Ambush at Point Pedro

🪖 Ponderings of a Pongo 🪖

(A Sri Lankan Diary - Operation PAWAN)

     Before I recount the LTTE action at Point Pedro (Paruthi Thurai), perhaps a few words about the organisation itself would be appropriate - especially for the present generation, the Gen X and millennials.

LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam)

      More than three and a half decades have passed since these events, and memories, however vivid to those who lived them, tend to fade with time.

     The Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) was founded on 5 May 1976 under the leadership of Velupillai Prabhakaran, with its roots in the earlier Tamil militant movement. Its stated ideology drew upon Tamil nationalism, revolutionary socialism, egalitarianism and secularism, alongside separatism.

      Its anthem was ‘Earuthu Paar Kodi’ - “Look, the flag is rising.”

     By 1986, the LTTE had emerged as the dominant Tamil militant organisation in Sri Lanka. What had begun as a guerrilla movement gradually developed into a formidable and highly organised insurgent force, with conventional ground formations, the Sea Tigers, an air wing, an intelligence organisation and the elite Black Tigers suicide unit. It became known for its discipline, military organisation and innovative tactics, while also becoming notorious for attacks on civilians and high-profile assassinations which includes that of our ex-Prime Minister Sri Rajiv Gandhi.

     The organisation was eventually militarily defeated by the Sri Lankan Armed Forces on 18 May 2009, bringing to an end the long and bloody conflict of 33 years.

     But this is not a history of the LTTE. It is the story of one particular encounter - small in scale compared with the larger conflict, but etched permanently in my memory.

 25 July 1989 - Manthikka (Vadamararchi),  Sri Lanka

     It was a Tuesday, 25 July 1989, at Manthikka, where our battalion Headquarters was deployed during Operation PAWAN.

     That day, several patrols were operating around the Point Pedro area. One of them, led by Major Rajinder Singh Katkat - our KK, came under fire near the Burma Shell petrol bunk on Thambashetty Road.

     The patrol suffered a tragic casualty.

      Sepoy Balwinder Singh of ‘A’ Company was struck by a bullet just behind his left ear. It was a clean, fatal shot. He died almost instantly.

The news reached Battalion Headquarters.

     There are moments in a soldier's life when there is no time for deliberation. The duty is clear, and instinct takes over.

     I immediately took two one-ton trucks and, accompanied by Subedar Major Gurbachan Singh and the residual manpower available at Battalion Headquarters, set out to retrieve our fallen comrade.

     We reached the site without much difficulty. Balwinder's body was carefully brought back and loaded into my leading truck.

     Then, on the return journey, fate decided that our task was not going to be quite so simple.

     One of the truck engines failed at the crucial moment.

     Leaving it behind was simply not an option. The vehicle contained our men, and the Subedar Major was with them. We had no tow chain, but an infantryman's inventory is rarely limited to what is officially issued.

     A rope was found.

    It was tied to the disabled truck, and we set off again, towing the stricken vehicle behind us.

     It was a classic example of the infantryman's spirit - improvise, adapt and get the job done.

     We had barely covered 500 metres when the enemy revealed that they had been watching our predicament.

The Ambush

     An LTTE ambush suddenly erupted.

     Six to eight automatic weapons opened up on our convoy almost simultaneously.

     I was standing on the seat of the lead truck, my upper body exposed through the cupola, when the firing began.

     The sound was deafening.

     AK-47s and light machine guns rattled from different directions. In the heavily built-up surroundings, the firing echoed off the buildings, making it extremely difficult to identify the direction or location of the enemy. It seemed as though the entire area had erupted around us.

     There was no time to think. We returned fire with every weapon available to us.

     Bullets whizzed past and struck the body of the truck, ricocheting away like hailstones against a tin roof. The air was filled with the unmistakable crack of automatic fire.

      Then, in the middle of the firefight, our tow rope snapped.!

     I watched helplessly as the disabled truck, with Subedar Major Gurbachan Singh in the co-driver's seat, began losing speed. The distance between the two vehicles started to increase.

For a fleeting moment, the tactical situation was obvious.

      But so was something else.

      We were not going to leave our men behind.

There was never any question of abandoning the Subedar Major and the men with him while they were under fire.

     I immediately ordered the driver to reverse my lead vehicle and close the distance between the two trucks.

     We reversed back. The firefight intensified.

     The bullets seemed to be everywhere - zipping past us, striking and ricocheting from the body of the truck. It was as though we were caught in a violent hailstorm of steel.

Yet the men held their ground.

     There was no panic. No one suggested abandoning the disabled vehicle. Every man knew instinctively that we were in it together.

That, to my mind, is the essence of esprit de corps.

     A soldier does not merely fight for a position, a mission or even a flag. He fights for the man beside him.

     And a unit's ethos is tested not when everything goes according to plan, but when the plan collapses and the instinct to protect one's own takes over.

An Unexpected Reinforcement

     Just when the situation appeared most precarious, providence -    or perhaps simply good battlefield timing - came to our aid.

      From the direction of Point Pedro, Captain Alok Raj - “Alokee” to us - and his patrol suddenly appeared on the scene.

     They immediately joined the firefight.

     The additional firepower seemed to take the initiative away from the ambushers. Gradually, the intensity of the enemy fire diminished.

    Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the firing petered out.

     Silence returned. We had come through.

    Miraculously, not a single man in our convoy had been wounded.

     I detailed Captain Alok to take charge of the disabled vehicle and its men. With Balwinder's body secured, I headed back to Battalion Headquarters to report the completion of the task.

“Ravi, You Are Alive!”

     When I entered the Operations Room, I was met by a sight I shall never forget.

     The Commanding Officer, Colonel B. S. Pundir, and Major Surinderpal (“Surinder”) were standing there, stooped forward with their hands on their heads and their eyes closed, apparently praying.

     They had received reports from the patrol that the Second-in-Command was caught in a heavy LTTE ambush.

     They had feared the worst.

     I walked in.

     For a moment, the Commanding Officer simply stared at me, as though he could not quite believe what he was seeing.

     Then came his first reaction:

     “You bloody @#*#@ (expletives) Ravi, you are alive!”

     The enormous relief on his face said more than words could.

     Later, with his characteristic candour, he told me something which still makes me smile.

     He said he had not been particularly worried about my fate.

     What had really horrified him was the thought of how he would have to face Geetha - my wife - if something had happened to me!

     A Commanding Officer's concern for his Second-in-Command can sometimes express itself in rather unusual ways!

     For me, however, the episode was less about personal survival than about something far more fundamental.

     We had gone out to bring back one of our own. And we had brought him back.

A Soldier's Last Journey

     At 2 p.m., we consigned Sepoy Balwinder Singh to the flames.

     Our Babaji, Subedar Religious Teacher Jagrup Singh, conducted the cremation with the solemnity and spiritual dignity that were so characteristic of him.

     The laughter, banter and bustle of a battalion give way to silence at such moments. The uniform, the rank and the weapon all become irrelevant.

     There remains only a young soldier who gave his life in the line of duty - and his comrades who have gathered to bid him farewell.

     Balwinder had gone out on patrol and had not returned alive. But his comrades had ensured that he would not be left behind.

     That is the unwritten bond of the Paltan.

     It is duty. It is comradeship. It is izzat. It is the regimental ethos that binds men together far more strongly than any written order ever can.

     A soldier may fall, but his Paltan does not abandon him.

      May the soul of Sepoy Balwinder Singh rest in eternal peace.

     🙏 Jeevan Maran Sukh Hoe - Waheguru. 🙏

- Col Ravi Nair -