An Indian Army veteran's memory often returns to a brief, intense temporary duty in the vast deserts of Rajasthan. It was a mission born from a mechanical failure but remembered for triggering a human triumph—the sight of the unit's most reluctant runner sprinting for his life.
The Sudden Call to Mahajan
Fresh from a previous assignment in Hisar, the officer was looking forward to a respite. However, a WhatsApp message delivered a stark derailment letter from headquarters. The orders were clear: report to the Mahajan Field Firing Ranges in Rajasthan within twelve hours. The mission was to neutralize a recalcitrant rocket that had refused to launch during an exercise.
With no personal helicopter at his disposal, the journey relied on the resourcefulness of his bomb disposal NCO. They navigated obscure, serpentine railway lines, arriving at a desolate one-camel station at 5 AM. The desert camp awoke around them as a Scorpio, sent by the rocket unit, whisked them through misty dunes at dawn.
A Wait for Explosives and a Lesson Unlearned
Upon arrival, a cheerful revelation awaited: the rocket unit had arrived without the necessary demolition stores. A "begging party" had been dispatched to Ganganagar to borrow explosives. In the interim, the officer witnessed the rocket firing exercise and the subsequent debriefing under a camouflaged shamiana.
Officers exchanged praises and listed "lessons learnt." The glaring lesson—never come to a field firing without demolition stores—was conspicuously absent from the discussion. The borrowing party returned successfully around half past five in the evening, laden with the required explosives, setting the stage for the final act.
The Disposal and the Desert Sprint
A small crowd gathered around the pit where the defective rocket had been placed. The veteran and his assistant climbed in, set the charges using a phone torch for light, and connected the safety fuse. After shooing away onlookers and ensuring vehicles retreated to a safe distance, they lit the fuse and jumped into their waiting Scorpio.
They had driven barely a hundred meters when they encountered a crisis. A white Gypsy was stuck in the sand, its engine dead, with jawans trying to push it or attach tow ropes. These soldiers were utterly oblivious to the burning fuse connected to a live rocket. The officer bellowed at them to abandon the vehicle immediately. "A Gypsy can be replaced. You can't," he shouted, unleashing his best sergeant-major voice.
The desert erupted into frantic motion. As the Scorpio sped away, one soldier, later identified as Pandian, lagged dramatically, shuffling painfully slowly through the sand. The vehicle's bumper nearly grazed him. The JCO in the Scorpio, however, was not focused on the impending blast but on this sight. He clapped euphorically, shouting, "Pandian is running! Pandian is running!"
Reaching the safety of the tarmac road, the officer anxiously checked his watch. The explosion was overdue. Just as doubt crept in, the night sky erupted into a shower of golden sparks, followed by the comforting boom of a successful demolition.
The Real Victory Was Not the Blast
While the officer basked in the modest success of the demolition, the JCO's jubilation had a different source. He pounded the officer's back in celebration. "Congratulations, Sahib! Even our CO has never achieved this!"
Puzzled, the officer replied it was just a routine disposal. The JCO shook his head in disbelief. "No, Sahib. Not even the CO could make Pandian run. In BPET runs, he walks after five steps. Today you made him run a full kilometre in desert sand."
By evening, this miracle was the talk of the unit. "Pandian actually ran today!" echoed through tents and mess lines like breaking news. The temporary duty concluded, and the officer returned to the pavilion and routine paperwork. Yet, in idle moments, the mind drifts back—to the rocket, the desert wind, the scrambling jawans, and the image of the slowest runner in Rajasthan finding unexpected sprinting glory. It brings to mind an old English rhyme: Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, Run, run, run... Sometimes, the desert too has its own farmer and his gun.
