Guru Ghantal

 

 

GURU GHANTAL

BY WARVET

I was hanging on for dear life as the bushes and hedges rushed past my eyes in a blur. Finally no longer able to hold on, I let go the tuft of blonde mane in my hand and hit the water with a splash. As I emerged from waist deep muddy water, wiping the algae out of my eyes with the back of my hand I saw a silhouette of a mounted Greek warrior appear in front of me – “Saab Dismount hone ka Aadesh Kab mila aapko”? barked our riding instructor, Risaldar Maha Ram. “Main kahan…” started I but then stopped midway as the sarcasm dawned upon me. Towards the boundary of the riding area I could see my mount – Halaku speeding past the iron gate towards the stables.

“YOs Ghoda line jayega aur apne ride ke sath class ko rejoyn karega. Saddle sir pe hoga ghode pe nahi” His mount, Shehzada, a veteran of many Asian Games executed a perfect pirouette and went off in a gallop like a Ferrari hitting 0 to 100 kmph in 3 sec.

“Kamar lachakdar, ghutne ke neeche ka hissa zarurat ke mutabik, Toe up Heel Down, Nazar Samne, Chest up” Gulab Saab was demonstrating “Ideal Seat” to his class as I trudged along shaken with my head spinning and heart still racing, towards British era Stables of the Army Riding School in Meerut Cantt where lieutenant (later PM) Winston Churchill spent most of his Army service riding his polo ponies during day and creating drunken ruckus in the Officers Mess during nights.. I was a newly commissioned Young Officer of the elite Remount Veterinary Corps, one of the oldest regiments of the Indian Army, undergoing the mandatory Riding training.

I had always associated horses with soldiery. In early childhood I dreamt of galloping on a white horse in thick of combat as a chivalrous Rajput. As a kid I never left a chance of riding a pony, though I never had formal riding lessons. In veterinary college we happened to have a couple of Spiti Ponies and I befriended the groom – One Saini guy who had served in the Presidents Body Guard and enthralled us with his equestrian exploits. ‘Sheru’ the Spiti pony was a real devil who was difficult to saddle up and threw you the moment you lost focus. However, once in the Army, I came across an altogether different kind of horse – higher than me and raised on military issue gram. They were giants and veterans of handling young recruits who were little more than irritating gnats for them. Presently, as I found Halaku, my ride gorging on freshly cut maize in the trolley near the stables, I decided I would master riding first thing as I reached my first unit XYZ Animal Transport Company.

Once I joined the unit and was taken under brotherly mentorship by Maj Nagender, my first Commanding Officer, I visited the Ghoda line and made acquaintance with our rides. ‘Romantic’ was the grey petite mare known for her sweet disposition and was rode by the OC. Zorawar was a Black Ride A horse who was an old veteran of Asian Games but now in decline. ‘Moon Light’ was a handsome chestnut Ride A which was a jumper and dedicated horse of previous OC but was left behind when he moved. Once I rode him I knew why he was left behind – The horse was ‘hard mouthed’ and stub born. He taught me futility of trying to befriend a horse with Gur. He would eat all the Gur but thanklessly got rid of me whenever he got a chance. I was fool enough to take him through the nearby Lalten bazar area. The villages comprised of bamboo huts with  pucca road and were full of children. These naked urchins began shouting Ghora Ghora the moment they saw the horses and came out of the huts running. Moonlight used to grip his bit between his teeth and then no amount of pulling on reins with all my power could stop him. He galloped on the metal road with firesparks emitting from his shoes with rest of the riders following our wake. Thankfully, there were few vehicles or two wheelers in impoverished communist villages of Bengal of late nineties and thus I escaped any serious accident.

So it was with great joy I came to know that a celebrated ASC rider, Ranjit, who was notorious for his drinking had been thrown out of ASC Centre and was coming to us. Once he reported, I immediately approached him to take me under his tutelage. And So began my proper classes for the first time. Ranjit was a good ustad. He was a handsome Rajput from Rajasthan who had a natural talent for horses and riding. He had quit drinking after the latest fiasco, he swore. After preliminary classes followed by rigorous bare back riding for a couple of weeks, he took me to the paddy fields behind our unit. There were acres and acres of empty fields. Locals took only one crop annually. Not for them the concept of Rabi and Kharif. There was no irrigation – It was totally rain fed. What a waste!! These fields along the Balason river were undulating and divided by fences and hedges. It was ideal ground and Ranjit made me go up and down - through ponds and over hedges so that soon I had the hang of thing. Role of a good coach is invaluable in any game. But in Equestrian games it’s all the more important. It’s a combination of a man and a beast. There has to be absolute coordination between the two. Both have to learn to communicate with each other. The language of communication, which does not comprise of words but your actions has to be learnt and a good teacher will teach you in a day what may take years to learn on own. However, good riders are few and rare is one who will let you know the secrets which he closely guards. Ranjit bequeathed me with all his hard learned skills and knowledge. Soon I had graduated to show jumping and tent pegging.

I made rapid progress and before long we were participating in horse shows in the North East. Before our first outing, Nagender was elated. He made all company ‘Fall In’ in the evening to watch me perform and personally goaded the troops to raise a ruckus so that I and Moonlight would get used to the noise during competition! His love for me was undiluted and I would have taken a bullet meant for him on my chest happily.

Soon I was galloping on Moonlight through all terrain and over 4 feet fences. As the vet officer of local Army Butchery retired, I got the temporary duty to pass meat. I with Ranjit and 2 more riders following me went to the butchery flying on moonlight and the troops gathered at butchery to collect meat were taken aback to see us all of a sudden  emerging out of the rain forest with first light. As I finished my task and remounted, I saw my companions had managed 2 live chicken each from the contractor which were hanging from their pommels and we made a ‘Sholay Gabbar Gang’ like image as we left in a cloud of dust with people watching. Other days, Ranjit used to take me through the North Bengal University girls hostel area leading to damsels on morning walk gaping open mouthed at us galloping and jumping in their grounds. “OC saab ka hokum hai VO sab ko ek Prince ki tarah rakhna hai. Isliye …” Disclosed Ranjit. I thought he was looking to equip me with a harem first thing on way to princedom! Nagender gave only one advice –“My dear brother, never see just 1 girl at a time. See multiple. Or you will be snared by some wily beauty”!

As part of our Raising Day celebrations, Maj Nagendra wanted to do something spectacular. We were raking our brains for an idea since past 7 days but whatever I and Thomas suggested he rejected as ordinary. We had suggested – Mounted parade, trick riding, show juming display, tent pegging, polo exhibition match with no avail.

Next day we were both called by the OC. We found Maj Nagender in an expansive mood, having his favourite Makaibari green in his favourite imported (smuggled) bone china cup. ‘I have finally come up with a fantastic idea’ He announced gleefully ‘We are going to have a shooting competition “Ride and Shoot”. 3 of our riders will come at a gallop and in front of the stage where all VIPs and I shall be seated and they will fire at the targets mounted!.

‘But sir since the last cavalry charge of Haifa in Second World War I doubt anyone has tried that’ cried Thomas ‘Our boys have no training or practice’.

 ‘Come on Thomas, we are mounted troops! I am confident, you two can train the boys’!

‘But sir we hardly have any time!’ Interjected I.

‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way. You have 10 days. You are both dismissed’ ordered Nagender.

 An order is an order and has to be obeyed in Indian Army and so with the help of Ranjit, we began our practice in right earnest. We took best of our tent pegging ponies for 3 trusted riders and galloped them hard on 3 parallel tracks. Then we provided them dummy rifles. Thereafter we took real rifles and practised with blank rounds till the horses became used to the recoil and the report. And finally we were firing with real rounds at the figure 12 targets 100 mtr  ahead when we reached the stage. It was gruesome and also dangerous.

Two days before the event, disaster stuck us as our best shot was admitted in hospital in middle of night for appendicitis. As we thought of cancelling the event, Ranjit volunteered and convinced us against our best judgement to trust him to deliver.

D Day arrived and our parade ground was decked with fluttering flags. On one side were the Other Ranks and families. On opposite side was seating arrangement for Officers, JCOs and families of the station. The dignitaries were on the stage. I and Thomas were mounted and with the display threesome at one end of the ground waiting for signal to start. We crossed our fingers and watched with bated breath as the Three Musketeers took off. The horses were flying as they approached the stage, riders raised the rifles to their shoulder, aimed and shot. While two riders went straight ahead, firing their rifle, Ranjit’s fired a volley of shots and with the unexpected report, the rifle took a 360 degree turn over his head spraying the air with deadly pieces of metal and throwing the exalted VIPs on ground hiding behind the tables in their front! ‘The bastard put his rifle on Auto’ cursed Thomas under his breath as we two watched the amazing spectacle from starting point astride our mounts.

‘I’m glad Tiger didn’t have us on the stage but here - away from the insults the Generals must be heaping on him now. But we have to marvel at their intact reflexes and drill of taking cover under fire that they learnt in training academy 30 years back’! I said.

The lunch afterwards was a muted affair and Nagender never spoke to us about it. Ranjit thereafter relapsed into binge drinking and one day rode Moonlight Drunk. The horse rushed out of his control and grazed past an electric pole shattering Ranjit’s Knee. A plastered Ranjit was to be sent to his home in Rajasthan for recuperation. We asked for volunteer to accompany him. Sita Ram, the unit carpenter lived near his village but said he won’t volunteer. Why? I asked. “Our Training ustads told us during recruit training never to volunteer in the Army. So I won’t volunteer though I am ready to accompany him” was his strange answer which later I found many followed. Sita Ram had a paralysed hand and so the couple made a hilarious sight as we were to see them off on NJP Railway Station. I expressed my appreciation for Sita Ram for his noble gesture to escort a wounded brother soldier which Ranjit dismissed with “Kya saab ye Sita Ram 20 saal latrine ke paas baith kar train ka safar kiya, aaj mere karan AC 2 mei jar aha hai. Aap bhi na” !!! Next day Nagender managed to post out  Ranjt to Northern Command  and so ended my North Bengal equestrian training suddenly and unceremoniously.