The Brave: Param Vir Chakra Stories (8 page)

Gurbachan Singh Salaria was born on 29 November 1935 in a village called Janwal, near Shakargarh, now in Pakistan. The second of five children, he was a favourite of his grandmother, who would tie a black thread around his waist to keep the evil eye away from him. By that time, Adolf Hitler had already emerged as a dark force and war clouds were looming over the world.

Gurbachan’s father Munshi Ram was in the Armoured Corps of the British Indian Army and would move from one Army cantonment to another, coming home only on annual or casual leave. When he did come home it was celebration time in the family. His favourite food would be cooked, the house would sparkle and friends and family drop in to listen to his awe-inspiring tales of faraway places where soldiers performed great acts of bravery. Little Gurbachan and his siblings would listen to their father in rapt attention as he sat smoking his hookah. Quite possibly this is how Gurbachan was inspired to be courageous.

Gurbachan’s mother Dhan Devi had never been to school and was completely occupied with her growing children. She was, however, very particular that her children’s education did not suffer despite living in a village. Gurbachan would go to school regularly, but was always more occupied with games and outdoor activities rather than studying. He was a good kabaddi player, and continued to be good at sports even after he cleared the entrance to King George’s Royal Military College (KGRMC), Bangalore, at 11 years of age. Though he was initially rejected in the physical exam because his chest was found to be an inch less than the stipulated measurements, he was given a month to try again. He took the challenge head on, drinking one litre of goat’s milk every day and exercising passionately.

When he went back for his medical, he had managed to increase his chest by two-and-a-half inches and was immediately admitted. He joined the college in August 1946 as a cadet. In 1947, he was transferred to KGRMC Jullundur, which was closer to his village.

When he was in his second year, Gurbachan and a friend were once bullied and insulted by another cadet. Gurbachan’s self-respect took a blow but he challenged the bully to a boxing match the next day. He boxed with such fury that the bully was knocked out and had to apologize. The operation in Congo was very reminiscent of this incident; where Gurbachan took on a much bigger and better equipped enemy fighting force just because he wanted to teach them a lesson in war ethics.

Gurbachan went on to the National Defence Academy and then the Indian Military Academy. He joined 2/3 Gorkha Rifles in July 1954 where because of his cropped hair cut and upturned moustache he was nicknamed Khan Saheb by his commanding officer. In March 1960, he received orders transferring him to 3/1 Gorkha Rifles. And that was where General R. P. Singh, who was then the battalion adjutant, met him.

General Singh found Salaria to be a simple man, spartan and very careful with money, unlike other young officers, many of whom had extravagant tastes. In fact, Salaria once told him, he recalled, that he was sending money home to finance the education of his younger brother Sukhdev, at college in Jammu.

Sukhdev is now 75 and lives in Pathankot. He is bedridden and has lost his sense of balance, but he remembers fondly how, when he and Gurbachan were little boys—Gurbachan was older by two years—they would go swimming in the small stream that ran across their village. ‘We had no worries then; we would splash around in the stream. What beautiful days they were. Now Gurbachan is gone and I can’t walk, but whenever I think of him that is the first memory that streams into my head, ‘ says the old man, sinking back into silence. He has more memories to recount but his strength fails him.

This story is based on conversations with Major General (Retd) R. P. Singh, AVSM, VSM, who has written
A Star on the Mount of Jupiter,
a book on Captain Salaria, giving the Indian brigade’s account in the United Nations Peacekeeping Force in Congo.

The Gorkha soldier is in his early 20s. He is firing from his trench. His slim fingers hold the. 303 rifle so close to his slight frame that it appears to be an extension of his body. A helmet covers his young face.

It is freezing cold but there are beads of sweat on his brow. He is shooting at the Chinese, who are coming in a massive wave, their automatic rifles spraying bullets blindly at the men defending Sirijap 1. The post lies on the northern edge of the Pangong Tso and is manned by the Delta Company of the first battalion of 8 Gorkha Rifles.

The soldier uses his bullets with care. He knows ammunition is running short and he and his comrades are completely outnumbered. There were 28 of them when the Chinese started shelling at 6 a. m. but nearly half of them now lie around him, some dead, others dying.

Just then, a shell blows up a bunker that collapses right on top of Subedar Min Bahadur Gurung, the company second-in- command. Gurung Sahab crawls out of the debris, injured and bleeding, light machine gun (LMG) still in his hand. He starts firing at the enemy again, his mud-streaked face a mask of cold control. Major Dhan Singh Thapa, commander, D Company, continues to move from trench to trench, inspiring those left of his men to be brave.

Just then a bullet hits the soldier in the hand. He drops the rifle and, screaming with pain, runs into the tent that still stands intact. Without losing a second, Maj Thapa reaches for the fallen gun and carries it inside. He finds the terrified soldier cringing in a corner, nursing his injured hand.

Thapa walks across to him and pats him on the head softly. ‘Kafar hunu bhanda marnu ramro’ (It is better to die than be a coward), he says, handing the gun back to the young man. ‘If we have to die we’ll all die together, but kill a few before you die.’

With that Maj Thapa turns around and quickly makes his way back to where a soldier lies dead with his LMG still in his hands. He pulls the gun and gets into the trench himself, positioning himself in front of the advancing enemy. From the corner of his eye he sees the injured soldier walking back with a determined look on his face and the rifle in his blood-stained hands.

The battle that took place at Sirijap 1 in the Chushul sector of Ladakh is immortalized in military history for the dynamic leadership of Maj Dhan Singh Thapa. He was the man who inspired his brave Gorkhas to fight to the last.

Sirijap 1 was one of the many posts established as part of the forward policy that had been employed by India to counter the Chinese, who had been establishing posts in Ladakh. Since the men of D Company had to be split among a number of posts, only about 28 soldiers were placed at Sirijap 1. A Chinese attack wasn’t really expected there and the Major, who had gone to Ladakh leaving his pregnant wife behind in Dehradun, had even been granted one week’s leave to go home and the officer sent to relieve him had reached Leh. But despite getting permission to proceed on leave, Thapa had insisted upon waiting for his replacement to take over Sirijap since he did not want to leave his company headless.

On 19 October, Maj Thapa was surprised to find hectic activity on the enemy side and build-up of the Chinese forces on the posts. Suspecting a possible attack, Maj Thapa and his men began preparing their defence. The ground was hard and frozen and it was very difficult to dig in so they piled up sandbags to reinforce their bunkers.

The men waited anxiously that entire night. There were just 28 of them! But Maj Thapa inspired them with his words of courage. ‘Don’t forget that one Gorkha is equal to 10 others,’ he told them with quiet confidence.

‘We did not panic in any way, neither were we afraid of anything except the biting cold outside the trenches, where freezing winds would blow during our patrols at night, ‘ Subedar Major Tulsi Ram Thapa, a survivor, will tell Poonam (Maj Thapa’s youngest daughter) many years later when she is researching for a biography on her father). ‘We had enough clothing. Each of us was issued three pairs of woollen socks, woollen undergarments, trousers, goggles, jackets, sleeping bags, camouflage raincoats, etc., and physically we were quite comfortable. Some of us had even received letters from home. ‘

That dark night passed without any untoward incident and slowly the soldiers who were not on duty closed their eyes for some rest. At 6 a. m. on 20 October, there was a blast and Sirijap 1 shook under heavy artillery fire. Bombs exploded and the air rang with the deadly hiss of shells and screams of those hit, followed by the boom of heavy mortars. The explosions destroyed the bunkers the Gorkhas had constructed and caused devastation amongst their small force. Many soldiers were killed in their trenches, many more wounded. Very soon the radio network was also disrupted, cutting the company off completely from the rest of the battalion.

Signal officer Maj Ved Vyas will later remember the last message received from Maj Thapa. ‘Neither will I withdraw, nor will I surrender, ‘ he had said.

The observation post at Tokung, a ferry point for boats that were used for the maintenance of posts in the Pangong Tso area, was the only place from where soldiers could witness the battle of Sirijap. The soldiers say the shelling went on for more than two hours and Sirijap looked like it had been set on fire.

While the shelling was on, the Chinese Army managed to get close to the company position. No sooner had the shelling stopped than they attacked in a strength of more than 500. The Gorkhas put up a very brave fight. Most of them were in their early 20s with just a few years of service. Their LMGs and .303s were no match for the sophisticated arms and ammunition with the enemy, but they still managed to create havoc in the Chinese army. Small and slim in stature, they did not lack in courage. Led by their company commander, who was himself just 33 years old, they fixed the enemy soldiers in their gun-sights and shot them down the moment they came close.

The sheer numbers of the Chinese, however, were overwhelming. Every time they repulsed an advance the enemy would attack in even larger numbers. Naik Krishna Bahadur Thapa, in charge of one section, was hit by a splinter that severed his leg. In spite of his grievous wound, he picked up the LMG of a dead comrade and continued to fire at the advancing enemy till he was hit by another volley of bullets and dropped dead.

The men who survived remember how Maj Thapa rose above all others. He proved to them that he was a true commander. While the firing was on, he boldly went around bunkers without a thought for his own safety, strengthening breaches, replacing men who had died or were injured and encouraging the remaining with his brave words. He inspired them to hang on courageously and not bother about what was bound to happen.

After two of their attacks were repelled, the Chinese used amphibious crafts to ferry machine guns and bazookas across the lake. Since D Company had lost all radio contact, the battalion headquarters sent Naik Rabilal Thapa with two boats on the lake to find out what was happening, but the Chinese fired at them and managed to capsize one, drowning all men on board. The other returned to the battalion with Naik Rabilal on board. He had managed to get within 1000 yards of Sirijap before the enemy opened LMG fire at him from three sides. He saw clouds of grey smoke and flames rising from Sirijap which appeared totally destroyed. He reported that the post had fallen to the Chinese and all men defending it had lost their lives.

The fact was that Sirijap had not lost all its men. Seven of the brave soldiers were still holding on though they were fast running out of ammunition. Inspired by the example of their company commander, who continued to fight by their side, they did not lose their nerve. Those who ran out of bullets picked up the rifles of their dead comrades and kept firing.

When all their ammunition finished and the Chinese started using incendiary bombs to start fires to smoke out the soldiers, the Gorkhas pulled out their khukris (traditional Nepali knives), and jumped out of their trenches screaming out their war cry: ‘Jai Mahakali, Aayo Gorkhali.’ Led by their commander, they plunged their deadly blades deep into enemy throats and chests. Maj Thapa was one of the last few left alive and was fighting with his khukri when he was hit in the face by a rifle butt and lost two of his teeth. He killed the Chinese soldier and was in the process of putting out a fire by rolling over it physically when he was surrounded and taken prisoner along with a few others.

When dusk fell over Sirijap on 20 October, the battalion had no idea about the fate of Maj Thapa, who had been given up as dead along with the 28 other heroes. For his devotion to duty, undaunted gallantry and inspiring command, Maj Thapa was recommended for an immediate award of Param Vir Chakra (PVC). He was awarded the PVC posthumously since he was believed to have been killed in the war.

Unknown to his battalion, the Major and a few other survivors of Sirijap were taken away by the Chinese, first to Khurnak Fort and subsequently to Sinkiang, as prisoners of war (POWs). Maj Thapa remained in Chinese captivity till May 1963. He was kept in complete isolation, subjected to Chinese propaganda, which included being made to watch Chinese films that glorified their policies, and being weakened emotionally by being told that despite knowing that they were alive, the Indian Army and the government were not taking any interest in their release.

He might have spent his entire life in custody had he not made friends with a Chinese boy who brought him meals in the tent where he was prisoner. Even though he could not speak Chinese Maj Thapa established a bond with this boy and managed to convey to him that he had a family in India, his wife was pregnant and he wanted to send them a letter telling them he was alive. The Chinese boy posted the letter for him and it reached Major Thapa’s maternal uncle in Simla, who brought it to the notice of the Army that the PVC awardee, who had been declared dead, was in fact alive and in Chinese captivity.

When Maj Thapa was brought back, he recounted tales of how he was continuously pressurized to admit that he was surrendering to the Chinese and when he did not succumb, he was made to walk from one post to another in the freezing cold, without shoes and with a radio set strapped onto his back. He suffered from frostbite because of this continuous exposure to snow. Poornima says that her father suffered all his life from swollen feet and joint pain that later developed into arthritis.

Maj Thapa did not like to talk about his days as a prisoner and hardly ever spoke about the war either. ‘When we badgered him he would just say that he could never forget the sight of his soldiers dying in front of his eyes one by one or overcome the humiliation of being a POW,’ Poornima says.

After Dhan Singh had been reported dead, his family had performed all his death rituals though his wife Shukla kept insisting that her husband was alive and would come back; he had promised her he would take her with him to his next posting. When Gorkha officers came to her house on 12 Young Road in Dehradun after the war with black bands on their uniforms to break the news of her husband’s death, she refused to believe them. At that time everyone felt she was under shock. When Maj Thapa came back in May 1963, he had to be remarried to Shukla since she had been made to undergo the rituals of widowhood. He also found himself face to face with his newborn son Param Deep Thapa, who had been named after the PVC his father had been awarded. When he grew up, Param went on to join the Army.

Maj Thapa rose to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel and served till he retired. He continued to attend almost all the Republic Day parades from 1964 to 2004. Sick and undergoing dialysis for kidney failure in Delhi, Lt Col Thapa would slip in and out of consciousness in his last year. Poornima, who was taking care of him, pleaded with him to not attend the parade that year, but he refused gently yet firmly. ‘When I wear my uniform and go for the parade, I represent my soldiers; those men who fought a war with me. I cannot let them down,’ he told her. Though he could hardly stand for long or even stay alert, he put on his uniform, pinned on his PVC, tilted his Gorkha hat at the perfect angle and went for the parade, remembers Poornima. Through sheer willpower, he managed to stand in the jeep till he had saluted the President. After that, he sat down.