RECCE

Recce

Moon-day, Phor No-umber Tu Tousan Thateen

ExcluShiv!

Your correspondent has been able to unearth this highly classified secret report of a trip undertaken into the feared jungles of Numb Naadu by two commandos and a driver of the 99 TRAMP Squadron (Tanks Rockets Artillery Mortar Pistols) to reconnoitre the area for future occupation by the C-70 forces.

The only existing copy of this report was found neatly folded and wedged under a protractor in a compass box buried beneath an avalanche of files in a huge steel trunk which was hidden in a disused underground bunker located deep in the bowels of the URTH (Underground Repository of True History).

(Note: For scoorty reasons no names of any personnel are revealed here. All names have been removed.

The standard operating procedure is to simply refer to persons as A, B, C, D, E, etc., till Z is reached, after which Greek alphabets are used.

However, by way of immense caution, even alphabets are not used in this report. There were several bravehearts involved in this top secret operation but they shall all remain unalphabetted. The alphabets have been removed.

The colour, registration number and other details of the recce vehicle, a Jeep 'Chiroti', are also not being revealed here for the same reasons. It was a special design, one of its kind, made just for this mission. The model too has been specially named after a sweet dish delicacy of Karnataka, India. No records of the design exist. The records have been removed.

The route map too has been removed.

The whole recce operation lasted nearly 13 hours from starto to finito, according to the check-in and check-out times recorded by the timekeeper. The record and the timekeeper have been removed.

The report is in first person. The second and third persons did not want any involvement. They have not been removed.)

Recce Report

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY

Part I - Shallow Jungle

The first part of our recce route was through what appeared to be shallow jungle. It looked and gave the impression of being plain and quite peaceful, but turned out to be complex and rather treacherous. The ground was bumpy and full of pitfalls and the authorities had forgotten to build a road. We had to do the battering ram act. Our Chiroti was groaning in protest as we pommelled our way in. Our brave charioteer, who is also a part-time symphony violinist, started groaning on a higher octave, giving a sort of synchronous company to the Chiroti. This groaning thing caught on and soon we were all groaning in unison like a well-oiled orchestra. But this performance brought no joy to us, for our body parts were singing a totally different and painful tune.

At the end of first part of the recce, certain body parts needed immediate relief, certain other crucial parts were in the throes of painful agony owing to being subjected to massive disturbances in stability, and certain strategic parts (which shall remain unnamed on account of their sensitive nature) had become stiff due to being totally immobilized for long durations.

This whole operation appeared to be a carefully planned two-pronged tactic remarkably reminiscent of a panzer attack, thought up by the upper echelons as a punishment for the lower echelons. But, lower echelons being lower echelons, there was nothing else for us to do but to brin and gear it.

Part II - Deep Jungle

As our intrepid three-man squad proceeded along, day turned into night, the jungle became denser and we found ourselves being hemmed in by the inky blackness. We were now in the deep jungles. These jungles are said to be inhabited by Zamboos (a fearsome species of jungle beings said to have thorns boiled in Venus’-fly-trap juice for breakfast and whose children are rumoured to keep dragons as pets).

There was no moon in the sky; it appeared to be a new moon night (our charioteer told us that the old moon had been stolen, most likely by Zamboos). We did not see any Zamboos. We saw only bamboos. Our charioteer explained that Zamboos have never ever been seen by anyone. The journey was made in total silence (except for the sounds of heavy breathing and the bamboos creaking).

But the silence was soon broken. As we entered the deep jungle home stretch, we could hear blood-curdling growls, ear-splitting shrieks and terrible trumpeting roars. Our charioteer explained that the growls were the sounds of the elder Zamboos enjoying a joke, the shrieks were those of the Zamboo children playfully chasing their pet dragons and the trumpeting roars were those of the pet dragons being playfully chased by the Zamboo children. As a background score to all this, the wind was howling and the bamboos were creaking and groaning. This did not help our recce mission one bit for it made our legs shiver and our eyes close in fear.

Part III - Jeep Dungle

Our brave and courageous charioteer did not for one moment stop but kept going, going, going, … We had now left the deep jungles behind us and were in unknown, unmanned territory - the Jeep Dungle. Our charioteer explained in a trembling voice that the Jeep Dungle was the innermost part of the deep jungle where only jeeps could go, a humongous dung-pit kind of netherworld. Even Zamboos stayed away from it (could be because they had no jeeps). The whole place was dark as pitch and we could not see anything. I put out my left hand in front of me but couldn’t see it. For a moment I panicked, but then my superior intelligence kicked in. I reached out with my right hand to locate it and brought it back in.

The old moon had stopped shining its light as it was already lost or misplaced or stolen. The new moon couldn't even begin to penetrate the inky blackness, probably because it was still new and only just starting to warm up. We could hear the howl of unnamed things and we could feel unmanned, unidentified flying objects zipping past us from unknown directions. Suddenly, when we were right in the blackest part of this black hole, our Chiroti came to a halt by itself and switched itself off. Everything became quiet and there was total silence. Then we heard a “clang” somewhere close by, startling us. Our charioteer explained that it was only the sound of a pin dropped by a Zamboo. After that, nothing. We could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. We were dumbstruck by the silence and the darkness.

There we were, suspended in this inky black, eternal “tar-nation”. I tried to scream out but my voice did not come out from my throat. I waved my black beret for help but no help came. I tapped out the first few beats of “brave soldiers, have no fear” on the Chiroti’s bonnet, but no sound came. I was sweating heavily but what brought a sudden chill was when I realised that the sweat drops were trickling up my back! 

We had no option but to stay put and stay quiet. So we stayed put and stayed quiet.

After about an hour of this animated suspension, everything suddenly came to life around us. Unnamed things started howling again and unmanned, unidentified flying objects started zipping past us once more. Above all this noise, we heard a Zamboo laugh. Life was back to normal, it seemed.

As if woken up from sleep, our Chiroti started by itself and gave a couple of encouraging “vrooms” to pep our spirits up. As if on cue, we heard high-pitched screams from somewhere high up in the nearby trees. Our charioteer explained in a softly hysterical voice that these were some other spirits, pepping up.

Though I was not at all thinking of my own safety and not, not, not in the least worried, in the interests of the safety of our brave charioteer as well as my colleague, it was unanimously decided to make a strategic but dignified exit.

Our legs were shivering and our teeth were chattering, possibly due to the sudden chill in the atmosphere. But, unmindful of these minor discomforts, our charioteer closed his eyes, slotted the Chiroti into reverse gear and backed out. Providentially, we encountered no obstacles on the way back. As we retreated smartly, firstly the ghouls were left behind and secondly the  howls faded away. Thirdly the darkness was lifting and we could see light filtering in from beyond the bamboo curtain. The new moon had given way to a new dawn.

By this time our brave charioteer had got the hang of driving the Chiroti in reverse and had even begun to enjoy it. We had to gently coax him to stop whistling and turn the Chiroti to face the right way front. Very reluctantly he turned the vehicle around and piloted it back to civilisation.

On account of the despicable and uncharitable behaviour exhibited by the Zamboos our recce mission had to be called off. Our protest and extreme reluctance to call off the mission was duly noted in the Register of Due Notings.

The exercise was deemed to have ended in an honourable draw.

***

Author’s note: The names ‘Numb Naadu’, ‘99 TRAMP Squadron’, ‘URTH’, ‘Chiroti’, ‘Zamboo’, ‘Dungle’ and ‘tar-nation’ are all plucked out of the author’s imagination where they were coined. Any resemblance to anyone or anything living, dead or yet to be born and to any place on this Solar System including this Earth is quite coincidental.

If the reader has enjoyed reading this tale, he or she is requested to contact this author and win a free handshake.

   -         © Shiva Kumar, author