Sanjha Morcha

My homage to all the fauji mothers

They quietly pray for the wellbeing of their children, accept their absence as a matter of fact, and ask for nothing in return

My homage to all the fauji mothers

Photo for representation only.

Brig Vivek Lall (Retd)

A regimental Police Havildar Major (RPHM) in a Rajputana Rifles battalion epitomises the most sterling qualities of a senior non-commissioned officer. He is of very sound integrity, is disciplined and has quite a precise understanding of all that happens in the battalion. Responsible for enforcing good order and regimental discipline as well as security of the battalion base, the RPHM has the ears of the Subedar Major (seniormost among all ranks other than the officers), the battalion’s Second-in-Command and the CO, directly and often separately.

The RPHM while I was deployed in Kashmir as a young infantry officer in the 1990s was precisely that. A mature soldier with quite an impressive personality, he also nurtured the trademark Rajputana Rifles moustache, which makes our soldiers appear quite imposing.

The RPHM also appeared to have had genuine concern for me. Once when I was on leave, I got home just in time to see him get up sheepishly after a cup of tea with my mother. He told me about some walnuts he had brought for us and then quickly left, leaving me surprised. I understood his discomfort only when my mother confronted me. Apparently, in typical ‘Sholay’ style, he first told my mother about how sincere an officer I was. He built an image of me being intelligent and was very complimentary about my performance in training courses. He told her that these qualities would certainly take me to senior ranks. But then, he added that all that would not work for me if I continued to drink and smoke, something which good officers do not do. In good measure, he told her I was a good leader when it came to operations against terrorists, and though young, I led from the front. But then he also said that I was putting my life at risk.

For someone like my mother, who had no idea about the Army or operations, because I did not communicate too well and certainly did not want her to worry, this would have been quite a shock. But, true to her stoic character, she took it all very calmly. She only said that the RPHM appeared a very sensible person and that I should heed his advice.

Her strength became a realisation much later. She too went through the emotional roller coaster of my numerous field postings. As a young school-going boy, when I was leaving for the NDA, the only thing she said was, “Why don’t you consider options other than joining the Army?”

There were no telephones, she could not read, but she certainly understood how far I was going and what it would mean for the future, much better than I did. For the next over three decades, I only travelled home on vacations to be greeted with much happiness and my favourite food on arrival, but also with uncomplaining tears on departure. She had no idea about what I did and I could never build upon what the RPHM had told her about our operations. But she watched every news report she could about Kashmir, Pakistan and China, always worried about my safety. The only thing she asked of me was to be careful and to look after myself. It is only when I took early retirement that I realised what she might have been going through. Other than my wife, she was the happiest. For the first time, she told me how worried she had always been and expressed relief that I would not go to those dangerous areas again.

The only other thing that she asked of me was to live my life with integrity. As I grew in rank, she would often repeat herself, asking me to not do anything wrong even if it meant having less money to spend. I think I learnt more about officer-like qualities from her than during my training.

I have no doubts about her great strength of character. She withstood long separations without any complaint, managed her life herself till as long as she could, and never asked anything for herself. In remembering her, I pay homage not just to her but to all the strong and silent fauji mothers who quietly pray for the wellbeing of their children, accept their absence as a matter of fact, and ask for nothing in return.