India left at least 15 PoWs in Pakistani jails, gave up on them as ‘sacrifice’: New book

Journalist Chander Suta Dogra’s book ‘Missing in Action’ looks at PoWs of 1965 & 1971 wars, says Indian establishment treated them as ‘collateral damage’.

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New Delhi: At least 15 Indian prisoners of war (PoWs) from the 1965 and 1971 wars were left to their fate in Pakistan by the Indian military and multiple governments, a new book by journalist Chander Suta Dogra has revealed.

The book, titled ‘Missing in Action: The prisoners who did not come back’, details the struggles and confusion surrounding these soldiers, and says the Indian establishment gave up on these PoWs as “collateral damage” of war, or a “sacrifice” at the shrine of bilateralism.

While India officially lists 54 PoWs in Pakistani jails, the book reveals that the government has always believed the correct figure to be between 12 and 15.

Pakistan has always said it doesn’t have any PoWs, but declassified records of India’s Ministry of External Affairs show that in a meeting of the two countries’ foreign secretaries at Murree in May 1984, Pakistan admitted that it has ‘security prisoners’ with names similar to some of the missing soldiers.

“Security prisoners” is a euphemism for spies, and has been used to distort names of prisoners in captivity to escape scrutiny, since PoWs are governed under the Geneva Conventions.

India not all innocent

While Dogra brings the focus back on Indian PoWs, she also states that the Indian state is not all innocent either. One section of the book reveals that there could’ve been at least 18 Pakistani PoWs in Indian jails at one point of time, without any recourse to get back home.

Both countries challenge the number of missing soldiers from the other side held in their custody. But they cannot deny the fact of their long incarceration, which goes against international law and the Third Geneva Convention (1949), the book states.

It also mentions how the Indian government views its own soldiers in enemy captivity, and the limits it has set to secure their release.

“Time and again, the government has stressed that it can do nothing more than ‘pressing Pakistan to release the missing defence personnel’. What this means is that it will not take the issue beyond the fruitless confines of bilateral talks, because the fear of third-party intervention in Indo-Pakistani relations has dictated India’s foreign policy towards Pakistan since the 1971 war,” Dogra writes.

“The Shimla Agreement cemented bilateralism as a means of resolving disputes and Indian diplomats, groomed in a culture that wants to punch Pakistan whenever possible, did not believe in ever relenting on any issue that could benefit Pakistan,” the book adds.

The case of Major A.K. Suri

One of the poignant 1971 cases that the book brings out is that of Major A.K. Suri, Quartermaster of 5 Assam Regiment.

It was this case that actually led to the issue of PoWs hitting the headlines, with his father R.S. Suri leading the search for his son and others.

“He had just been promoted as a major earlier that year, and a letter from home informed him that his family had found him a girl. Marriage was on the cards. It was in this happy state of mind that, on 5 December, the young Ashok took charge of a small convoy of three vehicles containing arms, ammunition and rations for the front line, where his battalion was defending the Munnawar and Darh crossings over the river Tawi against a Pakistani attack,” the book says.

The official account states that at around 1600 hours, east of the Chhamb bridge, Suri came under heavy shelling and received a wound on his head while sitting in his jeep. He was immediately taken to the advanced dressing station at Khour, near Jammu, by his driver, and by evening, had been evacuated to 310 Field Hospital at Jourian in an unconscious state, where he breathed his last.

But the senior Suri did not believe a word of this account when it was first presented to him on 21 January 1972, because by then, he had begun to suspect that the truth was entirely different.

“Within the last one month, he had received four contradictory pieces of information about his son’s death. On 11 December, a telegram reached him from the army headquarters informing him that his son was wounded in action on 5 December. Six days later, two more telegrams from 5 Assam reached him via the chief telecommunications officer in Jalandhar,” the book states.

“The first said, ‘Your son Maj. A.K. Puri expired on 15 December.’ The second one said, ‘Your son Maj. A.K. Suri expired on 5 December.’ It was all very baffling. To make things worse, the commanding officer (CO) of 5 Assam, Lieutenant Colonel A.S. Malhi, wrote to him on 9 January 1972, saying that Maj. Suri’s death became known to him only on 7 December, and he had immediately informed the army headquarters about it. But the message from the headquarters had said that Ashok was wounded, not dead.”

R.S. Suri then began writing letters, hundreds of them, to scores of people in India and across the world in years to come.

On 1 January 1972, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi shot off signed letters to the next of kin of those believed killed in the war, expressing her sympathy and offering schemes for their benefit. The senior Suri received one too.

“Turmoil raged within him as he quietly filed away the letter. The family despaired at the incompetence and irresponsibility with which 5 Assam evaded a direct explanation and spent several days in helpless agony. Then, a couple of Suri’s friends rang to provide him with the first indication that his suspicion about his son being alive could be true. They had heard the popular programme Punjabi Durbar on Pakistan Radio, on 7 January 1972 at 1530 hours, in which one Maj. Mohinder Singh was heard saying, ‘I, Maj. Mohinder Singh of Hoshiarpur, Maj. A.K. Suri of Faridabad and one more major were captured at Chamb on 5 December. We are well. Anyone listening to this may tell our parents that we are okay,’” the book states.

Making matter worse, Captain S.R. Dass, adjutant of 5 Assam, rang the doorbell of the Suri household in the middle of January 1972. He had brought a few personal belongings of the young major, the sight of which quickly dissipated the cheer of the last few days.

“Ashok’s trunk was brought with broken locks and there was no inventory of the articles. Dass handed over a purse containing Rs 199.80 and a size 7 steel helmet with the name of one 2nd/Lt M.K. Charaj written on it. ‘This is not Ashok’s helmet. It is too small to fit his head,’ cried his mother, as she rummaged in vain for her son’s uniform and other clothes in the box,” the book states.

“The family wanted to see Ashok’s bloodstained helmet—they were told he had a head wound—with his name on it. There was no sign of the gold ring, the black field watch or the identity disc either. As they all sat down to tea around Dass, it was he who told the bewildered family that contrary to what Hathwal said, Ashok did not reach the frontline with the convoy of rations and ammunition on 5 December—the unit had waited till 11 p.m. that night for him to arrive.

“When there was no sign of him, it was Dass who finally brought the ammunition from another depot the next day. Ashok’s mother wanted to know what had happened to his convoy. Dass did not know. Why were the unit officers giving contradictory stories? Nobody seemed to have any answers. It is important to note that equipment used by soldiers who die in action is not given to their families as a rule, only their personal articles are,” it states.

Dogra writes that a military mind who has studied the details of Maj. Suri’s case forwarded a plausible hypothesis for his unit’s evasive conduct.

“One possibility is, Maj. Suri may have strayed far enough to be captured before the official breakout of hostilities between India and Pakistan and this needed a cover up. It would also explain Lt. Col. Malhi’s reluctance to face Suri (The CO had refused to meet father on December 20). The shoddy treatment meted out to Suri by 5 Assam is at variance with army ethos, more so the infantry, which is extremely protective and respectful of the families of its casualties,” Dogra writes.

“The reluctance of a CO to meet with the parent of his fallen officer is inexplicable. ‘It is likely that the CO realized that Maj. Suri had gone missing due to errors made at his end; if the truth ever came out, his own leadership and performance would be questioned.

“This looks like a typical cover-up, which escaped scrutiny in the confusion that ensued in the weeks and months after the war,’ the officer postulates. If one accepts this hypothesis, then everything falls into place,” the book states.