1965 war, friendships, resolve, and romance

It was the time of war, as it is today, but exactly 60 years back. It was the 1965 India-Pakistan War. The common notion is that it was fought for 22 days in September, but in actuality, the war, initiated by Pakistan, was fought in three parts, all interlinked. There was no casus belli for that war, as it was contrived by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, then the Foreign Minister of Pakistan, and a few Generals of the Pakistan army, who persuaded a reluctant President Ayub Khan to approve their plans.

The Pakistani plan was to commence operations in a less important area like Kutch, with a view to gauge whether India was capable of a fight, as the war with China in 1962 had badly affected the Indian Army. There was also famine in many parts of the country. The then Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri had taken over recently after the death of the colossus Pandit Nehru and in the eyes of the Pakistanis, his diminutive figure did not reflect the boldness of a fighting leader. How utterly wrong they were!

Depending on the outcome of the Kutch operation, Part II consisted of sending infiltrators inside J&K from several directions, as it was assessed that the locals will rise against India. This was to be carried out in August.

Finally, an all-out offensive, code-named Operation Gibraltar, would be launched within J&K, to cut off Rajouri-Poonch. It is this part which is known as the 1965 War by the public.

As far as the armed forces and the Government of India are concerned, all three parts constituted the 1965 War, the diamond jubilee of which is this year.

Let me now switch to my special friend DN. We both had left behind a leg each on the battlefield, before we met at the Command Hospital, Pune. I had reached there first. I belonged to the First Battalion of the Maratha Light Infantry, while DN was a company commander in the equally famous 3 Kumaon (Rifles). We were in Pune as all limb cases were sent there; the Artificial Limb Centre was adjoining the Command Hospital.

DN, or Dhirendra Nath Singh, was a very brave officer who had been awarded the coveted Vir Chakra for leading the assault on the important feature Keri in J&K, where he had lost his left leg. He was a Kaushik Rajput but now his battle was in fighting a disability, as it was for us all.

At Pune, we were confined to our beds, but soon the time came, as our wounds healed, that we had to walk with the help of crutches, but first we had to buy slippers. That simple errand sealed our friendship, as in the Bata shop, we realised that we needed not a pair of slippers each, but only one for the time being. Glances exchanged confirmed that our foot sizes were same and since our amputated legs were different, DN’s being left and mine being right, our need was for only one pair!

In a soldier’s career, the watershed events are when one gets shot in battle, fighting for the country. We came to the conclusion that getting the disability was that event for us. DN agreed with me. Later developments confirmed it, but surprisingly not in a negative way.

Those were the days of introspection, interspersed with exchanging notes with our comrades, and surreptitiously slipping out for a couple of drinks at the military club. We were undoubtedly quite a sight, locomoting and balancing ourselves on light-weight elbow crutches, but we learnt to juggle with a drink, a cigarette, crutches and of course the good or undamaged leg! DN was very much a part of these evenings, although he neither smoked nor drank. These were also the days of a happy-go-lucky exterior, cracking jokes about the one-legged Taimur Lang, but with an interior that was all knotted up, constantly weighing various permutations for our future.

In my case, these were also the days of the first slow moves towards a blossoming love, which added some genuineness to the happy exterior and slowly diminished the personal battles being fought internally, mostly in our minds but also slipping down to the guts at times, with the attendant wrenching that invariably follows!

DN was already married and it was a special event when his wife Vijaya came down from Lucknow. She soon became my would-be wife Daulat’s close friend. By then, DN and I were spending many hours at Daulat’s house, at the invitation of her mother Mrs Surve, the highly respected wife of the late Maj Gen Surve of my battalion/regiment.

We had three options ahead of us after receiving our prosthesis. Go home on medical grounds; request for a change of regiment/corps for a softer job; or remain in present regiment/unit but with the proviso that you have to compete with your peers and no allowance will be given for your disability.

I had already made up my mind that I would carry on soldiering and would do everything better than any of my peers. However, DN agonised about his choice. Firstly, he was a little older than me, and secondly, he was a post-graduate and thus fully qualified to join the Army Education Corps, which he eventually did, but not for long, as a diehard infantryman is not comfortable in sedentary teaching assignments!

Thereafter, he tried his hand in various fields, including politics, but although he had said goodbye to the Army, it continued to be his focus. His two sons not only joined the Army but also their father’s Kumaon Regiment and much later, his grandson followed suit, thus keeping the family flag flying.

DN is no more. He joined the Valhalla warriors two months back, leaving Vijaya to bask in the glory of their two sons, VPS and SP, both three-star Generals holding top appointments, and a grandson who plans to follow them.

As for me, having soldiered on and retired in 2001, my wife Daulat and I still remember DN when we shop for a pair of slippers!

— The writer is former Vice Chief of Army Staff

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