tried to discourage us, pointing out that we required at least two days to prepare for the five-day trek across the jungles and mountains. Guides, porters, and ponies had to be procured; and foodstuff for the party had to be acquired and packed. Besides, he asked whether we carried with us some sort of first-aid kit and the ointment to keep off the leeches in the streams and all along the jungle track.
We assured him that we were not bothered about the leeches, or even the food, but we needed a guide and a couple of ponies to carry the two small suitcases which were all the luggage with us. And we implored him to get these lined up immediately.
I sat sipping tepid beer, which was the only beverage readily available at the place, while my companions waited for the black coffee they had ordered. In less than an hour, the towkay turned up with two young men who offered to take us across to Maesod. They had also brought two aged ponies to carry our luggage, foodstuff, and other things. They warned us, however, that the trek would be arduous and take a minimum of four days.
We readily agreed to the terms they stipulated and the expedition was on it way before dawn. The ferry was not available, so we waded across the Maeping, and then the jungle enveloped us. First came the low-lying hills, covered by lush green, and then the steep barren mountain ranges. The narrow, winding tracks through the dense forests and the perilous ascents and descents, traversing the mountains, held no terror for us. In our anxiety to get to the border as quickly as possible, we waded through muddy streams and swamps, without noticing the leeches until they climbed up the thighs and blood blotches daubed the trousers. On the first day, we did not even stop for lunch and our guides had a hard time keeping pace with us. We spent the night in the open, sharing the rice cooked by the guides—and thinking of the vast changes since our joy ride on the river in Bangkok just 72 hours ago.
It was an awful trip. By the end of the second day, we were exhausted. We even began to doubt whether we would complete the journey to Maesod. But the march continued, painfully but vigorously, as we neared our destination.
From the third day, however, we were no more the lonely travelers in the jungle. Units of the Japanese infantry and cavalry forces were also on the march, presumably bound for the frontier. They came up in batches of 50 or 100—silent, grim-faced, well-disciplined men, in shabby mud-stained uniform. Every three or four hours, they halted for their meal. This seemed to come from nowhere to the jungle track—a large pot of steaming rice and a roasted pig hanging from a pole. Each soldier helped himself to a bowl of rice and a slice of pork, and washed it down with the water from the stream. And, then, they continued the march.
Finally, after a trek lasting three and a half days, we hit Maesod and made straight for the district office. We produced our passports, the aliens registration books, and other documents and asked for permission to cross the frontier into Burma. The officials eyed us suspiciously and told us we should have known that the frontier was closed, after the enemy across the river made an attempted aggression and was repulsed by the Thai frontier police. We gathered that there was a minor shooting incident across the creek between the Thai policemen and the dozen or so Sikh policemen on the Burmese side. The incident was just over and the Thai frontier officials were on the lookout for spies and fifth columnists when we staggered into the district office after that strenuous journey.
The officials kept our papers, turning the pages carefully, while we waited at the counter. Then, I overheard the whispered conversation between them in the Thai language, and realized the peril in which we had landed ourselves. Their discussion centered on the vital question of keeping us in custody, as we were strangers in the place and our mission looked extremely suspicious.
I thought fast and brought out from my pocket a small token of my standing with Thai officialdom—the Thai Home Defense Medal (corresponding to Britain's George Cross) which had been "graciously awarded by His Majesty the King, for meritorious service rendered to the country and the nation" just a couple of months ago, for my part in the frontier war between Phibun Songkhram's Thailand and Indochina under the Vichy regime. I hastily pinned the medal to my shirt and held out the citation to the senior officer. In a flash, the frontier officials were changed men. Their hands went up in salute and they became all goodwill and hospitality. They offered the most profuse apologies for any misunderstanding their attitude might have caused, sent for a couple of Indians in the locality and ordered them to find us some accommodation and help us in every possible way. As for the exit permit, they were helpless. The frontier was closed and, any way, it would be unsafe to attempt the crossing. Where was the guarantee that we would not be shot by the frontier guards on the other side? The logic was irresistible.
In a dirty little hut on Maesod's main street, we established ourselves and spent a month and a half of what my friend, Mr. Ayer, called "clean living and high thinking." Seated on a torn straw mat, which was the only item of furniture in our new abode, and sipping the coffee ordered from a nearby shop, we discussed war strategy and speculated on a British advance into Thailand via Maesod. The only radio in the village was at the district office and, though we were always welcome there, we did not wish to bother the officials too often, with our hunger for news.
In a few days, Maesod became a busy place. The Japanese troops started arriving in large numbers, walking across the jungles and mountains we had covered. They brought with them a few hundred horses and then went about requisitioning all the ponies and bullock carts. They also collected all the bullocks belonging to the villagers for the transport of ammunition and supplies. British aircraft came over occasionally and observed these Japanese preparations and we thought we were destined to cover another border war. Then, one fine morning, the Japanese troops walked across the creek, followed by a colorful assortment of pony carts, bullock carts and pairs of bullocks tied together, carrying ammunition cases and stores on wooden planks perched across their back. The bullock cart invasion of Burma was under way.
We did not see any fighting—did not even hear any shooting. In three days, we were told, the Japanese had reached Cockerill, a town about forty miles from the frontier, on the road to Moulmein. And, then, we decided to return to Bangkok, instead of dying of malaria and dysentery in Maesod.
The task, however, was not easy. Thailand was at war and there were restrictions on the movement of foreigners. According to wartime regulations, Indians had to apply for and secure an official permit from the Indian National Council in Bangkok and we had to conform to these formalities. When the permit was finally granted, they gave us a police escort up to Bangkok, though we never knew why that distinction was conferred on us.
This time, we were familiar with the jungle route. As the Japanese had requisitioned all the ponies in Maesod for war purposes, we hired an elephant to carry our luggage. It was an unexciting retreat and we did the trek by easy stages—five days to Raheng and four days by road and rail to Bangkok. And we found the Thai capital thoroughly changed in the brief period we were away.
Bangkok was all agog under the new order. The hastily-concluded agreement for the transit of Japanese troops had matured into a formal declaration of war by Thailand on Britain and the United States. The Thai-Japanese alliance was considered sacred and the Thais looked on helplessly, as Japanese officers and civilians occupied every available building in the city and the Japanese military police often took the law into their own hands. Mr. Ayer, found his house comfortably occupied by a Japanese army officer and a new tenant had taken over my house with all my belongings. The result was that we had to establish ourselves elsewhere. But there was no paucity of accommodation, as quite a large number of people had moved out of the city because of the occasional air raids.
Life under the new order, however, was a trifle different from what it was before the flare-up. The Japanese left me alone, mainly because of my close association with the leaders of Thailand. But the record was there with the kempeitai (Japanese military police). I had been working for the Associated Press and my friend, Ayer, was a correspondent of Reuters, Besides, the Bangkok Chronicle, which I edited for nearly six years, had maintained Thailand's policy of absolute neutrality in a manner that was
