SHANKAR RAUT GETS MARRIED... LIFE AND TIMES ON THE MIGHTY GLACIER

SHANKAR RAUT GETS MARRIED
(A LESSON OR TWO IN PRACTICAL MAN MANAGEMENT)


Shankar Raut (pronounced Rout) is one of the simple souls who don the ‘Olive Greens’. A young village boy, Shankar is a good soldier (who believes in acting first and thinking later,. wherever the enemy is concerned). Well, Yes! and No.
Yes! This is the story of Shankar Raut, a Lance Corporal of ‘my company’ and
No! its not entirely ‘his story’ that I want to tell you. Incidentally, all those looking for theories on Man Management should stop reading right here and switch over to more structured articles in the prescribed text books.

OK! Lets stick to the story part of it. I had little idea about Shankar Raut’s abilities when I assumed the charge of the ‘D’ company of my battalion (this ‘D’ or ‘Delta’ Company is different from the ‘D’ Company in Bollywood parlance) which was already deployed along the vital and dangerous portion of the ‘Line of Control’ on the Siachen Glacier. (Its not that other parts are easy and less important, its just my endeavour to highlight the importance of own efforts).

As per the Battalion Commander’s orders, all Company Commanders were to be at the forward most posts of their respective areas. (the term ‘Post’ here is different from all other meanings of the word ‘post’. Here it’s a proper noun used for a place which is manned by a small body of troops ) You must be wondering as to why I am explaining these petty terms. Well, I am doing this, firstly, to fill up more space, secondly to make my story look more authoritative and lastly but not least (ly) to make the story understandable for all those not in uniform. These orders were to make sure that nothing went wrong at the remote posts and also, if anything went wrong, everyone would know as to who was to be blamed. Delegation of authority sometimes means relegation of status and I was promptly “ demoted” (de-instead of pro in promoted ) to ‘Post Commander’, from the powerful appointment of ‘Company Commander’. It was at this post (you can give it any name) which was 5685 metres above the Mean Sea Level, that I met Shankar Raut for the first time. It was end of November and both of us were destined to spend the winter together. The fact that made this post so special was that it was the closest to the enemy (169 metres when measured with a Laser Range Finder with an accuracy of + 5 metres at 20 Km range). In the Army, we , at the Company Commanders’ level, always take pride in these small things like, my post is higher than your post or the temperature at my post is lower than your post (on the Glacier ) and was higher than your post (in desert) or I am closer to the enemy than you, to reach my post , it takes 26 days as against 25 and a half of yours etc etc.

Shankar Raut was interviewed by me on the very first day. He was amongst those nineteen soldiers who were not scared of the enemy and who wanted to launch an attack on the enemy at the first ‘available’ opportunity. The point to be noted here is that there were just nineteen soldiers at that post and the enemy post was almost vertically above us. We used to call the enemy’s post ‘Reshma’. (You will be surprised to know that most of the posts along the Line of Control have feminine names. It gives the soldiers a feeling of being in close proximity to Sonam, Sheela, Geeta, Anita, etc etc. For all those who don’t subscribe to this view, there are also posts named Bheem, Hanuman, Bhagwan, Arjun, Ashok).

It was the night of 5th December. The next Day was the Holy ‘Eid’ and the enemy sentry
at Reshma decided to include us in the celebrations. He thus, fired a burst of the Light Machine Gun {here the term ‘light’ refers to the weight, that too wrongly, the damn thing weighs more that 9 Kgs with .each round capable of killing a man at 1000 metres and two at 500metres (two, only if standing one behind the other)}. He had fired to express his joy which we obviously (mis) interpreted. We interpreted it as any good soldier would. “ He wants to sacrifice us”! was the general opinion. Since there had been no firing at that post since its inception, we were, therefore, not used to receiving fire at such close quarters. It indeed disturbed us. The Sentry was ‘Shaken’ but not ‘Stirred’. The sentry was none other than our friend Shankar Raut. He was not very happy and wanted to retaliate immediately. I had to remind him that though I was the ‘Post Commander’, I was also his Company Commander and as my company had still not declared ‘independence’, We still had a ‘Battalion Commander’ on top (read ‘scape- goat’ for the Brigade Commander for all the (mis) adventures of his subordinate Commanders from Company Commander to the Mess Commander). I informed the Battalion Commander about the enemy fire. He was visibly excited as Battle Lines were finally drawn after a quiet period of three months and also the first time since the Battalion had assumed charge of that portion of the LOC. It was ‘First Blood’ situation for us, the only hitch being that the ‘blood ‘ was mine, and the ‘first’ was everyone else’s.

By the time the Battalion Commander gave a go ahead, we had cooled down. We were back to thinking and assessing mode (there’s hardly anything else you can do at that height and at that temperature which was only 250 degrees more than the ‘absolute zero’). I thus, decided to play ‘wait and watch’ but Shankar Raut had different plans. He persuaded me to let him fire at least one burst so as to tell the enemy that we too were Soldiers. Reluctantly, I gave the go ahead. Frankly, I had not given a serious thought to the consequences. He was visibly happy to receive such orders and lo and behold’, before I could convey my intentions to the Battalion Commander, there was a series of rather long (ish) bursts and the cracker show went on for good about ten minutes. I rushed outside my bunker to assess the situation. The ‘Trigger Happy Raut’ had already fired more than 300 rounds. The enemy must have been taken aback by this gesture of ours, as there was no response.

Next morning, hell broke loose. Enemy indeed celebrated Eid, with our post being the target. Splinters of all kind of bombs (I suspect that enemy’s DRDO could have sent up all the trial
ammunition (ammo for non soldiers ) to Reshma so as to relive the famous movie ‘ Tomorrow Never Comes’). They went ‘all out’ the whole day. Our so called strongest bunkers were ‘ Split Wide Open’ . We once again went to thinking mode (Note: All conditions except ‘the firing’ were same each day same height, same temperature. In fact there was nothing called temperature, it was just biting and chilling cold). There was one person at the post who was worried to death, and that was me and there was another person who was thoroughly enjoying himself (no points for guessing Shankar Raut’s name).

It seems that I have really digressed too much, we haven’t talked about Shankar Raut’s marriage even once except for title. Lets get back to the real story.

The days to follow were full of action. We opened up with best possible weapons that our Brigade Commander could trust us with. These included the famous Bofors Guns. Both the posts, i.e our’s and the enemy’s, which initially had ‘fortress’ type looks, now looked as if they had had close encounter with the ‘Demolition Squad’ of Municipal Corporation of Delhi’, (equipped with mammoth Bulldozers and irrefutable Supreme Court Orders).

Oh! Shankar Rauts marriage.
Yes! During those ‘ mad firefights { there were lunch breaks, and ammunition breaks
( presumably when enemy and us ran out of all working ammunition )}, I found adequate time to talk to all the boys. We will not discuss other cases but Shankar Raut’s case needs a mention (readers kindly do remember that he is the HERO of this story). Shankar Raut was to get married on 23 March of the ‘subsequent year’ . He told me all the complicated calculations as to how his elders had decided upon that specific date. He also told me that because of previous constraints, his marriage had already been postponed twice. I casually remarked about the patience of the poor ‘bride to be’, who must have waited for almost an year by now! Shankar Raut promptly informed me that this was another girl. The previous one had given up and had got married to someone else. We were told that , generally, by the end of February, the routes to our post open up ( please note that all movement for next 17 Kilometers from our post was only on foot and with ‘acclimatization’ it took almost 18 days for a person to reach the post). Therefore, Shankar Raut’s story did not raise much alarm. Also as the enemy and self were mutually keeping each other busy, I had little time to think about things like Shankar Raut’s marriage. All this continued till mid February, when suddenly the weather turned extremely bad (it is bad in summers and very bad rest of the time). The ‘action’ had also stopped as the enemy by now had realized that he could not subdue us. We had stood firm while Fortress Reshma was ‘Reshma in Distress’ now. Its security wall and most of the bunkers had collapsed due to our concentrated Rocket and machine gun fire.

One day our sentry reported that two enemy soldiers were repairing the wall. The sentry issued ‘verbal warning’ (written warning, obviously, was not possible), but the enemy soldiers carried on with the repair work. The Guard Commander, once again, Shankar Raut, seemed to be disturbed by the fact that I was taking too much time to issue orders for firing. I reached the observation post and assessed the situation. The enemy was to be taught a lesson, but I decided to keep the temperature low (I must be joking...... the temperature was minus 28° C already). I told the commander of another post of my company which was approximately 1.5 Km from Reshma (on a different ridgeline ) to fire two warning bursts with the medium Machine Gun (MMG). This, I thought, would send the right message across. I also told Shankar Raut to be ready with his LMG and he should fire only on my orders after the MMG had opened from the other post.

As luck would have it, when I said fire over the telephone (this is entirely an army contraption and is not to be confused with the sleek Gen X sets), the MMG did not fire as it developed some fault. I repeated the command and once again Shankar Raut did the soldiers job of acting first and thinking later. He thought that the subsequent set of orders was for him. Enemy soldiers were hit (and must have died too..........). Anyway! The enemy retaliated by launching a fire assault at all our posts. Such was the effect of Shankar Raut’s exuberance for action. This was also the last action as the weather was not at all cooperating. The next few days saw heavy snowfall and avalanches. Our post was now totally cut off ( not that otherwise we were ‘connected’ with anyone except Reshma...). A massive slide had taken place on 28th February and 2nd of March and all along the border there were a number of avalanche casualties. The ever cheerful Shankar, now, wore a gloomy look. I had forgotten about the date of his marriage and due to bad weather the interaction amongst us was limited to exchange of pleasantries. Everyone at the post was busy either clearing snow, or digging out buried kerosene jerry cans or praying for weather to clear up and also due to the national indulgence; listening to the world cup cricket commentary.

During one of my routine visits at the ‘observation post’, Lance Corporal Prabhakar Shahane              ( Shankar Raut’s ‘buddy’), casually mentioned that Shankar Raut was planning to run away. I must explain here what running away meant at that place. Our post was at 19,763 feet and the nearest post was at 17,500 feet. It required nine hours of walking down with the help of ropes and that too at night. A group movement of minimum ten persons was only permitted during clear weather. The temperature was nowhere near the normal zero. The chances of death of anyone not adhering to the laid down norms were as close as 100%.

I mentioned the same to Sergeant Shashi Kumar who added to my worries by a simple comment, “ Sir! Shankar Raut is capable of running away”. Promptly, I called Shankar Raut to my bunker and confronted him over a cup of tea. He played innocent but I was not prepared to take any chance with him. I told him to hand over his weapon to me and also that from then on he was going to be my buddy ( instead of the Artillery officer who was co located with me). Shankar Raut was again ‘Shaken’but not ‘Stirred’. He tried to convince me that he would not run away but I had our Battalion Motto “WE CAN : WE WILL” at the back of my mind (In the Army, back of the mind is the most cluttered portion of the body. It is because everyday we receive at least ten orders to be kept at the back of our mind !!).

If “ Shankar Raut COULD : Shankar Raut WOULD”

There were two boys at my post who were injured due to enemy fire. One of them was temporarily paralyzed below waist and was the major cause of concern. We couldn’t have done anything other than pray and wait. Good news finally came on 10th March. We were told over the wireless set that the Route Opening and Line ( telephone cable ) Laying Party had already left the Battalion Headquarters and we should be prepared to move the casualties down.

Taking a cue from the Battalion Headquarters and exercising whatever little initiative that I could, I also sent a line laying party from my post to re-lay the cable as far as they could. This party worked for over three nights under the same commander; Shankar Raut. On 16th night, the line was finally through and I got the message to send the casualties the same night. I could not have sent anyone else as each man at the post had a specific job. People could only move down when their replacements had duly settled at the post. Two soldiers were to come up with the ‘Link Patrol’ ( patrol does not carry any ‘Link’.......... it itself is the link!! ) to replace the casualties of my post. I took another bold step and told Shankar Raut also to pack his bags and get ready to move down. He couldn’t have been happier.

The officer leading the route opening party was not very happy to learn that Shankar Raut was being moved down without relief, which was contrary to the orders. The line to the Battalion Headquarters was still not through, therefore, the lecture that I was to receive (for the disobedience of orders ) from the CO was still a couple of days away. The route opening officer, being senior to me, gave me ‘his piece of mind’ (polite English term for equally polite English phrase ‘dressing down’ which means ‘verbal assault’ which ultimately meant ‘bullshit’ and conveyed that ‘I was no good’ in not such polite manner). On the part of telephone line which was through, I argued my point and ‘temporarily won’ because the weather at the link up point (and everywhere else too) was packing up (means becoming ‘extremely bad’ from ‘very bad’ ) and the link patrol had to return to my post before the first light (Army way of saying ‘morning’).

By morning of 17th March, Shankar Raut had reached the next staging area. I briefed the officer on telephone about the precautions to be taken regarding Shankar Raut. The officer did not waste time and placed Shankar Raut under the charge of a guard. Weather had turned hostile (next stage of extremely bad ) and ‘no move warning’ was announced for the complete sector. The only good thing being that the telephone cable had been laid till the Battalion headquarters and I could speak to everyone, including the CO. After receiving his ‘piece of mind’ ( same as has been explained earlier ), I briefed the CO about Shankar Raut’s achievements and mentioned that he deserved a gallantry award too.

I utilized rest of the time to do something which is generally not done for everyone. I spoke to the unit representative at Thoise airfield to arrange for a priority slip for Shankar Raut. (The priority slip is the ‘ confirmed ticket and boarding pass’ to travel in the Air force Jet, (ILYUSHIN -76). I asked him to manage a priority slip for all days from 18th March to 23rd March. The Company Sergeant Major was also told to arrange for Shankar Raut’s leave documents, pay, baggage etc. Everything had been tied up from the LOC to the Chandigarh airfield.

The only obstacle in Shankar Raut’s marriage, now, was the weather. To all of us it appeared that the weather was not going to clear up for next one week. He was not at all happy at the
staging area and the STD calls that he made through the satellite phone, added to the problem. Since no one at our post had spoken home for the past 20 days ( owing to lines being cut off due to avalanches ) and there had been too many deaths due to avalanches on 28th February and 2nd March, Shankar’s parents presumed him ,also, to be amongst the dead (so much for positive thinking. ) A search party from his home was already on its way to Chandigarh (the journey to the mighty Glacier actually starts from here ) to find his whereabouts.

The weather ‘packed up’ again and a 48 hours ‘No Movement Warning’ was issued,the chances of Shankar Raut’s marriage were getting remote. He continued to be under close observation. He had not given up as yet and the glint in his eyes was enough proof that he could execute his ‘running away threat’ anytime. Let me not keep you guessing. This is going to be the first story ever where the climax is not at the end .

YES !
A thousand praises to the Almighty. Shankar Raut did get married and that too on 23rd March of the same year ( on the auspicious day when all his lucky stars were in order ). The weather cleared up on 18th night and we managed to convince the Battalion Commander to permit just one move as the ‘casualties’ were not in a very bright state. CO agreed and soon enough Shankar Raut was on his way to the Battalion Headquarters.


The sequence of events is as under :-
19 March
4.00 AM
Shankar Raut reaches the Battalion Headquarters.

4.05AM
He is given a cup of hot sweet Tea.

4.15AM
He is given a haircut and shave by the unit barber. (Readers, please note that this haircut and shave was due for the last 137 days.)

4.35AM
He is taken to the barrack where good snacks and another cup of tea are waiting. After this he has a longish bath (lasting upto 28 minutes).

5.30AM
The Company Sergeant Major hands over the pay and leave documents to Shankar Raut. He has been granted 45 days of Annual Leave (the total authorisation is 56 days excluding journey period).

6.15AM
Shankar Raut in the Subedar Major’s jeep heads for Thoise airfield. The journey of 50 Km is going to take approximately three hours.

9.30 AM
Shankar Raut with priority slip in hand is ready to board the Airforce Jet.

12.10PM
The Jet from Chandigarh lands at Thoise airfield and, after loading the Passengers, is ready to head back at 1.50 PM.

3.15PM
IL-76 Aircraft with 208 passengers on board lands at Chandigarh. The temperature outside the aircraft is 27° C and from minus 27° C, Shankar Raut crosses over to the other side of ‘Normal Zero’ for the first time in 7 months, 18 days and 3 hours).

4.10PM
Shankar Raut is handed over the train ticket from Chandigarh to New Delhi and another one from New Delhi to Ahmednagar, by the Unit representative.

21 March
5.00PM
Shankar Raut reaches his home in a village 16 Km away from Ahmednagar. He is given a warm and teary welcome. His neighbours are surprised by the commotion.

22 March
3.00PM
The search party that had gone looking for him to Chandigarh, returns ‘empty handed’. They reveal that they themselves got lost at
Chandigarh and could not find the whereabouts of Shankar Raut.
They are subsequently informed that Shankar Raut has reached home
and is undergoing the preliminary ceremonies.
23 March
7.00PM
Shankar Raut is a WEDDED man !!!

By now you must have realized that the credit for ensuring that Shankar Raut gets married on the due date goes to no one other than me.

But wait !!!
Suddenly I am arrested by a bout of modesty and I (reluctantly) admit that everyone (who was directly or indirectly involved) had played an important role. I, as the Company Commander, felt that it was somehow my moral responsibility to send Shankar Raut on leave.

There are two positive aspects of the story . First, that I am no one special (remember! that bout of modesty ). The same job is being done by all company commanders in the Indian Army and in a much better manner (It is only my luck that most of them don’t brag about their achievements and others who can, do not have time to write anything other than ‘bi-annual’ application for leave which requires precisely 29 words to be filled.)
The second positive aspect is that all the soldiers are as brave as Shankar Raut , most of them (about 99.9%) have a balanced mind and the remaining 0.1% are under the Company Commanders like yours truly.

Now you must also be wondering as to where are the management lessons.
Well there are none!!!

I had only added that to the title to expand the scope (read readership) of the story and also to make sure that it gets published in professional journals of the Army ( no journal would otherwise publish Shankar Raut’s story ).



Epilogue
(In my endeavour to get noticed as a writer, I have packed my story with all that it can be packed with, hence the epilogue too)

Shankar Raut was duly rewarded for his gallantry. He received the Army Chief’s Commendation Card (had I written this story in time, Shankar Raut would have received nothing less than Shaurya Charkra, but the official citation for the award has a limit of 300 words and you will agree with me that ,unless this story is attached to the official citation, Shankar Raut’s achievements cannot be highlighted in the correct perspective) and was also given the rank of Corporal.

Our next meeting was outside the Battalion Commander’s office. Shankar Raut was in ceremonial dress and had just been handed over some punishment. On enquiry, I came to know that Shankar Raut had overstayed the leave granted to him ( which is an offence under the Army Act ). He had availed full quota of 56 days plus the travel period as against 45 days that were granted to him. I could not help myself from scolding him for the poor state of discipline. I reminded him that he was a good soldier and good soldiers should be well disciplined. Shankar Raut’s alibi was simple. He said “ Sir, you went out of your way to send me on leave. Since I did not want to put you through the pains again, I decided to avail my leave in single packet.’’
I, obviously, had no answer.

from captain.. to half colonel

MAKING OF AN INFANTRYMAN -II

While the usual highs and lows, ups and downs of life as a young officer continued, soon I found myself being treated with an almost informal manner right from the ‘old man’ to the senior NCOs of the battalion. It was out of mutual confidence, I inferred. The tenure at my hometown proved to be busy for me as I was now ‘newly married’ and in charge of the Adjutant’s appointment. With my parents also around, at times I found it difficult to attend to everyone. I cursed and cribbed and continued. We all got used to the new way of life and soon my whole family was a part and parcel of the original family called the battalion.

Then was the first outing. Having spent slightly more than one year at my hometown, I was posted to one of the most prestigious institutes of the army, The Infantry School at Mhow. The midnight oil burnt during the young officers course had finally borne the fruit. I was on the ‘other side of the table’ now… not a student anymore but an Instructor. The environment was different from that one finds in the unit. Category ‘A’ establishments of the Army ( Infantry School being one of them ), have their own way of functioning and own pace of life to which one gets used to immediately and addicted very soon. Besides the privileges there lies the sacred moral responsibility of a teacher. I had to live up to the standards of a role model for countless young officers, JCOs and men. I had a public image now, though very restricted but still it was there. Facing young officers is never an easy task when you know that whatever you tell them is going to be taken as a gospel. I found myself more confident and also mature. The instructional staff was from different units of infantry and I got the larger picture which further strengthened my beliefs about our men. The NCOs and JCOs worked with efficiency of an MBA graduate, with the timing of an atomic clock and with the finesse of a world class musician. There was never a dull moment and even the most challenging tasks were performed with ease and as a team. Never did our parent regiments figure in our lives as a matter of discord. Everyone had only positives to contribute. All my apprehensions regarding working in a new environment were put to rest, forever.

At Mhow ,each day was a learning even for the instructors. Whenever we got free time during the office hours, it was gainfully used in fruitful professional discussions and clarifications on concepts related to our subject. The free time was actually ‘free’ and was spent in small get togethers or at the swimming pool or the officers institute. There was free flow of ideas and thoughts ‘both ways’ and all of us benefited in the true sense. Despite the democratic environment, the functioning was smooth and streamlined and very few changes were allowed in the training programme, that too without any inconvenience to the students. The function of the school still stays in the memory as one of the finest experiences of my life. At the Infantry School, I had the honour of interacting with students from different infantry units and I realized that all units have same / similar ethos and traditions which eventually bind us all with a sense of oneness and brotherhood to a degree beyond ones imagination.

The tenure at Mhow was cut short when my battalion was selected to go on United Nations Peace Keeping Mission. With less than a months notice for me to pack and move, I was back to my hometown and then to New Delhi where the battalion had concentrated for preparation for the mission. After a wait of nearly six months we finally flew over to the alien lands. With our fingers crossed and mixed emotions we landed at Asmara, the capital of Eritrea, a newly born small African country on the western coast of the famous Red Sea. Forty percent of the unit’s strength was in Ethiopia, across the heavily guarded and devilishly mined borders. The low profile infantry soldiers , now donning the sky blue beret caps and displaying the UN badges were the keepers of International Peace and were the National representatives. We were working amongst a mix of army contingents and civilian staff from across the world. ‘Globlalisation had finally struck’. Our each action was being watched and evaluated by a host of players and the pressure was tremendous. One wrong step could have pressed the ‘undo’ button and there was no scope for recovery thereafter. But we came out with flying colours, winning everyones appreciation. The language, people, customs and new rules of engagement were not to deter the infantrymen who could convey everything to everyone using a self devised sign language with punctuations from English. All JCOs had picked up new trades too. The unit’s Subedar Major was the most skilled forklift operator, the MT ( mechanical transport ) JCO was our local air traffic controller. Few other units had also contributed to the Indian contingent, but to all others we were INDBATT or the Indian battalion.

The United Nations is a resourceful organization and we had everything in abundance, helicopters on call, unlimited supply of fuel, water, food and so on…… we enjoyed twenty four hours of generator based electricity too. Everything was ‘state of the art’. But our men were never awed by all this glitter. We manned the sentry posts as we did back home and there was no ‘letting down of guard’. The stay in the mission area was professionally as well as financially rewarding. Village lads who had so far travelled only by buses or trains were now part of the crowd at New Delhi, Dubai and Adis Ababa International airports. Each man had an opportunity to fly in the MI-8 helicopters with the Russian pilots. The battalion was spread over more than 300 km of the Ethiopian-Eritrean borders with thirty boys manning a post at hottest inhabited place in the world located 100 metres below the mean sea level. Most of the posts were to be maintained by air and the mechanical transport staff had automatically assumed the duty of air traffic management. The drivers were soon adapted to drive the ‘ right hand drive’ vehicles on the ‘wrong side’. Constant patrolling of the border areas resulted in consolidation and furtherance of peace process. Having left a lasting impression on the hearts and minds of everyone, INDBATT-1 was replaced by INDBATT-2 and we were back at New Delhi where orders to move to the frozen frontiers on the highest battlefield on earth, awaited us. In two weeks time, from land below the sea level, we found ourselves headed for heights well beyond 18000 feet and temperatures well below anyones wildest imagination. The adaptability of the infantrymen was once again proven beyond doubt and for one year the battalion manned a vital portion of the famous Line of control and gave enemy a ‘bloody nose’ in each of ‘his’ attempts to break the battalion’s resolve. Comrades were injured and lost but spirits were only strengthened and resolve was only stronger. With the weather joining the enemy and communications cut off, the infantryman braved the blizzards and avalanches, climbed numbing heights, crossed unpassable crevasses and climbed almost vertical ice walls to do the his job of guarding the frontiers. Living in frozen bunkers, ice caves and dangerously dangling fibre glass huts, faces blackened by the kerosene fumes, one thing that was not affected was his smile.

From the abundance of the United Nations to the scarcity of the mighty glacier, the infantryman was as modest and humble and as devoted to his duty. Very few armies can boast of such quality of soldiers. At the glacier once again the soldiers were hardened, the boys converted to men and men to superhumans. Battalion’s achievements were duly recognized and rewarded. More than the rewards we earned invaluable experience and brotherhood.

Having left the unit at a beautiful peace station on the west coast, I am at the start point once again. This is the great and enviable Indian Military Academy. Here the instructions are not to over influence the Gentlemen Cadets with any arm or service but in my heart I know that I carry a fire. A fire that has polished and hardened me all these years. A fire which has guided me through the most difficult times. A fire which is the purest of the things that one finds in this world. I know that however best I may try, this fire shall be seen in my very being and people around me will draw warmth and inspiration from it. This fire is the love and faith of the men that I have served with and led. This fire carries


the sacred colour and warmth of the blood that our men have shed in the line of duty. This fire is the spirit of INFANTRY.

from a young man to a captain..... #Indian_Army

MAKING OF AN INFANTRYMAN-I

As a child, born and brought up in the a military station, I used to spend hours watching the unending convoys carrying soldiers , guns and other equipment which was beyond my comprehension at that time. I wondered, where these people went….. in the hours of darkness…… in the early mornings…… I wondered how the guns fired…. How was the life of a soldier. Right in front of our house, the columns used to carry out their physical training, the teams used to practice and often soldiers went past carrying heavy loads, weapons…… helmets. I was simply carried away by the army life. I grew up studying together with children who came in the army buses, who always talked of their father going for exercise and strange terms like unit, div, battery which had very little and often no meaning for me. But in my heart I cherished the dream of wearing the ‘Olive Greens’…. I wanted to march…... To salute…… To fire.. and to see places from a different angle. I always liked to talk about India defeating China and Pakistan and generated discussions like the Indian Army being the strongest in the world.

My dreams came true when I was selected for the National Defence Academy ( NDA )…, from there to the Indian Military Academy ( IMA ) was a journey which is beyond the power of words to describe. Still not very clear about the army, at the IMA, we always compared various arms and services of the Army. As Gentlemen Cadets, we largely based our views and discussions on what impressed us. The directing staff comprised of all arms ( and some services ), and their conduct, style, uniform , way of talking and things like that, in a way helped us in forming our opinion. I wanted to join the Corps of Engineers all the way upto first six months at the IMA, but in the final term I decided to join the Infantry. My coursemates even laughed at my so called ‘foolish decision’ and tried to convince me to go for ‘softer’ options. But I had made up my mind. Its now that I realise that that decision was my best. I feel so comfortable and at home in my battalion that I often wonder if the other units, arms and services have such atmosphere.

I joined my battalion at Gurdaspur and my ideas and dreams saw the light of the day. After initial settling down, I got involved with what we call the ‘Infantry Man’. The boys were rustic village folk with very little knowledge about the ‘affairs of the world’. The ‘new draft’ of young soldiers who had accompanied me to the battalion from the Regimental Centre, had traveled north of Pune for the first time in their life. The life in the company was a strict routine but whenever I was there in the lines, I always had somebody to talk to, someone to guide me. The JCOs and the senior NCOs in their own way narrated the battalion history to me and about all the previous tenures. I could call more than 70 % of the boys by their first name. There was a routine yet each day was different. I spent my days at the firing ranges, at PT fields, in the company lines, at the training area ,the Regimental Institutes, in the langar, in the library …. Talking to the JCOs ….. visiting all the stores , kotes and so on. I found myself getting ‘hang’ of the things. Everything which had seemed to be so difficult and complicated, was in fact so simple. I had the proficiency in my job and very soon it was the time to prove it.
I was to see active life soon. We were to be inducted in the ‘Valley’. Still a Second Lieutenant, having done the Young Officers course at Mhow and Commando course at Belgaum, I had full confidence in me. My stay in the battalion had given me a great sense of belonging. I was part and parcel of the family. I HAD A UNIT. I dreamt of fighting the enemy, I dreamt of teaching ‘him’ a lesson and of capturing enemy posts. The Infantry had trained and hardened me for this “Tour of Duty’. I felt as if I was a new human being, well above the common fears of the common man. I had a mission now it was something that made me feel different from others. I went with the Advance Party, a few months before the whole unit reached there. It was my first exposure to actual combat. It was the first time that I heard the distant noise of firing….. live firing. Seeing the soldiers around me, armed with AK- 47s, clad in the battle dresses …. Gave me a sense of confidence and pride. Then I heard of operations, casualties, sources, interrogation and the …. saw them.
The shy and low profile infantryman was ‘in charge’ of the situation. It was a pleasure to see the confidence in the manner that soldiers conducted themselves. The battalion reached the new location soon and within a short span of time all of us were accustomed to the new role, to the prolonged hours of duty, to patrols upto the heights of 13000 feet, to ambushes …. and so on. We were new to Counter Insurgency. The training was all ‘on the job’. There was nothing new to be learnt… yet everything that we new had to be correctly applied on ground. The outgoing battalion handed over useful information to us and after two months or so we were operating like any other infantry or Rashtriya Rifles battalion.

The valley tenure hardened the unit’s will and determination. The village lads had suddenly became fierce soldiers, they were not scared of anything. The not so talkative NCOs were intelligently interrogating and questioning the suspects and the locals. For me the whole perception of life seemed to have changed, and changed for good. People whom, at the peace station, I had seen in langars, in stores…. as runners and office assistants were now detachment commanders, leading patrols and ambushes. This was real infantry life……
The battalion was deployed in company and platoon posts, each responsible for a large area. The locals, who always seemed to avoid the Army and who were scared of the Army, on seeing our conduct started coming to my post. Initially they used to watch us from a distance, our smiles were then returned and in fifteen days time, the ice finally broke. ‘Jai Hind’ was the salute from an old man and Jai Hind with a hot cup of sweet tea was my reply. It was an experience to hear the story of the old man. He narrated as to how he lost his sons to the terrorists, how they killed his grandchildren and how they took away all the money that he had. He had nothing left but for a grudge against the masked men who had destroyed his world. The old men old man was just the beginning… the days that followed brought more and more men to the post. The young men wanted to play volleyball with us, some boys wanted spare boxing gloves and some coaching and soon it became a daily affair. From their talks we realized that the Army always had a good image but the fear of the terrorists was too much because they killed just anyone and that too without reason. These were cold blooded
murders which always went unaccounted. The “Human Rights’ ,as I know them, never existed for the terrorists. For them it was only their own survival that mattered. It did not take us much time to see that the cause, the holy war, ‘The Jehad’ was missing. Terrorists were mostly foreign mercenaries who killed just anyone. Their task was to cause as much casualties to the Army and other Security Forces and anyone who helped us. We were strong but overexposed. I was still a bachelor but sixty percent of our men were married. I wondered about them and their families. Never ever did anyone complain of this ‘forced’ separation and hardships. Even in heavy snow the patrols never stopped, ambushes never ceased. The unit was like a large family always on the move. It was now that we carried out some of the most daring operations of their kind. The results proved the resolve of the ‘infantry man’ to fight till the last man … last round. We too lost our men. The comrades who were a part of the same family were suddenly missing. It was a great loss and a great learning. I have always been possessive, but now I learnt to suffer the loss. This loss made us even more determined. The battalion performed equally well in all subsequent operations and earned great laurels. We did our Regiment and the whole Indian Army proud. I now knew the cost of the awards that a soldier gets. After some time, everywhere its just the names that are remembered and not the people. But we in Infantry have always prioritized people over names. The widows of our martyrs are still and very much a part of the family. They often visit us during get togethers. In all the jubiliation and pomp of the get togethers all of us can feel the tears within. Its hard but its life.

A captain now, having grown up in the great family called ‘THE UNIT’ and posted again to the peace station which happens to be my hometown too, I often pass through the same roads where I as a child, used to wave at the soldiers. So many things have changed… the roads, the marketplace, the people… but whenever our vehicles pass from there, I see young children, in school uniforms waving at us, at me, because we are the same brave soldiers in ‘Olive Greens, who still inspire the same feelings of confidence and charm as ‘WE’ inspired eighteen years ago in a boy called ‘ME’.

on not being so TALL at all

THE CRUCIAL FEW INCHES


“One hundred and sixty eight centimetres” was the declaration by the nursing assistant at the Service Selection Board ( SSB ) medical examination centre and I for the first time was made aware that I was on the wrong side of ‘FIVE -TEN’, the height of AIM ( Average Indian Male). Though I was eligible to join Army as an officer however I did lack the ‘crucial few inches’ to form part of the crowd. Being a Sikh, I should have formed part of the elite ‘SIXERS”, but unlike my brother ( who is six feet plus) , the genes controlling my height had my mothers influence ( who is on the wrong side of FIVE- FIVE ).

Never in my school days I had been conscious about the height but as soon as I joined the National Defence Academy ( NDA ), I was part of medium built cadets group. There were ‘shorties’ too but their number was too small to be of any consolation and all of them seem to have accepted their ‘shortcoming’.

In the physical training the ‘mediums’ found themselves working harder. In games we were declared outstanding ( standing outside ) members and in drill we were dangerously near the ‘short’ end. Basketball and Volleyball had no place for the likes of us. We grew with a constant complex of neither being a ‘shortie’ nor a ‘tall-y’. the same story continued in the Indian Military Academy ( IMA ) too. By sheer luck I was commissioned into a regiment where the average height of the troops is medium. It was indeed a relief but still in each company there were enough boys who were FIVE-TEN plus.

The army life involves a lot of traveling and now I realised that I had some advantages too, being of medium built. In buses , trains and aircrafts, the taller one shad great difficulty in adjusting their bulks into the ‘economy’ seats and berths. Low frame door panels left their marks on foreheads ‘higher’ than mine. The tall guys could easily be spotted both when present on parades or when absent. In all games and other soldierly activities, there was too much pressure on the tall guys to perform better. On long reconnaissance missions with the Commanding Officer, I could easily fit in the rear seat of the VIP Jonga while my senior ( who was a tall-y )had great difficulty in getting inside the vehicle. His head banged against the metal roof every time the vehicle entered ‘ a rough patch’ and most of these missions were in rough patches only. Never in a cinema hall anybody told me to keep my head to one side only or to adjust my posture. However the complex of not being too tall was always there and me buying a concave mirror also could not get it out.

But very soon my complex(es) about the height were put to permanent rest once for all. We were operating in the counter insurgency environment in Kashmir valley and encounters with foreign terrorists were a regular affair. It was in one such operation that I was standing behind a small bush when all of sudden a ‘Six Plus’ terrorist appeared form nowhere from the dense forest. Both of us fired un-aimed bursts from our AK -47 rifles almost simultaneously, as we were hardly few metres apart. It was the burst from my rifle that caught him and his burst went just centimetres above my head. I thanked God for not answering my prayers for increasing my height and to all those pharma companies whose medicines had no affect on me ( despite their assured tall claims ). It was thus because of the crucial few inches ( or lack of them ) that I lived to write this story without any complexes.

god does listen... story about my mom's fight with the killer disease

GOD DOES LISTEN…
(STORY OF A SOLDIER MOM)

Dear reader….this is the story by a soldier about another... rather an unexpected kind ….read on and decide who is a better soldier amongst the two…..

No, I do not know the date of birth of my mom…and I never felt the need to know because it did not matter. What mattered was that she was always there when I needed her. My mom has been a lady of immense inner strength. The way she brought us up, will take at least a thousand pages to describe. Those were trying times indeed. Born in a family which had just migrated from Pakistan, she did not get an opportunity to do much of schooling. Marriages were early in those days. So was hers. Education was resumed much later in her life. While in eighth standard, I remember preparing notes for her secondary examination. We often discussed appearing for the Senior School Certificate examination together. She had missed out on education but not on worldly wisdom. She had limited resources at hand but abundant dreams ..one of her dreams was to see me as an Army Officer. She was the one who assured us of a bright future when everything seemed unachievable. I was always amazed at her energy and faith. It was me who lacked confidence and I was afraid that I would not be able to live up to her expectations. Her strength and the courage of conviction dawned upon me when I finally boarded the train to join the National Defence Academy, Khadakwasla. While under training at the academy, her rather emotionally heavy letters were a source of inspiration, always asking me to carry on. She seemed to be living her dream through me. Mothers’ day and Fathers’ day celebration was not even heard of in the small town to which I belong. I never ever sent her a birthday card because I somehow managed to forget the mutually decided date of 1st June year after year . I never bothered to even find out her age. That never occurred to me because she was always there for me.

As time passed by, mom had not been keeping good health for months. All of us including her were aware of the problem. Stones in the gall bladder… a disorder not very uncommon, was the known reason, with surgery as the only option left for us. But like all earthly mortals she was scared to go under the scalpel. A major operation was a big cause of concern and all relatives and friends suggested alternate remedies. From yoga to naturo therapy to homeopathy, all was given a chance. She had her own reasons to avoid the surgery. First it was my marriage, then my younger brother’s and the sister’s. Then there were new borns-my son, brother’s daughter and sister’s son. The surgery kept on getting postponed on an indefinite timeline.

October 2005.I was posted at the Indian Military Academy and was under the initial probation period where one is tested in various instructional disciplines before finally being appointed as the Company commander. Meanwhile my mother finally agreed upon the surgery , as it was getting worse. The operation got over rather peacefully without complications and we even joked about the size and number of stones in the gall bladder . We even made fun about the fact that she had told the doctor that her surgery was to be performed on the day of the final test of her son . On being asked by the doctor what her son was doing …even the doctor had a hearty laugh , when told that the student in question was a Major in the Army. On the final day just before the interview by the Commandant I got a call from my brother. His voice seemed to be distant and heavy. I could not make out anything because all he asked me was to come over. The call surprised me as she was recovering rather well from the surgery. I called my father , he too sounded grim and all he said was to come over .No details were given to me and my worries overshadowed me during the Commandant’s interview. I rushed home to find a rather large-ish gathering of relatives all having red teary eyes. I was taken by surprise .“Mom does not have much time left”, was all that my brother could tell me. What could have gone wrong? I wondered as I had looked her up in the hospital just last evening. She had been bright and cheerful and she even narrated the joke about my ‘final test’. She seemed to be in a much better state after removal of all those foreign bodies and the damaged gall bladder. “She has Cancer”. It took so long to sink in! It was something I was not prepared to hear. All I had was a vague idea about the killer disease and I knew that it always revealed itself in the last stages thereby giving no chance to the victim. My heart sank. In the thirty fifth year of my life, I was made aware of her age…. not about how old she was ….but how much more she is going to live .For once I wondered about her age. At least the year of her birth was known. Fifty five is no age to die. Suddenly the reality struck me. I realized how casual I had been with my mom. We all had taken her presence for granted. She was an endless source of emotional support. Her tears had resolved many a conflict that were the norm in any family. Her dreams of seeing me as an officer, her single mindedness of giving the best to the children, all her sacrifices, emotional outbursts when our wives claimed priority rights over us, her love for our children and so on and on. … Yes! I cried for the first time in uniform. It was a silent cry; cry for mercy and hope for the lady who mattered the world to me.

How much time do we have? Does she know? Was all I could ask? No one answered and I realized that being the eldest son, I was expected to take charge of the situation. The soldier in me was alive again. It was the most difficult mission of my life. The chilly frozen blizzards of the glacier, the fiery storms of the desert, the shattering sound of the bullets flying just inches above the head and the boom of the guns and explosion of the shells bursting at close quarters seemed so insignificant in the situation where I almost knew when my mother would die. No one in this world is brave enough to sustain this shock. There was gloom and there was helplessness all around me. It was as if we were collectively responsible for the forthcoming death of my mom. I grew by years in the minutes that passed before I finally spoke. “Can I get a glass of water and a cup of tea?”, gave a reason to all present to look up and do something that would show their genuine concern.
“Where are the medical test documents?” The biopsy report lay cold on the centre table looking like a death certificate… a document which all soldiers are reluctantly familiar with. Stage III C, no time left at all. It had spread all over her abdominal wall. In a chilly moment so many medical terms looked so familiar. A CT scan and second opinion from a specialist looked like two formalities left.

After the preliminaries, I went to meet her in the hospital. She seemed happy to see me. I could fake a smile but that was all. She could sense that I was tensed. All my life I had been so close to her. Apple of her eye, the responsible elder son, who had done her proud always-by doing well in studies and fulfilling her dream by putting on an officers’ uniform. She had loved me so much and I loved her so very much. The reality seemed unreal and impossible for a while. We talked about the date of her discharge from the hospital and about her appetite, her sleep and things which seemed like a normal conversation. She seemed fragile and so very innocent and helpless for the first time. Like a prisoner who is still unaware of the death sentence, she chatted about my life at the Indian Military Academy and about my wife and son. It was battle I was about to lose, the thought itself was frightening. I left the room and went to meet the doctor… to find hope… to somehow extend her chances of survival… to have him say that his diagnosis and the biopsy reports were wrong. I wanted him to tell a lie that would have brought back life in me. None came. It was reality and I hated it. My mom could not die. As a soldier ,death was no stranger to me but death of someone so close had always seemed impossible.

23 October 2005 CT scan and the second opinion only made the matters worse… “All you have is about three months. Caking has taken place and I don’t think there is a chance”.
All our hopes were shattered. New Delhi, AIIMS, Rajiv Gandhi Hospital, Army Hospital…were the new references that we carried home from the specialist’s office. He had been a specialist at the AIIMS himself. This fact broke our hopes further. It was like re- confirming the death sentence. “Keep her happy.” the doctor’s parting sentence haunted me all the way back and in all the days that followed. What all does she like? We knew little because we had never bothered to notice. She had lived such a simple, non demanding life. She never even demanded her rights and the affection due to her. She believed in loving without reciprocation. I cursed myself for all the harsh things that I had ever said to her. No No No… how could she go away right in the middle of her and our lives. Three months were all that we had. What to do next? Was a question which had no satisfactory answer. How could we keep her happy when all of us were going to be sad all the time? Three months…. I wish days were longer now ,there was no time, just no time.

I left for New Delhi the next day. In the train I tried to keep my mind away from the issue but no other thoughts ever came. I was struck with a feeling of self pity and great sorrow. After discussing the entire case with the super specialists in the Army Hospital, I asked my father to bring my mom to New Delhi. ‘Special Investigation of some fluid in the outer lung membrane’ was the reason given to her by all of us. It might be tuberculosis. In the waiting room of the Oncology department of the Army Hospital,I felt I had to tell her and we had to fight it together, so I broke the bad news to her. She took it bravely. Looked sad but composed. We did not talk much. She did not ask the details… I never wanted to share anything more. She tried to behave her best when my father joined us for a meal in the hospital’s canteen. Inevitability of the fate only brought silence between the three of us. I hated everything. Hated the disease, hated God, and hated myself and everyone around who had a smile on his face.

03 November 2005. I was sitting in the chair next to her bed, in the chemotherapy centre. I prayed sincerely for the first time in my life. I wished God was free that day to listen to my prayers. I tried to look confident and for all four hours I did not leave her hand even once. I pretended to watch the daily ( silly) soap that was on the TV… the soldier in me told me to be strong but the son in me was really weak, overcharged with emotions. Three months is just no time at all… the certainty of the clock bogged me down. I was scared to look at the ‘seconds’ hand. It matched with my heart beat and frightened me with its pace. Because that was the pace at which I was losing my mom. Lying on the bed she could sense the helplessness that was so evident on my face. The look in her eyes told me to be strong. She was calm and she made meaningful conversation with the other patients in the room and their relatives who were present. The after effects of chemotherapy were devastating… body ache of extreme order followed by spells of vomiting and just no sleep for days in a row. I accompanied her for the next cycle of chemo. She seemed much stronger now, at least mentally. The fact that she was battling the worst of the enemy, made the fight so special. She continued to suffer the side affects and lost her hair too. The only positive effect of treatment was that the deadline of three months was never discussed.

03 January 06 After three cycles of chemo, mom was again on the operating table where most of the affected parts were surgically removed. The lady who was shy of big hospitals and complicated diseases was facing both. The way she conducted herself after the surgery was an example of extreme courage and fortitude for even a hardened infantry man like me. She was at her best. Happy, relaxed, concerned about all of us and not bothered about what lied ahead. She joked with the doctors and the nursing staff and gave support and assurance to the other patients in the ward. She was on her own in mere four days and on 12th January we were on the train bound for Dehradun, my hometown and also the place of posting. She was coming back home with 32 metal stitches on her abdomen and loads of hope and confidence. The three chemos that followed brought more physical pain and she lost even her eye brows and eye lashes. She refused to wear a wig or any make up to hide the distortion as she adorned a new confidence and faith in the worthiness of her existence. She attended the local Gurudwara functions regularly. Her presence was a must at all family get togethers and she seemed to be enjoying being the centre of attraction and concern of all. Silently she gave hope, wisdom and strength to all of us. She made us forget the trauma that the three month deadline had given us.

Today …16 August 2009 She had conquered .The recovery process has been long…. very long. But not even once she seemed to be scared or helpless. Even the doctors at the Army Hospital were surprised at her inner strength, will power and confidence. It is almost four years now. She has occasional headaches and pain in the limbs and sleeplessness but there is no fear. We have a nagging doubt of re- occurance of the disease but she has none. She has travelled length and breadth of the country and even fulfilled her dream of ‘air travel before I die’ when my parents visited me in the beautiful north eastern state, where I am Commanding my battalion. My mom made it a point to be with me when I was promoted and assumed command. During the course of her treatment I came across a number of cancer patients… some as brave as her but most of them either too scared or who had already given up on life. Some of them died in this duration and some will not survive for long. In this long drawn battle, I have been a mere spectator, I have learnt a lot of valuable lessons. I have discovered a new strength, a mission, motivation and the will to fight on eternally. The never say die attitude of my mother has been an example that I have quoted in many a fora.

I am a proud son of a strong mother who has been the finest military instructor for me. And yes! I do believe that God has enough time to spare for people who have a little time to spare for him.

my first day in blogosphere

yes its a new world.. a world with faces unknown... a world full of ideas and a world full of rebels with these ideas.... its my first day and all i wish is that the blogo ppl will come out on the streets one day and change the world for good and forever....

soldier with a pen is a funny title but i think i have the right to write too... i have held the gun long enough and i think it has not made the bang i expected.. bullets kill bodies.. but fail to capture minds... i think a pen is a better weapon to write about the change that i want..
god bless me