The Brave: Param Vir Chakra Stories (5 page)

Seventy-eight years old now, Mrs Rane sits in her Pune house and smiles gently at the memory of her 19-year-old self and the bold and brave Army officer who fell in love with her. ‘He extended his leave and left only after we had got married. Before that he asked me if he could change my name to Rajeshwari. He told me that during the PVC felicitations that were happening for him around the country he had once been invited to a maharaja’s palace and there he had seen the maharani whose name was Rajeshwari. She was really beautiful and had impressed him thoroughly.

‘When he came back home he had prayed to god that he should also get a girl who was as beautiful as she was. When he saw me for the first time, I reminded him of her and he felt I was the one for him. “Kya aapko Rajeshwari naam pasand hai?” (Do you like the name Rajeshwari?) he had asked and I had said yes. Hum sadharan log the. Unhone mujhe maharani ka darja de diya,’ (We were ordinary folk. He elevated me to a queen) she says shyly.

She recounts many stories of his brave and fearless temperament, some of which she heard from him or his colleagues, others that happened in front of her eyes in the years that they lived together. She tells me how when he was serving in Kashmir, a girl once fell into a well; he jumped in without a thought for his own safety and brought her out.

Another time, when they had been married just a few years, he had taken her for a movie at Bhanuvilas Hall in Pune. A fight had broken out in the crowd waiting outside the hall and it had taken a very violent turn. When things started getting uncontrollable, Rane leaped into the fighting mob and brought it under control by shouting at the crowd. Again, he did not think about his own safety even as his extremely worried young wife watched on quietly.

Then, in 1962, while Rane was posted in Calcutta, Hindu-Muslim riots broke out. Detailed to contain the riots, Rane would walk often right inside deeply communal mohallas, while Rajeshwari would spend her time next to the phone, sick with fear, waiting for calls that could tell her if her husband was safe.

Rama Raghoba Rane came from a martial race, the Ranes, who had migrated to south India. He belonged to the Konkan Kshatriya Maratha community of Karwar. Bravery seemed to have been in his genes. He served in the Army for 21 years and had the distinction of getting five Mentioned-in-Despatches for his bravery and enterprise. Not only did he earn a name for himself during the trouble with Pakistan in 1947-48, he was also known for his acts of bravery during his tenure in Burma during World War II. He is said to have shot down an enemy plane with his medium machine gun.

Rane was born in Chendia village, in Karnataka, on 26 June 1918. His father was a head constable of police. He studied in the district schools, moving frequently with his father because of his transfers. He was interested in sports, outdoor activities and adventure right from when he was a small boy.

When World War II broke out, 22-year-old Rane decided to join the Army and was recruited into the Bombay Sappers in July 1940. During the passing-out parade, he stood very high in the order of merit and was presented with the Commandant’s Cane for best recruit.

He remained in 37 Field Company till August 1950 after which he was posted to the Bombay Engineer Group centre. He got his PVC in 1951. In July 1954, he was awarded the Chief of Army Staff’s Commendation Card for devotion to duty for his work during the Maha Prabhu Mela in Kashmir.

Rane went on to command a bomb-disposal platoon and retired as a Major on 25 June 1968. But his love for the Army did not let him leave and he sought re-employment; he continued to wear the uniform till April 1971.

After retirement, he settled down in Pune. He passed away at 73, in 1994, after undergoing an operation where the doctors were not able to stop his bleeding. He is survived by his wife Mrs Rajeshwari Rane, who continues to live in Pune.

Dawn has not broken, but all signs indicate it is going to be a cold and grey February morning. There is frost on the grass, masking the green with translucent white fluff. A swirling mist swept in through the night and a dense fog still hangs over the slopes of Tain Dhar Ridge, where the ten men of 9 Platoon, C Company, of1 Rajput battalion, sit guarding picket Number 2. They have just finished making tea in silence and are now, over steaming enamel mugs of the milk powder-sweetened brew, exchanging their concerns with each other in hoarse whispers, their voices still gruff from another endless, stressful night.

The orders for them had been to defend the picket, which lies on the left shoulder of the Tain Dhar range, against an enemy attack and they have been holdingfort sincerely, though it has been peaceful so far. Intelligence reports have repeatedly hinted that Pakistani raiders, out to take over Kashmir, would be headingfor Naushera, and Tain Dhar falls on the way, which is why the men have been placed there. Every day and every night, the soldiers waited for an attack, but there have been none, even though excessive enemy build up had been reported in the areas around.

Shivering in their trenches in the brutal cold of Kashmir that morning, the ten men do not know that today is going to be the day. Thousands of Pakistani raiders have crept up on their tiny post in the darkness of the night and are just waiting for daybreak to attack.

It is getting late and the shadows are falling when our car cruises into Beas Military Station where 4 Guards, earlier called 1 Rajput, are stationed.

Winding between tractors, cars and motorcycles driven by brightly turbaned sardars who don’t give a damn about traffic rules has been painful and frankly I’m not expecting much even at the end of the journey.

It has been more than 50 years since Naik Jadunath Singh or Yadunath Singh (the records call him both names) died and so far the leads have come to nothing. All the soldiers who fought the terrible battle of Tain Dhar with Yadunath Singh are dead too. He never married, so there is no real family to speak to. I’m seriously worried about how I’ll write this Param Vir Chakra account.

In sheer desperation, I visit Beas where 4 Guards are located. The only information I have comes from the memoirs of the late Lieutenant Colonel Kishan Singh Rathore, who was a young captain during the battle of Tain Dhar. He has written: ‘Since the enemy was so close there was no question of covering fire and there was only hip firing and lobbing of grenades. The attack was frontal, we were grateful that they did not attack from the sides. Had the enemy attacked us at night, they would have won within five minutes and we would have all been slaughtered. It was then that the most astonishing thing happened. The enemy blew the retreat bugle and at almost the same time Major Gurdial Singh of 3 Rajput arrived. The enemy lost over a thousand men and victory was so complete that from then on Naushera front, the enemy was keener on running than fighting. ‘

I learn that it took seven days for the battalion to clear the bodies that numbered in thousands. The enemy did not claim its dead. After nearly three days the stench was such that the defences could not be occupied.

A little more of what I know comes from retired Brigadier N. Bahri of 4 Grenadiers, who now lives in Noida. Brig. Bahri tells me that when he joined the battalion in 1960 and was appointed the adjutant, Naik Yadunath had already been dead for 12 years. But Subedar Major Ami Singh, who was the 9 Platoon commander during the battle of Tain Dhar, would often tell him about Yadunath. ‘Ami Singh would talk vividly of the operation and would start crying each time he spoke of Yadunath Singh,’ Brig. Bahri remembers.

But I still did not have Yadunath’s complete story and as a last-ditch effort, I take on the nine-hour drive from Delhi to Beas that will bring me to the battalion’s present location. There, I’ve been told, they have an archive where old war- diaries lie preserved. They are my last hope.

Shortly after crossing the Beas River that murmurs conversationally along the mustard fields that glow a faint yellow in the moonlight, I see a big gate looming. Param Vir Paltan, 4 Guards, it proclaims proudly. Inside, we cross Broon’s Bungalow (the commandant’s residence, named after Major George Sackville Brown, the first commandant). I’m told that since the Indians pronounced his name Broon in those days, the nomenclature has stuck and the battalion has continued to call itself Broon ka Paltan. A smiling Mess Havaldar R. D. Tiwari waits beside a painted signboard that says Yadunath Parade Ground. He guides us to the mess, where a shining bust of Yadunath is placed.

Lieutenant Aditya Tanwar, a tall, lanky fourth-generation officer, springs forth to open and close doors for me and then escorts me to the battalion archives where framed pictures of Yadunath and the other braves of the Battle of Tain Dhar look down from a wall. In the next room are neat stacks of war diaries, with fading yellow parchment paper that have been treated at the Indian Military Academy; they are bound carefully and covered with plastic.

Aditya bends over and proudly points out the exact noting, done in pen on paper on 6 February 1948, recounting the battle where Naik Yadunath Singh got his Param Vir Chakra. He points to 23 glass jars that are neatly lined in a corner. Filled with stones and mud, they are labelled with the names of all 23 places where the battalion has fought various battles and received battle honours.

As I lean over to read—while Havaldar Pramesh (archives-in-charge for fourteen years) and Lt Tanwar discuss Yadunath’s last battle in respectful whispers—I am struck by a fascinating thought. Soldiers don’t die when bullets pierce their hearts and heads through their olive green shirts and woollen balaclavas. They don’t die when they fall before an enemy onslaught, or even when they get buried in trenches, staining the earth with their warm crimson blood. It is only when we forget their acts of bravery that soldiers die. And, though we have killed many that way, the officers and men of 4 Guards, Param Vir Paltan, have made Yadunath immortal by remembering him every single day of their lives. He lives in their battalion parade ground, in their mess, their archives, their thoughts and their conversations. He might not be around anymore but, strangely enough, Naik Yadunath, of the dark eyes and upturned moustache, continues to stride across their mess and their unit lines as pulsating with life as you or I are. Or, as he himself was on 6 February 1948, when he commanded a section of nine men and defended Tain Dhar when thousands of raiders launched an offensive to capture Naushera and the Jammu province.

When India became independent, Jammu and Kashmir was one princely state that refused to accede to either India or Pakistan. However, Pakistan hatched a plot to attack and take over the province, and built up a huge force of raiders. The raiders began to attack the border towns and created a terrible atmosphere of murder, mayhem, loot and rape. The maharaja of J&K approached the Indian government for help, but the Indian government told him the army could not fight outside their own country’s borders. The maharaja was asked to sign the document of accession to India and as soon as he had done so, the Indian Army was sent to defend its borders.

1 Rajput was one of the chosen battalions. It had a brief stay of two months at Gurdaspur to integrate two new companies and prepare to move operations to J&K. The unit moved to Naushera by road and reached there by 8 December 1947. It came under the 50 Para Brigade and soon the companies were spread out over posts that included Pt. 2533, Area Kot, Tain Dhar, Pt. 3319 and Pt. 3754. They were given the task of defending the Jammu-Akhnoor-Naushera-Rajouri-Poonch road axis.

The men went in for heavy patrolling of the area but there were strong reports of the enemy forces building up for an attack. On the night of 5-6 February, the listening posts warned of the enemy accumulating north of Naushera. An attack could be expected, most probably at Tain Dhar, where Naik Yadunath manned a picket with very limited men and ammunition at his disposal.

It was dawn and a weak orange sun was slowly lighting up the horizon. Looking into the distance Yadunath noticed moving specks that appeared to be coming closer. The fog was hampering his vision and he wasn’t sure if it was just an illusion of the mind so he nudged the soldier standing next to him and they both watched in quiet concentration.

Yadunath had not been mistaken. The Pakistani raiders were here and, even as his eyes adjusted to the translucent haze, he noticed that they were slowly coming closer. The time for battle had come. As Yadunath’s eyes darted from one speck to another, he realized that there were hundreds of them; fully armed and striding across the vegetation. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He had only nine soldiers with him. The enemy had surrounded them in numbers he couldn’t even count. He and his men had only choices. To surrender or fight till the last man. He knew what he was going to do.

Even as Yadunath and his men watched from their trenches, the specks in the distance turned into the bearded, sunburnt faces of Pakistani raiders and Pathans. Guns in hand they were now emerging one after the other from the thickets and behind rocks and boulders.

The moment they were within firing distance, they started shooting, and soon the surrounding hills rang with the sound of machine-gun and mortar fire. The raiders had a mad ferocity about them. They had been promised wealth and women. Some of their comrades had already returned home with the booty and the women they had abducted after raiding border villages and the others were looking forward to the same experience. They had not expected the Indian Army to come to Kashmir’s aid, but they were prepared for battle and they knew the Indian soldiers were heavily outnumbered.

Yadunath shouted to his men to take position and together the ten brave men directed their light machine guns at the first wave of attackers.

Cries of ‘
Allah hu Akbar’
rang out as the two warring sections met. As soon as an enemy soldier fell dead, two more would take his place. The men came like a swarm of locusts. In hundreds. One after another. They made their way to the picket in droves, shooting continuously.

Yadunath and his men started flinging hand grenades at them but despite that some of the raiders managed to enter the trenches. Bloody hand-to-hand combat followed with clashing bayonets glistening in the morning sun. The first wave of raiders was eventually beaten back, but at a heavy cost.

Of Yadunath’s force of ten, four men had been wounded. They had barely recovered when the second wave of the assault came—stronger and even more brutal. The raiders managed to get so close that Havaldar Daya Ram, the mortar NCO (non-commissioned officer), took a big chance. Putting his own life at stake, he removed the secondary charges from the tubes to fire within 35-50 yards of the unit defences.

The mortar fire became more accurate, but it was so close that there was danger of Daya Ram killing his own men. It is to his credit that the risk was overcome and great devastation caused amongst the attacking raiders.

The brave men were unfortunately completely outnumbered and almost all the soldiers of Yadunath’s section had been injured. The cries of the injured men rent the air but even then those who could stand continued to hold their guns despite their injuries and fought.

Yadunath himself had received bullet injuries on his right arm and thigh. Though badly hurt, he dragged himself to his wounded Bren gunner and took over the gun. By this time the enemy had reached the walls of the post, but Yadunath and his men did not give up. One of the non-combatants, who was not even trained to fight, also picked up an enemy rifle and shot dead a few attackers. Records say that when his ammunition finished he picked up an enemy sword and charged bravely at the raiders till he was finally shot dead.

There are many such stories of bravery, but Yadunath’s towered above all the others. Battered and bleeding yet completely unmindful of his own safety, he encouraged his men to fight and battled valiantly by their side. He fought so bravely and with such unflinching courage and determination that what looked like certain defeat was turned into victory. The post was saved a second time.