New Mariner Stories

FAREWELL TO THE ARM


Cmde Subhash Kapur (Retd.)



Twas almost a score and a half ago,

Just out from school, and full of go,

While friends made up their minds,

I had not to think twice.


Mystified by the splendour of the sea,

Since as long as I remember

The smell of ships, the grace of sails,

Their soft and lazy movements,

The roar and whisper of the sea

And the promise of land yonder,

Did it leave me any choice?


Disappointed at Academy: this was no Navy,

Came the thrills on becoming a Snotty,

The uncaring life, rewards for piracy at sea,

It was fulfillment of a dream.

To relive that year, I’d give my rest.


Watchkeeping on ships was some fun,

But crazy friends would have it none.

Monstrous dolphins had just arrived,

Slithery and slimy, they'd caught our sight.

Manned by those Russian -singing,

Vodka -drinking guys,

They looked good, fun- loving types,

Promising of adventure, deceit and filth,

And boasting of sleepless nights to ships.

Again, did we have any choice?


Brar, Bhate, Subbu, Gary and I,

The Craziest of thirty -first might,

In a bar, THE decision was made,

We'd join the gang, and make hay.

Kunte, my CO, was mighty upset,

'It's a foolish mistake, my son, 'is what he said.


Karanj, my first, taught me all:

Weapons and navigation, watchkeeping and war.

Submarine at sea, and fun ashore,

Others were envious to see our spirits soar.

Those were great days, with 20 to watchkeep,

You could disappear, and never be missed.

When it party- time, though,

Headcount was more than Sehkawat would

ever know.


Vagir, my next, was a wonderful experience,

An education that I shall never forget.

For humour we faced challenging times.

Coping with the antics of Vaghsheer.


Khanderi, my final love, is regrettably no more,

She was my joy, my dream, faithful to the core.

Understanding and responsive, energetic and

cunning,

Never a let-down, but always to the fore,

Could I have asked for more?

She fulfilled my dreams in the challenging times.

Jal Tarang or East Wind, she always had her bite

When times were easy, she was a real sport

Twice did she take us to the Far Eastern ports.


A demise in the family brought me to Delhi,

How I loathed to be one in the jamboree,

Files upon Files, notes and notings,

Brief Briefs, detailed briefs, revised and up-to-date

Briefs,

All this was too much for a man from the field.

Strange, but true, this nothingness grows on you

For the results are slow and may benefit a few,

Manipulation and cunning, our traits at sea,

Are the tests I faced in my Delhi life,

The sooner I learnt to master these,

My mind was at rest and communication eased.


Four years here, and enough was enough,

Moved to Mumbai, but the stay was snubbed

When personnel branch threatened to moved me

East,

I howled and cried, but they would not yield,

Easter and Easter, they said, and move me to

Tokyo,

A welcome surprise, how could I say no?


Japan and Korea, the wonder of Asia,

Fulfilled the promise of land yonder,

Lion and Tiger, I heard them roar,

Softly but surely, like geishas and sumos,

I am proud to say, we were looked after well,

Interesting life, and enough to spend.


I wasn't assumed when I returned to Delhi,

Same old office, you can imagine my plight

Seven years plus in DSMO,


Enough to drive even hard - cores overboard.


Personal compulsions now force me to leave,

Why I wonder, can't we always be free

To do what we want,

I like Hemingway’s The old man and the sea?


Of the two scores and four in the Navy,

I’ve been a submariner for twenty two.

Water from the deep runs in my veins

And shall be my lifeline until I remain.

More than a profession, a way of life

Submarining has been more than a wife.


Honest but ruthless, full of deceit,

These are our ingredients when at sea,


Convinced I am, that when we fight,

Submarines are the ones that'll prove their might.


Now that it's time to say good- bye,

To this rich, and sheltered life,

All we'd like to say is this:

The bonds of friendship and affection you all gave.

Will see us through our remaining days.

A wonderful innings it's been so far,

We'll fight for the arm wherever we are.


Sayonara is not for us to say,

You all may go, but we shall stay,

Delhi is our home, and we're settling here,

We'll be in touch, wherever you are.



The undermentioned story was originally printed in the inaugural issue of the Periscope – Journal of the Indian Naval Submarine Arm in the year 1973.



STORM IN A BALTIC HARBOUR


- Commander (later Admiral) V S SHEKHAWAT (Retd.)


Day by day, the November sky darkened and the wind from the South-West freshened. The fog never too far away to come swirling in, began to be blown in woolly, wet patches across the harbour, shrouding the ships and sailors in eerie shapes Finally, with the mounting fury of the wind, the fog melted away altogether, joining the dark ominous clouds that raced over head as if to escape this dreadful thing that was making them fly.


We awaited the approaching storm with trepidation. Snugly berthed on the windward side of the Depot Ship, the submarine did not move excessively as yet. But the icy cold Baltic wind that tore through the foul-weather clothing and the thick woolen jerseys and shirts underneath, was already causing a 50-year old Destroyer tender berthed one cable across the shallow tidal basin to pull and strain at her hawsers as if to say "Leave an old woman alone and go your way". The shrieking wind which pushed our submarine and the Depot ship on to the jetty, was an off-shore wind for the old, coal-fired tender of some 10,000 tonnes, and threatened any moment to launch her into the stream, a tired old hulk ready to drift straight on to our sleek, brand-new submarine.


Further up this narrow creek, a host of small craft and three or four submarines bobbed and surged on the usually tranquil water, taking such precautions as they could against the gathering storm. Bits of rafts, pieces of wooden jetties, splintered by the chafing of steel hulls, and small buoys broken from their moorings, were already beginning to float about the tidal basin. But sailors in their ships and submarines, huddling, shivering and determinedly preparing to give battle, if only in self-defence, to the raging, howling monster that, tore at them as they tended ropes and fenders, paid scant attention to the debris drifting by from the creek into the swelling river. Their thoughts were on saving their ships from the clutches of this rampaging demon who reached out with icy fingers to display his power and majesty.


And powerful and majestic he was! One could not help being over-awed by his pent up anger and might as the wind buffeted the ships with hammer blows, hurling one against the groaning jetty and trying to tear away another from the opposite side.


On the fourth day of its coming the storm attained its full, magnificent, roaring splendor. The temperature was only just above freezing. The rain' which had started on the first day, came down in blinding torrents, the drops of water tossing and whirling before being flung into the faces of the weather deck watch like slivers of cold steel. The small tidal basin churned and frothed with white foam. The water level had already risen more than three metres, and our Depot Ship stood high above the jetty as if poised to leave the water to escape the storm's onslaught. A tug on the other side of the jetty from the Depot Ship looked as if it would go under any moment. Its gallant crew of 4 or 5, including a pretty girl, probably the cook, took turns on the deck and when it was her trick she could be seen at her post a brave, slim little figure which could not hide its feminity even under the storm gear she wore.


Two submarines had cast off from their berths, left the creek which no longer protected them, and entered the turbulent, rushing river, there to seek safety rather than be battered and sunk at their moorings. Numerous rafts and small boats had been flung clear out of the water and piled up in the shallows or were hopelessly adrift, bound where wind and water took them.


The old Destroyer tender could bear her agony no longer. For four days she had hung on to her ropes and wires, creaking and groaning with age, protesting at this indignity in her twilight years. She must have seen many a hurricane in her youth, for she had sailed in the Sea of Japan and the Pacific Ocean, and then had come through the. Indian and Atlantic oceans to this her final resting place on the Baltic coast. Though tired and old, memories of those grim battles fought and won against the elements in distant seas lingered in her rusted rivets and ancient wooden decks. She clung to her bollards through the wild and fearful night of the fourth day, her weary and exhausted crew fighting the storm like watchful cavemen of old keeping a ravening beast at bay. Just before noon the next day, when it seemed the cyclone had no fresh forces to throw into the fray, the old tender, still with all her hawsers intact, tore off the bollards from the jetty where her back springs and stern rope were secured and swung in an arc until her stern was only about 50 metres from our submarine.


But that was as much as the storm could do to the old lady. Her head ropes and head springs held firm, and now with her bow into the wind, she rode lightly and comfortably, no longer taking the brunt of the storm beam-on. As if in mortification at this final rebuff to its power and glory, the storm seemed to lose heart, and after a few more hours of desultory blowing sped away to the East, there to dissipate itself over the endless forests and steppes of Russia.


And what of our submarine? By a curious juxtaposition against the Depot Ship, the submarine felt hardly any of the fury of the storm. The wind, deflected by the wall like sides of the Depot ship, produced a counter turbulence which reduced the direct force of the storm, and enveloped the submarine in a protective cocoon of relatively weak, random air streams. The buffeting from the short, confused sea did cause a lot of surging, but the doubled-up springs and ropes held securely and there was seldom a moment of anxiety. The weather deck watch swore at the rain and the cold as they huddled in their foul-weather clothing, but a half-hour trick at a time up top wasn't so bad after all.


For us at least, it was only a storm in a Baltic tea cup!