Blue Fish: The War Beneath
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Authors: Sankalp
BLUE FISH
The War Beneath
By Sankalp
Copyright
© 2014 Krystal 3C Studio
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or a journal.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.
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Cover design: Krystal 3C Studio
Editor: Vemuganti Deekshith
Shayontoni Gosh
Disclaimer:
This is presented as a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedicated to all the soldiers guarding Indian borders and coastal areas.
&
Dedicated to my mom.
- SANKALP
“You will readily understand my mental condition as I stand on the threshold of what the man-in-the-street would call a promising career. There is much to be said favor of such a service. It solves once for all what is paramount problem for each of us — the problem of bread and butter. One has not to go face life with risk or uncertainty as to success or failure. But for a man of my temperament who has been feeding on ideas which might be called eccentric—the line of least resistance is not the best to follow. Life loses half its interest if there is no struggle — if there are no risks to be taken. The uncertainties of life are not appalling to one who has not, at heart, worldly ambitions. Moreover, it is not possible to serve one's country in the best and fullest manner if one is chained to the Civil Service. In short, national and spiritual aspirations are not compatible with obedience to Civil Service Examinations.”
- 22 SEPTEMBER - 1920, SUBHASH CHANDRA BOSE
Praise for
- Blue Fish
“Such a great book. Well written, thrilling, touching and more. This book makes me proud to be an Indian and grateful for the service of our warriors.” –
Kamala Deepa (Journalist)
“You feel like you are fighting along the men of Blue Fish in this wonderfully written book about the war in the Bay of Bengal.” –
Shivam Rao (Architect)
“One of the few books I’ve read that when finished, I’m left speechless.” –
Kirthi Reddy (Fashion Designer)
“Very good book. Gives a great insight into what the forgotten war was really like. A must read that lays bare the problems faced by the serving officers.” –
Captain Venkatesh (Ex Army Officer)
“Absolutely amazing story of courage and heroism! This book makes you appreciate men in service. Great story, great detail, what a war.” –
Harika Apporva (IT Consultant)
1971
Millions of innocent people are being killed and raped in East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) by the military forces of West Pakistan (now Pakistan).
Eventually, the government of India steps in to protect the tormented Indians living in East Pakistan by sending military troops and rescue forces.
This irks the Pakistani government and they issue a press statement claiming that the Indian government is unnecessarily intruding in their political situation, and threaten to attack India if they do not pull back their rescue forces from East Pakistan.
However, the Prime Minister of India dismisses Pakistan’s statement, and makes a retaliatory statement supporting all the Indians living in East Pakistan irrespective of circumstances.
2011, May 28
th
, RAICHUR, INDIA
I am dead. If I were alive, I’d turn 70 in four days. They placed my body in my courtyard, and in a few minutes I will be reduced to ashes, and soon immersed in the Ganges.
Having been a school teacher all these years in this rural village, it presented me a way to live a false life, concealing my true identity from others. The rain beats down on my corpse, while my grieving students – students I taught until my dying day - watch. I think about everything that took place 40 years ago. I wonder how India and her children would’ve reacted if our ‘heroic act’ had ever seen the light of day. The act I actively participated in as the Executive Officer of the Indian Naval Service Arjun Rathode.
My life would have been on a different plane had I not taken the oath, 40 years ago. I wouldn't have been in this isolated village in the disguise of a teacher. I wouldn't have had to wait 40 painfully anticipatory years not posting the letter which belonged to somebody else. Maybe I was the only one to look forward to his own death, only to be able to fulfill a nobler task.
But today as I lie here dead, the letter will find its way to its real destination. Many questions will be answered, and new questions will arise. My granddaughter will fulfill my last wish, the wish which has haunted me all these years
My granddaughter Anju is 28 years old, and recently married a nice man called Ayush. I think about this, while I watch Anju hold the letter between her fingers, standing at her door, waiting for Ayush. She hands over the letter to him upon his approach and that takes him by a surprise.
“What is it Anju?”
“This is grandfather's last wish, post this letter today itself.”
“Last wish! What is this?”
Anju doesn’t know what the letter contains, or even its intended recipient. All she knows is the address it is to be sent to.
Anju moves closer to Ayush.
“I don't know,” she said.
“Do you want to read it?”
“No, just post this.”
“Okay.”
Ayush leaves.
My soul follows Ayush, and the letter in his hand, to the post office. I can’t help but recollect the timeline of events that have let to this very moment. It was written almost 40 years ago by a Chief Engineering Officer of the Indian Naval Service, Prathap, right before death cradled him in his unforgiving arms.
The letter which had been in my trunk for 40 years finally feels a gust of air. Ayush sits on his cycle, and travels over the muddy road, crosses the bridge and makes his way towards Raichur’s post office.
I feel relieved as the letter reaches the post box. Ayush drops the letter in through the slit, which marks the beginning of its journey. It bears an untold secret, the story of an unsung hero which deserved to see the light of day.
1971, NOVEMBER 17
th
, 0100 hours, VISHAKAPATNAM, NAVY HEAD QUARTERS
The situation across the border had been volatile for a few days now. War was just around the corner. I had a feeling that a confidential meeting like this was bound to take place.
The Commanding Officer Sharma, and the Administrative Officer Nath were concentrating on the Indian map. Six people in the hall including the Admiral, and the Rear Admiral were listening as one of the instructor briefed them about the plan. I was the youngest officer in the room.
“500 kilometres away from Vishakhapatnam port; here at 120
0
east, securing 1200 kilometres down till 30
0
south is our agenda,” the instructor briefed.
A briefing of this kind was not uncommon for anyone in the Navy, but what followed was a matter of concern.
Gesturing with his cane, the instructor said, ‘There’s a possibility that the reports we have are a hoax, but we are not one for taking chances. The enemy could’ve started from Karachi towards the Arabian Sea yesterday. Our patrols in the area are on high alert.”
“What are my orders?” spoke up Commanding Officer Sharma.
The Admiral replied, “You need to secure our eastern coastal area, the Bay of Bengal.”
Pointing the area out on the map, he concluded, “Your operation is passive. You have to report any enemy activity ranging from East 86
0
to 95
0
and North 19
0
to 20
0
.”
“Considering how chaotic the situation is currently with the bifurcation of Pakistan, our coastal line is in grave danger. We must be on alert for any kind of assault,” said the Admiral.
"Sir, why is this operation passive? If the enemy is planning to attack us, why can’t we retaliate? Why can't this operation be active?" asked Sharma.
"We need to follow the orders," shot back the Admiral.
For a moment, the atmosphere of the room was charged with tension. I wanted to take Sharma’s side, as I felt he had perfectly valid points. Why couldn’t we go on the offensive?
“We are there only to monitor the enemy’s movements, not to take charge of the situation, Sharma. Further plans will be devised as per the enemy’s moves,” explained the Rear Admiral. “Unless the word comes straight from the Prime Minister, we aren’t supposed to make a move. We are to abide by this at any cost,” the Admiral declared.
Sharma looked curiously at the Admiral, and questioned, “What should I do when we are in crisis mode?”
“Administrative Officer Kamal will look into it. He will be with you.”
Even if it was the first time that Sharma and Kamal were meeting each other, it was obvious to the rest of us that there were going to be issues between them. Time did not prove us wrong. Their enmity marked a huge secret in the history of the Indian Navy. They were fundamentally opposite, but both swallowed their differences enough for the Navy’s best interests.
I firmly believe that things would have taken a different route if either of them had not been involved. The operation was termed ‘Sea-Sight’. This was the rare operation with 30 odd crew involved, with none of them knowing the details. It was kept a secret, and the crew were told that this was merely a training session meant to last 18 days.
Underwater, in the Bay of Bengal, an Indian INS Karanj 'S21' - a Kalvari class, diesel-electric submarine slowly moves forwards at 6 knots speed. Her two propellers rotate slowly.
I was in the second compartment of 'S21', with the Sonar Operator Ramana – a young man, wearing a sonar headset, and carefully listening to the sounds echoed that indicated our presence at different frequencies. Ramana was the eye of the submarine 'S21'. Once we were underwater, there was no way that we could see anything beyond our vessel. We had to depend on sonar waves, quite like bats, emitting sounds at a high frequency, and then marking out the path based on the echoes.
I stood behind him, studying the log sheet and wave chart generated over the past few hours.
“Has anything been identified?” I asked.
“No, Sir.”
Ramana was under a tremendous amount of pressure, as he was well aware that any negligence in his duty would result in catastrophe. Instead of adding on to his stress, I walked out and made my way to Commanding Officer Sharma’s cabin. I knocked, and entered his room.
He was engrossed in a book. As I sat down, I caught a glimpse of the cover. He was reading the autobiography of Subhash Chandra Bose.
“Bose’s autobiography, Sir?”
“Have you read it?”
“No, Sir.”
“You should. Youth like you should be inspired by him.”
I knew Sharma was far from an advocate of non-violent practices when it came to any threat to the nation. He was not one to sit silently when provoked. He firmly believed in the concept of an eye for an eye.
Sharma flipped over a few pages, and read to me. “Give me blood, and I will give you freedom.” He looked at me, his eyes piercing into me. “I believe Bose should’ve been honoured with the title of ‘Father of the Nation.”
Sharma’s admiration of Bose took me by surprise.
“Why, Sir? He was the cause of hundreds of deaths in the name of our freedom struggle, all of whom went in vain.”
Sharma posited, “If he hadn’t fought for independence, we would have still been under the British reign. Arjun, one individual may die for an idea, but that idea, after his death, incarnates in thousand lives. That is how evolution sees itself seeping through generations as the ideas are bequeathed to the next.”
“Is war the solution?”
“No real change in history has ever been achieved by discussions.”
“Sir, this is beyond my understanding. I feel it would be prudent to leave decisions like these up to the bureaucrats. Besides, if I’m not mistaken, Bose was the one to honour Gandhi with the title of ‘Father of the Nation,” I concluded.
The argument would have probably continued, but it was cut short by a knock on the door and in walked a man with tea. The silence in the compartment was as heavy as the tension.
“Are you married?” asked Sharma.
I was not expecting this question from Sharma.
I hesitated, and shook my head no.
Meanwhile, turbulent ocean currents set the boat rattling. The 30 odd crew members who were sleeping in the seventh and the last compartment slid off their berths, much to their and the rest of the crew’s enjoyment.
I remember one such day when the crew were having fun with each other. Ramana, the Sonar Operator, had told me about that day.
That day, one of the crew, Surya was tying a thread from one end to another end of the compartment.
“What are you doing, Surya?” Ramana had inquired.
“This thread will indicate how much pressure is applied on us as we go deeper,” Surya replied.
“How deep are we now?”
“Not much, should be a quarter of a kilometer from the surface.”
“What could possibly be outside?”
“Water,” came the sarcastic answer from Vardhan.
The crew giggled. Ramana was taken aback, but didn’t retort.
The alarm rang in the seventh compartment interrupting them. It was a call for the crew to report to their positions for duty.
“They don't even let us sleep,” complained Vardhan.
“If sleep was what you wanted, why did you come here?” Ramana shot back vengefully.
“Sleeping inside an ocean is an extraordinary feeling. Everybody sleeps on land. Here it is different.”
“Tell the same thing to Commanding Officer Sharma.”
“Do you think I'm scared of anybody? I’m not even scared of my father.”
Surya immediately looked behind Vardhan and said, “Aye Sir.”
Vardhan suspected tomfoolery, and didn’t turn around.
The other officers stood up to join Surya, and Vardhan instantly turned around nervously and said “Taking positions, Sir”, just to find nobody around.
“Looks like somebody’s wet their pants,” laughed Ramana.
“Getting wet underwater is another new experience, right?” Surya teased.
I remember perfectly that this was the only time during the entire operation that the crew could have some lighthearted fun. Some things are meant to happen only once.
Every day was like an unfailing repetition of the previous day for the crew. They never refrained from their duties, neither did Mr. Sharma hold back from inspecting the crew. Two days went by without a glitch. Being young and enthusiastic, everyone had their minds set on proving their worth. They weren’t fussed about proper food and being comfortable on board. The food in storage, of course, gradually deteriorated from fresh to stale, but the crew made their pace with it.
There was a doctor on board to attend to the crew lest any of them were injured. One day, as I was passing his room, I saw one of the crew inside with a cut finger.
“Everything alright, Doctor?
“Should be fine, Officer. It’s just a minor cut on the hand. He was working despite of it. I’m just fixing the wound up,” replied the Doctor.
“No problem at all, Sir. I’ll be alright,” reassured the injured crew member.
Another day passed.
We received a radio message from the head office. It was delivered using Morse Code. Jayraj, the Radio Operator, decoded the received signal, wrote it on a strip of paper and handed it to me. This was the first message we received since our mission began. I took the message to Sharma’s cabin.
The four officers in the control room were staring at the letter, wondering about its contents. Any news it bore affected all our lives.
Kamal followed me to Sharma’s cabin.
We entered, and I handed Sharma the letter.
“Radio message received, Sir. We have orders to open the third envelope.”
Sharma took the letter, read it, stepped aside, and unlocked the small locker. There were several envelopes in it. The head office maps out all possible plans of action beforehand, and places them in the locker. Sharma took the third envelope out.
“What is it?” Kamal asked.
Sharma handed Kamal the envelope.
Sharma frowned for a second, and then rushed out of his cabin, and made his way to the Sonar Operator.
“Are you sure there have been no suspicious movements around?” asked Sharma.
“Positive, Sir. No suspicious movements noted,” replied Ramana.
It was glaringly obvious that Sharma was unhappy with the orders given. He went to the navigational cabin, inside the control room, where all the maps and charts were stored.
Picking up a pencil, he drew a lines on the map, connected them, and marked their intersection. Navigational Officer Mann Vijay Singh noted the latitude and longitude of the intersection. We were all waiting to receive orders from our Commanding Officer.
“Our orders are to go to this location at 85
0
East and 19
0
North,” said Sharma furiously.
“That will take five hours,” replied Mann Vijay Singh.
“Arjun, get ‘S21’ here, at full speed. Continue the same depth,” came Sharma’s orders.
“Location noted.”
The crew in the control room reacted quickly.
“Set her speed full ahead, Port 10,” I ordered.
The Steering Operator confirmed my orders, and pulled the level. This marked our first move ahead in the whole operation. I had the feeling that there was a lot more to follow.
Underwater, ‘S21’ recorded a drastic change in movement and speed. The propellers’ speed increased.