1962: The War That Wasn't

by Shiv Kunal Verma

When Nehru asked Cariappa for his views, he categorically stated that military intervention on behalf of the Tibetans was beyond the capability of the Indian Army. Cariappa

Mullik was to write later in his book, The Chinese Betrayal: ‘What Cariappa said at that time was indeed very discouraging and disappointing because I had also favoured military intervention in Tibet to save it from China.’

Though it will remain in the realm of speculation, it is quite likely that the Bob Khathing column into Tawang was Sardar Patel’s last gift to the nation. An Intelligence operative who later worked for the IB from Tawang claimed the expedition was the brainchild of Mullik and had the blessing of the home minister who had instructed the Assam governor to bring Tawang under Indian administrative control. Even though the Assam Rifles was under the Ministry of External Affairs, which in turn was headed by the prime minister, there is little doubt that Nehru had not been informed. By the time he found out what was happening, Bob Khathing was already in Tawang.

Nehru’s reaction was fast becoming typical; even on the larger question of China and Tibet, the prime minister, in keeping with his image as a man of peace, refused to publicly castigate China despite the fact that all committees set up to study the situation on the northern border were indicating that a clash with the Chinese was a distinct possibility.

Nehru, who viewed Mullik as a hawk and suspected his hand in the Tawang affair also, kept the IB chief out of the loop.

Nehru proved to be no match for the battle-hardened communist leader. The Kulwant Singh Committee Report—another classified document like the Himmatsinhji Report and the Henderson Brooks-Bhagat Report—not only predicted the clash, it even got the time-frame right. Yet, despite repeated warnings, Nehru would continue to champion China’s case for admittance to the United Nations while also preventing a discussion on the annexation of Tibet.

The statesman who gave India perennial problems, just so that he can become a global statesman.

By the mid-1950s, over 200,000 PLA troops were stationed in Tibet, resulting in famine conditions as the country’s delicate subsistence agricultural system was stretched beyond capacity. Ironically, the Panchsheel Treaty allowed the Chinese to import rice from India to tide over the problem.

Even today, the contents of Thimayya’s resignation letter remain a highly guarded secret. Instead, vague stories about Thimayya’s resignation were routinely floated where it was said that Timmy had resigned out of pique because of the manner in which Krishna Menon treated him. On careful scrutiny, that doesn’t hold water. The much adored prime minister, who could do no wrong in the eyes of the public, had betrayed General Thimayya. Trapped in this bad situation, the chief had no option but to quietly endure the humiliation and get on with the job of trying to prepare the army to face the Chinese when the need arose.

For the political survival of both Prime Minister Nehru (and Defence Minister Krishna Menon) it was now important that the dovish image Nehru had so carefully cultivated, even to the extent of lying to his people over half a decade about the Chinese intentions, had to be replaced by a hawkish one.

Unfortunately, the exact alignment of the Thorat Line was flawed as it was drawn off a map.

Thorat went and met Krishna Menon in Delhi. In his usual dismissive and sarcastic style, the defence minister said that there would be no war between India and China, and in the most unlikely event of there being one, he was quite capable of fighting it himself on a diplomatic level.

the Forward Policy will continue to be labelled as India’s biggest folly. In reality, the Indians had been patrolling much further forward prior to the directives being issued for the implementation of the Forward Policy. Now they were more or less operating within the Indian border in the area between the two claim lines set down by the Chinese.

The thirteenth Dalai Lama, Thubten Gyatso, died on 17 December 1933 and the long process to find and anoint a successor began. This period coincided with the outbreak of World War II and, suddenly, in the geopolitical scenario, China found itself on the side of Great Britain and the United States of America. The Americans, far removed from the ground realities of Sino-Tibetan relations, began to prod the British at the behest of Chiang Kai-shek to recognize Chinese suzerainty over Tibet. Unable to stand up to US pressure, in the Eden Memorandum of August 1943, the British gave in but threw in a face-saving caveat—that Tibet was to be regarded as ‘autonomous’. What the Chinese understood of that word, the world will probably never know.

Yet, on the way to the airport, Palit failed to tell Kaul, who until then was his direct boss, that according to the Intelligence Bureau chief, he would be facing at least two Chinese regiments. Until then (especially since Kaul was basing his optimism on the Dalvi-Prasad appreciation), the assumption was that on the Thagla Ridge and forward slopes there was just the one company of the PLA (equivalent to an Indian infantry battalion). This vital piece of information being held back at this critical juncture must rate as one of the most serious omissions of the war, bordering perhaps on criminal negligence.

the general had been carried piggyback across Hathung-la to Bridge 1 by a local Monpa. The rather unusual sight of the corps commander arriving at the Nam Ka Chu in this undignified manner was Kaul’s introduction to the men of 7 Brigade who were deployed at Bridge 1. By

Chinese commanders also noted that in the organization of firepower, the Indians seemingly had a tendency to pay special attention to the front side, ignoring the rear altogether.

‘The Chinese were now closing in on the bunker from all sides. Bhup Singh manned the doorway and single-handedly kept the Chinese at bay. By this time all firing outside had ceased. This was the last bunker holding out. The enemy kept firing the machine gun into one side of the bunker while still engaging the doorway. Finally, on the third side of the bunker, they crawled up and blew the side in with a pole charge (exploding explosives fastened to the end of a pole)’. Rikh was in a semi-conscious state, fast losing blood. Bhup Singh was still fighting, manning the doorway. Finally his ammunition ran out. The Chinese, seeing that all the firing from within the bunker had ceased, rushed into it and overpowered Bhup Singh, who was pointing to Rikh and screaming, ‘commanding officer… commanding officer’. The Chinese got the message, and did not bayonet the wounded Rikh. After a while, they took Rikh outside and put him on a stretcher.

Rifleman Bishan Singh, the LMG detachment commander of No. 2 Platoon, was blasted out of his position by a Chinese rocket fired at him. Despite being severely wounded and having lost his weapon in the explosion, the soldier jumped into another LMG pit and continued fighting from there. Once his ammunition was expended, Bishan Singh managed to escape from the post and made it back to Zimithang. The

Unfortunately, most of the subsequent records relied heavily on the accounts of those who ran, their coloured accounts also determining the gallantry awards that were subsequently handed out. By the time those who fought and survived returned from Chinese captivity, no one was interested in their version of what happened. Lieutenant Colonel Rikh, for example, after his repatriation from China, had recommended Major B. K. Pant for a Param Vir Chakra. The citation was ignored as ‘the file was closed’. The same was the case with Lieutenant Bikram Singh of 6 Kumaon in the Walong Sector where his CO, Lieutenant Colonel C. N. Madiah, recommended the young officer for the nation’s highest award. The government may have failed to recognize these heroic men, but for the rest of his career in the army, Behl for one was known by the sobriquet ‘Tiger’.

The IB operative sitting in Zimithang at Division HQ was privy to all the information that was coming in and was directly communicating the situation to Mullik. By midday, he had informed Delhi that Khenzemane, Dhola and Tsangdhar, after offering brief resistance, had been overrun. Just why and how Niranjan Prasad, sitting a few yards away from the same communication hub, failed to grasp this will always remain one of the unsolved mysteries of 1962.

Captain Gosal, however, had ideas of his own and he directed the guns to engage the Chinese forming up behind the rock face. What followed was a classic example of what a determined and competent forward observer can do. The accurate fire by the 7 (Bengal) Mountain Battery took a heavy toll of the massed Chinese troops. Suffering a large number of casualties, the Chinese were forced to give up any thoughts of launching an attack from the right side.

Thapar greeted him with a smile and said: ‘Well done, Monty, you handled that well.’ Between Palit, Thapar and Niranjan Prasad, the stage had been set for the second half of the debacle, the first already having been enacted at Nam Ka Chu. For the men fighting desperately at Bum-la at that very moment, it was perhaps the greatest let-down.

Even in their wildest dreams, no Chinese commander could have anticipated that the Indians would fold so easily. Right or wrong, the decision to designate Tawang vital ground was taken a year and a half ago, after which thousands of man hours had been used to build up the garrison, to say nothing of the air effort. How, on the whim of a DMO, the COAS could decide to abandon the place, is indicative of the complete collapse of the decision-making process! A tactical withdrawal is one thing, but to fall back the moment the firing starts can only lead to a debacle. It was unfortunate that those who were best suited to fight, like the machine gunners at Bridge 4 and the Assam Rifles at Dhola, chose to leave the battlefield, betraying the sacrifice of those who decided to fight. No amount of post-war rationalizing can cover up the fact that there was a total collapse of command and control.

The fact of the matter is that all the key commanders on the ground—Dalvi, Prasad and Sen—had mentally prepared themselves to flee rather than to fight.

General Thapar, in his wisdom, had decided that the only way to reverse the situation in NEFA was to find commanders who had won gallantry awards in the past to take charge. This was one of the most cockeyed decisions of 1962. Most of these officers were comfortably heading towards retirement. They had to be uprooted from their cushy jobs and sent to a windswept Himalayan pass to fight a battle in near arctic conditions. Palit, who had driven Pathania around Se-la in the morning, was struck by his lack of enthusiasm. ‘…I had received the impression that he seemed dispirited and sluggish. His dejected mood persisted as we continued with our reconnaissance.’

Unfortunately, Thapar’s forceful behaviour didn’t continue into the third day. On 28 October, the Intelligence Bureau chief had let it be known to select officers in the corridors of power that Lieutenant General Kaul was to take back command of IV Corps and Harbaksh Singh would be moved laterally to take over XXXIII Corps from Lieutenant General Umrao Singh. According to the IB chief, Nehru had told Thapar to implement the order as Kaul was to be pronounced medically fit by the doctors in the next twenty-four hours. Thapar had, according to Mullik, agreed without any semblance of protest. The fact that the IB had intimated the government that the troops in Eastern Command, from the ranks to JCOs and officers, all considered Kaul something of a joke, especially after his unceremonious flight from Nam Ka Chu, didn’t seem to have changed anyone’s mind.

Anant Pathania, ever since he took over 4 Division, seemed most reluctant to base himself at Senge, ostensibly on account of high altitude headaches. Kaul’s reinstatement gave Pathania the opportunity to request permission to pull back and set up his Division HQ at Dirang Dzong, which at 6,000 feet was appreciably lower in altitude. Without giving it too much thought, Kaul gave Pathania permission.

The opinion expressed by the corps commander, Kaul, was that nothing much was going to happen until the spring of 1963 when he planned to launch an attack to reclaim Tawang. In fact, during his visit to Se-la, he berated one of the commanding officers for spending so much time on the defences, insisting that it was more prudent to stock up for the winter.

This plan was flawed right from the very outset. Hoshiar Singh should have known that the Chinese were highly unlikely to present a static target especially south of the Tawang/Mago Chu, where they themselves were infiltrating on the flanks, hoping to draw the Indians out of their prepared defences. Also, somebody in the chain of command should have realized that combining troops from the Sikh and Sikh LI units was a recipe for disaster. Despite Sikhism’s tenets forbidding casteism, the reality on the ground was quite different, especially during the mid-twentieth century. The two Sikh LI units were Mazhabi or low-caste Sikhs. In their villages, they lived in a state of virtual apartheid, dominated by middle-caste Jat Sikhs who made up the Sikh Regiment. Both these regiments of the Indian Army have time and again proven themselves to be outstanding soldiers, but to mix them up was always going to be fraught with danger. In the event, Hoshiar Singh literally blundered into the Chinese trap and the ill-fated and ill-conceived attempt would have the worst possible outcome.

1993 and 1994, two important books were published: the first, True History of China Border War, written in the old Chinese script, was authored by Professor Yan Xun of the National Defence University of Beijing; and the second, China’s War of Self Defensive Counter Attack with India, also written in Chinese, was published by the Academy of Military Sciences. Apart from giving some details of the operations from the Chinese perspective, both these books reveal the extent to which the Chinese had information about Indian deployment, their strengths and weaknesses, and an almost uncanny psychoanalysis of Indian commanders. Almost all Indian accounts, including those of Brigadiers John Dalvi and Monty Palit, mention this fact. Tashi Sonam, the Tawang-based IB agent during the 1962 clash, was categorical: ‘The Chinese knew everything, Indian deployment almost to the section and platoon level was known to them. Sometimes they knew what the Indians were going to do even before the decision was taken.’

One of the key reasons the Chinese did not chase the Tawang garrison across the Mago/Tawang Chu immediately was to lull the Indians into believing that they were happy with the capture of Tawang and would not undertake any further offensive action in the Kameng Frontier Division. Already the Indian leadership had demonstrated to the Chinese just how inflexible they could be. So convinced were they that the Chinese were not going to launch an offensive during the coming winter that even the frenetic construction of the Bum-la-Tawang road (clearly visible from Nuranang) did not shake them out of their complacency.

A local interpreter was provided by the civil administration (he subsequently turned out to be a Chinese officer) and the company was to be entirely air maintained.

The trek to Dangsickpu on the border was supposed to take a minimum of three days, but Kukrety, a mountaineer himself, and the extremely fit Rajput troops, completed the forced march in just one day.

Reports also started trickling in of Chinese infiltration in the area of Nyukamadung. This added considerably to Anant Pathania’s fast-growing despondency. He spoke to the BGS IV Corps and sounded out K. K. Singh about an immediate withdrawal from Dirang Dzong. Singh managed to calm down the GOC and strongly advised him to stay put. Nevertheless, Pathania ordered his GSO-2 (SD), Major Ummat, to put together a layout party and proceed immediately for the Tenga Valley and scout around for a new location to set up the Division HQ. Ummat, however, had no intention of stopping at Tenga and made a dash for the plains, where he was subsequently arrested.

Under tremendous pressure to get past Alpha Company, they launched yet another determined attack that was supported by artillery and mortars at 2.50 p.m. Once again, Subedar Udai Singh and his men stood firm. For the fifth time on that fateful day, the Chinese had to withdraw. Though it is hard to confirm the casualties on the Chinese side, almost all records say 300 Chinese soldiers were killed and wounded. Miraculously, at this stage of the fighting, only two Garhwalis had been killed, though many men were hit by shrapnel and were walking wounded.

Around the time the final Chinese attack on Alpha Company fizzled out at around 4 p.m., Chinese artillery fire cut the communication line with Brigade HQ. As attempts were being made to raise Battalion HQ on the wireless, GOC 4 Division took a baffling decision, ordering Hoshiar to withdraw 4 Garhwal. Even though the accepted tactics of the Indian Army at the time suggested that covering troops, after having achieved their objective of delaying the enemy should fall back, it was not a rule written in stone. Now Nuranang was proving to be an ideal defensive position, which by virtue of being boxed in by steep cliffs on either side could not be outflanked. Commander 62 Brigade should have realized that he could now use the hours of darkness to replenish and reinforce this position. Instead, in a repeat of 1 Sikh’s fight at Bum-la, Lieutenant Colonel B. M. Bhattacharjea was asked to break contact and withdraw to Se-la at night.

for the Kameng Frontier Division, Thapar and Palit believed that with two brigades holding Se-la, there was a good chance of keeping the Chinese at bay even if the odd Chinese column outflanked the Se-la defences and got to the Bomdila road. Even at this late stage, neither the army chief nor the DMO were aware that the GOC, Major General Anant Pathania, had established his HQ at Dirang Dzong and had deployed only one brigade at Se-la. They were also not aware of the large-scale ingress of Chinese troops across Poshing-la and other routes. As a result, the two officers were not particularly concerned with Se-la, their attention being more on Walong and the situation being faced by the newly raised 2 Infantry Division.

Once again Thapar and Sen got into a long-winded discussion that went nowhere as Sen refused to see reason and Thapar refused to give an order, still trying to gently persuade his army commander.

In fact, the GSO-1 in 4 Division HQ, Lieutenant Colonel Manohar Singh, had been freely voicing his opinion in favour of a retreat, openly saying the Chinese were invincible, so much so that Pathania at one stage thought of asking for his replacement. This

Picking up the message sheet, Palit began walking towards the Ops Room. Coming out of the door was Kaul. Palit stopped the corps commander and showed him the signal, asking who had authorized it. Kaul read the message, hesitated briefly, then said, ‘Ask the army commander,’ before walking away. In the Ops Room General Thapar was sitting and staring vacantly at the map on the wall while Sen and Sibal were talking, seated next to him. Assuming from Kaul’s remark that Bogey Sen had authorized the signal, Palit thrust the message at Thapar. ‘Do you realize, sir, that the army commander has given 4th Division permission to withdraw from Se-la?’ Thapar looked startled and uncomprehending. The contents of the message sheet were obviously news to him. Palit then raised his voice with the intention of getting across to Sen as well, asking the chief ‘how it was that when the Corps Commander was present in his HQ, the Army Commander was issuing operational orders—whereas in the former’s absence he had refused to shoulder any responsibility.’ Sen looked equally startled as he turned towards Palit and Thapar. He asked Palit what was he was talking about. When the contents of the message sheet were made known to him, he said firmly that he had issued no such orders. Speaking to both the chief and the army commander, the DMO said: ‘We could never face the nation if 12,000 troops, supported by artillery and mortars and stocked for battle, ran away without even facing the enemy. In my opin...

Hoshiar Singh was furious with Irani for having pulled 2 Sikh LI out prematurely from the defences around Kye-la. The early pull-out not only sealed the fate of 4 Sikh LI, it gave the Chinese a walkover on what should have been their Waterloo. Had 4 Sikh LI occupied their defences by the time 2 Sikh LI withdrew, the Chinese troops on their tail would have walked into a death trap.

The main thrust of the Chinese that had been initially halted superbly at Nuranang the previous day was now a distant memory. The defences of Se-la had caved in with barely a push from the Chinese. In the annals of the Indian Army, this had to be its lowest point ever.

Those present in Dirang Dzong during that fateful period say Cheema and Manohar Singh, the GSO-1, were the ones whispering in Pathania’s ear, spinning a web of negativity, constantly urging him to make a dash for the plains of Assam before the Chinese surrounded them completely. During World War II Cheema had been a POW of the Italians and was known to be terrified of falling into the hands of the Chinese. The two battalions under his command—4 Rajput and 19 MLI—were strung out defending the various tracks and approaches but the brigade commander rarely, if ever, visited any of the men under his own command, preferring to stick close to Pathania and literally became his shadow. Cheema’s professional competence was suspect, yet he was hand-picked by Thapar to command 65 Brigade at this critical time.

Before Kaul could say anything, Gurbax Singh (the son of Sir Teja Singh who built Lutyens’ Delhi and the younger brother of the celebrated writer Khushwant Singh) said that 5 Guards could no longer be contacted.

The Chinese plan had been to capture Hoshiar Singh and the Chinese soldier who killed the brigade commander was severely punished. Realizing who he was from his red collar tabs, the Chinese announced that they had cremated the officer with full military honours. A few days later an officer from the Indian Embassy in Peking was called and the information was conveyed to him. However, this information proved to be incorrect as Hoshiar Singh’s body was preserved in Phudung by the local Monpas. Much later, Indian army officers returned to Phudung and cremated the courageous soldier with his eldest son performing the last rites.

manner, the Indians were in their element, as had been demonstrated by 1 Sikh at Bum-la and 4 Garhwal at Nuranang. However, the moment the Chinese got behind Indian set piece formations, under the garb of a ‘withdrawal’, most units chose self-preservation over valour. Ironically, during these unrehearsed withdrawals, the mobile and flexible Chinese forces then invariably decimated them.

Shortly after midnight, sentries posted on the lookout reported that the Chinese were advancing towards Chaku from Rupa as they could see a few hundred men on the move with mashals (torches). Accordingly, an officer knocked on the door of the basha in which Gurbax Singh was sleeping to apprise him of this new development. M. S. Brar, the commanding officer of 1 Sikh LI was furious at being woken up for what he considered a trivial matter. Convinced that the mashals were being carried by our own tribals, the colonel wanted to know if the Chinese would be so stupid as to advance down the road carrying torches, and that too in their hundreds. Official history again is very kind to this officer, attributing the defence of Chaku to him.

The Indian Air Force was desperately short of aircraft, but like the BRO, lived in the fond hope of inductions from abroad. Just how and how much was known only to the defence minister and a few select bureaucrats in the Ministry of Defence. With Bijji Kaul as the Quarter Master General (QMG), the entire focus seemed to be on keeping up appearances rather than actually solving problems on the ground.

By 23 October, almost all the men who had survived the initial Chinese onslaught in the Northern Sector and in the Galwan Valley, were on the move, trying as best as they could to fall back on Nullah Junction and then on to Hot Springs. However, there were a few exceptions. Skalzang Dorge, a Ladakhi serving with 14 J&K Militia had been wounded at DBO. Somehow, as the rest of the Indian troops pulled out, Dorge was left behind. Finding himself abandoned, the militiaman crawled into a bunker, dressed his own wounds and settled down to wait, firm in the belief that his comrades would return soon. Living off dry rations and burning kerosene to keep warm, Dorge stayed alive through the next six months until he was rescued in April 1963. With the Chinese also staying clear, Dorge ensured that DBO remained in Indian hands.