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’.
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’.
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