Sleep once betrayed me; now I betray it nightly, in honour of those who depend on me
The fog hadn’t yet lifted from the slopes of Bona Devsar when the memory of the night before clawed its way into my ribs. The silence of that night, a sniper’s bullet had found its mark, weighed heavily on me, both physically and emotionally. It was one of those endless nights when the relationship between the eyes and sleep was strained, a battle fought in the quiet corners of the mind. I had spent hours watching the dimly lit atmosphere of the camp, the echoes of distant sounds occasionally breaking the silence - a rustle of leaves, the faint hum of the generator, the occasional call of a night bird. As the moments passed, a strange memory flashed through me, vivid and unbidden - a flashback to my early days of training when sleep had won over me. A small smile crept onto my lips, a fleeting moment of amusement amidst the exhaustion.
As I sat in the present, struggling with the weight of my anxieties, the memory of that night played before my eyes like a movie. How ironic, I thought, that I had once been caught sleeping on duty, and now, here in Bona Devsar, I couldn’t rest even for a moment. Back then, I was naive, clueless, and unaware of the weight of responsibility. Sleep had seemed like an inconvenience, something to be fought off with half-hearted efforts. Today, the battle to stay awake every passing moment felt like a war against fatigue, a war waged with the seriousness of my role and the lives that depended on me.
The memory of my training days flashed before me, sharp and clear. It was my first shift of night duty, starting at midnight. Exhausted from the day’s drills, I had fallen asleep until 11:45 p.m., just fifteen minutes before my duty was to begin. At twelve-thirty, my fellow guard woke me up and went to bed himself, leaving me to take over. I deployed just in time, but after about ten minutes of sitting in one of the simulator seats, resting my head on the table in front of me, I fell asleep before I even realized it.
The next thing I felt was a sharp slap on my back. Startled, I jumped to my feet and saluted the Junior Commissioned Officer (JCO) standing in front of me, his expression a mixture of anger and authority. Naturally, I saluted him, but he raised his hand again, preventing another slap.
"Bewakoof, raat ko salute nahi marte hai (Idiot, don’t salute at night)," he said angrily, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night. "Stand guard... and fasten your belt."
I hurried to fasten my belt, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the buckle. "Sassorry, sir!" I exclaimed, my voice cracking under the weight of his glare.
His anger flared up, his eyes narrowing as he barked, "O English bolta hai...Chale, dus front-roll laga. (O..Speaking English…Come on do ten front-rolls"
The punishment was swift and exhausting. I dropped to the ground and began the front rolls, each one a reminder of my carelessness. But it was his words that disturbed me the most.
"Subha doosri parade se pehle milna, teri raat ki nidra udaata hoon tab (Meet me before the second parade in the morning…I will blew your sleep)," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. The prospect of his return unsettled me, and I spent the rest of the night in a state of anxious vigilance.
When morning came, I immediately went to the parade ground and stood before him, saluting sharply. "Did you sleep last night?" he asked, his tone deceptively calm.
"No, sir," I said, my voice steady despite the knot of fear in my stomach.
He smiled a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. "Go to your training. That was your punishment."
I breathed a sigh of relief, but the lesson was etched into my mind. Since that day, I had never let sleep or carelessness become a hindrance in my duty. It was a moment of humiliation that had turned into a lifetime of discipline.
As I remembered this, I realized that time had brought about a profound change. Back then, sleeplessness had been a punishment, a consequence of my negligence. Now, in Bona Devsar, it was a necessity, a testament to the weight of my responsibilities. The irony was not lost on me - the same sleeplessness that had once been a source of shame was now a badge of honor, a sign of my commitment to the mission and the men who depended on me.
The night stretched on, the silence broken only by the occasional crackle of the radio or the distant howl of the wind. My mind wandered, drifting between the past and the present, between the lessons I had learned and the challenges I now faced. The memory of that JCO, his stern face and sharp words, lingered in my thoughts. He had been harsh, but his lesson had shaped me, molding me into the soldier I had become.
In the dim light of the camp, I could see the outlines of my comrades, their faces etched with the same exhaustion and determination that marked my own. We were bound together by more than just duty; we were bound by the shared understanding of what it meant to serve, to protect, and to endure. The sleepless nights, the constant vigilance, the ever-present threat of danger - these were the threads that wove us together, creating a tapestry of resilience and camaraderie.
As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, I felt a sense of relief. The night was over, and with it, the immediate threat had passed. But the memory of that sleepless night in Bona Devsar would stay with me, a reminder of the lessons I had learned and the strength I had found within myself. The silence of the night had been heavy, but it had also been a teacher, showing me the depth of my resolve and the power of discipline.
In the end, it was not the sleeplessness that defined me, but what I had done with it. It was a testament to the journey I had undertaken, from the naive recruit who had once fallen asleep on duty to the soldier who now stood vigilant, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. And as the sun rose over the mountains, casting its golden light over the camp, I knew that I was ready - ready to face the fog of war, the uncertainty of the future, and the endless nights that lay ahead.
In the fog of fatigue, I found clarity - not in comfort, but in responsibility.
There were no medals for insomnia, no parades for weary eyes. But in every sleepless night survived, in every yawn stifled under a helmet, we wore our wakefulness like warriors, because some wars are fought not with guns, but with grit that never sleeps.
No comments:
Post a Comment