“Please ensure that everything is done exactly as I have instructed you Commander”. The voice was dry and crisp; devoid of any personal warmth. He was sitting behind a polished mahogany table adorned with the usual paraphernalia of trophies and stuff that Admirals have. I was conscious of the soft carpet beneath me, the background hum of the AC and the aura of power the cabin conveyed. The last sentence was a signal to me that my audience was over and I was politely being told to get out. As I collected my files, charts and other papers used for briefing him, I could not help being transported back in time.
Those days, an armed force’s Training Academy was everything a small town teenager could possibly dream of and aspire for. Well maintained hedges, wide avenues, imposing stone buildings and a huge mess with Italian etched glass façade at the main entrance – the works. The routine was tough but enjoyable – we got up at 5 AM and after a hectic day of PT, Drill, academics and weapon training, we passed out by ‘Lights out’ at 10 PM. Spit and polish, starched khakis, weapon training, horse riding – these were the ingredients of fantasies for an Indian teenager in the early eighties.
There were fourteen of us from the same term in the squadron. We front rolled together, drilled together, did our mischief together and were given disciplinary punishments together. Sort of ‘One for all and all for one’ if you get the drift. And yes, we competed fiercely with the other squadrons together. The competitive flame was fanned and kept raging by our officer instructors. Fauj, after all, was and is about winning – there are no runners up in War! And to win, the magic mantra is to continue even when you feel like giving up – to throw in that extra punch when your muscles are screaming for mercy, to run that extra yard when the lungs are burning and bursting.
There were competitions in almost aspects of Training – games, drills, PT, academics, riding etc. But the most prestigious competition to win was the Josh Run during the Camp – an event which was the ultimate test of endurance, raw guts and sheer will power. The camp itself was a 5 day affair wherein we stayed in tents and trenches amongst the Western Ghats, practicing our military skills. Josh Run was a 40 Km point to point run cum forced march in the Ghats carrying our rifles and full military back pack. The teams had to move over the mountainous terrain using contour maps (No GPS those days) for navigation. It was tough grueling effort even for a bunch of physically fit cadets – more so because you were competing against the other teams and just did not want to lose. Moreover, it was a team event – you could not leave stragglers behind – either your entire team made it or it did not!
Our team was hell bent on winning the trophy and we had a game plan. The comparatively weaker cadets in the team were divested of their rifles and packs to ameliorate their efforts right at the beginning of the run. So Shyam Saxena and his ilk ran unencumbered in their military fatigues with no other weights to tire them. The competing teams started were flagged off at 15 minutes interval that November morning amongst the green mountains and valleys. Each team had to navigate to the given point where the “All In” report timing was recorded and grid co ordinates for the next point were revealed. We ran as if our lives depended upon it. The tougher amongst us carried double rifles and pack to atone for certain other’s inability to carry their load and keep up. Till the penultimate reporting point, our team was coming first as per the recorded timings.
Disaster struck just 2 km short of the stadium which was finishing point. One member of the team fainted and collapsed. Remember, Josh run was a team event and there was just no way we could leave him behind. The stretcher was unrolled and the team re organised. We made two groups to carry the stretcher and asked the weaker group to carry their own stuff and additional rifles for the last stretch. Not tied to the beleaguered stretcher groups, Shyam moved ahead and was the first cadet to enter the stadium with two rifles slung on his shoulders. What a tumultuous welcome he got from the spectators! The Commandant was present at this time and he was suitably impressed by a cadet who came in first with TWO rifles slung over his shoulders. We laboured into the stadium carrying the still unconscious cadet after 30 minutes. Things had become normal by then and we got some polite applause. In his valedictory address, the Commandant praised Sam no end, obviously impressed by what he saw with his own eyes!
Jerking my thoughts back to the present, I finished collecting the papers. I got up, saluted the Admiral and turned towards the door. While passing through the door, the gleaming brass name plate was in stark contrast to the faded golden Commander’s stripes on my shoulders. The brass plate read “Admiral Shyam Saxena“.