A 60-HOUR WORKDAY

A 40-hour work week is sustainable for the long haul with weekends and holidays. Sleep-deprivation cannot be made up in one go and can have serious consequences, especially in hazardous jobs. It is like stretching a rubber band; we never know when it will snap. People wondered how terrorists in the 26/11 Mumbai attack sustained themselves and fought for 60 hours at a stretch. Sometimes, there are so many things to be done, that we wish a day had more than 24 hours. Although I valued eight hours of snooze time that the human circadian rhythm needs, somebody's wish got fulfilled and I got my longest workday in IPKF (Sri Lanka) that started one morning and ended when I went to bed 60 hours later.

Our Unit HQ was to move from Palalli in Jaffna to Paranthan and being junior-most Team-Commander, my Team was ‘packers and movers’ for HQ offices, stores, magazine, Officers’ Mess, canteen, etc. We packed and loaded the first day; drove through hostile areas at night; and unloaded/ set up the new camp next day. It rained the whole day while we dismantled tents, packed and loaded everything in trucks. The Army marches on its belly and the cookhouses were packed up last after dishing out hot lunch, dinner and packed haversack meals for everyone. My stuff was already packed, leaving nowhere to sneak a nap (even if it was possible); just like burning boats ruled out the temptation of retreat.

The move was planned at night to avoid being ambushed. The day’s drizzle turned into a heavy downpour at night. We started after briefing the troops on a myriad of contingencies. I led the convoy in an open Jonga and we drove all night, with everyone on guard for self protection. Before dawn we crossed Elephant-Pass that linked the Sri Lankan mainland with Jaffna Peninsula and reached Paranthan at daybreak. I was completely soaked despite my raincoat. The rain continued next day as we unloaded stores, pitched tents and set-up the new camp. Located bang on a busy public thoroughfare road, guarding it 24X7 was a nightmare.

I looked forward to some food and rest after the day’s work, when Adjutant ordered me out on a foot patrol that could take at least a few hours. ‘Business continuity’ was crucial and a break was out of the question. My men had worked nonstop for 36 hours, which I assumed was the limit; and felt they were not fit for patrolling, which demanded complete alertness. When I tried to reason it out, Adjutant said these were CO’s orders and that I could speak to him. CO was disappointed and asked to meet the men. He addressed them with just three sentences; “Your Team Commander tells me you are not fit for patrolling. I want you to go. Are you ready?” to which they all chorused “Yes Sir” in complete unison. I had assumed they would support my stand and was most embarrassed when CO rubbed it in with “See Vaidya, your men are ready”.

Flashback to a few months before I joined the unit; my Team had been surrounded by militants for over 24 hours. They were running out of ammunition and faced the prospect of being massacred next day if not extricated to safety. CO decided to save ‘his’ men and accompanied a troop of tanks led by Maj Kaul. A railway line that led straight to their location was the best navigation aid and least likely to be mined; but they had to fight their way through stiff opposition. CO was sitting on the turret of a T-72 tank as there was no space inside, when a rocket propelled grenade hit the tank. Both officers were wounded, but they carried on undaunted, linked up with the beleaguered Team and brought them back to safety (both got gallantry awards).

During an earlier tenure when I had served with CO, an AN-12 flight was scheduled in the morning for anti-hijack training at Bombay. I was reconciled to miss the trip as I had a promotion exam that morning, but I came out of the exam hall to find a DR (motorcycle Dispatch Rider) waiting for me with news that the flight was rescheduled. CO had postponed the departure so I could join them. I sent home word that I would be back two days later and was ready to go with a toothbrush and soap from the canteen. My woolen ‘Angola’ shirt was hot for Mumbai and I sweated two nights trying out some interesting anti-hijack drills in a parked airliner. CO was an exemplary leader worthy of dying for and it was a privilege to work with him.

Back in Paranthan, we went patrolling after 36 hours of continuous mundane work, not knowing that we would be on our toes for another 24 hours. A paratrooper may have second thoughts before a jump till ‘Yellow On’, but all hesitation disappears at ‘Green On’. Now it was ‘Green On’ for our patrolling; we chose an impromptu cross-country route and moved out into the darkness and light drizzle, hoping to return quickly. ‘Man proposes and God disposes’ and it turned out to be quite an action packed night. Being unfamiliar with the maps and area, we made a navigation error and found ourselves close to a raised road passing through paddy fields, trying to figure out where we were.

Just then a man came along on a bicycle with a bottle of toddy; we jumped out from the dark and caught him. Locals may know about militant activity in the area, but never volunteered information to us, so I threatened to choke (and kill) him on his toddy. (An over-enthusiastic senior had once pushed me on my back and pinched my nose to make me finish a bottle of beer in one go, which would have surely choked me). Our demeanor, the darkness, rain, the graphic description our method and how it would not raise suspicion against us; all convinced ‘Toddy-man’ we were desperate. He panicked and agreed to lead us to a militant sleeping in a house nearby.

Just then, two vehicles’ headlights approached us on the road. Vehicles did not normally move at night and assuming they were militants we quickly laid an ambush, using the bicycle to stop the vehicles in our kill zone. When they halted, we realized from their sound that they were IPKF vehicles; someone shouted orders and soldiers advanced towards us in assault line formation. Too late, I realized it was the local MADRAS Unit. We had not liaised with them on arrival and didn’t know their activity. The cocking of SLRs pointed at us was most scary as I knew the devastating effect of 7.62x51mm bullets. All the options of reaction, i.e., ‘Fight, Flight or Freeze’ were ruled out; Fight, as we knew they were friends (but they didn’t know us); Flight was impossible; and Freeze was fatal as they would reach us shortly.

I was responsible for the consequence and had to defuse the situation immediately. On an impulse I stood up in the glare of the lead vehicle’s headlights with one arm raised and my Kalashnikov pointed down non-threateningly; and shouted “We are PARAs and they are MADRAS, DO NOT SHOOT”. Being illuminated like a night-firing target, I was most likely to be shot first if anyone panicked. I was relieved that the tension eased; otherwise it would have been impossible to stop the fratricide if firing had started. The silence that followed was so intense that I could almost sense their safety catches being engaged. This touch-and-go situation was fortunately averted; we introduced ourselves as new kids in the block and moved on for the promised militant.

It is said that destiny favors the brave. The bad weather and rain had made the village dogs ineffective and they did not bark at our presence, which enabled us to surround the indicated house with complete surprise and nab a stocky militant called ‘Putta’. He put up a stiff struggle and probably tried to use his cyanide capsule, but we managed to wrestle him down. (We are ‘swift, silent and deadly’). Meanwhile, helpful ‘toddy-man’ was allowed to disappear with his toddy, grateful to be alive. When interrogated, Putta told us about a large group of armed militants at Shivam Kovil and agreed to take us there. He cooperated rather easily, but could not explain landmarks or maps, giving an impression that he was intellectually impaired. He was actually buying time and taking us for a royal ride so that his militant friends could remove caches potentially compromised by his capture.

I informed Battalion HQ about the captured militant and his information. Since my patrol had only 25 men, reinforcements were needed to take on the militants expected at Shivam Kovil. All personnel (including CO) joined us for the anticipated fight ahead, which gave a morbid sense of revenge at pulling them all out of the camp. We walked all night and half the next day, and reached Shivam Kovil to find it completely deserted.

We generally carried enough food for our operations and replenishment was done if the planned duration was extended. The first day would be cooked food (puris, dry vegetables, pickles and boiled eggs), which could spoil fast; the next two days had dry rations (rice, pulses, salt, spices, oil, onions and potatoes) to be cooked during halts; and emergency rations were shakarpara (fried chips of wheat-flour, milk powder, sugar and eggs) and a handful of dry peanuts and gram each (ideally soaked overnight). Walking with loads was hard work and we supplemented haversack reserves whenever possible by living off the land. A group is as strong as the weakest individual and we shared our food because even one liability due to lack of nourishment was unacceptable. We carried everything we needed, which gave everything a special value.

We expected to return in a few hours, so we didn’t have the usual rations this time and were short of food. Our Commander came to visit us in a chopper along with cooked food and we marked a Landing Zone on level ground for the chopper. I was guiding its landing and during the last stage of descent was taken completely by surprise when the pilot suddenly veered off towards another spot that probably looked better from the air. This area was actually sloping and could have caused a serious accident if the spinning rotors hit the ground. There was no time to lose and I used some desperate improvised signals to ensure it landed at our marked LZ. After landing, the pilot saw his chosen spot and realized that it was indeed a close shave.

We called off the wild goose chase and started back for our brand new camp after the midday meal. Our camp was due north-west, so we kept the setting Sun to our half-left and marched on. When we operating self-contained in jungles for three days and two nights at a stretch, it was impossible to walk at night, and we slept on groundsheets with water-bottles as headrests. However, I am confident that my head didn’t touch a pillow (or water-bottle headrest) for these 60 hours and I don’t recall ‘sleeping’ at all. This experience made me realize that mental endurance prevails over physical toughness. Maybe we could have carried on a little longer.

Such endurance may be feasible for a single tough individual, and I am proud that we all pulled through as a group. Our team spirit had kept us going beyond what I thought was our physical and mental limit. We finally reached camp at 8:00 PM after more than 60 hours of non-stop action; had dinner and crashed into the deepest sleep I can never recall. In his book ‘The Old Man and the Sea’, Ernest Hemmingway describes the old man’s struggle with a huge fish, where he thinks “I wish I was the fish; with everything he has, against only my will and my intelligence”.