Pugmarks of a Tiger

I knew that tiger sightings are rare in the Jim Corbett National park. People who had gone there before me also told me that despite four or five continuous outings, they saw nothing but a few species of deer. It is not easy to spot a tiger in its natural habitat because their coat provides them an efficient camouflage cover. But there is something that gives away their towering presence in the forest, their pugmarks. Expert trackers can tell whether it was a tiger or a tigress,  and in which direction and when they went by. I knew exactly what to expect when we commenced the Safari.

Tigers have a towering presence in and  around the area they live. We may not be able to spot him but the tiger's eyes misses nothing alive or dead. We knew we were being closely watched. 

“Look,” said the guide, pointing to a set a pug marks. “It is behind us,” said my grandson accompanying me on his first jungle safari. The pugmarks were deep and fresh. “The dominant male of the area is somewhere nearby,” said the guide. “Oh, how I wish we could see him walking in front of us,” said my wife. “That will happen only if he is injured or he is not a tiger. Tigers are  more felt and less seen,” I said recalling the  words of my senior  subaltern when I joined the Army. The commanding officer of a military unit is often referred to as the tiger. I  had longed to become one as I grew up in service. The selection process in the Indian army is tough. I became a Colonel and  took the reins  of my unit  in 2002.  I officially became a tiger. I also knew fairly well what I was getting into. It was definitely not easy being a tiger. 

Command was like access to the throne and crown. Everybody saw the authority and the associated perks. They saw only that. Nobody saw the invisible spikes that hurt. Nobody saw the uncertainty and risks the tiger had to deal with for mere survival. The “tiger or tigress”, if worth his or her salt, never showed the pain.  Command is a lonely place and tigers are lonely animals, less seen and more felt. I wanted to make my command memorable. Secretly, I also wanted to be remembered. I set a few rules that I swore to abide by :-

1. Do what I feel is right. People may still find faults. I knew it was better to do and die than stay still and rot. Do it anyway.

2. Demand commitment from my team. They may or may not like it. They may or may not be able to deliver all that I demanded. Insist on commitment anyway.

3. Help people. I had tremendous authority that I could canalize to help people. Gratitude is a rare virtue. Help anyway. 

4. Give decisions quickly. Decision making is not an easy job. It has costs and risks. Right or wrong, hindsight can judge best. Decide anyway.

5. Lead the way. Consequences may be good or bad. Unless one leads there can be no followers. Lead through action anyway. 

6. Leave my pugmarks, the indelible footprints on the sands of time. It will be difficult and I will never know if I have succeeded or not. Try anyway.

I commanded my unit in the high altitude area. Everything that has a beginning also has an end. I relinquished command twenty nine months after I took over.  I had followed all my rules and let time tell me if I had succeeded.  A few years later I retired as a two star general. I decided to fade into oblivion. Many of my teammates remained in touch even long after I left  command and some even after I retired. Some called to share their happiness and some called to share their burden. I had become a part of them. I relished the connect. It nourished my soul. Some continued to refer to me as “CO sahib though I was not one anymore.  A lady, then the young officer's wife, now the first lady of a unit continues to refer to me as Colonel though she tries hard to address me as general. 

“Amby, I worked hard to become a general I say,” pointing out what she missed. “I am sorry. You are imprinted in my soul as Colonel. I try hard but the soul speaks before the brain, “ she says. I show my mock anger but relish the warmth and sincerity. Her husband, my young officer carries the baton I gifted when I relinquished command. “Sir, this will go to the one who I feel deserves to carry it,” he said, when I met him last.

The tiger's pugmarks were for real, I told myself.

Most of the officers in my team eventually rose in ranks to command units.

It was the first jungle safari for my grandchildren. They were thrilled. We returned to the resort and sat down to breakfast. They were animatedly explaining what they had seen. My mobile phone rang. It was an officer who served on my team. She was barely three years into service and on her first outing to the High altitude, when she joined my command. She was a bright bundle of energy, always smiling. She was assigned multiple responsibilities and in addition she also was my adjutant. Everyone in the unit approached her to decipher what I had penned on the slips. I would scribble notes to my officers even when I travelled. I travelled a lot and very often. On my return I handed over all the notes to the adjutant and she passed it down the chain. “Young lady,  I will visit your unit when you command one,” I said. She laughed. She had reasons. Those days, lady officers were not given permanent commission. They left after ten years of service. She was now a Commanding officer.

"Sir, just called to say how grateful I am to you," she said. We spoke for some time. “CO Sahiba, you have a lot on your hands,” i said hanging up the phone. Actually I was overwhelmed and choking. “See you soon sir,” she said.

My day was made. My sweat rewarded .I suppose , true labour never goes in vain. The tiger's pugmarks were still visible. Time had not erased it. 

Thank you young lady. It's time for you to leave your pugmarks for the future  to follow.

I am sure you will.