“In the barracks where bullets were counted like blessings, it was a lamb and a misplaced machete that reminded us: even in the military, mischief marches beside memory - and sometimes, the stew simmers longer than the scolding.”
It’s strange how a single week can take you from raiding flowerbeds in the dark to dealing with a dead lamb and a missing machete. One moment you’re stealing roses in a velvet dawn, and the next, you’re posted in the jungles near a Central Ammunition Dump, watching smoke curl from someone else’s misjudgment. That’s the rhythm of military life - discipline by day, absurdity by night, and somewhere between the two, a goat gets cooked.
The lamb never knew it was part of an operation more daring than any drill.
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 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.
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 its 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.
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.
In that bowl of curry simmered a lesson: in the Army, even hunger has a chain of command. The meat may have melted on the tongue, but the story stuck to our souls.
We were posted there not for war games or surveillance, but as custodians of caution and caretakers of secrets. And yet, that stolen lamb taught us more about the chain of command, resourcefulness, and the dangerous intersection of hunger and hubris than any drill ever could.
That night, as laughter echoed around the campfire and the last of the bread soaked up the guilt-laced curry, I stared into the jungle’s darkness and wondered how many such stories lived in its shadows - untold, absurd, unforgettable.
Because just a few weeks later, in another stretch of terrain not far from this one, we would be entrusted with guarding something far more consequential than livestock: an abandoned trawler, a recovered tank engine, and a court of inquiry that would churn up a truth deeper than the silt of any riverbed.
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