FOUR MUSKETEERS FOR THE ARAKAN FRONT

by ECB Wijeyesinghe

Lord Mountbatten’s recent visit to Sri Lanka and the death of Captain Uyangoda of the Galle Face Hotel, one of the few Ceylonese heroes of the Arakan Front, have prompted me to make a short journey into the past, when the noble lord asked the Editors of four Ceylon newspapers to come to Burma and watch the final stages of the war against the Japanese.

I am not sure whether any other journalists from this part of the world were invited to take a ringside seat and watch the Allied blow that was intended to send the Japanese reeling. But Mountbatten, especially after his sojourn in Peradeniya, where the gardens were bristling with the loveliest flora and fauna, had a soft corner in his heart for Ceylon.

Hundreds of Kandy residents have seen him ride on horseback in the beautiful Udawattekelle, or drive a jeep all alone on the road to Katugastota where watching the elephants bathe in the Mahaveli was not the only diversion. In another country, during a World War, a whole battalion of security men would have accompanied the Supremo. But there was no need for such precautions in this peaceful island on which no invader had set foot since the days of Sri Wikrama Rajasinghe.

After Mountbatten moved the Allied headquarters, quietly but reluctantly, to less salubrious climes, he did not forget the little island that had given him so much hope and happiness. He wanted the people of Ceylon to see through the eyes of its newspapers the upper-cut that he was going to deliver in Lower Burma.

The invitations came to the four Editors to go and see for themselves the vastness of the undertaking to push back the Japanese steam-roller which had crushed everything in its path from Singapore northwards along the Malay peninsula. Incidentally, during that drive one of Ceylon’s best-known sons, Manicam Saravanamuttu was locked up by the Japanese in Penang and spent nine months in jail.

How Sara survived it all and was eventually appointed Ceylon Commissioner in Singapore is another story which has been related in a most graphic manner by Sara himself in his Saga which he published a few years before his death.

To come back to the Editors who were invited to go and watch the fun at the Front: they were A.C. Stewart of “The Times of Ceylon,” H.A.J. Hulugalle of the “Ceylon Daily News,” H.D. Jansz of the “Ceylon Observer,” and Iswara Iyer of the “Virakesari.”

SCOTSMAN

Stewart was a Scotsman to whom the idea of being a non-paying guest of Lord Mountbatten for three weeks made an instant appeal, however much he had to face the hazards of war. So, he accepted the invitation with alacrity. Besides, it gave him the chance of indulging in his pet hobby and making a few rupees on the side by collecting stamps from some of the most God-forsaken areas in South-east Asia.

But he was a good companion and had his own way of showing his appreciation of a friend’s kindness. He carried in his hip-pocket a flask of Hennessy’s Three Star Brandy, which he raised to his lips whenever the temperature dropped, and offered you a swig if there were not too many people about.

Herbert Hulugalle, one of the three other Editors invited, though he had a weakness for roaming round the world in peace time, thought twice before he went among the bombs. And the thinking was done by his wife, Lillian, a courageous woman at all times, but who somehow did not relish the idea of her husband spending the rest of his days in a Japanese prison camp.

But the statement which clinched her argument was the grim reminder: “Remember dear, we have seven children.” That was true. They had seven children, five of whom were sons, and one or two of them were not too easy to manage. Finally, Lillian managed to persuade Herbert that after all it was better not to take the risk and lay down his life on what he described as the purple plains of Burma.

There were heaps of purple spots in Ceylon, she told him, where he could die in greater comfort. Had the sweet-natured Lillian been alive today she would have confirmed the truth of my statement.

But Mountbatten’s kind request could not go unheeded. Someone had to go from the “Daily News” and Hulugalle’s deputy was sounded. His name was Gordon Jayanta Padmanabha, the handsome grandson of Sir Ponnambalam Arunachalam, and with a brain as agile as that of his celebrated grandfather. His mother was an English woman. Hence, his mother’s people called him Gordon, while his father’s folk, especially the top-drawer Jaffna Tamils in Cinnamon Gardens with marriageable daughters, lovingly called him Jayanta.

So Jayanta was asked to act as a substitute for Hulugalle and a signal was accordingly sent to the Allied Headquarters, as arrangements had to be made to confer on them the rank of Honorary Majors in the Army. The reason was that if the journalists by some stroke of ill-luck fell into the hands of the Japanese they would probably receive an additional potato and a cupful of congee with the prisoner’s rations.

So “Major” Padmanabha was asked to present himself before the Commander-in-Chief of Lake House, D.R. Wijewardene, who gave him his blessing and Rs.100 to cover out-of-pocket expenses for three weeks.

The third Editor to receive Mountbatten’s note was Hilaire Donald Jansz of the “Ceylon Observer” whom Lionel Wendt described as the “quaint, gaunt, saint,” a quiet Burgher with a puckish sense of humour, whose Sunday editorials, notable for their cynical levity, have evoked the highest praise from every journalist, British or otherwise, who worked in Ceylon.

Though his grandfather Ezekiel Jansz was a bit of a thug and once horse-whipped a British Government Agent, Hilaire was so meek and mild that people doubted whether he had the strength to hurt a fly. But to compensate for his physical infirmities, Providence compensated him with colossal intellectual gifts. I am saying all this to lead up to the point that D.R. Wijewardene considered Jansz indispensable.

Once, in a weak moment – and such moments were very rare – D.R.W. had confessed to one of his buddies : “Where can I get another Jansz.” Hence it was useless even to suggest to send Jansz to the battle-front. Somebody had to represent the “Observer” and he had to be dispensable. It was not difficult to find such a man.

For nearly 15 years Jansz had a deputy to do the odd jobs that he was physically incapable of doing. That was my business. Without further ado, Wijewardene decided, that I was the other man from Lake House to go on the Mountbatten mission, and the magnificent sum. of Rs. 100 was slipped into my hands also, to cover expenses.

The fourth invitation went to Iswara Iyer, the Managing Editor and part-proprietor of the Tamil daily, “Virakesari.” Iyer was a South Indian who had been educated in England and was fully conversant with the niceties of European culture. Though he was a Brahmin he was not too fastidious regarding what he ate, and had a liberal attitude towards what he drank.

He was a vegetarian and considered brandy a close relative of grape juice, and whisky as something extracted from concentrated barley water. There was no mention of alcohol when either of these potent liquors was consumed, the emphasis being on the grapes and the barley. Therefore, they were ideal drinks for vegetarians, especially rich Brahmins.

Iswara Iyer, however, was too busy with office matters to find the time to go to the Arakan and K.V.S. Vas, the chief leader writer and virtual editor of the paper, was pressed into service to take his boss’s place. Vas was also a Brahmin and except for a swig of brandy from Stewart’s flask to keep the cold out, he generally adhered to the diet and tenets of a conservative Hindu.

MAJOR

So one day in January nearly 32 years ago the four Musketeers, some of whom had never handled a musket in all their lives, were given the honorary rank of Major, and asked to assemble on the old racecourse, where an aircraft was waiting to whisk them off to India.

It was one of those ancient Dakotas with two long metal benches to serve both as seats and for luggage. The aircraft had been on the racecourse since early morning exposed to the rays of the burning sun and when we got in about noon, the temperature inside must have been according to a modest estimate, about 150 degrees Fahrenheit. All of us, except Vas, wore fairly heavy clothes as we were warned that it would be somewhat cold in North India through which we had to travel.

There was neither pressurizing nor air conditioning gadgets in our section of the plane and for the first half hour, wrapped up in my tweed suit, I was just wondering what sins I had committed in my previous birth, if any, to deserve this punishment. Not beads, but torrents of perspiration ran down my face, back and chest and reduced me to a kind of pulp. I well remember, when crossing our Palk Strait I felt that I had just emerged from a shower bath.

Then came the climb to higher regions when the temperature started to fall so rapidly that it was a mercy I did not contract double pneumonia before reaching Bangalore, our halt for the night. The next morning we resumed our journey and after a short stop at Vizagapatam reached Calcutta. We were billeted at the Grand Hotel and were now ready to take the Great Leap Forward to the Arakan Front, regarding which I hope to write some day soon if I manage to survive the present hot spell.

(Excerpted from The Good Among the Best first published in March 1976)