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Date Posted: 05:04:13 09/19/06 Tue
Author: Copyright © 2004 Malaysia Today (Malaysia Today)
Subject: 29. The Japanese Surrender (15 August 1945): Independence Cheated by 48 Hours

Saturday, September 16, 2006
29. The Japanese Surrender (15 August 1945): Independence Cheated by 48 Hours

INDEX

On 6 August 1945, an American B 29 bomber Enola Gay, piloted by Colonel Paul Tibbets, dropped its deathly 4,500 kilogrammed cargo. The world’s first atomic bomb razed Hiroshima and annihilated 100,000 Japanese. Several days later, Nagasaki was reduced to ashes, decimating more lives. Japan knelt in abject defeat. Before the dust of demolition could settle, the Western powers were already packing up, readying themselves to return to their former colonies.

In Malaya, whispers of Japanese imminent surrender gained strength, as a forest fire would, when Haji Bahari bin Haji Sidek, appeared in the general area after a long absence. (Haji Bahari, a student in Mecca before World War II broke out, had been recruited by the British guerrilla Force 136 based in India. The Malay Section of Force 136 was headed by Major Tengku Mahmood Mahyideen, of the Pattani nobility.)

Parachuted into the jungle of Grik, Haji Bahari returned to Batu Kurau, two miles from my hill farm, with news of the imminent surrender. To prove he had returned from overseas, small bottles of perfume (minyak atar) were distributed to curious kampung folks who visited him. “If Japan would not bow, Allied ground troops and air forces would combat them,” he asserted. By God’s Grace, this was not to be, or else innocent kampung folks would have been trapped in the ensuing battle. Haji Bahari let it be known that the British would reward him with a big post.

After a brief visit, Ibrahim Yaakub had left my farm on 13 August 1945, vowing, “Should something undesirable happen I would depart for Indonesia and I would continue KMM’s struggle from there.” He tried to coax me into accompanying him to Indonesia, but I refused. I felt responsible for KMM members who would now have to face the accumulated wrath of the returning British. I felt answerable for members whom we (KMM leaders) have taken this far!

Ibrahim Yaakub’s last words to me were: “Should there be questions, tell them I am a responsible man.”

On 15 August 1945, I heard the Malaya Sumatra Japanese Military Administration had surrendered. The Japanese ‘banana currency’ was no longer a legal tender. I felt truly sorry for many uninformed Malays who were duped into selling almost all their livestock and were paid in Japanese currency by Chinese merchants who already knew of the surrender through their ‘jungle radios’.

With the blink of an eye, the five Japanese men living in our village vanished into thin air. I carried on farming; not forgetting to carry my trusted machete, ready for any eventualities.

In the ensuing days, we heard about the fate of several policemen in Ijok, ten miles away. They were nabbed by marauding Bintang Tiga Chinese guerrillas and were killed with draw hoes near Bayur River. The heat closed in on us when we saw a Chinese banana seller emboldened into delivering a speech. A normally timid Chinese buffalo herder was openly declaring, “All Malay heads must be shaven!”

Village Security

Abductions and killings were rampant. Kampung folks, suddenly drawn into chaos, moved in indescribable fear. A few initiated a meeting at the Batu Kurau Mosque. Chaired by Cikgu Ali, who now lives in Kampung Boyan, Taiping, others at the meeting were Mosque Committee Secretary, Major Mohd Mat Saman and committee member Haji Putih bin Haji Abdul Latip .

I was just an observer. The main agenda was: measures to counter aggressive Bintang Tiga guerrillas (mostly Chinese) who have assumed power in the vacuum. To break an impasse, I asked a pot bellied old man, “Pak Da, should the Bintang Tiga guerrillas point a pistol at your tummy, what would you do?” He answered, “I would just give in,” in his Pattani slang.

“Pak Da should reply this way should you kill me, all members of your race will be killed too. Not only in this village, but in Kampung Perak, in Jelai, in Pantai Besar everywhere!” I encouraged him.

I then broke into a short speech to whip their spirits up until the chairman himself stood up to declare, “If that is what Che Mustapha says we should do, not only to Bayur River, but even to heaven’s seventh layer I am willing to go!”

I responded, “That is the spirit! Now, about security. It is not a difficult problem. Some of us in this kampung were once volunteers, if not soldiers. Let us set up sections of eight people. We have weapons! Each house has at least a machete, or an axe, or a saw, or a knife. Should the Bintang Tiga come in lorries, we cut down trees to block their route. Attack, and keep attacking if necessary. Don’t fear! Bullets can go astray but machetes never miss!”

So, a kampung vigilante corps was set up to defend lives and homes. Fearing the villagers might be ambushed while praying in the mosque, I suggested they took turns to pray, making sure some stayed outside on the look out.

Not unexpected, among those at the meeting, was an informer. After the vigilante corps was set up, Haji Putih came to look for me with grave concern in his eyes. He got wind that I would be abducted and killed. I moved my wife to a friend’s hut up on a remote slope. I told her to stay in hiding with our four children, the youngest, Dinah, only two months old. I was afraid they would be harmed. In that transition period between the Japanese surrender and the British return, Chinese guerrillas were on a rampage. Anything and everything could happen.

I hid in Haji Putih’s house that night. Before the crack of dawn, my faithful friend Hamid and I travelled on a bamboo raft for some distance before crossing the Ara River. We then trudged through desolate Malay kampungs, harvested rice fields, newly tilled plots and jungle fringes until we found the Pondok Tanjung Taiping rail track. This circuitous route was necessary as many roads were already blocked by the Bintang Tiga guerrillas who had emerged in droves from their jungle hideouts.

Last Meeting With Umezu And Itagaki 18 or 19 August 1945
After thanking Hamid and asking him to return to Batu 20, I walked almost 15 miles along the railtrack. As soon as I hit Taiping, I stopped at the Kampung Boyan home of KMM member Hanif bin Sulaiman, not only to take a breather and a drink of water, but also to discuss how I could escape arrest. Alas, he was unable to offer an appropriate advice.

From his house, I walked to the Japanese HODOSHO Office in the Taiping Nurses Hostel (now an annex of the Taiping’s new General Hospital) to see the Japanese Officers still there, including Professor Yoichi Itagaki and Major General Umezu , Malaya Sumatra Japanese Military Administration Chief.

The Japanese were shocked to see me, as if they had seen a Malay ghost, because Dr. Burhanuddin had told them I had been killed by the Bintang Tiga. They enquired about me and my future plans. I requested for a pistol but General Umezu said, “It is impossible as all weapons had been serialised for surrender to the Allied Forces.” He then added, “American very bad man, you know!”

I was livid. “What! You are afraid to give me one pistol! You all have lost the war and will be sent home to Japan. But what about me? If I am not hanged, I may be shot by the returning British. Not that I am afraid!”

General Umezu summoned all the Japanese Officers within the office to bow to me; a mark of respect for my courage. He commended, “Here is a fine example of a brave Malay who is willing to continue fighting!”

Upon my insistence, they relented and handed me a small automatic with a faulty safety catch and 50 bullets.

Japanese Officers’ Analysis Of Their Defeat

I had to wait for the veil of twilight before I could leave the HODOSHO Office undetected. The Japanese Officers and I spent the time in discussing many aspects on the just concluded war and on Japan’s future. Despite the grim and wrenching sense of defeat, these Japanese Officers were still spirited enough to analyse the defeat. These are some of their observations:

Japan lacked sophisticated weapons and radars like those owned by the Americans. Thus, Japanese submarines could not avoid detection and destruction.

Japanese secret intention of over running Australia under the leadership of Admiral Yamamoto was found out. Had the Japanese landed in Australia, the Pacific War would have concluded with a Japanese victory and Australia would be in their grasp.

One of them asked me, “If a very brave soldier was given a not too sophisticated weapon while a coward of a soldier carried a much better weapon, who would win?” I tried to help by answering that the coward would win, giving them my own reasons. They nodded their heads in unison.

They next concluded that Japan lost because it had yet to invent the atomic bomb. Their research went astray. At that very instant, in those moments of abject defeat, Japanese Officers at the HODOSHO Office made a vow to step up research in science and technology and resolved to continue atomic bomb research along Mount Fuji foothills. In my heart I told myself, “You have just lost a war! You are already thinking of another one!”

Japan they said had only 120 million people. America had more. But according to statistics, a defeated nation would produce more children. Victorious America would become more prosperous but its population would not increase rapidly. So, within 25 years, Japanese population would equal in number to the Americans. I sensed it was as if they were planning another war against America within 25 years.

Finally, the number of Japanese soldiers who died since Japan went to war with China was small only one million. Destruction to Japanese industry was also negligible not more than 25 percent.

Listening to their analysis, I realised how strongly committed and loyal the Japanese were to the future of their people and nation. But, what about the fate of Malay fighters in Malaya who would now have to face the music? To face the returning British? To face trials and tribulations, dangers and threats?

Where Would I Go?

When the thick curtain of night almost fell, I bade “Sayonara” to all the Japanese Officers present in the HODOSHO Office. They responded with “Sayonara Guzaimas,” and bowed their bodies as low as they could, with extreme reverence. That was the moment I bid goodbye to my Japanese experience.

I stepped out of the building not knowing what to do nor where to go next. I roamed in some ‘safe’ parts of Taiping with one hundred and one things swimming in my mind. I asked myself, “Was I not a Fujiwara Kikan’s Fifth Columnist? I am sure the British Intelligence will look for me when they return. Or were they already here? Would I be arrested and brought to trial or would I be killed without a chance to defend myself?”

I was afraid of being shot without a trial; I had to avoid arrest. My hand was buried deep in my pocket, gripping the automatic within, ready for any eventualities.

My steps took me to my brother’s house along Jalan Walker which he shared with Ariffin bin Buyung, a spirited young man from Bagan Serai. I went there hoping to meet with Dr. Burhanuddin, who lived only four doors away, to discuss tactics to guarantee the safety and security of all KMM members involved in the war. Also to discuss future moves to advance our Malay struggle.

When my brother Yusoff went to bid Dr. Burhanuddin over, he came like a shot, shocked to see me still alive. He said in between gasps, “I had told the Japanese Kakka (Chief) you are dead.”

Before I could explain my predicament, why I had left my family hiding in a kampung hut just to seek ways to save the skin of all KMM members (myself included), he asked impatiently, “Why did you come here? You’d better go quickly. If the Bintang Tiga knows you are here, they will burn our homes!”

It was my brother’s friend Ariffin who glared at him and responded, “Why are you shouting at Che Mustapha? This is our house, not yours!” Turning to me, he said, “Che Mustapha, don’t worry, just ignore him. You stay here with us!”

I spent a listless night immersed in flash backs of events that happened before that night, wondering what lay ahead. I recalled with an ache in my heart Dr. Burhanuddin’s reaction. It is not my intention to mention a friend’s negative reaction but what transpired between Dr. Burhanuddin and me that day clearly demonstrated the extreme fear the Malays had for the Bintang Tiga.

The next day I asked someone to call an acquaintance who once worked with the Japanese Military Administration, to meet me. KMM members and I had once helped send him home to Kuantan in the confusion of war. But he refused to see me. I was deeply hurt. A few days later I saw him walking with his nose in the air; the white master had assigned him on an important secret mission to Singapore .

I left my brother’s house utterly disappointed. This big world had suddenly become such a lonely place for me. What about my family hiding in the battered hut in Batu 20?

I walked alone to Osman Bakery owned by my father’s great friend, Mamak Osman. En route, I was stopped by the Bintang Tiga boys, but they did not find the automatic in my pocket. I hid in the bakery’s dark and airless attic, but just hours after my arrival, a Chinese boy enquired about my identity and where I came from.

Mamak Osman called me to say something. He began, “Please don’t be upset or misconstrue what I am going to say.” My heart jumped a beat, telling myself, “My fate is still bad. Yesterday I was chased away by a friend. Looks like I will be chased away again!”

But on the contrary, this old man feared for my safety and advised me to leave when darkness fell, and walk to his Assam Kumbang home, which he felt was safer than his bakery, which was along a main thoroughfare. This big hearted man was unafraid that the plague I carried would be inflicted on his family. God works in mysterious ways. Chased away from one place, I was welcomed at another. I moved to his Assam Kumbang house and stayed there two days.

In Taiping town, a lorry was making its round, with the attendant throwing ropes about two metres in length to the people, as if inviting them to use them to tie up enemies of the new power, the Bintang Tiga.

(My brother Yahaya, an Agricultural Officer in Jerantut, Pahang had already been killed by the Bintang Tiga. His pregnant wife, who appealed, “If you kill my husband you might as well kill me,” was also killed. They were buried in a single unmarked grave in Damak, Pahang.)

The new British Military Administration (BMA) opened an office in Taiping to register former British Government servants, offering a $250.00 advance to report to their former work places all over Malaya. I braved myself to register at the Whiteaways (now location of Taiping Malayan Banking Berhad) and received the $250.00.

Cautiously stepping out of the building, I was shocked beyond words to see Dr. Burhanuddin sitting comfortably in a British Propaganda Office vehicle. He was now employed by the British. I felt as if the sky had fallen on my head. Had anyone else informed me, I would not have believed it. Later that evening, Mamak Osman asked, “Did you happen to see Dr. Burhanuddin?” I replied, “Yes, I saw him.”

After that, I felt the British Intelligence eyes following my every move; a Malay who once worked for the Japanese was now working with the BMA and he had seen me taking the advance. They however did not get to me as Mamak Osman hid me several times. Sometimes, when I return to his house, Mamak Osman would say, “Someone was looking for you, just now.”

In any case, I used the $250.00 advance to buy food such as bread, biscuits, jam, chocolate and cheese, which my family had not seen for almost four years. I even managed to catch a bangsawan stage show before returning to my family. I behaved like a man who would soon face an execution. As I watched tiny girls dancing on stage, I threw coins at their feet.

In Batu 20 I found my family safe and sound under the protection of some village elders. My family already owned British currency; they had carried on farming and sold the produce during my absence. I looked up some friends to find out how they were and to offer help I already owned a small pistol .

Note By Insun Mustapha

My mother could not believe herself when she heard my father’s voice calling from the pitch black night outside the hut; he was still alive. My sister Hendun, fast asleep then, can still remember how she was awakened by the wonderful smell of soap when my father held it above her nose. Everyone was thrilled that my father had returned with food and little luxuries they had missed for three years and eight months.


Endnotes to Chapter 29

Statement by Batu 20 villager Haji Putih bin Haji Latip appended to Memoir Mustapha Hussain.

Batu 20 coffee shop owner during the Japanese Occupation, to whom I am greatly indebted.

Chief of Malaya Sumatra Japanese Military Administration with whom I had once argued over the formation of KRIS and Independent Malaya Declaration.

He was sent by the BMA to Singapore to look for Ibrahim Yaakub, but Ibrahim had left for Indonesia.

Later, before going to meet Force 136 Officer, the pistol was given to my wife Mariah to be thrown away.


Translated by Insun Mustapha
Edited by Jomo K. S.

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