Shortcomings that never stood in way

Lt Col AK Ahlawat

Honorary Captain Sushil Kumar of 9 Deccan Horse won a Vir Chakra for valour in the 1971 Indo-Pak war in the Battle of Chhamb. Now 78, and residing in a village in Himachal Pradesh, he recounts how he joined the Army:

Born on October 27, 1943, I got enrolled in 1962. I was just about 5 feet, 2 inches tall. They turned me back every time I presented myself at the recruiting office. “No, you are too short. We don’t need such tiny men.”

After a few days, I would again present myself hoping that I would have grown a bit. They would turn me away.

The recruiting officer, in a white uniform, had been observing my antics for a long time. One day, he told the Subedar assisting him, “I have been watching this short lad. Enrol him. He will catch up in height once he is in the Army routine.”

So they enrolled me. I asked the Subedar, “Where will you send me?”

He said that with my short height and puny frame, I was earmarked for Ordnance.

I told him that after facing so many vicissitudes, I have not come in the Army to join Ordnance. I said I wanted to go to the fauj that fights in battles. The JCO looked askance at me, contemplating something and then said, “Okay, then you go to Armoured Corps.”

I soon boarded a train headed for Ahmednagar where the Armoured Corps training centre is located. I was sitting on the floor when the train reached Delhi. The train was filled with faujis as the 1962 India-China war was going on. A stalwart Havildar of the infantry saw me and enquired, “Have you run away from your home, where are you headed?”

I replied with some self-pride, “I am also an enlisted sarkari man.”

He said, “Okay, in which fauj?”

I said, “In Armoured Corps.”

That man started bellowing with laughter and nudged his cronies, “So, you little flower have enrolled in khacchar (mule) corps. You will keep collecting horse droppings all your life.”

I said it can’t be so. I had specifically asked to join the fauj that fights battles.

The Havildar again broke into laughter, “Poor boy, nobody told you. By the time you retire, your back will be permanently bent from carting horse dung all your life.”

I confessed I was the first man in my family to have enrolled. There was nobody for miles around in the Army in my family.

My countenance must have fallen, so he said, “Cheer up. You will soon start liking your job. Mules are friendly animals. They are also authorised a lot of rum ration. You will get to drink plenty of free mule rum. After all, who can question a mule?”

The train clattered on. I deliberated on the dice throw of destiny.

When the train reached Manmad, I met an instructor from the Armoured Corps Training School. I unloaded the burden of my heart straightaway. A smile played on his face. He said, “My dear boy, the horses have been gone for 20 years. Now we have steel horses called tanks.”

After training, I was allotted 9 Deccan Horse. In the 1965 war, our Sherman Mark 4 tank got bogged down in a sugarcane field near Icchogil canal. The moment we came out, we were surrounded by enemy soldiers. For six months, I remained a Prisoner of War and we were repatriated after the Tashkent agreement.

Back, I was asked whether I wanted to go on pension. I told them I was looking forward to becoming a Subedar Major, not a pensioner.

On December 5, 1971, I found myself with our tank troop covering the Sukh Tau Nullah approach near Chhamb. At first light, we engaged the enemy and destroyed five tanks. I was awarded Vir Chakra, along with my tank commander, Risaldar Brahmanand.

In the final reckoning, the boy who was too short for the Army fought in two wars, remained a PoW, won VrC, and retired as an Honorary Captain.

My only wish is that the Army should place a decommissioned T-54 tank at the entrance of my village. You can laugh at the proposition, but remember what I represent: Never say never.

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