THE POSTILLION

 

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 Long Champ crystal glass and announced “No. They no longer teach such things in the Equitation Training Wing. Not only the riding standards have hit the Nadir but even theory has been jettisoned. Lot of muck has flown down the Ganda Nala of cross country area of the wing since TP, my coursemate took a dip in its foetid waters, thrown off by his frisky remount as we crossed it.

We were all ears, as we waited in anticipation to get some pearls of wisdom from the old man as usual. The old man wiped whiskey from his walrus whiskers with the back of his hand and seemed to be transported to an era bygone.

I was the youngest officer or the baby of the unit in this very stud farm. Captain Zorawar was my senior subaltern and it was his responsibility to groom me. This Zorawar guy was a maverick - a university level athlete, mountaineer and an accomplished rider. He had topped the All Arms Equitation Course expecting to be posted to some Riding unit but the Army sent him instead to the stud. Busy schedule as a breeding officer, could not wean him from his craze for riding. As we didn't have any riding horses, he used to reach stallion stables in the wee hours of morning when we were asleep and rode the stallions bare back to exercise them. He also had a modified bicycle on which he honed his polo skills with the cycle polo stick.

 The GOC was visiting us. He was known to be one of those stylish officer; a pucca Brown Sahib and so our commandant wanted to take him around the farm in the special “Four – in - Hand” buggy .  4 Special chestnut haflinger imported buggy horses pulled the carriage under guidance of the giant Bhuru , coachwan (Buggy Driver) - resplendent in his regimental regalia complete with his maroon and gold pagri. Polished Ebony complexion, thick black rajput warrior mustaches and wrestler like 6 feet constitution of Bhuru added to the general look of the coach not to forget the lanky Bimal standing on the footstep at the rear and blowing his trumpet from time to time announcing the arrival of VIP.

As is the custom, minute – to - minute program of the visiting dignitary was made and sent well in time to the HQ. After he arrived at commandant’s office and had gone through the presentation, he was to be driven in staff car to the stallion stable. He was to be taken further around the farm in the Four – in -Hand.  Captain Zorawar, as OIC Brake Stable, was responsible for the buggy. All was set when the evening prior to the visit, the explosion took place.

We were all in this very “Trough”, each sipping his own poison and going through the VIP’s  min - to - minute program when Zorawar burst in and announced “Sir! Bhuru’s scooter has been hit by a Nilgai  on Arjun path and   he has been evacuated to hospital. He has broken his leg I am told”.

Nilgai abounded in the stud, attracted by acres of oats. These animals had a habit of running like blind, in groups and God forbid, they had smashed into scooterists, cyclists and even cars with catastrophic results.

There was pin drop silence. Only Bhuru knew how to drive a four in hand. Others had retired long back and because of severe manpower crunch, no one had thought to train a substitute. More so because Bhuru had never fallen ill in his life. In fact he had never been unavailable to stud. The enormity of the situation had hit the old man with full force. He rose from his chair, accosted Zorawar and  said “ Bhuru or no Bhuru, program of General Officers are never changed in this unit and I have no intention to be the pioneer. I don’t know how you do it, but Zorawar, don't let me down tomorrow”. With that, he darted out of the bar leaving us dumbfounded.

We had a quiet dinner. The problem of coachwan was on everyone’s mind but no one could think of any solution. Zorawar was left high and dry to his own devices and I kept wondering of the next day. I was the Protocol Officer for the General and next day as I led in the pilot vehicle towards the stallions stables followed by the visitor and commandant in the staff car, I didn’t expect the Four – in - Hand ride for the General. We reached the stallion stables and were received by Major Rao, the OIC. He took the VIP around the stallion stables showing him the pride of the RVC  - the great sires of top seeded Jumpers, Eventers and Dressage champions followed by the elephant like draught horses. As we moved back towards the porch, I was certain to see the staff car instead of the Four – in - Hand but was astonished to see the sparkling maroon and gold coach resplendent in the winter sun with the manes of the haflingers shining brightly like beautiful blondes of Las Vegas. There was no coachwan insight. It was then that I noticed an NCO Rider in ceremonial attire, astride the leading near (left) side horse. It was something novel for me. The Commandant took in the sight in his stride and led the General up the coach. The General too was surprised like me and asked what was that arrangement. I heard the Commandant saying – “Sir, it’s the postillion rider. This coach doesn’t require a coachwan”. I heard the General remark – “oh yeah! I remember seeing this system in the Edinburgh tattoo where I had led a marching contingent. It was for the queen”.

Post the round of the farm, the General had drinks with us in the Mess where he was in his element. He waxed eloquent in the visitor’s book as he was leaving and thanked the Commandant profusely   for the wonderful visit and complimented him for the great work being done. With the GOC gone, the Commandant patted Zorawar on the back and said – “Really innovative of you to think to be the Postilion today. Weldon”! Then he turned to the Deputy –“ I want a chiefs citation proposal for Zorawar on my table first thing in the morning. Well done all of you but Zorawar has lived up to his name today”.

In the evening back in the “Trough” as we all complemented Zorawar, he said “ Thank you all of you but I want to share a funny thing that happened as we went through the farm. As is the custom, we took the General through the Oats fields, various paddocks, housing of syces, kids school and the Mandir/Dargah. The General was spellbound by the immaculate 2000 acre spread and the kind of respect people displayed to the Commandant all over. He remarked “Why, you are more or less a veritable king of your estate”! It was then that Bholu, the right rear Haflinger broke wind loudly. Our embarrassed Commandant demurred –“Sir, please excuse me but there are certain things on which even a king doesn’t exercise control”.

 I almost fell off the horse as the General exclaimed – “My God! I thought it was the horse”!