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Journalism of Courage
With the sprightly nonagenarian Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw8217;s recent brush with ill health, legendary tales of his valour, grit and fighting spirit come to mind. Although I8217;ve never had the honour of meeting 8216;Old Blood and Guts8217; 8212; I seem to know him rather well because father never tired of narrating numerous 8216;after dinner stories8217; about him.
Nearly 50 years ago, father was posted at the irrigation head works at Ferozepur and Manekshaw was the swashbuckling brigade commander. The head works was also the border between India and Pakistan, with eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation; calling for close coordination and camaraderie between the 8216;irrigation chaps8217; and the faujis.
As the situation got desperate, father took a chance with the more powerful irrigation department8217;s motor launch. But midstream, its propeller too got entangled with weeds and the launch came to a halt. Soon, the swirling waters began to sway it towards the danger end. There was little else to do, but abort mission, jump off, and save their own lives! Father, being a strong swimmer got fairly close to the shore, but not enough. Mercifully, he was able to grasp a long rope end and get back 8212; albeit, without his clothes!
By then Manekshaw8217;s boat, had got working and he was already back safe and sound. In a warm, spontaneous gesture the smartly uniformed 8216;Sam Bahadur8217; hugged my towel-enshrouded father and said,8221;You are a bloody bahadur civilian , my friend.8221; A cocky junior standing close by had the temerity to say, 8220;Is this little island really worth this risk, Sir?8221; Pat came the reply from a glowering Manekshaw 8220;Every inch of Indian territory is worth it, dammit!8221;
Keep guard, sentinel Sam Bahadur!
