warvet

  THE POSTILLION “Whosoever can tell what is “Postillion” gets a bottle of wine from me!“ announced Major Muthu.   We five Breeding Officers were perched upon our saddle bar stools in the Bar of our Army Stud Officers Mess christianed “Trough” By Major Watson 150 years ago when he founded the Hisar Livestock Farm for the Brirtish Indian Army. “I bet they don't know”! bellowed a voice that heralded the arrival of our Commandant, Brigadier Dilawar Singh, as he barged in, right from his evening ride through acres of Oats in his Jodhpurs and Wellingtons. We all rose and wished him as he settled in his favourite leather sofa in the corner that was his usual spot. “Add a bottle of   scotch from me for the right answer” he continued as he reached for his favourite “Black Dog large” that had magically appeared besides him on velvet covered tray carried by the veteran Sumer Singh; our number 1 waiter. All of us were quiet as Egyptian mummies. The old man took a swig from his...

   It’s preposterous! Shocking! Its blasphemy to heap such torture on this most graceful creation of the almighty ! Is this what you learnt in 7 years in the University, Mister? Yelled the Commandant at me, a greenhorn Lieutenant on his first posting to the historic Army Stud Farm established some 200 years back by the Brits. He went on and on and I kept listening with a poker face and ramrod straight back in attention.   Eventually the old man exhausted his lungs and his vocabulary. Finally he pointed to the paddock in front of us with his driving crop and yelled “Youngman you better clean up these Augean Stables before my next inspection or I will have you for Breakfast! Do you understand”? “Yes sir” I heard myself yelling to which he touched the rump of his chestnut Halflinger with his crop and the Gig shot ahead spraying me with flying mud from its wheels. I was left staring at the paddock in front of me. On my arrival in the stud, I was handed over the “Peera wal...