Trials on the Trolley and Triumph in the Field

The First Climb: Nerves on the Trolley

Tank driving was my pride and my identity. Over time, I had conquered every challenge the roaring machine posed, but the day I was tasked with loading the tank onto a trolley for transportation, I faced a new kind of fear. It wasn’t just about maneuvering the tank; it was about ensuring the 40-ton beast didn’t topple over, putting lives and reputations at stake.

The war scheme demanded that we transport our tanks from Jammu to Punjab. The tanks had to be loaded onto flatbed trolleys, a process notorious for its risks. Stories of tanks tipping over during loading circulated in hushed tones among the ranks. It wasn’t just hearsay—there were real incidents where seasoned drivers had faltered. And now, it was my turn.

I couldn’t hide my anxiety, but my Squadron Commander, Major Sahib, noticed my apprehension. With his calm demeanor, he approached me and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Bhullar, you’ve got this. Remember, the tank listens to you. Trust yourself.”

His words ignited a spark of confidence. Determined not to disappoint him or myself, I took the plunge. As the tank climbed the steep ramp of the trolley, the horizon disappeared, and all I could see was the sky. My heart pounded, and my palms were slick with sweat inside my gloves. For a brief moment, I felt disoriented, but I tightened my grip and focused on maintaining control.

The engine roared as the tank ascended, inching forward with calculated precision. Everyone around held their breath, their eyes glued to the massive machine. Finally, with one last push, the tank settled atop the trolley. A wave of applause erupted, and I exhaled deeply, feeling a rush of relief and pride.

As I climbed down, Major Sahib extended his hand, a rare gesture of acknowledgment. “Well done, Bhullar. You’ve done it,” he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. That handshake wasn’t just a congratulation—it was a seal of trust, one that I would carry with honor.

The Thorn in the Ranks: Troop Dafedar’s Resentment

Despite my growing reputation, not everyone shared Major Sahib’s faith in me. The Troop Dafedar, who had previously been the OC’s driver, saw my promotion as a personal slight. His resentment was evident in his actions. He would find ways to assign me the most tedious or undesirable tasks, especially during the OC’s absence.

One such instance was when I was sent on guard duty at the ammunition dump, a post strictly forbidden for drivers of my position. The Dafedar knew I wouldn’t complain—my principles forbade me from lodging grievances against fellow soldiers. For me, enduring such injustices silently was a mark of character. But his constant provocations tested my patience.

During the war scheme, his animosity escalated. One day, after attaching a mine-troll to my tank, the Dafedar decided to assert his authority by taking the commander’s seat himself. Mine-trolls were heavy contraptions designed to detonate hidden mines, clearing the path for following tanks. Their weight was immense, often surpassing that of the tank itself.

As we traversed the terrain, we encountered a stretch of water. Through the headphones, I heard his command: “Reverse and enter the water.” I complied, cautiously guiding the tank halfway into the water. Then came his abrupt instruction: “Stop.”

Obediently, I brought the tank to a halt. But just as I did, he barked, “Why did you stop?”

“Sir, you gave the command,” I replied, perplexed by his denial.

“I didn’t say stop!” he snapped, his voice laced with irritation.

The tank, now burdened with the mine-troll, was immobilized in the water. Despite my best efforts, it refused to budge. The mine-troll’s immense weight made it impossible to move without external assistance. A crane was summoned to detach the mine-troll and pull it out. The tank followed soon after, but not before the incident had drawn significant attention.

The Major’s Investigation

As we returned to the camp, the sight of Major Sahib waiting for us sent a shiver down my spine. He called each crew member individually to recount the events.

When my turn came, I stood before him, my nerves tingling. “Bhullar, I’ve been told you stopped the tank in the water. Why?”

“Sir, I stopped because I was ordered to stop,” I replied, my voice steady.

“Who gave the order?”

“The Dafedar, sir.”

He frowned. “He denies giving such an order.”

I met his gaze, unwavering. “Sir, why would I stop without a command?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Take care next time—a tank with a mine-troll should never stop in water.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, saluting before returning to my tent.

Later, I learned that the gunner and the signal operator had also been questioned. Both corroborated my account, confirming that the Dafedar had indeed given the command to stop. Their testimonies, along with the fact that all crew members wore headphones and could hear every instruction, left no room for doubt.

The Aftermath: A Quiet Vindication

The Dafedar was reprimanded by Major Sahib, though the specifics of their conversation remained a mystery. However, the repercussions of his actions didn’t end there. The very next day, he sought revenge in subtle but spiteful ways. Tasks were assigned with the intent to humiliate or frustrate me, yet I endured them without complaint.

For me, the incident was a lesson in resilience and integrity. It reaffirmed my belief that dignity lay in doing one’s duty without succumbing to pettiness or vindictiveness. My respect for Major Sahib grew, as did my determination to prove myself worthy of his trust.

Reflection: Strength in Challenges

As I look back on those days, the memory of that trolley climb and the mine-troll incident remains vivid. Each challenge, whether it was the nerve-wracking ascent onto the trolley or navigating the turbulent waters of inter-personal conflicts, shaped me into the soldier I was destined to become.

The tank wasn’t just a machine; it was a metaphor for life itself—powerful, demanding, and unforgiving, yet capable of remarkable feats when guided with skill and determination. And like the tank, I learned to navigate obstacles, trusting in my abilities and staying true to my principles.

The Dafedar’s hostility, the applause of my peers, and the firm handshake of my Major—each moment contributed to a story of growth, resilience, and quiet triumph. These memories are etched not just in the annals of my military journey but in the very fabric of who I am.