We Dont Move Back | Humor

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WE DON’T MOVE BACK


It was the early eighties of the last century. A unit had come down to Brahmana di Barian. The oppressive heat that made the Olive Green shirts cling to the shoulder blades could not dampen the spirits of the Thambis. After all, they were going home to Trivandrum. To be part of the paltan when the South beckoned; one couldn’t get luckier than this.

But since the time they reached Barian, it was as if time had stopped; ever so sluggishly went the wheels of time round and round. It simply took ages to shunt the Military Special to the siding. It took longer for the train to be taken over and even longer to get a schedule of its journey to Trivandrum from the Railways. Another day, and the Thambis would really be at the end of their tethers.

They strained their shoulders against the bureaucratic might of the Railways and reluctantly the Railways yielded. They got their schedule; ten days to Trivandrum it said. Remember, even in the nineteenth century, Phileas Fogg took just eighty days to go round the world. But this tardiness was forgiven for things were actually moving, if at a snail's pace. They were told that the train would steam off at 1300 hours, the following afternoon.

Hastily, the Adjutant sent the Dispatch Rider to a sister Thambi battalion stationed near Barian with this momentous news. This battalion had been in their present formation for a while and therefore had honed to perfection the skill of bidding goodbye to Thambi battalions that came down from the valley; barakhana with red carpet, pipe band, shamianas, rum, rum and more rum.

As rum flowed like water near the railway tracks of Barian, and bonhomie increased, the H hour approached fast and furious. They were now dangerously close to 1300 hours. The Adjutant and the BHM struggled to get the Thambis into the train. We know that there is a protocol to board a Military Special. The Commanding Officer (CO) entrains last. Perhaps, a little akin to the concept of the Captain abandoning his ship last. Well, there he stood like a rock, waving his wand (read cane) adding his voluble might to the confusion.

As the train whistled the start of the journey and the H hour approached, his expletives become more incoherent and louder. He remained the last man standing, albeit on the dusty platform of Barian.

And suddenly-and none can say without notice- the train started moving. All hell broke lose. The Adjutant shouted to the Duty Officer to pull the chain, the Subedar Major shouted to the CO to run and jump in, the Second in Command (2IC) turned the crank of the field telephone and shouted at the exchange to get him the driver of the train. Generally, everyone went into overdrive.

Everyone, except the CO, that is; he stood his ground like the Rock of Gibraltar.

But something must have worked for the train came to a grinding halt about 25 metres from where it had started. Above the din, the Adjutant, his ears trained to hear the CO's bark, heard "Get the train back here!"

The Adjutant relayed the CO's command to the Second in Command. The 2IC shouted into the telephone, "Driver Sir, get the train to the SP!" (SP, to the uninitiated, in Army parlance is Start Point). Nothing happened. The 2IC shouted again, "Get the train back!" Still nothing happened. At his wits end, the 2IC threatened, cajoled, pleaded, implored. Nothing. The 2IC now wished that the earth would swallow him up.

Finally, a weak voice came through the telephone from the other end, "Much like the Indian Army, the Railways also doesn’t move back".



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About the Author

I am A K Roy. I am a freelance writer. Was in the Army. But now am in Operations in a Software Company in India

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