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"Boryaku"

HIGH UP on Kudan Hills, in the heart of Tokyo, was the nerve center of the Japanese war machine. Rows of grim-looking four-story buildings reached out into the sky from that hilltop. They housed the Japanese War Ministry, the Imperial General Staff, and the Dai Honyei or Imperial Headquarters.

In a remote corner of this vast set-up stood one block that was officially called the 8th Section of the 2nd Bureau of the Imperial General Staff. Few people outside the Japanese military clique knew what the 8th Section of the 2nd Bureau stood for, though the subtle influence of the small men who sat in those dingy rooms was felt far and wide.

If you saw a lone Japanese hawker on the beaches of Malaya or Madagascar, or a thrifty little Japanese fisherman on the coast of Borneo or Brazil, you could be sure that he was connected with the 8th Section of the 2nd Bureau. If some jolly little Japanese tourist made friends with you at your hotel or in the train, plied you with drinks and tried to talk politics, the chances were that he was working for the mystery men of Kudan Hills. A good many of the barbers, photographers, and brothel-keepers who migrated from Japan to foreign parts those days were subsidized by the mysterious offices at the Imperial General Staff. Some of them were specially trained officers of the Imperial Japanese Army or Navy.

But the 8th Section of the 2nd Bureau also handled big deals. Former Emperor Pu-Yi of Manchukuo was a creation of the men who directed this particular section of the Japanese war machine. So was Wang Ching-wei, who headed the Japanese-sponsored Nanking Government in China. And many of the wartime leaders of East Asia were also "discovered" and brought up or bought up by agents of the 8th Section, 2nd Bureau.

If the Japanese forces found the going extremely smooth in Malaya and Burma, if they invariably got vital information regarding enemy positions and other details connected with the military campaign, if they easily secured the services of guides and interpreters wherever they went, they knew at once that they were indebted to the long arm of the 8th Section, 2nd Bureau.

This was the organization that dealt with "Boryaku"— espionage and counter-espionage, propaganda and counter-propaganda. Its armory included almost everything, from poison to presidentship. It had been perfected by such foxy geniuses as General Doihara, Japan's "Lawrence" of Manchuria.

Besides the series of amazing military successes, Japan scored heavily in its propaganda offensive, especially in the Southeast Asian countries, by the skillful use of such slogans as "Freedom for All," "War of Liberation," and "Asia for Asians." There was something irresistible about the trend of military events at the initial stages of the Pacific War. Added to that was the magic of such terms as "freedom" and "liberation" and the hope and trust they engendered in the hearts of politically oppressed people. Yet, there were misgivings among the people in the countries overrun by the Japanese armed forces regarding the sweet slogans of the Mikado's mission.

The Japanese lashed forth in full fury. Thailand succumbed to the grand assault in five brief hours and then signed up on the dotted line. It was called an agreement providing for the passage of Japanese troops through Thailand but it amounted to virtual Japanese military occupation of the Thai Kingdom. British resistance in Malaya was feeble. The "Prince of Wales" and the "Repulse," the pride of the British Fleet, were sunk by Japanese kamikaze pilots. The Japanese forces marched into Burma and carried out landing operations everywhere in the East Indies archipelago. The war seemed to be going on, according to Japan's plans.

Those were fateful days for the unhappy peoples of Southeast Asia. Their colonial rulers were on the retreat before the onslaught of the Japanese war machine. Japan claimed that it was out to crush Anglo-American-Dutch imperialism and to liberate Asian nations from alien yoke. The British and the Americans, on the other hand, claimed that they were determined to defend themselves against Japanese aggression and to maintain peace in the Pacific. In the twinkling of an eye, all Asia became a pawn in that catastrophic game.

There was already a major war in China and the Chinese communities, large and influential in almost every country in Southeast Asia, needed no particular introduction to the war aims, ideals, and aspirations of the Japanese militarists. Since 1937, the Chinese in Southeast Asia had been actively assisting Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek's Nationalist Government of China in its anti-Japanese resistance. Chinese businessmen had organized large scale anti-Japanese boycotts and many Chinese leaders in Southeast Asia figured in the "black lists" maintained by the Japanese militarists. It was only through brute force that the Japanese succeeded in getting overseas Chinese communities to the point of tolerantly listening to the slogans of Asian liberation.

The Chinese genius for adjustment in the game of self-preservation, however, often proved superior to the ruthlessness of the Japanese demand for conformity. Many well-to-do Chinese in Malaya and elsewhere affixed a portrait of Wang Ching-wei behind the massive frame which held the portrait of Chiang Kai-shek. Wang was on display, in all prominence, in the drawing room when the Japanese were around, while a quick turn of the frame brought back Chiang's portrait on the wall, as soon as the Japanese left the place.

The people of Indochina were not unduly impressed by Japan's doctrine of Asian liberation. They wondered why it was not applied to them when the Japanese army forced the French into the background and assumed control over their country. The Filipinos, who were already on the threshold of freedom at that time, were equally unenthusiastic about the pledge of "liberation" by the Japanese. The Malays, Javanese, and others, until then under British or Dutch colonial rule, were indifferent to the strange combination of unabashed oppression and condescending affection with which their Japanese liberators dealt with them. These innocent millions had seen both these tactics, as practiced by their colonial masters, though under more congenial surroundings.

It was among the freedom-hungry Indians and Burmese that the initial phase of the Greater East Asia War created a more profound impression. To them, the appeal to freedom proved magnetic, in spite of the vague suspicion that there was something false about the appeal. In Burma, there was a large faction of young nationalists who welcomed the Japanese assault on British power and actively helped Japanese armed forces at the initial phase of the campaign. In India, Japan's War of Greater East Asia brought fresh hopes and fears—hopes of the possibility of Britain revising its attitude towards Indian nationalist aspirations, and fear of the destruction and chaos that would result in the event of India becoming a battleground between British and Japanese forces.

Meanwhile, the Japanese combined all their skill and resourcefulness—goodwill and cajolery, bribery and corruption, threat and terrorism—for the mobilization of what was probably the most astounding political and propaganda campaign by any power. And that in the blessed name of freedom and humanity and the sacred cause of the liberation of hundreds of millions of oppressed Asians!

Japan's fifth-column had been active in Burma, Malaya, Thailand, and the string of islands, large and small, that made up the former Netherlands East Indies. Japanese agents were scattered all over Southeast Asia in the guise of dentists, barbers, tailors, photographers, small-time traders, traveling salesmen, wandering newsmen, and goodwill tourists. On December 8, all these seemingly innocent people came out in their true color. With them were disclosed many of the local hands who worked for the Japanese spy ring at various places. Most of them, however, were obscure men who suddenly started parading their political foresight and pan-Asian spirit, once they felt sure of their safety.

No nationality was left unexploited by the Japanese fifth-columnists, but it seemed that it was among Indians that they were least successful. No Indian public figure of any consequence anywhere in East Asia was known to have been in league with the Japanese before the outbreak of war, with the result that the Japanese had to be content with men of mediocre ability, who lent their services mainly for the profit derived from the deal. Yet, in a few months after the war broke out, almost every Indian in East Asia became involved in Japan's great game of the liberation of India.

There was good reason why the Japanese failed to win influential Indians among their sympathizers. India was already engaged in a struggle against British imperialist rule. The Indian National Congress, which led this struggle, had always supported China in its resistance against Japan. This attitude of India's premier political party had its influence on the large Indian population throughout Southeast Asia. Besides, the Japanese might have found it difficult to secure the support of the better known Indians in Malaya and Burma, where the British authorities maintained strict vigil against all alien elements.

Sprawled all over Southeast Asia were nearly two million Indians, subjects of Japan's British enemy. The problem of these Indian immigrants was different from that of the Malays, Javanese, Burmese, Filipinos, and others whose countries were being overrun by the Japanese forces. Besides the two million Indians, mostly laborers and merchants and a small sprinkling of the professional classes, there were about 80,000 Indian troops and officers in Malaya and Singapore and probably half that number in Burma.

The small Indian community in Tokyo was assured on the afternoon of December 8 that no harm would come to them, that Japan's war was only against the British, not their Asian subjects. In Bangkok, while the Japanese forces were encircling the British and American legations, raiding British and American business firms, and rounding up all the Britons and Americans, Indians were wondering what would happen to them. Only a very few like me thought of getting away, without realizing that running for the frontier was an extremely risky game. The next day, however, the issue was clarified. Indians were not interned; the British were. In Hongkong, Malaya, Burma, and elsewhere Indians were treated with special consideration.

It was incredible—Indians being treated with special consideration and respect, while Britons were dragged out of their homes and offices and driven to prison camps; the Indian coolie going about free while the British Tuan Besar (Big Master) was slapped in the face; Indian second lieutenants and havildars (non-commissioned officers) of the British Army invited to share the Japanese commander's jeep, while British captains and colonels were herded together and marched off to concentration camps by Japanese corporals. It seemed the colored man —black, brown, and yellow—had come into his own. It seemed the Indian, hitherto a fourth-rater among foreigners in any country, had become equal to the best among first-raters!

As the Japanese Army smashed its way down the Malay Peninsula, the status and prestige of the Indian population went up steadily. Indian troops laid down arms and, in many sectors, actively joined the Japanese in the campaign against the British. Indian communities welcomed the Japanese troops, particularly when they felt sure that it was the best method of ensuring their safety. Indian laborers helped the Japanese army engineering corps in the work of repair and reconstruction. It looked as if Indians were granted a special lease of freedom and respectful consideration in Southeast Asia which was being mauled by the Japanese juggernaut.

All along the bloody trail of the advancing Japanese forces down the Malay Peninsula, the Sikh soldier's soiled turban, the Tamil coolie's dirty dhoti and the dark-brownish face of the kerala krani (white-collar worker) became objects of special consideration, while a sari, hung up along the veranda for drying in the sun, suddenly blazoned safety for any household.

All this miracle was the work of the mystery men on Kudan Hills. They had already interested themselves in the Indian problem. Until December 8, the Japanese had worked with the help of a few ordinary agents and their main activity was among the Indian troops in Malaya. The Japanese dropped a variety of leaflets behind the British lines, appealing to the Indian troops to shoot down the British officers and surrender to the Japanese. They also used a few Indian agents to address the Indian troops over the field microphones, urging them not to fight and die for the British.

This party of Indian agents of the Japanese was headed by Pritam Singh, who was once a teacher at the Sikh temple in Bangkok. Giani Pritam Singh, as he was called, had a band of dare-devils who braved the hazards of the battlefronts in Malaya in the bid to win the Indian Army for the Japanese. They claimed they were doing propaganda and were proud of their achievement. Many of them did not know precisely what they were doing, though they claimed they were engaged in revolutionary work which made them rich and powerful.

After Japan had let loose the maelstrom, the Kudan Hills tacticians got down to the business of tackling the Indian problem on more respectable lines. On December 9, the day after the war broke out, the late Rash Behari Bose received a telephone call from the 8th section, 2nd Bureau of the Imperial General Staff. The man who spoke for the General Staff was Major Ozeki, one of the brightest among Doihara's disciples. Rash Behari Bose was invited to the Imperial General Staff to discuss certain important matters connected with organizing Indians in East Asia in the light of Japan's war policy.

Rash Behari was a self-exiled Indian, resident in Tokyo. During the early years of the 20th Century, he was a terror to the British authorities in India. He was an active member of the Lahore, Delhi, and Benares conspiracies for the overthrow of British rule and had the distinction of having thrown a crude bomb at Lord Hardinge, then Viceroy of India. He played hide-and-seek with the British police and secret service for a long time before he managed to escape from India. Rash Behari sought refuge in Japan and nobody was able to claim the reward of Rs. 5,000 that was offered for his head by the British Government of India.

During World War I, the Japanese Government treated Rash Behari Bose in an entirely different manner, because Japan at that time was Britain's ally. The British authorities persuaded the Japanese Government to issue an order of extradition against him but Rash Behari secured the protection of the Black Dragon Society of Japan and its leader, the late Mitsuru Toyama, who arranged to send him "underground" at the residence of one of his followers. Later, Rash Behari became a Japanese subject, married the daughter of the man who gave him asylum and settled down in Tokyo, partly attending to a business he started in partnership with his father-in-law, but devoting a great deal of his time to what little anti-British and Indian nationalist activity he could organize and get away with in Japan between the two world wars.

During World War I, Japan was not actively interested in India and the Indian problem, but the Rash Behari episode was not left unnoticed by the men who had envisaged Japan's expansion to the Asian mainland and the South Seas. Thus, while the Tokyo Foreign Office kept up the pretense of the Anglo-Japanese alliance, the 8th Section, 2nd Bureau of the Imperial General Staff, and its innumerable subsidiaries secretly interested themselves in all sorts of people who might some day be of help in the fulfillment of Japan's expansionist program.

There was in Tokyo, at that time, another Indian revolutionary who had played a daring role during World War I. This man, Raja Mahendra Pratap, sought Germany's help to fight the British forces in India and even established an exile National Government of India in Kabul, with the support of Afghanistan's King Amanullah. After Germany's defeat and the overthrow of the Amanullah regime, Raja Mahendra Pratap became an Afghan subject and wandered over half the world to find that no country, except Japan, would give him asylum. In Tokyo, this princely patriot from India found Japanese admirers who helped him carry on with his lecture tours and financed his unique publication—a monthly sheet which advocated the formation of a World State, with India (not Japan) as its center. Probably because of this fancy for India, Raja Mahendra Pratap did not meet the specifications of the 8th Section, 2nd Bureau.

Thirty years in Japan had made Rash Behari Bose a thorough-going Japanese. He spoke Japanese with an ease and dignity that amazed most Japanese and was also able to read and write the language well. Besides, he had dabbled a lot in Japan's turbulent politics of those days and was acquainted with the subtle mysteries of the Japanese political movements. The hot blood of the Indian revolutionary still coursed in his veins and, though political necessity forced him to assume Japanese citizenship, he remained in Indian at heart. He liked Japan and things Japanese and, in spite of his political realism, he believed that it was possible to strike a reconciliation between Japan's military projects and India's political salvation.

The conference between Rash Behari Bose and Major Ozeki was brief and formal. Ozeki outlined the significance of the Greater East Asia War, pointing out that Japan was not treating Indians as enemy subjects. Indians in East Asia, he said, should organize themselves, contributing their share to the victory of Japan and carrying on any activity they cared to launch in the interests of India's independence.

Major Ozeki's proposition was full of possibilities and Rash Behari's old revolutionary spirit grasped them instantly. In Japan's declaration of war on Britain, he saw India's opportunity to get foreign help to drive out the British. The way the war seemed to be progressing, in favor of Japan, was particularly encouraging. When the Japanese completed the conquest of Burma, they would be knocking at the eastern frontiers of India and military necessity might compel them to march into India. After all those long years, it seemed that the dream of Rash Behari's life was about to be fulfilled.

Against these bright prospects, however, Rash Behari did not quite like the casual manner in which the Japanese authorities were tackling so vast and vital a project as the independence of India. He knew the 8th Section, 2nd Bureau of the Imperial General Staff and the nature and scope of its activities and he thought that the problem of Indian independence should have been taken up at a different level. Other doubts also crossed his mind as he bowed out of the Kudan Hills offices.

Rash Behari was asked to organize the large Indian population in East Asia, with whom he did not have any contact whatever for years. He was, however, well aware of the general attitude of India and Indians towards Japan's political ideals. He knew he would need a great deal of effort and energy to bring them around to Japan's point of view. Besides, there was the much more vital problem of the reaction inside India to any movement launched by Indians in East Asia under Japan's auspices. And Rash Behari Bose was one of those modest men who did not aspire to enforce his political doctrines on India's millions, even with Japan's war machine to support him.

Nevertheless, Rash Behari accepted the assignment. He was an optimist by nature and, in any case, he could not turn down the Imperial General Staff's proposition. He knew the meaning of "Boryaku"—though he never liked it.