The year was 1944. We were marching to the Burma front.

Mine was the first party to cross the Indo-Burma border.

Our goal: Capturing Sita Hills, a strategic point in the battle. The British forces were stationed there. Our plan of attack ready, we set forth. The hills were fenced on all sides with barbed wire. We approached the hills cautiously and launched our attack! But, without success.

We retreated. Undaunted by the failure of the first attempt we mulled over another strategy. In the second attempt, we first cut the barbed wire around the hills. The initial hurdle was overcome. A fierce battle ensued. And victory was ours! Sita Hills had been captured.

Flush with our success, we sat down to celebrate, feasting ourselves on rations left by the Britishers.

And just as we were discussing the possibility of a counterattack, we saw a British convoy approaching...

In a flash, all of us were up on our feet. We ran for cover. The British opened fire on us and then, five bullets hit me! Three in the leg, two in the arm.

I was wounded seriously with femire and humerres fracture, both compound. I was unable to move and was taken captive.

The British put me in a covered tent. My wound, raw, untended, started emanating a foul smell. On one of those days, a British officer came to inspect the camp. He saw the covered tent and pushed aside the covers. I was in bad shape and was ordered to be sent to the hospital in Calcutta for treatment.

Lying in the hospital, one day, I heard the news that our leader, Subhas Chandra Bose had died in an air crash. I was shocked!

But, soon I received a piece of information which reassured me greatly. A Japanese officer told me that the air-crash story was a cover-up. It had been concocted by the Japanese. Netaji had not died. There was no air-crash.

But after that there was no news on Netaji.