THE GARUD STRIKES (5 page)

‘No. That I have. I already know that he was born in June 1928, passed out from the Indian Military Academy with the Sword of Honour, served as an instructor at Infantry School, Mhow, and the Guards Training Centre. I also know that he saw action during the 1962 war with China, had served with the Indian UN Mission in Gaza, and had been an advisor to Emperor Haile Selasie’s bodyguards when he was a Lieutnant Colonel before he led the unit through the 1971 Indo-Pak war.’

‘That’s correct,’ Meetu confirmed. ‘He also not only commanded a brigade at Fazilka, but also raised a mechanized brigade at Babina, commanded a division at Jammu, and a Corps at Bhatinda.’

Major Chandrakant, who had taken on the role of my shepherd, and been with us that day, too, added, ‘Himmeth also served as an instructor at the College of Combat¸ Mhow and later as its Commandant. He also served as the Commandant of IMA, Dehradun, and National Defence College, Delhi.’

I was already aware of the IMA tenure, since Himmeth had taken over as Commandant just after I had been commissioned from there. It made me wish I’d met him there; I may have had a better idea of the man whose battalion I was writing about today.

‘After that,’ Meetu concluded, ‘in 1987, dad retired. He served for a while as the personal advisor to the then Defence Minister, and subsequently the Emir of Qatar, His Excellency Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani, before he finally hung up his spurs and settled down in Jaipur.’

‘Why Jaipur?’ I asked, not so much curious as needing a respite, since I was still processing that long and illustrious innings.

‘You see, we are from the Rajput house of Ajairajpura. Hence, Rajasthan has always been home for us,’ Meetu answered. ‘Also, it is from this background that our love for
shikar
and all things martial spring,’ he added with a grin.

Having served and been friends with many Rajputs, I understood that. I remember one of them telling me: Once a Rajput, always a Rajput. ‘That’s the kind of stuff I want to know about him. His personal beliefs, views on religion, etc.’

This time it was Major Chandrakant, also a Rajput, who took up the narration. ‘Himmeth had all the required martial blood running in his veins, but he also had a very finely developed sense of values. That is why he never condoned any unsoldierly or cowardly acts like looting or ill-treatment of prisoners. The Old Man was very strict about things like that.’

Now more than ever, I wished I had met the man, and not just because of this book. If everything emerging about Himmeth were true, he would indeed have been a rare man. I now turned to the second photo. This showed the same man, but now with a grizzled beard.

‘What’s with the beard?’ I asked.

‘Himmeth was so sure we would win the war that he decided he would shave only when we captured Dacca,’ Chandrakant explained, and then laughed. Eager to get the joke I’d obviously missed, I lifted a quizzical eyebrow at him. ‘I just remembered what Mrs Himmeth said when she met him immediately after the war.’ He laughed again, and explained: ‘She said thank god the war only lasted two weeks, else I would have met Rip Van Winkle.’

Lieutenant Colonel
Himmeth Singh – Dec ‘71

I went back to the papers after we stopped laughing. It was important for me to get a sense of the man who had led the battalion to war.

My eyes again sought out Himmeth’s photos as the men around me ran out of words.

Lieutenant General
Himmeth Singh PVSM
(Retd).

Despite having heard so much about him and having gone through the recordings Colonel Pyarelal of USI, Delhi, had made whilst interviewing him, I wish I knew the man better. Perhaps my need was more visible than I realized because Colonel Surinder Singh elaborated.

‘Colonel Himmeth was not an easy commanding officer to serve under. He was not only very tough, but also a man with very strong likes and dislikes.’ I put down the photos when Colonel Surinder began to speak. ‘Why, just yesterday his wife was saying the same thing, that with Himmeth every thing was either black or white.’

‘Absolutely true!’ Lietenant Colonel Midha chipped in. ‘He was full of
josh
and completely focused on whatever he got fixated on, but…’ a smile creased his face. ‘With him, you were either an angel or a demon; nothing in between.’

‘Which were you?’ I couldn’t help asking.

‘A demon, to begin with.’ Midha retorted.

This time the laughter took a while to subside.

‘That notwithstanding, let me tell you that even today, if I ever have to go into battle again, he is the man I would want us to lead,’ Colonel Surinder took over the conversation again. ‘Himmeth had tremendous confidence in the
paltan
. And rightly so, since this was the same battalion he had been commissioned in. Did you know that on 1 December 1971, the day we went into attack, he left us free to get things organized and actually went off to play a round of golf,’ Colonel Surinder gave a faraway smile. ‘Himmeth was a soldier’s soldier; tough as nails, but what a charismatic person. Ask Glucose and he will tell…’

‘Who is Glucose?’ I could not help interrupting.

‘I!’ Major Dewan, lounging in the far corner, raised a half finger.

‘If anyone knows Himmeth, he does. Glucose was the adjutant back then and with him during the operation, almost every minute right from start to finish,’ Colonel Surinder explained.

I had spent a good hour with the gentlemen in question the previous evening, and was unable to correlate the person to the nickname. ‘Why on earth did they call you Glucose?’

‘Because he was such a Glaxo baby,’ Surinder did not wait for Glucose to reply.

Everyone in the room roared with laughter. I threw a quick look around. I am sure they must have heard this story many times before, but they all seemed as engrossed in it as I was.

‘All of us had nicknames,’ Glucose clarified. ‘When I joined the unit, Som … Colonel Somanna, who had been the Commandant then, gave me two options, Glucose or Glaxo baby,’ another loud guffaw, ‘and so I obviously opted for Glucose.’

His logic was far from obvious to me, and I was still unclear about the correlation, but fascinated nonetheless. ‘And you?’ I turned back to Surinder. ‘What was your nickname?’

‘I was nicknamed Granthi (Sikh religious teacher),’ Surinder replied with a naughty grin. ‘They called me that because I’m a Sikh, and did not cut my beard and I didn’t drink either. So one day, when we were playing football and I missed the ball, Pup Mann (General H.R.S. Mann) yelled at me, “Come on, you
granthi
”, and the name just stuck,’ he finished, amid laughter.

Looking at the sixty-plus man sitting before me, honestly, it was hard for me to imagine that he had once been young. I struggled momentarily to picture a young captain, improbably and illogically nicknamed Granthi.

‘Paunchy. That’s me,’ Major Chandrakant, tall even while sitting, swarthy, with black, horn-rimmed spectacles that would have been considered nerdy even in the dotcom era, flashed a cheeky smile. ‘I always had a paunch, even when I was a cadet.’

‘And Tuffy was my nickname,’ Major S.P. Marwah gave a broad smile. Looking at the slim, not so tall man seated before me, I had trouble figuring out why they’d given him that nickname.

I was aware that Army nicknames, though fascinating, are seldom based on anything logical. ‘And Colonel Himmeth? What did you guys call him?’ I asked.

‘Himmeth?’ Granthi guffawed. ‘Himmeth was Himmeth. Nothing else.’

‘No, really, I mean it. Himmeth was just Himmeth. We either called him that, or Old Man, like in the other units.’

I shrugged and gave him a please-go-ahead wave. He started to, but Glucose got in there first.

‘Colonel Surinder is right. Himmeth was a tough taskmaster. His fundas in life were very clear. A soldier had to know how to shoot straight and
had
to have the will to win. That’s all there was to it, as far as he was concerned.’ There was a very short pause. ‘In the same way, Himmeth also believed that every officer had to have three things to be a good regimental officer.’

I could not keep down a quizzical eyebrow.

‘An officer had to be able to play bridge, play golf, and have a rucksack.’

I understood the fetish about the games; these were common to many Army officers across the world, but the third one went past me. ‘Rucksack? What’s with the rucksack?’ I asked.

‘During the months that we were preparing for war, I remember one day Himmeth was returning from his daily round of golf when he saw us practising with the RCL gun.’ My rucksack query got swept aside by Lieutenant Colonel Midha. ‘We were doing the usual mount-dismount drill, when Himmeth happened to be driving past. He stopped the jeep and gave us a shouting right there and then, telling us to stop the nonsense. He said: “Just make sure that every soldier in your company can point the gun at the enemy tanks, aim it and fire it. That’s all that is needed.”’

Much as I was relishing this picture of the man who had led the battalion to war, I now felt the urge to get to the war itself.

‘So you were saying,’ I turned again to Granthi, ‘that it felt just like any other exercise.’