"End of a Long Journey"

PERSPECTIVE
It is fascinating to see how rapidly all spheres of life are changing including that of soldiering. In the same view, the wind of change has not left the hills of Nepal unscathed either. Viewed from my humble perspective, it is even more fascinating to watch the change. To give the readers an idea of my perspective, I however need to tell you my personal story, an experience that started well before that of the Regiment. Because the recent part of the story can still be seen, I would like to dwell mostly on its beginning. 

JOURNEY BEGINS
As I write, I am imminently reaching the end of my long journey that is my service. Long in terms of its duration, the countries visited and personalities met. The journey started with a group of lads from a typical village in west Nepal, which was then some six days walk to the nearest road head. The 1956 Dasain celebrations were still very much in the festive, village air and the people were beginning to focus their attention on how best to harvest the crops of rice, lentil and millet that were ripening under the autumn sun. However, I was one of those already preoccupied with a hard life decision. As we had long made up our mind to leave behind for the first time our family, friends and sweet hearts for a destination then vaguely known to us as Malaya. It was middle October when one chilly morning, the villagers came out of their houses to watch us file down the path of our journey. They shouted and blessed us to “come back with fame and fortune”. In Nepali tradition, blessings are given and taken very seriously and I will return to this subject at the end.
Not having much personal belonging to carry for the trip, we were walking as fast as the gallawala could keep pace with us, while always making sure he was kept safely in the middle of the file. The lads were happiest when walking along forest paths singing and frolicking. On the way old folk would stop us to make caring inquiries about our journey and on hearing that we were going to Lahur (foreign service), they would ask us to take care of ourselves. Some would even ask us to look out for their relatives who had been gone there for too long. There were occasions too when we were taunted by businessmen and officials, as we passed through small towns. During that time, the psychological wounds brought home by World War survivors were as yet, not healed. Nepal was still pretty much a closed country and there were government checkpoints along the routes to stop any illegal migration of people from the hills. 

After six days we reached Paklihawa, which I can still remember for its collection of tents under huge trees. To me, the place seemed to be full of strange youths. Many spoke their own dialects. For the first time I met the Rais, Limbus and Sunuwars looking distinctly apart in their traditional attire and carrying khukuris. 

The recruit selection was a quick process and was over in two days or less. The physical test was a mere 100 yards dash. I cannot remember an education test whilst the medical test was limited to a visual inspection. Still the pass rate was quite poor. Those lucky to be selected were marked conspicuously with an eight-figure army number in red enamel. Mine was ‘21147963’ and was painted right across my chest. For many it was a good mental exercise just to remember and recite the army number. The day of enlistment was 30th October 1956, to be forever etched in my memory. From then on, that date also became the official day of my birth in all the important personal documents.

Everybody looked strangely the same and difficult to recognize in khaki uniforms. I was put in a Boy Section and was completely isolated from my group. After about 2 weeks in Paklihawa we marched to Lehra, a recruit collection point on the Indian side of the border. It was a very crowded camp with recruit conductors, administrative staff and some 1,200 recruits. At best, it was a make shift camp to help us endure the Indian Winter for the next three months or so. 

The first phase of our arduous journey to Malaya began with a march for some five miles to a railway line to board a train. After two days on the train including a short haul in Benaras, we arrived in Calcutta. The journey across the ocean was by a merchant ship, which changed its cargo at Rangoon. Many fell sea sick from day one and about the13 days or so the voyage took, it became an unforgettable experience for them. 

TRAINING
The start of Boys Company training in February 1957 sparked a sudden change in our pace and sharply altered our meaning in life. For the boy soldiers, it came as a breath of fresh air for we were in a completely new and improved environment. Although we endured a vigorous daily programme, we were force-fed with good food and were given plenty of rest. Day and night, the instructors drilled us in the rudiments of military discipline and all the while, the main emphasis was on basic education. Many had to start from the alphabet. The Drill Instructors and Education Instructors vied against each other for the control of the boys. The Education Officer was a Major FW Rawding, who fiercely guarded the boys during the education periods from any other less meaningful activities. Weapon training was not included in the programme. Our main sporting event was an annual boxing competition. Over two years in the Boys Company the instructors proved to be both caring and harsh. 

We passed out from the Boys Company at the end of 1958, about the same time the Gurkha Army Service Corps (GASC) was forming. Although there was no one to explain to us about the new regiment, 40 of us found ourselves joining the GASC recruits for basic recruit training in No. 5 Training Company. Throughout the training, we wore a RASC cap badge. GASC recruits were divided in two platoons, with instructors who were not of the highest caliber and who wore different cap badges to us. I cannot forget one sad story in our section about a recruit, who suffered an unnecessary injury and was discharged toward the end of training. Bullying by the instructors, expressly forbidden these days, seemed to be an accepted practice then. 
Not having any instructors or British Officers of common cap badge was disheartening. However our spirits lifted when two RASC subalterns made regular visits to the GASC Platoons. I believe one of them was Lieutenant McGuirk, who was attending the Gurkha Language Course in the Depot. Towards the end of recruit training, some GASC driving instructors came down from Kluang with some QL Bedford 4 Ton to introduce us to driver training.

As the first batch of directly enlisted GASC recruits, we joined the respective companies in December 1959 as trained soldiers; 30 Company at Kluang and 28 Company at Batu Pahat. Those of us in 28 Company first began basic driver training in a disused airfield and later progressed on to the roads of Johore Bahru and Singapore. 

RETURNING HOME ON LEAVE 
Shortly after basic driver training in April 1960, the boy party were ready to go on their statutory six-month leave, in our case, having completed three and half year service. This time, the travel from Singapore to Calcutta was by air. Leave process at Paklihawa was much more tedious affair than recruit selection. In keeping with the understanding between the two governments, it was still mandatory then to observe ‘Pani Patya’ (purification ceremony) for seven days, before we would be allowed back to Hindu society. We attended the religious ceremony to obtain a certificate to the effect. The rest of the journey home was on foot. Everybody hired at least one porter to carry the load of presents for his family members. Despite its weight, it was customary to use metal trunks bought from Calcutta. Coinage was the only form of currency used, as Nepal had not yet begun circulating notes. I personally carried three thousand rupees in coins, which included my savings and leave pay. It came to some five pounds in weight. The rupee was made of silver and the rest in copper. Returning home took more days because of the mostly uphill route and load. The last two days I was on my own with the porter. Lahures are rich pickings for highway robbers, which I had heard so much about from my elders. The possibility of even the porter jumping on you was always present. With the porter slogging behind me, I was walking anxiously through a dark forest, a mile past the famous Kali Gandaki ford. Suddenly I heard a commotion and a large party of men appeared to be rushing towards us. Thinking of the worst to happen, I instantly drew my khukuri only to realize that it was a Bahun funeral party rushing the dead body to the river for cremation. They were as much bewildered as myself and shouted at us to quickly move up the road, so that we would not defile the dead.

In those days, men were sent on leave only twice a year, one in summer and the other in winter. The summer leave was a good opportunity to help the family in the field and possibly celebrate Dasain with them. However, traveling in summer could be hazardous due to floods and landslides. One example of this point concerns two 28 Squadron soldiers, who died whilst returning from leave in the seventies. While crossing a recently flooded river, they had the misfortune of walking across a fallen tree housing a deadly hornet’s nest. In my own case, I was nearly swept to a certain mishap by a river current when fording the icy Madi khola. We were most fortunate to be rescued by local youths. The metal trunk the porter was carrying got so waterlogged and heavy that we could not reach home that evening. Having lost the way completely at night, we ended up spending the night cold, exhausted and hungry in a forest. 
Life in the village was pretty much unchanged. Every body was content and completely occupied in daily work from dawn to dusk. I was automatically absorbed into the village routine throughout the leave. In those days, every family in the hills, rich or poor, had to produce its own food supply. The arrival of either an Indian or British Lahure always brought much excitement to a village. His presence would mean free cigarettes for everybody, free raskshi for the elders and not forgetting, a surge of anticipation in the hearts of all eligible girls. A Lahure bachelor would most likely be married during his first leave, although it would not be surprising to find an already married Lahure, marrying again. However my father, an accomplished soldier himself, decided that I should not lose focus of my army career by early marriage. In those days, it was not possible to appreciably enhance one’s standard of living even with the British Army service, but somehow the moneylender always did very well with a Lahure’s family. Contd ..........

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