THE MEMOIRS OF MUSTAPHA HUSSAIN - Malaysia Today

320 Memoirs of Mustapha Hussain
be truer. My primary concern was to rebuild my health, which had suffered
in prison. But my peace of mind was once again disturbed by the
arrival of yet another jeep, this time carrying a British officer. What now?!
Was I being arrested again? For what? By whom? Many questions were
playing in my mind. The officer came up to my hut. He had to climb up
to my hut, as the steps were a series of small round logs with no railings.
Without wasting time, he ordered me to follow him to Ipoh that instant.
Once again, I bid goodbye to my petrified family. They were completely
unprepared for this. After all, I had just been released from prison.
My wife’s face was drained of blood and her throat voiceless. But what
could I tell her? What in the world could a man in this predicament tell
his wife? Before leaving, I pleaded with the officer not to handcuff me
in front of my family. I refused to have them see me thus humiliated. I
requested that if he were to handcuff me, to please wait till we had left
Batu 20 village, so I could wave to my friends, to let them know I was
not being arrested. He said nothing, although he did not handcuff me,
and continued to drive the jeep until we reached Ipoh.
Once again I had to stand and like a guilty man wait outside a British
office in Ipoh, until someone said, “I want you to go to Kuala Lumpur.
Our man will be waiting for you at the Kuala Lumpur Train Station. Sorry,
we are not able to give you a first class ticket. Would you be willing to
travel second class?” Utterly bewildered, I replied “Yes”. How come I
was treated with such respect? They were considering giving me a first
class ticket! Was it a trick to lure me to Kuala Lumpur for the slaughter?
When the time came, I was sent clambering onto a train with neither an
escort nor handcuffs. This was odder still! Why didn’t they just come
straight out and tell me if I was a friend or foe? Spasms of mental torture
kept me awake throughout the journey from Ipoh to Kuala Lumpur.
War Crimes Section
As promised, a British escort in a jeep was waiting for me at the Kuala
Lumpur Train Station. I don’t remember this escort’s attitude towards
me. After a short exchange of pleasantries, I was driven to an office at
the Sulaiman Building, where the bold lettering of ‘WAR CRIMES
SECTION’ on its door hit me in the face. In my heart I sighed, “This is
it. I am finished!”
I instantly recalled a Chinese fellow-detainee who had been tried for
war crimes and sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment. At the same time,
I remembered clearly the advice of Enchik Tahir, a detainee well-versed
in legal matters, who had assured us, “If we had not committed any crime,