Tipsy takes it on the chin

Short Story

Circa 1949. Nestled among the Western Ghats and the Bhadra River, the village of McDuffpura was an idyllic little place. The village was named after Colonel Qater Sir) Jeremy McDuff, MC, the Irish-origin British resident commissioner of Chikmagalur district in tribute for his paternal care for the village and its folks, and particularly for his introduction of mechanised weaving to the community. The village headman and his colleagues were unanimous in replacing the previous name of Kalahalli with that of McDuff’s, though the Government records continued to use the former.The inhabitants of McDuffpura were happy and content and the pristine settings clearly triggered their spirit. Though farming and weaving were the mainstay of the village folk, the odd family would produce a boy who would proceed to join the army. This oddity, too, had its precedent explanation.

Col McDuff being himself an officer of the Royal army (on ‘civilian’ deputation) was keen to have the able-bodied men of his district join the ranks of the Royal army, especially during the stringent times of World War II. As a step in aid, the old Colonel would urge many of the younger lads of the village to join the army as soldiers — the proverbial offer they couldn’t refuse — and also personally hand-pick one boy and groom him for officer duty. The chosen one would be sponsored by His Majesty’s funds to study in Rev Dozey’s College, Bangalore, a school renowned for its military traditions. Despite Col McDuff’s return to Dublin upon the change of guard in 1947, Rev I L Tait, the wheel-chair ridden, Kannada-speaking Warden of Dozey’s resolved to continue the tradition of sponsoring one suitable boy from McDuffpura for his education in the school, regardless of whether the boy joined the (now) Indian army or not.

OC Vaughan, a senior master of the School, would visit the village with the delegated authority of choosing the candidate ‘for such good reason as he may deem fit’. Vaughan was ever-willing to undertake this annual sojourn as he could combine the visit with his fetish for bird-watching and photography, and in particular to seek out the elusive Flameback that inhabited these parts. KB Thippasanayya, later Anglicised ‘Tipsy’ by his English classmates in Dozey’s, was selected to admission to the batch of 1949-50.

Vaughan found in Tipsy ‘a lean frame, a civilised demeanour and almost English features’, the last of which were naturally uncommon for a nine-year-old in the Western Ghats. Of course, belonging to the Kuvda warrior tribe distinguished Tipsy with physical attributes which were rare in his agrarian neighbours. The Kuvdas were genetically strapping and powerful men (and their women were tall and attractive)—quite unlike others from southern India. Ergo, most of the boys commissioned from McDuffpura to the army were Kuvdas. Tipsy’s family was rather excited at the prospect of its ward studying in an elite urban school and by no means resented his decision to leave for Bangalore. His parents —Boriah and Bolamma —were keen that Tipsy broke free of the monotony of their rustic lives and would ‘go see the world’. Tipsy, himself, was rather upbeat about moving to Bangalore though he was petrified about not knowing English. What broke his heart was leaving his darling grandma — Gangamma—fondly called Ajji by the entire village. Ajji had, in many ways, brought up Tipsy while his parents were away in the fields, and it was no coincidence that Tipsy felt closer to Ajji than to his parents. Grandparents are, anyway, quite unique and adorable.

But leave he did, carrying with him the sounds of the Bhadra gurgling along her stony path, the mornsong of the countless birds and the whistling winds of the valley.
Dozey’s was a School seeped in the traditions of the archetypical British public school, with emphasis on sport, residence in boarding and student-prefects in charge. Toilets were ‘bogs’ and 12 showers catered to the needs of 350 boarders. There were a few day-scholars as well, representing the wealthy families of the city and some princes from royal families of accompanying districts such as Sandur, and distant princely states like Kolhapur. The campus itself was a sprawling eighteen acres in the heart of the city, with four fields and many tamarind trees. The school had earned itself a reputation of catering to the highest echelons of military service, having already produced a Victoria Cross from the Great War and a chief of the British army staff, apart from several other gallantry award winners and senior ranking officers. Indeed, the calibre of the school persuaded many British officers to continue their wards in Dozey’s even after the separation of 1947. Tipsy was a misfit to begin with, largely due to his inability to speak English with his largely English / Anglo-Indian classmates, and this made him the obvious whipping-boy. Rev Tait was sensitive to the linguistic hiatus and had made special provision for boys from McDuffpura, in that, they were given exhaustive tuitions in English and also given 25 grace marks in their English papers, until the completion of their eighth standard by which time they were expected to have learnt the alien language. Till such time, papers in other subjects such as History and Scripture (which was compulsory) were taught and could be written in the vernacular, and were evaluated by masters proficient in Kannada. Such latitude was possible in those times of autonomous institutions.

Though Tipsy was singled out to be bullied by his fairer and bigger dorm-mates, he took the torture on his chin. His thick hide and non-confrontational attitude (and his sparkling skills as a centre-forward on the hockey field) soon endeared him to his perpetrators. Gradually, Tipsy became part of the clique, bullying other hapless victims!

From his dormitory window, Tipsy got a picture-perfect view of the lawns of the adjacent Bangalore United Services (or BUS) Club, home to the wild parties of the young elite of Bangalore, with live bands in attendance, waltz and foxtrot dances, pretty girls in frilly dresses and unending rum punch. While the dormitory lights went out at 7.30pm, the show next door only just began. And like a theatre-goer in a balcony seat, Tipsy watched the live ‘performance’ in incumbent darkness, gratis.

Dozey’s enjoyed a tradition of rivalry with St. Edmund’s College, another all-boys school located less than a mile away from its campus. The two schools had a history of fierce competition in sport (especially boxing), debating and, unofficially, the success of their wards in winning the attention of the girls from Rev Fuller’s Girls’ School —the only girls’ school in the vicinity. Tipsy carried Dozey’s flag high when it came to inter-school hockey and had the rare privilege of being the first Indian boy to have captained the Dozey 1st XI since the inception of the school in 1844. His leadership skills were noticed and talked about, leading to his genial but eccentric dorm master Mr. Whipsoft proffering him some unsolicited but well-meaning advice. “Son!”, he roared through his bushy beard, “You must join the Army!” “Like a true Dozenian!” he added for good measure. Tipsy was now 14 and closing in on the end of senior school. Boys at the age of 16 were known to have been directly recruited to the prestigious Indian Military Academy (or the IMA) at Dehradun, and Tipsy was quite seriously inclined towards this option, even before Whipsoft’s brainwave. He hadn’t as yet broached this topic with his family (which was a tad smaller with the passing of his mother in 1952 to a vicious bout of pneumonia). One of three brothers, he was confident that the family land of four acres and 15 guntas would continue to be tilled by father and his younger brothers, and the stocks of rice and pepper produced by their paddy fields would secure the family income. Ajji was now closing in on her 70th  birthday, but continued her hobby of knitting furiously through the day, sitting in her porch overlooking the seamless fields and waters. Tipsy decided to divulge his future plans to the family on his next visit home, which was only six weeks away, in the impending summer vacation after the ‘long term’.

In May 1954, Tipsy found himself on a bus to Belur, the closest town to his village. On arrival, he would hitch a ride on a bullock cart through kuchcha roads for about eight miles, before trekking his way through the mild slopes that formed nature’s eastern boundary of McDuffpura. Tipsy was already quite a hero in his village, not least for his exploits on the hockey field. Though 17 others had preceded him to Dozey’s, none had really made a mark like Tipsy did. Indeed, four of them had suffered the ignominy of not being fluent enough in English to continue beyond their eighth standard, and were back at the fields with their oxen and ploughs.

Unexpectedly, Tipsy faced almost no resistance to his decision to join the army. Boriah was silently pleased, having heard of the exploits of other soldiers from McDuffpura, and uplifted by the thought that his boy would join the army not as a jawan but as an officer. Ajji felt a tinge of disappointment on learning of Tipsy’s career choice, as she had hoped her favourite grandson would be at hand in the autumn of her existence. But to her credit, she brushed aside any selfish pangs she may have had and whole-heartedly encouraged Tipsy to follow his heart. “Neenu General aag beku!” (“You must become a General!”), she exclaimed in part-exhortation, part-prophecy. The only opposition Tipsy faced was from the village headman Doddanna (or Shaitan as Tipsy now called him, being accustomed after a few years in Dozey’s to awarding furtive pet names to anyone he interacted with.) Shaitan was keen that his daughter Mallika wed Tipsy in due course.

Marrying his uneducated (but charming) daughter to an English-speaking boy from Bangalore would be a colossal breakthrough for the family. However, the thought of marrying his daughter to an army man was far too risky, as these gentlemen were known to carry short ‘expiry dates’. A compromise was brokered by Shantappa, the only Advocate in the village. Shantappa was a learned and sombre-looking man who was known to trek and then cycle on a borrowed bicycle to the district Court in Chikmagalur for his occasional appearances. He was the de facto arbitrator when any dispute arose in the village, and though the final ‘judgement’ was ostensibly that of Shaitan, the content and spirit of the verdict was orchestrated by Shantappa.

Tipsy called him ‘Your Honour’. ‘Your Honour’ was pleased to prevail upon Shaitan to remove all obstacles from Tipsy’s pursuit of his chosen career, keeping in mind the greater glory of McDuffpura. It was additionally ordained that Boriah remit a ‘gift’ of one quintal of rice to Shaitan’s household every year, for perpetuity. Both Shaitan and Boriah accepted the settlement, though with variant enthusiasm. Handshakes having been exchanged (metaphorically), Tipsy was packed off to Bangalore at the end of the vacation with the personal blessings of Shaitan and a tilak of buffalo blood. The warrior was on his way.

Tipsy’s next few years as Dozey’s were focussed largely on his preparation for the IMA and this entailed advanced physical training. Many masters and Old Boys of Dozey’s were themselves former army officers and took the youngsters through the strictest of exercise routines. These included five miles of road-running, 200 push-ups, rope-climbing, boxing and short sprints. Every other day the boys would get to train in the school swimming pool, in what the boys called ‘plunge baths’ as they could then skip their showers. A breakfast of four eggs (sunny side up), bread and jam and filtered coffee whipped up by the pantry manager Simpson — or ‘Freezer’ as they called him for his steely, cold stare —got the boys ready for the first period of the day at 8.55 am.

Among the many boys who underwent this preparatory regimen, Tipsy developed a close friendship with two—Zahir and Prem. Zahir would later join the Indian air force and then move to Pakistan to join his distant family, enlist with the Pakistan air force and earn a Sitar-e-Jurrat for gallantry in the 1965 operations, while Prem would join the Indian navy as a submarine sailor and ultimately retire as a Rear Admiral. They promised to stay in touch, and did so, via exchange of letters and the occasional telephone call.

April 1965.Tipsy was now a Captain in the Indian Army with a few solid years of service behind him, having effortlessly passed through the IMA. He opted for the pride of the Infantry — the Gorkha Regiment, and was enlisted in the first Battalion of the 11th Regiment. The 1/11’s battle-cry Jai Mahakali, Ayo Gorkhali! (Praise be to Goddess Kali, here come the Gorkhas!) sent shivers down the spine of the mighty Pathans of the Pakistan army, who dreaded the diminutive Gorkhas for their ruthless decapitation with their razor-sharp Khukuris (curved knives).

Tipsy was regarded in his battalion as an intrepid officer who never shirked combat. Even during the 1962 operations, Tipsy was withdrawn from the Western Front where he was posted to the Eastern Theatre, though by such time the Chinese had already overrun Indian territory and then announced their abrupt, unilateral cease-fire. Tipsy was still thirsting for his first taste of war.

Tipsy took his first fortnight of leave since his joining the Fauj in April 1965 and returned to McDuffpura for a few days of well-deserved pampering. He spent those days swimming in the Bhadra, sleeping lots, drinking steaming tumblers of coffee and reading Shelly to Ajji who smiled cluelessly, but indulgently. In March that year skirmishes had already begun between the Indian and Pakistani forces in the Rann of Kutch, but they were still localised and underplayed by the political leadership. Tipsy did, however, ask the village kids to run down to the nearest check-post and pick up the daily newspaper whenever they could, just so he could keep abreast of what was happening at the Front. But the papers didn't say much. So he continued basking in the summer sun on the banks of the melodic Bhadra.

On the morning of Wednesday, 14th April, Tipsy was splashing about in the shallower parts of the river when he saw an agitated Boriah racing towards him, screaming an inaudible scream and waving an invisible strip of paper.

When his Appa got nearer the river, Tipsy heard him shriek ‘Telegram! Telegram!’ as if he had just invented the telegram himself. Tipsy calmly withdrew himself from the waters and read the telegram from his Regimental Headquarters in Lucknow asking him to report to the Front without further delay. The orders were clear, and Tipsy didn’t spare a second to head back to the house and begin packing his bags.

Ajji stood quietly by the doorpost as Tipsy packed his bags briskly. She looked at him with mournful eyes and a feeling of helpless affection. When his bags were packed, she sat him down on his favourite stone bench in the verandah and slowly stroked his forehead. Finally, she blurted her deep concern for his well-being and how she had always regarded him as her own son. Tipsy nodded knowingly and smiled at her to keep her strong. Ajji wouldn’t stop him, she said, as she knew he was destined to be a General. But she confessed that she had been knitting a vest made of cotton and iron strips, which he could comfortably wear under his uniform to protect him at all times. She held up the sleeveless vest that vaguely resembled a ribbed Chinese martial-arts jacket, and implored him to take it along with him.

Tipsy was quite moved by this little episode and held Ajji gently by her shoulders, explaining to her that in the Indian army one was always trained to put the well-being of one’s country and one’s fellow-men before oneself, and when one was faced with pain, adversity, injury, or even death, one took it on the chin. He proceeded to explain to Ajji that he was now a Captain in the army and commanded many men in combat.

If he was to wear an iron vest to protect himself, he would be failing his men unless he provided each of them with such a vest. And till such time, he had to refuse Ajji'’s thoughtful present. He reminded himself of Dozey’s motto —Nescit Cedere (‘unable to give up’), hugged Ajji, said a crisp farewell to his family and friends from the village, and set out on his mission.

A bullet to the chest killed Tipsy. He had taken out six Pakistani Gilgit Scouts at the vicious Battle of Bade Pind and charged the enemy with superhuman energy, but ultimately fell to a sharpshooter’s shot. By such time, the enemy had been largely forced to retreat under continuous and heavy fire from Tipsy and his men. For this act of extraordinary valour and self-sacrifice that helped turned the tide in the operations,
Captain KB Thippasanayya was posthumously awarded the Param Vir Chakra. His body was brought back to McDuffpura and was received with unprecedented emotion.

Boriah buried Tipsy on the north-eastern corner of his paddy field, where the Bhadra still gurgled, the birds still sang, and the wind still hummed her secret tunes.

Dedicated to Capt. Cyril Hook (1896-1917)