VD Gupte, a major of the Indian army and second-in-command of 16 Rajputs in 1971, recalls the Battle of Hilli

A STUDENT of military history studies the grand strategies of war and bold tactical moves by famous generals; the travails of battalion commanders, company commanders and junior officers often go unnoticed. I was involved in the battle of Hilli – from reconnaissance to the end. Months before the actual battle, as the second-in-command of 16 Rajputs, I spent weeks studying the topography and terrain of the enemy area with a view to ascertaining the strength and depth of Pakistani defences. I donned the uniform of the Border Security Force on several occasions to go closer to the border and study Pakistani formations from all possible angles.
   The Indian side of Hilli was well-developed with many modern concrete structures, houses and a school. The agriculture was advanced and the roads were bitumen-covered. The international boundary ran along the railway line, effectively dividing the town of Hilli, with the station on the side of East Pakistan. The East Pakistani side of Hilli was, in contrast, not developed. It had about 7-8 clusters of mud huts linked by footpaths and a single-track road linking Hilli with Dhaka via Bogra and Natore. There was no electricity. The clusters relied on a number of ponds for water. There were also a number of bogs through which neither soldiers nor vehicles could move.
   I realised the tremendous defence potential of the under-developed Hilli terrain, which had been fully exploited by Pakistan. Nature had also helped them. In August 1971 there were torrential rain and both the Ganges and Brahmaputra basins overflowed, flooding the Pakistani part of Hilli and surrounding areas. No agricultural activities had been possible after April.
   The commander of the 205 infantry brigade of Pakistan, Tajamul Hussain Malek, did a superb job of defence preparations for Hilli. He fully utilised the almost unlimited free labour from local population to build a virtually impenetrable defensive formation. After the war ended, we came to know from the locals that most of the local Bengali workers were massacred and their bodies either cremated secretly or thrown into rivers for security reasons.
   By November 1971 the Indian battalions had occupied the front positions and dug themselves in near the international boundary. My unit found itself positioned in a linear fashion, along the village and railway line. We were soon in eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation with one of the finest units of the Pakistan army, 4 Frontier Force.
   Since 22 Marathas had two Muslim companies, our brigade celebrated Eid with great gusto on November 20. We were hosted to a lavish lunch with unlimited beer. All of us had a wonderful time. Since I do not drink, I utilised the time to meet fellow officers from other battalions. I met an extremely brave, intelligent and worthy young officer, Major HD Manjrekar from 8 Guards. Manjrekar was junior to me and had studied at King George’s High School, Dadar and his relatives were living in the adjoining Hindu colony. I was highly impressed by his soldierly qualities. I also met many other officers, who were also wonderful leaders. Lieutenant Colonel Shamsher Singh (officer commanding 8 Guards, a silver medallist from the NDA and a first-class cricketer) and Lieutenant PN Gupta (one of the youngest officers to die at 21, I still remember him sobbing, ‘Ma I am going to die,’ after he had been mortally wounded).
   During the Eid festivities, after several rounds of beer, one of the officers came up with a great idea. He suggested why not send some sweets to the Pakistanis, who are also celebrating Eid! We promptly got hold of some of our best sweet packets, packed six of them with hand-made greeting cards, attached them to mortar para flares and fired them, so that they landed about 500 yards away in the Pakistani-defended sector. After a couple of hours, the Pakistanis reciprocated with 6 packets of sweets! There was a lot of discussion among us as to what was to be done with these sweets? Some officers cautioned us that the sweets could be poisoned. Eventually, a mature senior officer amongst us, Major Sheikh of Artillery, said, ‘These should be good sweets, as a soldier is true to his word.’ We then all had a small bite and found the sweets to be delicious. This is an instance of the basic gallantry and chivalry which exists among officers and soldiers, even from rival armies.
   The night of early December 1971 shall always remain as the longest night of my life. Aligned along the Indian border was the formidable 202 Indian Mountain Brigade, composed of diverse units like 16 Rajput, 8 Guards, 22 Marathas and 5 Garhwal Rifles. The Indian soldiers, drawn from different parts of the country, came from villages and towns in the states of Maharashtra, Rajasthan, Garhwal, Kumaon, Punjab, Uttar Pradesh and Andhra Pradesh. They had made extensive offensive preparations at Hilli, in Dinajpur of West Bengal. Arrayed opposite them was the indomitable and battle-hardened 205 Pakistan Infantry Brigade, which consisted of fierce Pathans and Baluchis from 4 Frontier Force (old unit of Field Marshal SHFJ Manekshaw), 31 Baluch, 13 Baluch and elements of 25 Frontier Force. The Pakistanis had spent months to convert Hilli into an impregnable fortress, with an elaborate network of trenches, bunkers, well-located machinegun and mortar sites. Their units were connected through communication networks to ensure rapid movement and withdrawal of troops during war.
   A few days after Eid, after the war had been declared, the commanding officers of the Indian units gave orders to their units to capture Hilli on the Pakistan side of the border. Detailed plans had been drawn up to launch a multi-pronged attack by various infantry units. The attack was to be preceded by intense shelling of Pakistani locations to ‘soften’ and demoralise the enemy troops.
   The battle scenario of 36 years ago needs some elaboration to be visualised today. Every officer and jawan of the Indian army wore olive-green battle fatigues, heavy steel helmet weighing over three kilograms, black ammunition boots, anklets and a field service marching order (backpack containing one meal, water bottle, spare socks and shoe laces, first-aid kit, mosquito repellent and morphine injection to be used during serious injury) and pouches in front to carry spare magazines filled with ammunition. In addition, depending on the rank and role of the soldier, he would carry a personal weapon (rifle, LMG or sten-gun) with ammunition and 4 hand grenades. The total weight of this equipment was about 18 kilograms. The soldiers also carried a khukri or dah for close combat and aluminium ‘dog tags’ with name on it, for identification in case of death. Most of us also wore some lucky charm and invariably, photographs of one’s near and dear ones. None of us could say with certainty that we would return to our families alive.
   The attacks are invariably made at night, particularly when visibility is low and there is no moon to minimise casualties. In pitch darkness, it is often easy to get lost or lose one’s direction. However, if one goes in the direction from where the enemy fire is coming, one can assume that one is moving correctly.
   The battlefield is invariably littered with natural and man-made obstacles, like water-ditches, barbed-wire, concertina wire and minefields. Advancing troops usually get stuck or delayed at barbed-wire or concertina wire obstacles, which causes about 40 per cent of total casualties, as enemy fire mows down these hapless soldiers. Some of the obstacles can be destroyed by artillery fire, while soldiers have often to cut their way through the barbed wire under heavy enemy fire. Then comes the minefield, which is usually too close to the enemy posts to be cleared. The soldiers have to generally run as fast as possible through the minefield and hope to survive, while accepting whatever casualties occur.
   As the attacking troops advance, soldiers and officers who have been your closest comrades for years begin to fall, either to enemy mortar shells or gun-fire. The heart-rending cries of those badly injured and those who are dying (a seriously injured man always knows he is going to die soon) can be heard amidst the acrid smell of cordite and deafening explosions. Since the objective is to reach and overwhelm enemy positions in the shortest possible time, the injured delay the advance, as they have to be tended to. The more the hesitation in attacking the greater is the likelihood of higher casualties. Injury to or death of a key personnel creates additional problems. Some other soldiers have to take over his duties, his equipment and ensure that the formation is not disrupted, e.g. a signaller carrying radio set of 16 Rajput dropped dead with a bullet through the heart. Amidst all the enemy fire, another soldier had to be ordered to remove the radio set from the dead man and to ensure that the radio set continued functioning. If a platoon or company commander dies, some other officer has to be deputed to take over or the entire battle order can be disrupted. Lightning-fast decisions and exemplary leadership is required to ensure that panic does not set in, as, if this happens, the battle will be lost and there will be a massacre.
   Even after 36 years, I can still hear those sounds and noises and I can see the entire battle unfold before me. Precisely at the stroke of midnight, the eerie silence was shattered by the shriek of thousands of artillery and mortar shells, the fire-belching guns of camouflaged tanks and the relentless chitter-chatter of heavy and light machine guns. The entire sky was lit up as if it were the greatest Diwali celebration ever. The high-explosive Indian artillery shells could be heard whistling through the air and on impact, exploded into a thousand red-hot shards of iron shrapnel, each deadly enough to maim or kill. The deafening noise of explosions and shells was so great that we could not hear anything for miles. After half an hour of intense shelling, the signal to attack was given. Crouched in position, eager for action, the young and enthusiastic Indian soldiers of different units jumped up and began advancing towards the enemy positions, with war cries like Bol Bajrang Bali Ki Jai, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj ki Jai. They leapt over barbed-wire defences, jumped over ditches and trenches and ran nimbly across minefields, praying that they could cross these hurdles without being felled. From the opposing side, cries of Allahu Akbar could be heard distinctly. As the well-prepared Pakistani defences opened up with mortar shells and rocket launchers, as well as automatic rapid fire from concealed machine guns, many of our young soldiers and officers began to fall. Soon the terrifying sound of the badly injured crying for medical aid or dying with Aai/Maa as their last words could be heard.
   In what became known as one of most hard-fought battles of the 1971 war, the four nights of intense, close and occasional hand-to-hand fighting resulted in about 480 casualties for both sides. The battle of Hilli led to the maximum number of decorations for troops from both sides, a testimony to the ferocity and no-holds-barred fighting that took place. Both the Indian and Pakistani units lost a very high percentage of their young officers and junior leaders.
   In the first phase, the valiant 8 Guards were launched into battle, where the Pakistan 4 Frontier Force stoutly defended the first line of fortifications at Morapara. In the first night itself, 8 Guards lost almost 50 per cent of their assaulting force. Yet, they continued to advance till the enemy was forced to withdraw to rear locations. The two assaulting companies of 8 Guards were B Company led by Major HD Manjerekar and D Company led by Major KK Rao. Both died on the battlefield that night. Later, C Company led by Major PPS Bhatia (a tall handsome man who retired as a major general) attacked Naopara, to which the Pakistani troops had withdrawn, and eventually captured it after a protracted fight with many casualties. Although the Pakistani forces suffered heavily, the bulk of the force was withdrawn to rear positions through the well-organised 6-foot deep trench network.
   Next night, the second phase was launched by 22 Marathas, which had 30 per cent Muslim troops who hailed from Andhra Pradesh. This was a stealthy, silent attack, with the entire battalion of about 800 troops crawling for hours to their objective of Durra, guarded by 13 Baluch. The commanding officer of the unit, Colonel Swami from Madras, was cool as a cucumber throughout the attack. The deception was used in contrast to the first day’s attack, which had given adequate warning to Pakistani forces of our intentions. So successful was the planning that the Pakistani sentries were completely surprised when soldiers of 22 Marathas emerged from the misty night like ghosts and silently slaughtered the Baluchis with bayonets. The remaining Maratha troops then launched a full-scale attack with war-cries and fell upon the astounded Baluchis. The hand-to-hand fighting continued well into the night, with attacks and vicious counterattacks. By the first light of dawn, the battle was over and the area was strewn with dead bodies and injured soldiers of two fine battalions.
   In the third phase, 5 Garhwal Rifles, whose troops originated from the Himalayan region of Garhwal in present-day Uttaranchal, were given a very difficult task of capturing several small villages of Basudevpur, Hakimpur and Rangapara. Each attack had to be separately organised, with adequate mortar and artillery fire. One of the Garhwali soldiers, who had been carrying mortar shells on his back, was directly hit by an enemy shell, which blew him to smithereens. At the end of the battle, when the dog tags of the dead soldiers were being collected, no trace of the soldier could be detected. Eventually, after hours of combing, his friend found his left hand with a watch; the rest of the body had been blown away completely!
   On the fourth night, 16 Rajputs under Colonel TK Ghosh and myself were launched with the aim of capturing Chandpur and Raipur. Prior to this, there had been several intense skirmishes between the gallant Rajputs and the toughened Pathans (4 Frontier Force) and Baluchis (13 Baluch). We had developed high regard for each other’s fighting capabilities and strengths. I found during one of the patrols that one of our subedars was reluctant to plunge into battle. When I reproached him, he confessed that on the first day of the 1962 war with China, he had been captured in NEFA and badly tortured by Chinese interrogators. Thereafter, during the 1965 war with Pakistan, he unfortunately again fell into enemy hands in Tithwal, Kashmir on the first day itself. He was brutally beaten up by Pakistani soldiers and he now dreaded that the same fate would befall him. However, I was able to motivate him to go into battle and he eventually fought well and survived. Another incident I remember is when one of our young, enthusiastic soldiers suddenly stood up on the eve of the attack, perhaps to show his bravado to the troops. Even as I shouted at him to take cover, a Pakistani sniper shot him – the bullet hit him on the chest but he suffered only minor injuries as the bullet was deflected by a sten-gun magazine. We also suffered many casualties from anti-personnel mines which were carefully camouflaged and placed along the main access routes, but eventually captured our targets before dawn. Out of the 20 officers I had met on lunch on November 20, 8 died and 4 were seriously wounded in the battle.
   From the Indian side, the commanding officer of 8 Guards, Lieutenant Colonel Shamsher Singh (later retired as major general), was awarded Maha Vir Chakra while Brigder FS Bhatty was awarded VSM and the unit some other decorations. In addition, a number of junior officers and soldiers received gallantry awards. A special mention should be made of Major HD Manjrekar because when I saw his bullet-ridden body after the battle, he had about 34 enemy bullets in his body. His body was found very close to the furthest Pakistani defence position. He was still holding a light machine gun and in his pouch he had a primed hand grenade. Out of four hand grenades, he had already used three, which reflected the close-quarter battle that had been fought. We all expected him to be awarded a Param Vir Chakra (highest gallantry award of Indian Army) but unfortunately he did not receive any award.
   I cannot help recalling how I had survived narrowly during the earlier wars of 1962 and 1965. In 1962 my unit had been on an adjacent hill to the unit of PARAM VIR CHAKRA winner Major Shaitan Singh (posthumous) at Rezangla, Ladakh when his company of 13 Kumaon was surrounded and slaughtered by Chinese troops. While we faced another diversionary attack on our post, I and my company of Ladakh Scouts had seen with binoculars the troops of 13 Kumaon being killed under withering enemy attacks. Eventually, 119 out of 123 soldiers of 13 Kumaon were killed. Similarly, in 1965 war, my unit of 17 Rajput was located in Khemkaran sector in Punjab 1962, when Havildar Abdul Hamid of the neighbouring 4 Grenadiers countered an armoured thrust of ultra-modern 1st Pakistan Armoured Division. Abdul Hamid’s detachment of recoilless guns mounted on jeeps had destroyed three Patton tanks. By then, the other Patton tanks had zeroed in on his jeep and destroyed his entire detachment with concentrated shelling. Havildar Abdul Hamid was awarded Param Vir Chakra (posthumous) for gallantry under adverse conditions.
   The Pakistan 205 Infantry Brigade, particularly 4 Frontier Force, received the maximum awards. The highest gallantry award Nishan-E-Haider was awarded to Major Akram posthumously. He had commanded B Company of 4 Frontier Force and shown exemplary courage to inflict significant casualties on our 8 Guards. The brigade commander, Tajamal Hussain Malik, was the only brigadier from forces fighting in Bangladesh to be promoted to the rank of major general in 1974.
   The contribution of Muktijoddhas and Mukti Fauj to the war of independence was immeasurable. They not only created havoc by disrupting communications and supplies of Pakistani forces in the rear but also demoralised the Pak troops. They forced the Pakistani troops to remain constricted within their cantonments and remain unaware of developments around them. The Muktijoddhas helped us enormously in getting first-hand information of the exact enemy strength and their deployment. They also provided us with guides and all other assistance during our movement from Hilli to Natore, which was our objective. The simple, hardy yet generous Bangladeshi villagers fed us with dal, rice and fish curry and we did not have to wait for our supplies to come up.
   At the end of the war, I and my fellow-soldiers felt deep empathy for the people of Bangladesh, who had sacrificed so much to win freedom. We earnestly hoped that the newly independent country would become prosperous and stable and that the dreams and aspirations of thousands of young students, Muktijoddhas and their leaders, whom we had closely interacted with in the past 9 months, would be realised. It was with these warm sentiments that the Indian army withdrew from Bangladesh in March 1972, with my unit being one of the last to leave. Even today, as I am visiting Bangladesh after 36 years, I sincerely hope that this young country can redeem the pledges of their fallen comrades and emerge as a modern, developed nation in the shortest possible time.