Stolen pistol and a wild ghost hunt

In the mid-1970s, I was posted along the Line of Control (LoC) in the Chhamb sector of Jammu and Kashmir. Bunkers and tents were our abode and also the place to secure weapons and other warlike materials. During the monsoon, frequent flooding demanded quick relocation of troops and stores. Hurricane lamps and rum bottles filled with kerosene were the only source of illumination. We lived in harmony with nature, like hermits!

The security of weapons kept in a tent was always a challenge. In those days, the ubiquitous pistols were always on the radar of mischief mongers, to smuggle one away to the gangs of Chambal. To prevent any theft, the weapons were counted every evening and the area was sealed off. During one such inspection, it came to light that a pistol had been whisked away. The loss of a weapon is a blot on the unit. The reaction was swift. All movement out of the area was immediately prohibited and an investigation was launched.

The night rolled over, but the pistol remained elusive. Desperate situations at times lead to unusual and uncharacteristic responses. This was certainly the case here. A soldier from another battalion, who proclaimed to have magical powers, was confident he could locate the pistol.

Upon his arrival, he prepared a place for ‘havan’ and started recitation of mantras. He kept his eyes closed with a black band. During the recitation, he often rose and went around hopping trenches like a maverick. We all looked at his antics with near disbelief.

As darkness gripped the area, he announced that the pistol was 160 miles away. He would summon a ghost, he announced, as he sought a volunteer who would ride on the ghost’s back and fetch the pistol!

There was an eerie silence; it seemed like a scene from one of the ghost movies of Bollywood. Seeing a smile on the maverick’s face, I declared my willingness to ride on the ghost’s back. The ghost, of course, didn’t oblige. I then called our super-heavyweight wrestler and ordered him to ride on the maverick’s back till the ghost appears. The maverick’s facade fell apart.

We swung back to our systemic process of interrogation. After working the whole night, we narrowed down our probe to two suspects. In the morning, we gave everyone a break for an hour. I retired to my tent. After half an hour, my buddy found a slip dropped closed to my tent, giving the location of the pistol. Employing metal detectors, we pulled out the pistol from the ground, buried under a tree.

With the pistol secured, the maverick ghost-caller unveiled and the culprit in the net, we heaved a sigh of relief.