“Worry cuts deeper than the executioner’s blade.”

(this will soon be a proverb, if it isn’t already)

The date matters little. Suffice it to say, it was a few months after the Babri Masjid had dominated the headlines the world over. Kadu and I sat nervously on wooden stools in the Officers’ Mess bar of Air Force Administrative College (AFAC) awaiting a summons from the Commandant. We must have committed a grave crime. Why else would Air Commodore N Sundarajan assemble his team of Air Force law experts before calling us over to his residence on a Sunday evening? My legs dangling helplessly from the high stool gave me the eerie feeling that I was already hanging from the gallows. Kadu, the more daring of the two of us, appeared cool.

***

To cut a long story short…

We belonged to a batch of officers who had passed the written test for the prestigious Staff Course at DSSC Wellington and had been detailed to undergo the two-month-long Junior Commanders’ Course at the AFAC to fulfil a mandatory requirement. The genesis of our present misery lay in a failed attempt, a day before, to gate-crash a dinner party of the instructors. When we, a handful of trainee officers, approached them with a friendly gesture, we were shown the door. Politely, of course, “Sorry gentlemen, course officers are not permitted.” That snub sounded something like “Dogs and Indians….” Wounded, we withdrew.

A couple of drinks in the bar helped flush down that feeling of hurt, and replaced it with a gnawing desire to party anyway. Seven (or, was it nine? I don’t remember now) of us at different levels of ‘happiness’ got into Kadu’s car—a Premier Padmini which he had borrowed from a friend for the duration of the course—and landed at a dhaba. Yes, a dhaba in Coimbatore. During the dinner, someone came up with a bright idea, “Let’s pay a familiarisation visit to Staff College!”

Soon, we were on the road to DSSC Wellington singing a discordant chorus, “Hum honge kamyab ek din…”

I was the only teetotaller in the packed car and sensed trouble as soon as the wheels rolled.  Kadu rejected outright, my meek plea to abandon the notion of driving on the winding road in the night. “Bloody para jumper! open the door and bail out of the car if you are scared,” he dared me mockingly. I withdrew gracefully because I knew my NDA course mate behind the wheel was in absolute control. He was finely attuned to the bottle-throttle relationship and was well below his ceiling.

The singing continued and euphoric comments kept coming until Kadu accidentally scraped an unlit road divider and screeched to a halt. In the next instant without a debate, there was consensus­ on returning to base. The resolution was accepted as if it were a bill for the revision of the pay and perks of the Members of the Parliament. There was a chorused “AYE!” Kadu applied a course correction, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

The guard on duty at the AFAC gate greeted and saluted as was his habit. He also took note of officers packed like sardines in that match-box of a noisy car. It was well past midnight.

Nearing the mess, Kadu performed a manoeuvre for which none of us was prepared. He executed a steep 163° turn to the left and drove straight into the driveway of the Commandant’s house. As if the car had been struck by lightning, the kamyabi song stopped half way. Everyone froze when Kadu stepped out of the car and rang the doorbell. What was Kadu up to—trying to wake the Commandant at an unearthly hour? We watched with mixed feelings as he returned when the doorbell remained unanswered for a good part of a minute.

“The Commandant is fast asleep. Let’s go.” Kadu said matter-of-factly as he flicked the ignition key. In an effort to reverse the car, he drove over two clay flower pots and toppled three others. In another minute we were in the parking of the trainee officers block. Quick goodbyes and everyone returned to their rooms.

Peace appeared precarious. If the portents were not ominous, they weren’t benign either.

***

The next day, a laidback Sunday, turned anxious when Kadu and I were informed that the Commandant wanted to see us at 1730h at his residence. So, there we were, the two of us waiting for the Commandant’s orderly to announce our entry.

In the hours gone by, people had conjured the worst consequences of our previous day’s demeanour. Without using the exact words, some declared that it fringed on un-officerlike behaviour. There was an opinions galore: “They might be sent back to their units.” “They might be rated very low in the JCC merit.” “The Commandant might recommend against their selection for the next Staff Course.” The doomsday scenario had been painted to perfection. By the time the Commandant’s messenger came to call us, I had convinced myself that the worst corners of the hell had been reserved for us.

This visit of ours to the Commandant’s House in AFAC was so different from the tea I had attended at the Commandant’s House years ago as a cadet at the NDA. Nothing here seemed to be good or pleasant. The Commandant, the two law experts and our own course senior were seated in a kind of square in the drawing room. It revived my memory of the only court martial I had ever attended—they looked like the jury. The two law experts somehow gave me the impression, that given an opportunity, they’d vomit the relevant Acts of the Air Force Law and tear us apart.

Mindfully, we braced up and wished the Commandant and the others a good evening and continued to stand at attention. We were not offered seats.

“What happened last night,” the Commandant said without a prelude.

Silence.

I was in a different world worrying about the near future. In my mind’s court I had repeated the following pledge the tenth time—“I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”—when the Commandant literally growled, “Tell me, what happened.”

“Sir, last evening we gate-crashed a party in the Officers’ Mess. It was in the healthy tradition of the Air Force. But, we were sent back unceremoniously,” the words just flowed out. I waited a few seconds for ‘the-healthy-tradition-of-the-Air-Force’ to sink in. Then continued, “Thereafter we went out to have dinner.”

I paused again and looked at Kadu. He took over, “On return, following the same healthy tradition, we drove to your residence to call on you for a cup of coffee. On getting no response, we returned to our rooms. While reversing, I drove over some flower pots along your pathway. The damage to property was unintentional.”

Silence.

For what seemed to be an epoch, Kadu and I stared at the Air Force Calendar hung at the eye-level on the opposite wall. While a stolen glance at the experts suggested that they were looking at loopholes in our statements. On the other side, we could almost listen to the rumbling in the Commandant’s head. When he did speak finally, it was a carefully worded statement.

“I wish you had stayed put for a while longer. I was coming to open the door,” he said.

A few more gap-filler statements were made in the following minutes before we were summarily disposed by the Commandant, “Dismiss!”

“Good night, Sir,” Kadu and I said in unison; turned about to leave.

At the door, I turned back to face the Commandant a last time, to share my parting thought, “Sir, next time we call on you for coffee, we’ll wait till you open the door.”

Had I struck the last nail in the coffin of our Staff Course prospects? We didn’t wait to watch the reaction of the court.

Needless to say, the air remained filled with anxiety till we completed the course. Finally, Kadu and I passed with above average grades and both of us were recommended to be instructors at the AFAC. Kadu was detailed for the Staff Course. I couldn’t make it; our AFAC adventure had nothing to do with it.

Not the lessons in Air Force Law, or the Military History, or Service Writing or the Air Force Administration—my most precious takeaway from the JCC was from the Commandant’s treatment of Kadu and I—not to attach meaning (particularly, evil meaning) to actions of your men when none is intended.

Comments

Air Commodore Minoo Vania SC, VM:

A bit of nostalgia for me ! As reading your story took me back to my two stints as Commandant and then further of my JC course and finally cadet days at AFAC.
I am convinced each Commandant at AFAC is destined to find atleast one ocassion of de javu coming up during his stay at the College and knows how to handle it , thanks to the past . Belying the saying…. A sped arrow , a spoken word and a missed
opportunity never return 🙏