Letter to CO 7th Rangers from Lt Col Mark Evans, later Lt General, where he mentions my OC Major Abdul Razak Che Awang of C Company

The Malaysian Army of that period did not have body bags, and Swami’s stated reason for mentioning this detail was deeply personal: he did not want to burden his family. It introduces the prospect of death before his military career has even begun. His family background provides a striking contrast.

He grew up in a large, boisterous household comprising nine siblings, an adopted brother, three uncles and an aunt. This was a crowded family environment, full of human interaction and competing personalities. Yet, despite the closeness implied by this description, nobody in his family supported his decision to enlist.

The reference to attending kindergarten at a convent school, despite it being an all-girls school, adds another unusual detail to the narrative. It suggests that Swami’s early experiences were not entirely conventional, and the anecdote gives the reader a glimpse of the personality behind the soldier.

The strength of this passage lies in its understated candour. Rather than beginning with heroic declarations or patriotic rhetoric, Swami introduces his military journey through family opposition, an uncomfortable fact about the army’s preparedness for death, and an unconventional childhood.

The body-bag detail is particularly powerful because of its bluntness. It brings the realities of military service into the narrative without embellishment. His concern about burdening his family also introduces a tension that could become significant as the story develops: the relationship between personal sacrifice, family ties and the demands of military life.

The central question raised by this chapter is simple: what kind of man chooses a profession in which death is a possibility, even when his own family hopes he will choose another path? That question gives the passage its narrative pull.

It invites the reader to look beyond rank and military achievements and examine the experiences, attitudes and personal convictions that shaped the officer who would emerge.

Friendship and a Father’s Courage

Whenever anyone bullied me, I knew exactly whom to call. Ah Toon was my man. During recess, I would point out the fellows who had bullied me. I would position myself at a strategically advantageous spot and identify the targets. Ah Toon and his gang would take care of the rest. 

He was the leader of a bunch of small-time thugs. I was his general. I never had to get my hands dirty. It was a rather convenient arrangement, and I enjoyed a peaceful life at school. At least, I did not have to worry too much about those who thought they could push me around.

Ah Toon had several brothers. One was a policeman, another a schoolteacher. Quite a family, considering the company Ah Toon kept. My kindergarten days were rather different. It was a mixed-gender kindergarten, and I even had the luxury of being chauffeur-driven in a black Vauxhall. 

Let me clarify: it was not my father's car. It belonged to the estate manager, a Scotsman named Mr. S. G. Smith. His daughter, Alexandra Smith, a blonde with curly hair, was a student too at the kindergarten. That was how I came to enjoy the ride.

It was not because Mr. Smith was being particularly generous to my father. I simply happened to be in the right place at the right time. My father was the sole breadwinner for a large family. He fed, sheltered and educated fourteen of us, not counting my mother. Education was particularly important because it meant giving his children a chance to make something of themselves.

My father was an extraordinary man, above all a doer. We bred chickens, ducks, pigeons, goats and cows. My mother churned her own butter. We had a large vegetable garden maintained by a gardener, and even a cowherd to look after the cattle. Ours was a household that produced much of what it needed. My father worked hard to keep the entire family going.

But there was another side to my father's life, one that belonged to a much darker period in Malayan history. During the Second World War, my father served with the Malayan People's Anti-Japanese Army (MPAJA). He and his close friend, Mr. Pathy, whom he regarded as a bosom buddy, were involved in smuggling medical supplies. It was dangerous work under the Japanese occupation, and eventually both men were caught by the Japanese military police, the dreaded Kempeitai.

What followed was horrific. My father was subjected to water torture. Water was forced into his stomach, and he was made to gulp until he was close to drowning. Water would come out through his nose. The Japanese then burned his skin with cigarette butts. He remembered their smiles as they inflicted the pain. They seemed to take pleasure in his suffering. They were sadistic bastards.

Both men were tortured and starved. Mr. Pathy suffered permanent hearing damage. Yet neither man gave the Japanese the information they wanted. Eventually, they were released. My father had witnessed the brutal consequences of betrayal during the occupation.

He knew what the MPAJA could do to collaborators and informers. Stories circulated of people being subjected to horrific punishments, including being immersed in boiling water. Perhaps those memories, together with the courage he and Mr. Pathy drew from one another, helped them endure their ordeal. Whatever the reason, neither man broke under torture.

When my father finally returned home, he was little more than a skeleton. My mother was terrified by his appearance. The man who had left home was almost unrecognizable. He was placed in a goat shed. My mother, frightened by the condition he was in, would put food into a coconut shell and push it towards him. That was how he was fed.

Imagine that for a moment. A man who had risked his life to help others, who had endured torture and starvation without betraying his comrades, returned home so physically broken that even his own family was frightened by his appearance. He had survived, but the scars of that experience would remain.

I grew up knowing my father as a man who provided for a large family and got things done. Only later could I fully appreciate the ordeal he had endured before I was born. His story was not simply one of survival.  

If you are interested in buying this book click here, it's only RM65 per copy, with more reviews and details about the book, you can even send it to someone as a gift, no extra charges for postage.