Ponderings of a Pongo – 7
A Passage to SPR (Selected Place of Residence)
I read an interesting narrative of one of my friends Ravi Nair, my namesake, about the good old times of his father, a VCO (Viceroy’s Commission Officer) coming on leave from Kashmir borders of NWFA (North West Frontier Agency) – where the latter was posted. It read like an expedition to the selected place of residence (Home Town – in military parlance) south of the Vindhya Ranges!
Reading that, I too was reminded of my travails home from the North Eastern borders, more than half a century ago. I venture to jot down my memories for the posterity. I vividly remember coming on my first Annual leave from Mizo Hills, Vaphai Post, bordering Burma (today’s Myanmar) along Tio River.
Tiring tactical move on foot, for four days, through the insurgent-prone, leach-infested thick jungles, to reach the road head at Tuirial – Aizawl, that too at the convenience of Link Patrols, which ensured the protection to the foot columns.
Then to Lailapur Rear via Vairengte, in a convoy of minimum 70-80 vehicles, with a vanguard and rear guard of armoured cars, crouched in the body of a Shaktiman or Tata 3-Ton truck, winding down, forcing one to throw up till nothing is left in ones aching bowels.
One night’s stay at Lailapur – the Rear Echelon of the Unit, to rest and recuperate and to deposit personal Arms (SMC – Sten Machine Carbine) and ammunition. There, one’s left-behind heavy steel trunk (box) originally packed with civil clothes and other non-essentials was now subjected to a ruthless process of military re-prioritisation. Clothes were bundled out to make room for the truly essential items – crates of liquor and other CSD (Canteen Stores Department) purchases procured from the Rear Echelon CSD Canteens, for journey home.
After all, one had to travel light. The meagre clothes accommodated, merely served as padding to prevent the bottles from breaking – and a soldier had to safeguard the Nation’s most fragile assets!
Next day: Move to Silchar via Masimpur to catch a meter gauge locomotive steaming out towards Halflong. From Halflong to Guwahati on a broad-gauge rail chugging sedate in no hurry, and to be disgorged at Guwahati in the dead of the night. From Guwahati to New Bongaigaon was a nerve-wracking traction on meter gauge.
Whenever the train wheezed into a major station, it was quite a spectacle to see the army officers among the passengers suddenly come alive. Out they would emerge onto the platform, resplendent in their silken dressing gowns and pyjamas, taking a leisurely stroll along the full length of the train, king-size filter cigarette dangling casually from their lips. Some surveyed the milling crowd with studied nonchalance, while others seemed quite content to be surveyed themselves!
One must confess that one felt a tinge of regret that he still possessed the Academy days dressing gown – an essential item in the travelling officer’s wardrobe. Sadly, his had been condemned to a far more utilitarian role too, being irretrievably wrapped around his precious cargo (bottles) inside the steel trunk, serving as their protective padding.
Thus deprived of one’s rightful place in the platform parade, he gave the whole business a polite go-by. There was little point in regretting lost opportunities for sartorial display when there were still miles to go – and, more importantly, an ETA (Expected Time of Arrival) at the next destination to worry about!
After all, in military travel, reaching the destination was the mission; looking impressive on the platform was merely an optional extra.
At New Bongaigaon: A walk across the sand banks to the waterlines of the Ganges, with the coolie following lugging one’s steel trunk on his head. By the way, the trunk had more of bottles than of any clothes, the latter acting only as padding between bottles so as not to break. One felt pity for the coolie balancing the trunk on his head cursing. Walk towards the River ends where the Paddle Steamer operated by North Eastern Railway waited to ferry one across the Ganges at Farakka.
Few hours in the steamer, listening to the lapping and splashing noise of its giant paddles in the water and intermittent booming of hooter, brought images of the huge paddle boats of Amazon. Being a First-Class passenger, the steamer provided steaming rice with watery daal and pickles & pappad as dinner; then in utter contrast coffee served with decoction, cream and sugar in separate ceramic pots (chinked and grimy) -in true occidental style!
On arrival at the other bank, another long walk followed, on river sand towards New Jalpaiguri railway station, where the rail rake awaited with similar seat / berth reservation arrangements. The steam engine laboured the rake to Sealda Station, and from there one proceeded to Howrah in a local train.
Depositing luggage in the clock room, a quick shower and shampoo at First Class Waiting Room, one was off to a ‘non-itinerary visit’ to Calcutta City just to have a feel of the metro life, to return for the night train, Coromandel Express, to Madras. After two nights it arrived at Madras early morning.
Once again, the luggage to clock room, followed by a taxi ride to relatives unannounced and to the 24 x 7 movie halls Diamond, Emerald and Sapphire, all housed in same building on Mount Road. Normally one went off to sleep in the AC comfort of movie hall while intermittently watching of ‘Taras Bulba’, which had no END and kept repeating. The day ended with the ove to the Madras Central by evening to catch the night’s Cochin Express.
The ‘Canadian Bullet Engine’ took on the initial traction and then local snub-nosed ones which sneezed burning coal and dust throughout, brought one finally to Cochin Harbour Terminus by noon. ‘Runglee Rungliot’ meaning ‘thus far and no further’. That was the termination of journey on rails and thence forth in a ‘yellow and black’ Hindustan taxi for move to Alleppey – one’s SPR, 65 kms away.
And, Alas by evening, after a fortnight of having set forth from Vaphai, one entered his ‘selected place of residence’ and to one’s Sweet Home, waking up and surprising his mother and siblings – as the FL (Forces Letter) – FOAS (Free on Active Service) one had posted a month earlier from one’s picquet of announcing sanctioning of the leave and tentative travel plan, had not yet reached his mother, after customary censoring at 99 APO. Hence, surprised indeed, they were.
The matted hair filled with few pounds of coal dust, grime and the telltale ‘railway acquired syndromes’ for over a week, like bugs and lice, had to be scrubbed off. Answer mother knew, bar soap (used for washing clothes) and ‘besan flour’ with abrasive ‘incha scrub’, ‘Amma’s special concoction of coconut oil massaged lavishly and washed down with scores of buckets of water from the well, drawn and ‘water cannoned’ by family’s ‘man Friday’, Bhaskara Pillai, who showed signs of kindness on promise of two pegs in the evening!
By now the meagre amount of Rs.200/- discounted through a bank cheque from unit Baniya (Wet Canteen Contractor), for the journey had dried out. First thing in the morning was to visit one’s bankers to whom all the salary – a princely sum of Rs. 345/- was remitted after the TDS of Rs.5/- every month, irrespective of where one was posted. It was big money indeed, as a Sovereign (Kuthira Pavan of 8 gms of 22 k gold) costed only Rs.90/-! was surprised to find nearly 2k in the bank to blow up! Serving in field, the entire salary got accumulated in the bank as there were no scopes to spend on a picquet, where ‘roti, kapada aur makkan’ were free!
With the ‘kuppies’ (bottles) full in crates, crisp notes in the pocket, and cartons of 555 and Kent in lieu of few pegs to right friends with US connections; And ones First Love – the original British Royal Enfield KLT 7724, gas always fully filled – life was worth living!
Once the ‘Kuppies’ receded in the crates, the ‘Panam’ (currencies) began disappearing in the pocket and the 555s and Kents extinct and replaced by Panamas and Charminars, friends who had earlier welcomed one’s visit gradually developed a psychological curiosity, “When are you returning?” – That was the beginning of the end!
Eventually one had to approach the ultimate financial institution – Amma (Mother). So, one returns to the Amma for a ‘non- refundable loan’ for financing her son’s ‘expedition back’. Totally demoralised and ‘homesick’ – But one ought to return! call of duty! One would overcome this annual setback, retracing the trail. Time is a great healer.
The present generation soldier cannot imagine such a situation. Airforce Courier service, concessional air travels, authorised LTCs by Air, fast electric trains and the Farakka barrage over Ganges, beautiful roads wider than NHs crisscrossing and ‘spiralling’ the Mizo Hills heights – where we once heaved and perambulated, and above all the mobile phones which announced and videoed live minute-to-minute progress of one’s move etc – were non-existent and couldn’t even be thought of – To achieve surprise nowadays is simply difficult!!
In those days, a soldier could disappear in the wilderness for months and then suddenly materialise at his mother’s door steps. And perhaps that was one of the great charms of those times.
The home-bound journey itself became an adventure – an unusual, stirring experience! And after fourteen days of marching on foot, bouncing, sneezing, sleeping, scrubbing, spending and borrowing – we finally reached Home.
And for a brief and glorious while – Life was worth Living!
