Moments of sunny side up in 1971 war

ASPOT of humour, a witty remark or the oddity of a situation are priceless in war. Two days after my 20th birthday in the trenches, the balloon went up with Pakistan's multiple raids deep inside India by F-86 Sabre jets. Our aircraft responded in full measure. One of our fighters returning from a mission jettisoned an empty drop tank over us. A lone farmer nearby appeared amused: "Duje wich kudya hona" (pilot must have jumped into the other aircraft)!

During our advance to Shakargarh, the Company Commander, Major Kohli, was summoned to the rear, requiring me to lead. Around 4 am, having covered 20 km, we came under heavy fire. Just before daybreak, I found the Brigade Commander beside me, accompanied by the Commanding Officer. I briefed him on the extent of fire (tracer projectiles are visible in dark). That he was kneeling beside me showed that war is a great leveller, driving people to 'mother earth'.

"I'm Sukhi Chand, but they call me Dukhi Chand," is how a senior officer of a sister battalion introduced himself in a moonlit night as I indicated the route for his battalion.

Andy, my buddy, set about brewing tea and the billowing smoke attracted a few sabres. That's when the plucky Kohli picked up a slug and flung it towards me, "Binny catch, garam hai" (it’s hot).

Early inoculation proved valuable. Resting with my back against a tree after the first night's artillery pounding, my eyes opened to the splattering of a sabre's front guns, as I vaulted for cover. Lesson: Artillery shells come whistling. Sabres scream, but skimming the earth at treetop level, make a silent approach.

Trapped in a narrow village lane by a sabre that came in for the kill, my patrol's evasive actions flustered the pilot, making multiple runs. If only he had the sense to come in along the lane, he would have sighted and skewered us easily. This was like schoolchildren playing hide and seek.

Ordered to check the depth of the Bein river skirting Pakistan's stronghold, a night patrol went up and lay prone. Kohli whispered to sepoy Swaran Singh to check. He moved up, plonked into the river and scurried back. “Kini hai?” (how much) asked Kohli. "Thale gilla hai, belt sukki hai," (my bottom is wet, the belt dry) he reported in unprintable chaste Punjabi.

An enthusiastic officer stripped the rifle of a captured Pakistani soldier. Unable to reassemble the rifle, frantic calls to evacuate the PW unnerved him. "Just open his blindfold and ask him to assemble it," Kohli advised helpfully.

Stout and ever-cheerful, Gurdial Singh made light of a sabre's fusillade on us, then zooming up and disgorging bombs. "Lid kar gaya," (he's evacuated). It is he who mustered his section to whitewash a mosque in the adjoining Badwal village after the ceasefire and won many hearts.

My unit was 9 MAHAR and the Indian Army is full of such gutsy and spirited men.