PONDERINGS OF A PONGO – 6
THE OPPORTUNISTIC COMMANDER
Mouque da Commander
In the final reckoning, it is not success or failure that defines a soldier, but the values he chooses to uphold.
In battle, it is seldom the firefight alone that defines command. Far more demanding is the moral battlefield – the constant tension between operational necessity, military justice, and a commander’s responsibility towards his men. That is where leadership is truly tested.
Every regiment has its folklore. In ours, there was an oft-repeated expression – “Mouque da Commander” – the commander who steps in when the balloons have already gone up, the crisis is unfolding, decisions are uncomfortable, and consequences are unavoidable.
Not exactly an appointment one volunteers for, but invariably, someone gets the honour!
This is the story of one of such occasions in my life, dating back more than three and a half decades, during Operation Pawan in Sri Lanka.
A Rather Unusual Welcome.
I was then the Second-in-Command, on the brink of assuming command of my battalion, which was deployed in Sri Lanka as part of the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF). The Commanding Officer was away on leave. The officer designated to officiate was himself proceeding on leave, timed to coincide with my return from the Senior Command Course. So, technically, I was coming back to take over. But fate had other plans.
I landed at Palali Airport, Jaffna, in an AN-32 transport aircraft. My welcome was not exactly ceremonial. The aircraft was carrying fowls and other rations packed in net-covered crates and securely anchored for the flight. The unforgettable stench of poultry and provisions hit me even before my boots touched the ground!
The CO’s protection party and the Quick Reaction Team (QRT) were already waiting. I joined them and proceeded towards Battalion Headquarters through the road opening provided by Army units along the route. After nearly an hour, I reached Battalion Headquarters.
I had barely arrived when I realised that the place I had left for my Senior Command Course was no longer the place I had returned to. The four main roads around our headquarters, once alive with local activity, were eerily deserted. Earlier, they had been bustling with fish-laden trucks, Honda minibikes, cyclists, schoolchildren chattering on their way to school, local pedestrians and the occasional temple kurukkal – priests on their identical Honda mopeds.
Now, nothing – Just silence!
The Civil Liaison Cell – “Civil Nirvaga Pirivu,” as we called it – which I had once handled as Officer-in-Charge, had been a veritable beehive of activity. Locals would throng the place with their grievances, requests for vehicle passes, and a variety of other matters that somehow always seemed urgent. Now, it stood forlorn and desolate, gathering dust – and memories.
I particularly missed my little ritual of sharing ‘thamboolam’ – a generous betel leaf parcel, liberally blessed with jappanam tobacco – which the astonished elderly ladies who came seeking redress would offer me with great reverence.
Somewhere along the way, Ravi Aiya had apparently become one of them!
A little fraternisation, a little diplomacy, and perhaps a little nicotine-induced sense of belonging!
But those days were gone, and the atmosphere had changed dramatically. What was once a lively meeting place of people, problems and an ideal ground for scarce intelligence had now fallen strangely silent.
The new LTTE incumbent in the area, known locally as “Kadal Puli” – the Sea Tiger, was a feared leader. He had replaced his predecessor, whom our battalion had eliminated. The names, of course, are pseudonyms in keeping with the operational practices of those days.
This was the environment into which I had returned after my Senior Command Course and a month of precious togetherness with my family. And then – all hell broke loose.
The Welcome Committee Arrives
As I settled into my office and began reviewing the operational situation, I heard something I knew only too well.
BOOM! ……. BOOM
The unmistakable double report of a rocket launcher – the projectile leaving the tube, followed by the back blast. Then came grenade explosions. About four kilometres away. I could distinctly make out the answering chatter of our LMGs and small arms. Within moments, firing erupted from our other posts as well.
I tried the landlines. Dead. The LTTE had apparently taken care of that little inconvenience. I contacted my Company Commanders through wireless. We were operating under strict radio silence, but there was little choice now. I ordered the restrictions lifted and reverted to our SOP – coded communications and our own peculiar “Khattar Gurmukhi” terminology.
The CO’s protection party and QRT were already standing by, as per our SOP.
I had a decision to make.
I could remain at Headquarters and command from there. Or I could go where the men were fighting. There was really no contest. I wanted to be with my men. I climbed into the CO’s open Jonga, which had been fortified against small-arms fire with palm-tree trunks fixed along its sides. It looked more like a rustic armoured vehicle than a staff car!
We moved out.
Almost immediately, automatic fire with tracers began striking the Battalion Headquarters and our convoy. The LTTE had probably climbed the palm trees unobtrusively – or even disguised themselves as toddy tappers, to observe our movements and prevent reinforcements from leaving the Battalion Headquarters. The day erupted into a cacophony of war.
The distinctive cackle of AK-47s competed with the thud-thud of our LMGs, the sharper crack of SLRs and the unmistakable chatter of SMCs. Grenades exploded intermittently. Rocket and missile bursts lit up the horizon.
The heaviest engagement was around the company post protruding towards the sea, where an old port and fishing harbour had once existed.
It was chaos.
Despite coming under heavy coordinated ambush near Thamba chetty petrol pump, my convoy managed to break through the hail of fire and reach the company location. The officiating Company Commander met me with a report that was both concise and devastating:
“Sir, behan\* @#@… (expletives) ne ek LMG aur ek SLR uthake le gaya!”
In plain military English: The LTTE had made off with one LMG and one SLR. Patrols and QRTs had already been sent in hot pursuit.
The LMG Post
I went across to the LMG post near an abandoned Pillaiyar Kovil – Ganesh temple. The approach to the post was marked by barbed wire, indicating old minefields laid during the Sri Lankan forces’ (Gajaba Regiment) occupation. The minefield was about thirty metres deep. The raiding party had apparently come straight through it.
What I saw told its own story.
There were tell-tale marks of RPG rounds. Scores of grenades had been hurled into the position. Hundreds of rounds had punched holes through the superstructure. The shattered remnants of haversacks of the raiders had apparently been packed with grenades. This had not been a random attack.
It was a well-coordinated ruthless commando operation. The raiders had approached the LMG post by burrowing through abandoned buildings lining both sides of the disused road connecting the post.
I directed the Company Commander to personally take a QRT and comb the beach area, subsequently taking out my own convoy and QRT to join the search. I also spoke to some of the locals in Tamil.
Eventually, I was told that the “Thampies” – an affectionate local term for younger brothers, by which the LTTE boys were often referred to – had already sailed away towards Mullaitivu. Later, I learnt that the raid had been carried out by the Black Tigers, the LTTE’s elite commando wing.
So much for our welcome party!
The Commander’s Dilemma
By now, instructions were pouring in from higher headquarters:
No REPRISALS!! Permission to open Mortar fire not granted.
That was easier said than done.
I had to hold back my horses, swallow my anger and wait for an opportunity to deal with the situation within the bounds of military necessity and law. That opportunity came sooner than expected – but that is another saga for another day.
The battalion went on to dominate the area and sanitise our responsibility from the overt presence of militants. The subsequent operations were highly creditable. But the loss of the weapons and the manner in which the LMG post had been overrun remained a blemish. And I found myself in the unenviable position of being the officiating Commanding Officer. Mouque da Commander!
When the Real Battle Began
Senior commanders were recalled from leave. Understandably, they were deeply concerned. The soldiers who had manned the LMG post now faced perhaps the gravest accusation a fighting soldier could face: “Cowardice in the Face of the Enemy.”
And here began the real test of command.
Military discipline demanded accountability.
Military law demanded evidence.
And leadership demanded justice.
I was waiting at the helipad to face the inevitable senior-command reprimand. The four soldiers were paraded before the senior commanders. The mood was understandably grim. I was asked what I intended to do with the “defaulters”. I replied, somewhat tongue-in-cheek:
“Sir, I will court-martial these fellows summarily and send them to civil jail for one year each within 72 hours. That should have the desired effect on the environment.”
There was a pause.
Then came the obvious question:
“On what charge?”
I replied:
“Army Act Section 63 – an omission prejudicial to good order and military discipline.”
That answer did not go down particularly well.
“Bloody nonsense! What about cowardice in the face of the enemy?”
I explained that I could not try them by Summary Court Martial on that charge. Such a serious charge required a General Court Martial, and proving cowardice conclusively under those circumstances would be extremely difficult – particularly in an operational environment.
The response was unequivocal:
“You charge them with cowardice. Haven’t we made ourselves clear?”
And then came the suggestion:
“Then, try them by Summary General Court Martial.” (SGCM)
I remember thinking to myself:
I had heard of SGCM in law classes. I had never actually seen one conducted! The confidence with which it was suggested was rather more reassuring than my own knowledge of the subject.
What Had Changed?
What puzzled me even more was that these very senior commanders had earlier been full of praise for our battalion. We had eliminated and captured scores of militants and their leaders, recovered weapons and ammunition caches, and gathered valuable intelligence. They had congratulated the battalion repeatedly.
I had also played my part as an interpreter during difficult discussions with the political representatives of the militants.
So, what had changed now?
Had one setback suddenly erased everything else?
I wondered – In war, surely, gains and losses have to be accepted as part of the grim arithmetic of battle.
But I also understood the responsibility of command.
Four soldiers had lost weapons entrusted to them in a highly coordinated commando raid.
That fact could not simply be brushed aside.
But neither could four soldiers be condemned merely because the outcome of a battle was embarrassing.
The Case Becomes Mine
A few days later, the CO returned, and I handed over the situation. The Summary of Evidence, which I had ordered, was progressing. I had no further role. Or so I thought.
In due course, I took over command of the battalion, and the case came back to me.
My first instinct was to approach the senior command and earnestly request that the case be handed back to me so that I could still try the accused under my own powers through a Summary Court Martial.
It was not to be.
I was increasingly worried about the consequences.
A conviction for cowardice in the face of the enemy could have resulted in the severest punishment, potentially even death, apart from the devastating effect it would have had on the morale of the paltan.
But there was another practical problem. What was I to do with the four accused? Everyone advised me to put them under arrest.
But, where? We had no Quarter Guard. No prison cells.
And manpower was already at a premium for combat duties. Keeping soldiers to guard soldiers was hardly an attractive operational proposition!
So, I took a calculated risk. I kept the four men with me as part of the CO’s Protection Party. And I told them: “This is your opportunity to prove your worth.” I also made them a personal commitment – I would do my best to see that justice was done.
I had two responsibilities – to protect the honour of the battalion and to ensure that the men I commanded were not unjustly condemned.
For me, the two were inseparable.
The Long Road to Justice
Eventually, higher headquarters ordered a General Court Martial. It became my responsibility to assist the Divisional Headquarters in conducting the proceedings. By then, our battalion had been de-inducted from Sri Lanka and had reached a much-needed peace station. The relief was that the trials were taking place at previous formation HQ location.
But peace was short-lived. Soon after unpacking, we were on the move again – to Punjab – to deal with another insurgency.
The lingering case concerning the loss of weapons remained high on my agenda. I resolved to fight the case – not to secure an easy acquittal, but to ensure that the accused received a fair trial.
I facilitated the best defence counsel available. I personally appeared and deposed several times as a prosecution witness. The trial went on for more than a month. Finally, the verdict came.
All four were acquitted of the charge of cowardice.
The prosecution had failed to prove the charge.
The accused were set free as no alternative charges were framed. I thought that was the end, but it wasn’t.
The confirming authority did not agree with the verdict and ordered a retrial. Once again, after another prolonged trial, all four were acquitted. This time, it was final.
Waheguru is great.
The Price of Command
There was, however, a possible fallout.
Higher headquarters apparently wanted to initiate a Special Report on me. Fortunately, it was eventually dissuaded on technical grounds, and the report was not initiated.
Sometimes, in retrospect, one wonders.
Perhaps an operational war report might have served me better. Perhaps the outcome might have been different.
Perhaps I might have missed my next pip. Who knows?
God was kind. The next pip came in due course of command.
Maybe I would have missed that too!
Looking back, there is much more to this story. Perhaps another time.
At the twilight of one’s life, when one looks back and quietly savours the strange, difficult and often improbable chapters of the past, one becomes increasingly grateful.
Not merely for the victories.
Not even for the promotions or the accolades.
But for the courage to stand by one’s convictions, the mental equilibrium to face uncomfortable situations, and, above all, the grace to walk through them without losing one’s sense of humour.
Looking back after all these years, I realise that command was never simply about giving orders.
- It was about accepting responsibility when things went wrong.
- It was about standing between higher headquarters and your men when necessary.
- It was about knowing when to obey, when to question, and when to quietly hold your ground.
And sometimes, it was about being the “Mouque da Commander” who arrived just in time to inherit everybody else’s problems!
Three and a half decades later, the memories remain vivid – that afternoon, the rockets, the grenades, the frantic radio traffic, the abandoned post, the four bewildered soldiers, the courtroom battles and the long wait for justice.
But what remains most satisfying is not how the story ended.
It is the knowledge that, when tested, I did what I believed was right for my men and for my paltan. And perhaps that is the real meaning of soldiering.
“In the final reckoning, it is not success or failure that defines a soldier, but the values he chooses to uphold.”
(May be many may not agree to my way of handling the situation as Mouque da Commander.)
Waheguru Mehar Karen.
Jai Hind!
