S

The

Lion

of

Malaya

BEING THE MEMOIRS OF

GURCHAN
Who

SINGH
Malaya

organised a Resistance Movement in during the Japanese Occupation

c-^ycm^ed
Kuala Lumpur : Federation of Malaya

CHIEF

M E M B E R S

OF

T H E

SINGA

ORGANISATION

who voluntarily and independently worked for the cause of the Allies during the Japanese occupation of Malaya at the risk of torture and death. All rendered invaluable service and stood loyal and true under conditions of grave danger and hardship. Some sacrificed their comfort and happiness; others bravely endured torture at the hands of the Japanese; others gave up their lives. They all sincerely fought for freedom. Many of them are mentioned in this book. In honour of them all their names are given here.
D R . ABDUL GHANI ANTHONY A S H ARUNASALEM, N. * D R . KOK H O TEIK LEONG H E W MENG

LEONG KAI SWEE MADAME LAU PENG KIM RAMASAMY GANGA PAKRY B. M.

ASTER GUNASEKARA AUGUSTIN LYE NYEN

Foo
BALAKRISHNAN, BEHARA SINGH, M.

RAMASAMY RODRIGO,

Sub-Inspector
BHAGAT SINGH SGT. BUGHAR *BHAG SINGH GILL SINGH

SARJEET SINGH SARMUKH SINGH,

Inspector
SUPPIAH, P. TAN BENG HOCK TAN BENG SAN M.

CHANAN SINGH CHONG TAK N G I T GURDIAL SINGH

THIRUNALAN, TOH CHIN

GURNAM SINGH BULL JOHN SANDASAMY KEHAR SINGH KHEM SINGH

GUAN

YAP G H I M LEONG YAP GHIM H O E >YEOH CHAI LYE

* Tortured by the

Kempetei.

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY LIVES OF ALL WHO GAVE VP THEIR IN THE ALLIED CAUSE.

R O L L

OF

H O N O U R .

They died that Freedom might live.

Inspector

GURBACHAN SINGH FLSMAIL DE SLLVA *LALL SINGH BULL

*Low

GHEE BENG,

Inspector

SHANMUGAM, M . TEJA SINGH * Died as a result of Japanese torture, t Executed by the Japanese.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT The author wishes to express a deep sense of gratitude to Mrs. Lillian Buckoke for encouraging him to record his wartime experiences.

fa

CONTENTS Chapter
I II IN IV V VI VII VIH BEFORE THE STORM ALONE IN KUALA LUMPUR SENTENCED T O DEATH THE SINGA ROARS DINNER WITH THE GESTAPO A JAPANESE PRESS CONFERENCE

Page
1 3 12 23 43 51

MILKMAN BY DAY, BILL-POSTER BY NIGHT 6 1 ONE-MAN JOB O N THE R U N SINGAPORE BOUND PLANNING THE GREAT TREK NORTH TRAIN JUMPING WORKING FOR THE JAPS A MERRY BONFIRE THE RAILROAD O F DEATH THE REWARD O F G O D 70

IX
X XI XII XIH XIV XV XVI

81
100 113 119 134 146 151 161

CHAPTER I

BEFORE THE STORM THE Malay Peninsula, just north of the Equator, east of Sumatra and south of Thailand, was under the protection of Britain before the Japanese invasion in 1941. This ever-green and sunny land, rich in rubber and tin, consisted of divers races who lived harmoniously and peacefully amongst themselves. In this "paradise" I was born in May, 1914. As I grew up I was sent to an English school, which in fact was an American Methodist Mission schoolthe Methodist Boy's School. My teachers were American, British, Chinese, Indian, Malayand Japanese as well. They made my life a happy one and I loved them all. This early life, in spite of having been a happy one, had been full of adventure, the nature of which any youth would envy. According to my mother, adventure always dogged my footsteps even as a child. I had nearly been eaten by an alligator when I was two months old and only just escaped drowning before I was six. At the age of thirteen I became much interested in sport of all kinds, for I loved outdoor life. In 1930 I established a new longdistance walking record, covering a distance of 63 miles in 21 hours. This is still a Malayan record. I took part in many cycling competitions whilst still at school and won several of them. I was also keen on cricket and football. Then in 1932 came the chance of a lifetime for any schoolboy, when as an out-door man I was selected with another Malayan fo join an expedition to Mount Everest. My last year at school in 1933 was a fateful one, not only for me but also for all other youngsters, who after completing school had no chance to get a job, Malaya was experiencing a

2 terrific slump. Men who had already worked in Government Service for some years were being retrenched from various departments. At the end of this fateful year I sat for my Cambridge examination, and three months later when results were known I passed unexpectedly with flying colours. The conditions in my home in Kuala Lumpur were none too good either. My family owned a couple of small rubber estates, and we had been badly effected by the worst slump in Malaya's history. I was thus forced to look out for a job, which was far from easy in view of the widespread unemployment. Owing to the influence I had gained by my outdoor activities, coupled with the popularity I had gained on account of the Mount Everest Expedition, I was nevertheless confident of getting a job somewhere. But what sort of work did I want? I pondered long over that question, because I knew that the decision would determine my whole future career. I decided finally to join the Police as a recruit constable and worked hard for five years, after which I was made a detectivedue to some of the natural qualities I appear to have possessed. At the time when this story of my underground activities commences I was therefore a Detective constable; but after the war I was promoted to Police Inspector and later to Assistant Superintendent of Police. Since the middle of 1957 I have been appointed to a Superscale post. That, in short, is my life story; so now let us get on with the underground story about which this book* is written; but before that is done I would like to remind the reader 'that I hold no contempt for the Japanese or any of their collaborators. That contempt ended when Japan was forced to lay down her arms. After all, war is war.

3
CHAPTER II

ALONE IN KUALA LUMPUR THE Japanese landed at Kota Bahru on the north-eastern coast of Malaya on the night of 8th December, 1941. Four days later they had not only established a good foothold near the invasion points, but also pierced the Jitra Line in north Kedah. The whole state of Kedah was soon in their hands, including two big aerodromes at Alor Star and Sungei Patani. To us at Ipoh, where I was stationed at the time, it was obvious that our forces were retreating. On the afternoon of 14th December my superior British officer, Mr. D. W. Yates, called me to his office. "We've received orders from H.Q. in Kuala Lumpur," he said, "to intern all women of Japanese nationality not interned with the men at the outbreak of war." By half-past seven that evening I had seen that all these womenabout fifty of themwere interned, and reported to the officer concerned. He told me that they were to be transported to Batu Gajah Gaol early next morning. As luck would have it, no transport was available then; so they were left where they were. That morning at about 11 o'clock I was on my rounds with my assistant detective, Kehar Singh, checking up on the sentries and internees, when an alert was sounded and planes were reported to be approaching Ipoh. I was uncertain what to do, but finally decided to ask the internees to go to the shelters. They looked rather happy on learning that Japanese bombers were coming. Some of them prepared to go, while others seemed reluctant and insisted on staying behind. The sentries appeared nervous and wanted to take to the shelters, so I let them follow the Japanese women. I told Kehar Singh to take charge there, remaining outside myself.

4 Two minutes later I heard the drone of planes, and within a few seconds ground ack-ack fire told me that they were Japanese. Then I caught sight of them flying some distance away. Later I heard terrific explosionsthe aerodrome was probably being bombed. I began to feel nervous myself. At last I could no longer hear the drone of the planes. I lifted my head and looked around. Two of the hotels where the Japanese women were interned had been hit, and a bomb had fallen about 30 feet away from me. My heart was beating fast, and it was some time before I could control my fear caused by the blast of the bombs. The all-clear sounded, and I got out of the drain. There right in front of me was the wrecked hotel in whifh some of the Japanese women had taken shelter. Horrified, I rushed towards it. Some women lying on the ground seemed to be dead, others were crying. On seeing me, one of them pointed to a lady halfburied in the debris. At once I began to clear away the rubble, and was soon joined by Detective Kehar Singh. We made so little progress that others came to our assistance. When we pulled her out, she was deadher whole face had been crushed. Two others died soon after being rescued, and three badly injured were taken to hospital. On the afternoon of 23 rd December, after Ipoh had suffered its worsf bombardment, I was told that the town was going to be evacuated next morning, and that all the bridges were being mined by the sappers and were to be blown up. On leaving Ipoh, we went thirty-six miles south to Tapfah, from where we retreated three days later to Kuala Lumpur, the Federal Capital. Here I was attached to the office of Mr, J. D. Dalley, Director, Criminal Intelligence Branch, and became assistant to Mr. D. N. Livingstone who was dealing with Fifth Column cases.

5 When I left Tapah the fighting line was between Kuala Dipang and Kampara distance of about three miles, and about twenty miles south of Ipoh where for the first time since retreating from the Jitra Line the British Forces made a stand. The battle had been in progress there for some days when the Japanese landed on the west coast near Telok Anson at the mouth of the Perak River, coming in boats and barges. About the same time more enemy landings were reported from further south. Afraid of being cut off by these landings, the British Forces retreated to their next fighting position in the Slim River area, leaving behind a detachment of Indians to carry on the fight at Kuala Dipang. Although they received no protection from constant Japanese air attack, these Indians fought on heroically for three days and nights until all of them were wiped out. From then onwards the fate of the British depended on the stand they could put up at the Slim River Line, about fifty miles south of Kuala Dipang. It was generally believed that they could hold it at least for a time; but without air support it proved impossible. Even to retreat was hard. It could only be done at night. After wiping out the Indian column at Kuala Dipang, the Japanese Forces advanced south to meet their comrades coming from Telok Anson and then on towards the Slim River Line. With the vigilant Japanese Air Force hovering in the skies, undisturbed from morn to night, the British Forces had no time to dig themselves in. On January 9th there were rumours that the Japanese had actually effected a landing at Port Swettenham. "If Kuala Lumpur has to be evacuated, Gurchan Singh, are you prepared to go?" Mr. Livingstone asked me. I replied that I was ready to leave whenever I was given the order. "Very good," he said.

6 4 began to wonder, however, whether I could not fight the Japanese more effectively by staying in K^fala Lumpur than by going with the British to Singapore. It was a new idea to me, and seemed worth serious consideration; but L was stiU undecided as to what was the best way'of helping the British to stop the Japanese from advancing any further. If I stayed behind, how was I going to fight the Japanese? I was even more worried as to what I could say to Mr. Livingstone at the office. Would he believe in the sincerity of my suggestion? He would have to mention it to Mr. Dalley, the Director, and what would they say? I was afraid that they might misunderstand me. It would be dreadful if they thought that my morale was gone, and that I was making blind excuses in an attempt to avoid going to Singapore. All these thoughts led me nowhere, and I was still wondering what to do when I reached my office. As I set to work every now and then I looked at Mr. Livingstone's worried face, studying it to see if he w?" in -a good or a bad mood. I had to make sure that- he was in a good mood before approaching him with my suggestion. I waited two hours, then broke the ice by saying somewhat nervously, "With regard to what you said this morning, sir, about evacuating Kuala Lumpur if need be, may I make a suggestion?" "Well, what is it?" he said, looking me straight in the face. "Don't tell me that you don't want to go to Singapore." That made me even more nervous, and I had difficulty in finding the right words to express myself; but somehow I managed to say, "It isn't that I don't want to go to Singapore, nor that I'm afraid; but I've had an idea. I don't think it would do the Government any good if I evacuate; but there's something I could do here which might help the British. By remaining behind in Kuala Lumpur I could form some units
v

fl

7 that could do guerrilla warfare. Though I've had no actual military training I learnt enough as a Boy Scout to organize resistance here." Mr. Livingstone looked thoughtful and said he would consult the Director about it, so I went back to my desk. Since it seemed possible now that I might stay behind, I began to wonder what I could really do. Would it be as easy as I imagined? Would I dare to act when the time came? As a policeman, I had no fear of not daring to act. But, of course, it all depended on Mr. Dalley, the Director, and he might think my proposal a mad idea. All I could do was to keep my fingers crossed? as one does when expecting news of promotion or things of that sort. But evening came and Mr. Livingstone left without saying any more to me. It was the middle of the next day before I saw Mr. Livingstone again, and then he merely shook his head, saying that orders to evacuate had now come and asked me whether I was willing to go. I replied that I was, so he told me to go home and pack up and he would call for me in the afternoon. i When I broke the news to my wife she started sobbing and my aged mother followed suit. It took me well over an hour to console them. I gave my wife $1,5Q0 out of the two thousand I had and kept the rest for myself. Then with mixed feelings I prepared some clothes to take with me and waited for Mr. Livingstone the whole afternoon and evening, but he did not turn up. Next morning when I awoke I began to worry about him, but wishfully thought that perhaps the evacuation had been cancelled after all. I told my family so at breakfast, and they looked somewhat happier. After breakfast I decided to call on Mr. Livingstone at his house on the opposite hill, but on arrival found it locked-up and no one about, not even the servants.

8 I cycled on to the office. To my surprise it was also deserted except for a few clerks, who, like myself, were bewildered to discover that all the officers had apparently left during the night. Passing through the town I found that the bridges had been blown up, and crowds of people loaded with loot were rushing in and out of the abandoned shops. Godowns stacked full of rice and sugar had been broken open and were being looted of their contents. Shots were being fired on all sides. Some people were just firing at random for the first time in their lives. Deciding that the town was not a healthy spot, I returned home feeling very sad and disappointed. Moreover, many questions were turning over in my mind. What could have happened to Mr. Livingstone? I could not understand why he had not come to fetch me after promising to do so. Worse still, I felt hopelessly sad at having lost so many friends, and I could not believe that the evacuation had actually taken place. It all seemed like a dream. Yet j there I was, left behind in Kuala Lumpur, not jl knowing what to do next. On January 11th, 1942, the Federal Capital had become a no-man's land. Huge volumes of smoke from burning petrol set alight by the retreating forces covered the sky. Millions of gallons of petrol were burning with a frightful crackling noise. Everything was topsyturvy. Shots from rifles of all sorts could be heard everywhere. People were still looting the shops, carrying away their booty, and some were engaged in a free-for-all fight over the division of the stolen goods. The wounded lay unattended on the roadside amid the bodies of the dead. That evening when I returned home all eyes of the family were on me. I passed them as though I had not seen them and went straight to my study, where I sat at my desk planning my

9 next move. I felt somewhat disgusted with life and rather desperate about the whole affair. It made me mad to think that I had missed the car taking the evacuees to Singapore, and I could not understand why Mr. Livingstone had left me behind. Some of my friends arrived with a bottle of whisky, which they had obtained free somehow or other. Obviously they had nothing to worry about, and they expected me to share their happy mood. We began to discuss the war and how the Japanese would come to the Federal Capital. The conversation became more heated when my younger brother Americk Singh joined us. Like me, my friends were pro-British, but my brother thought that his dreams had at last come true and that he would soon see the British driven out of India. A young man in the early twenties, he was working as a parcel clerk in the Malayan Railways, and when war broke out was stationed at the Malayan-Siam border station of Padang Besar. "The Allies are going for good," he said. "As for the British, at last they're going to be cleared out of Malaya, and out of India as well. Malaya's fate will soon be decided, besides that of the Philippines and Hong Kong. The main American fleet was given a knock-out blow at Pearl Harbour. Even in Africa the Axis Forces are on the offensive." "You talk too much of the Japanese," retorted a Chinese, "but the war's not over yet. For us in the Far East it's only just started. The capture of Kuala Lumpur doesn't mean that the Japs have taken all Malaya. For all we know they may be driven back to-morrow. Don't forget that three-quarters of the population of Malaya are Chinese. Do you think that we Chinese are going to let the Japanese have it all their own way? Though outwardly we may have to agree with them, inwardly we shall be holding

10 a dagger in our hand to strike at them whenever we can and shall fight to the last man. If our brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers can fight them unarmed in China, so can we here." "That's all British propaganda," protested my brother. "You shouldn't hate the Japanese, they're Asians like us. We should be glad they're strong enough to defeat the so-called powerful Westerns. India will never be free without the help of Japan". "But what makes you so certain that Japan is going to win this war?" I interrupted. My brother A m e r i c k was an Indian Nationalist, who only thought of the independence of his country; but, as my Chinese friend pointed out, it would never be achieved if Japan won the war and made India part of her Empire. Feeling somewhat ousted in the argument, Americk finally turned to me and said, smiling to conceal his annoyance, "I'd have thought that as an Indian you at least would be more patriotic, Gurchan." "What do you want me to do?" Tasked, "To go around beating a drum telling everybody I meet that they must fight for India? Or to knock my head against something hard and declare that I'm doing it for the sake of India? I suppose you'd call me patriotic then; but would it do India any good? I know well enough that you want me to say that Japan must win this war, and that then she'll give independence to India. Of course, Japan can promise anything now, but she'll never fulfil those promises." "Nor has Britain," he broke in. She's been promising us independence long before the outbreak of the First World War. And what has she done? India's resources in men, money and materials have been mercilessly exploited by vague promises of Freedom. Though Indians played a major role in the 1914-18 war, what happened? They got their reward when General

11 O'Dyer butchered innocent men, women and children by machine-gun fire till he had no bullets left at the Jallianwala Bagh massacre at Amritsar. Do you think Britain can ever cajole us to cooperate with her again? We Indians have been treated like uncivilised barbarians. The time for us to help ourselves has come, and no one can escape history. We'll train every single Indian outside India including you, and organise an Indian National Army so that at the right moment with the help of Japan- we can come to the assistance of our brave fighters inside India and achieve our independence. That's what I want you to do. Tell every Indian you meet to welcome the Japanese, who in return will help us in our fight to free Mother India." "I quite agree with what you say except for one thing," I replied. "I love my mother country as much as you do, and I'm ready to fight for her rights but only when I feel justified in doing so. If I fought against the British to-day, I should be fighting alongside the Japanese forces and collaborating with them. Why should I or any other Indian risk his life if India is going to fall into the hands of another imperialistic nation? Britain has ruled India for centuries, and the day is not far off when of her own accord she will hand India over to us. She would have done so before, but she knew that she would jfimply be handling us over to another power. Japan is trying to expand her colonial empire. No one can deny it. If she steps into India, she'll want to rule the country for the next two centuries. That's why I say that'I'll fight for Britain and not for Japan. You should understand by now what is right and what is wrong." "Yes, and I know you're wrong," he retorted. "You have been taken in by all this British Bluff and Bluster Corporation. You're deceived by it like so many other people. To-day Britain is saying that she's fighting for the

Freedom of Mankind. But where is freedom in India? How can we Indians join in wars which are said to be for democratic freedom, when that very freedom is denied to four hundred million Indians? Was it not Britain who blasted to pieces a racial equality plan proposed by Japan at the Paris Peace Conference? Believe me, we'll never achieve our freedom by begging for it. British Imperialism will never abdicate from India of its own accord. Indian freedom will and must be won by India herself. In the words of Pundit Nehru'Freedom comes to those who dare and act.' " "We seem to be getting somewhere at last," I said. "You admit that Indian freedom must be won by India herself. You're right there, but not if you mean with the help of Japan." "I mean that we Indians must have that help," he broke in. "We can't fight without it." "Wrong again," I said. "You're getting back to the same old story. If you get the help of Japan, you'll simply be helping Japan to colonise India." We'll never understand each other," he said shaking his head, and went away.
CHAPTER III

j I j j !

SENTENCED TO DEATH
NEXT

>I

morning I was still faced by the big problem of what I was going to do, and I was no nearer its solution. My mind was made up, however, and I was determined to do all within my power to organize resistance against the enemy. I went to my study and began to make plans, small though they seemed; but I imagined a large number of followers helping me. With courage and with God's help, I thought, I will have them one day. Then I turned to more practical problems. First, there was the question

I 1 (

13 of finance, for I decided to bear all expenses myself. I had some money of my own; my wife had some quite valuable jewellery which could be converted into easy money at any time. Then there were three rubber estates and some money which belonged to my three younger brothers and myself. Before I could use any of that money or the property I should have to get their consent, which was another problem. Unbeknown to them I must study their morale carefully and find out their reactions to present events. If they were of my mind, I could ask for no better help than theirs; on the other hand, if their morale had been shaken by recent Allied reverses, I would have to make other plans. I had no need to waste my time thinking about my second brother, Americk Singh; but my other two brothers, Gurbachan Singh and Gurdial Singh, were different and I believed that they were both staunch supporters of the Allied cause. Both were still in their 'teens. That evening Gurdial and Gurbachan came home from the town looking very, weary and sad. I went and sat down beside them, while my wife prepared us some coffee. It was a beautiful sunny evening with a light breeze blowing, which made it difficult to think of war. However, we talked of nothing else but the war situation. There was no mistaking their feelings and ideas. They were obviously of my way of thinking too. At that moment I felt more content than I had been since realising that the British had been forced to retreat without us, leaving volunteers like us to take what was bound to be our fate once the Japanese started their informer service. I hated to risk the lives of my brothers, youngsters who had barely started in life; but I recalled the news that had so often reached us over the radio, all those stories of the horror raging in Europevillages razed to the ground, menfolk taken away, women and children raped

14 and left to die of disease, starvation and misery. With those thoughts in my mind I knew that I must go on. Not for one moment dared I let myself think of what might happen to my family. When I told Gurbachan about Gurdial's intentions it made him very happy, and later in the day we all met in my study to discuss our plans. I told them that we must not let the rest of the family know what we were doing, success depending on secrecy and co-operation. "You're both young," I said. "Consider my ideas very carefully, and perhaps you can add some of your own. To-day there are only three of us, but one day if we work hard we may have a battalion behind us without anybody knowing who's who. We three are going to be like the hub of a bicycle wheel, our agents (or rather those who help us) will be the spokes. Each spoke must be quite independent of the otherI mean, one agent must not know who the other is. Everyone will always be wondering who the other agents are, but no one must ever let the cat out of the bag." "Yes, but what do you propose to do?" said Gurbachan impatiently. "Three thingssabotage, propaganda, intelligence. We must sabotage the enemy whenever we can. As for propaganda, we must start a sort of 'whispering gallery' among our friends, tell them not to co-operate with the Japanese and get them to persuade their friends to do likewise. In that way we can undermine the morale of the Japanese. Propaganda of that sort is a most powerful weapon. But I've got another idea, to publish anti-Japanese leaflets and, if possible, an anti-Japanese newspaper. I want you both to think of a suitable heading for these pamphlets and the newspapersomething striking that people can easily remember. Let us each make a separate list, then we can choose the best title. Come here again at eight o'clock to-night and we'll compare notes.

That evening when we met, and with a feeling of pleasure I noticed that we were all trying to express the same idea. After long discussion we finally decided that the best heading either for pamphlets or a newspaper would be: "THE ALLIED H.Q. COMMUNIQUE.'' Then we tried to think of a suitable signature to make the communique look more genuine. We did not want to use anybody's real name but that of some animal or bird as a pen-name, ur first idea was "MALAYAN TIGER", but Gurbachan said it was no good because the Japanese were already calling Lt.-Gen. Yamashita, the Commander of the Japanese Forces in Malaya, "The Tiger Of Malaya". For a time we were silent, till Gurbachan said: "If Yamashita is the Tiger, why shouldn't we be the Lions?" "That's a good idea," I said, "but instead of using the word Lion, we'll put SING A as the signature. We laughed heartily when we remembered that the Sikhs are often called lions. As Gurbachan said, the Japanese would discover before long that there was a lion amongst them hunting them. Next morning we took our bicycles and rode along the roads to see what the city looked like. The petrol dumps and nearby gasolene depots were blazing and enormous clouds of smoke rose high in the sky. In accordance with a scorched-earth policy, some citizens had carefully carried out instructions to set fire to everything of possible use to the enemy. The streets were littered with broken glass, books, filing cabinets, records and even household goods of the most cumbersome kind. The food godowns, stocked with a five-year supply of rice, were already in the hands of the looters. Some of the bridges had been blown up in order to delay the Japanese advance. We were greatly disturbed by these grim reminders of war and all the ghastliness of the

16 struggle that was threatening to overwhelm us. Could it be like this all over the world? Was our civilisation to be utterly destroyed by the Nippon war machine? None of us could quite realise the change taking place before our eyes. Our peaceful, beautiful city had been transformed into a battlefield where no one was sparednot even women or children. Deeply stirred by all that we had seen and also by the rapidity of the retreat, yet not daring to show our real emotions or to look for any friends who might still be there, we went home. The only sign of the enemy was in the air, where a couple of Japanese observer planes hovered ceaselessly overhead. By midday they, too, had departed, only to return later. At about four o'clock that afternoon we could remain inactive no longer, and made our way once more towards Kuala Lumpur. This time we saw the Japs. An advance party of a hundred or so, together with some local Indians, had cycled through the outskirts of the town which now seemed rather isolated. One of the Indians seemed very surprised to see me, but he 1 soon explained why he had come to the Federal Capital. "At last I've got a chance of helping to drive the British out of Malaya," he said with a smile of triumph. "The British hated me, but the Japanese have welcomed me with open arms, and I'm ready to give my life to see them win this war. Did you see that Jap plane dropping pamphlets over Kuala Lumpur a few days ago? I was in it." While he talked I imagined what had led him to offer his services to the enemy. He had been imprisoned by the British as a criminal, and registered as a bad character by our Intelligence. Naturally, under British rule he had no chance of any big jobs, and worse still every intelligence I officer suspected him. Now the tables were turned, he thought, and he was eagerly taking his revenge.

17 "Are there any more British soldiers or other police officers around?" he asked. " I don't know, but personally I don't think so," I replied, realising in a flash that I must not let him think that I still sided with the British. "What happened to the Japanese nationals you interned?" he asked, knowing all about my job before war broke out. "They were all sent to India by steamer from Port Swettenham," I replied, now well on my guard. "Whether they ever got there I don't know." "Nonsense!" he said sharply. "You'd better tell me the truth as the Japanese know the full facts. You may not have done it yourself, but you know all about it, and the name of the British officer who did it." "Did what?" I protested. "Put the internees into a cauldron of boiling oil," he said. I gasped with amazement but, seeing from his expression that he really meant it, I broke out, "Where did you get that false information? Hate the British as much as you like, but don't make accusations that aren't true. If they'd done such a thing, I'd tell you. You know me well enough for that. Wasn't I the only member of Intelligence you could talk to? Haven't I often helped you with a bit of money when you were hard up? I'm glad the Japs have given you a good job now. I may have got some big criminals sent to goal, but haven't I been a good friend to them after they've served their sentences? Do you think, if anyonebe he British or Asianhad done a thing like that, I wouldn't tell you?" "I'm not saying you did it," he replied calmly; "I'm only asking if you did, or know who did. Anyway, forget it." Somehow I could hardly believe that he was working for the Japanese; but since he was here

18 in Kuala Lumpur it was obviously true. Just then a Japanese officer came up to us, and, bowing deeply, said something in his own language which was Greek to me but to which my companion replied as though he understood the lingo. "So you can understand and speak Japanese now?" I asked. "Yes, I'm just picking it up so that I can mix more freely with Jap high officials." Though his words were daggers in my heart, I had to listen to his stories and pretend to agree with all he said. Nor did I fail to congratulate him on his achievements. He eyed me speculatively, and asked me where I was living and what I intended to do. I replied that since the British had deserted us I thought of returning to Ipoh. He said that we must meet again next day, and to make doubly sure of seeing me he asked me to bring him a bottle of. milk. Mentally * shrugging my shoulders, I agreed. Since he was vbeing employed by the Japs, it seemed wise to Iiceep in touch with him in case I needed his "assistance" later. Next morning, 14th January, I went to see my "Indian friend", taking with me a bottle of milk. I was, however, refused admittance at the building where he was supposed to be staying, I tried to send him a message, but that too was refused; so I walked on and joined a group of people looking at some Japanese lorries and the dirty way in which their drivers were dressed. Suddenly a Japanese soldier seized my arm and led me back to the building where I had expected to meet my "friend". He was there waiting for me, and I handed him the bottle of milk. He did not even thank me for it, but just grinned. By the funny look on his face I sensed that something was wrong. Then I was arrested by a man called Taru Singh, an Indian cloth merchant from Bangkok, who had come with'

19 the Japanese to Malaya in order to form a branch of the Indian Independence League. Roughly grabbing my arm, Taru Singh took me to a table in one corner, and, sitting down himself, made me stand in front of him. Then, like my "friend" the previous day, he questioned me about the Japanese internees having been put into a cauldron of boiling oil. Apparently dissatisfied with my replies, he handed me over to another Indian, Doba Singh. Also a cloth merchant from Bangkok, Doba Singh had negotiated with the Japanese Consul there before the outbreak of war, and agreed to persuade Indian soldiers and officers in the British Army to desert and join thk Japanese, who would help them to liberate India. He had now come to Malaya as head of the Indian Independence League. He told me that he wanted to take me before a Japanese officer, Major Fujiwara. As I stood there I noticed several Japanese soldiers coming up to have a look at me, and at once I knew that my "friend" must have been talking about me. A few minutes later I was taken to a room upstairs. Four Japanese officers were there, and a soldier who acted as interpreter. The Major at once began to cross-examine me, saying, "You were in charge of the internment of all the Japanese nationals at Ipoh, and you treated them so badly when the British were here?" To which I replied firmly, "I did not ill-treat them." On that he pounced on me, slapping my face and shouting in Japanese. I took the slaps without a sign of emotion. Then, speaking through the interpreter, die Major said, "You did it! You had the internees put into a cauldron of boiling oil"! Fully realising that it was no joke and that unless I convinced them of my innocence I might be killed at once, I hastened to reply, "That's not true. No internee was ever put into a caul-

20 dron of boiling oil. I saw them myself being I shipped off from Port Swettenhamto India I I was told." This made the Major even more furious, and he slashed me twice with the scabbard of his I sword, once on the side of my head and again I across my mouth, cutting my upper lip and breaking one of my front teeth. And he shouted all the time that I was telling lies. Turning to I the interpreter, I begged him to tell the Major I that I had never ill-treated anyone, and that no I Japanese had ever been put into boiling oil. I I added that five Japanese women had been left I behind by the British at Ipoh either because they were old or because they had been wounded by their own bombing. They could tell the Major I that I was speaking the truth, otherwise I was j ready to take the consequences. The interpreter I was just about to speak when the Major rushed at me and kicked me so I fell to the ground. I j was struggling to my feet, but he kicked me again I this time on the nose, and the interpreter told i me to remain On the floor. When the Major was told what I had said he I declared that the Japanese women had been I wounded on purpose by British bombers to make I it look as if it had been done by the Japanese. Such a childish invention in an attempt to extract I a confession amazed me. If their propaganda I needed such fantastic stories in order to conceal their own gruesome deeds, it was poor stuff. For I about an hour they went on beating and torturing j me, until my face was all bleeding and I had long since ceased to feel anything. I realised that my "friend" had invented this story himself I to make sure that I was one of the first to be I punished. Then I was flung into a corner of the I room and told that I would be shot the next day. j As I sat there with funny thoughts running | through my mind, a man was brought upstairs I and made to sit beside me. I recognized him at I

21 once, but he did not see who I was since my face was covered with blood. It was my brother-inlaw, Mr. Bachittar Singh, Managing Director of a Punjabi daily newspaper and a man with considerable influence among the Indians. I called him by name, and he turned round in surprise p.n hearing my voice. He was even more surprised at seeing the condition I was in. I told him all that had happened and also asked him what had brought him there. He replied that Taru Singh had called on him, saying that the Major wanted to see him about his newspaper which the Japanese wanted to use for their propaganda; but he was afraid that he might get into trouble on account of what he had written against the Germans and Japanese before the war. I asked him to do what he could for me if he had the chance, adding that he was my only hope. So I left everything in the hands of God. It so happened that Bachittar Singh had simply been called to see the Major about his newspaper, and he was treated most politely. When he mentioned me and vouched for my honesty, saying that I was his brother-in-law, somewhat surprised the Major agreed to let me go free. Waiting anxiously to know what had passed between them, I eagerly scanned their faces when they came out. The interpreter told me to stand up and said, "The Major has decided to rescind the death sentence on condition that you give an assurance of good behaviour in future. You will make no attempt to interfere with military affairs or to meet your former colleagues." Bowing deeply, I thanked Bachittar Singh and Doba Singh, and immediately took to my heels and hurried home. There I told my family all that had happened, and they insisted that I had been saved by the direct intervention of God. That evening I conferred with my brothers.

22 "This afternoon, when I went to Ipoh Road three miles north of Kuala Lumpur," said Gurbachan Singh, "I saw some Japanese soldiers laying wires running parallel to the main road. They must be communication lines. Can't we do something about them?" "Have you made any plans?" I asked. "I think we might go along and clip them after dark." "It's a risky job," I said. "We must find a point with a jungle path leading to it, so that we can easily escape if necesary. There's a path behind the house leading to a point some four miles north of the town. I'think that will do." Before we went to bed I set my alarm clock to ring at 3.30 a.m. At that hour I was aroused, and woke up Gurbachan and Gurdial. By 4 a.m. we were on our way along the jungle path through the valleys, reaching our destination just before daybreak. There was the wire about fifteen feet away. According to previous arrangements we separated. They walked away along the road in opposite directions; if they met anyone they were to shout. "It's not a cow," otherwise, they were to walk on for about a quarter of a mile and then turn back. After their departure I counted a hundred, then slipped into the road, cut the wire in two places, removed at least a hundred yards of it, rolled it up, and dumped it in a nearby river. All went according to plan, and we returned home feeling very happy at having so successfully accomplished our first sabotage job.

-23
CHAPTER IV

THE SIMGA ROARS ON 15th January I had another talk with my brothers about the important question of antiJapanese propaganda. Obviously, leaflets were the immediate answer to the problem. With them we could try to raise the morale of the people, and perhaps later do even more significant work. I thought it best to start with an Allied Newssheet, merely contradicting the news which the Japanese were already pumping into the demoralised public. All electric plant had been destroyed by our retreating forces", so there was no electric supply. Therefore, I asked my brother Gurdial, who was an expert radio mechanic, to convert our radio receiver so that it could be used with a battery. Having bought a battery, some paper, and a hand-printing machine with a good supply of printing ink, we were ready to set to work. It was about midnight before we had corrected all the mistakes and obtained a clean proof. Then triumphantly we looked at the first anti-Japanese leaflets to be printed in Malaya since the invasion only thirty-nine days before. "ALLIED H.Q. COMMUNIQUE NO. I. THE ALLIED FIGHT FOR FREEDOM. IF YOU ARE A FREEDOM-LOVING PERSON DO NOT C O - O P E R A T E WITH THE JAPANESE. BE PATIENT, AND CHINS UP FOR OUR SPEEDY VICTORY. SING A." Our first leaflet used about two reams of paper. Then came the question of distribution, which we found simple enough with that first copy. Leisurely making our way into Kuala Lumpur between seven and eight that evening we merely

24 dropped the papers outside shops and houses] As there was no electric light in the town wel could easily do it unobserved. Next morning! they were picked up and read by all kinds of! people. Every day we printed and distributed morel pamphlets and newspapers, and rumours as to! their origin and the identity of Singa began to | spread. Many people thought that they must I come from the hills, where members of the! Allied Forces were believed to be hiding.. But j no clue to the mystery puzzling the Malayan I publicapart from the Japanese authorities | ' could be found. Meanwhile, the Singa publications gave the lie to all the Japanese propaganda I rapidly being spread throughout the whole country. Secretly passed from hand to hand I even without our knowledge, they helped to stir up innumerable people in Kuala Lumpur and j elsewhere, especially Chinese lads whose hatred of the enemy was already sincere enough. A few days later I met a friend of mine in an Indian restaurant whom I had known in Ipoh before the outbreak of war. As an intelligence agent he had often helped me to obtain much - needed information. A middle-aged Ceylonese Malay, Ismail de Silva had earned his living in many ways including that of commission agent. I was glad to see him as I thought he might be useful, and invited him to have a drink with me. "Have you returned to your old job?" he asked. "No, and I don't intend to," I replied. "I'm thinking of becoming a petition writer instead." (A petition writer in Malaya is another name for a letter writer, who draws up letters for the illiterate at a recognized charge.) "Why don't you return to Ipoh and join the Japanese Intelligence Department there?" he saidv "Almost all your friends have done so and are having a good time."

25 "No, I'm not going to do that. But tell me, Ismail, what's your opinion of the Japanese? Do you think they've come here for good?" "Personally, I don't believe they'll be here f long; but the trouble is, most people think they will, and being discouraged themselves are discouraging everyone else." "I know. They don't try to understand the real situation; and, worse still, there's no one to explain it to them." "That's the whole trouble, Gurchan Singh. A Chinese friend of mine told me, however, that the Allies have established Headquarters somewhere outside Kuala Lumpur. Maybe you've heard about it, too. They are asking people not to worry, saying they've got a strong force in the jungles and only waiting for a chance to strike at the Japanese and drive them out. My friend showed me a leaflet which someone had given him. It warned the public against the foxy propaganda of the Japanese, telling the Indians not to join that foul Indian Independence League, and the Chinese to remember all that the Japs had done to their defenceless fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters in their own country." "That's all very good news; but do you believe it? Don't you think it might be just British propaganda?" I asked, trying to test his reactions. "Oh no, I'm sure these leaflets are telling the truth", he replied earnestly. "You're an Indian. You don't believe that the Japanese are going to free India for your countrymen, do you? Anyhow, they haven't even captured Burma yet, their advance has been stopped outside Mandalay." "You may be right," I conceded. "But the Japanese are poisoning the morale of the Indians by supporting the Indian Independence League. That's the pill which some Indians seem to have swallowed easily enough."

26 "Don't worry about that. These leaflets will soon open their eyes and bring them to their senses. You see, they're official, they come from Allied Headquarters. I'd give anything to be a member of their propaganda service." "And if you were a member, what would you do? "I persisted. "Oh, if I only had such luck, I'd work wonders." "Wonders!" I echoed satirically. "So you say now; but for all I know you might become an agent of the Jap Intelligence and betray the , whole group." "That's nonsense, Gurchan Singh," he said, looking at me very seriously. "I'd never betray anyone, even if it cost me my life, even if the Japanese cut me to pieces inch by inch. In fact, I'm sure this Singa unit needs men like you and me to work for them; we know the country well, and whom to contact or not. Besides, we've done intelligence work before and know how to do the job." "You can work for them if you like; you're not married. But how can I? I've got a wife and children to support, I daren't take the risk." "I quite understand. You can't be like me who wouldn't mind being killed to-morrow," he said sympathetically, then paused and added somewhat anxiously, "But tell me, please, you are of my way of thinking, aren't you? Don't say you side with the Japanese?" "What makes you think that, Ismail?" "I don't know, but the way you question me makes me feel somewhat doubtful about your attitude." "And you, Ismail, you sincerely hate the Japanese?" "How can you ask me?" he exclaimed, with obvious distress. "After all I've said to you, how can you doubt me? But if you do, please tell me. But for God's sake, don't get me into

Ipii I 27 trouble if by any chance you're working for the Japanese Secret Service. I would never have dared to speak like this to anyone else, but we've known each other for so many years. Were* friends, aren't we?" "Do you really believe I could be working for the Japanese?" I asked. "No, I know you're not; but in case you are, I'm only telling you to forget all I've said." Taking a copy of the day's Singa communique out of my pocket, I handed it to him to watch his reactions. He read it hurriedly with boundless happiness on his face, then said 1 eagerly "From whom did you get it?" "A certain Chinese friend of mine," I replied quietly. "He's in contact with the jungle people, gets some copies from them every day and passes on a copy for me to pass on to my friends. I only show it to very special friends, and you're one of them." "Do you think I could possibly contact the jungle people through your Chinese friends?" he asked. I'd like to go up- there and work with them." * "It would be very difficult. I've tried hard to join them myself, but they won't accept me. They say I can play a more useful part here, and I think they're right. They want someone here in the town to work for them. Would you like me to suggest your name as their possible agent in Ipoh where they want someone else?" "Are you sure that they won't let me work with them in the jungle?" he said anxiously. "Look, Ismail, the very fact that I've shown you this leaflet proves that I trust you. I'll vouch for you to them, and if they want anyone else in the jungle they may take you. Otherwise, will you work for them in Ipoh?" "Yes, if I can't join them in the jungle. I'm returning to Ipoh in two days; get me as many pamphlets as you can and I'll play my part."

- 1 "Remember this is a voluntary job, and yoj won't be paid for what you do. I'm not beinl paid either. Maybe when the war has been woi! by us the Government may decide to pay us, buj no promises have been made." I "I quite understand the financial side, and am ready to work loyally and voluntarily. When can I see you again?" I "Let's meet in this coffee shop at the same) time the day after to-morrow," I said. "Though| Singapore has fallen now and the Allied forces! have surrendered there, the battle's not over,] Ismail, it's just beginning. Despite this tempor-1 ary retreat, the Allies are still carrying on the! fight till they can deal the Japs a final blow. It's the duty of everyone in Malaya to help by resisting the enemy and showing that Malaya is not completely conquered. In doing this job your brain will be the weapon you're using, you're words the ammunition to the whispering gallery. Every word you utter against the enemy will be a bullet -fired at them. Many people have lost all hope of the Allies ever liberating Malaya. It's up to you and me to give them back that hope. Every good word we say will be like a blood-transfusion for them. We may be killed, but till then we must struggle on. I left him, satisfied that I had obtained a useful and most trustworthy agent to distribute our leaflets in Ipoh without his suspecting that I was their sole author. With Ismail de Silva, as with others, the imaginary organisation in the jangle was to prove invaluable. Soon afterwards I met another friend, who asked me if I had been along the Pudu Road that day. On my replying that I had not, quickly but quietly he said, "Go there, and after passing the petrol kiosk you'll see some good news on posters stuck to four electric posts. You should read it. Go there without delay."

28

29 I went, though I thought I knew what I should see there. To my surprise, however, the head of. a Chinese youth was displayed on the pillar between the two electric posts on which I had pasted some leaflets the previous night. Under it there was a wooden placard on which was written in English, Chinese and Malay: "THIS WILL BE THE FATE OF THOSE WHO GO A G A I N S T THE IMPERIAL JAPANESE ARMY." I used these executions as a subject for propaganda in my pamphlets, which made the townspeople all the more' eager to show their deadly hatred of the invaders. I wrote as though I were a Chinese, so in those early days Singa was actually thought to be a member of the Chinese community, and this belief persisted throughout the three years of the occupation. Soon after the fall of Singapore I was in Ipoh when the Japanese announced that three members of an anti-Japanese movement were to be executed publicly in the market place. A large crowd assembled to see who the unfortunate victims might be. It became so big that the place of execution had to be transferred to a playground known as Coronation Park. The hour came, and a Chinese and two Malays were brought in a military lorry and made to line up. The Japanese waiting among the crowd smoked nonchalantly, chuckled and caressed their sword sheaths. Everyone else in that huge crowd watching the three doomed youths in the centre stood there in tense silence, their hands chilled. There is usually a strong breeze blowing on this playground since it is a large open space; but that day everything seemed strangely quiet and still. The three youths were made to kneel about five yards apart, with their hands tied behind their backs. A Japanese executioner took up

30 his position beside each youth, and did his duty as though killing a fowl. Within a few seconds all three heads were severed and lay some distance from the bodies on the ground. We took our revenge, however. For killing those three youths, who may have been innocent for all I knew, no Japanese in Ipoh was ever spared. Some time afterwards I was having a chat with my brother, Gurbachan Singh, after dinner at my home in Kuala Lumpur, when he remarked, "Brother, why shouldn't we use one of those hand grenades that we have? It could easily be done at night in the blackout, which would help us to escape." "Not a bad idea," I replied. "But we'd better do it during the day, when we could watch out for anyone approaching, which would be impossible at night." "In broad daylight in the middle of the town!" protested Gurbachan. "Surely that would be a bit risky, brother, and you're always telling us not to take unnecessary "risks." "No, of course we must choose a deserted spot outside the town, where no one's likely to see us bolting for our lives. With our turbans, if we're observed, we're done for. We must wear new turbans that day, and never put on the same clothes again. I think around twilight would be the right time. Now where would be the best spot?" "Why not Ipoh Road where we clipped the wires? We could use the same jungle path to get there." "No, no, we mustn't do anything there again for some time," I said, thinking carefully. "I have itVictory Avenue near the railway station and that broken bridge. There's not much traffic on it these days, but enough for us to hook our fish if we wait there some time.

31 And the neighbouring woods and hills would help us to escape afterwards." "You're right," said Gurbachan thoughtfully. / "We'll have to be careful about the timing of the grenades, or they'll explode on us and our bodies will get all the shrapnel instead of the Japs." "I've thought of that," I replied, "and some other things, too. There's a point in Victory Avenue near Bluff Road under the railway bridge, where from a clump of bushes we could see anything approaching the bridge on either side without being seen ourselves, Or even better than that, would be on the bank of that small stream coming from the Gardens waterfall under the bridge on Damansara Road." On the following afternoon we therefore left home with our three hand grenades. Gurbachan carried one, while I had the other two and a revolver with all chambers loaded. Being easily recognisable by our turbans, we were unlikely to be stopped and searched by the patrols, since the enemy was fairly well disposed towards Indians at that time. We went first to the point I had suggested in Victory Avenge, and saw several Japanese soldiers walking steadily up and down the road. After lurking around for an hour or so we gave it up as a bad job, for there were always some other soldiers in the offing whenever we thought our chance had come. So we made our way towards the Damansara Road by the Museum. Up and down this road we cycled, nervous and disgusted at being unable to finish the day's work. Suddenly my brother called my attention to a group of Japanese who seemed to be heading our way. There were six of them, all fully armed. We cycled past and found that the straight road ahead was deserted; This seemed the chance for which we had been waiting O *

32 Leaving our bicycles about a hundred yards away, we walked to a bridge where there was a good hiding place in a drain. There we hid, watching the Japanese walking unsuspectingly towards us. I had previously arranged with my brother that from one end of the bridge I would give him the signal, while he at the other end should pull the pin out of a grenade, count five, and then throw it at the Japanese. Closer and closer they came. I began to feel excited, but knew it was a matter of life and death for us that I should remain cool. Was luck going to be with us? That is what made me feel nervous. I feared that some official car or military truck might pass soon after the grenades had been thrown. What my brother was feeling I do not know. For myself, as I stood, there with my hand on the grenade, I felt as though the ground were giving way beneath me. When the Japanese came to within thirty or forty yards of us I whispered, "O.K. Let them have it." The first grenade burst about a couple of feet in front of them. We were too ^excited to wait to see the result as we had intended, but ran to our bicycles and rode off. It was almost dark, so I never knew whether all six were killed or not; but I think none could have escaped that second blast. Next day the Japanese issued a proclamation, stating that a curfew order would be enforced from dusk to dawn, and that persons revealing the whereabouts of arms and grenades would be rewarded. One morning I was cycling along the road running parallel to the Klang River when I noticed some Japanese communication wires on the ground at the foot of Petaling Hill, and presumed that they led to Port Swettenham and the aerodrome. That evening I told my brother about them, and we made our plans accordingly.

33 It was a lonely spot, so despite the curfew we went there at six o'clock, waited till darkness, quickly cut the wires, and then cycled home. For the next Jew days we refrained from acts of sabotage, but carried on with our anti-Japanese leaflets. Then on 22nd February, barely eleven weeks since the Japanese invasion, we did our first big job of sabotage in broad daylight. At about eight o'clock that morning we happened to be passing the station, and I noticed petrol dripping from the side of some wagons. My brother idly remarked what a lucky stroke it would be if someone threw a lighted cigarette down near the small trickle of petrol. It would be enough to set both wagons ablaze. "But who would be so careless?" "I said, looking round at some Japanese working on some other wagons about a hundred yards away. "Wait a minute, I have an idea. I think we might do the job ourselves." "But how?" objected my brother. "Someone's bound to see us, and we'd be suspected anyway." Thinking quickly, I told him to hang around while I made a closer inspection. Going up to the trucks I saw that the petrol had already trickled some distance away. Then at a nearby shop I bought a box of matches, two pieces of sugar cane and some coconut string. On my return my brother told me that the flow of petrol was steadily increasing. "That's just what I wanted," I said. My purchases seemed to mystify him, for he remarked, "Don't tell me that you're going to rub those pieces of sugar-cane together till they ignite the petrol." I laughed, and told him to watch me do it. We sat down close by the railway track about fifteen yards away from the trucks, but only two feet away from the stream of petrol which was coming closer to us every minute. T

34 gave my brother one stick of sugar-cane and told him to eat it, while I ate the other. There we sat munching our sugar-cane with our backs to the trucks and paying no attention to them. Ten minutes passed, and we were still unobserved. Then I took out the coconut string, which burns very slowly, and lit one end of it. I put it down beside me, and started to munch again. When I had finished my sugar-cane I slowly put the unlit end of the string in the small pool of petrol beginning to form beside us, leaving the lighted end that was burning steadily without any smoke some distance away. When we saw that the little flame was within two feet of the pool of petrol, quietly but quickly we withdrew and sauntered down the street. Ten minutes later we heard a tremendous blast, and flames leapt into the air. Two railway trucks containing some thirty drums of petrol had exploded, and Japanese were running from all directions towards Kuala Lumpur station. Silently we shook hands and went on our way. So far the Singa organisation had consisted only of myself, my two brothers and our one outside member, Ismail de- Silva, in Ipoh. Obviously,, if our work was to interfere effectively with the Japanese occupation and become of definite importance to the Allied cause, the scope of our activities would have to be extended. I realised that to do so we would need a number of people to carry out our orders. Furthermore, they must be the right people. So I began to observe constantly those around me, wondering who might be persuaded to help us in our work. At the beginning of March, 1942, however, we had only four such membersor, I should say, active membersthree in the State of Selangor and one in Perak. And the three Selangor members were simply my two brothers and myself. In fact, at that time the Singa Resistance Movement might have truly been

35 called a family affair and nothing more. But it was not to remain so. It was then that I went to Ipoh to contact our sole agent in Perak, the Ceylonese Malay, Ismail de Silva. I met him in a restaurant one morning, gave him the latest copies of our communique, and arranged to meet him at the same time and place next day. When in Ipoh I usually stayed with my friend, Kehar Singh, who had been my assistant detective when I was in charge of the Surveillance Squad of the Malayan Security Service before the .outbreak of war. Now he was working as a detective again, but for the Japanese. So I went to his house, and he and his wife received me most kindly. Next morning I returned to the restaurant to meet Ismail, but he failed to turn up. I was not unduly disturbed, because I imagined that he must have been delayed by work connected with his part-time profession, which was playing billiards with side stakes. I therefore decided to remain in Ipoh a few days in the hope of meeting him again as I wanted to give him some further instructions. On the following day I was having an afternoon nap at Kehar Singh's house when suddenly I was aroused by someone calling me. The voice was unknown to me; it appeared to be that of a Japanese. I got up and went out on to the verandah to see who it was. To my surprise, two Japanese and a Chinese were standing near the steps; but it was one of the former who asked me in English if I was Gurchan Singh. I- told them that I was. So they came up, and we all went into a sitting room. The man who spoke in English gave me his name as Sazaki, adding that he was from the headquarters of the Kempetei (Japanese Military Secret Police). "What were you doing before the war?" he asked me at once. Sensing that since he

36 knew my name so well he must have collected full information about me, I replied as courageously as possible, "I was working as a detective with the Police." "And what are you doing now?" "I'm looking f o r a better job; but if I fail, I shall rejoin the Detective Branch." "Do you know Ismail de Silva?" No sooner did I hear the name than 1 began to figure out why it had been mentioned. A tremor of fear ran through me, when I recalled the copies pf Singa I had given him two days before, and his failure to keep his appointment with me the previous morning. What could it mean? Something bad? Almost a minute had passed since he had asked me the question, and I was just about to ask him which Ismail de Silva he meant when he said, as though refreshing my memory, "You know, that Silva who lives above the billiards saloon in Hale Street?" I pretended to be trying to recall the man, so he continued, "You know, that tall man, slightly bald, who always wears a coat and a sarong, and is very fond of playing billiards. He can always be found at billiards saloons." "Ah, yes, I think I know the Silva you mean," I replied as though having just figured out the man. "He was the manager of Roneo Ltd., Ipoh, before the war, wasn't he? I haven't seen him for a long time. Is he living near here in Hale Street now? But he never used to wear a sarong. He was always dressed in a most gentlemanly way with collar and tie as the manager of a firm should be. But if he's not working now, perhaps he's given up wearing a collar and tie and has put on a sarong instead of a suit." Sazaki realized that I was not describing the right person (I had purposely described another man called Silva), and resumed his own description of Ismail. I let him continue for sometime,

I 37 then said, "Oh, yes, now I know the.man you mean. But I only know him by sight." "Do you play billiards?" he asked. "I did before the war when we had our table, but not now. I've never played at saloons, only dropped into them in the course of my duty to keep an eye on some bad hats. Now you speak of it, I do remember seeing Silva playing occasionally. But I didn't know his name was Ismail, though I heard people calling him Silva." "What do you know of him? Was he a bad hat, too?" "I heard that he had been involved in some street fights, though not of a serious nature." "Do you know that he was aSecret Service Agent of the British before the war?" "No; and if he was one I doubt whether | any Asian could tell you so. As a member of Intelligence I knew that all Secret Service Agents had direct dealings with British Officers unbeknown to us. 'Therefore I can't swear that he wasn't one." "We think he was, and arrested him yesterday. We also found some papers on him which some other British agent had given him. They contained anti-Japanese propaganda, declaring that the British will soon come back. Besides being a British spy, Silva looted some diamonds from a shop in the town at the time when the British were running away. Did you I hear anything about it?" "No, perhaps because I've been away from | Ipoh for some time. But I'm really surprised to hear that he is a British Agent. He must be mad to think that the British will ever return. We Indians want to see India free. If he's helping them instead of you Japanese, it's a shame."

38 "If ever you ^come across anyone talking against the Japanese," he said softly, thinking that I was on his side, "please * let me know. We'll teach them a lesson. Maybe you can help us to find this gang who's publishing this anti-Japanese propaganda. We'll reward you and make you an officer." "With pleasure," I replied without any hesitation. "But tell me, what do these anti-Japanese papers look like? Then if I come across any I'll recognise them at once. And since you promise to give me a rewarda big reward I think you saidI'll try to find some." Carefully he described one of the anti-Japanese leafletsone of my own leaflets! He warned me especially to look out for Chinese youths who were suspected of being responsible. He said that some British officers were believed to be in the jungle where they printed the leaflets, using the Chinese boys to circulate them. As a precaution, the Japanese were going to barricade the roads and search all passers-by. Just then Mrs. Kehar Singh brought us -some coffee. By that time we had become more friendly, and I asked him several personal questionssuch as where he was before the warto distract his attention from the main purpose of his ^visit. When I saw that he was in a better mood and talkfng more freely, I asked him how he had learned that I was living in Kehar Singh's house. "You know Inspector Johns?" he replied. "It was he who informed me about Ismail de Silva and his pre-war activities. He told me, too, that you might know something about the man. Apparently you met Inspector Johns this morning, and he asked you where you were staying, and then told me. I went to the Police Station first, thinking you might be there, but they sent me on here. So that's that.

39 Kehar Singh, who had been in the house all the time, soon joined me and asked what had happened. I told him that Ismail, whom he also knew, had been arrested and that apparently Inspector Johns was behind it. Though Detective Kehar Singh was such a good friend of mine, I dared not tell him what Ismail meant to me nor what had actually happened. In reaction to the tension of the past hour, my nerves were on edge. Besides my anxiety about Ismail, I knew that I was still in danger myself and might be arrested at any moment. And the more I thought about it the more anxious I ' became. The Kempetei would undoubtedly interrogate their prisoner, and what might not he reveal under that ordeal? I recalled my words to him when he first agreed to help me: that if arrested and tortured by the Japanese he would be alone with no one but God to help him. Cold tremors shook me as I realised that it all depended on him whether I should soon be in the same position myself. Controlling myself with an effort, I replied to Kehar Singh's question, merely saying," No, not exactly worried about him; at least, not more than is natural when such a man is in trouble. As you know very well, Ismail gave us much useful information in the past, so it's only right that we should consider him now. Can you think of anything that we could do to help F him?" "Help him if he's in the hands of the Kempetei!" exclaimed Kehar Singh. "You ought to know that's quite impossible." That evening passed without further news, though the Kempetei were said to be running about searching for people connected with Ismail. With increasing apprehension I wondered what he had saidor not saidat his interrogation To my relief, but also to my dismay and admiration, I heard the details next morning from a

Chinese who happened to be present. It appeared that Ismail's house had first been searched because he was suspected of having hidden there some diamonds, which had been looted from a merchant in Ipoh during the British evacuation. Then he had been arrested himself. The Japanese urged him to admit that he had stolen the diamonds, and also to tell them who had given him the Singa leaflets found on his person. In spite of torture he had flatly refused - j to admit anything, insisting that the papers had 3] been planted on him and denying all knowledge of them. Two days later I was out cycling and saw a large crowd in Jalan Bandahara. Everyone was gazing at something about a hundred yards or so away. To my horror, I recognised that the "something" was Ismail. Wearing a white shirt and sarong and smoking a cigarette, he was standing beside a hole in the ground. I bristled with fear, and tears came into my eyes. Behind him were two Japanese, one of them holding a revolver. A few seconds later I saw this man raise his revolver to the back of Ismail's head. A shot sounded, and Ismail dropped dead 'into the grave which he had been made to dig for himself. For two days I was completely overwhelmed, and could neither eat nor sleep. My work was neglected. I found myself constantly thinking of Ismail de Silvaseeing him standing there on the edge of his grave smoking a cigarette. Was it not more than probable that my own life would end in the same way one day? I shuddered. Might not one of my own brothers be caught to meet the same fate? And if I found any other agents, would not they all end in the same way? Such thoughts raced through my mind like a whirlwind and would not get out of it. For two nights I could not sleep, and became so weak and exhausted that finally

41 jl had a terrible attack of malaria as my body could put up no resistance. For a whole week | l lay in bed with a temperature well over 102. 3 My friend Kehar Singh gave me some injections tend his wife attended to me, and slowly I (began to recover. Their kindness to me will I never be forgotten. Whatever my sufferings from the attack of j malaria, the blow of Ismail's death was much j harder to bear. But I managed to pull myself together and settle down to work again. When II had sufficiently recovered I went into the town to have a look around. There I met a Chinese whom I had known as a business man before the war. He asked me what I was doing, and j thinking that (like almost all the Chinese) he must be a warm friend of the Allies I replied ; innocently. "Nothing at the moment, just waitjing to see how things turn out; but I'll never work for the Japs." "Don't you know that I'm the officer in charge of Intelligence?" he replied, with a look pf extreme astonishment on his face. "You'd Ibetter report for duty at once. I knew your Ivork before the war, and you're just the sort pf man I need. But you'd better be careful. I Dould have you arrested for making disloyal | remarks like that. The Japs were looking for you when they first came to Ipoh: someone told them that you had been in charge of interning | their countrymen: it was lucky they didn't find you. Come to my office at eleven o'clock. If you don't turn up, I'll have you arrested." Such words from an old friend were almost [too much for me and I decided that his position is Intelligence Chief must have thickened his |[lead. But when I reported his conversation with me to Kehar Singh and another Police Inspector, Chanda Singh, who had previously worked with me, they both said that the Chinese ^officer had become a very powerful man with full authority

42 given him by high-ranking Japanese military officials. It would be most unwise for me to offend him; on the contrary, I should do whatever he wanted. When I expressed reluctance, Chanda Singh said that I might quite possibly not see him at all, but that I must keep the appointment at all costs. The chief's office was on the second floor of the spacious Chartered Bank Building. He had a large room of his own with a big desk in the middle of it. Some testimonials in Japanese writing and several whips hung on the wall, and in one corner lay a variety of canes for beating up criminals. I stood in front of him for about five minutes before he spoke to me, and then he said, "So you've come. Good! You'll start working right away under my orders. If you work hard for me, there's nothing for you to worry about and I'll see you get promotion. Nobody can boss me except the Governor, and I deal direct with him. The Japanese have given me this job in recognition of all the good work I've done for them in the past. Look at those testimonials on the wall. It took me nine years of hard work to get them, and now I'm sitting here instead of a Japanese official. I've spared your head for your disloyal words, so I hope you'll work hard. But don't forget, one word from me to the Governor would be enough to sever your head. Apart from various Japanese officials, I'm the only other man with authority to shoot anybody I like." Then one afternoon the Chief informed us that some important Japanese military officers were coming to the office especially to see us. He seemed far from happy about it, and I sensed that something was wrong somewhere. That evening when the officers arrived we were lined up to receive them. Then one of them told us that the Intelligence Office under this particular

43 Chinese Chief was to be closed, and ordered us to report for duty next morning at the Police Station. I had guessed right. There had been some trouble between the Chinese Chief of Intelligence and his Japanese superiors. It was perhaps lucky for me. Seizing the chance for what it was worth, I hastily left Ipoh and returned to Kuala Lumpur.
CHAPTER v

DINNER WITH THE GESTAPO FOR the next two months I concentrated solely on printing and circulating propaganda leaflets in Kuala Lumpur and the neighbourhood. To avoid suspicion, it seemed wise that my brothers and I should have some ostensible employment; so we decided to become public-letter writers. The numbers of our clients increased so rapidly that I had to engage four of our friends as assistants, two of them being Tamils, Mr. Lionel Chellapa and Mr. Nathan, and two Chinese, Mr. Tan Cheong Wan and Mr. Ong Phang Kheng; and they were all very well paid. The income which we ourselves gained from letter-writing was a great help to us in financing our resistance movement at that time. While still carrying on with this work, I decided to recruit some more agents and thus extended the area covered by our propaganda. In April I went to Seremban, a town forty miles or so south of Kuala Lumpur. There I contacted five more agents, who, of course, had been my friends ill the past. I met them casually one by one -and had drinks together. From their conversation I discovered what was in their heads, and who could be trusted and who could not. If they seemed pro-Allied I would show them some Singa communiques, which had an immediate effect. They looked as though they

44 had been hungry for days and were now getting some delicious food, the very dishes they wanted. They asked for more, and were given it in abundance. Throughout the Occupation they worked faithfully for the Allied cause. There were two Chinese brothers, Mr. Tan Beng Hock and Mr. Tan Beng San; a Malay, Inche Omar bin Said, who unfortunately collided with a military lorry whilst riding his motor-cycle, and died towards the last days of the Japanese occupation; and an Indian, Khem Singh. Soon afterwards I went on a short visit to Singapore, hoping to get some more helpers. Here I met an old friend who ran a small dispensary in Middle Road, where he practised as a homoeopathist. I looked upon him as a godfather, for he had known me since childhood. I had a long talk with Dr. L. S. Bull in his dispensary. (Like everyone else, I always called him "doctor," though he had no medical degrees.) His enthusiasm seemed so genuine that I ventured to ask him if he could find us one or more agents in Singapore to help in the work of distributing the leaflets. "Leave everything to me," he replied unhesitatingly. "You can rest assured that I'll carry out anything you want me to do; but you must send the propaganda leaflets without fail. And send as many as you can." By August, 1942, nine months since the Japanese invasion, I found that our total expenditure on printing materials, stationery, typewriters, radio receiving sets, etc., amounted to more than $7,000. At this time we were only publishing on an average about two hundred copies of our communiques every day; so I decided to change my business tactics.* Whilst continuing my two jobs of public letter-writer and black marketeer, I began to organise sports on a strictly business basis. Before the war our annual cycling carnivals had always been most successful, so now I organised cycling races at

45 the local amusement park. Not only did they produce more money than I ever expected, but they also enabled me to meet several members of the local Japanese Gestapo and their informers. This in itselt was invaluable to me. About a month later I organised a similar carnival in Ipoh, which was also a big success from the financial point of view. Moreover, it provided me with six good agents whom I encountered during the proceedings. They had been my good friends before the war; but I tested them individually as I had done with my friends in Seremban, and found them all true in spirit to the Allied cause. They all proved to be excellent agents and rernained active throughout the Occupation. Six of the best were ChineseYap Ghim Leong, Yap Ghim Hoe, Thoo Chin Guan, Yeoh Chai Lye, Leong Hew Meng, and Dr. Kok Hoe Teik; and then there were the IndiansPolice Inspector Sarmukh Singh, Sgt. Major Bihara Singh, Sgt. Bughar Singh, Detective Kehar Singh, and Teja Singh. Two weeks later I went to Penang where I met several more old friends; but somehow I could find no one eager to join in the work of sabotage or propaganda against the Japanese. During my stay in Penang I mixed freely with my friends in the hope of obtaining some more agents. I was especially intimate with a Chinese, Tang Ah Kheng, and an Indian, Sohan Singh. Both of them were very trustworthy, but unfortunately not politically minded. I tried in -vain to turn their thoughts towards politics. When I asked them why they were afraid to discuss politics, they merely said that Penang was not a healthy spot in which to do so, since there had been hundreds of arrests and the victims had simply disappeared. So they were afraid to talk. After that I visited Penang at least once or twice every month, doing all the necessary work myself. It was far from easy to get into Penang

j 46 with the literature that I always carried. At the pier after getting out of the launch everybody had to line up to be searched by the Marine Police, supervised by Japanese officers. It was also a nuisance having to go to the police station from time to time to ask for travel permit, and too many visits were liable to arouse suspicion as to the reason for such frequent journeys. In November, 1942, I had a stroke of luck. Mr. Ong Huck Lim, the Manager and Secretary of the Penang Turf Club, put me in charge of the cycle races, an event now included in the day's programme of horse racing. Owing to lack of tiansport, there were not enough horses in Penang to. complete the usual programme of seven races, so after consultation with the Japanese Governor of Penang it had been decided to make one of them a cycling event. This enabled me to apply to him for a permanent permit to travel backwards and forwards between Kuala Lumpur and Penang to attend the races. It was granted, so I no longer had to go to the Police Station whenever my work' demanded a visit to Penang. The Penang cycle races gave me a wonderful opportunity of becoming more intimately acquainted with the Japanese Kempetei and their stooges. Being some authority on racing, I could give almost sure tips to anyone who cared to askthus winning considerable popularity. Meanwhile, whenever I visited Penang, I performed my nightly job of pasting up pamphlets on walls and trees everywhere. It became an even more thrilling game, as the Japanese had now ordered that everyone entering the city should be searched, thus hoping to discover who was harassing the occupation forces. The Marine Police had^a very busy time of it, since they were ordered to slit the collars of those whom they wished to search completely. But my smuggling defeated them.

47 I had three sticks of bamboo each about six inches long and an inch in diameter. Bamboo being hollow, they formed natural tubes, which I filled with as many carefully rolled-up pamphlets as they would hold, and then inserted them into the hollow bar holding the pillar of my bicycle saddle. One of my trusted agents, Mr. B. N. Rodrigo, a bicycle mechanic by trade, put a thick cork in the bottom of the upright bar, which held as many as ten of my small bamboo sticks. That was orie part of a bicycle which the Japanese never thought of searching, and never entered their heads that anything could be concealed there. To take out the contents one simply had to turn the bicycle upside-down. By far the hardest barrier to cross was always that of Penang. By adopting this method, however, I got into Penang no less than fifty times with my pamphlets. Nevertheless, every searching gave me many moments of acute anxiety, for if I had been caught it would have cost me my life. But the Governor's letter giving me permission to travel was a considerable protection. I usually put it in the top outside pocket of my coat if I wore one, or otherwise in my shirt pocket so that it would be one of the first articles they would find on me. As soon as they saw it not only did they put it back carefully in my pocket but they always allowed me to pass as though I were a most important person. One sunny afternoon in January, 1943, at the Penang Races the cyclists were parading in the paddock for the turfites to have a last glimpse of their favourite rider and prospective winner. I was checking up on their positions, arranging how they should stand at the start, when a Japanese officer came up and asked me in good English, "Who's going to win?" Unconcernedly I gave him a likely winner, and so it proved to be. A week later he approached me again with the same question, though I failed to

48 recognise him. Again my tip proved a cert. After the race the Japanese officer, like everyone who made money from my tips, came to shake hands with me and thank me. Later he invited me to dine with him that night. Though I felt happy about it, I knew instinctively that I must be careful and not talk too much. He called for me at my hotel and took me to his house in Green Lane. I noticed that he spoke English very well, and he complimented me on my fluent English, too. After tfie first few minutes in his car my suspicions of this man were aroused, and before long I discovered that he was a Colonel in charge of the Japanese Intelligence Bureau. On arrival at a large house he took me upstairs to a sitting room well furnished in the modern style, with comfortable arm-chairs. Besides the settee stood a big radio. Soon another car drove up to the porch, and he said, "My friends have come, you will like them." I expected to see some Japanese officers, but it was not so. At least, one officer entered, saluted my host and told him something in Japanese. Then two attractive Chinese girls walked into the room, and the officer who had presumably brought them saluted again, went down stairs, and drove off. During the course of the drinks one of the girls started the topic of anti-Japanese activities! on the island. They had certainly drunk moref sake than myself or the Colonel, and may havel begun to feel its strong effects. In any case, Ij was careful to watch my step. . "Why are there so many Communists in Penang?" asked Mary, who was close beside met on the settee, with one hand on my shoulder and a glass of sake in the other. (All peopli showing anti-Japanese tendencies were classed a j Communists by the Japanese, which led every! one to do the same.) I

49 "Only fools become Communists," replied Sazaki. "We people of Nippon are doing everything we can to help them, but if they don't appreciate it we'll chop off their heads. We don't want such people." "You can't call them fools," said Kitty, who sat besides Sazaki almost on his knees. "They hate you because you've done bad things to them. You people of Nippon have acted like brutes. Your soldiers don't know how to respect people's wives, sisters or daughters. They think everyone's the same. They're sex maniacs. It's a fact that during their advance in Malaya the Japanese soldiers raped thousands of women before the very eyes of their husbands and parents." * Such words were enough to get everyone's head chopped off; but Sazaki just listened to her wCch a grin. I wondered what hold she had over him to be able to speak like that. "That's not rape," said Sazaki, "We Japanese don't call that rape. Women are meant for it, and should be willing to comfort the soldiers who are fighting and giving their lives for women's freedom. It is only right that they should pay for services rendered, isn't it?" "You may call that human in*.Japan," said Kitty, "but out here we call it inhuman. And the more your soldiers do it, the more we Chinese and other nationalities will hate you. That's why you get anti-Japanese sentiments in this country." "Don't worry darling," said Sazaki, caressing her. "We know how to take care of antiJapanese elements." "You've killed many political agitators," interposed Mary, "but many more always take their place." "They don't worry us," replied Sazaki. "If we catch them we kill them, and those we can't get now we'll catch later."

50 After taking a sip of sake I asked, "Sazaki San (San is Japanese for Mr.), have you caught any of these political agitators red-handed?" "Yes, and we've killed them all," he replied. "There are a few more left whom we hope to arrest very soon. They don't understand the good things that we Japanese have done for them. Such people don't deserve to be allowed to live in this world. There are people here in Penang I'd like to lay my hands on, you know. They're the worst trouble we've got now. Some youngsters, Chinese I think, are going about pasting up anti-Japanese propaganda newspapers everywhere, demoralising the people. They don't know what they're doing. They're in the pay of others, of course, and all they care about is the money." "I'll be one of the first to congratulate you when you catch a member of that gang," I ssM. "If I hear of anyone playing that dirty gamb, I'll find out who he is and where he lives, and let you know. Such people should be wiped out." "I promise you a big reward if you do," he replied. "If we had more people with your good Nippon spirit, we'd soon win this war." I heartily agreed with though inwardly relieved by Singa, thus mistaken for a would the more easily escape needle in the haystack. such sentiments, the thought that gang of Chinese, detection like the

Then Sazaki asked whether I could dance, and after a final drink we adjourned to a cabaret where I had several dances with both girls. In fact, I spent a very enjoyable evening. After that peculiar party with the Japanese Colonel I felt somewhat more secure, and decided to call on him whenever I went to Penang.

51

CHAPTER VI

A JAPANESE PRESS CONFERENCE l^siS * .-SftJa^}' AT that time I usually went to Penang for about a week every month, arranging my visit to coincide with the Turf Club races there. Besides the men's cycling event, I decided to add one for ladies, which proved a great success. So I was often accompanied by two of my lady cyclists from Kuala Lumpur. I paid all their expenses, including picnics, boating excursions and other trips of that kind, and none of them ever suspected that I had any interests outside cycling. My other friends and acquaintances also thought that I was making the most of my chances of romance. The Perak Turf Club soon followed the example of the one at Penang by introducing cycling events, and in March, 1943, I was asked to take charge; so what more could I want in the way of opportunities for my work? The prices of its necessities were still soaring, and this appointment was thus very welcome as it provided me with additional income which was becoming ever more essential. With this invitation I was able to obtain a permit from the Japanese Military Governor to travel freely throughout the whole province of Perak. A few days later, when I was about to leave for Ipoh, I decided to take a hand grenade with me. There might - be a chance, I thought, of having a crack from the train at some Japanese working on the line. So I hid a grenade between two thin suits of clothes packed in an open rattan bag. The train was due to leave at 8 a.m. I went to the station at 7.30 a.m. and stood gazing around in search of a friend Bhag Singh, the railway guard, one of my most trusted agents, who I hoped would be on duty.

52 I wanted him to take my bag into the train for m4e. Being a guard and a railway employee, he would not be subject to a search by the Japanese gatemen, whereas I would be. For fifteen minutes I waited. As he was still nowhere to be seen, I decided to buy a ticket and walk three hundred yards up the road running parallel to the platform. I did so without attracting the attention of anyone who mattered, then turned round and walked back to the train waiting in the station*, thus avoiding entry through the gate. Into the train I went and got a good seat in spite of the big crowd. My worst problem still remained, however. How could I throw my hand grenade without being observed by other people in the carriage? The tiain was crowded to capacity, and none of my ideas seemed feasible to attempt in daylight. Suddenly I realised that I was sitting just beside the toilet. Could I not throw my grenade from there unobserved? But how could I get it out of my bag in that crowded carriage without being noticed? We were jammed so tight one could hardly move an inch. It seemed an impossible task. If any one observed me I should have small chance of escape. While pondering on the problem I kept a good look-out through the window. Then I had an. idea. Casually, I opened the bag as though taking out a handkerchief. I did it twice more, apparently looking for some papers. Meanwhile I managed to cover the grenade lying between the suits with a handkerchief. I waited for some minutes, then for the fourth time opened my bag, quickly grabbed the handkerchief with the grenade inside it and shoved it into my pocket in the tick of a second. I looked round and sighed with relief. My companions had noticed nothing. At about half-past eleven as I was scanning the countryside 1 spied a group of Japanese

5 3

j soldiers not more than half a mile away. I rose J and went to the toilet: it was occupied. 1 Inwardly fuming, I returned to my seat and again 1 sat looking through the window. It was not until half-past one that another opportunity H occurred, when we were about thirty miles from ! Ipoh. Some more Japanese soldiers were standing beside the track some distance ahead, just waiting. Again I went to the toilet: it was vacant. By this time the train was moving much more rapidly than at the start of the journey. When I judged that I was almost within aiming distance I removed the pin, counted four and flung the grenade out of the windowwe were just passing the Japanese. A few seconds later a minor blast shook the train. I returned to my seat and joined in the general enquiries as to what had happened. A quarter of a mile down the line the irain stopped, shunted backwards and stopped again to be immediately surrounded by armed soldiers. A grenade had apparently killed three of their comrades, and six or seven of them had been wounded. Armed Japanese who were in the other coaches alighted and covered the train with their rifles. Then the passengers were also forced to alight, and were individually' searched and questioned. - It was evident that the Japanese did not know exactly from which coach the grenade had been flung. Some were pointing at our coach, others at the coaches in front and behind it. In each coach there were no less than 200-300 passengers. Being an Indian, I escaped serious suspicion, and several Japanese even asked me if I had seen any doubtful character in my coach. The passengers declared that none of us had thrown, or seen anybody throw, anything out of the window. 1 supported them, adding that such an act would hardly have passed unnoticed. After questioning everyone for nearly an hour, the Japanese ordered the train

54 to be driven on as rapidly as possible to Kampar, where there was a hospital for the wounded. I expected some trouble and further investigations at Kampar, where the usual enormous crowd was waiting on the platform to board the already packed train, which prevented me from seeing what was happening except near our ,<x>ach. At any moment I expected to be asked to get out of the train; but after the wounded had been removed it was ordered to proceed. Then I expected that further investigations would be made at Ipoh, but nothing happened. Meanwhile, a Proclamation had been issued by Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, who had come to Malaya in 1943 to be head of the Indian National Army being formed in territories occupied by the Japanese with its headquarters in Singapore. It declared that there was going to be a total mobilisation of all Indians in the East, who would be enrolled in the Indian National Army to fight side by side with the Japanese to free India. This proclamation gave my brothers and me much to think about. As all three of us were unemployed we would have no alternative but to join the I.N.A. My wife began to show v signs of worry, too. In truth, she did not want me to do anything that meant risking my life. . < Next morning I spoke to my brothers, suggesting that they should find jobs, and after some discussion they agreed. Gurbachan Singh joined the Police Department, and soon after- 4 wards was seconded into the Border Police and stationed on the Malayan-Siam border. Nevertheless, he occasionally visited Kuala Lumpur to obtain our news-sheets for distribution in the remotest part of Malaya. Only a short time passed, however, when we received news of his death. A bus in which he was travelling had overturned at a bend in the road, and he had died almost immediately from an injury to

55 the abdomen. His death occurred at a time when his services were most needed, and my L brother Gurdial and I missed him deeply. Now we two had to carry on without the help of a very able lieutenant. None of us even had the chance of seeing his face for the last time before he was cremated. The news of his death reached us only three days after the accident; it took me another three days to get there, and by then his remains had already been put to sea. As Gurdial Singh was greatly interested in radio mechanics, he told me that he would like to work in some radio concern where he could learn more about them. I happened to know the senior radio mechanic in the local Broadcasting Station, and through him I obtained Gurdial a job as an assistant in the transmitting department, which, besides controlling the broad-casting system, was also used for radio repairs. Damaged radios belonging to high Japanese officials #were taken there to be overhauled. Gurdial thus had a unique opportunity of learning about transmission and how to build a transmitter. He could also listen-in to Allied stations for news, which would jot down on pieces of paper and bring home to me. One day in August, 1943, Gurdial told me that an All-Malayan Press Conference was going to be held in Singapore, to which journalists from all parts of the country were to be invited. "Good," I said. "I'm a journalist, aren't I? I hope the Japanese will invite me, too." "Of course, Singa will be the first man to be invited," he said, laughing. "They'll give you a special reception. The .propaganda department is arranging the invitations. You'd better tell them you're free to go. Otherwise, they may think- you're too occupied with your paper and would not like to disturb you."

56 "I'll 'phone up Imano San, the propaganda chief, and tell him about it," I replied, roaring with laughter. "Or, better still, send him a copy of Singa to make sure he doesn't forget me. For a time we laughed over what struck us as a good joke. Then more seriously I remarked. "I'm going to find out more about this to-morrow from our relation, Bachittar Singh, the Managing Director of the Punjabi newspaper. He's sure to know all about it. Singa must be represented at that conference somehow." Next morning I called on Bachittar Singh, invited him to a nearby restaurant, and asked him about it. He said that two days before he had received a circular from the Japanese, informing him that the Propaganda Chief of Southern Regions was calling a conference of all Malayan journalists .in Singapore. Each journal should send at least one representative and I suggested that I would like to attend this meeting on his behalf. He seemed to like my idea and promised to send in my name. The main object of the conference was to pursuade Malayan journalists to write more Japanese propaganda, and to show them how it could be done. Moreover, they were to be lavishly entertained in expectation of their good work in the future. I had some excellent reasons of my own for wanting to attend it. First, if I learned what was said there I should know in advance what to contradict in my own propaganda. Secondly, I had only been at it as an amateur propagandist for a short time, and I was eager to take tips from those who called themselves masters at the job. Finally, I wondered if I would have a chance of pasting-up some Singa posters in the conference room and giving the Japanese the fright of their lives.

57 My name was duly accepted, and on the appointed day I was requested to go to Kuala Lumpur Railway Station in the morning to entrain for Singapore. There I met not only some local journalists but also many who had come from as far north as Penang and Kedah, all waiting to board the same train, which left very early and arrived at Singapore quite late at night. Next morning we were taken to the conference room on the top floor of Fullerton Building. There were about fifty journalists and propagandists present. I should have been feeling pleased with myself if it had not been for one thing. Before leaving my house I had put some pamphlets on one side ready to take with me to Singapore for distribution in the conference room, but as luck would have it I had forgotten to put them in my pocket at the last moment. This quite upset me, or maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Facing the journalists behind the President there was a big Rising Sun flag. When we had all assembled the presiding Propaganda Chief advised us to lay special emphasis on Japanese victories-which should always be given bold head-lines; on the other hand, any news reaching us of possible reverses must never be printed. "I want you all to bear in mind," he continued, "that no prominence must ever be given in any newspaper to our reverses. You will remember that when Italy capitulated, the only paper in Malaya to give the news prominence was The Malay Mail of Kuala Lumpur. I'm very sorry that the editor should have done such a thing, and as grateful to the rest of you for suppressing that unfortunate piece of news so far as possible. The editor of The Malay Mail is here, I presume? Perhaps he will explain why he put the Italian capitulation in the headlines, and in such bold type, too."

58 There was a slight stir in the conference room, and the Editor of The Malay Mail rose to reply. "The news of the Italian surrender was given to me by the Japanese-owned news agencythe Domei. I sent a proof copy to the Propaganda Office for censoring, and they passed it for publication. As a journalist I put in the headlines." "That is the British and American way of doing things," retorted the Chief. "We don't like it. In future I want you to follow the Japanese way. If you don't practise it, how are you going to teach the public who are depending on you? The people of Malaya must be taught how to do things like Japanese. You must publish accounts of Japan cities, too. The people here know so little about them. The British have even led them to believe that buildings in Japan are made of paper, and the better buildings made of bamboo. It's not true. It's insulting to speak like that. Some days ago I visited Kedah where I was the guest of His Highness the Sultan. Even he didn't seem to know the vast size of Japanese cities, which he thought were little bigger than Malayan villages. And lie remarked that Alor Star, the capital of the State of Kedah, would be bigger one day than Tokyo itself. I strongly objected to his saying such a thing. If you journalists had done your job properly, if you'd fully described Japanese cities, he would never have dared to compare Alor Star with Tokyo." One of the delegates then asked whether news of Japanese reverses supplied by the Domei News Agency should be published or not. In reply, the Chief said that such news must be. suppressed, so that the public would be unable to learn of any reverses suffered by the Imperial Japanese Army. If it were not published by the newspapers, the public would have no opportunity of discovering the true news.

59 "People in this country learn of the news much earlier than it is published in the Press," remarked another delegate. "How do they manage to do that/ demanded the Chief furiously. "Although all receiving sets have been sealed to allow the medium wave-length only to be heard, yet some Allied stations can be got on it," said the delegate. "There are other ways, too. Some people with unsealed sets listen to the news, and then pass it c>n to their friends. And so it goes on and on." "Nonsense!" retorted the Chief, white with anger. "My chief engineer says that only Malayan stations can be heard on that wavelength." "I've heard Allied broadcasts on the medium wave," said another member. The Chief then murmured some words in Japanese, which I imagine were, "So you're one of those who listen to Allied news." Turning - to one of his deputies, he ordered the Chief Engineer to be called, and on his arrival had a heated conversation with him. "It's all right," he announced to us at last. "The engineer says that reception is only very faint." In conclusion he said, "I hope you all know what to do in future. Remember, Japan's victory is your victory". I kicked myself many times for having forgotten to bring my pamphlets to the conference; but I noted the names of a few Japanese Deputies to whom I might post them later. Towards the end of 1943 the news from almost all fronts told of Allied victories, so it was easy for me to satirize and hold up to ridicule all the Japanese propaganda appearing in the daily Press. Their officials received a constant stream of my literature, which they still suspected was being smuggled into Kuala Lumpur from the hills outside.

60 I had several narrow escapes when at work pasting-up posters. One of the worst was in Ipoh, where I had gone with the latest communiques. After pasting-up two news-sheets on one part of the town I was cycling to another part when all of a sudden the Japanese drew a cordon across the road and put up a barbedwire barricade, where everyone was made to stand in line. On the handle bars of my bicycle hung a canvas bag containing a shirt and a pair of trousers, which covered a packet of my communiques and, a bottle full of paste. There were about a dozen armed Japanese, four at the barricade searching the passers-by. I had twenty people in front of me and as many behind. Immediately behind me were two Chinese ladies muttering to each other. Ahead I could see the Japanese searching everyone very carefully from the top of the head to the soles of the feet, including personal belongings. If the soldiers laid hands on my canvas bag it meant death for me. My turn drew nearer. There were only ten men in front of me, and still I had done nothing to dispose of the pamphlets and the bottle of paste. On either side of the line a few paces apart stood more soldiers with fixed bayonets. All I could do was to slip my hand quickly into the bag, pull out the bundle of pamphlets and drop them on the ground. Had I done it without arousing suspicion? Neither the man in front of me nor the ladies behind me seemed to have noticed it. Then a Japanese sentry rushed towards me, shouting at the top of his voice, his rifle held in front of him. "Done for," I said to myself. "He's seen me and is coming for me now." My heart seemed to come out of my mouth and the earth to leave my feet. I did not move, but kept my eye on .him. But no: he had not seen me. He was riot coming for me, but went to the ladies behind me.

61 Apparently he had seen one of them pass a handkerchief to the other, and thought it was some missile. With a sigh of relief I took out my own handkerchief and wiped the sweat from my brow. Five, four, three, two, and then it was my turn to be searched; butthey just felt my body from head to foot and let me pass on without even examining the canvas bag. I rode on, feeling relieved but still somewhat shattered by the ordeal. Later I found out that the trap had been set to catch some Communists who were supposed to have come to town after a recent exploit. They had attacked a police station about six miles south of Ipoh and killed the officer-in-charge.
CHAPTER VII

MILKMAN

BY

DAY, BILL-POSTER NIGHT.

BY

THE early months of 1944 saw a marked improvement in conditions for the Alliesat least from my point of view. The news became so increasingly good that all I had to do was to pass it on to the people. However, owing to the extreme scarcity and expense of paper, my communiques had to be very small in size and as concise as possible. The larger the public who read them, the heavier became my expenses, and I was spending money at an ever-increasing rate; so the problem of finance arose again. I had long since abandoned cycling events and similar contests; they involved too much travelling and left me little time to listen to the radio, which was becoming more than ever important. So once again I had to think of ways and means of making more money.

62 In the early days of the Japanese occupation I had bought some milch cows. As the Japanese could not import condensed milk from overseas, there was a growing demand for local fresh milk and its price began to rise. So I bought six more cows for $14,000, became a milk vendor and roundsman, and every morning cycled through Kuala Lumpur with two large baskets full of milk bottles. Every morning I rose at about five o'clock, promptly milked the cows, and then did the bottling which had to be finished by 6.30. Most of my clients wanted to hear the latest newsthe real news; so I always gave it to them before selling my milk. I also carried pamphlets to pass on to my agents at prearranged waiting places. On completing my milk round, I cycled leisurely through the town just to see if the posters which I had pasted up during the night were still there. I often noticed people re-tracing their steps to re-read them. Sometimes I drew my friends' attention to a poster somewhere which they seemed to have missed, and then there would be a rush to get a glimpse of it. I also visited my only medical agent in Kuala Lumpur, Dr. Abdul Ghani, a Malay, who was an assistant Medical Officer in charge of the out-patients at the hospital. I went to see him almost every other day and joined the patients waiting outside his consulting room. When my turn came the doctor always made me lie flat on the bed as though he was going to examine me and sent his nurse away on some errand which he always managed to invent. I would then hand him my latest pamphlets and have a few words about the war news. Finally he would say, "Gurchan Singh, you're improving now but you must go on drinking that medicine without fail." Sometimes the nurse would be just returning as I left the room.

63 From the hospital I would go on to see another agent, Mr. Aster Gunasekara, the Sports Editor of The Malay Mail, who was mainly responsible for spreading Allied news among his Ceylonese countrymen. In spite of being well past forty, he was extremely active. Besides receiving my pamphlets, he would tell me the news which he had heard on the radio at great risk to himself. He never knew that I listened to the Allied radio myself, so I had to pretend that what he was telling me was firsthand news. On returning home at about ten o'clock I breakfasted; then, taking with me a light lunch, paper and pencil, I drove the cows to a nearby pasture. Whilst they contentedly munched the grass, I sat under a shady tree forming new ideas for my propaganda sheets. At half-past three in the afternoon it was time for me to take the cows back home and attend to their food and drink. After that my father and brother would milk them, and my mother and wife would fill the bottles. Meanwhile, I would have my bath and get ready for the evening delivery. Then off I would go on my rounds with my pamphlets and a spare bottle of gum tucked away in the baskets. By seven o'clock I had finished my rounds, and by then it was almost dark. So I hastily did my bill-pasting, sticking up my pamphlets on walls and trees, and finding spots for them every night. By half-past eight I was back home again, ready to listen-in to Allied broadcasts on the radio. As I am no shorthand typist, I could not jot down the news word for word and could only listen to one of the Allied stationsperhaps Chunking, London, America, Moscow, or India and take rough notes of what was said with a writing pad on my knees and pencil in hand, following it as closely as I could. I was

64 particularly anxious not to miss any figures that might be mentioned, so I always noted them carefully. After listening-in to one station in this way I would tune-in to another so as to check up on details. This seemed to me very important, since any pamphlet bearing the well-known signature of SINGAas all mine didmust be absolutely correct and accurate in every respect. Then I usually managed to get a sound sleep, if only for four hours. For several months I worked thus as a milkman and cowboy by day and a bill-poster by night. But mere propaganda began to dissatisfy me. I felt a hankering for more active operations againto do some more sabotage. It struck me that traffic on the railways was increasing, and that sabotage there would do more damage than ever. It was not a job like bill-posting that I could do alone; it required a lot of guts, and someone working on the railways to help me. I tried to think of ways of tackling the problem. Many thoughts came into my mind, but none of them would agree. What I required was a reliable assistant working on the railways such as an engineer foreman; but I knew no railway employees of that kind, only a guard, Bhag Singh, who was a most trustworthy friend and who had done much valuable work for me in carrying my posters to various places throughout the whole Peninsula. I wondered if he could introduce me to anyone in the running-shed who would suit my purpose. One fine sunny morning in February, 1944, after my usual milk round, I met Bhag Singh by appointment at a restaurant in one of the most crowded streets of Kuala Lumpur-Batu Road. Most of its tables were occupied by Japanese soldiers being waited upon by attractive Chinese

4| 1 s e 3 P r i i ' |

65 waitresses, while a radiogram was playing recorded Japanese melodies. After the girl had brought some coffee, I turned to Bhag Singh, "Look, Bhag, I want you to find me some reliable friend in the railway workshopsa supervisor, locomotive foreman, or even an engine driver." "When do you want such men?" he asked, after a few questions. "In a day or two, or as early as possible after that." After thinking for a while he said, "I've two friends in the workshops whom I think I can trust, but I can't say if I can get them for you. Anyway, I'll see and let you know." It was not until about a month later that Bhag Singh brought with him and introduced a South Indian Tamil named John Sandasamy. All three of us went to a cafe, where we sat at a table near the window. Here we could talk freely, for behind us we overlooked the street and about fifteen feet away in front of us was the band-stand with a seven-piece orchestra. Bhag Singh, John Sandasamy, and I then got down to business. I asked Sandasamy what he was doing. He said that he was a secondclass engine-driver, having put in several years' service, and that he had known Bhag Singh for a long time. "Have you ever seen a Singa pamphlet?" I asked. "And read them, too; Bhag Singh often gives them to me." After talking to him and Bhag Singh for another half-hour I left, arranging with John that he should come to see me whenever he was free. I met him several times before finally making up my mind to accept his services and to ask him , to do something for me. On 2nd May, 1944, I met Bhag Singh again, and he told me that an ammunition train was due to leave Kuala Lumpur Station for the

66 north at 10 a.m. the next day. Owing to shortage of locomotives there was only engine availablea No. 80 "O" Class, which Japanese would doubtless use to draw it. 1 was ammunition or petroleum, I knew thai was intended for Burma, since the Japanese longer dared to send such invaluable \ material by the sea route. This locomot would therefore probably draw the train as 5 as Ipoh, about 150 miles north of Ku* Lumpur. Thanking Bhag Singh for all tl information, I made my way to John Sandasam} house in Bungsar Road, where I was told th he could be found at the locomotive roum house. He was there, chatting with a frieni Calling him outside, I asked him if h could do anything to locomotive No. 80, whic was going to draw an ammunition train t< Ipoh. If it could be sabotaged, other train would be delayed and the whole railway disorganised. Being such an important train, special arrangements had doubtless been made for it, and its delay would upset the bookings up-country and prevent many other trains from running to schedule. "That's the very locomotive I'm supposed to be cleaning now," he said, pointing to a large engine in the yard. "That's it, over there. But tell me, how did you find out that it's booked for to-morrow?" "I went into the control office and asked them," I said, laughing. "Anyway, it's a smart piece of work. Don't you worry, I'll see that No. 80 is either not used to-morrow or goes wrong while running. I'll come to see you when I've finished work to-morrow." < On 3rd May, 1944, he thus did his first job. When the large locomotive was on the turn-table line in the round-house at about half-past four in the morning, he set the turntable against the engine, opened her regulator, jumped out of the cab and ran away, whilst she

67 e moved slowly of! and got herself derailed. After e daybreak he came to report that he had * successfully completed his first assignment, and t asked me to wander round to see for myself. He had certainly made a good job of it. There was the huge engine on its side, and I congratulated myself on having found such an excellent colleague. During the next two months he repeated this operation several times. He also damaged many locomotives by interfering with the proper setting of their valves. He filled their boxes with water besides oil, and painted over the oil-indicator glasses of night trains so as to mislead their drivers as to the amount of oil remaining in the gear boxes, thus causing engines to fail through lack of lubrication. Then he would purposely leave various bolts, nuts, and screws loose, so that crankshafts broke during the journey; or sometimes pins would drop off and bend the rods, which in their turn would bend the coupling rod and sometimes even break it altogether. As a result, engines would fail at unexpected spots, not only delaying that one train but also holding up other transport; and at that time breakages and delays of any kind meant a lot to the Japanese. John always informed me of all he did, and I kept a careful record of his activities. It is a long one. What he and Bhag Singh did then deserves deep and lasting recognition. On D-Day in June, 1944, Bhag Singh came to me in a hurry to say that a goods train consisting of aims, ammunition and gasolene was due to leave Kuala Lumpur next morning for Nompladuck, Siam. He said that this consignment of goods was obviously intended for the Burma front, and I agreed with him. I hastened to tell John, asking him whether he could find out which locomotive was going to draw this train. As luck would have it, he was picked

68for duty next morning on the very engine No. 74 " O " Class. I told him that at all costs he must do something to delay the train either at the start or some miles outside Kuala Lumpur. Thanking him for his sincere and loyal cooperation, I left him, asking him to come and see me as usual after he had done the job. On my way home I wondered what he would do. Would there be an "accident" similar to the one that had overturned locomotive No. 80? But no, he did something else which not only delayed the train but also put locomotive No. 74 completely out of action for several months owing to the lack of spare parts. As he was supposed to be working on that engine, he was the first to arrive at the round-house that morning and could move about freely without causing any suspicion. Before any other workmeri arrived he had not only removed the set screws but also slackened the piston cotter. Consequently, both the crankshaft and the piston head broke not long after the train had started. By delaying many trains and putting several locomotives out of action, John seriously disorganised much of the Japanese transport system by rail. At that time, the Allies were blockading Malaya by sea and their submarines were playing merry hell with Japanese shipping, so his sabotage work was of considerable assistance to the Allied cause. As more and more locomotives broke downt the Japanese began to smell a rat and to keep a more strict look out. Finally, one morning Bhag Singh came to me with the shocking news that the day before28th October, 1944John Sandasamy had been arrested on suspicion of having caused several locomotive breakdowns. Deeply distressed, I asked Bhag for more details. He said that he knew little; a detective called Gerald had told him, however, that John had been arrested only on suspicion.

69 "Oh, Gerald," I said. "I know him very well. I'll have a talk with him and see if anytiling can be done about it." A few days later I met Gerald in the town and invited him to have a drink. I knew he would acceptdetectives counted on getting many free drinks at that time. As we were sipping oui drinks I remarked casually, "I hear you've made an arrest in a big case of anti-Japanese sabotage, Gerald." "Yes, I did arrest a man," he said, somewhat boastfully. "I know he's caused the breakdowns of several engines, and definitely is in the pay of some Chinese." "What's his name?" I asked, as casually as I could. "John SandasamyI've been making secret enquiries, and I'm sure he's responsible for these breakdowns." "What's he got to say about it?" "Oh, of course, Sandasamy won't admit anything, nor confess who's paying him, or even assisting him." "But you only suspect him!" I interrupted. "That's the whole trouble. He hasn't been caught red-handed neither by you nor anybody else, and you admit it." I paused, as recollecting that this was merely an impersonal argument, and went on more quietly. "Of course, you must do as you likeit's your business, not mine. I don't know who this John Sandasamy is, I'm only thinking of justice. And from what I've learned from you and other sources, so far as I can see he may not be guilty at all. If he isn't, then you're committing a very big sin, which as a Christian you ought to realise. As the name suggests, John Sandasamy is a Christian too." My words about Christianity and the torture of an innocent man obviously made him feel uncomfortable; but still he maintained that he

70 would compel John to confess his guilt even if his victim died as a result. There was nothing more I could do at the moment, and soon afterwards he left me. For the next two-and-a-half months John suffered untold tortures; and if it had not been for his strong constitution he would have died.
CHAPTER VIII

ONE - MAN JOB THE tide of war was definitely turning in our favour in the Spring of 1944; but, apart from my communiques, the people of Malaya had little chance of knowing what was happening on the various battlefronts. Few of them had radio sets, which were all sealed to medium wavelengths and which prevented them from listening to overseas Allied stations. During that time I often issued three or four long communiques daily, such as this one:

1 1

ALLIED H.Q. COMMUNIQUE NO. 552 OF THE 17TH APRIL, 1944. ALLIED FIGHT FOR FREEDOM. ALLIED FIGHT AGAINST AGGRESSION. To day's news is to-morrow's history. This news bulletin originates from somewhere in Malaya, giving the news round-up of the world. Tell your friends about the news you may have read to-day in this communique, so they may know that the news as given by the Japs in the local press is untrue. If you are a freedom-loving person you will not hesitate to pass on this news and watch for more to-morrow. For this co-operation of yours we thank you. India.An Associated Press report from New Delhi says that Admiral Lord Louis Mountbatten, Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in South-East Asia, paid a visit to Imphal Front on Saturday, 15th April, and held a half-hour conference with the commander of the garrison there. In a short speech to the forces of the garrison, he said that he had complete confidence in everyone, and that very soon they will deal such a deadly blow at the enemy that he will be put to retreat and that we will pursue him until he \ J surrenders. Our Forces are now waiting for the enemy to get closer.

71
Soviet-German Front Moscow Radio reports that Tarnopol has been re-captured from the Germans. Besides leaving ^thousands of dead on the battlefield, a large number of Germans and large booty was seized. On the lower Dniester the Soviets have gained 1 further ground, whilst the Germans are still retreating. London.Allied bombers have cartied out new terror attacks against towns in South-eastern Europe, causing casualties and damage to military installations, particularly in Belgrade. Attacks by British bombers last night were also (directed against military installations in Paris. These attacks caused several huge fires and considerable other damage in the target area. Allied heavy bombers also made terror attacks on Western Occupied Europe, causing heavy military casualties and damage. Pacific Front.Several B25s and F4Us raided Jap positions on Ponape Island in the East Caroline Group, causing serious damage. KariengNew Irelandwas blasted by more than 60 B24s yesterday, devastating port and other military installations. About 30 B24s raided Mereyon Island in the Caroline Group, inflicting heavy destruction on the enemy and at the same time shooting eight or ten enemy interceptors out of the sky. Italian Front.On the Italian Front the enemy had to retreat to new positions in the North-West of Nettuno beachhead area in face of heavy air and land bombardment put up by the Allies. GeneralFreedom-loving People! Time is now ripe for you to give up co-operating with the Japs in any way. Tell your friends about it. Now is the time to strike at the Japs and to do what little you can to disturb the peace. By doing so you are really playing your part towards an early freedom. Tell everyone that the Japs have now been here for two years. Can anyone say that he or she is enjoying life in the hands of the Japs as they were doing before the war? Are they getting sufficient food and clothing? No. Why not? The Japs had two years in which to bring all these things. According to their propaganda, they have not lost a single ship since they declared war on the Allies. So why do they make the people suffer? The Japs have not been able to import even a single yard of linen from Japan. Why not? It is because the Allied Navy and its submarine flotilla has played merry hell with the Jap Navy, sending to the bottom of the seas more than three-quarters of her navy. The Allies are causing such a blockade that the remnants of their fleet cannot move freely anywhere. |

72
It will, therefore, not be long before the Allies will be here with all the food you want and with all the ether necessities of which you are now so short. You can help the Allies to an earlier victory by your non-co-operation with the Japs. Keep your spirits up and tell your friends to do likewise. The day is not far off.

SINGA. So the true news of the world was published for the people of Malaya, and distributed to them free of charge. The best news that I could ever give them in the whole war was in June, 1944, when the whole town of Kuala Lumpur was decorated with pamphlets telling of the opening and establishment of a bridgehead on the Second Front in France. For two days there were rejoicings amongst all freedom-loving people. The Japanese then increased the number of their agents, whose sole duty was to detect antiJapanese offenders. As a result, many loyal citizens were arrested and many were killed. Some were fortunate enough to escape with a term of imprisonment. In their attempt to obtain confessions they resumed their old methods of torture, all in order to ascertain the identity of Singa. My private little war with the Japanese thus became more desperate, as they went on torturing many people they arrested in the hope of getting someone to confess who Singa was. They were quite convinced that a huge gang of men, and perhaps women too, were sitting all day at their receiving sets, jotting down all the news as it came in over the radio, hastily composing articles and printing them, and finally turning out hundreds of pamphlets all on a single sheet quarto-size, which nevertheless had as much news value as a newspaper of at least sixteen pages. The Japanese gnashed their teeth on seeing the very word Singa, but could do little more. If they took stronger steps towards his capture, it would advertise his importance in their eyes

I-

73 and their present failure. The public also wondered how such a large band of Singa cooperators could evade the Gestapo, whose strong hand was to be felt everywhere. But there the mystery remained; not a single man arrested by the Japanese could give any real information whatsoever about the Singa organisation, or even suggest anyone who could do so. Finally, the Japanese Gestapo showed their hand by offering a substantial reward for information leading to the arrest of the persons responsible for the Singa publications. Whilst the reward fattened, I speeded up my activities. There were times when the very risks that I was running made me more fearless than usual. Consequently, on one sunny afternoon in early February, 1945, I decided to give a thrill to the crowd of some thirty thousand spectators sure to be present at a local Turf Meet. In such a vast throng would not there be many who would like to see their favourite news-sheet displayed in a prominent position? Moreover,. I wanted the public to realise that Singa could work under the very noses of the Japanese. It would undoubtedly raise the morale of the people, and at least give the Gestapo another headache. Several days before the Race Meeting was due to be held I prepared suitable propaganda for the public to read, including the latest news. On the day before the race I was lucky enough to pick up the news that Allied forces had landed on the Bonn Islands, which the Japanese newspapers had not yet published. With the 1 Allies no more than 500 miles from Tokyo I had something sensational to exploitsomething that would set people buzzing with excitement. For propaganda's sake I also included a warning of an Allied air raid that would take place the very next day over the Sentul area, where there were many factories all producing Japanese war material. All that week I had been sticking up

74 posters in that area, urging the workers to stay home that day and to keep away from the Sentul district. The races were due to start at 1 p.m. local time. That morning I made my final plans, going into every detail in advance from the time of my arrival at the race-course until my departure. Most careful timing was essential to success, since the Japanese present would immediately inform the Kempetei as soon as the ubiquitous Singa made his presence felt. Leaving home with about thirty of my specially written news-sheets and a bottle of paste I arrived at the course nearly an hour before the first race. If I succeeded in pasting-up a third of that number, I thought the hazardous job would be worth it. Hazardous or not, I was determined to do it, neither fearing nor considering the consequence if I were caught. At first I thought of getting the help of one of my agents, several of whom would be on the course. But none of them knew that I was responsible for all the Singa bill posting during the past three years. If I asked for their aid now, they would naturally conclude that I had done it all before. Not that I was afraid of their discovering my identityI merely wanted to let the mystery of Singa continue as long as possible. Moreover, the race course was a risky spot for such activities and there was more chance of arrest than escape. If I was caught, I could take the consequences without involving others; but if they were arrested, it would not be so good. So I decided to do everything myself. I bought a race card, which gave a full list of the day's events, and went promptly into one of the men's toilets. My first job was to paste a pamphlet on the inside of each W.C. door. There were sixteen toilets, and soon there was a Singa communique behind each closed door. Then I hid my remaining pamphlets and the

75 bottle of paste on the top of a water-cistern in one toilet. My next job seemed the hardest of Singa s whole career. Could I paste my news-sheets outside on the posts and walls in front of the totalisator and the grand-stand? Could I fool the thousands of on-lookers all around? Could I use them as a sort of "blind?" Before leaving the toilets, I took one news-sheet from my store, smeared some paste on the back of it and concealed it behind my race-card which I held in my right hand. Then I went out. I walked straight to a post in front of the totalisator, which was the most crowded part of the course. Leaning my right shoulder against it I faced the totalisator, as though keenly interested in how the betting was going. A few seconds later I began to jot down the names of the jockeys on my race-carda most common sight. Naturally, it was not easy to do in the air so to speak, so I turned round and rested the card on the post behind me. With the fingers of my left hand I set the edges of the news-sheet in line with the sides of the post, and when I strolled away still examining my race-card I left behind a Singa communique pasted-up for all to read. Returning to the toilet I pulled out another news-sheet, smeared its back with paste, made my way to another post in front of the totalisator and repeated the performance. So I went on along that row of posts until ten of them bore similar posters, by which time I noticed excited crowds buzzing round the first ones and eagerly reading them. It seemed time to cease operations, and I sauntered casually to another part of the course where I could more safely watch the proceedings. To be caught reading a Singa communique was itself a deadly offence in the eyes of the Japanese, but all freedom-loving people thought it well worth the nervous strain. I could see

76 them slowly edging their way towards the posts, nervously glancing round to make sure that no Japanese were in the neighbourhood. Then they would give a few quick glances at the communiques to assimilate their contents and move hurriedly away. Before long, however, they would return to get a glimpse of what they hacj previously missed. Then as they mingled with the crowd with happy faces they would tell their friends what they had just read; whereupon others would make their way to the posts to read it for themselves. From the remarks of people near me I gathered that the biggest surprise was the announcement of the air-raid due to take place next day. They could hardly believe that it was true. Some of them said that it definitely was not. While I was thus watching the crowd, one of my most trusted and active agents, a Chinese called Leong Khai Swee, came up to me and said, "Gurchan, have you seen those papers on the pillars there?" Pretending that I knew nothing about them, I begged him to take me to the nearest one, saying that I would very much like to read it. But when we approached a pillar we saw a small knot of people standing at a respectful distance, watching some Japanese officers reading the communique and then tearing it down. We discussed the most likely Japanese reaction to this latest act of provocation, and agreed that they would probably round up everyone present and subject them to a rigorous search and examination. "But," I said, "who do you think has been daring enough to do such a thing in broad daylight?" Leong Khai Swee seemed amazed at my ignorance and replied, "But the Communists, of course. It's their work, sure enough. Many of them must be here to-day. I expect there'll be a general round-up soon."

77 After my friend had left me I began to feel somewhat annoyed at the Japanese tearing down my news-sheets. It seemed as if they had beaten me, and I did not like that. On the other hand, if only I could paste up some more at the same places it would definitely give me the best of it and also cause a sensation. Still it was more dangerous than ever, as the posts might now be kept under secret observation. The idea was too tempting, however. I therefore decided to try not only to replace the torn news-sheets with fresh ones, but also to put one in the pavilion patronised only by the "big shots". I returned to my store, pulled out another pamphlet, and went back to the course. Whether that pillar was watched or not, I succeeded in pasting it up; then others as well, besides one in me pavilion. A few minutes later I saw some armed Japanese followed by Asiatic detectives entering the Club, and I knew that the matter had been reported to the Kempetei. But what did I care? My work was done, and there was nothing to prove against me. Oh, yes, there was. When I looked at my hands I saw that they were all sticky and covered with dried paste. Quickly I went to wash them. My second bill-posting certainly caused a sensation. All over the Club people were talking about it. I overheard several people say that it must undoubtedly be the work of a large gang and that such a rash act terrified them. Some people afraid of being involved in a round-up even left the race-course. When I returned to the men's toilets about two hours later to see if my posters on the closet doors had been torn off, they were still there. After the races the whole town was talking of what had happened and discussing the air raid on the Sentul district announced for the following day. I was so thrilled at succeeding in the distribution of my propaganda in broad daylight.

78 that I began to wonder whether my Allied air raid might not have a similar success. 1 doubted it, however, for it was only guess-work. But now" my announcement would at least achieve its purpose in persuading many workers to stay at home, thus delaying the Japanese war production. On the fateful morning at about half-past seven a solitary Allied plane soared over Kuala Lumpur without at first attracting much attention. I was on my bicycle at the time approaching the town. Someone told me that it was not a Japanese plane, so I dismounted and started gazing into the sky, whereupon others did likewise. Before long the plane was out of sight, so I rode on into the town. There I saw it coming back again, and few seconds later the air-raid siren sounded. I watched it hopefully, thinking that if it would only drop a bomb somewhere I could claim my forecast as correct; but after about five minutes of leisurely flight it zoomed away. Half-an-hour later came the first wave of bombers, three B29s. Could I believe my eyes? Yes, there they werethree of them, three monsters of the air. I was standing then on the roof of the highest building in Kuala Lumpur, and I admired them whether they had come for the express purpose of bombing the town or not. It was indeed a thrilling moment, and I prayed that they would lay a few eggs as they flew over my head. But on they went until they appeared as small things on the horizon, and I feared that they had gone for good; but back they came, and a few seconds later I saw the first bombs being released. They fell like balls tied together, and anxiously I wondered where they would land. Then I realised that it would be several miles away. Following the blast, a huge column of smoke rose high into the sky, and I watched the planes fly away until they were lost to sight.

j I

My joy knew no bounds. Had I not unwittingly foretold what was now really taking place? I waited there a few minutes, but as no more planes seemed to be coming I began to go downstairs. I had not gone far when more planes appeared overhead, so I returned to the roof to watch a repeat performance of three more waves. From where I stood it looked as though the bombs had fallen far beyond the Sentul area; but after the raid I learnt that it was not so. "It was Sentul all right," I said to myself laughing. My propaganda had proved to be one hundred per cent trueeven to the date. What greater luck could I have wanted? This was the first air raid since Malaya fell. I counted that in all three hundred bombs had been dropped. Some went slightly astray, but most found their target, which was the railway workshops at Sentul. Much damage of serious consequence to the Japanese was sustained there. Unfortunately stray bombs took a heavy toll of civilian lives in uncovered shelters and the workers' quarters. Over a thousand people were buried alive, while thousands were rendered homeless. On visiting the whole area, I found that the Allies had carried out their mission with the utmost consideration for the innocent; those who lost their dear ones or their homes knew that the stray bombs could not be avoided. The damage to the railway workshops was beyond repair for many months to comeif at all. I mingled with the crowds in Sentul and listened to the people talking of the terrible catastrophefor such it was, with thousands killed and wounded. They all agreed that the Allies were not to be blamed for what had occurred. Had they not been given a clear warning of the intended raid on that area by means of Singa's communique asking the workers and neighbouring inhabitants to get out of danger in time? What

80 better warning could they have had? There were many ironical remarks, too, about the invinciblebut apparently invisibleJapanese Air Force. More than satisfied by what I had heard, I cycled home, leaving these simple labourers to their own thoughts. Two days later, Singa's latest communique appeared on walls and trees throughout Kuala Lumpur. It included a message from Eastern Bomber Command, sympathising with the innocent residents of Sentul who had lost their homes and dear ones, but explaining that such unfortunate accidents were bound to happen. I mentioned as a fact what was really fiction on my part, that whenever the Allies intended to carry out large-scale bombing they always warned the civilian population to escape to a safe area. I decided to warn the townspeople of the possibility of still another raidthis time in the Travers Road and Brickfields area, and almost at once people began to move out despite the threats of the Japs. One night towards the end of February, 1945, I had a most strange dream. In my dream I was asleep, when I was aroused by the Japanese Gestapo who had come to arrest me; but before they took me away my father intervened, saying, "Don't take my son, he is innocent." One of the soldiers replied, "We'll take you, too, if you talk any more." Whereupon my father turned to me and said; "Son, if you can escape, do so, and then don't forget to cut your hair short. It would be a very good disguise." As I was being led down the hill from my house I made a dash for it, and managed to escape. Then I opened my e^yes and to my surprise found myself in bed, and therefore knew that I had only been dreaming; but every incident in my dream was clearly stamped on my mind. At breakfast next morning I related the dream to my family, who laughed heartily at the
i

81 idea of my cutting my hair short and getting rid of my beard. As a staunch Sikh, in reality my father would be the last person to suggest such a thing, for it is strictly forbidden by the Sikh religion.- And that religion commands its members to abide by this rule no matter yyhat the consequences may beeven unto death. So my father would never have spoken as he-did in my dream, which caused the amusement. That night I brought out Communique No. 844. It was the first one that I managed to smuggle into the Indian National Army Camp at Kuala Lumpur.
CHAPTER IX

ON THE RUN BY now my Communiques had an average daily circulation of four hundred copies , in Kuala Lumpur and its immediate neighbourhood, to say nothing of their distribution throughout the whole peninsula; and it so enraged the Japanese that the Gestapo was ordered to start a country-wide search in the hope of thus catching Singa or his chief agents. Some time later I met Mohamed Noor, a Malay detective who was keeping my house under observation. I invited him to have a drink with me, and asked him why he was doing so. With some hesitation he replied "But who says I'm watching your house? It's not true." "Look, Noor," I said, patting his shoulder, "we've been friends for many years, and before the war we worked together. Now you're working, but I'm not. You haven't been around our way for over a year, but lately you've been coming to Ali's house every day. And all you do is sit on the stairs and keep staring our way. It doesn't take much common sense to spot your motive. Come on now, tell me what you want? What are you supposed to do?"

82 "I knew you'd suspect something," he replied somewhat awkwardly, but with something of his old friendliness, "and I don't want you to misunderstand me. I don't come here of my own accord. I've been posted here to watch your movements, those who come to your house and when you turn on your radio. You see, I'm on duty, and if I don't do it the Japs will cut off my head." "That's all right, Noor," I said, patting his shoulder all the more. "I'm glad you've told me exactly why you're here. I know you can't refuse when detailed for duty. But while you've been observing me, what have you discovered?" "Nothing, and that's the truth. There's nobody coming to your house, and your radio is always tuned-in to the Kuala Lumpur station. That report about you that you're always listening to British news in quite wrong. I don't know why anyone was fool enough to make it." I realised at once that he had done so himself, reporting to the Japs that I had an unsealed radio on which I listened to Allied news. But I gave no sign of my suspicions that he was the informer, and merely said, "You know I'm a poor man with a big family to support, Noor. How could I have time for politics? But since you've told me about this report, tell me what you think I'd better do about it. I count on you to help me, and here are fifty dollars for your trouble. That's all I can afford, and trust you'll tell your boss that it's a false report against me." "Don't worry," he said, pocketing the money. "I know what to say. I'll see that report is destroyed." Soon afterwards he left me, thanking me for the bribe I had given him as though I were paying him handsomely for services rendered, which indeed I was. On 2nd March, 1945, I was introduced to an officer of the Indian National Army, a captain

83 who was in charge of the detachment stationed in Kuala Lumpur. When Singapore fell in 1942 he had been a lieutenant in the British Indian Army. I became interested in him at once as I wanted to find out his feelings towards the Allies. We had met in the sitting-room of a friend, who was a strong pro-Allied man himself. During the course of our talk I asked him frankly, "Mr. Singh, what do you think of the Indian National Army?" "Not much," he replied at once. "And that's the opinion of other officers besides myself. We joined for the sake of an easy life, to escape becoming prisoners-of-war and being sent to a concentration camp. But we're longing for a chance to get to the front." "What, to fight against the Allies?" I asked. "Nonsense, that's not our idea at all. But we'd like a chance of getting across the frontier into India, so we could go home." It was better news than I had dared to expect, much as I had longed to hear it. Then my friend who was entertaining us asked me if I had received any of the latest communiques. I told him that one had come that afternoon, but I had left it behind at home, curious to see the Indian officer's reaction to my words. Immediately he asked, "What communiques are you talking about?" "The Singa pamphlets," replied my friend. "Do you get one every day?" he asked me with obvious astonishment. "Yes, sometimes two or three times a day. Don't you get them too?" "No, though some were pasted-up on trees in our camp some little time agoabout two days after the iSentul bombing. That's the only one I've read. What's in to-day's communique?" Pretending to recall what I read some hours before, I said, "The most important news to-day

84 is that Kuala Lumpur is going to be bombed again on 10th March." "And does it mention the target area as it did last time?" enquired the officer. "Yes, it asks all the railway workers in the marshalling yards bounded by Brickfields Road, Travers Road, and Damansara Road not to go to work that day, and everyone else to get out of the area, too." "But those Singa communiques you get everydaydo you think you could show them to me, too? I'd like to see the one you got to-day." "Certainly, I know I can trust you", I said. "As luck would have it, I didn't burn it. Usually I destroy them pretty quick, as you know how dangerous it is to be caught with one." "Yes, we must be careful. I'll drive you back to your house in my car." When we reached my home, I showed him my latest communique. He read it with much interest several times, and finally returned it to me, saying, "This is the stuff. The Allies really know what's good for the people. They must have sent some fine equipment to the people in the jungle who are doing this dangerous job. This pamphlet contains everythingnews from all the war frontsanS the latest at that. You'll be doing a good job yourself if you pass it on to me. I promise you that I won't tell anybody, and will destroy it as soon as I've read it." In order to show him that I did so myself I burnt it in front of him. Before he left the house I invited him to dine with me the following Sunday, 4th March, which he accepted with apparent pleasure. He arrived on that evening with two of his friends as I had suggested. We started off with drinks and were soon talking freely. For a brief moment I felt I could relax and enjoy myself. Meanwhile, we discussed the war in all its aspects.

85 Unfortunately, all this unaccustomed drink and congenial companionship went to my head, and long before my guests departed I had to be helped upstairs to bed and left to sleep it off. This must have been somewhere about 11 p.m. I remember nothing more. At about midnight I was aroused from deep sleep. Vaguely I heard the voice of my young brother, Gurdial, who had returned from Penang only a few days before. There was an urgent tone in his voice as he told me to get up at once. Slowly I opened my eyes. The light was on, and the room seemed full of people, all armed. For a moment I thought I was dreaming and this was part of my nightmare. All sorts of ideas chased through my mind, and it was some seconds before I realised that the dreaded Gestapo had come to my house. Then a revolver was stuck into my ribs and a harsh voice rasped in my ear: "Are you Gurchan Singh?" "Yes," I replied as calmly as possible, "I am Gurchan Singh." "Then you are Singa," bellowed the Jap. Without giving me a chance to deny the the charge, they roughly dragged me off the bed and gave me a thorough search. Meanwhile, my bed was stripped, even the mattress and pillows being torn open. No weapon was found, but they were not content. Three of them stayed on guard whilst the other seven went downstairs. The first place they searched was the study, so I knew my number was up. Enough would be found there to prove beyond all doubt that, even if I was not the elusive Singa, at least I was a valuable tool of his. Whilst the search went on I pondered on how they could have discovered my identity. My thoughts flew at once to the Indian National Army officer whom I had trusted, and I decided that he must have betrayed me. I was made

86 to sit on the floor of the landing upstairs in front of the altar upon which lay a Bible. My younger brother was also made to sit there whilst the guards sat beside us with revolvers in their hands. One of them said, "You smell of drink. Have you been drinking?" "Yes," I said, "I've been celebrating my brother's engagement." They all burst into laughter. I laughed, too. Then in a loud voice I asked my wife who was downstairs to prepare some coffee for them. The guards seemed to appreciate it, thinking me a kindly person. I kept cool, as my drunkenness had vanished and I was sober again. One of the guards got up and went to the altar, which was covered by a silk cloth. I said that it was a Bible. Then he poked about behind the altar, and brought out a basket full of ; radio parts. "And what is this?" he asked. On the spur of the moment I replied, "Those are radio parts bought by my brother." "Why did he buy them?" he asked. I told him that my brother was working in Penang for the Japanese who had sent him to Kuala Lumpur to buy radio parts. This was actually - so. My brother had made this excuse in order to visit usbut in fact, he had not taken the trouble to buy any. He had really been collecting these radio parts for several months and hiding them in the hduse with the idea of constructing a transmitter so that we could make our own broadcasts and also communicate with Allied aircraft when they came over Malaya. Just then one of the Japs below shouted something to my guards, and I guessed rightly that they had discovered everything. I was taken downstairs and made to sit on one of the four chairs in my small lounge. The guards sat alongside with their revolvers pointing menacingly at me. From my seat I could see

87 the Japs continuing their search, and my wife standing by. She asked me whether I was to be taken away; but I was too full of mixed emotions to answer. I knew that the penalty for me would be death, but first they would delight in torturing me in the most crpel way i possible. How would I react to their methods I of obtaining information? But perhaps they would execute me at once in their fury at having found Singa at last? Silently I watched the Japs taking out of my study radios, typewriters, hand-printings machines and hundreds of copies of old | communiques. They even held to the light sheets of carbon paper on which the signature of Singa could be clearly seen. This was j obviously the end. They will surely kill me, I thought. Why, then, should I first submit to inevitable torture? They will probably break my spirit, and I shall be reduced to revealing the names of my agents. But if I pretend to put up some form of resistance now, they will surely think that I am attempting to escape. Then they will fire, and three revolvers fired at me at such close quartersit will be instantaneous death. I shall die happy, knowing that I have not betrayed my fellow workers, and that they will carry on with my job until the Allies come to our aid. But what about my family? What would they do to them? In a hurry I prayed to God to have mercy on themthey are innocent, T | said. My father and mother were in their room, whilst my children were still fast asleep. I took a look at my wife's face, then at my brother's, then again at my wife. I knew it was going to be the last time I should see her. Then I weighed up the matter. It was one family'against so many other families. To save other families I must get myself killed so that I cOuld not

88 talk? Yes, I must do that. Then the Japs would not get any more information than they had already, and that could hurt no one. There was no list of names in my house, nothing that could lead them to my agents. All of a sudden, something told me that within the fraction of a second I must strike those three guards. They were sitting within arm's length of me, one on either side and the third in front. My mind started to work very quickly, but I gave no sign of it. I knew that * at all costs I must remain cool and fearless even to the enda suddfgn endto my life, which I must confess did not appeal to me. I felt that my work was unfinished. I prayed to God again, asking Him to give courage to my wife, my brother, my parents and children, so that they could endure anything. He should ask them to endure even what might happen before their eyes. I felt sure that He would bless them as they were entirely innocent. For myself, I regretted nothing. In the same circumstances, I knew that I would act again in the same way. It had been worthwhile. I had done my job. It would be an honourable death. The guards were busy talking amongst themselves, their revolvers resting lightly against their thighs. I finished my prayer. Then, throwing out my arms in a desperate gesture, I punched two of them in the ribs and simultaneously kicked the one in front of me, causing all three to lose their balance and collapse on the floor. It was a stunt I had often seen on the films, but now it was done with real precision. As they clumsily leapt to their feet and began to collect their wits, I darted off and bolted through a side door. With each step I expected a shower of bullets, but I had taken twelve or fifteen strides before I heard the first shot. I took such pnormous leaps that I soon v found myself in

89 the valley below the house. There are no I footpaths down the slope, but the whole hillside was well known to me. During those first few minutes salvo after salvo was fired blindly at me. As it was pitch dark I could not even guess if they were aiming accurately or not. My one thought was that I had got? away, and must keep on moving. The darkness closed in behind I me. I was safe, at least for a time. I ran through the valley at a speed that would have broken any record. I felt completely mad, like an | animal gone crazy running on and on without knowing why. My feeling of safety wore off, and once again I thought of what might happen to me if recaptured. In my blind haste, I ran full tilt into a barbed-wire fence. Its position was well known to me, but now all sense of direction had left me. It gave me several nasty cuts, and tore my shirt off. Nevertheless, I kept on running, through all the small hills and valleys in which Kuala Lumpur abounds. I reached the top of a hill partially covered with jungle, so I sat down and drew a few deep breaths. After a welcome respite of a minute or so I started the trek down the other side. I had gone only a few yards w,hen some dogs began to bark furiously. Fearing that the Japs might also be there and nearer than I | dared think, I made a detour and agaiii climbed I the hill. From sheer exhaustion I fell to my knees, and so began a long crawl beside roads, creeping through wire fences and getting more torn and wounded as I did so, until just before dawn I reached the house of a lady friend. This lady and her husband had dropped in to dinner with me the previous evening, when I had been entertaining the Indian National Army officers. They seemed to be asleep. I knocked at the door, knocked until at last a voice came from upstairs, "Who is there?" . * sBSaaHHra^i

90 "Gurchan Singh", I said, "please open the door." At last it was opened by the lady in her pyjamas with her hair all loose. I went in and caught her hand. "What is the matter with you?" she asked. Just then her husband came downstairs and joined us. "After you had all gone home the Japanese raided my house, and they found what they wanted to find," I said. "And what was that?" they asked. "The Singa pamphlets which I've so often shown you. I managed to make a bolt for it." The lady went upstairs and brought me a white shirt and trousers. She also gave me one of her old sarees for my turban. As I changed, I asked both of them, "Do you think that I.N.A. officer whom you introduced to me, and who dined with us last night, could have reported the matter to the Japanese?" "I've known him a long time," said my friend. "I don't think he would do such a thing. I've been telling him all the pro-Allied news from the Singa communiques for months now. No, I don't believe he could have done it, though you can't trust anybody these days." The lady then gave me a glass of milk, and her husband asked me if I needed any money. I said that I should very much l}ke to have twenty dollars, which he gave me. As the lady took me to the door she caught hold of my right hand in friendly encouragement. It was far too dangerous to stay there any longer, so I left and made my way to my sister's home, which I approached from the back. There I met my brother-in-law, Bachittar Singh, the managing director of the Punjabi newspaper. He was somewhat surprised to see me so early in the morning. I told him exactly what had happened. Thereupon he asked me, "What about the family? Have they taken them away?"

91 I "I don't know," I said. "About half-an] hour after my escape I heard a few revolver shots on one side of the hill. It may- have meant anything. Will you go to the house under pretext of wanting to buy one of the cows, and find out what has happened?" He said that he would do so.. Then my sister joined us, and my brother-in-law told her what had happened. She begged me to look after myself. Then she gave me fifty dollars and her blessing, and I was off again. I made my way to a deserted railway station, Pantai, on the line from Kuala Lumpur I to Port Swettenham. I remained there all day, sleeping in fits and starts on the one bench on the platform. By evening my feet were swollen and inflamed where the^barbed wire had pierced the skin. I planned my next move. In the evening I left the station and trekked along the line until I reached a coffee-shop in the Bungsar Road. By this time I was limping and made progress with great difficulty. Thankfully, I sat down in the shop and ordered coffee and bananas. Just as I was sipping my hot coffee and feeling more capable of forming plans- for a complete getaway, a car load of Chinese detectives drove up and stopped in front of the shop. I promptly looked the other way, feeling like a trapped animal that does not know which way to turn. By their actions, I knew that they were looking for someone. My heart thudded, and I felt strangely sick and numb. One of them stepped out of the car, walked into the shop, and began to talk to the proprietor. Once or twice he looked at me, thus increasing my nervousness. Then the proprietor went to the back of the house and returned with a bicycle. He handed it to the detective, who mounted and slowly cycled away in the direction from which I had come, The car with the

92 other detectives still remained outside the shop. Mustering up all that remained of my courage, I called the proprietor to bring my bill. He walked over, and I casually asked him about the Chinese who had taken his bicycle. He said that the man was a Japanese Gestapo agent, and had insisted on taking it. As discreetly as possible, I quickly left the shop. By this time dusk was falling. Again I made my way towards my sister's home, where I had been in the morning. I was determined to learn what I could about my family's fate. Before entering the house'-by the back door, I made sure that it was not being watched. The first person I met was my small nephew, and I whispered to him to call his mother as quietly as possible. When she came, followed by my brother-in-law, she said, "I sent our grass cutter to your house this morning under pretext that he was a gardener. There he saw your wife untying your youngest daughter from a tree infested with red ants, to which she had apparently been tied by the Japanese. The little one must have been beaten, too, for she was unconscious. It was a Sergeant Nishi who did it. Your wife was still attending to the child when he interrogated her. She couldn't answer his questions, so he pushed the child on one side and started kicking her, shouting, 'You're a Communist. If you don't tell me the truth I'll kill you. Now tell mewho came to the house to see your husband?' "Crying with pain, your poor wife kept on saying that she knew nothing." "And the childwhat happened to the child?" I interrupted. "She lay on the ground unconscious while Nishi wenbon beating your wife for more than an hour. Then he called your father out of the house. Father, 80 though he is, walked slowly up to him and was very diplomatic,

93 Sternly he told him that none of the other members of his family knew what you were doing. At first Nishi didn't believe him; but fortunately he didn't strike father. Finally, he told him to get mother and j o u r wife ready, as he was going to take them away. It was here that father showed how stubborn and brave he can still be. There he stood, and he wouldn't budge an inch. He just said that he wouldn't let them go; but that if Nishi thought they were guilty, he could shoot them all. Nishi said that three shots cost money, therefore he couldn't kill - them. So father offered to pay for the I shots. Nishi laughed, and after some further argument agreed not to take them away, but said that they must find out where you were. Then about fifteen armed Japanese, who apparently had been searching the hills, came to report to him. And Nishi turned to father and said that he must go out to look for you." "What happened to my wife and the child?" I asked. "She took the child to the bathroom, washed her face, and gave her some water. ( The little one is all right now. About mid-day they took Gurdial away, and a guard was posted I in front of the house, which has been visited ! b y many Japanese officials. They all came out with something in their hands. A lot of things have been taken away." Turning to my brother-in-law, I asked whether he had been to the house himself. He said that he had paid it a brief visit. "The whole town has heard about you and your amazing escape," he added. "Everybne says that you must be Singa yourself. The Japanese are now going to the houses of all your friends." This was all I wanted to know, and, borrowing a blanket from my sister, I went on my way. Walking cautiously along the side streets until outside the town and some distance down the Klang Road, at last I reached one of

94 my family's small rubber estates, where I decided to remain at least for a time. An aged Chinese caretaker was living there in an old shack. He was extremely surprised to see me at such an hour and in such a condition, so I hastily invented a story that would not tell him too much. I said that I had a quarrel with a Japanese soldier and unfortunately had struck him, whereupon I had been pursued by his friends. I casually mentioned that as this row had taken place in front of my own house, it would be watched and I could not return there. Although he shook his head wisely, saying, "It's not good to quarrel with one's masters," I knew that he was delighted with my story. I slept like a log that night, but wakened early feeling stiff and sore in every joint. I was worried, too, by not having put more distance between myself and the Japs, who by now would have search parties out on all the roads. After a wash and a brief sun-bath, I felt in better spirits, and giving the old man some loose cash, asked him to take a bottle and buy me some bread and coffee. He toddled away at once, glad of the chance of doing even such a small thing which the Japs would consider wrong. Again my thoughts returned to my family. None of them had known anything about my young brother's work in obtaining radio jsarts. They were completely innocent of any charges brought against them by the Japanese. From bitter experience, I knew that the Japs would probably drag them off to prison, if they did not shoot them on the spot and then fire the house. Too many of my acquaintances had been served thus for me to doubt what would happen in my case. At last the Japs had caught almost red-handed the hated Singathe man who had had the audacity to mix freely with senior Japanese officers, who had been given

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95 a pass to travel around the whole country unmolested! No, with bitterness in my heart, I realised that my family would be made to pay now for what I had done. Then my bitterness melted, and I began to cry. I felt so utterly baffled at being whole and able-bodied, yet completely powerless to help those whom I loved more than anything on earth. Those who speak so glibly of patrotism have never experienced such pangs as I felt then, sitting on that hill in all the quiet beauty of a Malayan early morning. As I sat recalling every small incident that might have caused my arrest, I remembered amongst many suspectsMohamed Noor, the Malay detective working for the Japanese; but it seemed useless to go on puzzling about it. The Japs had already signed my death sentence, and would get me one day. But what could I do? First, I must give my public a swan song. How to print it, though? I decided to wait until darkness fell, when I would slip out for food and also buy paper, pen and ink. This meant a long walk in the dark, but I was truly thankful that the moon was in its last quarter. I walked boldly into a shop and ordered dinner. After eating as much as I couldI was not sure when I might get another mealI made my way to the house of one of my agents, a Siamese-Malay called Jaffar, who had not seen me since my escape. There was no mistaking the happiness on his face when he recognised me, and realised that I was still safe. He gave me all the paper I needed, and I returned to my house on the rubber estate. Next morning I visited the house of the railway guard, Bhag Singh, who should have returned from the north that morning. Shortly after my arrival he came in and was greatly surprised to see me. Why had I got up so

96 early, he asked. Without troubling to reply, I questioned him about the letters containing pamphlets which I had given him. Were they still concealed on his person, or had he delivered them? They had all been delivered. Then I told him everything that had happened since I had last seen him before his journey to Ipoh. He listened in silence, then threw back his head and laughed quietly to himself. "So, after all, you are Singa?" I could not deny it any more. What was my next move, he wanted to know. I asked him if he was brave enough to risk taking me with him on his train the next time he was detailed for Singapore. He carefully worked out his duty shift and told me that his next trip to Singapore would be on 10th March, but warned me to turn up on the previous evening so that we could make our final plans. As he was off duty for the day, we spent many hours talking and plotting, also discussing Singa's swan song. After dark I left his house and again returned to the rubber estate, where I decided to remain in hiding until 10th March. All next day I worked hard on my last communique, which I intended to issue in Kuala Lumpur that same evening. Finally I got it to my liking, and it read:
ALLIED H.Q. COMMUNIQUE NO. 854 OF 9TH. MARCH, 1945. THE SWAN SONG. This is the last communique to be issued in Kuala Lumpur. To-morrow is the day. Do not go to work to-morrow, especially those of you who work in Government factories, the Railway Workshops, and the areas surrounding Brickfields Road, Travers Road, and Damansara Road. Tell the Japanese that you dare not risk it. Tell them that similar warnings were given to workers at the Sentul factories, where hundreds died at their benches. Thousands of relatives of those killed at Sentul regret not having taken my warning. If you go to work to-morrow it may well be your last day.

97
Here is another warning to all freedom-loving people of Kuala Lumpur. It is not long now before I the time will come for the Axis to admit they are beaten. Till that time comes you will see many Allied planes around, the crews of which are risking their ; lives for your freedom and mine. In case they get into difficulties and parachute down it will be your duty to help them. Later you will be rewarded. It j does not pay to betray, and those who do so will be found out. A parachutist may become a prisoner, but a revolver cartridge will be your just punishment.

It is now clear that the Axis nations are fighting a losing battle and therefore the war has to end some day. Perhaps it will take longer that we should hope, but it will be finished in another six months from to-day. But you can help to make that day arrive more quickly by playing your part in sabotage and acts of non-co-operation. Just as in Germahy, thousands have arisen to take their place in the final fight for Democracy; so you, too, are required to rally round and to play your part in this last effort.

THE LAST WARNING.

SINGA. This communique was handwritten, and it was the first time I had done so much at one shot in this manner. By evening I had prepared twenty-eight copies of it. After using a spare ration of tapioca flour to make some paste, I wondered where I could scrounge a bicycle. I decided that stealing one would be no greater offence than some of my other crimesat least in the eyes of the Japs. By this time it was 7 p.m. I walked to a lonely road about half a mile away from where I was living and waited there with the idea of pouncing on a Japanese to steal his bicycle. A solitary Japanese soldier was cycling towards me, singing happily to himself. Spotlessly dressed in white duck, he was obviously thinking of some pleasure in store. Looking hastily behind me, I saw that the road was deserted; we seemed to be the only people around at that moment. As he passed me by, I pounced

98 on him, and he fell off his bike. With a smart punch to the jaw, followed by two more on the chin, he was soon half-conscious. I rolled him off the road, hastily mounted and rode away. Speed was a matter of life and death to me, and there wasn't a minute to lose. The next evening I cycled along and pursued my usual tactics of pasting-up my communiques, concentrating mainly on the factory district. I saw one of my agents and managed to speak to him for a minute, telling him to meet my other brother-in-law, my wife's cousin, and ask him to come to see me next day at the rubber estate. Feeling justifiably proud of my last effort, I returned to the deserted estate and slept much better. Next morning I sat down at a point where I could observe my brother-in-law approaching at least ten minutes before he could reach me. I wanted to make sure that nobody had followed him. When he arrived at the shack, he looked around for me, and five minutes later I went up to him. He brought some food and, as I had had no breakfast and felt quite hungry, I enjoyed a delicious meal. Meanwhile, I asked him if he had been to my house since my escape. "I've been going there regularly fo^ the last three days in spite of the guard," he said. "Your brother was released yesterday on condition that he would search for you. If he can't find you, he'll be arrested again. Since yesterday he's been going around with two detectives. He seemed to be watched all the time. The Kempetei have warned him that it is his duty to help them in their search for you, and if possible to contact you and say that if you surrender they will grant you a pardon; but that if you refuse to give yourself up they will execute you. The Japanese have searched your house over and over again, and they have bepn taking something away each time.

99 "There's one man called Nishi, whom your wife has nicknamed 'The Butcher'. He beats her whenever he goes to the house." That was enough to break my heart. I could not eat any more. My heart felt very heavy, and for a moment I could not speak. "By the way, what's happened to the two Australian sheep dogs?" I asked. "Don't they bark now when anyone approaches the house?" "You'll be sorry to hear that they've both been poisoned," he said sympathetically. "You know how they used to bark when strangers got within fifty yards of the house. The Japanese thought them a menace, and therefore poisoned them. Both of them died within the hour." That made me boil with hatred more -than ever. The two dogs were my pets. I loved them so much; especially during my hours of listening to the radio they did yeoman service by keeping a look-out for anyone coming near the house. Moreover, he said that the Japs had removed from the house every photograph ever taken of me. That came as an unpleasant surprise to me. There were four albums containing in all more than four hundred snap-shots of me, some at school, and some at sports since I had finished my school days. Even my letters from old friends written many years before had all been taken away. On his departure I sat down and thought about this latest problem of shaving and cutting off my hair. My father is an ardent Sikh, and thus I had not wanted him to have the shock of hearing that I had shaved myself. But obviously my best chance of survival was to get myself shaved as quickly as possible. So I borrowed a pair of shears from the old Chinese caretaker. With lots of cuts and gashes everywhere, I managed to clip my beard until merely a stumble remained. Next my hair. I

100 hacked and cut away until I thought it was short enough for me to visit a barber's shop without attracting much attention. Next door to it there was a bicycle-repair shop whose owner knew me. He was standing just outside as I passed, and, thinking that he must have recognised me, I wished him good evening. He returned the greeting, but obviously without knowing who I was. As I sat in the barber's chair, I had another unpleasant shock. A policeman walked in and came right up to the chair in which I was sitting. My heart beat faster and fastersurely he must recognise me, as I was well known to the Police Force? I perspired and could not control my feelings. Plucking up courage, I looked into the mirror opposite, as I heard the barber say, "No, I have no money, you must come back to-morrow." The policeman fortunately left, and the barber began to wipe the soap off my face. I handed him a ten dollar note, pocketed the change and disappeared quickly from the saloon. I had an appointment to keep that night at the railway guard's house, and only a few hours in which to think over my coming trip to Singapore.,
'chapter x

SINGAPORE BOUND

"Bhag, did you go to town this morning?" I was talking to the railway guard, Bhag Singh, in his small sitting-room that evening after meeting him at his house at 7 p.m., and was curious to know whether there had been any reaction to Singa s Swan Song which the public should have seen that morning. "Yes" he replied, "I met many of my friends, and they were all talking about you." "Everyone's discussing to-morrow's raid. You're going to be wrong there, you know. You

101 shouldn't have mentioned an actual date or a target area. Anyway, J don't beli^ye that there'll be any more Allied raids on Kuala Lumpur for some time to come." Then we went on to talk of other things, and I asked Bhag Singh whether he had heard any other news in town. Had the Japanese made any fresh arrests? "Oh, yes," he replied, "they've arrested several people already, I believe." "You know that milkman I've often seen you speaking toI don't know his name, but you introduced him to me once in Batu Road." "You mean Bhagat Singh?" "Yes, that's the man, and it seems he was arrested the same day they tried to catch you." I asked Bhag Singh if he was sure that the milkman had been caught with pamphlets on his person on the same day as my own arrest. When he replied that he was quite certain, I began to see daylight about that sudden arrival of the Gestapo at my house, which at the time had puzzled me so much. I could imagine only too well how he had been tortured by the Japs in order to make him tell who had given him the pamphlets. It was useless to worry about it any more, so we started discussing the next day's programme. "I want to take my bicycle to Singapore, Bhag," I said. "Which is the best station for you to get me and it on board without any difficulty?" "If you can ride to one of the small stations outside Kuala Lumpur, it will be all right," he replied. "What about Bangi, that small station some twenty-three miles south on the Singapore line?" "It will do nicely. If you can get there, I'll be able to take you abroad without any trouble."

Lii a lutau 35 CJOSC inSQQS Ot T T 1 1 OS D6lOT tuS Outbreak off war. In 1935 we bad all been police constables stationed at Ipoh-. I felt sure promptly arrest me. But what could I do? I pulled my hat well down over my face and, as I passed them, gave a deep Japanese bow. "Salaam malai kum," said one of them. I had to think rapidly. I ought to return their greeting, but feared I could not alter my voice at such short notice. So instead I gave another deep bow and walked on. As I did so, I overheard one of them say to the others, "He's not a Mohammedan, he looks more like an Eurasian." I did not care what the} took me for so long as I got safely past them, and there was still a second barricade to pass before I was safeand I did it. It was now about six o'clock, and I cycled away towards Bangi, arriving there some two hours later. Bangi is a small village of only one street, with the railway station at one end. The street is lined with shops, and away to the south a quarter of a mile down the line is the police station staffed by ten to fifteen policemen. The village has a population of about five hundred, which means that everyone knows each other and strangers are recognised at once. The villagers are mostly Malays and Chinese,
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103 whose main occupation is collecting timber from the jungle hills not far away. This latter point gave me an idea. Contractors and house-builders would obviously come to Bangi from distant towns and villages to buy timber. I thus made up my mind that, if questioned about the purpose of my visit, I would pretend to have been sent there by a Japanese firm to obtain some timber quotations. Otherwise, it would be difficult for me to hang around in such a small village for several hours without arousing suspicion. In any case, by the time I left everyone would have noticed me. Just as I entered the village, I heard the air raid alarm sounding, and knew that once again Allied planes were over Malaya. Ten minutes later there was a distant explosion, soon followed by several more. From the direction of the sound, I guessed that Kuala Lumpur must be receiving further attention from the R.A.F. I had been in the village for about an hour when I approached a timber merchant to get quotations for a large order which my firm would place with him if his prices were reasonable, giving my firm's name as Nanri Sangyo Kabushiki Kaisha, and asking whether he could supply them with 10,000 pieces of six different varieties of timber. Whereupon he became friendly and courteous and gave me quotations for different sizes at different rates, obviously calculating his profits in hundreds of thousands of dollars. Finally, he said that he would let me have ten per cent on whatever he received. With some hard bargaining, I raised it to fifteen. Our talk had lasted about two hours, and then he took me out and gave me a fine lunch. I told him that I would return within a week and obtain an advance for him from my firm. He was very pleased.

104 "Do you know at what time the train for Seremban arrives here?" I enquired casually, adding that I was on my way to pay a visit to relations there. He told me that it would reach Bangi at about 4.30 p.m. "That means I must wait for nearly five hours," I complained. "I didn't think it would be so long." "You can wait in my shop if you like," he replied. Each hour seemed to pass like a month; but somehow the time did pass and once again I cycled towards the railway station. I waited around for an hour and a half, but there was no sign of the train. Finally, afraid of attracting attention yet even more by remaining there doing nothing, I asked the station master what had happened. He told me that the train was several hours late. It was too risky to hang around any longer, so I cycled six miles back along the line until I reached the town of Kajang, sixteen miles from Kuala Lumpur. I asked the station master there what time the train was expected to arrive. He stared at me with obvious surprise, saying, "What train do you expect to-day? Don't you know that Kuala Lumpur has had a very bad air raid? The main line was hit." I nearly shouted with delight. My luck had held after all. Sure enough, Kuala Lumpur had been bombed on the very day and in the exact area which I had mentioned in Singa's Swan Song. Then I began to wonder where I should sleep that night. After a little consideration, I decided to call at the house of one of my agentsa schoolmaster by the name of Chanan Singh. At great risk to himself and his friends, he had constantly supported the Allied cause. After worlung for the Japanese for two months, he had resigned his position and given up a very handsome salary in order to fight against Fascism. In that area he was my most active agent, doing much work for me besides cycling over sixteen miles daily past

alert Japanese copies of the communiques. "So you've come at last," he said, his face lighting up with a smile of welcome. "I knew you would. I've been looking for you everywhere and making enquiries, but could learn nothing. Come in. I'm so happy to see you alive. You've been lucky, very lucky indeed. The Japanese are looking for you everywhere in Kuala Lumpur, and your house is guarded." "Never mind all that," I said. "Tell me, have you been in Kuala Lumpur to-day?" "Yes," he replied, looking as though he had something very important to tell me, something really big. "I had nearly reached town when I saw Allied planes in the sky, and then they released their bombs. I also sa*w Japanese fighter planes trying to hide away from the Allied bombers." "What place was bombed to-day," I asked eagerly. "I was just going to tell you. I really laughed within myself when I visited the scene. The target area was the very place you mentioned in your warningbetween Brickfields Road, Travers Road, and Damansara Road. And now the whole town is talking about you. Did you actually get an Allied warning over the radio?" "What do you think, Chanan?" "I believe you did." "No", I said, shaking my head. "I got nothing over the radio. It was just a prophecy, and a fluke one at that!" "What a lucky stroke!" he exclaimed. "No, I can't believe that! You may have got one thing by a fluke, but not everything. You gave the date and specified the target as though you'd receive detailed information from Allied Head-quarters. Thousands of people have been saved by your warning. The round-house, where locomotives are kept, received two

105 sentries with

106 direct hits, and several engines have been destroyed. I saw two of them turned upsidedown. Then the long sheds where coaches are stored also received a direct hit, besides the engine turntable. Then the museum was struck by a couple of stray bombs. After hearing from him what had really happened I went into the bathroom, and while having a shower felt the same surge of happiness that I had three weeks before when my forecast had proved correct. Now thousands of people in Kuala Lumpur had trusted my words, left the affected area and thereby escaped with their lives. I imagined them thanking God for my timely warning. The dinner I had was more than deliciousit was care-free. For the first time since my escape six nights before I could eat without keeping a sharp look-out for whoever came or went. Next morning after an early breakfast I went on, my way to Seremban. Chanan Singh insisted on accompanying me. He was very influential in that area and commanded the respect of almost every citizen. By seeing me safely through the police barrier he did his last act of co-operation. Very few would have dared to do so much. As we rode on he asked me whether there was anything I wanted him to convey to any of my friends who might be anxious about me. "Yes," I said, "will you contact Mr. Augustine Lye, the ex-science teacher whom you know well. He's been a very active agent of mine, who never wanted to work for the Japs. Tell him that you've met me and that I'm all right. Then there's another of my agents you probably know Mr. Arunasalam, the well-known race horse owner. Give him my regards, too." Chanan Singh promised to deliver my messages before he returned to Kajang, whilst I went on to Seremban. As I entered the town, I kept a careful look-out for another one of my

107 agents, Tan Beng Hock, who before long I observed cycling towards me. He was going to ride past me, when I called out to him. He dismounted and stood there for more than a minute looking at me as though I were a stranger. Then, pointing at me, he said, "Gurchan Singh?" , I shook my head with a smile. He examined my face more closely, then with a burst of laughter he caught hold of my right hand, saying, "This betrays you. We've been together since childhood and that red hand of yours cannot be forgotten." My right hand and arm are blood-red. It is a birthmark. "By Heaven, what are you doing here?" he continued. "I've heard so much about you since your escape, I've been in terror myself. If you were caught I expect to be involved, too. I thought you'd be tortured and forced to confess the names of your agents. But come, let's go to a restaurant where we can talk without | ( being observed." I stayed with Tan Beng Hock in Seremban for a few days, and then it seemed wiser to move on. So I called at the house of another agent, Khem Singh, which was in the same neighbourhood but some miles away, and spent some days with him. I felt quite content, knowing that these agents were most trustworthy and would do their utmost to conceal my identity. One day I was having a nap after lunch in the house where I was staying, when I heard the voices of two ladies in the next room, and then footsteps coming towards me. I pretended to close my eyes as though asleep. It was my agent's wife, accompanied by an old lady whom I did not know. Finding me apparently asleep, they returned to the other room, and I heard the old lady say, "I've known him since he was a child. I expect his mother's wondering where he is now. She'd never imagine that he's lying

108

comfortably here." Then the younger lady remarked, "It's lucky no one around here knows who he is, otherwise there would be trouble." "Indeed there would," said the old lady. "In Kuala Lumpur the Gestapo have arrested several of his friends, hoping to learn of his whereabouts. But these innocents don't know anything about his past activities or where he is now." Just then I turned over in bed, and the lady of the house called out, "Gurchan Singh, Gurchan Singh! " I answered as though aroused from sleep, and both ladies returned. I could not think who the older one could be, but decided that she had a kind nature. She reminded me of my mother in my early years. Now she came up to me smiling, her face full of emotion. It worried me, for I had no wish to see anyone at that moment. "Don't be alarmed, son," she said in a reassuring voice, obviously guessing my thoughts. "Don't you remember me? I'm the mother of your pal, Gajjaan, who died two years ago. You've looked on me as your mother before, and I want you to do so again. Please trust me." I did not know what to do. Now that she had seen me I thought I must trust her. Moreover, it gave me the chance of finding out more about what was happening in Kuala Lumpur, and especially about Bhagat Singh, the milkman, since I discovered that she lived near his house. So I asked her to tell me all she knew of his arrest. "Some hours earlier in the evening before you were arrested at midnight," she said, "Bhagat Singh left his house with about six gallons of milk on his usual round. One of his customers was a Malay girl. He usually visited her twice a dayin the morning and evening. She professed to be interested in the Allied cause, and he used to give her an anti-Japanese newspaper."

109 "What's your source of information?" I asked. "Is it quite reliable." "I heard all this from two friends of mine who tried to help the milkman after his arrest," she said. "It seems he got that anti-Japanese newspaper from you. Is that true?" I nod4ed, and she went on. "Well, he used to pass it on to her, and did so for a long time. One day earlier this year her brother happened to see the milkman handing her the news bulletin. He became curious, stealthily crept up to his sister, snatched it out of her hand, and read it. Though he was a Gestapo agent she was not unduly worried, feeling quite sure that he would never report the matter as it might involve her, his own sister." "Two months later the Japanese intensified their efforts to trace Singa and his organisation by increasing the reward for the informant. The girl's brother thought of the reward under his very nose. The temptation was too great, and he made his first move. He started observing the milkman's movements in the morning and evening." "As often happens when there are common interests, the Malay girl and the milkman became fond of each other, which her brother much disliked. It spurred him on to use all his guile to try to find where the milkman was getting the pamphlets. But Bhagat Singh was smart and shrewed enough to give some fictitious name of a Chinese and supposed place of meeting. For some days the boy tried to find the Chinese /agent', but naturally, without success. So he shadowed the milkman on his rounds, and managed to discover two of his contacts who were very active agents themselves." "For more than a month he lay low, being unable to find any more clues. Then one day he had a new idea. He asked the milkman whether he would give him a job in his dairy,

110 saying that he would feed the cows and do any odd jobs in the house for his food without pay. Suspecting nothing, the milkman fell for it, and took the Malay youngster into his house. For a few days the boy worked there, but found out* ' nothing except that the job was far too tedious for him. He tried to trap the milkman into telling him more about the pamphlets, but in vain." "He became more impatient than ever, thinking all the<time of that big reward offered by the Japanese and getting more eager to collect. So he gave up his job with the milkman and returned home. Next day he reported everything to his Gestapo chiefa Burmese quack doctorsaying that the milkman would be passing that way in the evening between the hours of four and six. So the Burmese doctor, accompanied by three of his agents, waited in the street ready to grab him the moment he appeared. It was over an hour before he arrived on his bicycle. They stopped him, searched him, and to their joy found two Singa pamphlets on his person. Happiest of them all was the Malay boy, already planning how he was going to spend his fat reward. When asked where he got the pamphlets, the milkman replied that a Chinese had given them to him. So they beat him with a knotted rope, but he would say no more." "Then it struck them that he might be Singa himself. So they made him write the word on a piece of paper, and compared it with the signature on the pamphlets; but, of course, they did not agree. So they went on beating him for two hou^s, trying to make him confess the name of the man who had given him the pamphlets; yet still he said nothing. Then the Burmese doctor telephoned to the chief of the Gestapo to inform him that he had arrested a member of the Singa organisation. In no time the Japanese officers came racing along, and when the milkman refused to answer their questions they began

Ill beating him in their turn; and on that failing to make him speak they gave him the water torture." "The poor man endured all this for a long time, but finally became demoralised. More than his own sufferings, it was the thought of his aged mother, a widow, and his unmarried sister, who were entirely dependent on him. Besides, the strain of the interrogation was becoming too much for him, so he decided ta tell something. He thus made a half-hearted attempt to tell them | only a little; but on realising that at last they had made him talk they redoubled their efforts and succeeded in extracting from him everything he knew. He told them that he had got the pamphlets from you, but said that he did not know who Singa actually was. When asked if he knew your house, he admitted that he did." "On that they mustered all their available men and made their way to your house. On reaching the end of the track leading up to it, they leapt out of the lorries and fixed their arms I as though going to surround a fort. They apparently expected some strong opposition; and while some armed men took up positions behind the house, others approached it from the front. You know what happened after that, for then you were arrested." The old lady seemed to know so much that I asked her for news of my friends, and learned that immediately after my escape the Japs had arrested one of my agents, Dan Singh. Before the war he had been a police officer, and for a few months after the occupation he had worked in this capacity for the Japanese; but then he had resigned because his pro-Allied feelings made him unhappy in the work. He had started a paper factory as a livelihood, and at the same time volunteered to help me with the distribution of my pamphlets. The Japanese were informed that he had often been seen with me, and he was thus arrested.

112 This middle-aged man was convalescing from a bad bout of malaria at the time, and was still suffering from an enlarged spleen. While Dan was being interrogated by the Kempetei, his questioner had repeatedly punched him in the stomach, laughing gustily at the sight of his victim doubling up with pain. Suddenly Dan collapsed and died within a short time. I felt utterly sad at hearing of the tragic end of Dan Singh and of the torture of one my agents who had helped me so courageously. Much as I felt I could trust this old lady, I had been made extra cautious by recent events, and dared not tell her what she was longing to hear herselfhow I had managed to escape and also my future plans. Suddenly it seemed unsafe for me to linger in Seremban, as quite innocently the old lady might mention my whereabouts. So I decided to leave at once. Since my arrival in Seremban I had been going to the railway station almost daily to meet the Kuala Lumpur-Singapore train, hoping that I might see the guard, Bhag Singh, who could then arrange to take me to Singapore. So I went there again that day determined to make an extra effort to find him, but again I was unlucky. And I had not the courage to buy a ticket, being unable to produce a passport; so yet another day passed, and I was beginning to feel rather nervous about getting away at all. On .the following day I made up my mind that I would board the train no matter who was the guard. Fortunately, the train was four hours late and by the time it arrived it was raining heavily. This seemed to be a good sign. The Gestapo were not likely to turn out in pouring rain at nine o'clock in the evening. Left once again to .my own resources, I decided that safety lay in iumoing off the train at the small station of Bukit Timah, about five miles outside Singapore, and then walking the

. 113 remaining distance. At that time the train would be travelling quite slowly, and I counted on people being too busy with their luggage to notice me. As we drew into the station of Bukit Timah, I made my way into the corridor on the far side away from the platform which was crowded with waiting passengers and several Jap Security Officers. None were in sight on my side, however; so I jumped off the train an$ quickly ran away from the siding into the back yard of a house belonging to an Indian station master. I was carrying a small bag, and was noticed by a man who turned -out to be the station master's cook. Very politely, I asked him if he would allow me to change my dirty clothes in his kitchen. He agreed; and, as I changed, I had the pleasure of watching the train rolling slowly out of the station. Feeling suddenly refreshed and very happy, I set off on the road to Singapore only six miles away; and it was with a light heart that I walked those six miles. For the moment I was a free man.
CHAPTER XI

PLANNING THE GREAT TREK NORTH the month that I spent in Singapore I managed to study fairly closely the Japanese land, sea and air defences, and decided that somehow I must contact the Allies in order to give them the information I had collected as it might prove invaluable to them if they iiitended to invade Malaya. The only way of reaching them would be to cross the front line in Burma. But could I do it? It would not be easy. And then there was the further question as to how I was to get to Burma. It meant a very careful map study of a possible route.
DURING

114 I could try to reach Burma on one of the coasting sailing vessels plying between Penang and Rangoon; but it would be highly dangerous. The Indian Oceanespecially the route between Singapore and Rangoonwas a hunting ground for Allied submarines, and I had heard much about their activities in that area. The land journey was none the less hazardous and demanded a detailed knowledge of every stage of the route. I should have to march through the densest jungles of Siam and Burma. It took me a full week to complete my plans for leaving the Straits, and I pored over every available map I could lay hands on with a special study of the coastline. So far as the route was concerned, I had one main idea, which was to hug the coastline as much as possible. It seemed to me to have one big advantageI could always catch fish for food. But it would mean walking all the waya march of about a thousand miles up to Moulmein, and then across /f the mouth of the Salween River to Martaban and thence to Rangoon by rail. While pondering on all that I suddenly had a brainwave. Why . " shouldn't I take the train routethe Railroad of Deathfrom Siam to Burma? From Japanese propaganda, I knew that the railway had already been connected with Moulmein, so I decided to take that course. Even if I failed to get a train, I could walk more safely there than along the coast. I knew that besides the prisoners-of-war many Indian labourers had been working on the construction of that railway, and that some of them had returned to Malaya owing to ill-health. So I thought it a good idea to make enquiries among the labouring classes to see if by some lucky chance I could meet anyone who had been there, and thus gain valuable information. Within two days I was introduced to a labourer who had been right from the point where

115 the railway begins to the terminus. What more could I ask for? From him I learnt two main essentials. First, that the railroad r^n through Nompladuck in Siam forty miles south of Bangkok to Moulmein. "If you were lucky you might get a ride on the train' which was used only by the Japanese military, otherwise you could easily walk." Then he told me that every twenty to fifty miles there were camps in which lived, besides the Japanese, the Malayan labourers employed on the upkeep of the railroad. So once again I had to spend two days figuring out this route, having definitely decided upon it in favour of the original plan of walking along the coastline. After making my plans, I told my agents about my intention of leaving Singapore and going north to Burma. Some thought I might succeed in reaching my journey's end, others warned me that I would most probably contract some dreadful disease on the way; then there was always the possibility of being shot by chance whilst trying to cross the^ front lines. They failed to discourage me, however. I knew that it was not going to be easy; but I was beginning to be something of a fatalist so far as my mission was concerned. My friends remained convinced that it was a foolhardy venture, especially as there was already a price on my head. They also reminded me of my shortage of funds. For more than three hours we discussed these questions, and then I gave my final decision. I was determined to go, no matter what happened. Leaving them, I returned to my room and did not see them again till the following evening, When we met at our usual place in Serangoon Road. To my surprise, one of them was triumphantly carrying a bottle of Japanese liquor. "What's that for?" I demanded.

116 Back came the joyous reply, "To celebrate our trip to Burma." "What do you mean by 'our'?" I asked. "Don't tell me you're all thinking of coming with me?" "You've guessed right, boss. And this is J probably our last chance of a party before we I leave Singapore," replied one of them. I gazed at them in silent amazement, thinking quite honestly that they had been drinking. Whereupon the other interrupted, saying, "That's why we've brought this bottle so we can celebrate this occasion together, and we've been waiting for you for quite a time." "You must all be drunk," I said. "This bottle will bring us luck, of course. But putting all jokes aside, how can you leave your families, your work, and all the rest of it? This plan of mine may be yet another too optimistic campaign. You can't just come with me for company's sake. And then there are all the people dependent on you." "We've made up our minds and nothing can stop us," said G. S. Bui, the son of my old doctor friend and the most enthusiastic of the lot. "We've no wives or children dependent on us. As for our parents, they've taken care of themselves and ,-us too all this time, so they can get on all right now. And as for us, this is the chance we've been waiting for ever since we came to our senses and knew there was a word like adventure." When I went back to my room I again pondered over the pros and cons of taking one or two of them along with me. The latter definitely outweighed the former, although in fairness to my friends I must admit that it was chiefly on account of their families that I demurred. The next day we met and discussed the trip once more.. I repeated my objections but somewhat weakly. As a last effort I told

117 them that whoever accompanied me would have to put up $500, hoping that this would deter them;-but on meeting again two days later three of them had finally decided to go with me. Our departure was fixed for 23rd April, 1945. They had already obtained passports from the poiice enabling them to travel north on the pretext of wanting to visit sick relatives. About three days before we were due to leave we were discussing our plans in detail when Bui turned round to me saying "What about your money? You said we must each have $500, and we've got ours; but what about yours? Do you want us to raise it for you, too?" "No, that's all right," I replied. They all looked at me with astonishment and Bui exclaimed, "What! You mean to say you have $500 on you?" "Yes," I said. "Don't think that because I've been getting money from you I'm flat broke myself. There's my money right in front of you. Don't you realise that I can raise several thousand dollars by the sale of that bicycle?" They all laughed, for such idea had not occurred to them. Bhag Singh had safely delivered my bicycle to me in Singapore. Two days later I offered it for sale, and found a purchaser who paid me $3,500 for it. I decided to send some of the money to my family, which presented me with a fresh problem of how to do it. I could not send it by money order as it would inevitably get into the hands of the Japanese who were bound to confiscate it. Nor could I think of anyone daring enough to go straight to my wife and simply hand it to her. After much thought, I decided to send it through the railway guard, Bhag Singh. Either he could take it to her personally or find some means of forwarding it safely. My wife should have $2,000, I thought; the balance would suffice for my own expenses at least for some time.

118 Of our party of four, I was the only one without a passport, but I felt confident that by watching my step I could get along as well as the others. As the time for our departure drew near I became somewhat nervous, however. We expected Bhag Singh to be in Singapore on that date, much depending on his being on the train. Meanwhile, I gave my companions their final instructions. I told them never to disobey their leader under any circumstances, and always to carry out his instructions to the smallest detail. Moreover, they must realise that I was a wanted man hunted in every nook and corner of Malaya by the Japanese Gestapo and by hundreds of informers all eager to win the large reward placed on my head. So they must keep their eyes and ears open, ever on the alert and never come near me unless I invited them to do so. If anything should happen on the train journey, they must alight at once and wait for me at the nearest station till they heard from me. If I were caught, I told them that I should make a desperate attempt to escape. If I did not show up before long, they must abandon everything, presuming either that I was dead or without any chance of escape. I suggested that they should wait for me three days, during which if asked who they were they must all say the same thing that they were businessmen in search of marketable goods. With regard to boarding the train, I advised them to do so at Bukit Timah railway station, where they would not need any tickets as Bhag Singh would be in charge of the train. They could not get into the train at the station in Singapore, as passengers there had to buy tickets at least twelve hours before a train was due' to leave. We would only know about eight hours beforehand whether Bhag Singh was going to be in charge of the train or not. In that time the three of them could easily reach Bukit Timah by bus.

119 Kitchey was well known to the station master there as a member of the Japanese Intelligence Service, so they would have no difficulty in getting on to the platform. He could pretend that he was looking for a culprit and had taken the others with him for identification purposes. Once on the platform they could wait for the train and get into it without arousing any suspicion. As for myself, I intended to board the train at Singapore itself, and would thus join them at Bukit Timah. On the morning of 23rd April, my one thought was to find out whether Bhag Singh had come to Singapore. To my joy he had done so. When I met him I enquired whether he could possibly take me aboard the train without either being searched or asked for a passport at the gate. His reply was somewhat faltering and I knew that it would be difficult, perhaps even impossible for him.
CHAPTER XII

TRAIN JUMPING. THE train was due to leave in the afternoon, and I arrived at the station about half an hour beforehand. But I walked on without entering it, scheming how to get nearer the railway track. As I strolled slowly along I noticed some improvised latrines built by the Japanese within a feW yards of the track on the other side of the fence. So I quickly made up my mind to jump over the fence and hide in one of the latrines. If observed, I had the very good excuse that an urgent call of nature had obliged me to do it: if no one came up to question me it would be all to the good. Once behind the closed door of one of the latrines I felt quite safe. Through one of the holes in the door I had a fine view of everything that was happening in the station. By the time of the clock, the

120 train was due to leave Singapore in a quarter of an hour. For the moment no passengers were allowed on the platform* and for the second time their passports were being checked behind the closed gates. Five minutes later the locomotive steamed up to the waiting train. After it had been attached, the crowd was permitted to pass one by one through the gates towards the coaches. At the same time I slipped out of the latrine and walked up to the train, looking more like one of the station staff than a passenger. I found a seat in one of the coaches, and reserved others for my three companions.' Before long the whole train was packed to capacity with all seats occupied and people standing everywhere. I was forced to give up my reserved seats to two friends of mine-r-two brotherswhom I had known in Ipoh before the war. They were obviously surprised when I called to them by name, and their faces showed that they were doing their best to recollect who I was. Knowing them so wellahd not knowing that they were now working as informers for the Japanese GestapoI told them my name, and they expressed surprise at my change in appearance but gave no sign that they intended to 'squeal' as soon as we reached Ipoh. Unwittingly I had been somewhat foolish. Meanwhile the train had started, and my mind was set on the next station where my three companions were going to board. At a bend in the line about a mile outside the station I leaned out of the window so that I could see the guard's van at the end. And there was Bhag Singh looking out of a window towards the engine. I waved my hand to him, and he waved back. v But I knew that the corridors were far too jammed with people for him to be able to reach me easily at the moment.

121 My two Ipoh friends sitting opposite me began to chat, and we talked freely. They knew that I was a wanted man, but never referred to it. By now the train was approaching Bukit Timah where my companions were waiting. We stopped at the station, and I saw them get into the last coach near the guard's van, where Bhag Singh told them that he had seen me on the train and that they had no need to worry. Travelling through the night, we reached Kuala Lumpur at 4.30 a.m. At that early hour I did not expect to encounter any Gestapo at the station, but I was very careful. It was here that Bhag Singh alighted, handing over the train to another guard who was in charge for the next twelve hours. Before leaving, he introduced us to the new guard, telling him to look after us as we were poor people. I had already given Bhag Singh the money for my wife, and now I warned him again to be very careful how he approached her. If he sent it through anyone else he must make sure that the person was absolutely trustworthy. If only he had carried out my instructions to the letter, much trouble for him would have been avoided. Nothing eventful occurred until the afternoon, when we reached Ipoh at about 3 p.m. and our Ipoh friends left us with the usual good wishes. The next stop was Tanjong Rambutan, where I was hoping to meet one of my agents, Teja Singh. Two days before I had wired to him that I was coming and asking him to meet me at the station with food for four persons. Usually trains stop there for only a few seconds, but that day we stopped for about a quarter of an hour. I looked for my agent everywhere in vain, and my friends began to suggest that he could not have received my wire. But I still had hopes of meeting him at the next station, Chemor, about five miles away.

122 As our train steamed into Chemor I popped my head out of the window and saw a large crowd on the platform. I was looking for a man with a pink turban, which Teja should be wearing, and told Kitchey to keep a look-out on the other side. We were still about a quarter of a mile away, and Bui went to the toilet. Almost at the same moment Kitchey shouted to me that he could see a man with a pink turban. I crossed over to his side and recognised Teja Singh. As we came to a standstill I shouted out his name, and he hurried up to our coach. Instead of giving us the usual greetings, however, he told me in a trembling voice to jump out of the train at once and run for my life. His words paralysed me with astonishment, while Kitchey and Bala gazed spellbound at Teja Singh who was glancing over his shoulder as though expecting someone to come at any moment. "Quick," lie repeated, "Jump out and run to the hills for all you're worth. Don't ask questions. There's no time. They know you're on this train, and they're coming to arrest you." "Who?" I asked. "Listen to me, I must tell you" "Don't explain or tell me anything. The Japanese and their informers are coming. There, I can see them now at that coach. Jump out and run, run" I was so upset I didn't know what to say to Kitchey and Bala. And I couldn't see Bui anywhere. I forgot he was in the toilet, but, as I jumped out of the train, I managed to tell Kitchey to get out too and wait for me. Then I ran away as fast as I could. The whole area was well known to me, and I knew the way to the jungles about two miles away. I had not gone more than a few hundred yards before two, packets of notes, each amounting to one hundred dollars, fell out of my pocket and

123 I didn't stop to pick them up. On and on I ran, feeling that someone was following me, though I could see no one. At last I reached the jungly hills, and there I sat down on a log. Resting. there, I recalled that night of 4th March when I escaped from my house, and how I ran that night too. Then I began to wonder what had really happened. How could the Japanese have learned that I was on that train? And why try to arrest me at Chemor and not at Ipoh? I began to worry too about my three musketeers. Had they alighted at Chemor? And if so, what had happened to them? If the* Japanese knew of my presence on the train, they might also know about my companions. I was deep in these thoughts when a young Chinese came silently out of a thicket and stood in front of me smiling. Quietly he gave me the usual courteous greeting, then asked my name and what I was doing there. I soon noticed that he carried some kind of fire-arm, inside his shirt and carefully placed under his armpit. I felt sure that he was not any ordinary Jap agent, whose methods of approach I had learnt to recognise. Moreover, neither the Japanese nor their agents would dare to go near the spot where I was seated, for it was an area haunted by the guerrillas of the anti-Japanese Army. I soon recalled having seen the boy some time before and told him that I recognised him for what he was. He took it cooly enough, though he must have been a little surprised. Realising that he was an anti-Japanese fighter, I told him briefly what had happened. It seemed to please him, and he went away, soon returning from a nearby cottage with a small quantity of boiled tapioca. What he brought me did much to help me recover from the shock at the station and my long run. When I had finished eating he asked

124 me where I intended to go next, and where I thought of spending the mght. I had to confess that I had not yet had time to make any plans. He asked me to meet him somewhere next day. I knew that meanwhile he wanted to consult his chief about me and whether I could be allowed to stay with them. Naturally, he could not be absolutely certain whether I was one of them or a Japanese agent. I had decided, however, to make my way to Ipoh through the hills and try to discover what had happened to my three friends whom I had left at Chemor. Through jungly hills and valleys, through rubber estates, mining land and tapioca plantations, I made my way to Ipoh without incident, reaching the town when it was already dark. There I went to the house of one of my agents, Kehar Singh, who knew nothing of what had happened and could not be aware of my presence in the neighbourhood. As I have previously mentioned, Kehar Singh was a detective in the Malayan Police and my assistant when war broke out, and had now been promoted to Inspector by the Japanese. Very few people knew that, although he was working for the Japanese, he was acting for the Allies behind the scenes. Since my escape two months earlier, he had heard nothing from me, though rumours about me had reached him in plenty. Like many others, he had reconciled himself to the fact that I had been killed whilst trying to escape. Kehar Singh told me that all my friends in Ipoh who possessed any photographs of me dared no longer keep them. They had burnt them in fear that they might involve them in trouble. Early next morning I left Kehar Singh's house and made my way to the house of another agent in a more secluded part of the town, where the neighbours were unlikely to

125 be surprised at seeing a strange lodger. It belonged to Yeoh Chai Lye, one of my active agents and a man whom I knew I could trust. When I arrived there I saw him just getting up to wash. At first sight he failed to recognised me, but did so as soon as I spoke to him. He told me that the Japs had raided his house three times searching for me, and had taken away an old pre-war photograph of me. Each time they had thoroughly cross-questioned him about my present whereabouts. He asked me whether I would like him to deliver any messages to my other agents in Ipoh. I promptly asked him to contact Teja Singh, whom he knew well, and tell him to come to see me at once. I also told Chai Lye to get in touch with a member of the Traffic Police, Yap Ghim Leong, and tell him that I wanted to see him. And I warned Chai Lye not to mention to anyone else, however good a friend, that I was in Ipoh. After breakfast, I stayed in the house whilst he went out. At about 10 a.m. I was lying in an easy chair reading when I saw Yap Ghim Leong some distance away cycling towards me. A young Chinese in his middle twenties, he worked loyally for the Allies throughout the Occupation and distributed the Singa pamphlets to all whom he could trust. When he entered the sitting-room, his smiling face was more full of happiness than I had ever seen it in the dozen years 1 had known him. As I rose he rushed at me, and we clasped hands with a joy that was boundless. "I never thought I'd see you again," he said, shaking his head. "I believed you were gone to the next world. No sooner did Mr. . Chai Lye tell me than I left work and rushed here."

126 "I, too, never expected that we should meet again," I said, "and am indeed glad to see you. Now tell me how you've been keeping, and whether the Japanese have given you much trouble. I feared they would, since they must have found almost all your letters to me on my table after my escape, though I supposed there was nothing incriminating in them as otherwise I would never have kept them." "That explains everything," he explained. "I wondered how the Japs could have known that I was your friend. They asked me many questions about you, and even threatened me and my family with death if I didn't tell them the truth. But two days before Kehar Singh had fortunately warned me of your arrest and escape, so I was prepared for them. I told them that we had been friends before the war, but denied 'all knowledge of your activities since the Occupation. They asked me who were your usual contacts whenever you came to Ipoh. I told themjust the members of the local Police and Intelligence Service." I smiled, and before he left me I asked him to get in touch with Sergeant Bughar Singh of the Ipoh Police, who was yet another active agent of mine, and to tell him to meet me on the river bund that night at 8 p.m. Promising to return later, he went on his errands. In the afternoon he brought another one of my agents to see me, saying that he had delivered my message to the police officer. That same evening I went to our appointed meeting place down by the river. From some distance away Sergeant Bughar Singh's white turban was clearly visible in the bright moonlight. I was eager to meet him as he was one of my ablest agents in Ipoh. After the usual greetings and exchange of ne>Vs, I begged him to tell me about the activities of the local police and what they thought of me.

127 He mentioned the names of two men previously well known to me who were now working for the Japanese. Neither of us would have believed in their treachery if it had not been proved beyond all doubt. "For the last two days the Gestapo have been searching for you in that twelve miles between Sungei Siput and s Kuala Kangsar. They think you made for Sungei Siput after escaping from the train. I've been on the 'phone to the sergeant in charge of the police stations at Chemor, Sungei Siput and Kuala Kangsar, and they all say that the Japs and their agents are still hunting for you in that area.. You're known- to be travelling north, so they don't suspect that you've made your way back to Ipoh " I returned to Chai Lye's house where I spent a peaceful and restful night, which was more than Chai Lye did himself. Apparently he had scarcely slept a wink, being greatly worried lest someone should have discovered my hiding place and his whole family would suffer for it. He tried to conceal it all from me, but I read it in his face. When I persuaded him to speak, he told me that he feared someone would betray me. I replied that only two persons outside his family knew that I was living with himYap Ghim Leong and Toh Chin Guan, both good friends of mine who would prefer death to betrayal. Though Bughar Singh was just as trustworthy, I had not told him where I was living. Chai Lye seemed somewhat relieved, for he had imagined that I was telling everyone I met that I was staying with him. But I told him that I could not see him suffer such mental agony, and would leave his house at once. He would not let me do so, however. That evening after dinner I promptly headed for the rendezvous which I had made with

128 Sergeant Bughar Singh and Teja Singh. The moon was just up, and at first I could see no one by the large palm tree. Then Bughar stepped out of the shadow alone. "Where's Teja?" I asked anxiously. "It's all right," he replied. So we sat down by the river and waited. Still Teja did not come, and I became more uneasy. I was eager to hear news of my pals whom I had left at Chemor, and who were presumably waiting for me there. I had also been trying to figure out what slip or blunder I could have made for the Japanese to pursue me at Chemor of all places. How had they picked up a clue? Perhaps Teja could help me there. It was unlike him to keep me waiting. Something must have happened. But what? For two hours we sat talking, waiting for Teja Singh. Then I suggested that - we should make a move, and we walked towards the police station where I wanted to meet another contact of mine, Sergeant-Major (now subInspector) Behara Singh. I waited outside in the dark, whilst Bughar went in to fetch him. On seeing me, Behara took me to his house Which was in the police compound itself, and there we talked whilst Bughar went out to look for Teja, also to find out the exact time the train was leaving Ipoh. In the midst of my conversation with Sergeant-Major Behara I went to sleep in the easy-chair in which I was lying. I had been asleep about half an hour when Bughar Singh woke me up, saying that Teja had arrived. At once I jumped up, hurriedly said good-bye to Behara, and went out. "My eyes have been starving to see you, Teja," I cried, clasping his hand. "And now you're here at last." "I'm happy to see you, too," he replied. "That same evening when you escaped from the train I went to the hills to look for you.

129 There I remained till darkness made me give up the search. I wondered where you could have gone. Your friends who were with you alighted from the train, and they're still waiting for you at Chemor. At least, I think they are. But after getting your message to meet you here, I went to their lodgings this evening but they weren't there. They'd left their belongings behind, however, so probably they'd just gone out for a walk. Then on my way here I had a puncture, all the repair shops were closed, so I left my bicycle at a friend's house and walked the last five miles. That's why I'm so late." "I knew you wouldn't let me down, and that something must have gone wrong," I said. "Now tell me, how did you come to know that the Japs were going to arrest me in the train that afternoon at Chemor?" "I got the telegram you sent before leaving Singapore, telling me to meet you at Tanjong Rambutan station," he replied. "I had a business deal to put through at Chemor that day, so I went there in the morning thinking I'd be back in time to meet your train, but as luck would have it I was delayed there. So instead of rushing back to Tanjong Rambutan I thought I might as well meet you a few minutes later at Chemor." "Was it in Chemor then that you learnt I was going to be arrested?" "Yes. A few weeks before a young Indian called Joseph had come up to me and made enquiries about you. I soon realised that he was a Jap agent, and pretended that I too would like to win that big reward for your arrest. He said that he hoped to do so himself very shortly, which somewhat alarmed me. I suggested, therefore, that two heads being better than one we might work together and share the reward with more chance of success. He agreed, and from then onwards I had to neglect

130 my private business and spend most of my time, with him. For three weeks I went about with him, and found out that he was in the pay of the Japs and could go wherever he liked." "Apparently Joseph knows you well, and your friends too, for he was always pointing them out to me. I also learnt of some of the other fellows who are working for the Japs. And I was more than surprised to discover how much Joseph knew of your movements and suspected whereabouts." "All this happened just before I got your wire telling me to meet your train. That afternoon I went to the station at Chemor a quarter of an hour before it was due to arrive, and was strolling up and down the platform wheii I saw three big motor-cars drive up and stop just outside the station. Then some armed Japanese got out and rushed on to the platform; Among them was Joseph. I became very suspicious, for it was obviously the Gestapo. So I ventured up to Joseph and asked him what all this hurry-burry was about. 'You'll be surprised ' when I tell you that I've got my bird at last,' he said. 'Gurchan Singh is on this train that's coming now. We'd have got him at Ipoh only the train moved' out a few seconds too soon. For fear of missing him here we've rung them up at Kuala Kangsar and told them to search the train on its arrival there and arrest him. But we've got here in time.' I pretended .to be overjoyed at his forthcoming success, saying that we would have to celebrate it that night. Then I asked him how he'd discovered that you were on the train." "It all happened at the Ipoh railway station," he said. T was standing outside the gates when Johnson, our boxer friend who was returning from Singapore after a fight there, told me that Gurchan Singhthe much wanted Singawas on the train. I laughed, for I

131 thought he was joking. But he declared he'd actually been sitting next to him. Realising he was quite serious, I asked him to point the man out to me. It took us some time to find the right carriage as the train was so crowded, and then it was almost ready to go. I rang up Headquarters at once asking them to have the train delayed, but before I could contact the boss it had started. Anyway, once I'd got hold of the boss he 'phoned Kuala Kangsar, telling them to delay the train there. Within five minutes, the Gestapo picked me up, and we raced for Kuala Kangsar; but on passing Chemor we saw the crowd still thick on the platform, so knowing the train hadn't arrived we stopped here instead.'" "Then we're going to have a party tonight?" I said. "Maybe I can help now," I suggested. "Tell me, is he in the front coaches or the hind ones?" Suspecting nothing, he replied, "He's in one of the front coaches, either the third or fourth. I'll tell you what you can do. Get on the other side of the platform and watch that side." Agreeing with him, I crossed over to the other side, and waited there feeling very impatient and nervous. I wasn't so sure th&t I could make you understand your danger in a hurry." > I patted Teja warmly on the back, saying, "If you hadn't been so much on the alert, I'd never have got away." "Are my three friends still supposed to be in Chemor? If so, tell me where they are." "I found them a place to stay and some food, and they're still there, I'm sure." "How can I thank you for all you've done for them and for me? Do you know when the train leaves for Chemor, as I'm going there to join them now?"

132 He told me that it was due to leave at 1.30 a.m., so we made our way to the station shortly before 1 a.m. Teja left me there, saying that he would meet me on the platform a few minutes before the train started. Having nothing to do, I went on to the platform and sat on a bench. I had not been there long before a young Tamil strolled up and seated himself on the bench behind me, so that we were back to back. A few minutes later Teja returned. Instead of coming up and sitting down beside me he walked past waving his hand towards the far end of the platform. Realising that something must be wrong somewhere, I looked around but could see no one save this young Tamil. Anyway, obeying his command I rose and started to follow him. As soon as I caught up with him to my surprise he asked me at once in a trembling voice, "Do you know who that was sitting just behind you on the bench?" "No," I said," I've no idea. I've never seen him before." "That was Joseph." I smiled, though it gave me an unpleasant jolt, saying "And I very nearly spoke to him!" When Teja told me that he was also travelling to Chemor by that train, I decided that it would be safer for me to walk there. It was only ten miles away, which I could easily cover in three hours. Still it was long past midnight, and I felt very sleepy1. I dared not travel by day-light, however; so, despite my weariness, I set off. On approaching a temple I overheard some Sikh bullock-carters mention that they were going to Chemor. I asked one of them if he would give me a lift, and he readily agreed. By daybreak we arrived in Chemor, where at once I went to look for my friends. I searched for them till midday without finding a trace of them

133 or of Teja. It seemed hopeless, and I presumed that they had returned to Singapore by the night mail. Knowing that Joseph was around I dared not wander about Chemor longer than was, necessary, so I decided to leave that same evening for the north, heading towards Penang. The next train for Penang was due at 4.30 p.m., and even the short delay was quite a strain on my mind. Moreover, I was worried about Teja and my friends, and began to wonder whether he had misunderstood my instructions at Ipoh. At last the train steamed into the station and I boarded it without glancing at my fellow travellers. As luck would have it, soon after the train had started I saw Teja in one of the other coaches. I knew that he would soon join me, as he was selling newspaper^ through the train. He had previously told me that he travelled thus between Ipoh and Kuala Kangsar almost daily, so down the corridor he came towards me with a bundle of newspapers under his arm. From him I learned that I had just missed my three companions at Chemor. They had gone to Ipoh for the day and returned by the very train we were now on. I told Teja to go back to Chemor at once and ask them to catch the night train that would reach Bukit Mertajam by morning. I would wait for them at the temple there. Waving goodbye to me, Teja jumped off at the next station, whilst I carried on to Bukit Mertajam. Since I was travelling without a ticket I had to bribe the ticket collector to get through the barrier. It was now about 8.30 p.m., so I had a meal at a wayside stall. Then I made my way to the temple and persuaded its keeper to let me spend the night there. Next morning I hung around, but still they did not turn up. Evening came, and very disconsolately I walked along when suddenly I was hailed from a roadside coffeeshop. I turned round, and there were Bala,

134 Kitchey and G. S. Bui sitting at one of the tables. We were soon all laughing heartily at what Kitchey called our long game of catch-meif-you-can. Luck came our way again. While we sat there talking I noticed an Indian entering the shop, and from his clothes I recognised him as an engine driver. As the railway line to the Siam border branched from Bukit Mertajam, I thought I might get some useful information from him. So I managed to get into conversation and asked whether he was working on the main line to Ipoh or the branch line to Padang Besar on the Malaya-Siam boundary. In reply, he said that for the last three months he had been on the branch line going as far as Alor Star on alternate days. After obtaining further useful information about the route to the border, we left the shop. On our way to the temple where we intended to pass the night, I told my friends that somehow or other we must jump off the train before it reached Sungei Patani, and then walk to Alor Star.
CHAPTER XIII

WORKING FOR THE JAPS NEXT morning we left Bukit Mertajam by bus for Prai about six miles away, since all trains running up to Sungei Patani started from there. On arrival, I went to the house of an agent of mine, a railway fireman called Sohan Singh. I told him everything, and asked him if he would help us by getting us tickets as far as Alor Star. "It's quite impossible without passports, Gurchan," he replied, looking very worried. "And even if you had them, you'd get stuck at Sungei Patani. No, all I can suggest is that you take train to Pinang Tunggal the previous station and walk from there. About a mile outside Sungei Patani there's a rubber estate on the

135 right. You can branch off there for half a mile, and then proceed north through some plantations and jungle until you reach Alor Star. That's the only way of evading the passport examiners. But even if you reach Pinang Tunggal, you must keep a sharp lookout for them. They're easily recognisable by their khaki uniforms. There's only one passenger train a week, but one leaves to-morrow if you want to go." I agreed with his suggestion, and he promised to get all four of us tickets to Pinang Tunggal. Next morning we reached the station half an hour before the train was due to start. I asked Sohan Singh to find out if the engine driver was a friend of his, and if so to inquire whether he would take a bribe to slow down the train to fifteen miles per hour about half-a-mile outside Sungei Patani. Sohan Singh returned shortly saying that he knew the man well. He was a Malay named Ali. But before promising to do such a thing he wanted to know how much I was prepared to pay. I thought carefully for a moment. It Was a matter of life and death for us, for if we jumped from a fast-moving train we might easily be killed or at least seriously injured. So I said I would give him $50; whereupon Sohan Singh took me along to introduce me to Ali, and I gave him the money. Ali advised me to remind him of what he was to do \^ell in advance, as otherwise he might forget about it. I agreed, and returned to my friends. The journey was quite peaceful until we reached Pinang Tunggal, the station before Sungei Patani. The train drew up there for a brief halt, and I went along to the driver to remind him of what he was to do about a mile before the next stop. On the way back to my seat I noticed several Japanese passport officials boarding the train and beginning to check up on the passengers. Immediately I suggested to my

136 companions that we should all go to Ali and tell him what was happening. On finding him, I asked if he would let us travel on the engine itself, hanging on in front. Just then the whistle was blown for the train to start, and Ali told us to jump into the cab. With a mile to go to Sungei Patani I told him to' do it, and he brought the speed down to less than fifteen miles per hour and we all jumped off, took to jungle paths, and walked parallel to the main road for about ten miles before daring to come out of cover. Then, after going along the road for fifteen miles, we took to the railway track and walked all night, reaching Alor Star before noon. We had walked for about twenty-four hours and our legs were stiff and tired. To make our plight still worse, we had nowhere to go. By common consent, we divided into two groups. Kitchey and Bala decided to go to the Tamil Hinchi temple and put up there, while Bui and I preferred to try the Sikh temple. We proved the more fortunate, as we found a priest who accepted the story I told him without question. I was deceiving him, of course; but what else could I do? I could not very well tell him that my friend and I wanted shelter because we had escaped from the Gestapo in Kuala Lumpur or that there was a reward of $100,000 for my bead. I told him that we were hospital dressers from Malaya who had been sent to Siam to attend to the hundreds of Malayans dying there. I added that a Japanese military officer of high rank was coming to pick us up in Alor Star in a few days. The priest was very kind to us, and made us very comfortable. Kitchey and Bala were not so lucky. The Tamil priest refused to help them at all, and they had to sleep on a cement floor. On hearing of their discomfort I persuaded our Sikh priest

137 to let them join us, convincing him that they were two more dressers like ourselves. It was a few days before we could walk normally again: Meanwhile, I learned that Padang Besar, the border town between Malaya and Siam, was only fifty miles away but that it was almost impossible to get past the passport authorities without a passport. So I suggested that we should remain in or around Alor Star till we could find some means of smuggling our way through Padang Besar. My friends agreed, and we decided that we must get some sort of a job in the neighbourhood. 1 had already let my trusted agents know where I was, and kept in contact with them. One day my companions happened to have gone out for a stroll leaving me behind in the temple. I was sitting on my charpoy, when to my surprise I saw Teja approaching on his motor-cycle, and I knew at once that something must be wrong. I rushed towards him, and as soon'as he had put his machine away we walked tov a lonely spot. "You know Mr. Black, that man from Kuala Lumpur?" he asked hurriedly. I nodded, and he went on. "Well, he's after you. I met him first in Ipoh and then in Taiping. When in Ipoh I overheard him mention your name to another Indian. I became interested, and soon found out that he was in the pay of the Japanese and was looking for you. He'd got a photo of you in a turban and was showing it to everyone. Of all the Jap agents searching for you, I've never met a more ardent supporter of the Japanese. He's determined to get you." After many more warnings of the same nature, Teja left Alor Star later in the afternoon. Shortly afterwards, I met another friend from Ipoh, a Chinese named Kee Siang, whom I had known as a cashier to a business concern. Now he had become the manager of a cinema

138 run by the Japanese. I approached him, and he was very surprised to see me so changed. I knew I could trust him to some extent, and therefore told him that I had had a fight with the Japanese who were looking for me. But I did not mention that I was wanted for a political offence. I asked him whether he could give one of us a temporary job in his cinema. He had none available, but remarked that a Japanese firm of rice merchants, Daimaru by name, had recently advertised for clerks. He could not, however, say whether the vacancies had been filled. On leaving Kee Siang, I returned to the temple where I told my three musketeers what I had just heard. "Did we come here to get a job or to proceed north?" said Bui at once. "That's all very well," objected Kitchey, "but how are we going to get a job when we don't know a word of Nippon-go?" "I'll do the talking," I replied. "I'll go and see the boss and tell him I'm an estate conductor and you've all been clerks under me." "And if he asks where and on what estate, what then?" queried Bala. "You remember that estate through which wc walked just outside Sungei Patani? It was called the Bedong Estate, according to the notice board. I'll say that we had been working there and that all labourers and staff not taken to work on the Railway to Burma are idle. That'll explain why we're unemployed. As for not knowing Nippon-go, I'll say that you had no chance of picking it up on that estate." They all agreed that we should hail from Bedong Estate. That same afternoon I called on the manager of the firm. He was a Japanese, but he spoke Malay. With a deep bow and all the courtesy I could muster, I said, "Master, I understand you have vacancies for clerks in your office, and I wish to apply for the post. Also I have three

139 friends paiting downstairs who'd also like to work if there's any job." "Who are you? What are you? And where have you worked before?" he inquired. "I was conductor at Bedong Estate, and the others worked with me as clerks. As the estate has closed down we're unemployed. Someone from Alor Star told us that you had vacancies for clerks." He told me to call again next morning with applications in our own handwriting. In quite happy mood I returned to my friends and told them that there was some chance of a job, otherwise he would have rejected me flatly at once. Next morning we went straight to the manager's office. He was out, but one of his clerks told us to sit down as he was expected shortly. Though I felt very nervous myself, I said to my companions, "Boys, don't be nervous. Remember Pandit Nehru's words and keep them deep in your thoughts'Success often comes to those who dare and act but seldom to the timid'. So you see, you mustn't fear what the manager may think of you. And don't forget that we must all stick to the same story." We were still rehearsing our parts when the manager arrived. We all stood up, gave him a deep bow, and he returned the salutation. As the spokesman, I handed him our applications, and he went through them as though he could read English. Picking out one of the four, he asked whose it was, and on my saying that it was mine he remarked "Good writing." Then he muttered, "Are you married or single?" I told him that I was a bachelor, as were my friends also. "I have no more vacancies here," he said, "but there are some in my Perlis office. Have any of you been there before?" On my negative reply, he stood up and pointed to a big map of Malaya hanging on the wall behind him. "Look, there's the State of

140 Perlis, and here's the small town of Arau where lies our Perlis office. I have vacancies if you're willing to go." My heart gave a jump. We should be twenty-eight miles nearer the Siam border, only twenty-two miles beyond Arau. Thinking quickly, I guessed that he was short of clerks and needed us badly. Reading his thoughts, I Could see that he imagined he bad found suitable men. I could thus play my own game and get whatever wages I liked. Furthermore, it meant jobs for all four of us. What better luck could we. have hoped for? "Well, are you all prepared to go up there?" asked the manager. "It's a long way off," I replied very seriously^ "a lonely place where we can't get many things. But I've heard much of your firm's good reputation and how well you treat your employees. I think we might accept the jobs if the pay is big enough and we could have a house to live in." "You'll be well paid and have a house," he said. "And you'll, get plenty of fish, rice and cigarettes which are never supplied anywhere else." 7 "All right, in that case we'll take the jobs," I said. "When and how do we go?" "Come here to-morrow morning and I'll have transport ready for you," he replied. Next morning we arrived at the office with all our belongings and there was a car waiting to take us to Arau. Immediately on arrival there we reported to the deputy manager of the Daimaru office, and handed him a letter written in Japanese. "So you're the four gentlemen the manager has appointed," he said, speaking quite good Malay. "Yes," I replied, "and could you please tell us what are our jobs and where we are to stay?" "What's your name?" he asked pointing to me.

141 "Charlie Thamboo." "You're to be the General Overseer here," he said, looking at the letter. "Your job will be to look after the affairs of the rice mills about half a mile from here. You must make a daily report to me concerning the attendance of labourers, and also supervise the work of these three other overseers who will each be in charge of a certain branch. Which is Thrunalan? You're to be the store-keeper. Bala Krishnan? You're to take charge of the transport department. G. S. Bui? You're to be overseer of the rice godown. As for where you're going to stay, you must share a room upstairs until we can find you each a separate house." Having got our assignments, we went round the rice mills, godowns, and stores. I had the easiest job, as I could go where I liked and whenever I pleaspd. Bala was lucky, too. His job was to look after about twenty lorries used to convey paddy and rice from Kuala Perlis. Bui and Kitchey had somewhat stiffer jobs. Bui had to keep a record of every sack of paddy or rice brought into the godowns, whilst Kitchey had to remain all the time in his store in case some lorry driver should need a spare part. Within two days we knew all the inhabitants of the place, and they seemed to have taken a liking to us. When off duty we always went about together. The capital of Perlis was Kangar, some six miles away, so almost every night we took one of the company's lorries and spent our leisure there. I still kept a few of my most trusted agents informed of my activities and movements, which proved of great help to me later. It was now the middle of May, 1945, and we heard rumours that Rangoon had been recaptured by the Allies.

142 One day we managed to get a copy of a newspaper from Penang, and discovered that the Japanese were advertising for labourers to work in Siam. It seemed a most timely advertisement, and to provide our best chance of getting out of Malaya. Not only would we thus save precious money, but also time. Moreover, it would be much safer than trying to smuggle our way in illegally. We saw that applications were to be made at the Labour Office in Penang. For hours we discussed the matter, and were not unaware of the funny side of it. Who would have expected the much wanted Singa to appear at a Labour Office in search of employment from the Japs? On second thoughts, however, we doubted whether we would be accepted as labourers. We knew that the labour force would have to pass through Arau towards the end of May, so we decided to watch all the evening trains bound for Siam at that time and to slip on to a train with the other labourers. One day towards the end of May I had an unexpected visit from Teja Singh, my agent from Tanjong Rambutan. He asked me at once where the others were, and I told him that they were on duty. He wanted to talk to me in private so we found a deserted coffee-shop where we could talk more freely. "You must collect your friends and leave this place at once," he said. "The Japanese cordon is closing in on you every day. They've learned that you're around Alor Star. I met Black again yesterday and he told me that he was on his way to Alor Star. I don't think he knows you're here in Arau, but he may pick up a clue that will lead him to this place. He must have / reached Alor Star to-day, so I borrowed a motor-cycle and rushed here to warn you."

143 "Did he tell you how he'd discovered I was in Alor Star?" I asked. "Yes,"' replied Teja. "He told me that he'd managed to catch one of your agents someone on the Railways, a guard I think, and the Japanese tortured him till he admitted that you'd gone to Alor Star." "So that skunk is after my blood," I exclaimed. "Apart from the rewardwhich he'll be lucky to get out of the Japanesewhat good will it do him to have me arrested "He thinks he'll get it all right," replied Teja. "A hundred thousand dollars is big moneyit's in front of his eyes all the time." "And he said it was a railway guard he'd arrested." "Yes, I think so. He even mentioned a name, but I can't remember it." "Was it a Sikh?" "Yes, something Singh; but all our Sikh names end in Singh." "Did he say Bhag Singh?" "That's the name I've been trying to remember. Yes, it was Bhag Singh, he said, who'd told them that you were in Alor Star." Bhag Singh! So it was Bhag Singh who had been arrested. But how could Black have learned that the railway guard had any connection with me? Nobody knew except Bui's family in Singapore. Could it be that Bhag Singh had got himself arrested when taking the $2,000 to my wife. Whatever had happened, I now had another worry. If Bhag Singh had told themafter being tortured, of coursethat I was in Alor Star, he might also have been forced to reveal that 1 was on my way to Siam and Burma. It would mean a stricter check on all travellers at Padang Besar as the authorities there would already have been informed.

144 Having given me this disturbing news, Teja Singh left without meeting the others. As I saw him off I had no idea that I should never see him again. It never occurred to either of us that I would live and that he would die. He was running around trying to save my life, and it never entered his head that he was going to die soon. I can picture him now, hurrying up to the train at Chemor and urging me to get out and run for my life. And then he comes all the way to Alor Star to warn me about Black, and again to-day he arrives with yet another timely warning that Black is knocking at my door. Soon after I had said good-bye to Teja Singh, my Japanese boss called me into his office to tell me that all workers were to be paid that day and that I must inform everyone. It was just the stroke of luck for which I had been hoping. Not only did I inform all workers that they were going to be paid, but also my three friends that we were leaving Arau that night for Penang by the military train starting at midnight. . It often had some empty wagons, and we must get into one of them and keep the door closed until we reached Penang. My sudden decision to leave Arau greatly surprised my companions. For certain reasons, I did not mention to them the news I had just received from Teja, but simply told them that I had been advised to make a move at once, otherwise it would be too late. Luck again favoured us that evening when rain fell heavily. Such a downpour would keep the Japanese indoors. Moreover, there would be nobody hanging around the railway station just before the train started. Shortly after ten we walked through the rain to the station unobserved except by the station master with whom we had become quite friendly. On seeing us, he asked where we were going. I replied

145 casually that we were off to Alor Star on leave, returning next day, and no more questions asked. Just before midnight the goods train arrived, and we hurriedly climbed into an empty covered wagon and closed the door. Tense with anxiety, we waited for the train to move, and sighed with relief when it did. But trouble, was not yet over. There was still another barrier to pass at Sungei Patani, where we had previously jumped out of the train. We knew that we should reach Sungei Patani at about four in the morning, when everybody would be fast asleep. Moreover, since ours was an empty wagon the authorities were unlikely to check up on it. We began to sweat, however, when the train arrived at Sungei Patani. We could hear Japanese voices outside and see someone with a hurricane lamp examining the wagons one after another. Then suddenly with a slam someone opened our door. We thought the game was up, but still hoped to avoid detection by keeping still. Slowly the man closed the doorwhy, we could not imagine. So with nerves on edge we remained in the corner until the train started. By daybreak we were over the border and back in Prai, where we went straight to Sohan Singh's house. Later we walked to the Labour Office, where we saw the clerk in charge of labour for Siam. He was quite shocked to see us volunteering for such a job, and asked us why we wished to become labourers. "The cost of living is so high here, Mister," I replied. "If we don't go we'll soon be committing suicide. We've been trying in vain to get good jobs so we could make both ends meet." The clerk agreed with what I said, but seemed to suspect us of being deserters from the Indian National Army and asked us many questions. However, he took down our names

146 and other necessary particulars and told us to call back later when Japanese officers would have arrived from Siam to receive us. With that hope we left the office, but I had to keep my eyes and ears wide open in case Black should have returned to Prai from Alor Star. Ln the forenoon we reported at the Labour Office, together with about a hundred other labourers. Though we had put on our dirtiest and shabbiest clothes, we nevertheless looked better dressed than the others, who included Chinese and Indians brought over from Penang. I was chosen to head the detachment because of my bigger build, and I was allowed to choose four assistants. Naturally, I selected my three friends, and no one ever guessed that we were in any way connected. The other labourers thought that we had only just met at the office. The journey to Siam meant that we should have to pass through Alor Star and Arau, both very dangerous places for us, and again we had to travel by goods traina mode of transport to which we were becoming somewhat accustomed. Three covered wagons were allotted to- us, and into them climbed one hundred and thirty people including several women; and, as the clock struck one in the afternoon, the train left Prai.
CHAPTER XIV

A MERRY BONFIRE A FEW miles after leaving Arau we felt ninety per cent free. The remaining ten per cent depended on passing Padang Besar; but to feel so near to freedom was a great thing. At the next stop I slipped off the train and walked up and down the platform. I noticed that behind our wagon petrol was leaking from

147 six wagons each carrying forty drums destined for Burma. If anyone were careless enough to throw a cigarette stump towards the wagons, I thought, it might easily ignite one of them. On returning to our wagon, I mentioned the matter to my musketeers, and all sorts of ideas began pouring out of our heads. The best seemed to be to use the same method adopted by me in the early part of 1942. We had some coconut fibre string with us, for it tied our clothes together, so I cut off about a yard and divided it into three. At the next station all four of us alighted and strolled towards the rear of the train, where Bala lit our cigarettes and also the three pieces of string. Then we slipped between the trucks and tied the bits of string to iron rods close to the holes in the planks through which the petrol >Vas leaking. Quickly we went back to our wagon. Had we been seen? Almost at once the train started again. A few minutes later our fears had left us, and we hung our heads curiously out of the one door in the wagon hoping for immediate results. Then darkness fell, and we could no longer see the trucks. At one station before reaching the border I got out and went along to see if the fuse was still burning. F could only see the faintest gleam, but as the train was stopping only for a moment I had to return to the wagon. Eagerly as we awaited the result of our fusing, we began to wonder whether we were far enough away from the explosion that might occur at any minute. It might be safer for us if we reached Padang Besar before the trucks exploded. Still nothing happened. On arrival there we were told that the train would remain all night and next day in the station, and that we should have to sleep in our wagon. Meanwhile, the engine was detached and returned to Alor Star, leaving the train

148 standing at the platform in front of the two stations. Padang Besar is the only place on the entire Malayan railway system where there are two stations, one belonging to the Malayan Railways whilst the otherabout twenty yards away on the same platformbelonged to the Siamese Railway. Since we had to spend the night and most of the next day there, we decided to go into the town to look for food. Passing the trucks to which we had tied the fuses, we tried to see if they were still burning, but some Japanese were around. The smell of petrol was very strong, however. Thinking our job was a failure we walked into the town and found an eating-shop. I was just paying the shopkeeper when there came the noise of a terrific explosion, followed by a deafening "Zoom." Hurrying to the door, we saw one of the trucks in flames. Eagerly we awaited the sound of a second and third explosion, but it did not come. The flames from the one truck were rising high and spreading. The Japanese were frantically striving to stop the blaze by throwing sand into the truck and had mustered all available hands to detach the neighbouring trucks and push them to a safe distance; but they could not shift the burning truclc without an engine. It seemed time to have a look at the other trucks to see if the fuses were still smouldering. If not, they must be detached as otherwise the Japanese would discover the cause of the fire. So I told Bala and Kitchey to stroll over to them as though in search of a better viewpoint. On returning they told me that the fuses had simply burnt out. By this time the entire woodwork of the wagon had been destroyed, though only one of the petrol drums had exploded. We realised that soon the others would begin to burst and probably cause casualties. Shortly afterwards

149 another drum exploded, casting burning petrol on to the Malayan station and setting it alight. The Japanese tried to prevent the fire from spreading, but almost immediately more drums exploded and two hours later both stations were on fire. By daybreak all that could be seen was the steel framework of two. stations with the twisted metal parts of a truck. As for us, we woke up next morning with a happy feeling that our job had been successful, and went for a swim in a nearby lake. Despite o u r ' satisfaction, we still dreaded lest the Japanese at Arau should have discovered that we were in Padang Besar and contact the police. But at last we were on that train, and then in Siam proper. There was nothing more to worry about. My safety was assured. Very soon we reached Haadyai, a small junction town in Southern Siam, and remained there for the rest of the night. The journey north from Haadyai was expected to take from ten to twelve days, and we began to realise how hellish the trip was going to be. On that first evening we stopped at a small station for about two hours, and once again had a good feed in the town. When we returned to the station we saw that some more trucks had been attached to the train. Somewhat to our surprise, they proved to be petroleum trucks, and petrol was dripping through holes in the sides. My friends immediately suggested another attack. "Why not?" I replied. "We might at least see what happens." An hour later we tied fuses to three alternate trucks. At midnight we arrived at a station called Surattani, and the train could not proceed further as a mile away there was a long bridge whose spans had all fallen into the deep river as a result of bombing by the Eastern Bomber Gommand. Shortly after midnight the first fuse ignited the petrol in one of the trucks. There

150 was a big explosion, and it was soon covered in flames. Five minutes later the other fuses took effect and all three trucks were ablaze; and then the others caught fire, and the job was far more difficult. Six trucks were burning before the others could be detached, and there was little the Japanese could do but to leave them to burn to ashes. It made the biggest bonfire I have ever seen. The 12,000 gallons or more of petrol destined for the Japanese front in Burma had gone with the wind. From Surattani onwards trains were only run at night; during the day they were not only stopped but also camouflaged. To their disgust, the Japanese acknowledged that Allied planes were over Siam in daytime, and never spared any train they spotted. This was why it took us some twelve days to reach Nompladuck. Moreover, no less than four big bridges between Surattani and Nompladuck had been partially destroyed. We had to spend one full day and night at each of these bridges, where we came across gangs of prisoners-of-war busily engaged on reconstruction. In one prisoner-of-war camp full of Australians we spent two nights, and I made it my business to tell them of the German surrender and how the Allied Forces were almost on the main-land of Japan. We also told them of the recapture of Rangoon. Obviously their liberation was near at hand, and their joy was good to see. I found out that most of these prisoners-of-war had worked on the "Death Railway", and I asked them about our chances of getting through to Burma. They assured me that it was easy going now, but advised us to be very careful at Nikkay near the Siam-Burma border, which they said was well guarded by the Japanese. The day after leaving this camp we reached Chumpourn, where no less than 300 goods wagons and half-a-dozen engines were lying disabled.

151

CHAPTER XV

THE RAILROAD OF DEATH AT Nompladuck we were told to alight and wait for another train to take us to Kanburi. Nothing remained of the station, and an area of about a mile around it had been completely devastated. Though the marshalling yards had been repaired, it was obvious that they had sustained very heavy damage. Two hours later a goods train arrived and we were allotted two open trucks. At about midnight we reached Kanburi, but the night was so dark we could see little except the numerous hurricane lamps carried by the Japanese and labourers who had come to receive us. From the station we had to march nearly two miles over a rough, stony road, each carrying his personal belongings. It was nevertheless a relief to escape from those horrible goods wagons in which it had been a torture to sit. We found that we had been taken to a quarantine camp made up of a collection of thatched bamboo huts. They were built entirely of bamboo except for the roofs of palm leaves, and rattan strings had been used instead of nails. On either side of a central passage there were platforms of split bamboo about two feet from the ground, which served as beds. Some of the overseers and medical orderlies in the camp had been to Moulmein, and they told us that Nikkay was the last station in Siam before the railway crossed the Burma-Siam frontier. They thought that we might be sent there, though for all they knew we might remain within a few miles of Kanburi. My friends and I hoped that the Japanese would send us to Nikkay, which would bring us near Moulmein, our destination.

152 After tiffin, however, the Japanese told me that they were dividing the entire group into two. One group was to go to KorekUnta, the other to Korenkurai six miles away. According to the list that was given to me I was to remain at Korekunta with Kitchey as my assistant, whilst Bui and Bala were to go to Korenkurai. We were all sorry to be parted, but agreed to meet on pay-day and decided the day of our escape. By midnight the train reached Korekunta and my party alighted- While Bui and Bala went on with their gang to Korenkurai we were led by some Japanese to the huts where we were to live. Men and women lived together, but as head labourer I was allowed one small room to myself. Next to it there was a coffee shop run by a Chinese, the head labourer of another gang. It was quite usual for head labourers working on the "Death Railway" to run such shops and thus make a little profit for themselves. Though Kitchey was supposed by the Japanese to sleep with the other labourers, I managed to arrange for him to sleep with me. With the week-end came pay-day, when I, as head labourer, had to walk six miles to Korenkurai to collect the pay-roll. I was glad to go there because I wanted to meet Bui and Bala so as to make arrangements with them to skip away in a day or two. After drawing the pay I went to the camp where they were living. On meeting them I discovered that their head labourer there was another Indian, who oddly enough happened to be Bala's uncle. Taking my two friends aside, I explained my plans for escaping. "To-morrow there's a holiday for everyone," I said. "I want you both to get leave to visit us in Korekunta. They'll never refuse you a day's leave. You can remain with us till midnight, when we can all go down to the station and board the train for Nikkay."
w w J * & w * w w

153 "That's a good* idea," said Bui. "We'll be there in the evening." Next morning the Japanese announced a working day fpr us instead of the expected holiday, and the gang was sent to work on a bridge about half a mile away. It was a flimsy bridge running over a valley about two hundred feet deep. Having nothing to do, I decided to go on to the bridge and watch the men at work. I noticed that one of the labourers was unable to work as hard as the others owing to a wound on his leg which was badly' swollen. As the morning wore on, the Japanese kicked him repeatedly to make him work harder. All day he stranded on in increasing a eon v. Then he happened to knock against one of the Japanese with a pole that he was carrying. The Jap flew into a raging temper, and the other workmen thought that he was going to slap the labourer's face as he rushed towards him. The man was now standing on the edge of the bridge, resting his wounded leg with his back towards the advancing Jap, who on reaching him kicked him savagely. The man rolled over and fell into the deep ravine below after first striking a log some hundred feet from the ground. The onlookers turned cold and pale at the gruesome sight, which made them feel that there could be no God, as otherwise He would have implanted in the ruthless Japs some human sympathy, That evening Kitchev and I waited for Bui and Bala, but they failed to turn up. I was very annoyed, because I believed that everything must be carried out according to plan if success was to be achieved. The disappointment, coupled with the afternoon's tragedy, gave me a restless night. I could hardly close my eyes, for I could not forget the sight of that poor man hurtling to his death and the laughing face of the Japanese as he watched him fall on to the rocks below.

154 I swore silently that I would teach that bastard a lesson if I remained there long enough. I was also worried about Bala and Bui, and could not understand why .they had not come as we had arranged. "I wonder what's the matter," I said to Kitchey next morning at breakfast. He suggested that they might have been unable to get leave or perhaps they wanted to remain behind. "Then they should have told me so frankly," I said. "They can stay here if they like, but they ought to have said so instead of wasting my time." In the evening I saw Bui walking alone along the railway line from Korenkurai towards our hut. "Bala isn't coming," he said as soon as he reached me. "He wanted to, but his uncle wouldn't let him. And Bala thought it a good job with very good pay so he decided to remain there." "Very well, we'll have to leave him behind," I said. "I'm sorry, because we've been together since Singapore. But we must catch that train tonight. You're just in time to join us for dinner." After dinner I began to feel rather nervous. I told Kitchey that if anyone asked us where we were going, he was to say that we were seeing our pal Bui off at the station, and we all agreed to stick to that story. Then we lay on my b6d as there were still two hours to go before the train was due to arrive. Kitchey and Bui fell asleep, but I remained awake. At last I heard the toot of the train. "Come on,^boys, the train's here," I cried, and we hurried down to the railway line. When the train halted the truck in front of us was an open one full of timber. I climbed on to the top of it, helped up my two companions, and ordeted them to lie flat on the timber. The other covered wagons were all full of military. If it had not been for that truck of timber we should have had no chance of boarding the train. It had been drizzling slightly, but as the train left Korekunta the rain stopped, the

155 clouds became thinner until we could see the moon appear. All through the moonlit night we travelled, and at daybreak we reached Nikkay. Nikkay, well known to many prisoners-ofwar as the Death Valley, is very near the Siamese-Burma border. It is the last outpost on the Siamese side, though there is another one known as the Three Pagodas. It was at Nikkay that thousands of prisoners of war died from starvation or from cholera. There was a greater loss of human life there than in any one camp on the entire length of the "Death Railway" from Nompladuck to Thanbuzayat. When the train stopped we alighted happily, yet I was still afraid, for I knew that we were not out of danger. The Japanese at Korekunta might already have telephoned to their officials at Nikkay to tell them to look for three Indians who had absconded. The train moved off to remain, as usual, concealed in the jungle for the rest of the day. We did not know which way to go. Where was the village, if there was one? Then we saw some Siamese girls walking towards us. We stopped them and asked them the way to the village. They told us to walk straight on. So on we went for about a mile, when we came to a narrow gorge guarded by Japanese sentries. Although we did not realise it, it was the prisoner-of-war camp about which we had been warned at Takko to be very careful. We walked past the sentries without being stopped, and then saw in the distance the usual camp of huts for labourers on the "Death Railway." Meeting an Indian, we asked him if he could tell us where the village was. He told us to carry straight on. A little later we saw a huge cross somewhat overgrown by jungle. At once I realised that it was the cross which some Australian prisoners-of-war had mentioned when we had spent a couple of nights with them.

156 On going up to it, we saw' that' it was inscribed to the memory of the British, American, Dutch, Australian and Indian prisoners-of-war who had died there owing to Japanese neglect. Two miles further on we seemed to be getting deep into the jungle and thought that we must have taken the wrong path; so we turned back and found a side path which we had previously overlooked. Taking it, we soon came to the village of Nikkay. There we went into a small restaurant belonging to a young Siamese woman in the middle twenties. She was unmarried but had a fiance, a Siamese lad much younger than herself. To our surprise, both of them spoke almost perfect Malay. After hearing these details I asked her how she had learnt it. "Everybody in this village speaks Malay besides Siamese," she replied. "How has that come about?" I said in astonishment. "You are about a thousand miles from Malaya and three hundred from the main route from Malaya to Bangkok. And Nikkay is cut off by thick virgin jungle! 1 simply can't understand it." "Funny, isn't it? But there is it," she said laughing. "Many Malayan labourers who have come to Nikkay have said the same thing." There we met an Indian locomotive driver from Malaya. He took us to his camp in the caves, and told us that Allied planes came over almost every day. The Allies had blasted the station area so heavily that the Japanese had made their railway yards in the caves. I asked him if there was any chance of getting a train from Nikkay to Aperon. He replied that though a train ran there every evening the Japanese Military Police would prevent us from boarding it. So I decided that we must walk. Leaving Nikkay the following morning, we struck out into the jungle. We had walked for

157 little more than an hour when it started raining, at times in torrents. On and on we marched, and it never stopped; but by noon we reached the rail track that went on to Burma. We kept up a steady pace of about two miles an hour, and in the evening passed Three Pagodas on the boundary between Siam and Burma. At about nine o'clock we reached Aperon. We were so tired that we looked at once for somewhere to sleep. At about ten in the morning, however, we decided to plod on to the next station, Annaquin, which was only a few miles away. It was yet another Japanese transit camp for the storage of ammunition and other armaments for their defence of Burma. Here, again, we found some empty trucks in the yard where we spent the night quite peacefully. Next morning we were so tired that we decided to spend the day there; but once* again the pangs of hunger assailed us, and nothing could be done about it, for there was no Burmese village or shop nearby. We dozed on and off, saying a few words to each other every hour or so; but there was little in our talk to cheer anyone. Only one thought was in our minds when would we reach Mouhnein? It seemed curious that there was no sign of air activity. We talked about it for a while and then dozed off again. I had not fallen asleep myself but was just lying down with my eyes open. Suddenly, from a distance there came the steady drone of aeroplane engines. Popping my head out of the truck, I scanned the horizon beyond the hills trying to see from where the planes were coming. A few minutes passed. Nothing was to be seen though the drone of the pjanes was definitely getting nearer. Then, all of a sudden, two American B-25's appeared diving straight towards the trucks. My last clear thought was that we had had it. I

158 shouted to my pals. They were soon on their feet and were about to jump'out of the truck when I told thefn that it would be better to lie flat where we were. We had barely done so when salvo after salvo of machine-gun fire was directed straight at us. We thought that it was the end and left everything to fate, I could not figure out how we had got caught in such a tight corner. My heart beat faster and every second I expected a terrific explosion. Compared to the bombs which I thought would soon explode, the machine-gun fire did not seem to matter very much. The Japanese put up a thunderous ack-ack barrage. If we had jumped out of the trucks we should have been machine-gunned. The rattle of machine-gun fire continued for some time after the planes had passed us and I presumed that it was the tail gunners missing no chances. I kept my head between my hands and only thought of God. Then, as the droning sound died away, the firing stopped. But I wondered if the planes would turn back or be followed by another wave. Quickly I got up and popped my head out of the truck. I looked into the distance where the planes had gone. I could see them, and they were turning. I shouted to my friends, telling them to jump out of the truck and make for some nearby hole. "Look, they nearly got us," said Bui as they got up. "See those bullet holes." "Never mind about them," I said, "we must bolt as they'll soon be over us again." We jumped out and ran to an old bomb crater about fifty yards away. Two minutes later the planes came back. Again there was a heavy ack-ack barrage, and before long I heard the whistle of falling bombs. I lay flat with my head in my hands. Fortunately it was a deep crater. Then the bombs burst with deafening thunder.

159 The blast shook us, but the showers of mud and earth that came afterwards were even more terrifying. A few seconds later more bombs fell. Then all was quiet except for the drone of the planes flying away. I cautiously raised my head and saw dust and smoke rising from the direction of the trucks, and the planes disappearing in the distance. We waited for a while to make sure that they would not return again, then painfully climbed out of the crater. The trucks in which we had taken shelter were blown to bits and the railway lines were torn and bent. "Lucky we got out of that truck," I said, "Otherwise our bones would be lying there now with no one to identify them. Nobody in Malaya would ever have known what had happened to us." We went and sat on some logs piled in the shade of a tree. After resting there for a while we strolled on and saw about fifty Javanese labourers, all naked. The Japanese had brought them from Java for forced labour on the "Death Railway". They were a pitiable sight. Many of them were suffering from scabies all over their bodies. In the evening I met one of them alone. I called him over to have a chat with us, and asked him how long he had been there. "Nearly two years now," he said, Then I asked him why he and his comrades were wearing no clothes. "What can we do?" he replied. "We have nothing to wear, so we have to go about like this. And I don't know when we'll have a chance of going back to Java. My parents and wife are there. My wife was expecting a baby when I was taken by the Japanese, and haven't seen them since. Death would be better than such a life as this." The tears ran down his cheeks as he spoke. There was little we could do to comfort him except to tell him that the Allies had landed in Java.

160 We left Annaquin the next afternoon, making for Thabuzayat, a small village junction forty miles from Moulmein, which we reached in pouring monsoon rain in the early hours of the morning when everyone was asleep. By that time we had ceased to care about the gnawing pain of the hunger inside us and our sore and swollen feet. We were only worried as to whether we were on the right road. And at least we were out of the jungle, now going from one hamlet to another. We paused for a moment on the verandah of a house as it was raining heavily, stretched ourselves out on the floor and were soon fast asleep. Our rest was not broken till late in the day when the Burmese inhabitants of the house warned us that Allied planes were overhead. We rushed into a huge shelter full of mud and remained there till the all-clear was sounded by the beating of a gong. Meanwhile we had met six Tamil Indians. They told us that they came from Seremban in Malaya, and we soon became good friends. On leaving the shelter, they took us to the house of a pointsman on the railway and arranged for us to stay there, and then gave us a meal of beautifully cooked Burmese rice, curry mixed with vegetables and fried fish. We rested' in Thanbuzayat for a few days until we felt sufficiently recuperated. Then one fine morningit only remained fine for an hour or sowe left for Moulmein, walking along the railway track. Before ldng there was a heavy storm, but we walked on through it. The rain that started then lasted for the next thirty hours; but on and on we walked, all that day and through the night, and just before dawn we reached Moulmein. It was still dark, and we did not know where to go; but we could see many devastated buildings on each side of the road. "It looks a big town," said Bui, "but it's been bombed very badly."

161 "I wonder what's happened to the people." said Kitchey. "These buildings look quite deserted." We walked straight on. After a time Bui said in a whisper, "Could this town be haunted? There's nothing to be heard but the drip-drip of the rain in those broken-down houses." "We'd better shelter in one of them till day breaks, anyhow," suggested Kitchey. "That's not a bad idea," I said. "But don't forget, these buildings look as though they've been disused for some time, and maybe we'll be greeted by a full-grown snake instead of a human being." "Look, that building has a roof, let's rest there," said Bui. We had reached Moulmein and badly needed a rest. Without caring about any snakes we went in, lay down, and were soon asleep. We really were dead tired.
CHAPTER XVI

THE REWARD OF GOD A SLIGHT drizzle was falling in the early light of that monsoon morning in July, 1945, when we came out of that bombed building and saw Moulmein by daylight for the first time. No one was in sight, so we walked until we saw two short figures approaching us. They looked like Burmese, for they were wearing white shirts tucked in red sarongs and were both carrying small cloth haversacks over their shoulders; but when they got nearer to us they seemed shorter than Burmese. "What are you carrying?" they asked us in Japanese. We pretended not to understand, so they began to question us in Burmese which we certainly did not understand. As we said nothing they became suspicious and searched our

162 bodies and the little baggage we carried. As we were wet through they suspected us all the more of Jxnng spies. They pointed at us and then at the sky, obviously asking if we were parachutists. Half-an-hour later, being still dissatisfied as to our identity, they decided to take us to their headquarters. They made us get into a passing bullock cart which drove to one of six large pagodas overlooking the Salween River. It was the Kempetei headquarters. Next to the office was a dungeon where all the prisoners were kept. It was a filthy, evil-smelling place. Our bundles of clothing were taken away from us and we were locked up. "We must tell them that we've been working as labourers at Nikkay," I suggested. "Tell them that we coudn't stand the conditions there, so decided to come to Moulmein, and that we're prepared to work for them." "No, better say that we've come from Korekunta," said Bui. "Suppose they check up on us, what are we to say?'' "Don't worry about that," I said. "They'll only give us a few slaps or kicks and send us back to Korekunta, if they don't make us work here." "How long will all that take?" asked Bui. . "We may have to live here in this dungeon for at least a month," I said. "This Burmese beside me tells me that he's been here for twenty days without a breath of fresh air, and he still doesn't know why they locked him up. That Burmese girl lying naked on the floor with her hands and feet tied up has been here three days and has only been given water to drink. He says that she's accused of harbouring a parachutist, and whenever they torture her they ask her where the man is, but she says that she doesn't know."

163 "You.mean that's a woman and she's alive?" "Yes, and this man says that she's still unconscious after yesterday's torture." "If they can do that to a woman, what will they do to us?" said Kitchey. "Don't you worry," I said. "We've still got those Japanese arm labels to prove our story that we've come from Korekunta and worked there. If they question us all together I'll do the talking, but otherwise remember to stick to that story." Just then we heard the sound of a small siren and then the beating of gongs, which we knew meant that Allied planes were coming over Moulmein. A few minutes later we heard antiaircraft fire and then the drone of several planes. Instead of moving us to the shelters outside, the Japanese left us there. The shelters were only meant for them. Before long we heard bombs exploding. It seemed to be a concentrated raid on one spot, and later I heard that it was the railway yards at Martaban. Half-an-hour after the all-clear, two Japs opened the door and told all three of us to go out. They took us upstairs and made us sit on the floor. Several Japanese were seated round a table, and to our surprise there was also a Sikh youngster of about twenty-four years of age. No sooner did he hear me say that Bui and I were Sikhs than he came forward and asked me if it was really true, and why I had no turban or beard. I replied that we had found it impossible to observe the strict rules of Sikhism while working on the "Death Railway", and had cut our long hair short and shaved off our beards. As proof of our having been labourers, I showed them our arm bands. They said that if we had produced our badges before they would not have arrested us, and asked why we had Concealed them. I replied that not knowing Nippon-go We had been unable to understand their questions.

164 We were still being interrogated when a 'phone message came to say that Allied parachutists had landed near Martaban, the town on the other side of the Salween River. On hearing the news, all the Japs in the office rushed wildly about. Before they left, the chief ordered the Sikh lad to question us. If he found us innocent he could release us, otherwise he could torture us or shoot us as he liked. This young Sikh proved to be a security officer of the Indian National Army whom the Japanese trusted implicitly. He could speak Japanese fluently, which was the main reason why the Japanese liked him and had been left behind by Nethaji Subhas Chandra Bose to act as a sort of liaison officer between the two forces. He could also speak English, having been well educated in Rangoon before the war. He took us outside, and we sat down on the steps of the pagoda and chatted. I felt confident that I could make him help us. He asked us first whether we wanted to speak in English, Punjabi or Hindustani. As we could all understand English, it was agreed to carry on our conversation in that language, and I introduced Bui and Kitchey to him and gave him my own name as Gopal Singh. "Now, Mr. Gopal Singh, I want you to tell me frankly who you three are," he said, "and how you've come here. Tell me the truth whatever it is, and I'll help you." "We're' all from Malaya," I replied, "and were brought to Siam as forced labourers. I'm a planter by profession and own some rubber estates. Bui is the son of a doctor, and Kitchey is a clerk. It's true we're all literate, but we were put to work on the 'Death Railway'. We endured many hardships until at last we decided to escape to Rangoon where I have a brother. Being in the jungle all this time, we didn't know that Rangoon has been captured by the British.

165 But we'd rather find work here than go back where we came from. We had over a year on the railroad in the jungle, and will never forget it or the way the Japs treated us. We saw hundreds of our comrades, most of them Indians, die in misery. By luck, my friends and I are stili alive, and believe me we three are the only sur-' vivors of our party which included two thousand Indians conscripted from Malaya. After experiencing all that we'd rather accept death here than go back there. We're ready to face the firing squad if you say so, but we will not go back to the 'Death Railway'." He listened intently to my story. Most of my main facts were true and well known to almost everyone in Burma. I could see his heart melting at my words, and he would shake his head as though sympathising with me. But I could see no tears in his eyes. He would not have been a security officer if he had been as sentimental as that. Anyway, I had softened him quite a lot. "Why did you come north instead of going south and try to get back to Malaya?" he asked. "Every station down south was being closely watched by the Japanese," I replied. "There had been so many deserters that they were questioning any labourer they come across. But they take no notice of anyone going north towards the war zone. So I decided to make for Rangoon. My two friends and I have lived like brothers, so they came along with me. Here we are at your mercy." "I believe what you say, and am sure you're not spies as I was told this afternoon," he said. "I didn't know you were Punjabis then, and we're catching many parachutists who are spies. You saw those people in the dungeon? Most of them are Burmese dropped here by parachute by the British as advance parties.

166 He then took us to the headquarters of the Indian Independence League, where we were told that we could sleep on the tables, and Ajit Singh gave us a thousand rupees for food. We stayed there for three days, and somewhat to our surprise met several Indians from Malaya. They had also escaped from labour camps on the "Death Railway" and had made their way to Moulmein. Some were running coffee shops, others were barbers, and others were doing odd jobs. One of our new friends, seeing our uncomfortablethough to us luxurious sleeping quarters, arranged for us to move to a temple on the side of the hill, where we were much better off. Then, after a few days, Ajit Singh got us a house with the help of another Sikh, Gurbachan Singh, who was a great help to us during our stay in Moulmein. A house was found for us, and Ajit Singh got us sacks of rice and sugar, green peas, chillies, salt, soap, towels and other necessities. Even toilet requisites were. not forgotten. We had enough of everything to last us several months. Sugar and soap were very expensive and almost non-existent in Burma at that time. In fact, we had more soap than we could use, so we decided to sell a few bars to buy fresh vegetables. We obtained Ajit Singh's consent, and each bar fetched as much as much as sixty rupees. Whilst in Moulmein our main ambition was to try to cross the front line on the Sittiang River less than a hundred miles away. We learned after enquiry that the journey between Martaban and the Sittang was very dangerous because' the area was infested with decoits, who would shoot a man dead before robbing him. "What are we going to do now?" said Bui. "The land route looks quite impossible. But if we don't go by land, we've only got two other routesby sea or air. Don't tell me that we're going to invent wings and fly!"

KINO'S HOUSE, KUALA LUMPUR.

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The good service which you rendered during the war to the cause of the Allies and the liberation of Malaya is well appreciated by the Government. In conditions of danger and hardship you worked steadfastly for the good of the country, and it gives me the greatest pleasure to express to you the thanks and commendation of the Government.

Governor.

The Author's

"Commendation

Card".