The Soldier of Wellington

By Arjun Mohan

Hello,
My name is Serial Number 3469124 of batch 11/2016. And I am about to die in the next 19 seconds.

You might be wondering what a 155mm shell from an American made M114 cannon has to do in the lives of Anand and Preethi. But yes, I am just about to spoil it big time for them.

But this is not my story, nor the story of a war. It’s a story of boy meets girl, and their love. Still, I am smack in the middle of all this. How? That, my dear, is for me to know and you to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Apr 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9781543709544

Arjun Mohan

Arjun Mohan is a lawyer by qualification, management executive by profession and writer by choice. Born in Trivandrum, India in 1982, Arjun completed his schooling and graduation in his hometown. Having graduated in Law from the University of Kerala, he completed his Masters in IT and Media Laws from the University of Essex, UK. After a stint of legal practice in India, Arjun moved to the United Arab Emirates and has since worked in various sectors such as facility management, aviation, healthcare, and trading. He presently works as the CEO of a large corporate in the UAE and continues to write about all that inspires him.

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Copyright © 2024 by Arjun Mohan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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CONTENTS

Dedication

IThe beginning

IIMorning

IIIMorning walk

IVPiece of moonlight

VHeart in despair

VIA beautiful spring morning

VIILeap of luck

VIIIA date

IXDays of love

XWill you…?

XI(This is) My girl

XIIFather of the bride

XIIIDays in Delhi

XIVWar

XVLove and despair

XVICatastrophe

XVIIRescue attempt

XVIIIMinistries and embassies

XIXDays after the war

XXTourist angel

XXIHigher powers

XXIIDeceit and treachery

XXIIIImpossible feats

XXIVCloak and dagger

XXV Happily ever after

About the Author

Endnotes

Dedication

To my grandfather, K. Balakrishnan Nair, who opened my

eyes to the beauty of English language and literature.

I

The beginning

The deafening blasts of the Howitzers shake the ground below me. The dazzling flashes of mortars turn the pitch darkness of the night to bright daylight. The roars of jet engines in the dark skies above sound like angry whines of mythical fire-spitting dragons. And the blazing machine guns break me into a sweat even in the chill of the Himalayan winter night.

There are screams all around. Shells crater the ground incessantly. In the flashes of gun fire and thundering blasts, I see the ground littered with bodies - some moving, some still. The cold air is filled with war cries and screams that chill my blood to the bone. My God! Is this hell?

Bodies without limbs, bodies without heads, bodies that have been shredded to bits, all lay around me. I try to run, but I stumble and fall on to the hard ground, now soaked and sticky with blood. Am I hurt from the fall? Is the blood on my hands and face that of my comrades? I don’t know. Why this madness?

I see a group of people charging at me. Are they friends or foe? If they’re friends, I hope they rescue me from this torment, and if it’s the enemy, all I can hope for is the mercy of a swift execution.

They crowd around me and I see no friendly faces. Their olive-green combat fatigues bear no friendly insignia. Yes, it’s the enemy. And now, I am a prisoner of war. Will they drag me over the hard ground and throw me in some prison for the rest of my days? A single bullet to the head would be much more merciful than that. Will they be so kind? Their rifles all have long sharp bayonets. Will they fancy chopping me while I am still alive?

Why do these strangers have so much hatred in their eyes towards another human soul whom they have never met before? Have I wronged them in any way?

I see a barrel rising to my face. It comes to rest on my forehead. So, this is going to be the end. Very soon, all I will see a bright flash. What then? Is there a world beyond? Will I be reborn?

My whole life passed before my eyes - My childhood, my parents, my home - everything that has ever been dear to me. How will my parents bear to see my body being laid before them, covered in a flag? Will they be proud of me?

The gun presses to my forehead. I can feel the barrel trembling a little. Is it the wavering of a mind toward killing another man, or just the Himalayan wind that’s causing a shiver? No. It’s firming up. I see the finger squeezing the trigger. A loud bang. Silence.

I woke up covered in sweat. No! I am not dead! What a bloody nightmare! For a few moments, I I stayed there with my eyes closed, listening to the sounds around making sure that I am not on a battlefield. I could hear instead, the sounds of the moving train and the squeaking of the second-class berth. Yes, I was safe and sound, swaying inside a train that was climbing the mountain slopes.

II

Morning

Spring mornings come to the slopes of the Nilgiris like a beautiful duet - soft, sweet and mellow. The mist fights its losing battle with the rising sun for hours. The birds sing, crickets carry on with their cries until the sun reminds them the night is long gone. In short, it is an experience that will evoke the milder feelings in any human soul.

My train pulled along the platform and drew to a laboured stop with a long whistle. I got out and looked around for friendly faces. But, in a place which has nothing much, except a military contingent, who would be smiling and happy? The station had very few passengers and almost all of them were in Military uniforms. Soldiers getting back from their vacations were gathering in groups, and others were waiting for trains to take them home. I felt like a fish out of water.

Now, you must be wondering why I came here. I had just finished college and had some free time before I joined my post-graduation, I thought it would be an interesting idea to visit my brother – Vijay Nair, a Major in the Indian Army, during this break. And that is how I found myself here, in a platform full of soldiers, in a strange place, with my ‘responsible elder brother’ nowhere in sight.

What was I supposed to do now? Ask for a lift in a military truck?

Mr. Anand?, asked a very rough voice. I turned around to face a six-foot-something soldier with a stone face. Do they get some plastic surgery to paste this cold expression on their faces?

Yes. I replied with a bright beaming smile. Let me see if this makes a change.

I have been sent by Major Nair to pick you up. Please come with me, again the monotonous gruff voice. Without another word, he picked my bag and started walking towards the exit.

We walked outside to a Maruti Gypsy painted in Olive green- a standard colour for everything around here.

So, is it far to the military camp? I asked, trying my best to make conversation with my new host.

The Headquarters is 17 kilometers away. And more silence.

Does it snow here? I tried again. No sense giving up now.

Yes. Sometimes, it snows here in the winter. Another single sentence. Do they train these guys to be like this? Finally, I gave up and decided to enjoy the beautiful scenery.

One good thing the British did for India was to discover excellent hill stations, which were covered in deep jungles until then. Of course, they also built military contingents on top of most of them. The place was everything one could wish for - serene, quiet, tranquil and breathtakingly beautiful. The mountains to my left rose thousands of feet high and the valley to my right was a dead drop. The army had built a road that connected the town to their Headquarters in a straight line. Birches and pines lined the road and it was entirely devoid of traffic except for a couple of military vehicles. I saw plenty of monkeys, rabbits and squirrels on the way. It felt good to be in touch with nature. May be, this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

After a 15-minute drive still in complete silence, we reached a checkpoint at the gate of the military base. Two guys in uniform, with rifles slung over their shoulders, scrupulously checked the vehicle and waved us through. In another five minutes, the Gypsy pulled over to a driveway that led to a small, but beautiful cottage, straight from the colonial era. My ‘friend’ got out, unloaded my bags to the porch and drove off, all in fewer than 20 seconds. Military efficiency indeed! Couldn’t he have said at least a ‘bye’?

I picked up my bags and, just as I began contemplating about what to do next, my sister- in-law, Divya, was already at the porch. Maybe because she was only slightly elder to me, she had always been a good friend and I had always liked her. She led me in and I took to the house from the moment I stepped inside. One could tell that it was a soldier’s house from the general attention given to the minutest details - the sofa cushions were perfectly upright, every crystal and cutlery on the table was exactly where it was supposed to be, and not a linen showed the slightest of crease. Would there be a parade and roll–call in the morning too?

I was shown to the guest room to unpack and rest. The room had French bay windows that opened into the garden and another with a view of the mountains. To complete the transition to the age of British Raj, there stood a functional fireplace, polished to shine. I felt as if I was trapped inside a museum where my slightest touch would disorder and shrivel the perfection of things.

III

Morning walk

I have always heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. If there was any truth in this, my sister-in-law would already be ruling my brother’s heart. A Master’s degree in Psychology didn’t stop her from being an excellent cook. Breakfast was hearty with Aloo Parathas, curd, fruit bowl and a pot of excellent tea. We chatted over breakfast. Once I was done, an Army orderly came in from the shadows of the kitchen and cleared the plates. The man made no attempt to make eye contact, and did his work with efficiency and in complete silence. It was spooky- as if there were people actually living in the shadows and nooks of the house, waiting to come out of their magic lamps and serve you like Genies.

I had a long chat with Divya about things at home, my studies and my future plans. It was just about noon, and my brother was not expected home for another two hours. My sister-in-law had to take care of lunch. She suggested that I have a look at my brother’s collection of books (he had always been a bookworm) or maybe to just walk around and explore the place. I decided to stick to exploring the house first, partially because of my broken Hindi and also because I did not want to be held at gun point by some soldier on my very first day here.

My brother’s room was slightly bigger than the guest room and was meticulously decorated. There were two swords over the fireplace and numerous certificates and medals on the wall. One whole wall was covered by a shelf on which books were neatly arranged. I was in no mood to read, and our taste in books varied greatly. While I read more Jeffery Archer and other thrillers, he was into Tom Clancy and Clive Cussler. As expected, the shelf was full of books about war, strategy and weapons, both fiction and non-fiction. How interesting is that!

And then my brother’s uniform, neatly pressed and on the wall hanger, caught my eye. It was a very nice olive-green uniform with strips of colours on the chest that looked impressive, but made little sense to me, and golden insignia on the shoulder boards. Perhaps this is why men choose this career!

Next to the hanger was a full-length mirror. And that gave me an idea. I had always wanted to wear his uniform, but he wouldn’t let me anywhere near it. The opportunity had finally presented itself., I donned the uniform and checked myself in the mirror. Since my brother and I were of almost the same build, it fit me well. But the uniform was still missing the cap. Knowing how my brother kept duplicates of everything, I was sure to find a cap somewhere around. And, lo!, a shiny new cap hung on the side of the dresser. I liked what I saw in the mirror. Too bad there wasn’t a camera handy.

I slowly stepped out of the room and checked if my sister-in-law was around. She was in the kitchen talking to the orderly in Hindi. Good. The coast was clear. I decided to be a bit adventurous and stepped out of the house. Hey, I don’t get to do this every day, my mind justified.

The house had a small garden with roses and tulips. The lawn was perfectly mowed and the driveway was well paved. I walked slowly to the road outside. The area was deserted. There were huge trees lining the road. These trees must have been here for centuries. They must have witnessed everything - from this road being built by the white British army to the days of the Indian Army. If only they could tell the tales!

I walked for about a kilometer down the road and saw a red brick building that looked like a college in the distance. This must be one of the training facilities. I remembered my brother telling me that the Army had some advanced training facility here.

I reached the end of the road at the start of some small woods. I walked along, listening to the silence all around. The path was trotted upon. Maybe this is a track for those who want to enjoy some tranquility.

Don’t run away. I won’t hurt you. Come here., came a voice, out of the blue. Who was this talking to me in the middle of nowhere? Was it some ghost or a specter? All the scary, phantom tales that my grandmother had told me rushed into my mind in that instant.

Eat this. Don’t go. The sweet, female voice said again. Eat this? Did ghosts offer food before they eat you? Maybe this was one of those cute ghosts clad in a white saree.

Where are you going? I want to be your friend. Come, eat this bread. Okay, this was a friendly ghost (didn’t sound like Casper though). By this time the thought of imminent danger had passed and I began to get curious about the source of this gentle voice. I softly treaded on the pine needles, careful not to make any noise. The voice was coming from behind an old Mahogany. With all the caution in the world and all the courage I could muster, I walked close to the tree and quickly glanced over the side, and what I saw froze me in my tracks and blew the spirit off my mortal body.

IV

Piece of moonlight

If angels ever visit the Earth, I was lucky to be here when the prettiest of them decided to appear. There in front of me was a damsel of incomparable beauty. A beauty, luminant like a piece of moonlight, pure like a drop of dew. Spell-bound, I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk and my mind went totally blank.

Her skin was rosy and she had dark, long hair. She had the sharpest features, lips as red as ruby and eyes as blue and deep as the ocean. But what struck me the most was the beauty of her smile and the kindness of the expression she had. She was kneeling on the ground, feeding bread crumbs to a small herd of rabbits and pigeons that crowded around her. She was smiling and talking to them.

She was wearing an Army uniform without any stripes and badges. It is unbelievable how such an unadorned dress can look so beautiful when worn by a pretty girl. Do they recruit girls this attractive into the army?

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was,