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Soljer Soljer
Third Gorkha Rifles
By Mahip Chadha
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Colonel Mahip Chadha
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4670-6739-3
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.
Further down—a road branched away uphill to the infantry battalion from the Third or the Ninth Gorkha Rifles which was always posted there, and the little cantonment of Almora, which boasted of a broken down church, a small but beautiful MES Inspection Bunglow, a cottage perched on top of a knoll where Tagore once stayed and then the beautiful Officer's Mess, the property of the First Battalion of the Third Gurkhas, since their raising in Almora. Later the battalion was persuaded to sell off all the property they owned to the Military Estates organization by the Army Commander.
The Mess was attractive and had a regal bearing– as if it had been transported from England by the English Officers who were probably homesick. It was situated in a hollow and it could be seen as you descended from the gate. An old and beautiful building flanked by the bandstand on one side and the cookhouse on the other. The careless outcrop of trees around the Mess gave the impression of having grown on their own; but I think the trees blowing in the wind and probably planted by an officer of the First Battalion– a landscapist perhaps; gave an incredibly pleasing look. There was a lingering impression, as though someone had tried to capture the scenery around an English country side.
Another sign of home sickness I presumed.
A track ran down from the old church and met the main road to Almora from where one could take a shortcut to the firing ranges or chandmari as they are called in Hindi! Sometimes one came across some ragged but beautiful children with blue eyes– third generation probably, the result of seed sown in the wind by some desperate English officer during a brief fling with a local mistress!
There was a leprosy hospital tucked away inside that area.
What was special about Almora?
At that time, it boasted of an adherence to rituals and devotion to Hinduism in the extreme—anyone who broke the many taboos was forced to leave the faith of his forefathers and decide between conversion to Christianity or to Islam. It was these taboos which slowly increased the population of these two faiths, which welcomed them with open arms into their fold!Hill folk are usually loathe to offend their gods and goddesses, and are in perpetual awe and fear from the forces of darkness and of the invisible hordes of ghosts who inhabit their countryside!
The area was owned lock stock and barrel by the wealthy Joshis, Tewaris, Bhats, Pants and other Brahmins, who had probably fled from Maharashtra during the Mughal wars and sought sanctuary in the rich and beautiful Kumaon hills, and after a few generations become sons of the soil! This is heresay from the locals– we had not had time to dig up proof– just as it was said that the Bengali rich migrated to Mandi from Bengal, during Sher Shah Suri's time.
Almora was a dead town after dark—no one was seen outside except the drunks; of which there were many. After all if there were no jobs, and there no desire to leave the town in search of one, then one could only become a drunk or an educated lunatic like the many lawyers who wore pith hats and mumbled some vague mythological arguments outside the Court. I think their think tanks required severe overhaul—but then these guys added to the spice and colour of the little town.
It was said that Almora was super saturated with educated people—literacy was on a high and if you threw a stone at any house– it would contain at least a couple of law graduates and some MAs as also some graduates. But many had died without seeing the trains at Kathgodam—such was the mental apathy in Almora—lack of adventurism!
Me—I am Captain Surinder Singh Sahni of the 6/3 Gorkha Rifles, and in a few days I am about to get married.
I keep my self informed about the people, flora and fauna around me wherever I go—makes life a trifle interesting! Actually I am wondering how to keep my bride happy in this desolate town—one really cannot call it a hill station-hill stations welcome you even though it is for the money in the wallet you carry—but in Almora things are different as though the town refuses to come out of the dark ages.
The sidewalks abound in bichu buti, a very interesting plant that has some acidic content in the lower part of its leaves and if you insist on touching it, causes a burning sensation which can last for hours. Imagine wiping your arse with these leaves and the effect would; be like one of those, Popeye the Sailor Man cartoons! The local women seem to cut the younger shoots off and boil them before making it a vegetable!
Along this weed grows another the weed called hashish or bhang and this lured the hippies or flower children to this region because no one in the local population was really bothered about how much or how often it is consumed—only the Army kept the troops away from it—the Nepalese did not favour the weed but the Indian troops knew the power it contained!
Sherni di Muchh, as one Punjabi soldier from the Artillery described it—the Moustache of the Tigress!
But there was a silver lining—Almora was located approximately thirty odd kilometers from Naini Tal and Ranikhet and a little further was Kausani—which was once a preferred resort for Mahatma Gandhi. So one could break away to these places if the need be. The journey to Ranikhet gave anyone a headache because the road had too many bends—but the scenery was breathtaking. One found excellent fish in the Kosi– I am a little illiterate as far as fish goes, but I know it is delicious especially the way the boys split it open removed the entrails and deep fried it whole, eyes and all!
We lived in the Deodar Hotel-there was no deodar which was a variety of pine, in the vicinity– but it provided sanctuary to the bachelors some of whom lived near the Mess. It had a lovely view but the disadvantage was that the CO lived above us and kept an eye on us.
Every morning we began the day with physical training—PT, which took the shape of a run for some distance as a squad, then a few limbering up exercises on the football ground followed by games designed to toughen us, and then we broke off. On some days we had drill practice instead, of PT.
We shouted out orders till we were hoarse and us tall guys had a big problem because ours was a rifle battalion and designed to march at 140 paces per minute; unlike the other regiments which marched at 120 paces per minute. Also we did not raise our thighs till the level of our belts—instead we turned and executed a smart movement designed to save time for we were protectors of the flanks and speed was our forte.
The Commanding Officer had declared that every night be declared a Dinner Night, except on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. This had an advantage in that everyone was in the Mess before the bugle call, in uniform, and after a drink or two went straight for dinner. Thus the Mess Staff could wind up and close the mess early. As it is there was nothing to do in town and there were not many people one could befriend for social calls or spend time with– there was a general reluctance to befriend us, as far as the locals were concerned since they were extremely conservative.
On Sundays we woke up luxuriously, sat outside and waited for the omelette competition—in which the sahayak who could cook an omelette with the maximum thickness was declared the winner. There were two points for consideration—one—the thickness would be measured in the centre two minutes after the eggs were presented —two— that only two eggs were allowed to each participant.
So the boys went off into their sanctuaries and began beating up the eggs– some had put the onions and tomatoes cut into small pieces into them while others were waiting for the egg white to become fluffy before adding the slivers of onion and tomatoes, coriander, salt and red chilli! Some even added slivers of cheese to the mixture.
Pat was the only judge because he alone amongst the officers, knew how to cook.
Eventually the boys stood in a line and produced the omelettes—which were held in the right hand and the left hand supported or simply touched the right elbow as is the custom in the Gorkhas! Pat cut the centres of each after two minutes—most of them had raw egg oozing out—hence he disqualified them. These boys were told to press a fork to the middle and cook the eggs well at a low temperature. The remaining three were cleared for the competition and their thickness was measured at the centre.. The winner received a bottle of rakshi or rum which we knew would be cheerfully emptied within minutes of presentation—we all enjoyed the breakfast– and got ready for the Mandir Parade.
The Mandir Parade was held at the Regimental Mandir which was located in the wing of the main hall. Our Panditji was a genius and he used the power of the Sanskrit words, gift of gab, story telling and his melodious singing to mesmerize the simple audience! His chief musicians and singers were all the naughty boys of the drama party, who sang popular devotional songs from the movies—they were a popular lot and even the shy families of the men; who had come from Nepal, could not help but smile at their pretentious devotion.
Panditji's natak mandali– choir-made the mandir programme lively and the boys who were very devout would sway to the songs, interspersed with the Panditji's sermons and then would terminate with the Aarti; amidst beating of the gongs and also bell chimes all designed to attract the attention of the gods and goddesses!
Six Third Gorkha Rifles Ki Jai! Long live Six Third Gorkha Rifles!
Sache Durbar ki Jai! Long live the true congregation!
The distribution of Prasad, the holy sweets; by the boys and the flame went around the congregation and the Session was over!
Since the Company offices were near, the Pay Naiks waited to see if Company Commander Sahib was visiting the company or headed to the Officer's Mess.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Soljer Soljer by Mahip Chadha Copyright © 2011 by Colonel Mahip Chadha. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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