Army was Olive Green Read online

Army was Olive Green

  By Ashis Roy

  Copyright 2011 Ashis Roy

  To my son

  Prologue

  An explanation of the title of the book – Army was Olive Green - is in order: Indian Army always wore Olive Green. It still does. But now it also wears fatigues and khakhis. Olive Green was usually contracted to OG in the Army. And being OG meant having a straitjacket attitude. The more OG you are, the more stiff and stickler for rules you are. At worst, you live by the rule book and you can’t look beyond your nose.

  After you go through the chapters that follow – I am hoping you do - make up your mind whether the Army was OG or was it a fun place to be in. I think you will probably go with the latter proposition.

  Chapter 1: Unknown Soldier Who Is Alive

  Two nights and a day of trudging through the mountain forests bordering Burma (now, Myanmar), brought the Captain and his patrol to the sleepy village. The sky had begun to become light when the men quietly settled into their positions covering the egress routes from the village. To a reader, route, may conjure an image of a 100 feet road vanishing into the distance. This was actually a mountain path, just wide enough for a person to scurry along. It disappeared into thick foliage only a few meters away from the village.

  The patrol leader was not expecting trouble but a person can never be too careful. The sun started its journey across the eastern sky and the village stirred. As smoke started drifting from the huts into the morning haze, the Captain relaxed a little. The hour of uncertainty had passed. No suspicious movements into or away from the village had been noticed. So far so good, thought the Captain. Time to meet the village elder and then move on.

  The village elder had deep furrows of age on his cheerful face. He had twinkling eyes and was smoking a bamboo pipe. The elder did not know the Captain's language and the Captain did not know his. They exchanged pleasantries through sign language. Through sign language the village elder asked the Captain to wait as went to fetch something from his hut.

  He came back with a package that had a cloth covering. Almost reverentially he opened the package. Through sign language the village elder invited the Captain to examine the contents of the package. The elder kept beaming as the Captain began opening the package. The village elder kept pointing at himself and then at the package. The Captain gathered that the village elder was trying to convey that the package belonged to the elder. The Captain found a bronze plaque inside. By now an interpreter had been found. He explained to the Captain that the government had awarded the elder a Tamra Patra* on the occasion of the 25th Independence Day. 'Why would a person from a village at the back of beyond get a Tamra Patra?' thought the Captain. As if reading the Captain's thoughts the interpreter said to him, 'We are very proud that this elder fought alongside the INA* *during the freedom struggle. It is great that the government recognized his sacrifice and awarded him a Tamra Patra.' While this was being said, the recipient of the Tamra Patra kept smiling and shaking his head. Dumbstruck, the Captain stood up and saluted the village elder, a greeting by a soldier to another.

  As the Captain choked with emotion, he realized that this country owes to so many soldiers of so many hues. There is an unknown soldier who is dead; there is an unknown soldier who is still alive.

  *Tamra Patra: A bronze plaque awarded by India to her freedom fighters.

  **INA: Indian National Army or Azad Hind Fauj

  Chapter 2: Don't Chicken Out

  It was the summer of 79. He had just got commissioned into an infantry battalion. He was beginning to get grounded into the ways of the Battalion. Still bakery fresh and smelling of flowers, he was ordered by a Senior Captain to get his hands dirty. There was a novel method to get one’s hands dirty in that Battalion. He was told to call on the Commanding Officer (CO). That’s a fair enough command. A youngster needs to call on his CO. The mandate however was that when he went to call on the skipper, he needed to carry a bottle of rum in one hand and a live chicken in another.

  He got his hands dirty alright. As he trudged his way to the CO’s bungalow, the chicken let everyone in the Cantonment know that a subaltern was on his way to CO’s house. He felt like burying himself in the nearest rabbit hole. But the mission wasn’t done yet and so he moved with shirt and tie, and chicken and rum towards the tiger’s den.

  There are two things that can’t happen when you have a chicken in one hand and a bottle of rum in another: the host can’t welcome you with open arms and you can’t pull your arms and say, “Good evening Sir!” The CO knew about the first constraint and did not welcome him with open arms. The subaltern unfortunately, hadn’t been told about the second constraint. He pulled his arms-or whatever that gesture would be with a bottle of rum in one hand and a live chicken in another-and said “Good evening Sir!” That wasn’t very clever of him. The chicken broke free and ran all over CO’s expensive carpet. Without further delay it decided to mess up the carpet as well. Hearing the commotion, the CO’s wife came in and surveyed the scene. With a supreme effort she decided against throwing the nearest khukri at the subaltern. Well, she was a very kind lady. During parties she would tell the Mess Havildar* to keep aside the best chicken legs for the subalterns. You would appreciate this act of kindness better if you consider that during parties when a subaltern’s turn finally came to top up his plate with chicken legs, someone would often sing the Surf** jingle: Doondte Rahh Jaogeh!***

  But we are digressing. The story ended with the CO’s help catching up with the errant chicken. But not before it had toppled many shiny mementos and priceless curios. What happened next? You need to check the Regimental History for that one.

  As the saying goes in that Battalion: When the going gets tough, don’t chicken out. Or still better, don’t venture with a chicken out.

  *Mess Havildar: An NCO who is in charge of the Mess.

  **Surf: A popular brand of washing powder.

  ***Doondte Rahh Jaogeh: In Hindi, your search will get you nowhere (idiomatically used to mean that after a wash with Surf, your will never find dirt anywhere in your clothes)

  Chapter 3: Looking over your shoulder for guidance

  We know about implicit obedience in the Army; absolute zero tolerance is the norm. One can't expect anything less. In the heat of battle, adherence to orders should be like response to stimuli. After all, the ordered response could well be the difference between life and death.

  But does too much of this lead to ‘awaiting orders’ syndrome? Does it lead to looking over the shoulder for guidance?

  I have a story to tell …

  This happened many years ago.

  It was an eyeball to eyeball situation at the borders of two countries. The posts on both sides were on a 24X7 vigil, 365 days of the year. The terrain was mountainous and had a cover of pines. On one side of the border was a post manned by a platoon. The commander was a young lieutenant. At the very edge of the border, atop a raging stream’s embankment, say 200 meters away from the platoon headquarters, was a section post commanded by a senior NCO. The section post was under command this platoon. (If you translate ‘under command’ into ‘management speak’, it would mean that the section commander reported to the platoon commander.)

  The soldiers here kept their powders dry. Day in and day out, they practiced shooting in a short rifle range dug into the side of the mountain. Now, mind you, the platoon was well away from the nearest road and getting ammunition from the base was a logistic challenge. Just to understand the later events in this story, a little gen on ammunition stacking maybe necessary. Most armies don’t use the ammunition meant for actual war for practice shooting. They keep the ammunition aside and call it first line ammunition. They practice shooting with what they aptly call, practice
ammunition. This means that they use their first line ammunition only against the enemy. This is a standard operating procedure that all soldiers are expected to know. The reason is quite simple. If you were to use up all the quota of your ammunition meant for actual combat in practice shooting, in case of a surprise attack by the enemy, you would be left holding a useless weapon. So the dictum is, ‘Guard your first line ammunition with your life.’

  One night the young lieutenant’s field telephone came alive. At the other end was a frantic senior NCO of the section post.

  “A huge, menacing mountain bear is at our section post”, he shouted over the gurgle of the raging stream. “We have built a fire to ward him off but the fire is not menacing enough to chase off the bear. He is waiting for the fire to go out”

  “Well, fire at him and finish him”, said the platoon commander.

  “We don’t have practice ammunition sir!”

  “Well, use your first line then.”

  “First line, sir?” The NCO had explored this possibility but had rejected the option since it was against orders. He wouldn’t dream of disobeying orders.

  “Yes, first line”, answered the lieutenant.

  “Can’t use the first line sir!”

  “Use your first line! And that’s an order!” roared the lieutenant.

  The bear was brought down with first line ammunition.

  That’s the story.

  Your thoughts?

  Chapter 4: Gender Sensitisation

  A General was interviewed by a TV channel about gender sensitisation in the Army. Here is the transcript:

  Anchor: General, isn’t it important that there needs to be gender sensitisation with so many lady officers joining the Army?

  General: Of course.

  Anchor: What are the steps taken by the Army to sensitise its rank and file about gender equality?

  General: We have started out there in the field, where the action is. We have gone to the trenches. We renamed the ‘three men fire trench’ to ‘two men one woman trench’. This is in keeping with the national paradigm of 33% reservation for women. We have given 33% reservation to women in the trenches.

  Anchor: That’s wonderful!

  General: What’s more, the men have welcomed this initiative with open arms.

  Anchor: What else, sir?

  General: We are also looking for legal sanction in the military law. We have asked for rewording of certain charges framed against delinquent persons. For example, we have proposed rewording the charge ‘Stealing the affections of a brother officer’s wife’ to include ‘Stealing the affections of a sister officer’s husband’. In fact, with the gay rights being so much in focus, we have actually done better. We have made clever use of the stroke.

  Anchor: Excuse me?

  General: In the Army we have a wonderful device called the ‘stroke’. We even have ‘stroke appointments’. No, no, it has nothing to do with your appointment with the heart specialist. ‘Stroke’ is something akin to placeholder in your jargon or ‘oblique’, if you like. For example, we could reword the ‘Stealing the affections...’ charge to read, ‘Stealing the affections of a brother/sister officer’s wife/husband’. All permutations and combinations of genders are covered by this stroke of genius. Ha, ha, ...

  (The General laughs at his own little pun)

  Anchor: The Army is really doing a lot for gender sensitisation. Anything else sir?

  General: We have actually gone beyond active service. We plan to change our lexicon on esm too. Most people are already calling our esm, that is, ex-servicemen, veterans but we need official cover.

  Anchor: Any downside, sir?

  General: There are no downsides but we are facing some difficulty in cases where there is reverse gender sensitisation. For example, we had to do some clever use of ‘strokeplay’ to get over what we call manhole-reverse-sensitisation-dilemma. We plan to designate manhole as phole; with different strokes it could be a placeholder for personhole/personalhole/personnelhole. The last can be used for field latrines.

  Anchor: Sir, what has been your biggest challenge?

  General: Our biggest challenge has been to reword the oldest of Army rhymes. This one is like ‘Jack and Jill’ for all us. We grew up with it and there is a lot of heartburn to change it. Obviously, in a limerick, strokeplay will not do.

  Anchor: And the limerick?

  General: (aside, to himself) what the hell? Shortly it is going to be in the public domain in any case for debate and views, (Loudly, and a little awkwardly) here is the limerick:

  This is my rifle, this is my gun.

  This is for firing, this is for fun.

  Anchor: Thank you for your candid views, sir. We appreciate your efforts to make the Indian Army an equal opportunity Army.

  Chapter 5: The truth about Tipsy Pudding

  On 15th August, Times Now (See Note 1 below) ran a program on the National Defence Academy Cadets' Mess.

  Extremely patriotic of them.

  A rotund Lieutenant Colonel - there aren't 'fat Majors' in the Army anymore and you will have to take that out from the Tambola lexicon (See Note 2 below) - was explaining to the anchor how cadets crave for tipsy pudding. Next, he took the anchor to the chief cook to show him how tipsy pudding is made. Till then, the recipe was a closely guarded secret passed on by generations of National Defence Academy (NDA) cooks.

  The truth was then revealed.

  You had always suspected that the tipsy pudding's allure that left both cadets and Div Os (See Note 2 below) salivating, was owing to the embedded grime and sweat that dropped down from the cooks' hands and brows. Right?

  Wrong. It is because the pudding is laced with hooch from Uttamnagar. (See Note 3 below)

  All you teetotallers who swear by your gods that 'you haven't touched a drop till now' get off your high horse.

  I use to wonder about the unexplained neurotic behaviour of the Academy Cadet Captains (ACAs) and the Battalion Cadet Captains (BCAs) after a dinner night (See Note 4 below). Now the fog lifts.

  Note 1: Times Now is an English TV channel.

  Note 2: Tambola is a game of chance played by the defence forces and their families. Numbers are called out with accompanying phrases. For example, 88 is called out thus: Two fat Majors, number 88.

  Note 3: Div Os or Divisional Officers, as the instructors of NDA are called.

  Note 4: Uttamnagar is a locality near NDA.

  Note 5: Dinner night is a formal dinner for cadets of NDA.

  Chapter 6: We don’t move back!

  It was the early eighties of the last century. A military unit had come down to Brahmana di Barian near Jammu. The oppressive heat that made the Olive Green shirts cling to the shoulder blades could not dampen the spirits of the 'Thambis', as the MADRAS Regiment soldiers are called. After all, they were going home to Trivandrum. To be part of the battalion when it is stationed in the South! One couldn’t get luckier than this.

  But since the time they reached Barian, it was as if time had stopped, ever so sluggishly went the wheels of time. It took ages to shunt the Military Special to the siding. It took longer for the train to be taken over and even longer to get a schedule of its journey from the Railways. Another day of delay, and the Thambis would really be at the end of their tethers.

  They strained their shoulders against the bureaucratic might of the Railways and reluctantly the Railways yielded. They got their schedule; ten days to Trivandrum it said. Remember, even in the nineteenth century, Phileas Fogg took just eighty days to go round the world. But this tardiness was forgiven for things were actually moving, if at a snail's pace. They were told that the train would steam off at 1300 hours, the following afternoon.

  Hastily, the Adjutant sent the Dispatch Rider to a sister Thambi battalion stationed near Barian with this momentous news. This battalion had been in their present formation for a while and therefore had honed to perfection the skill of bidding goodbye to Thambi battalions that came down from the north; barakhana with
red carpet, pipe band, shamianas, rum, rum and more rum.

  As rum flowed like water near the railway tracks of Barian, and bonhomie increased, the H hour approached fast and furious. They were now dangerously close to 1300 hours. The Adjutant and the BHM struggled to get the Thambis into the train. We know that there is a protocol to board a Military Special. The Commanding Officer (CO) entrains last. Perhaps, a little akin to the concept of the Captain abandoning his ship last. Well, there he stood like a rock, waving his wand (read cane) adding his voluble might to the confusion.

  As the train whistled the start of the journey, and the H hour approached, his expletives become more incoherent and louder. He remained the last man standing, albeit on the dusty platform of Barian.

  And suddenly -and none can say without notice- the train started moving. All hell broke loose. The Adjutant shouted to the Duty Officer to pull the chain, the Subedar Major shouted to the CO to run and jump in, the Second in Command (2IC) turned the crank of the field telephone and shouted at the exchange to get him the driver of the train. Generally, everyone went into overdrive.

  Everyone, except the CO, that is; he stood his ground like the Rock of Gibraltar.

  But something must have worked for the train came to a grinding halt about 25 metres from where it had started. Above the din, the Adjutant, his ears trained to hear the CO's bark, heard "Get the train back here!"

  The Adjutant relayed the CO's command to the Second in Command. The 2IC shouted into the telephone, "Driver Sir, get the train to the SP!" (SP, to the uninitiated, in Army parlance is Start Point). Nothing happened. The 2IC shouted again, "Get the train back!" Still nothing happened. At his wits end, the 2IC threatened, cajoled, pleaded, implored. Still nothing.

  Finally, a weak voice came through the telephone from the other end, "Much like the Indian Army, the Railways also doesn’t move back".