THE MEMOIRS OF MUSTAPHA HUSSAIN - Malaysia Today

Arrest and Interrogation 297
interpret it. It would be immensely difficult for me to get out of my
current predicaments, just like trying to disentangle the line from the dead
branches. I may even have to chop the tree down!
Moved to Ipoh
A fortnight later, a stiff-looking British Officer came to my cell and
ordered me to follow him. I did not know where to and why. My hands
were fitted with a pair of handcuffs, which gleamed like the handle of a
brand new Raleigh bicycle. I was next instructed to get into a powerful
Ford 8-cylinder jeep, mostly used by the British military. As we approached
the Enggor Bridge that spanned the Perak River, the officer
stopped his car and shouted, ‘TK’. One of the Gurkhas manning the bridge
waved his hand and we carried on across. I didn’t know what ‘TK’ meant.
While sitting in the back seat, out of boredom I fiddled with the ‘steel
bracelet’ I had never worn before and never dreamed of wearing. I was
greatly surprised when one by one the handcuffs slipped off my skinny
wrists. With great care, I slipped them quietly into my coat pocket. I
guessed these new handcuffs were too loose for Asian wrists. I was
relieved to have both hands free. If there were to be a Bintang Tiga
ambush, I was free to bolt. The war has taught me many things about
survival and self-preservation.
We carried on with our journey; the white officer-cum-driver was
oblivious to the fact that my hands were free. As it turned out, I was being
moved to Ipoh. Upon arrival at Ipoh Central Police Station near the clock
tower, the officer fumbled for the key to my handcuffs before handing
me over to the police there. It was then that I pulled the handcuffs out of
my pocket and handed them to him. Many ordinary Malay policemen who
witnessed the scene laughed their heads off; some asked how I freed
myself. They did not seem to pay much attention to the white officer’s
presence or embarrassment.
From my experience at two police stations, comments that policemen
were devoid of discipline were somewhat true. In my opinion, discipline
was still present, but the unquestioning reverence for the white men no
longer overwhelmed the Malays. After 15 February 1942, when Britain
lost Malaya to Japan, the Malays were reborn with new spirit.
I was shoved into a rather large lock-up, which housed about forty
detainees. Even in the poor light, I could sense the frozen welcome
accorded me. In fact I detected suspicious glances. I said “Hello” to
them and cracked a joke or two about my experience in Kuala Kangsar
lock-up, but not a soul responded. Noticing a huge cauldron sitting on a