening all officers, major and above had gone to the Division to hear the GOC’s pep talk. When the officers returned I learnt that I had not missed much because other than seeing the GOC flashing a red scarf and trying to exude confidence, there was little of note.

Early next morning there was a thunderous all mighty roar as our entire artillery opened up withour let up for some 30 mins. I felt glad that I was not at the receiving end but wondered as to what was being hit since we really had no clue as to what exactly was there opposite us. Before the day ended, we would find what our guns had been aimed at and what they had really hit.

We had been up since 3am and were ready to move an hour later. However when we did try to move just before 5am, there seemed to be far more noise of screeching sherman engines than actual forward movement. This was because on either side of the dirt track, the tanks were churning the mud and rather than going forward, they seemed to be getting stuck deeper and deeper.

The tanks were getting bogged, left right and center, right next to Ranjitpura Farm. In sharp contrast, our 3 ton lorries, were moving easier on the ‘kucha’ track, though they too were at times getting bogged down. The advantage the infantry had was that I could get the troops down so that they could push the lorries as the engines strained.

During a couple of these episodes, I saw our brigade commander, Harbans Dhillon, drive up in his jeep, see things for himself and swirl back. In fact I saw him a couple times going forward and back. And the guys in the back seat were carrying some live fowl, most probably his dinner! An army sure marches on its belly!

As day broke and the sun began to come up, we were still near our assembly or forward assembly area. call it what you will. We had hardly begun the move to cover the seven or eight miles to the international border which we were supposed to have crossed at 6am.

It was around then that the Pak air force showed up. The sabres had a field day while the F104s, some four of them, circled high above. The sabres in their dives, started to pick up both tanks and vehicles at will. Had they been any better, our offensive would have ended there and then.

I recollect my 1 ton alongwith the A-1 echelon of 62, being hit. Poor Sub Sain Singh, as sincere as ever, was well nigh in tears seeing his beloved vehicles become burning infernos.

I regret I am unable to sufficiently capture the chaos and confusion that prevailed that morning. At one time, when my company had moved far ahead, I felt obliged to call halt and order my men to disembark and move into a mango grove so as to rest and catch up on lost sleep whle we waited for the tanks to come up. And I remembered dear Col BM Singh telling me just yesterday, to bum along in his wake as he blasted everything to kingdom come! This is the way war is, my brothren!

After much time, the armour eventually managed to come up and we covered the few miles in own territory and began to cross the international border but only around 3pm. We had taken some 9 hrs to move seven miles in own territory! Our own sandy and soft ground had militated against our own movement. So much for whatever recce and preparation that had been carried out.

As I was crossing the border around 3 pm, I see dear old Som Jhingon come alongside and begin lambasting me for being such a slow poke idiot! Totally nonplussed, I railed at him and asked as to what in hell was he doing on my axis and to get the hell off on to his own!

He yells back, again calling me an idiot and saying that as they could not move on their chosen line of thrust, they had been superimposed on the line of thrust of the flank guard! So much for armour flexibility! Not bad decision making at that, then and there!

I first glimpsed the casualties of war as we crossed the Pakistani police post at Saidanwali. The wounded were seen pathetically standing by a broken down vehicle ambulance.

Moving a bit forward we came across the village Charwa, just across the border. It was a large willge and seemed to have been a prosperous one. We saw the deadly effect of our artillery and what they had really been firing at! For want of any information on enemy dispositions, our gallant gunners had chosen mere villages as targets to showcase their prowess.

We saw the devastation our early morning barrage had caused on unsuspecting civilians and animals.

The village may have been abandoned by the majority but there were still men, women, children and animals – cows, camels, bulls, buffalos and what have you! As we drove thru the stench from the corpses and carcasses, it was too much even for a hardened animal type like me. Most everyone had to muffle their faces to avoid the over powering stench.

And this had been caused by our Corps okf Artillery! The over powering barrage of which may not have harmed a single enemy soldier, let alone any type of vehicle or weapon!

In Artillery we were totally and completely outclassed by the Pakistanis. And that from Day One and right up to the Cease Fire. Sadly this was both in concept, organization and employment as well as in the type and quantum of equipment and ammunition used with such deadly effect.

The Indian Army learnt about the massed use of this great arm from Pakistan. Included was the seemingly lavish expenditure of the apparently abundant and limitless ammunition. Then we also learnt a thing or two about the bold, audacious and imaginative use of Observatin Officers and their inclusion in Stay Behind Parties. Indeed in Artillery, India and Pakistan were not on the same page. We were mere also rans.

But I am going ahead. It is only the first day and we had not had a shot fired at us in anger. Any way, as night fell we went into harbor near Sangial village, and I, without awaiting orders, rejoined my battalion. It was good to be home. More so in enemy country.

And so ended the First Day of our great Armoured Division’s offensive.

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