A Passage to SPR -(Selected Place of Residence)

        I read an interesting narrative of one of my friends Ravi Nair, my name sake, about the good old times of his father, a VCO (Viceroy’s Commission Officer) coming on leave from Kashmir borders where the latter was posted. It read like an expedition to selected place of residence (Home Town- in military parlance) South of Vindhya Ranges!
      

 Reading this, I too was reminded of my travails home from the borders, half a century ago. I venture to jot down my memories for the posterity. I vividly remember coming on my first Annual leave from Mizo Hills, Vaphai Post, bordering Burma (today’s Myanmar) along Tio River.     

 On foot for four days, through the insurgent prone and leach infested thick jungles, to reach the road head at Tuirial- Aizawl, that too at the convenience of Link Patrols, which ensured the protection to the foot columns.

 

 Then to Laylapur Rear via Wrangte, , in a Convoy of minimum 70-80 vehicles, with a vanguard and rear guard of Armoured Cars. Crouched in the body of a Sakthiman or a Tata Mercedes Benz 3 Ton truck, winding down, forcing one to throw up till nothing is left in ones aching bowels.

 One night stay at Laylapur - the Rear Echelon of the Unit, to rest and recuperate and to deposit personal Arms ( SMC –Sten Machine Carbine) and ammunition. There, One’s  left behind heavy steel box containing civil clothes etc were to be sorted out for  accommodating the ‘essential’ liquor crates and stores purchased from CSD canteen, to be carried along for leave.! 

Next day move to Silchar via Masimpur to catch a meter gauge locomotive steaming out towards Halflong. From Halflong to Gauhati on a broad gauge rail chugging sedate in no hurry , and to be disgorged at Gauhati in the dead of the night. From Gauhati to New Bongaigaon was a nerve wracking traction on a meter gauge .

At New Bongaigaon, walk across the sand banks to the waterlines of Ganges, with the coolie following lugging one's steel trunk on latter’s head. By the way, the trunk had more of bottles than of any clothes, the latter acting only as padding between bottles so as not to break. Walk towards the River ends where the  Paddle Steamer operated by North Eastern Railway waited to ferry one across the Ganges at Farakka.

           Few hours in the steamer, listening to the lapping and splashing noise of its giant paddles in the water and intermittent booming of whistles, brought images of the huge paddle boats of Amazon. Being a First Class passenger the steamer provided steaming rice with watery daal and pickles as dinner, then in utter contrast coffee served with decoction, cream and sugar in separate ceramic pots (chinked and grimy) -in true occidental style. !

            On reaching the other bank long walk on river sand towards New Jalpai Guri railway station, where the rail rake awaited with similar seat/ berth reservation arrangements. The steam engine laboured the rake to Sealda Station and from there to Howra in a local train .

            Depositing luggage in the clock room. A quick shower and shampoo at First Class Waiting Room and ‘non-itinerary visits’ to Calcutta City just to have a feel of the metro life, and returning for the night train Coromandel Express to Madras. After two nights reaching Madras early morning.

            Once again the luggage to clock room. Taxi ride to relatives unannounced and to the 24 x 7 movie halls Diamond, Emerald and Sapphire, all housed in same building on Mount Road . Normally went off to sleep in the AC comfort of movie hall while intermittent watching of Taras Bulba, which had no END, kept repeating. Move to the Madras Central by evening to catch the night's Cochin Express 

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             The ‘Canadian Bullet Engine’ took on the initial traction and then local snub nosed ones which sneezed burning coal and dust through out, brought one finally to Cochin Harbour Terminus by noon. ‘Runglee Rungliot’ meaning ‘thus far and no further’.  That was the termination of journey on rails and thence forth in a ‘yellow and black’ Hindustan taxi for move to Alleppey 65 kms away.

            And, Alas by evening, after a fortnight of having set forth from Vaphai, one entered ones ‘selected place of residence’ and to ones Sweet Home, waking up and surprising his mother and siblings - as the FL (Forces Letter) -FOAS (Free on Active Service) one had posted a month early from ones picquet of announcing sanctioning of his leave and tentative travel plan, had not reached his mother, after customary sensoring at 99 APO, till then. Hence, surprised indeed - they were.

           The matted hair filled with few pounds of coal dust, grime and the telltale ‘railway acquired syndromes’ for over a week, like bugs and lice, had to be scrubbed off. Answer mother knew, bar soap (used for washing clothes) and ‘besan flour’ with abrasive ‘incha scrub’, ‘Amma’s special concoction of coconut oil massaged lavishly and washed down with scores of buckets of water from the well, drawn and ‘water cannoned’ by family’s ‘man Friday -‘ Bhaskara Pillai, who showed signs of kindness on promise of two pegs in the evening !

           By now the meager amount of Rs.200/- discounted through a bank cheque from unit Baniya (Wet Canteen Contractor), for the journey had dried out. First thing in the morning was to visit ones bankers to whom all the salary - a princely sum of Rs. 345/- was remitted after the TDS of Rs.5/- every month, irrespective of where one was posted. It was a big money indeed, as a Sovereign (Kuthira Pavan of 8 gms of 22 k gold) costed only Rs.90/-.! Also was surprised to find nearly 2k in the bank to blow up! Serving in field, the entire salary got accumulated in the bank as there were no scopes to spend on a picquet, where ‘roti, kapada, makkan’ were free.!

          With ‘kuppies’ (bottles) full in crates, crisp notes in the pocket, and cartons of 555 and Kent in lieu of few pegs to right friends with US connections! ; And ones First Love - the original British Royal Enfield KLT 7724, always fully filled—- life was worth living ——Till the ‘kuppi (booz)’ and ‘panam (money)’ lasted !!! Then people start asking ‘when are you returning?’.

         Finally one returns to the Mother for a ‘non- refundable loan’ for financing her son's ‘expedition back’. Totally demoralised and ‘home sick’ one ought to return!, which would take a couple of Long Range Patrols to heal !

        The present generation soldier cannot imagine such a situation. Airforce Courier service, concessional air travels, authorised LTCs by Air, fast electric trains and the Farakka barrage over Ganges, beautiful roads wider than NHs crisscrossing and ‘spiraling’ the Mizo Hills heights - where we once heaved and perambulated, and above all the mobile phones which announced and videoed live minute to minute progress of one’s move etc - were nonexistent and couldn’t even be thought of.

                                --To achieve surprise nowadays is difficult!!!

   - Ravi Nair- (Sikh LI)

Encounter with an Ani - A saving Grace from heaven.

In the evening of my life when I look back, many episodes and anecdotes flash past, some which left lasting impressions while some perfunctory. One incident which is over half century old, which still haunts and remains vivid in my memory is the encounter with an Ani (a fully ordained female Buddhist monastic or a Bhikshuni) at Ani Gumpha (female Buddhist monastery) on the Frontier district of Tawang in NEFA!!! I thought I should pen it down while the impressions are still bubbling and frothing in my mind. 

While the rest of the Battalion was at Rupa in Tenga Valley in relative ‘cohesiveness’, I as a young lieutenant was posted at BumLa on McMohan Line which was two to three ‘days’ away (The distances were always expressed in time taken to traverse, rather than in ‘metric measures’). ‘Dumped and forgotten’ might have been a more apt term than for 'posted’! My task was to hold the border post, which was located at a height of 17000 ft and a 24x7 manned Observation Post (yet another 2000 ft higher), with an effective strength of 15-20 ‘mundas’ (men).

But for occasional routine patrolling to nearby areas, and visits to the Sector Hq at PankanTso located 6 hours away, life was placid and rather sterile. BumLa was snow ridden throughout the year and the snowfall during winters counted nearly 6 ft + on the ‘snow ruler’. No mules or halflingers (sure footed Austrian hybrid pack horses) ventured ahead of MiLa pass, due to the steep gradients, and the danger of losing the precious animals. The logistics and dumping via AT (Animal Transport) terminated at MiLa and what laid ahead of MiLa to the BumLa (4 hours of steep traverse) was a ‘man packed’ and ‘piggy backed’ agony. Hence only essentials for survival were conveyed and not the luxuries! 

During clear sunny days the area around as far as one could see, including the ‘watershed’ feature of the McMohan line and beyond, glittered like a silver platter. The fierce ultra violet rays refracted and reflected from the snow almost burnt the skin to ‘ebony finish’. Without snow goggles one was at the peril of snow blindness. During moonlit nights the scene was sepulchral, giving rise to hallucinations. The sky was kaleidoscopic with myriad patterns of falling stars and meteors. The rarified atmosphere made the visibility of the heavenly bodies crystal clear, sometimes emanating prismatic colours which cast a surrealistic aura.

One had to be fully dressed in five layers of high altitude ECC (extra cold clothing), even while fighting to get the alluding sleep at night, due to lack of oxygen. The protection was provided by the clothing than the living accommodation, The policy dictated that no permanent or semi permanent structures could be constructed and hence we managed with ‘sangarhs’, locally propped up of layers of stones, wild moss, CGI Sheets and PBS rolls.. These pitiable contraptions couldn’t withstand even a minor blizzard which were common, especially during nights and usually blew off our canopies, pouring in loads of snow and sleet, making sleep impossible. We often found ourselves praying for the ‘first light’ and for the ferocity of the blizzard to abate.

Being the only officer, that too a green horn ‘thampi’ (Madrasi) amongst ‘khalsas’, I recollect moments of formidable loneliness. The only contact with the outside world was my Philips Transistor (only Radio Ceylon and BBC were available) and twice a day ‘Sab Achha’ (all okay) reports to the sector commander over field telephone. Ironically enough those phone calls would often end up being a source to terrible electric shocks on cloudy days, and invariably invited additional tasking, rather than provide relief from the loneliness.

I figured the only way out of the morbidity was to keep moving and hence I volunteered for an LRP (long range reconnaissance patrol) of 6 days to KharsanLa, which was a 3 days trudge through deep untamed snow and ice. We preferred to be out and sweating rather than being forlorn. The Sector Commander was happy indeed that the request came from my side.

Bhutia Shepherd - Curtsey googles

As planned, post briefing, check back of all logistic & operational aspects and finally the solemn ‘Ardas’- seeking Blessings of ‘Wahe Guru’ at the post’s mini Gurudwara Sahib, the LRP consisting of one officer (read your’s truly), and seven men were ready to kick off. Our mascots of the post, the two huge bhutia dogs were growling and straining to vanguard our mission. And we put our first step forward in high spirits during the vee hours, aiming to cover maximum distance on the first day. It was a clear day bereft of any snow. We were treading virgin grounds as this was a maiden patrol to KharsanLa. When left free, our dogs were leading us. They always showed natural prowess to avoid soft snow and also gave us advance warning of any wildlife around, like musk deer, snow leopard, wild pheasants, other wild dogs and above all any other strangers.

Rhododendron Woody Plant during flowering

I was on the lead, the snow was knee deep and at some places we were going on all fours to distribute the body weight. We were negotiating a mound of snow, and suddenly the surface gave up under me and I fell deep into soft snow which was covering the rhododendron woody plants (the only vegetation which survived in snow). I found myself crashing through the steely branches breaking them and getting bruised, until fortunately my fall was arrested by a stone crop at the bottom, approximately 20 ft below. I could hear the dogs barking and digging the spot where I had disappeared. My senior NCO Havildar Bhajan Singh was the first to arrive and together the patrol took nearly one hour to cut the way down to reach me and haul me up. Bruises were luckily not as bad as I thought them to be, and minor field dressing did the trick. Before much time had passed my men were gleefully brewing tea and ogling at me cracking their inimitable bawdy jokes. I was the first one to be offered tea “Saheb bahadur Jee. gut gut chai pee lo. Sehat theek ho jaogi“.( Sahib have few sips of hot tea, your health will return).

Tankha

 After the invigorating brew, we moved forward avoiding mounds. By evening we reached a grazers hut. Tell-tale clanking of bells of yaks could be heard from far. So we made our camp for the night with the grazer and his yaks. He was a man with indiscernible age, but kind and hospitable. I found him painting a Tankha of Buddha. I was fascinated by the way he was chewing the shrubs to make the vegetable dye for his Tankha. Over a tot of rum (which my buddy always carried for me) the grazer promised to sell the finished work* after two weeks in lieu of two ‘dollars’ (rum bottles). Being in the company of the host, I was graciously exempted from my turn of sentry duties that night by Bhajan Singh.

(*The Tanka was collected later by me, volunteering for a subsequent patrol and the same was presented to our Officers Mess, which adorned the walls of the anteroom, till it got condemned, I was told, due to termite attack, a few years back !)

Next day was clear and we made great progress and reached another abandoned grazer’s hut. The slate tiled roof had collapsed and the hut was half filled with snow. But the walls held.  Last light was fast approaching and we decided to make our camp there. With no roof the snow was falling with abandon on our sleeping bags. But we were somehow saved from the howling blizzard by the standing walls.

In the morning we set forth early and by evening reached at an Assam Rifles post in the foothills of KharsanLa. Everyone rested and feasted well with the Assam Rifles. The post commander, a Junior Commissioned Officer (JCO), was very hospitable. I was given a proper room in their guest house, which even boasted of a Western toilet ! They had butchered a MoH (Meat on Hoof)- a precious ‘bakrah’ (goat), to share with us.

The sun rose again and we continued the move to our objective circling a great and heavenly waterfall, which emanated surreal rainbows from its sprays. The days trudging was climbing, sliding on rock hard ice and we steadily got closer to our goal. As the last light started eluding us we struck camp in a natural depression to avoid strong winds adding on to the ‘wind-chill factor’.

The next day in the early hours we set forth again and by 0900 hrs we were at the lake which bordered KharsanLa (pass)- our objective. The lake was frozen and I thought it prudent to cross the lake walking over its frozen surface, rather than going round it. I took a small party of two men with me and deployed the rest behind a huge rock. The ‘mundas’ were insistent to brew tea, which I forbid on security reasons, as the smoke would attract curiosity and danger. We went across the lake and found a vantage point at the Pass. Trying to avoid offering a silhouette, I went further down and commenced my observation of the terrain ahead through binoculars. I could see a track disappearing behind a hillock and occasional movement of vehicles and pack mules.  Made a panoramic sketch and the observation report. The issue ‘HMT Jawan’ watch indicated 3pm and clouds were forming up in the horizon, visibility was becoming poor. We left our observation post and hurried back through the pass.

Curiosity took me to the berms of the pass and I found a line of abandoned trenches on the ridge and a closer examination revealed that all were facing due South - towards the direction from where we came! I felt as if I was physically inspecting the defences of our adversary. Thankfully wisdom dawned prompting me to get away from the location before it was too late. We crossed the lake over the surface and I again noticed trenches similarly disposed on either side of the lake. Now I had a gut feeling that we probably had deeply over strayed. I mustered up my patrol, explained to them the predicament and urged them to get earliest into the safety of our territory!

By then the clouds had really come down and it started snowing heavily. Our maps proved ineffective and map reading was impossible in the absence of any landmarks or geographical referral features being visible or discernible. Even our tracks on the snow had vanished for a retrace. The only option left for me to extricate from the shtook, was to fix the compass bearings to South and start walking. The visibility was nil and we were feeling each other with stretched hands and moving forward. Soon it was pitch dark and walking in that darkness was dangerous.

We stopped and to escape from direct snowfall, fierce blizzard- the yellow wind blowing from China, we dug a deep hole in the snow, wide enough to accommodate all of us, We sank into it and put our hands over each other’s shoulders while squatting, and covered ourselves with ground sheets and mattress kapok; and kept each other warm by collective body temperature. The dinner was consumed from the reserve composite rations of Shakkarpara. Few who had already consumed theirs surreptitiously in the previous days had to be satisfied with what others doled out to them. It was very uncomfortable with sleep seeping in sparsely.

In the grey morning with visibility still poor, the patrol stirred out of the ‘igloo’ they had created. Soon enough a glass (cut out bottom of a rum bottle) of warm black and bland tea was brought to me by my buddy. I asked him why the tea was bland and he hesitantly informed me that the milk powder and sugar had finished. So ‘life’ would be ‘bland’ thenceforth!, I asked “Have you all had tea?”  ``Haan jee” came the reply promptly. While I sat down to work out our further route my breakfast was brought in, One chapati ‘spit cooked’ and a spoon of pickles, accompanied by a glass of warm water smelling of smoke and kerosene. I found the chapathi discoloured with traces of Olive Green and a distinct taste of blanco. On repeated questioning the truth came out hesitantly that the ‘atta’ (flour) had finished and they have scraped out the ‘pack 08’ (carrying harness) and managed to make one chapathi to feed the Sahib Bahadur. By then I had already bitten through half of the chapathi, rest I couldn’t eat. I remember at that moment my eyes swell up a bit through that chilling cold. I enquired whether they all had their breakfast and as usual prompt came the reply, “Haan Ji” followed by a beaming smile through the badly chapped lips. I knew instantly it was nothing but a lie, one I couldn't penalise them for !!

We moved out in the southern direction. I checked up our radio communications with the sector Hq. The radio set was only receiving and not transmitting. I could hear the radio operator from the base PankanTso yelling- ‘Jankee phor (Yankey 4), Jankee phor, report my signals, over.’ Jankee phor, Nothing heard , report over.’ I asked our signal operator to change the battery. To my utter surprise, I was told that the spare battery was not taken to reduce the carrying weight. I controlled my temper and told him to put off the radio set, to preserve the battery. Visibility was poor and the snow and blizzard seemed agitated. We were just moving cross country, guided by the compass needle, ascending and descending as the terrain offered us. We even tried climbing cliffs like cliffhangers only to be repelled back to bottom. Afternoon passed and the dim fluorescence of the day turned dark indicating arrival of night. Again we dug in for the night and every one soon were asleep due to hunger and fatigue.

Next morning I didn’t expect any tea but asked for some warm water. Hesitantly my buddy said that the match box had gotten wet and rendered useless. Being non-smoker troops, I couldn't ask for alternatives either. By first light we were out in the southerly direction again. Men were fatigued with lack of sleep and food. Few were struggling to carry their weapons. For some even the carrying harnesses and the equipment were becoming a burden. Now the fitter were carrying the weapons of their weaker comrades.  I was sharing the load of an additional SLR rifle in shifts. Soon we came across a windblown dilapidated and abandoned structure which resembled remnants of a prayer hall. My wrist watch showed that evening was setting in and I thought I should grant my men some respite and decided to rest for the day. I quietly realised I needed it more than anyone. The signaler’s frequent efforts to get through to the base also failed. The staccato of the ANPRC 25 radio set was being constantly broken by repeated calls of the signaler from base “Jankee phor, Jankee phor , Report Over ....”.  I closed the radio set to preserve the depleted battery. Then the merciful sleep overtook us, but for one person in turn who stood guard. 

The brightened fluorescence indicated morn. We took some time to get organised for the move. But move we did, as dictated by the magnetic compass - to South. As we trudged ahead mundas started showing signs of tiredness and tempers were already flying high. They were slumping to the snow and hesitant to get up. Soon the weak were being piggybacked. And the motley crowd was inching forward like zombies. Being the leader I did not even have the privilege to crib or slump down at will!. I was coaxing and goading the men with choicest ‘gaalies ’ (abuses). By now, well despite my rebukes the men had started eating snow to quench thirst and hunger,. Our dogs that were in the vanguard were also not to be seen. Probably a pursuit after a curious snow rabbit or a ‘girgit’ (polecat) split them from us.! 

        Afternoon passed as per my ‘HMT Jawan chronograph’, We were all spent out and close to emaciation. Even the gaalies were not coming out due to sore throats. It was the third day without food, potable water and signal communication. Signs of panic were setting in and surfacing. I, as an ‘Afsar and Sahib bahadur ji’ couldn’t even afford to lose the cool.!!!

We were all in one of our slumping intermissions, with the men lying prostrate on the snow and me squatting on a mound of snow thinking of the ‘future’!!!  Suddenly I saw a munda getting up cupping his ears, straining to listen. He was shouting ‘ Kuttē bhauṅk rahē hain‘ (Dogs are barking!!!!). Which was a clear indication of human settlements! Then I too heard the growling, barking and snarling of Tibetan mastiffs resonating from afar. After an initial hesitation the patrol was stampeding in that direction, which was brought under control with chaste expletives, and abuses. They were all downcast and repentant for losing their cool. And we got organised and moved forward cautiously. This was a moment where we missed our own Bhutia mascots!!!

From the snow and fog emerged an apparition of a weird human being. Getting closer we realized that it was an old woman in the garb of an astute Buddhist religious order. She was exceptionally tall, an old 'Ani' (bhikshuni) and appeared to us as a Grecian Goddess, led by two ferocious wolves with formidable bared fangs. Her yell, silenced the dogs and she gesticulated towards an ancient isolated structure of a Gumpha (monastery), partially hidden by thick fog and snow and cautioned us not to proceed beyond the entrance gate of the Gumpha, as any man trespassing into Ani Gumpha (Female Buddhist Nunnery) was sacrilege. The saying was that they were so astute that, leave aside any men folk, they didn’t even permit male species of animals or birds into the Nunnery. Diametrically opposite to what was the practice at the Jang Gumpha (male monastery) at Tawang. No female species were admitted into that Gumpha. !!!

Tibetan Mastiff -( Curtsey googles)

We all just slumped where we were and requested the venerable 'Ani' for some hot tea, more by gestures, as none of us were in a state to speak!!! Everyone had sore throats due to excessive consumption of snow to quench hunger and the mouth when opened looked like the open beak of fledglings - red and parched!!! Most men had dried lips to the point of bleeding.  I could perceive the maternal care in Ani’s slanted eyes. She gestured to us to relax where we were and left, leaving the two ‘wolves’ behind to keep an eye over us. Keeping an eye they did while circling around and sniffing each one of us; their smell was nauseating and in retrospect, may be ours to them too!! In a few minutes, she returned with two more 'Anis' carrying begrimed buckets made of some dubious metal, but containing steaming local tea brew with globules of yak butter, rock salt and visible yak hair floating all over. As the leader of the miserable looking gang, I had the privilege of the first mug of this hot brew. What a feeling it was … as if having Amruth !! I reminisce guzzling down nearly three mugs full, and so did my men. 

Miraculously, At that very moment our communication got through to our base at PankangTso . I had no ears for the pure, chaste and select expletives-'galies' MC/BC / @#*-@ etc - from my Sector Commander (Maj xxxxxxx) who by our lack of communication so far was mostly convinced that we had strayed across the border and by now were en-route to Peking, sans our boots !!! My reply was only that we are at Ani Gumpha, starved for 3 days and need hot food immediately!!! And we are not moving till ‘Khuraak’( food supply) arrives. To avoid taking his protests I chose to then hastily cut off the radio set, and a wise decision it was. 

The reaction was so fast that, in less than three hours we found grinning faces of our comrades from PankanTso emerging from the snow and fog, with hot sabjis, dal, and rotis. This was a new record, as the normal time taken to clock the distance was over 4 hours in fair weather. This is the camaraderie one seldom finds in any other organisation ! And despite his anger, the sector commander had also sent one bottle of Himalaya 'free issue Ghoda rum' as a compliment. We shared our food with the 'Anis' who were God sent angels at our time of crisis. And when we left I gave the leftover quarter bottle of rum to the Ani to be used as medicine in times of emergency. She blessed me profusely and I even touched her feet prior to bidding farewell.

By night on the eighth day after we left BumLa, we were at PankanTso; and reporting to the Sector Commander, who was in a foul mood.  After dismissing the patrol, he called me inside his tent Arctic. As I was following him into the tent, he suddenly turned around and gave me a harsh slap that my head was spinning and I was seeing stars. He said, “you fool, x@#* (expletives), the Divisional Hq had been eating my head about the whereabouts of your patrol. Intelligence reports had come in that Chinese had laid ambushes on the border to nab Indian patrols. And what do I take of your ‘radio silence for ?!”

I had learned by then that on such occasions it was better not to explain or complain. Once his wrath subsided, I conveyed to him in a lighter wane of the obsolete maps we carried, where the border was marked at the ‘wisdom’ of an INT (intelligence section) havildar. Being a highly technical job, anything to do with cartography is left to the INT. So ‘INT da Munda’ had used his ‘intelligence’ and intended to draw a line on the map, probably while in the act a ‘mosquito had bit him on his nose ! End result was that we poor souls were wrestling with snow and ‘yellow blizzard’ on the imaginary line that the ‘intelligent munda’ had drawn!! The extrication to the safety zone from thence was a saga on its own. But I still got censured for not having carried out a thorough and personal check of logistics- A lesson I learned the hard way. !

However rude my sector Cdr was to me, he was still full of compassion for his young subaltern. Though a teetotaler, he had organised my brand Hercules XXX and ‘junglee murgha’(wild fowl) specialties in my honour for the dinner. While bidding goodnight before receding to our respective tents, my commander reminded me that I should be back at BumLa post (which was a 6 hours climb from PankanTso) by 1100 hrs the next day. !! Which meant we needed to kickoff at 0500 hrs sharp. ! But he also did not forget to give me considerate advice, “Ravi, dheere dheere chalna, lekin time te pahunch jaana “ .(Ravi, go slow, but reach in time). - sic !!

   That night the Ani appeared in my dreams and blessed me!

In the evening of ones life, when one retrospect and savour such unique experiences, one is overwhelmed with gratitude to God Almighty, who unflinchingly and in various manefestations stood by and goaded one to safety and life ahead.

                                                                         -      Ravi Nair -                                                                                                                                                                                           

    Living with Pioneers

‘Fighting First’ - Descendents of XXIII Sikh Pioneers - somewhere in North, c/o 56 APO. To be precise at Meerut Cantonment. Year 1974-75.

After a war and having spent over 4 ½ years in counter insurgency operations in the jungles of East and High Altitude Areas in the North East borders, the Paltan was on its First major exercise on reaching a much sought after peace station (sic!! ). The mission was to carry out Field Firing at Badshahi Bagh Ranges, Dehradun.  Post 1971 War, as a part of the austerity measures to combat the inevitable depression, use of vehicles were minimised. Hence the Infantry marched on foot (thurke !!!) all the way to Ranges - just 300 km away !!!. On completion of field firing, Divisional Exercise commenced and that too culminated while we were somewhere around Rourkee. The General Officer Commanding was then kind enough to release second line transport for our rest of the journey to Meerut.

On the exercise being called off, Commanding Officer was the first one to peel off after handing over the command to the Second in Command. He was a large hearted man and followed suit after excusing the company commanders too, to proceed to base on "com-passionate' grounds. So the yoke fell on the bachelor boy - the Adjutant (Yours Truly), who had nobody waiting for him at Meerut, but for his beauty- the Red Royal-Enfield. 

This is where our incident commences.

The Divisional transport - one platoon of 3 ton trucks reported as scheduled. The move plan was meticulously arrived at. Orders were given on the scheduled halts en-route and the strict ban on wanderings on or crossing the highway while on halts. Speed limits were laid down. De-induction Tables and Move Orders were prepared and sent to the Brigade Headquarters. And after the 'Ardaas' (regimental prayer), the Paltan was bouncing back to barracks. As usual the worthy Adjutant in his Ops Room 1 Ton truck was on the lead to check the speed of the convoy and the Sub Maj was bringing up the tail with the URO (Unit Repair Organisation) complement. After 2 hours of traverse the Convoy halted for ‘rest and recuperation'. Head counts were taken, ‘all OK’ reports were coming in and the adjutant was on his 5th cup of tea on fervent requests 'ghut ghut pee laiye saab’(please have a sip), from representatives  of various admin groups,  still waiting to have a glimpse of Sub Maj saab to get the final OK report. Hours passed. Adjutant’s adrenalin mounting. Then the Nissan truck of Sub Maj appeared on the horizon and drew near. The Vehicle stopped and he alighted, accepted the solemn salutations of ‘mundas’ (jawans) around and walked off for his tea. Getting impatient, the Adjutant summoned the Sub Maj and asked for the 'Sab Achha' (All OK report).

Then the Sub Maj started spinning his tale. 'Saabji, mein taan aakhiri gaddi vich aa reha si. Mere saamne apni RCL jeep si, jhinu Banta chalanda paya si te Santa co-draver seat te einakaan (driving goggles) lai baitha si'. (Sir, I was bringing up the rear and infront of me was the recoilless antitank gun mounted jeep driven by Sepoy Bant Singh with Lance Naik Sant Singh occupying co-driver seat). I knew what was coming. I held my breath and asked him. 'Sab jaldi bolo. age Kiya hua'?.(Saab, make it quick, what happened then?) He replied, ‘Kujvi nahin saab. Ek eetaan da truck aage chal raha si'. (Nothing Saab, a truck carrying bricks was in the front of the RCL Jeep ). Now I became fully defensive and asked him 'Ok saab, phir kya hua?'. (That’s okay, what next?) .'Saab jee, Eetaan de truck da b@##n c@## d  draver ne ekdam break lagaditi, te apne Sante ne gadi nu idha morh deita' . [The (expletives !!) truck driver applied sudden breaks and our Santa turned his jeep sideways]. He showed a 90 Degree turn with his hands. With great self control and impatient, I asked him 'Saab RCL Gun da ki haal hai’?      (Saab, what is the condition of the RCL Gun?). He said ' Oho taan bach gayi. Sirf Clamp khul gaya, hor gun maarra jeha mur ke idaan hogaya’. ( Sir, the gun got saved. The clamp came off and the gun turned to one side like this ). He again showed a 270 Degree turn with his right arm. By now I was fully exasperated and panicky. An US manufactured RCL Gun is a controlled item and soldiers handle it with reverence. One of them getting condemned makes the Battalion unfit for war!!!

I asked him 'Saab Gaddi da ki haal hai?’(Saab, what is the condition of the vehicle?) Then he brought his hands in a namasthe posture, parted to nearly one foot and then said ' Saab ji,  maarra jeha kloj hogaya'  (Sir, it just got slightly closed !! ) and brought his hands to 6 inches , held it at that and left it to my imagination.!! Just imagine an RCL jeep with a gun (US Made) mounted on it, of 12 inches long getting 'closed' to 6 inches !!

After having taken the 'panga'(risk) of eliciting the could’ve been 'avoidable' unpleasant report from the Sub Maj, the Adjutant was in trouble. Sub Maj had done the ,'Thonu dassiassi' ( I had ‘tolded’ you !!)trick and was sipping his tea amongst his admirers across the road. I ordered him, much to his chagrin, to cut down on his tea, and join me to proceed to the site of accident.

When I reached the site, I found no trace of the RCL Jeep or the ‘eetaan da truck '. Sub Maj was least flustered. My fear was whether the Recovery Detachment of the Corps HQ EME Workshop had towed the jeep away? Then, the report must have reached the Brigade / Divisional Commanders who insisted on a 'zero' accident state. If it happened, it was a 'command failure'!!! I felt terribly guilty that I had let down my Unit and the Commanding Officer!! I was already hallucinating the tough times I would have to explain my inept handling of the situation to the commanding officer, who by now, much oblivious of the mishap, might be on his third ‘gin cordial flavored with angostura’ at the Wheeler's Club with his family!   

I, then asked Sub Maj ' Saab gaddi te munde kithhe aai?' (Saab, Where are the men and the vehicle ?) He coolly led me to a wayside house on the NH 3. After having entered the court yard of the house through the narrow entrance in the mud wall, I found my RCL Jeep with the rcl gun  still mounted in a cocky position, with 'Santa te Banta' (Santa Singh and Banta Singh) thoroughly occupied with fraternising the inmates of the house!!. I wondered, how a jeep with a gun could enter the court yard through the narrow passage in the wall?!! There didn't seem any other opening from any where too!!.  'Santa te Banta' and the old lady of the house were soon hosting me.'Puttar, bai jaa. Garam chaa pee lo.'  (Son take a seat and have hot tea)-Coaxing of ‘mataji’.  'Rottian nahi khaonge saab? Garam garam haigian, hor sabzi te taaji lassi (Sir, won’t you have lunch?  Its hot and there is sabji and lassi!). -'Banta te Santa'. I lost my cool by then and gave both of them and in that veil to the Sub Maj, a vent to my pent up fury. All the B#**C..s, and M#**C..s, I learned as a South Indian from 'Fighting First', gushed out . I was myself surprised at the 'lucidity' and 'diction' of my phonetics in Punjabi. Not very much to the liking of the old lady, who vanished from the scene shedding all her maternal charm!!!

As expected in 'First Battalion', the ‘mundas’ froze to 'shun'(attention) and cocked their heads to one side and concentrated at the infinity, looking philosophical!!!. Once cool and spent out after the shameless tirade, the Sub Maj approached me cautiously and pleaded. 'Saabji  tusi ghusse nu chhaddo, munde siyane hege ,  (Sir, please calm down, these boys are good ). Then I asked him what the jeep is doing inside the house and how it got there from the site of the accident?.

  He told me that after the accident they got hold of the driver of the truck and bashed him up. Manhandled the gun and leveled it to the truck, and did a firing practice with the breech of the gun being loaded with a 'khali khokka' (empty fired case) and the 'all clear ' indication to the firer to Fire. Before the 'Firer' could press the knob, the driver of the truck, who was defiant and quoting all the traffic rules & regulations till then, was prostrating before them and ready for any compensation. Sub Maj took out 1000 bucks from his breast pocket and showed me, with glee in his eyes. Then, knowing well that the Brigade Convoy was to follow in an hours time, he ordered the 'mundas' to  break down the mud wall of the nearby house, and push the jeep in side and re-make the wall to its original state. That's when I realised the reason for dampness on the wall of having recently hand plastered.!! He said 'tussi phikkar na karo saabjee, apaan poora convoys jaan deyange baa..ch, CMP Check Postaan de hatan ton baa..ch, raat nu baapis aake jeep nu Shaktiman vich load kar ke junit MT lae challange. CO saab bhadar nu mein appe das deyanga.' (Sir, You just don’t worry. After all the convoys got past and the Military Police check posts withdrawn, at night we will return with our Saktiman truck, load this jeep and the gun and bring it back to unit MT park. I will explain everything to the Commanding Officer myself). The latter part of his statement pricked my ego for certain and was of no relief to me.

I, then went back to the convoy and proceeded to Meerut, highly tensed up.  After having checked in correctly, while giving the 'sab achha' (All Okay) report to CO, I included the 'mishap' also with great caution and apprehension. CO imbibed all coolly and queried whether Sub Maj is handling the situation and then to my utter surprise and disbelief, he told me to relax.

       

That's the END of my part in the episode. Weird are the ways of Pioneers!!! . “Aut Viam Invenium Aut Faciam”. If you don’t find a Road, make one. !!! That’s what they did in this case!

I still get shocks when I think of that 'Maarra jeha kloj ho gaya' state..

Lesson learnt – Never be inquisitive, while with Pioneers !!!  “Curiosity kills the cat !!!”

Such incidents make one fit and strong to survive amongst Pioneers and fade away smiling, with sweet memories to savor for the rest of ones life!!!

                                                        -Col Ravi R Nair (Retd)-

                                                      (23^rd Commanding Officer)
                                                                     (Fighting First)