It was sometime in the year 1973 when, being posted as a grade two staff officer in the weapons & equipment Directorate, I was sitting in my office a little after 5 pm when most officers had left. I was working on a draft on a subject that was not in my portfolio, having temporarily taken over from a civilian officer who was proceeding on a month’s leave. Suddenly, the subject gained momentum, leading to a series of high-level meetings. When the officer, a Bengali gentleman, rejoined after leave, he was taken aback at the volume of work that had happened in his absence and raised his hand. He informed the General Staff Officer (Grade 1) (GSO1), our immediate supervisor, “Saar, this is too technical now, and I won’t be able to handle the subject any longer.” The GSO1 glanced at me, indicating that I could manage this additional task, as I found it quite engaging. So, I continued to handle the subject.
Our office was in a covered long verandah on one side of the corridor. Across the corridor were Defense Ministry offices, including the army chief’s scientific advisor. The name on the plate read APJ Abdul Kalam.
Eight of us shared the office, at the far end of which was the office of the immediate boss, a Lt. Col. So, it was a routine that people crossed my desk to and fro, and I took no notice unless the person stopped at my desk and addressed me. Suddenly, several officers came running and excitedly asked, “What did he say?” “Who?” I retorted. The Chief!!! they responded. What, Chief? I again queried. Someone told me Gen. Maneckshaw entered the office, stood at my desk, and left. I shrugged and said I was too busy with what I was doing and did not look up to see that it was the Army Chief, who used to casually stroll in the corridor and sometimes enter an office and have a casual chat with people.
As I now contemplate my reactions, a number of possibilities come to mind. My reaction could have been:
Hi, Chief, what brings you here? Or
Hello Sir, What can I do for you? Or
Simply stand to attention and wish him.
Never choose any of the first two options, as they both deserve a severe reprimand. Army does not take kindly to such cheeky behavior from anyone.
Sam Maneckshaw was a known no-nonsense man, and perhaps because of this reason, he was on the hit list of Krishna Menon, the defense minister of the country. When Sam Manekshaw was posted as the Commandant of Staff College, Wellington, we all knew that he was to proceed on retirement from there. The year 1962 brought about the resignation of both Krishna Menon and General LM Thaper, who held the position of Chief of our Army Staff at that time. General JM Choudary became the new chief, and the ever-popular Sam Maneckshaw was back in reckoning. Thereafter there has been no looking back for him.
Sam Maneckshaw, is the most popular and colorful army chief we’ve ever had, and several interesting stories spring to mind. I’m recounting a few that I know of. He was a young lieutenant in the Frontier Force and had been posted to Amritsar. One day Meher Singh, of his company, who had gone on a short leave, came and told him that there was a murder in his village and some people were trying to get him implicated in the case and he needed help. After some initial investigation, when Sam was convinced that Meher Singh was telling the truth, he put him on Quarter Guard (QG) duty to show that he was physically present in the regiment when he was alleged to have been present in his village. To substantiate this fact, he rushed on his bike to the Civil & Military Club where the Superintendent of Police (SP) City used to visit in the evenings. He arrived before the Superintendent of Police (SP) City, informed him that he was going to inspect the Quarter Guard, and asked if he would like to accompany him in the jeep, as it would save time. The SP readily agreed, and they both reached the QG where Meher Singh was on sentry duty. He called out Meher Singh’s name, reprimanded him for his shabbily dressed appearance, and imposed some punishment on him. He did all this so that the SP could recount the incident in case any need for this arose. Sure enough, after a few days, the Station House Officer (SHO) Allah Baksh came with an arrest warrant for Meher Singh. When Sam told him that the jawan was actually present in the unit when the murder incident in the village happened, the SHO laughed and said these are the usual gimmicks that the army does. They show the jawan being physically present in the unit and on duty. Sam shot back, “You do not believe what I say? Come along to the SP and hear what he has to say on this. When the SP confirmed what Sam was saying was true, the SHO was totally deflated and quietly went away.
The subsequent incident is even more interesting in how the same Jawan saved his life in the war. During the Burma Campaign, Sam sustained severe injuries in an encounter with the Japanese. The battalion was withdrawing, and the Commanding Officer (CO) gave orders that those who could not be evacuated should be left behind to manage their escape on their own. Sam had got an LMG burst that had pumped five bullets into his body. Not willing to leave Maneck Saheb in that condition, the same jawan, Meher Singh, carried him on his shoulders for several kilometers till they could reach the nearest Army camp where medical help was available. When Gen. Cowen, the GOC of the Division, saw his condition, he was sure that Sam would die. He wanted to recommend him for the award of Military Cross, but since it could not be awarded posthumously, he took out his own MC medal and pinned it on Sam’s chest. When the surgeon in the hospital asked him about his injury, he replied, ‘I was kicked by a donkey.’ The doctor thought that even in such a condition, Sam had not lost his sense of humor; his case was worth giving a try. Following his operation, he went on to become one of India’s most popular army chiefs.
Last year, actor Vicky Kushal portrayed Sam Maneckshaw in the movie ‘Sam Bahadur’. The movie ‘Sam Bahadur’ features brilliant acting, particularly in the scene where he interacts with his surgeon.
Babu Jagjivan Ram was the defense minister. He had some problems pronouncing words that began with ’S’ or ‘Sh.’. So, he used to address Sam as Sham Manecksaw! Whenever a letter had to be signed by the Army Chief, it was invariably read by intermediary officers for any typing mistakes before being put up to the Chief for his signature. Sam had the habit of meticulously going over the entire letter before affixing his signature on it. There were no electronic typewriters in use at the time, and the typist occasionally made mistakes. The typist mistakenly typed the letter C as T, resulting in the message ‘Thief of Army Staff’. With a touch of humor, Sam circled the word thief and added a comment.
“This might be true, but goddammit, why not keep it within the family!”
Another interesting story I heard about Sam Maneckshaw is about his staff car driver, who hailed from Haryana. He had been Sam’s staff car driver for more than a year when he learned that the Army Chief was set to retire a few months later. He used to take great pride in his job. He always had two sets of uniforms for the day and would change into a fresh one so that he was always smartly dressed at all times. Senior officers generally have a different kind of relationship with their personal staff, and Sam Maneckshaw was no different. He would often have an informal chat while traveling in the staff car. One day when he found Sam to be in a cheerful mood, he requested that he be released from service. When Sam asked him what was the reason for this sudden decision, as he still had some years of service left? His answer was he would only tell the reason after his release from service had been approved. It didn’t take long, and within a month, he received his release order. Shyam Singh then said that being the staff car driver was the zenith of his career and could not think of being a driver to any other senior officer. Sam assumed that he must be having his post-retirement plans and was shocked when Shyam Singh replied in negative. When asked whether he had agricultural land to cultivate, the answer was again negative. Sam then said that he was being an emotional fool for leaving service when his own family liabilities were at their height.
When it was time for Shyam Singh to leave, Sam Maneckshaw gave him an envelope and asked him to open it only after he had reached his village. Once he reached home, Shyam Singh got involved in other activities and completely forgot about the envelope. A few months passed, and Shyam Singh could not manage to get any worthwhile job. One day, his wife, while she was cleaning his box, saw the unopened envelope and asked Shyam Singh what it was. He then remembered the envelope that the Army Chief had given, and they both opened the envelope together. They found it contained some government documents, and they could not figure out what it was. Then they both went to the village of Patwari to seek his help. The patwari looked at the papers and was speechless for a while. He then told them that they had become a big zamindar, owning 25 acres of agricultural land. The government of Haryana had gifted Sam Maneckshaw the land in recognition of his service to the nation. And Sam decided to give this to Shyam Singh, who needed help at this crucial time of his life. What a great act of benevolence on the part of Sam Mackekshaw.
Time passed, and we heard of Sam not keeping too well. APJ Abdul Kalam was now the President, and on a visit to Wellington, he paid a courtesy call to Sam and spent some time with him. While leaving, he inquired if there was anything the President of the country could do for him; Sam told him that he was still to get his dues as a Field Marshall. After coming back to Delhi, the President got the matter expedited, and within a week, the dues cheque for an amount close to a crore of rupees was issued. Immediately, Sam wrote out a cheque for the same amount as a donation to an Army Welfare Organization. This was the great Sam Maneckshaw. He passed away sometime later. Sadly, no minister or government official went to attend his last rites as a mark of respect, for which they drew a lot of flak from the public and the media.