A mentor not to be forgotten

Lt Gen KJ Singh (retd)

ON commissioning in 63 Cavalry, an elite Armoured regiment, I was assigned to the Rajput squadron. Ranks in the Army, despite commissioning, have to be earned again in the regiment and till then, one remains ‘Mr’. The squadron (equivalent to company) being located away from the regiment, a youngster had to be literally on his feet or cycle throughout the day to keep up with the hectic regimental routine. 

The most profound influence was mentorship under Risaldar Sakat Singh, senior JCO, who ran the show. He was a veteran of many operations, including Congo and Bangladesh War. He was famous for being tough and often hard, more importantly ‘pucca’ on regimental ‘dastoor’ and ‘tarteeb’, which essentially sum up the ethos and culture of the Army. In keeping with traditions, the subaltern was received at the Ambala cantt railway station by senior subaltern, Lt Manbir Hundal, a mercurial and outstanding sportsman who had perfected ‘Maradona’s hand of God’ much before the world woke up to it. I, a YO (young officer) and a tea-totaller, was offered beer to guzzle, and after three bottles, I was executing the first protective manoeuvre of armoured warfare — zig-zag movement by tank under fire — with onlookers enjoying the unscheduled entertainment. 

Romantic ideas of life as a cavalry officer got further demolished as I was made to check into lines of ‘3 Troop’ (equivalent of an infantry platoon), more like a boxing ring, complete with punching and sparring bags. Sportsmen troop had boxers, all Singhs — Sher, Dharamveer, Ram —and Daku Rajveer from Chambal. The sweaty body odour instantly connected one to the recruiting heartland of rural Bharat.

Professional responsibilities started with taking charge of T-55 tank, ZX 1685, as the driver, in keeping with the status of a trooper. The access to the tank park was through another regiment. Both units were at loggerheads due to skirmishes between COs, who were taking their designation of ‘tigers’ rather seriously. Consequently, the road was out of bounds for jawans.

While cycling to the garage in the rain, I crossed Sakat and asked him an alternative way as the route went through a nullah, which was in a spate. In his laconic manner, Sakat pointed to the usual route for jawans and peddled away. When I reached the garage, I was drenched, while Sakat was bone dry looking discreetly at his watch as I was late after struggling with stream, cycle and rain.

Mentors are lifelong, and when as Army Commander I visited Hisar, the most pleasant surprise was Honorary Captain Sakat in his 80s in his Rajput turban, still ramrod straight. We recollected that wet afternoon. Sakat’s take: he had to teach many lessons — when at helm, maintain cordial relations with colleagues; plan for a route for jawans for all seasons; and factor in extra time in adverse weather. He added with a hint of mischief, ‘But you learnt your lessons well!’ 

They don’t make mentors like Sakat anymore.