Usman@usman_cph
Came across this below story about Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw on a forum where retired Indian, Bangladeshi and Pakistan officers interact and found it too good not to share. Also provides historical context, in his own way, on how he survived after taking nine bullets in the chest and abdomen on the Burma front.
*GOOD OLD SAM*: *Sam Bahadur*
By: Raswinder Singh Dhaliwal
There was excitement all around our house because tod
ay was the big day. Lt Gen Sam Manekshaw was coming to our house for dinner.
It had all started a week ago when my father a colonel in the Army posted in Calcutta serving under the legendary Army Commander was called by him for some official work. The Lt Gen had just received promotion orders and was due to take over as Army Chief in a few days. At the end of the meeting my father congratulated him on his promotion and then hesitatingly told him that he would be honoured if he could have dinner at our house.
The hesitation was because it was well known that Sam did not accept invitations to private parties. My father went ahead and asked him any way because despite their huge difference in rank Sam had always shown deep affection for my father.
To my father’s surprise Sam accepted readily and a date was fixed for a week later.
Having invited The Gen on an impulse the full import of the situation hit my parents when father came home and broke the news to my mother. Army protocol is very rigid and for a young colonel the visit from the Army Chief Designate was a matter of great stress. Everything had to be just perfect.
The officer closest to Gen Manekshaw was a Colonel Mehta one of dad's close friends. Mehta Uncle came over that evening. Sam was quite eccentric in his ways we were told. For one he was very particular about how well the house was kept and so the whole house had to be painted. For another he never sat still in the drawing room and had a habit of wandering about the house poking his nose into bedrooms bathrooms and so everything was to be ready for inspection. And then he had this habit of chatting up the servants, orderlies drivers and enquiring about their welfare.
He drank only Scotch Whisky and his favourite brand was Dimple Scotch. He was a light eater with taste for western style cooking.
The most important thing we were told was that there were to be no Army Officers among the guests.
Our household was suddenly pushed into top gear. Painting began the next morning carpenters, plumbers, electricians were requisitioned and pressed into service. Servants were given brand new uniforms. Kitchens and bathrooms were made inspection worthy. A cook was brought in from Tolligunge club and the menu finalised in great detail. A bartender was called in from the command mess and so was a waiter. The guest list was a problem. My parents had virtually no friends outside their Army circle, so random civilian acquaintances were invited for dinner much to their surprise.
The great man arrived dot at 7.30 and proceeded to walk around our house as predicted, made it a point to talk to the servants inquiring about their welfare and the welfare of their families. He then settled down with a drink. Sam Bahadur as he was called was a great conversationalist. He soon had the other guests in a trance with his stories.
He made it a point to call us, the children to sit in and listen which was such a difference from other parties where children were banished to a bedroom with strict instructions to be neither seen nor heard.
Sam held us spell bound about the time he was in the British India Army and they were fighting the Japanese in the east. It was well known that as a young company commander Sam had shown exemplary courage leading his troops to charge and capture a Japanese machine gun position during the course of which he took 9 bullets in his chest and abdomen. For this valour in the face of the enemy he was awarded the military cross which the division GOC Maj Gen Cowan awarded him there and then taking it off his own chest and pinning it on Sam.
Dr Barton my ophthalmologist and part of the compulsory civilian gathering was fascinated by this incidence. Somewhere the doctor in him wanted more details, "But my dear Gen”, said Barton "How on earth did you survive 9 bullets in the chest and abdomen and that too in the middle of an enemy infested jungle?"
The Gen leaned back and took a sip from the crystal cut glass goblet in his hand. "A splash of Soda Avtar if you please, said turning to my father. I am not as young as I used to be.”
"Well", said Sam once the whisky had reached the desired flavour. "Doctor Barton it is a long story”.
"In 1934 I was commissioned into the Army and inducted in 4/12 battalion of Frontier Force Regiment. Our battalion was stationed at Khasa, a small village between Amritsar and Lahore. As one of the junior most officers in my battalion it was part of my duty to inspect the battalion quarter guard. Doc, for your information the quarter guard is a hut which is guarded night and day. This is where the battalions arms ammunition and important documents are kept. Besides this there is a lock up in which prisoners from within the battalion are also housed. These poor sods are undergoing various prison terms up to a maximum of 21 days for minor misdemeanours under the military law.
One winter evening there was some commotion outside my residential quarter and I came out to investigate.
I found a group of Sikh soldiers who were a part of our battalion in a state of extreme agitation. Now having been born and brought up in Amritsar I spoke Punjabi fluently. So I was able to decipher their story. Apparently one of their mates a sepoy by the name of Sher Singh had taken a one day furlough to visit his native village which was close to where our regiment was stationed. And as happens so often in these volatile villages of Punjab, a fight broke out between two groups over a piece of land which both laid claim to. Sher Singh who had gone with the sole purpose of visiting his ailing mother was needlessly drawn into the fight. In this group clash batons and swords were used freely by both sides and when the dust settled down one man from the other group was dead.
I looked at Sher Singh sternly. Did you hit this man? I asked him. The miserable man looked at me straight in the eye and swore on the Gurus that he had not rained a single blow on anyone leave alone the dead man. I knew at once that he was telling the truth.
In these village fights each party tries to implicate the most important member of the opponent group to cause maximum damage. Without doubt they had named Sher Singh because being in Govt service he would lose his job if arrested. It was a very difficult and delicate situation. What could I do to help him? The sepoys looked at me for deliverance. I felt small and helpless.
"What was the time when this incidence took place?" I asked Sher Singh "6 pm sir ", said Sher Singh, his voice a bare whisper. And what time is it now? It was almost 7.
The faint beginnings of a plan began to form in my head. Could I pull it off ? Surely not. But then what were the options? Anyway there was no time to lose. I explained the plan to Sher Singh and the company JCO. I then picked up my cycle and peddled furiously to the civil and military club some miles away. I was relieved to see that Cartwright had not reached yet.
You see gentlemen Cartwright was the local superintendent of police and he and I had become drinking buddies of late. I was a bachelor and Cartwright of the Indian Police Service was a forced bachelor since his young wife had not joined him from England. So both of us would meet at the club for a few.
I was just on my first chotta when Cartwright came striding in. I hastily stood up as he outranked me in rank and age. "Good evening sir." I said.
"Aah Sam good to see you here old chap. You know I hate drinking alone “ he added.
"Koi hai ? "He said loudly and clapped his hands. The native waiter appeared. "Sahib will have his usual I think ?" He said obsequiously, "haan jaldi lao". The whisky appeared and I toasted to his good health.
He seemed to be in a good mood "mud in your eye " he said raising his glass. So what's happening in your life young Sam? Found anyone foolish enough to marry you ye ? "
"No such luck "I replied nonchalantly. But my heart was racing. I looked at my watch. "Good God sir. I did not realise it was this late. Have to rush. My turn for quarter guard inspection today. Can't be late for that. You know our old man Stickler for punctuality. Never hear the end of it."
"Come come now my dear chap. Surely you have time for another drink. At least let me finish mine."
"Sir I only have a cycle. Now if I had a jeep”..... I said desperately trying to spring the trap. And to my great relief the trap sprung !
"I have a jeep" he said. "Why don't I drive you down for your QG inspection We could come back for a night cap and you could then cycle back home."
"Sir you are nursing an empty glass" said my father. The waiter took the generals glass for a refill. Other drinks were refreshed and every one pulled up a bit closer for Sam had this habit of lowering his voice at crucial moments and no one wanted to miss a word.
"Ah where were we ? Cartwright and I finished our drink, told the waiter we would be back and true to his promise he drove me back to the battalion in his jeep. “Tham !! Who goes there!!! “said the sentry at the regiment gate. I identified my self and he saluted. He then diligently noted down the number of the jeep driven by Sahib Bahadur Cartwright sahib SP. We drove the short distance to the QG. Won't be long sir, I said. Why don't I show you our drill? I said opening his door and leaving him no option.
The sepoy on guard duty stood at attention and presented arms. I shone the torch on his face. Naam? I shouted.
“Sher Singh sahib”, he shouted back.
Kab se duty par Sher Singh? 4 baje se sahib, said Sher Singh as coached by me. Show me the register. The JCO appeared with inspection register. I signed it. As I straightened up I shone the torch at Sher Singh.
Tumara boots polished nai hai, I shouted. And hang on a minute.. What is this ? Is that alcohol I smell Sher Singh?
I turned to Cartwright, Sir isn't this sepoy reeking of booze?
Cartwright sniffed the air, “I say you are right. Man seems pickled. Not quite the done thing." Subedar sahib, is ko QG me band karo. Present him in the morning.
Sher Singh's belt was removed as an indication of his arrest, his weapon was taken from him and he was marched to the QG cell. As the door clanged shut the new sentry marched into place and took up duty.
Sorry for that sir, I said. But imagine the cheek of the blighter. Yes said Cartwright. These natives are all the same. The jeep passed out of the camp with the gate sentry logging the number and time.
Sure enough the next day the thana SHO Allah Baksh appeared with a group of constables and asked to see the adjutant. Sher Singh was wanted for a murder he said. I let the system take over. Sher Singh? How? He was on QG duty. At the time of the clash.
Registers were examined and found correct. I was called. I recorded my statement. But as we had expected the police were not convinced. Many people had seen him in the village.
"Allah Baksh" I told him. "You know they always try to implicate someone in service."
"You know what I think sir" he said." I think the regiment is trying to protect Sher Singh." He then began to hold forth on this subject in some detail. I waited for the right moment to deflate his verbosity "Ok" I said " we are all lying. But is your SP Bahadur Cartwright sahib also lying?"
"SP sahib Bahadur? What does he have to do with this?" He asked.
"You will find out soon enough my friend" I said. He was bundled into an army jeep and taken to Cartwright's office where the facts as we had stated were vouched to be true. That took the wind out of his sails and Sher Singh's name was dropped.
So now the scene cuts to WW 2. In 1942 we are fighting the Japs and I take this machine gun burst to my chest and abdomen. As we retreat the CO orders all casualties be left behind. Impossible to evacuate them anyway. At that point Sher Singh steps forward. There is no way he will leave Sahib behind. He then proceeds to hoist me on his shoulder and carry me all the way to the field hospital. The doctor in charge took a look and decided that I would not survive. He asked me what had happened. I don't know what came over me but I told him that I had been kicked by a mule. That went down well with the doc for he said if I could joke in this condition. It was worth trying. From there I am evacuated by truck to the military hospital in Rangoon. The rest is history says Sam. "We Manekshaws die hard" he jokes.
Another guest is curious. What happened to Sher Singh?
That old rascal. Well he retired years ago and went back to his village. Partition had occurred and his village was right on the border on the Indian side. The man took to smuggling gold and what not. And as they all do sooner or later he was caught. When asked for a defence attorney he told his sons to trace an army officer from his old ‘paltan’ called Manek Sahib, who he said would help him. Last year these boys came to see me. I was Army commander Eastern Command and somehow they reached here.
I had no option but to help. After all I owed my life to him. I managed to pull strings and call in favours and he was released. The cheeky blighter came here to Calcutta to thank me. This is what he had to say "Sahib pehle tusi meri jaan bachai, fir mai thuadi jaan bachai. Hun fir tusi meri jaan bachai hai. Saab Bahadur hun tusi pange vich pao. Meri bari hai, main tuhanu bachawa ga!
Sam let out a deep breath. I am too old for this now Sher Singh. Thank you but no thank you. With that I arranged for his train ticket and an armed military escort to make sure that he reached home!
