Sunday, July 16, 2000		Article

IN his book Anatomy of courage, Lord Moran (personal physician to Churchill), says: "In war, the factor which has the greatest influence over the hearts of men, is a supreme imperturbability in the face of death." Two anecdotes which I read as a young officer, greatly fascinated me. The first one concerned an incident that took place in World War I. During an attack on Guillemont in the Battle of Somme, an officer of the Rifle Brigade was crossing in the open under heavy shell fire when he dropped his glove. He walked back two or three yards, picked it up and went on. Slim writes about the second incident in his book Defeat into Victory, "I took General Alexander with me when I visited both divisional headquarters, and we saw something of the start of the battle. We were machine-gunned from the air at Scott’s headquarters. General Alexander, as usual, was quite unperturbed and refused to take shelter in a trench, as I did very briskly, preferring to stand behind a tree. This was not the only time when I found the Army Commander’s courage above my standard."

How many times must have I mused over these two incidents! How I wanted to emulate them! When the time did come, my actions were a far cry from theirs. I was, however, fortunate to see Brig Pritpal Singh in action. He was cast in the same mould as them and was equally brave.

In the 1965 war with Pakistan, I was commanding a Medium Regiment in support of an Infantry Brigade in the Chhamb-Jaurian sector. Pritpal of the Hodson Horse was the Brigade Commander. Only in this sector, the Indian Army had been forced to withdraw. We had fallen back to a place known as Fatwal Ridge which is about five miles west of Akhnoor, and lies to the north of the Jaurian road.

When withdrawing, the morale is apt to be low. It becomes incumbent on the commander to restore it, preferably by giving a personal example. It was in these circumstances that I saw Pritpal showing complete contempt for death.

Pritpal was very fond of me. Way back in 1947 when I was a cadet in the Indian Military Academy, he was our instructor. That made our relationship even closer. As his artillery adviser, I was always with him. Even though I was not a good driver, he insisted that I drove his jeep. His Intelligence Officer (IO) and the driver sat in the rear seats. To ensure that the windscreen did not give away our position by reflecting light, it had been removed.

The happenings of that one day in September are still fresh in my mind. Our brigade had been given the task of recapturing certain tactical features. The Brigade Order Group assembled that morning and the commander started giving orders. Some Pak officer must have seen us getting together. When he was half way through his orders, the Pakistanis started shelling us. They were using ‘variable time fuses’ for air-bursts. Luckily for us, the shells were bursting a little too high. We could hear the splinters falling all around us and could see the dust rising where they hit the ground. His Brigade Major meekly suggested that we should move under cover. He firmly declined and continued with his orders unmindful of the shelling. There was not even the slightest change in his tone.

Soon after the orders, to tie up some details we went to the divisional headquarters which was located about a mile east of the Akhnoor bridge on the southern bank of the Chenab. As we started our return journey, the Pakistanis resumered shelling. From their distinct thunder, I could make out that they were firing the 155 mm US-made medium guns. When we were crossing the Akhnoor bridge, I saw shells landing on an island in the river. I remember having remarked, "What are they shelling that for?" As we went further, the fire started shifting northwards.

I had deployed my guns just north of the road in a dry nullah about two miles west of Akhnoor. The guns were nicely tucked in close to its western bank which was fairly steep and high. It now became obvious that they were trying to hit these guns. As they had not been able to locate them accurately, their shells were falling about 200 yards away from the gun position.

When we were about 400 yards away from the area being shelled, seeing the dust, smoke and the muck flying around, I said: "Sir, we better wait till the shelling is over". Pritpal replied curtly, "Drive on." He behaved as if no shelling was taking place. I must have unconsciously reduced the speed to gain some time. Going some distance further, I said again: " Sir, the shelling is too heavy and intense. It isn’t worth taking the risk of going through it." He retorted, "Pritam, haven’t you heard me before, drive on". I gave up and thought to myself, "This fellow is mad, We’ll all die. We can’t escape driving through shelling in this jeep. We have no chance".

Then Captain Sharma, his IO, spoke up. A few days earlier, he had been wounded when a bullet went clean through his calf muscle. He said, "Sir, it is sheer madness to drive through this shelling. Col Sidhu is right, we must stop." Sharma was from Pritpal’s own unit and was greatly liked by him. By no stretch of imagination could anyone say that he lacked courage. The commander reluctantly agreed. Out jumped Sharma and the driver to take cover behind a huge boulder which was lying next to the road. Pritpal got out and stood calmly in the middle of the road. I also wanted to stand next to him but could not gather sufficient courage. I could hear the splinters hitting stones and making shrill noises. Timidly, I sat down on a stone though I did not take the customary lying position. To this day I can see Brig Pritpal Singh standing erectly in the middle of the road with his ever-present walking stick in hand. I can also see a benign smile dancing on his lips as if understanding my ambivalence and predicament.

By showing complete disregard for personal safety, Pritpal was able to put heart into the withdrawing troops and effectively check the advancing Pakistanis at the Fatwal Ridge. But for him Akhnoor would have fallen. That would have been a major catastrophe as our troops in Poonch, Rajouri, and Sunderbani would have been cut off. Even after the passage of 35 years, I cannot help exclaiming, "What iron nerves he had!"