SEVEN POINT SIX TWO

It was more than a weapon. It was something that lived with you, that grew on you. The 7.62 mm SLR was almost human. If this ‘self-loading rifle’ was nursed and cherished and oiled and spoiled, it would stand by you as a dear friend. If you could feel the required setting of the blow back of chamber gases, the self-loading action would be perfect and the recoil just a comradely nudge in the hollow of your shoulder. If you made the effort to sometimes check the zeroing and make small adjustments respectfully, you could actually wait for a couple of ducks swimming in a lake to line up and snick both their necks with one bullet.

Fully loaded, the 7.62 mm SLR weighed about five and a half kilos. If one were running 40 kilometres with 22 kg on one’s back, the 5 kg rifle weighed about a tonne. But she was your friend.

So was Sidhu.

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A month after the course was over, an army ambulance was rushed in in an emergency to get me off my feet and into hospital pronto because I had clocked 54% Eosinophils in a blood test and was not supposed to be breathing much any longer.

But we didn’t know it then…

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Forty kilometres was not really what either of us relished. It had been more than a month of extreme training and about three hours of sleep out of every twenty four. We were ‘buddies’, responsible for each other; and we had shouldered our responsibility well, for we were also best pals from before.

At about the 8^th kilometre we stopped a night trucker and piled into his cabin. Our grimy faces and rough demeanour must have been quite a sight, not to mention the 7.62s. We rode for about three kilometres without being detected by the exercise umpires patrolling the road. Then we dropped off and crossed the check-post on foot, feeling quite the heroes of ‘The Dirty Dozen’ for having outsmarted the Army!

Another ten-twelve km on, we ‘hitched’ another ride. The driver was probably terrified, and we dozed off…

….and we rode right through the next check-post where we had to log in!

Getting off far on the other side, leaving the road and sneaking back through thorny bushes and rough ground to come behind the post and check through again was hilarious and also cost us more effort than we had saved!

The remaining twenty or so kilometres had to be covered at a fast pace, because the fiasco at the last check-post had cost us more than an hour and we were too close to the rear of the troop. It was wretched, that latter half of the run. The increased pace, the frustration of having messed up our last manoeuvre and a rising sense of haste served to sap our strength and spirit. With about eight kilometres to go, we were moving only on desperation, the 7.62s were crutches, and it was just a matter of who would succumb sooner.

Sidhu, went down first, so robbing me of the chance.

For maybe half an hour, I dragged him and coaxed him and pushed him and cajoled him; and he me. With barely three km to go, he just gave up. We both tried, but he finally shooed me off, saying that there was no use of both of us failing the test, and the course.

I went on numbly, driven by oblivion….

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Dhillon was a tough one! He was a great pal. He knew what Sidhu and I were all about, and he cared.

He met me at the 38^th km, having finished his run and coming back to fetch us!

As he grabbed at my load, I told him that I’d make it, and he’d better go back and get Sidhu. He ran off, I plodded on. I reached the end, and sent back a couple of other friends before I drowned myself in the hot cocoa being dispensed.

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It was a sensitive issue; we had been weak, we had lacked endurance and the spirit to last, we were buddies who had separated when it came to the crunch.

At the same time, we had been picked up by friends whose hearts were larger than our muscles, who cared enough to go back for us after a gruelling night themselves.

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I quit the army before the 7.62 mm SLR was phased out, and was replaced by lighter AK 56 rifles with lesser range and intimacy - or so I imagine.

We met again a few times, the 7.62 and I, when I visited my friends in the army. She always felt snug in my hands.

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Almost 25 years passed.

We kept in touch, Sidhu and I.

Things came to a pass that I asked his help. After dithering for some time, he asked, “Where were you when we ran 40 km?”

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We shatter one another so easily, we are so quick to hurt, we feed the fires of expectations and disappointments for so long....

...lifetimes go by and we forget to forgive....

...and love suffers...

...and happiness is held at bay.

I must try to delve deeper into the inner recesses of my heart; I must try to find those who I think have wronged me. My friend has taught me that I must forgive, for forgiving means letting go of hurt and ill-will. Forgiveness means freedom from feeling the need to get even.

Forgiveness is not about being the one on the right, it is about being free from the clutches of the past. It is about not sacrificing today’s happiness to demons that could have been long buried.

Forgive, it needs to be done!