Mount Abu - An Unforgettable Camp

 

That was the Summer of 1966.

 

While in College, I underwent a peculiar phenomenon. Once the final exams are over, I fell sick for about a week or ten days. Severely sick with headache, fever, nausea, upset stomach, what have you! That took my toll. My whole body underwent an overhaul. The reason must have been the stress of the exams, no doubt!

 

The summer of 1966 was no different. I was half-way through the overhaul when my good friend, Karunakaran, came calling. He and I were in the College Football team, he as the inside right and I as the outside right. Both of us were in NCC too. Among other talks, he casually mentioned that they were sending Cadets to an Army Attachment Camp. My illness vanished. Next day I cycled down to the NCC Office in our College. They said that they had no clue. I asked for the residential address of the Army Officer, a Major, who was the Officer Commanding of the NCC Group which included our College.

 

Next day early morning, before the Major could push off somewhere, I knocked on his door. His wife - rather "lady wife" - an odd term I learnt later, opened the door and invited me in, asked me to sit and disappeared inside. I kept standing. It was no time to sit and relax. The Major came. I told him that I too wanted to attend the camp. He questioned as to why I didn't give my name for selection in time. I explained that I didn't know about it, was sorry on that count, that I was sick till a couple of days before, and about Karunakaran's visit and about how interested I was, blah blah blah. I was breathless by the time I finished my staccato burst. I remember him looking at me with a curious frown. I was tense. He took a moment to tell me to go and give my details to the office. I felt triumphant.

 

We were a contingent of 40 Cadets drawn from various Colleges of Madras to attend the camp. All had to be ‘B’ certificate holders. Our Ranks were from Sergeant (the minimum qualifying rank) and above up to Senior Under Officer. I was a Sgt. We all landed up at the Madras Central Station on the specified day and time with our kit bags and bedrolls and things for a stay of one month at the camp in Mt Abu. To my surprise, I found that I was the lone one from my College! 

 

There was one cadet, with a huge handlebar moustache, a Senior Under Officer, Subramanya Murthy. He was from the Veterinary College. During the journey, he told us that he generally takes two years to complete one year's course. He was then in the third year of the six year's course! He was mighty senior in the age in any case - obviously. Capt Francis, from the Madras Christian College, was the NCC Officer, in charge of us. He nominated Murthy as over-all in charge, Commander if you please, of us, even among other SUOs. He took over the leadership and organised and stacked all our "luggage" appropriately and neatly in the upper berths of the military compartment allotted to us. With lots of songs and noisy gup-shups, but uneventfully, we landed at Ahmedabad and changed train to reach Abu Road.

 

The Military Reception Committee at the Abu Road station was methodical, systematic and precise in the way they bundled us into a 3Tonner vehicle, a military truck of those days. Up the mountain, the truck went with us at the back of it, to the Army Unit, a Battalion, named 4/4 GR (Gurkha Rifles). We were to be attached to this Regiment.

 

The NCOs in charge showed as the tents for us to stay, and asked us to settle down and freshen up, giving us ample time, for we had travelled for more than hour up the mountain on the floor at the back of a military truck! Later we were to assemble for the address of our Officer-in-Charge, one Major Gurung. He was very friendly and polite and warmly welcomed us. He explained what the camp meant for us, and went over our general routine during our stay. He also gave out a series of dos and don'ts for us to follow. There was also a Captain and two Lieutenants (one of whom was a, pretty tall, Tamilian), who were our instructors for different subjects, who also spoke to us of their own areas of responsibility towards us.

 

During the day there were parades and marches and classes on different military subjects and weapons as befitting NCC Cadets being introduced to full-fledged Army. They treated us with various demonstrations on different military tactics, which baffled and impressed us. For us to have a glimpse of military operations, though mock, with smoke screens and blank cartridge firing were all breath-taking. 

 

It was great playing football with the Gurkhas. They are natural footballers. Some of us who prided as College players, were taught many a lesson by those skilled fellows. Once when I was dribbling the ball forward to score a sure-shot goal with only the goalie in front, I heard the loud thumps of a fast-approaching Gurkha behind me. For a second fear gripped me. A quick, split-second analysis of the situation told me that in all likely-hood that Gurkha is going to kick me and the ball away, in one fell swoop as it were! Life was more important than a goal, that too, in a friendly game, my analytical mind screamed. I stepped away and saved my life! I am still ashamed, no doubt.

 

I have a sound reason for that fear before you condemn me to hell. You see, during our free time we were allowed to walk around and explore wherever, whatever. Except the places declared "out of bounds" for us, for whatever reason. I wonder why such banned sites for us, for we were within the precincts, though without walls, of the Bn and not in a town or something. Anyway, during one such tour, I was in their cook-house watching them cooking up food in such a massive scale, a scale I had never seen before. They were all dressed in khaki shorts and white vest, a uniform. I happened to notice the bulge of the calf muscle of the cook. I measured its size by trying to encircle it with my middle fingers and thumbs. My fingers didn't go around. Then I tried my chest to compare. The chest of the Hercules that I was, or so I thought, seemed smaller than his calf! Now, when such a pair of calf muscles come thumping behind you, you just run for your life, not foolishly try to score a measly goal!

 

At this point, I must say this. A year later, a Brigadier from the Gurkhas as it happened, interviewed me for my selection into the Army. On the topic of Army attachment camp, he specifically asked me: "Did you play football with them?". He had already noted from my personal details about wizardry in football. On my affirmative answer, he asked, "How was it?". I narrated the above incident. Every Gurkha Regiment of the Indian Army must have heard his loud guffaws; I am pretty sure.

 

One day they took us walking, meant as a hike, for sight-seeing to Abu Temple on top of the mountain. There was a lake beside it. Nakki lake. There I saw a sadhu resplendent with vibhuti and long tresses smoking a chillum. I, though a non-smoker then, asked him for a pull, and he obliged. One drag and my head went into a nasty spin! It was scary.

 

We were being guided through a route and were not supposed to stray, for fear of being lost. On the way back, some adventurous fellows, including my friend Sridharan, decided to take a different path through the jungle. Sure enough, they got lost but somehow managed to reach the camp before "roll call". That is by dusk. Poor Capt Francis had his heart in his throat till then. He was even contemplating reporting them, perhaps as "missing in action"! 

 

We walked in small groups over the hills and dales during the evening after our games parade. There were berry bushes all over, and it was a treat to pluck and eat the black and red berries. In one of those wanderings, the couple of us came upon some Gurkhas standing in a line, in front of a shed. We, being explorers, also stood in the queue, not knowing what it was for. At the entrance, we were to pay a rupee. We paid and entered. A Gurkha handed us an enamel mug each. We moved a little on to one side. There, another Gurkha poured a dark looking liquid into our mugs. Still another Gurkha handed us some pakoras in a piece of newspaper. Like every other Gurkha was doing, we moved with our gifts to a table. Standing around the table, they were all taking one swig and then munching the pakora. We also did the same. The pakora being of chillies, was quite hot. The liquid tasted rather rough and burnt our throats. We could even feel it travelling through our chests. I even felt steam coming out of my mouth.

 

We reached back to our camp and as usual, exchanged notes. Some cadet in the know told us that what we had was rum and asked us whether we felt anything. By then, one fellow who was with me found himself not being able to hold his head straight. The "know all" saw him and laughed. That was all. I didn't know what rum was and what I was supposed to feel.

 

So, there is something wicked in the whole thing, I thought. I was in a hurry to go through the new endeavour again. But it turned out there were specific days in a week when this was possible. We found out when the next occasion was and presented ourselves at the same spot but with our own mugs this time. Sure enough by the time I reached back, my head was swimming. The knowledge that something "should" happen did it, I think. Otherwise, why not the last time? Then, and thus, I learnt the lesson about alcohol. But I did not try it again till I became a full-fledged Commissioned Officer. That was license.

 

Every evening after the roll-call, we had some time for ourselves before dinner. It was all song and dance in the open space near our tents during that time. I learnt a few rugby songs from other smart and lively cadets then. 

 

One evening they hosted a party for us in their Officers Mess. Such exercises, as I learnt later, were meant to introduce as to all aspects of army life. Social life and behaviour are so important. The standard of the mess was spell-binding. The smartness of the Officers in civvies was admirable, worth looking up, too. Since we were students, we were offered only beer except for the die-hard ones of the older age group, under the careful but unobtrusive watch of the Officers. Fortunately, none of the cadets misbehaved. I suppose happiness impedes misbehaviour.

 

As our Camp was nearing its end, the talented ones among us, put up a cultural show for the benefit of our hosts. The singers among us got together and sang a Gurkhali song, learnt from them only. That was a hit and the high light of the show. There, Sridharan belting Cliff Richard's "Bachelor Boy", struck me. More than the song itself, it was his stance and panache that hit me, I suppose! I have nothing to say about myself in this activity, for I was, and still am, bereft of any such talent.

 

As a mark of final good bye, there was a “closing address” by the same Maj Gurung. He summarised all the pluses and minuses of us during our stay, politely highlighting the pluses and making light of the minuses. He also said, “We know that you had broken many rules laid down for you. You had been to out of bound areas. You drank rum. I could have taken action against you, but decided to let it pass”. I was flabbergasted. How did he know? But then the magnanimity!

 

Note: Quite a few from that camp joined the Army, in different batches. It so happened that Sridharan and I joined the same batch and got commission in the same Corps, all unknowingly but as ordained. Known for his elephantine memory; I sought some inputs, specifics like names, from him for this story, and he obliged. Two heads are better than one. Sridharan but married and retired as a Lt Gen.

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