Army was Olive Green
By Ashis Roy
Copyright 2011 Ashis Roy
Smashwords Edition
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.’