Praise and punishment

As a supplement to the NCC, another organisation known as the Auxiliary Cadet Corps (ACC) was raised in the early 1950s. Cadets wore khaki shirts and shorts and did military drills, but no training with weapons. The ACC was engaged mainly in social service.

I joined the ACC in Class 8. The first of the two social service camps I attended was in Sonepat, in 1955. Our school was allotted three vacancies. I was placed fourth, as the first reserve, and was disappointed. However, one out of the three developed fever and I replaced him.

There were several hundred cadets from different schools. We lived eight-to-a-tent, sleeping on the floor. Early morning, we had to make our beds and wrap the canvas walls around the corner poles. Then we were taken to our work site, carrying pickaxes, shovels and straw baskets. Our task was to make a road. Digging and piling up the soil was a tough task. I worked with diligence and even developed sores on my palms. The supervising Subedar must have been keeping a close watch.

At the end of the first week, I was taken off for three days and deputed to regimental police duties. I had to keep an eye on the large camp while the cadets were away. The duty was physically light, but carried heavy responsibility to guard against any unauthorised entry in the spread-out camp.

Two days before the camp was to end, we were at the field site when the Subedar called out my name. Leaving the shovel, I moved at the double, but he shouted, ‘Come marching.’ The camp commandant, a Major, nodded approvingly on seeing my marching and saluting.

The then defence minister Kailash Nath Katju was to present a trophy. Two of us were selected to receive it. On a given signal, we were to march towards the centre, turn left or right, climb the stage, halt, salute and receive the trophy. We did many rehearsals. All went off smoothly on the final day.

We returned home on a Sunday. When I showed father my still-raw palms, he complimented me, and as a reward, allowed me to have an unscheduled holiday the next day. This was a rare concession from an otherwise strict military parent.

When I reached school on Tuesday, to my surprise, many students enquired about my absence. I was summoned by the headmaster. It so happened that the photograph of trophy presentation had appeared in the newspapers. A special school assembly was called on Monday to honour me. My name was repeatedly called, but I was missing.

In the presence of other teachers in his office, the headmaster lauded me profusely, thumped my back and offered me sweets. After he had finished, he turned his usual stern self and said, ‘For being absent without leave yesterday, you are being fined four annas.’