hymn

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Regimental Training for a Young Officer

A Regiment of Many Classes

In January 1983, I joined the 75 Medium Regiment—my first posting as a freshly minted officer. The Regiment then had an intriguing class composition: one battery of Brahmins (excluding those from the Southern and Eastern States), a second battery of Jats, and a third manned by soldiers from the four Southern States. Managing each battery required a different approach—their reactions, languages, and needs were distinct. Today, the Regiment draws soldiers from every class and region across the nation.

I was allotted the Brahmin Battery, commanded by Late Major Daulat Bhardwaj. A Brahmin himself, his first advice to me was uncompromising: “To command Brahmin soldiers, you must be a Brahmin yourself. Beat them in all aspects—physical, mental, and spiritual. You must be mentally alert and morally straight, else they will never respect you. Once you earn their respect and confidence, they will follow you blindly.”

He continued, “You are a Christian from Kerala. You have to beat the Brahmins even in spiritual matters. Attend the Mandir Parade every evening, learn the aartis, slokas, mantras, and hymns by heart, understand their meaning, and apply them to your everyday life.”

Within a month, I could sing the aarti and recite the slokas fluently. I had become a Brahmin. Even though the first of the Ten Commandments declares, “You shall have no other gods before Me,” for any officer of the Indian Army, the religion of the soldiers they command comes before their own. While my lips moved to Hindu prayers, my heart prayed to my Lord and Saviour, Christ. In truth, I was praying to a God I did not believe in—for soldiers who believed in me.

The Lilliput Among Giants

The soldiers of the Brahmin Battery—especially the Medium Gunners who manned the 8-ton 130mm Russian gun—were all well-built, nearly six feet tall. They were selected for their strength to handle the gun’s 50 kg shells, and for the physically punishing task of transitioning the gun from travelling mode to action mode. Among these giants, I stood as a Lilliput. I had to look up to meet their eyes when I spoke. Instead of them looking up to me, I was looking up to them.

Life in the Barracks

My first quarters in the Regiment were in the soldiers’ barracks. My bed was placed next to Havildar Brij Bhushan Mishra, better known among the soldiers as BB Major. He was the senior-most Gun Detachment Commander, renowned for his gunnery training abilities. He spoke softly, almost in a whisper, forcing soldiers to strain their ears. He believed little in talk, but the soldiers respected and feared him. He was tough, and he sported a ferocious handlebar moustache. He lived by the doctrine that soldiers and brass are alike—the harder you rub, the brighter they shine.

Gun Drill and a Humbling Lesson

I began gunnery training like any recruit—as Number 9 of the detachment, attending Gun Drill classes under BB Major’s watchful eye. With each passing day, I was promoted until, within two weeks, I became the Gun Detachment Commander.

I was impressed with my swift advancement—until I goofed up. During a drill, my omission could have jeopardised the safety of the crew. BB Major’s timely intervention saved me. He ordered “Stand Fast”—the command that freezes everyone when a commander senses risk. He pulled me out, shook me hard, and said, “Saheb, you must take care of the soldiers under your command. You must be alert at all times. You cannot risk their safety because of your carelessness.”

Major Daulat Bhardwaj, watching from the sidelines, called out: “BB, तेरे मूछों में दम है!” (There is strength in your moustache!)

I did not speak a word. I was shaken and deeply guilty.

Mutual Respect

That incident forged mutual respect between BB Major and me. In later training sessions, he often quoted it to young soldiers—and how well I had taken it in my stride. He added, “If I could do it to the Lieutenant Saheb, you guys better watch out.“

From that day onward, I understood: leadership is not about authority; it is about responsibility. And a leader who learns from his mistakes is one who earns the trust of those he leads. I also understood that in the Indian Army, respect is earned not by rank, but by the willingness to stand alongside your men—and sometimes, to look up to them.

2 Comments Posted on by Reji Koduvath Family, Kerala

Family Prayer

Morning and evening family prayer has been a ritual followed in our family as far as I can recollect. Our father led the prayer real loud (could be because he was a Headmaster and our grandfather who was also a Headmaster, prayed much louder) and we all followed suit. As a child I never understood the meaning of whatever I said during the prayers and also what was the intention of such an act. I always perceived it as a punishment our father meted out to all his children for our unruly behaviour. I actually realised the value and importance of it only after I joined the Indian Army.  (Please CLICK HERE read my blog on Soldier Gods)

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The family evening prayer used to begin at 9 PM with our mother singing a hymn followed by one of us children reading a passage from the bible. The prayer commenced after that and it used to last about five minutes. At the end of it everyone was expected to observe a minute or two of silent prayer. I never knew what to pray for most times, but I also sat silently. During the lent, we had special prayers and the agony extended by another five more minutes.

With advent of Television beaming out many tear jerking serials, our parents by then retired from teaching, also got addicted to many of them. In Kerala due to power shortage we have half an hour power-cut on weekdays in the evening. The timing of the power-cut used to change every month and now the evening prayer time was dictated by the power-cut, as that was the time our parents could not watch any serial.

The morning prayers were a nightmare for me as our father woke us all up by 5:30 AM and he commenced the prayer with us in chorus. I always felt that the morning prayers were much longer than the evening prayers. After the prayers, we had to brush our teeth and get cracking with the household chores. Our father distributed each one of us a task and later our eldest brother when he turned a teen took over the responsibility. By that time our father went to milk the cows and clean up the cowshed.

My main chore when I came on vacation was to draw water out of the well in the courtyard using the pulley-rope-bucket system. In those days we did not have the pumping facility. This was the toughest chore among all and as I was away most of the year at school, my brothers wanted a relief and I did not mind it. Drawing of water began by 6 AM and ended only by 9 AM as water was needed for drinking, cooking, bathing, washing and also for the animals in the shed. Last requirement of water was for my mother to bathe before setting out to the school and by that time everyone else left home for their schools/ university. This water drawing chore continued till I turned a teen as by that time a pump set was installed with pipes to distribute water to the kitchen, bathrooms and to the cowshed. During our last visit home, I wanted to show our son the pulley-rope-bucket system, but I could not find it anywhere.

Behind our house lived Vasu and Chellamma with their two daughters and son. Vasu was a daily wage earning farm hand and Chellamma made a living out of rearing cows and goats and selling milk to the neighbourhood. One day Shankara Panikkan (Please read my blog on Shankara Panickan by CLICKING HERE) died at about 5 AM. We all went to Panikkan’s home to console the family. By about 7 AM Chellamma came running to  Panikkan’s home saying that she did not wake up early in the morning as George Sir (our father) did not pray that morning as we all were at Panikkan’s home.

That was when we realised that the loud morning prayers at our home also served as a wake-up call for the neighbourhood (It would have surely woken up the God Almighty too.)