Becoming the driver of the Officer Commanding's (OC’s) tank was a monumental moment in my journey as a soldier. It was not just a position of responsibility but a badge of honor. Months of rigorous training and countless trials on the rugged tracks had sharpened my skills. I had transitioned from a nervous recruit, gripping the tank's controls with sweaty hands, to a confident operator who maneuvered the beast with precision and poise.
The recognition didn’t come overnight. Days of perseverance, practice, and learning the nuances of tank driving had built my reputation in the barracks. My fellow soldiers spoke of me with respect, and their praise echoed beyond the walls, reaching even the ears of our Squadron Commander, Major Sahib.
One crisp morning, Major Sahib decided to test my abilities. With my troop leader, Squadron Dafedar Major (SDM), a gunner, and a wireless operator perched on the tank, I took my position at the controls. Through the headphones, Major Sahib’s voice boomed, steady and authoritative:
“Good, Bhullar. Now pick up speed and cross that mound!”
The tank roared to life as I accelerated, the ground trembling beneath us. Just as the tank climbed the mound, his voice came again, sharp and sudden:
“HALT!”
Years of training kicked in, and I brought the tank to a smooth stop, avoiding the jarring impact of a sudden brake. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I heard his approval.
“Well done, Bhullar. Just testing your reflexes. You’ve passed.”
From that day forward, I was entrusted with the OC’s tank, a privilege that came with its own unique responsibilities. It meant I no longer had to juggle other duties; my sole focus was maintaining and driving the tank. It felt like owning a piece of armored history, a machine that symbolized strength and discipline.
I wrote to my father about this milestone, and his joy knew no bounds. A man who had served in the same regiment for 28 years, he saw this as an honor not just for me but for our family. When he visited me a year and a half after I joined the regiment, his pride was palpable. He held his head high as he heard others speak of his son’s talent. It was a moment of fulfillment, knowing I had lived up to his legacy.
The Lamb Slaughter Case
Life in the regiment was not just about tanks and parades; it was also about unexpected adventures, some of which were bizarre yet unforgettable. One such incident unfolded during our posting near the Central Ammunition Dump, nestled deep in the jungle.
The dump was a secluded area, far from our unit, guarded by rotating teams of soldiers. The tranquility of the place was often disrupted by the bleating of goats from a nearby village, which would descend the hill to graze near the ammunition dump.
The guards before us had committed an act that was both audacious and foolish, leading to their immediate replacement. I was part of the new guard sent to take over the duty while the OC was on leave. What we learned upon arrival left us in fits of laughter, tempered by disbelief.
It turned out that one of the previous guards had developed a craving for mutton. Spotting a lamb among the grazing goats, they decided to take matters into their own hands. The lamb was stealthily taken to their tent, where preparations for a feast began. But there was a problem—they didn’t have anything to cut the lamb.
One of the soldiers, either too naive or too confident, ventured into the village to borrow a machete. Unbeknownst to him, the house he approached belonged to the very owner of the lamb. The owner, unsuspecting at first, handed over the machete, curious about its intended use.
The Discovery
The lamb owner grew suspicious when he noticed his lamb was missing and smoke wafting from the direction of the guards’ tents. He decided to investigate and approached the guards. They denied any knowledge of the missing lamb, their faces betraying nothing. However, the owner’s attention was drawn to the crackling fire and the tantalizing aroma of cooking meat.
His suspicions were confirmed when another soldier, returning from a distant washroom, was recognized. The owner exclaimed, “This is the man who borrowed my machete! What was it used for?”
The guards hesitated, their silence speaking volumes. Realizing the gravity of the situation, the owner sought help from the guards of a neighboring unit, who immediately contacted our regiment. The duty officer rushed to the scene, and the truth unraveled.
By the time the incident came to light, the lamb was already on the stove, its meat simmering in a makeshift curry. The guards had no opportunity to enjoy their ill-gotten meal as they were promptly reprimanded and removed from their post.
Our Arrival
When we arrived to replace the disgraced guards, the tale of the stolen lamb was the talk of the camp. Despite the seriousness of the matter, it was impossible not to see the humor in the situation.
That night, as the fresh bread arrived with our meal, we were served the lamb curry. The aroma was irresistible, and the taste was divine. While we silently thanked the guards for their culinary efforts, a pang of guilt lingered. The poor lamb had paid the price for their folly.
As we sat around the campfire, sharing the meal and laughter, I couldn’t help but marvel at the peculiarities of army life. It was a world where discipline and mischief coexisted, where even the most absurd incidents became cherished memories.
Reflection
The lamb slaughter case was a testament to the unpredictability of life in the regiment. It was a reminder that, beyond the drills and duties, we were a group of individuals with our quirks and flaws, bound together by camaraderie and shared experiences.
For me, these incidents added color to the otherwise rigorous routine of military life. They taught me that even in the most disciplined environment, there was room for humor and humanity.
To this day, the memory of that lamb curry brings a smile to my face. It was a meal seasoned not just with spices but with the stories and laughter of my comrades. And it reinforced a truth that has stayed with me throughout my life: in the army, every moment—no matter how unusual—is an opportunity to learn, grow, and connect.
The jungle, the tank, the lamb, and the bonds we forged—they all became part of a tapestry that defined my journey as a soldier. It was a journey marked by pride and adventure, where every challenge, big or small, became a stepping stone to something greater.
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