‘J’ Is For Jaswant

Some goals are so worthy, it’s glorious even to fail

Capt Manoj Kumar Pandey, PVC

Think ‘300’ and the image of hulking Spartan soldiers taking down the Persians against horrendous odds comes to mind, thanks to the popular Hollywood movie of the same name. But, a drive through the picturesque Eastern Himalayas in Arunachal Pradesh brings one face to face with a soldier of such stature that he managed the same feat almost single handedly and was the first martyr who continued to serve in the army post martyrdom, until he retired posthumously in 2002. That fact can outdo fiction any day is proved by a trip to the Jaswantgarh War Memorial.’

On the way from Dirang to Tawang, past the spectacular Sela Lake, with its haunting beauty, lies an unassuming ‘holy- of -holies.’ A tranquil war memorial, just off the NH 13. With a small courtyard leading to a cottage-like building, it can easily be mistaken for one of the pretty hill temples or gompas which dot the mountainsides. When you make your way inside, you are greeted by a young sentry on duty who encourages you to not just offer a handful of flower petals to the bust of the deity, but also to help yourself to some ‘prasad’ from the bowl kept nearby. You gaze in hushed awe at the bust on the pedestal, at the meticulously maintained bed and personal paraphernalia kept neatly to the side and take a couple of moments to absorb the now tranquil scene of one of the fiercest battles fought on Indian soil. For this is a temple to super human courage. This is the memorial of Rifleman Jaswant Singh Rawat, MVC, of 4 Garhwal Rifles, whose supreme sacrifice for his country at the age of twenty- one drives home the meaning of life being too short to limit oneself.

You are guided uphill to another memorial built at the place of his ‘last stand’ during the battle of Nuranang which was a seminal episode in the 1962 Indo-China war. As you slowly puff your way up the steep hill, the starkness of the landscape strikes you.  A tingling along your spine makes you suddenly realize that you are surrounded by abandoned stone bunkers which glare like malevolent eyes with eerie, empty sockets. A peep into one of them gives you the idea of the harsh, almost inhuman conditions in which the Indian Army fought its uphill war.

The second memorial feels surreal. It is almost as if you have channeled yourself through a worm hole into a different time, place, and era. The walls here are covered in detailed maps demarcating the Indian and Chinese positions and you do not have to be a tactical expert to see how the Chinese cut a wide swathe through Indian territory, trying to best an army, which though unfortunately ill equipped, possessed a love for the motherland which can only be described as ‘fanatic’.

Walking around the hall, you are overwhelmed by the memorabilia at every step: spent cartridges, helmets, rifles, and a glass case filled with letters addressed to Rifleman Jaswant Singh Rawat, MVC, Jaswantgarh. These are sent by several supplicants whose wishes he has apparently granted after attaining demi-God status, according to local legend.  By the time you come to the meticulously preserved stump of the tree where he breathed his last, you can almost hear the tromp of Chinese boots, the rattle of gunfire and loud cries of ‘Badri Vishal ki Jai,’ the war cry of the regiment. No longer a mere spectator, you are sucked into the thick of a battle of memories and you exit with a head bowed in utter reverence. If you are lucky and happen to reach Jaswantgarh around noon, you will witness the daily parade. You sing the national anthem that much more loudly and lustily, for even the most cynical of us is moved by the unfolding spectacle.

Rifleman Jaswant Singh Rawat, along with his comrades- in -arms, Lance Naik Negi, and Rifleman Gusain seized a Chinese Medium Machine gun on 17^th November 1962 when the 4^th Garhwal Rifles were about to be overwhelmed after fighting back two assaults on their positions. While returning, both his colleagues fell to the Chinese bullets, and he was severely injured himself. Nonetheless, ensuring that the task was accomplished he saw to it that three hundred Chinese fell to their own weapon. Although his company withdrew later, he staunchly held his position with the help of two brave local girls, Sela (for whom the pass is named) and Nura (after whom the battle of Nuranang is named). When his civilian accomplices also made the supreme sacrifice, he rushed from position to position, battling alone for 72 hours until a captured local supplier finally told the Chinese that they were facing a single soldier. When the Chinese stormed his position, it is unclear how he was killed: whether he shot himself with the last round of ammunition or whether he was taken prisoner and executed by the Chinese.

The finer details of this tale of bravery and sacrifice no longer matter as you perhaps stop for a pensive snack or cup of tea in the charming canteen opposite, or perhaps drive away realizing that the road has been watered with the blood of the bravest. Perhaps the following lines of the famous Marathi Poet V.V. Shirwadkar’s poem ‘Anaam Vira’: ‘Kalokhatun Vijaya cha ye pahat cha tara, pranam mazha pahila tujhla Mrityunjay Veera’ (when the star of the dawn of victory shines through the dark, I first bow in reverence to you, O brave soldier, the conqueror of death) reverberate in your head.

The Chinese can continue with their mind games as taught by Sun Tzu in ‘The Art of War,’ by renaming Arunachal Pradesh or some places located there.  But, as long as the spirit of Jaswant Singh Rawat roams these peaks, keeping eternal vigil with his fellow soldiers, ‘Zangnan or Southern Tibet’ will simply not exist. Because, when the sun rises, it dispels the darkness of evil intentions. And thus, Arunachal Pradesh remains staunchly Indian, the mountains and valleys echoing to ‘Vande Mataram’ in response to the cry of ‘J is for Jaswant’.