Soljer Soljer is a story based on an imaginary infantry battalion of the Third Gorkha Rifles - the Sixth battalion. The composition, training, camaraderie, and duties in all the other infantry battalions of our Army are almost the same except that certain customs undergo a change as they adapt to the ethnicity of the troops in that Regiment. So the visible changes would be the manner of the battle cry, salutation, greeting, decorum in festivity with the troops, or ceremonials in the Officer's Mess. There is no difference in the dogged determination or the ferocity in the will of troops of these troops in completing any mission allotted to their battalions! Colonel Mahip Chadha, whom I have not only known from our training days, but served with; has very clearly brought out the joys of the simple infantry life and the deeply embedded love, affections and stoic ethnic involvement that officers enjoy with their men. This is brotherhood in its purest form. The story is of Surinder Singh Sahni and his son Jaskaran who as father and son serve in the same battalion. Brigadier Sahni resigns from the Army due to domestic issues while his son enjoys a brief and very modern marriage thanks to considerate parents. Brigadier Sahni has to face terms with reality when he reads about the Indian POWs and later when his son is declared missing believed killed after a skirmish with militants from POK. His misery is compounded when his daughter in law has to suffer further privations, till she decides to fight the establishment by becoming a lawyer. The sacrifices made by the cowherds in rescuing Jaskaran are poignant and are noble. The book has a sprinkling of humour and the reader laughs at the follies of life. Mahip has told his story as an infantry officer would - straight, to the point and without beating about the bush which makes enjoyable reading!

Soljer Soljer

Third Gorkha RiflesBy Mahip Chadha

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Colonel Mahip Chadha
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4670-6739-3

Contents

Foreword.......................................................xiiiPreface........................................................xvAlmora Ahoy....................................................1For Whom The Bells Ring........................................13Exercise To Exercise...........................................21Inter Company Boxing Championship..............................28A Son Is Born..................................................40Games Generals Play............................................51Promotion......................................................56Exercise Cunning Fox...........................................69Love Me- love My Dog...........................................78Of Training and Associated Matters!............................82The Nawab and The Begum........................................88Battalion Commander............................................94The Change of Guard............................................100Sister Vandy and The Jumbos....................................106The Battalion in Assam and a Spot of Leave.....................117A Time To Reflect..............................................128Dushera........................................................134Tanveer........................................................143Bollywood Scene................................................150The DSOI.......................................................158Of Love, Life and Death........................................162The Commander's Annual Inspection..............................169A Posting with the RR..........................................173A Fatal Foray..................................................180Lament Your Loss My Lady.......................................187GOD Resides In The Heavens.....................................191Reunion........................................................193

Chapter One

Almora Ahoy

We had never heard of Almora, except that it was the birthplace of the First Battalion, raised at this little town; after a pitched battle; from the remnants of the Gorkha soldiers who had fought the British, A quaint little ramshackle and rusty town which appeared to have been part of a time warp. The British had decended from Katarmal—that helmet type feature with an outcrop of pines on it; which made it look like a Johnny's haircut and had then climbed to Sitoli Ridge outside town. They had regrouped and attacked the Gorkha garrison there.

Between Katarmal and Almora flowed the Kosi river which grew into a torrent in the monsoon.

We were from the Sixth battalion of The Third Gurkha Rifles, the youngest sister in the regiment—the Kanchi..

To reach Almora one had to travel by train to Kathgodam or Haldwani and drive up to Bhowali at the foothills of Nainital and then move via Garam Pani to Almora. Garam Pani was where a diversion forked out like the tongue of a snake, towards Ranikhet. So we had a set of four places to visit all within thirty kilometres from Almora. The Jewel in the Crown was Nainital of course, but it was getting very over crowded. Each of these quaint little towns had their own peculiarities—Almora was the most densely populated, Ranikhet was serene and beautiful, Kausani was picturesque and allowed a beautiful glimpse of the snow clad mountains.

Nainital was just Nainital—a beautiful gem, where Sherwood reigned supreme!

It was an unusual name, for a town, but we knew that it nestled up in the Kumaon Hills; had gradually developed into a horse shoe shaped town, because it was built on a very large curve hugging the hills on the road leading to Bhowali and Kathgodam. There were no large buildings or monuments—The Ambassador Hotel, owned by Sardar Ram Singh, was quite a landmark adjacent to the KMOU bus terminal. The owner and his family were quite heartbroken by a tragedy in their family and were in the process of winding up their assets in Almora. They also owned a shop in the upper bazaar—Malli Bazaar, which they had bequeathed to their loyal servant who had served them well over the years.

A very renowned shop which sold a special sweet called baal mithai was opposite– it was too sweet for our liking– looked as though someone had cut long cubical pieces of brown chocolate and rolled them onto homeopathic pills! The locals called it baal—that's it and everyone understood.

There was an antique petrol pump next door and it was indeed a lucky day if one wanted petrol and found some. The road led to a slope which pointed towards the Kosi River and simultaneously from the dilapidated garage, at the fork, a road branched upwards to the old Church on the hill, which featured a very steep climb indeed! There was a school– Adam's School, if I recollect correctly and Jitu Pant's house.

If one looked up towards the left, while coming from the Ambassador Hotel towards the Post Office, one could see a maze of steps and a fortress like construction on which was perched the upper township and one could descend to the main motor road from the many steps leading downwards almost upto the movie hall below the road where the Joshi family lived.

Short of the fork, a lane, cobbled beautifully– branched off leaving the temple to the left and moved away towards the Courts and further to the Alexandra Lines, the barracks of the First Battalion, built by them as well; to billet the new converts to the British Army in India—so we were literally speaking, in a groove of history. This lane became deserted as it grew dark and on a cold night we could literally feel myriad of eyes watching our progress towards our unit lines—and if perchance someone met you the next day, a summary of your sojourn would be presented to you correct in every detail to the extent of where you had probably taken a leak. The houses on both sides of the market were built with their length along the road almost like a broadside view of the British wooden warships—with the only difference that the portholes for the guns were replaced by windows, These windows were shut early in the evening and yet prying eyes kept a track of whatever happened probably through the many peepholes or cracks in the windows. Full of secrets—methinks!

It was a very secretive town– somewhat like Peyton Place and similarly full of scandals too.

One could discern a number of places where you could be mugged but as a rule the town folk were a gentle and peaceful lot and steered clear of us!

Near the Alexandra Lines, was an old cinema, about to crumble into dust, but the owners did not seem to notice or really mind, as long some cash flow carried on-there was one more cinema on the main road a little ahead of LR Shah—the old style shop whose owners spoke in whispers as though their clientele was still from the British regiment stationed up there. The shop boasted fine stuff preferred by the officer class of yesteryears and it therefore went out of business soon after independence. Crested stationery once in fashion those days—was still available, fine cutlery was also out of vogue but the owner still kept some from the old days.

I still have a tiepin and a pair of scissors from that quaint shop and I had bought some tinned food as well..

But LR SHAH remained a landmark—a reference point if you please....