Chanan Singh: Batman, Deserter, Soldier

There was much about Chanan Singh that would raise eyebrows, but there’s no doubting his loyalty – to his unit, his partner and his country.

WrittenBy:Lt Gen H S Panag
Date:
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Sepoy Chanan Singh was an unusual man, as thin as a reed but as tough as a nail. Obsessively paranoid about the intent of his colleagues, he lived in a world of his own. Forever brooding, he was a loner and kept to himself unless provoked. However, he was a very good soldier. He was an outstanding marksman, lizard-like in field craft and had an uncanny gift for anticipating threat situations. He had five years of service and was appointed my ‘Batman’ when I joined my unit 48 years ago.

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The word ‘Batman’ – the man who looked after the officer’s ‘battle horse’ – is much maligned. The designation itself has undergone many changes from ‘Batman’ to ‘Orderly’ in the British Indian Army and from ‘Orderly’ to ‘Sahayak’ / ‘Buddy’ in the 1980’s to assuage general civilian perception – that the terms Batman/Orderly were a facade to misuse soldiers as personal servant of the Officers/JCOs. Prohibition of misuse is a given and a Sahayak cannot be used for duties that contribute only to the officer’s personal benefit and that have no reasonable connection with the officer’s official responsibilities. However, a Sahayak is essential to perform tasks and details that if performed by the officer, would be at the expense of the officer’s primary military and official duties. More than that he is a comrade in arms, particularly for the young officers.

Be that as it may, Chanan Singh took charge of me and put me through the paces to “break into” the unit and particularly into the hearts of the soldiers. He was blunt, rough and direct in his talk and did not hesitate to tick me off when necessary. Within one month of my joining the unit, I was tasked to lead a Long Range Patrol (LRP) to the Pir Panjal Range that separates the Punch Valley from the Kashmir Valley. There was no active insurgency those days. However, given the experience of 1947-48 and 1965 wars when regular/irregular troops were used for infiltration in conjunction with conventional operations, LRPs were used to check remote area for infiltration and for area familiarisation. Each patrol was of seven to 10 days duration. We had to carry our rations, arms and ammunition required for the duration on man pack basis. This meant that each soldier had to carry a load of more than 30 kilograms. One of the most difficult loads was atta (wheat flour). A number of standard Army Packs or modified larger packs were filled to the brim and the toughest soldiers were assigned to carry the ‘atta pithoo‘ as the soldiers liked to call the pack.

I spent two days coordinating the various aspects of the LRP and giving my formal briefing. The start time was at 0300 hours in the morning. On the previous evening, I checked my personal loads, weapon and ammunition. I found that my pack, prepared by Chanan Singh, was rather light and contained no ‘team loads’. I asked Chanan Singh why he hadn’t put my share of the team load into my pack. He said that it was a unanimous decision of the patrol. He further added that the soldiers were testing my character. I directed him to get my share of the load. Instead of complying, he said with an air of finality, “You’ll carry the atta pithoo for the duration of the patrol?”  I told him that I could but it might interfere with my duties as a patrol leader. Chanan settled the issue by saying. “ Leaders lead by example.”

The die was cast. Next morning after, after I carried out the final check, I inquired, “Whose pack has the least weight?” There was no answer but I noticed the smirk on many faces. I then inquired, “Who is carrying the heaviest load?” A number of hands went up. To settle the issue, a weighing scale was used. The heaviest load was an improvised atta pithoo pack weighing 35 kilograms. Without much ado, I exchanged my pack with the heaviest. I was mockingly cautioned by the some cheeky soldiers who said, “Saabji, ‘fallout’ (a term used for a soldier who gives up during a march) ho jaoge.”  

To cut a long story short, the going was tough and back-breaking, but I endured the heaviest load for 10 days of the patrol. On the way back, as we approached the unit base, suddenly the patrol halted. Before I could inquire, I was literally carried on the shoulders of the patrol into the base. I knew, I had ‘ arrived’ in the unit!

Chanan gave me many more lessons in grassroots leadership and I remain indebted to him to this day. He was my Sahayak for three months, but our camaraderie endured. One day, on return from leave, he came straight to my bunker and announced that he had committed a murder to avenge the outraging of the modesty of his widowed mother by the village sarpanch. He had planned it well. On expiry of his leave, he had reported to the Transit Camp at Pathankot  in the evening as per orders. However, at night he slipped away, took  a bus to his village near Amritsar and beheaded the sarpanch who was sleeping on his tubewell. There was no eye witnesses. He travelled back to Pathankot and quietly slipped back into the Transit Camp. He had a watertight alibi, but the Punjab Police was certain that he was the culprit and had located the conductors of the buses in which he had travelled. They had identified him from photographs the police had. The police wanted us to allow an identification parade. We refused and asked for a court order. Luckily for Chanan Singh, the court went by the watertight alibi and he got away.

After two years he approached me again, seeking my assistance in seeking a premature discharge. His mother had died and he had no kith or kin. The disciplined and strict atmosphere of the army was stifling him and killing his spirit. He said, “Main ikk azad panchi haan, main khule aasman wich ooncha udna chahunda haan (I am a free bird, I want to fly high in open skies.” It was late March in 1971 and East Pakistan had imploded. I tried to dissuade him and said, “There is a likelihood of a war. Surely you do not want to miss that?” He said there is no certainty of war but should one be imminent, he would come back. This, of course, was not possible as a ‘discharge’ meant that he ceased to be a soldier. We tried for his discharge but the authorities did not agree.

At the end of April 1971, Chanan Singh deserted from the unit. I got a letter from him saying he was sorry for his act of desertion, but that if there is a war, he would come back and join the unit. As per rules, the police were informed to arrest him. However, he could not be traced. Apparently, he had sold his land, bought a truck and was plying long routes in Kolkata. After three months, as per rules, he was declared a deserter.

The unit moved to the Eastern Theatre and was deployed close to the East Pakistan border by the end of September 1971. One day, I received a letter written in Bengali (a local school teacher translated it for me) from a lady named Amla. Briefly, she wrote that she was a former sex worker in Kolkata and had been rescued by a Sikh truck driver with whom she was now living. She said that her friend was a deserter from the Army and wanted to rejoin the unit to fight the war. Amla further added a request: “Channu is too embarrassed to write himself. The status quo suits us both, but I feel he will never be at peace if he is not with his unit during the war.” I guessed ‘Channu’ was Chanan Singh and promptly replied with the location of the unit. After a few days, I found Chanan Singh standing in front of me. The rules do allow a deserter to rejoin, but he has to be punished for the act of desertion which can include dismissal and rigorous imprisonment.

Chanan Singh declared he had come back to fight the war and not rot in jail. He put the onus on me to sort the matter out. I approached the Commanding Officer, a stickler for rules, who not only admonished me but directed that Chanan Singh would face a Summary Court Martial. The Commanding Officer said he wanted to set an example to forestall any more desertions before the impending war. As per rules, on Chanan Singh’s request, I was appointed as “the friend of the accused” who could advise but not argue on his behalf. I gave only one advice to Chanan Singh: speak the truth. The bugle was sounded and Chanan Singh was marched before the Commanding Officer. He made a cryptic plea in his defence. “Main bhagoda jarur hoya si,” he said, “par main apna farz nibhaun waste wapas aya haan. Mainnu ladai wich jaan da mauka ditta jave. (“I am guilty of desertion, but I have come back to do my duty. I should be given a chance to fight in the war.” Chanan Singh was awarded a ‘paper punishment’ and sent to his Company.

But there was one more obstacle to his quest for battle. The Regimental Medical Officer found that Chanan Singh was suffering from a sexually transmitted disease, which in the Army requires hospitalisation and prolonged treatment. We managed to convince the Regimental Medical Officer to treat him ‘in house’.  Amla, back in Kolkata, was also treated on Chanan Singh’s expense. The moment the treatment was done, war began.

The good soldier that he was, Chanan Singh acquitted himself very well.  One day before the impending attack by Bravo Company on December 5, he came to see me. He told me that he had a premonition that he would be killed in battle. He told me that he had nobody but his partner Amla, whom he described as the only person who cares for him. He said that he wanted Amla to be shown as his wife in official documents. He also told me that he had already transferred his truck on to her name.

Chanan Singh’s premonition came true. He was killed in action on December 5. Back-dated papers were prepared to show Amla as his lawful wife.

Rest in peace Chanan Singh. You lived life on your own terms.

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