Ram Ram Sahab…is a familiar expression if you are with your troops that come from the Northern part of India. But Lord Ram is not the only deity that rules the psyche of our soldiers who hail from North India. You are bound to hear praises for Bajarang Bali, Durga Mata, or Badri Vishal when troops of Rajput Rifles/ Bihar Regiment, Jammu and Kashmir Rifles, or Garhwal Rifles are into a crucial task on war footings. It could be a stiff sports competition or a difficult exercise in its final stages that requires the regiment to pull itself together beyond its known limits of endurance and deliver the final blow. These are what we call the War Cries of our soldiers.
Our Gods also find a place of prominence in the daily salutations of our soldiers as much as in the war cries that precede or succeed a crucial event. War cries have a different tone and tenor when seen in the backdrop of routine salutations used by our soldiers, and for obvious reasons. Therefore, Lord Ram in a subtle “Ram Ram Sahab” is a different Avatar from the blood-curdling war cry hailing the Lord in “Raja Ram Chandra Ki Jai”.
If you are a true regimental officer and have stayed in the unit long enough with your men then the first thing that comes to you naturally when you hear a customary salutation is about the morale of your men, even without looking at them. A bouncy Ram Ram Sahab on a higher pitch of the vocal cord is a sure sign that the food in the langer is good, rum is being issued regularly on scheduled days and also everything was fine back home during last leave which was not a long time ago. In contrast, a dull baritone of lifeless Ram Ram Sahab is a sure indicator for you to stop and take note of the matter. It is time to investigate what is hurting your men these days.
After you have mastered this, then comes another level of your proficiency as a regimental officer. Now you start recognizing the soldiers of your company just by listening to the way they uttered these three magical words.
For me, the process started in reverse order. During my first few months in the regiment, I found one particular soldier, Naik (SKT) Ram Avtar Pandey to naturally have so much flair that his “Rum Rum…Saaab” was unmistakable. No one I knew could pronounce the first two words so close and so musically that could intoxicate you more than the two pegs of rum. He would then go on to finish the salutation with an extra syllable to stress the Sahab and complete the symphony. A broad grin always played on his face after this was done to declare how happy he was with his performance ready to receive back a befitting acknowledgment. Ram Avtar was a teetotaller and a pure vegetarian, which would make it difficult to understand his devotion to serving drinks and snacks during the company Barakhanas. He would also take on the responsibility of making all arrangements for seating the officers and JCOs for the Barakhana. This he would do tastefully by arranging small peg stools duly adorning the steel jugs filled with water after every two chairs. It was his way of showing efficiency so that there was adequate space for serving the snacks between the row of chairs at the same time the guests could help themselves to adjust the dilution of their drinks at their will. He would then delightfully serve the drinks and snakes (snacks) to the guests regaling them warmly to try that particular batch of the oft-repeated helpings of boiled eggs and liver in such a self-assured manner that it was difficult to imagine that he was a staunch saryupariya Brahmin.
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Readers would recall my bedding-in after I joined the regiment at Misa camp in Assam sometime in July 1985. My Engineer Regiment although is not ‘class or state’ specific, yet it has a healthy confluence of Khalsas from Punjab/ Haryana and babuas from UP and Bihar. The company line would therefore reverberate with a spirited “Bole so Nihal…Sat Sri Akal” as much as with “Jai Shree Ram” when the excitement reached the peak. At other times it is always a happy mix of Ram Ram Sahab or Sat Sri Akal saab ji. It was the end of August 1985 when directives were received from the Corps HQ to send a company to Arunachal Pradesh for operational tasks in the virgin jungles, sparsely inhabited by Kaman and Digaru Mishmi tribes. I was attached to the field company assigned this task because there was no additional officer present in that company other than the company commander. The company commander also had health issues so obviously, he could not venture out to a place that could pose an undue risk to him as, we were to be deployed in an area that was at least 2 to 3 days of walk on foot from the Roadhead.
Reaching Tezu was a memorable experience especially getting across the Lohit river on ferries as no bridges were available those days but our further journey up to the Brigade headquarters was uneventful. Kharang then was the roadhead. All our stores and rations ahead were to be taken either through mules or on our respective backs. But soon I also learned that in the Indian Army mules were a precious commodity, perhaps more precious than the soldiers. So, here we were, converting our tentage, clothing, rations, and other equipment back to manpack loads so that these could be carried on our backs. We regretted the painful hours spent in arranging these as mule loads earlier. My company commander who had pitched himself in the field Officers Mess of the mountain brigade at Hayuliang had been giving me a barrage of useful tips to organise our move ahead of the roadhead particularly when it was to take us two days of walk. Although at this place we were to be co-located with an infantry battalion, it was not known if they would be willing to let us be attached with them for food and rations. Even our boys wanted to have a separate cookhouse to cater to their peculiar tastes and timings after the day’s hard work.
Despite detailed planning and working out the timings backward, we managed to reach the campsite almost four hours late, at around 1600 hours when the Sun God appeared to be in a mighty hurry heading West. This happened because almost midway a patch on the mountain track got damaged due to landslides. Negotiating this treacherous stretch of 300 meters was tricky and had to be done very carefully. The drill to be followed was to keep our minds alert and eyes up towards the hill side looking for any movement of the rocks and boulders while crossing the affected area. Only two persons were permitted to attempt the crossing at any given point of time so that everyone does not get caught up should the landslide get active again. A sentry posted on either sides of the landslide area used a whistle signal to allow next pair of soldiers after the first one reached the other side safely. It also required carrying some of the awkward loads by two people which were otherwise being carried by single person. This took us considerable time just to negotiate this 300-meter patch. After we reached the campsite, the infantry battalion in the location had thoughtfully prepared the food for our boys for the night knowing well that we were late and could not have established our cookhouse in time for preparing our food by dinner time.
The next two days were spent on setting up our camp almost 500m away from the Raj Rif camp. We had to make our boys comfortable for stay and food before commencing work. We also had to set up the bathing and washing area with arrangements for heating water. DTL (Deep Trench Latrines) were dug slightly away and a perimeter fence was created using sarkanda (locally available thick grass).
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We were not even a week old here and it was 24 of September 1985; our raising day commemorating the famous battle of Hajipir Pass. Twenty years ago on this day, our brave soldiers had fought valiantly to win back strategically important Hajipir Pass from Pakistani occupation. To support these operations all three of our field companies and the field park company had collectively completed the construction of a road stretch of 18 km connecting Uri to Hajipir Pass in a record 24 days. This involved construction work in the difficult mountainous terrain of Kashmir that included launching of seven bridges enroute amidst heavy fighting and enemy shelling. We had contributed significantly to the capture of Hajipir Pass and were bestowed with a Theatre Honour besides consolidating us under the banner of 56 Engineer Regiment.
A raising day for an Army unit is synonymous to a birthday. It is celebrated by everyone with great fervor in the regiment but here we were; a small group of 60 souls in the advance party, barely settled in the rugged mountains of Arunachal Pradesh. Short on resources but not on the spirits and morale we wanted to break the glass ceiling and our dependence on the neighbouring Infantry Battalion to host a customary Barakhana for our boys. Rajputana Rifle company was magnanimous and they offered to cook for us for the occasion knowing how constrained we were to do everything ourselves but we politely declined. It was an opportunity to reassure ourselves that we were capable of taking care of self and the impending arrival of our company.
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It was getting dark and we had to settle down for our Barakhana. There was not enough space for all of us to sit comfortably in our newly set up camp nor we had any chairs and tables. Outer Fly of a180 pounder tent was pitched to provide a cover on our heads and we huddled on the jute mats spread on the ground. I along with my JCO sat facing the boys whereas all others sat opposite us making three or four semi-circles one behind the other. The ever-enterprising Ram Avatar has collected empty rum bottles from our neighbouring Rajputana Rifles battalion. Some of these bottles were filled up with K-oil (kerosene oil) and wicks made of chindis (thin strips of flannel used for rifle cleaning) were pushed through the bottle caps to use them as lamps. These improvised lamps served us to light up the place and also the path leading to our langer (Cookhouse) so that no one stumbled in the dark while fetching food and snacks for our feast. Another set of empty bottles served as water jugs that were distributed amongst the men so that they could prepare the pegs waiting to be downed.
Naik Ram Avtar was at his enthusiastic best. Shuttling between langer and the party venue he was brusquely handing over filled water bottles to the jostling boys eager to be ready with their pegs to raise the toast. My tot of rum was ready in a carefully curated glass lent by the field officers mess of the Raj Rifle battalion but was kept on a makeshift bar by placing two wooden boxes one over the another. Ram Avtar was a smart man and he knew that unless all soldiers were ready with their drinks it was no use serving me a drink. So, after he was done ensuring that everyone was ready with a drink in hand, he walked in with a tray balancing my glass filled with a generous amount of rum in it. He was walking towards me as delicately as a would-be bride would approach the wedding mandap. He carefully knelt down in front of me to make it convenient for me to pick up my glass. I was really nervous for it was my first time to taste not just rum but any alcoholic drink.
The last time I came this close to having any alcoholic drink was a few months back during my dining-in party. It all turned out to be a damp squib because I became adamant in protecting my sacred status as a teetotaler. In that process I did not hesitate to lock horn with none other than the old man himself.
My CO could not believe that I would contest his efforts to offer me a drink on my own dining in party. He thought that I obviously did not know what I was doing. So, he took it upon himself to initiate me to the social life in the regiment in a most soldierly manner. My dining in party went on for sometime with no one touching a drink because I refused to accept a hard drink and my CO decided to not touch his glass till I started drinking. The CO bewildered by my obstinance ridiculed me and said I needed to be a man (which meant not be sacred to drink) if I wanted to lead my men in the operations. He was convinced that there was no better way to connect with your men than by sharing a drink and meal with them. I was then still reeling under a series of cultural shocks and did not see how my drinking whiskey would connect me with my soldiers better. After the drama went on for some unusual length of time The CO watered down his stand and not force me a drink if I agreed to take even one sip from my glass. I then nervously did that to end the impasse but not before diluting the drink with a lot of water.
Having spent a tumultuous week with my company boys in the circumstances that were most trying, I had known what this celebration meant to them. They were away from the regiment and were missing out on some really great time on the occasion our raising day. Now when everyone was trying to do their best under such constraints I did not want to be a spoilsport. I remembered what my CO had said while explaining to me the importance of sharing a drink and meals with my men for better bonding. Now, here I was facing a difficult decision dilemma of whether or not I should pick up the glass filled with rum. I was afraid that this moment would define my relationship with my men. Today, only if I accepted the hard drink, I would become one of them else not.
As the drink was served to me, everyone anxiously waited for my selection knowing well that I was a teetotaler. They had kept a glass filled with dark red colour viscous liquid next to the rum for me to choose. I smiled nervously and gathering my wits picked up the rum-filled glass. There were loud cheers and the boys jumped with joy for they knew that they were in safe hands. You cannot trust someone who prefers Roof Afza over rum, and it was as simple as that. My host Naik Ram Avtar flashed his widest smile and bowed to respect my choice. He sprinted back in the darkness to reappear with a water-filled glass bottle, similar to the ones he was distributing a short while ago.
My senior JCO secretly grinning from ear to ear promptly reached out to take the water bottle from Ram Avatar and carefully poured the water in my glass filling it up to the brim for he knew how difficult it could be for someone to finish a stiff drink if he had been a teetotaler so far. He then poured some water into his glass making sure the unnecessary dilution does not spoil his pleasure and held up his glass to raise a toast. Each one raised his glass and the entire tent reverberated with “rum rum saaab”.
I too raised my glass reciprocating every one and responded in a carefully calibrated “Raam Raam”. The ever-cheerful soldiers rushed to take a long swig and I followed the suit.
“So, that is how rum tastes….” I wasn’t quite pleased with the first experience and urgently wanted to spit out. Forcing myself hardest, I pushed the unpalatable liquid down my throat. The experience was so horrid that I had to seriously distract myself to prevent from throwing up. Slowly, I started chatting with the CHM (Company Havildar Major) who was closest to me. Soon the crowd started getting boisterous and the chatter grew loud. I couldn’t bring myself to take the next sip from my glass because such was the aversion, from my first encounter with rum.
As I was contemplating how to handle my drink, my senior JCO tapped me on my shoulder from behind and leaned closer to whisper something. “Is your drink alright Sir Ji?” he asked politely. I gave him troubled looks not knowing how to describe this unpalatable thing. Emboldened by my lack of approval he snatched my drink from my hand; “Sorry saab ji, drink no more from this glass as there has been a terrible mix up. This idiot Ram Avatar has inadvertently handed over a kerosene oil bottle in place of a water bottle because apparently they all looked the same. I am extremely sorry, I will have your drink replaced immediately”. He was horrified about the mix-up which he discovered as he brought his glass closer to take his first sip. He immediately understood the situation and wanted to intervene but had stopped because I had gulped my first sip without complaining. After rechecking his drink as well as the content of the bottle that was handed over to us he realised the mistake. “Ram Avatar….” He hollered and immediately everyone was silent not knowing what wrong the ever smiling Ram Avatar could do.
For the next 10 minutes, there was only one voice that raged the pin drop silence in the party venue. It was of my senior JCO who went on delivering a deluge of choicest of Punjabi explicit aimed at Ram Avatar who was standing dumbfounded not knowing how to atone for the blunder.
The only thing everyone wanted to know was why did I not raised the matter even after gulping down my first sip. I was too ashamed to admit that I could not distinguish rum from k-oil, mostly due to my nervousness but also not being aware what rum tasted like.
My glass was quickly replaced and I was served with a plate full of boiled eggs and dry liver for snacks so that traces of k-oil inside my stomach were not absorbed in my system. Like hell, it helped.
“Raam Raam Saab” and the party began again with the customary salutation after another fresh glass of rum was handed over to me. This time the slogan was distinctly different from the earlier “rum rum saaab” spoken with carefree abundance. That one evening cannot be erased from my memory mostly for what followed after I reached back to my tent but let us leave that story for the next time. In my stay of six months there with the company, every time I encountered Naik Ram Avatar, I missed his musical “rum rum saaab” even though I had intervened to stop his dressing down that evening and also the next day I had to reassure him many times that what had happened was nothing but a genuine mistake. The only thing I could vouch was that I was instantly accepted by my men that evening as one of their own.
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