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I got this article out of a tourist magazine I picked up in one of my non-spidery hotels in Nepal (we stayed in a hotel in Dharan for $2.00 a day that contained a fist sized spider!). The article is by Edward A. Peters, and since I don't have permission to reprint the article, I am hereby asking his forgiveness . . . so read and enjoy, my friends.
The name is a military touchstone, evoking deeds of bravery and daring-do. The image is a of a solid chunk of mountain man wielding a razor-sharp khukuri whose breadth is only matched by his grin. And the reality is only a little removed form the legend. For the Nepali, serving in a Gurkha regiment is one of the greatest opportunities life can offer. For a Briton lucky enough to serve with such a regiment, there is no greater privilege; it is an experience that is never forgotten.
Tulbahadur Gurung enlisted when there were no roads in hill-country Nepal, when electricity was unheard of and when Britains Brigade of Gurkhas was emerging shakily from the trials of Indian partition. Led Pied Piper-like by a retired sergeant from his hillside home near Pokhara with a group of other young hopefuls, he walked for nine days down to the Terai. The boys stampeded in panic when they saw their first bus at dusk, thinking its blazing headlights and honking horn heralded the arrival of some demonic buffalo. Now a captain with more than thirty years of service, Tulbahadur Saheb can laugh at the memory. And he watches with interest as boys cautiously arrive at the recruiting centre in Pokhara each spring.
The Brigade of Ghurkas faces a future in which Britain no longer has colonial outposts which need to be garrisoned by the fierce Nepali warriors who have served her so well since 1815. But Gurkhas superb military qualities are such that no right-thinking general would want to lose their services. On present planning, Gurkhas will continue to be a part of the British Army well into the twenty-first century. The modern Gurkha must be able to handle radios, speak English and be conversant with a variety of technical weaponrynot to mention shooting straight, marching all day in any weather, and of course being adept with that hand-held guillotinethe khukuri.
The selection process starts in the hills when recruiters, called gallah wallahs, patrol their given areas, seeking out the strongest and most likely lads, young men who they think will catch the recruiting officers eye. These are paradedperhaps one hundred in allbefore two retired officers, who choose about one-tenth to try their luck in Pokhara. In the spring these ten will give their all to prove that they had what it takes: toughness, mental and physical agility, initiative, and the ingredient which makes a Gurkha unique. Running, obstacle courses, intelligence tests and a doko carrya rapid march up a hill with a loaded basketare all preceded by a strict medical test, and a TB chest scar or a slight eye imperfection is enough to send a boy weeping out of the gates with his hopes dashed forever.
Two British officers speak to each of the boys in turn, gauging their characters as best they can, looking for the bad apple who might spoil the barrel or trying to spot some potential which has so far remained hidden.
Results day is a series of contrasts: the tension preceding the announcements; the cheerful cry of hajur! When a new recruits number is called; the sad mumbling of those who have to wait another year before they can try again; and the joyous dancing that evening of the most recent additions to the British Army.
Gurkhas are sometimes called mercenaries by the ignorant or the ill-intentioned. They are, on the contrary, full soldiers in either the British or the Indian Army. Their prime reason for joining the British army is financial, and nobody could blame them for taking a well-paid job. With the job comes status. A lahurean enlisted manis respected at home in the village and travels abroad to see the world. In Britain, Gurkhas enjoy a special place in the hearts of the public. They mount guard at Buckingham Palace and two Gurkha officers are permanently assigned to HM The Queen. At the annual army shooting competition, Gurkhaswith the eyesight of hillmen and discipline second to nonewalk away with most of the top prizes. Gurkhas love touring their adopted country, where they admire the sights, but tartan (renowned for its warming qualities in the Himalayan foothills), and marvel at the flatness of the landscape.
Life in a regiment is a set pattern of training, sports, competitions and manoeuvres. A Gurkha rifleman is given initial training for six months, learning to handle weapons, shine the unfamiliar, heavy boots, and cope with a society very different from his own. Once every three years, home leave is granted for six months, and the boy can return as a proud man, seek a wife, buy land and enjoy his new-found status.
Back in the regiment the young rifleman joins a junior leaders cadre-the stepping-stone to promotion. A Lance Corporals strip brings responsibility, more money and the chance to work his way up the ladder to the most senior post of Gurkha Major. Commissioned men may serve up9 to thirty years and become a bedrock of continuitythey remember the traditions and events better than any regimental historian, and can look a general in the eye and remind him of when he joined the battalion as a pink-jawed one-pipper.
For the downy-cheeked British Second Lieutenant who is going to lead such superb soldiers into battle, the knowledge that he is about to join a Gurkha battalion is a mixture of pride and a little apprehension. Spring-loaded salutes are thrown his way as he walks to the company office, soldiers crash to attention, and his halting words of Nepali are often greeted with a grin. The respect is there alright, but will he be able to continue to earn it? Most British officerscommissioned from the military school of Sandhurst in their twentiesarrive to find that their right-hand man is old enough to be their father, wore an army uniform when they first wore a school uniform, and speaks English with an ease which makes a mockery of their attempts at Nepali. Small wonder the new officer is nicknamed Sano Saheb, little officer, a sobriquet whose irony is not lost on the tall tenderfoot who may tower over his entire platoon.
Gurung, Rai, Tamang, Limbu or Magar, whatever the ethnic make-up of his soldiers, Sano Saheb soon starts to learn their idiosyncrasies. They will be taking a look at their new officer, rating his linguistic, sporting and working prowessand at company picnics his abilities at dancing (clumsy in most cases) and drinking. If Sano Saheb is lucky he will be given a small command initiallyperhaps catching illegal immigrants with a dozen soldiers to command. He may be issued with a dictionary and his soldiers given strict instructions to heed none of his orders or requests unless they are delivered in Nepali. The dictates of hunger alone are often dire enough to prompt some learning, and usually Sano Saheb will return to base with a good does of working Nepali under his belt. Such situations give the young officer the ideal opportunity to find out about Gurkhas: their homes, their lives, their culture, their sense of humor, and above all to realize the unique relationship that exists between Briton and Gurkha.
Before a junior officer achieves real acceptance two rites of passage must be undergone: becoming proficient in Nepali and coming to Nepal to see the land that bred his soldiers. A British officers first trek is a revelation. Toiling up steep hills behind porters with their backbreaking loads watching children carry water and great bundles of fodder for the animals, he starts to understand why Gurkhas are so tough. Talking to Gurkha pensioners, he hears about the battles of bygone days.
Without a doubt, pension paying is the most favored occupation, as a Lieutenant is sent off with thousands of rupees to meet at a pre-arranged rendezvous with scores of ex-servicemen. Each produces a grubby pension book, exchanges a few words, salutes and leaves with enough money to tide him through the difficult times of the next year. For the pensioners it is a chance to meet and chat together; for the young Briton it is an opportunity to observe at first hand the men and the country that have made up the legend of the Gurkhas.
The Gurkha tradition started in the early nineteenth century, when Nepal sought to expand its boundaries into the plains of northern India. The British East India Company, peeved by continuing incursions into its territory, sent an expeditionary force under General Ochterloney to settle matters once and for all. Of all the minor wars skirmishes which took place on the sub-continent, this one was characterized by a unique amicability. But as far as the rules of war were concerned, opinions differed widely. One Gurkha who was wounded and then treated by a British surgeon regarded it as grossly unfair that he was not allowed to return to the fray on his own side!
The war stuttered to a conclusion in 1815, with a mutually satisfactory treaty. In return for various tracts of land which Nepal had claimed, the British were allowed to install a Resident in Kathmandubut more importantly they were also allowed to recruit Gurkha soldiers into their armies in India.
The relationship was cemented in 1857, when the Gurkhas, having eaten British salt, stood fast during the Indian Mutiny. Their loyalty endeared them to the British rank and file, and the legend of the steadfast Gurkha was born.
In the First and Second World Wars, in battles such as Gallipoli and Monte Cassino, Gurkhas demonstrated their worth again and again. Utterly courageous, supremely cheerful, stealthy as leopards in the jungles, agile as goats in the mountains, legends circulated about them which perpetuated the myth: in the dark of night, Gurkhas crawled up behind sentries, felt their bootlaces and if they were not tied British fashion killed the wearer with a khukuri; they reluctantly volunteered to jump out of airplanes but became far more enthusiastic when they realized theyd be issued with parachutes. And that deadly khukuri was never removed from its scabbard without drawing bloodonce in the Second World War a patrol of Gurkhas, finding four German soldiers asleep, decapitated one without waking the others and crept away, leaving behind a terrible lesson in psychological warfare. Gurkhas, always modest, hear these stories and smile.
When India became independent in 1947, six of the ten Gurkha infantry battalions remained in the Indian Army, while the 2nd, 6th, 7th and 10th Gurkha Rigles joined the British Army in Malaysia. The Gurkhas saw action in Malaysia an Borneo and, in the Falkland Islands in 1982, Argentinian soldiers fled when they heard their adversaries were Gurkhas who, they had been reliably informed, ate their prisoners for breakfast. More recently, some hundreds of Gurkhas served in a supporting role in the Gulf crisis and in Indonesia.
Twenty-six officers and men from Gurkha Regiments have won the Victoria CrossBritains highest award for valor and one that is not given lightly. The citationsnonstop accounts of disregard for bomb and bullet in order to rescue a comrade or gain an objectiveare almost unbelievable. The recipients, many of whom live quietly in the hills of Nepal, are now greying old men, seemingly decrepit until you ask them to recall how they won their VC. Then a khukuri jumps into their hand, the air becomes thick with exploding shell and shrapnel, and a graphic account of their heroic deed spills forth, usually ending with a simple It was nothing. I was only doing my duty.
Most Gurkhas serve for fifteen years, in which time, if they are prudent, they can save enough to see them comfortably into old age. All soldiers receive a pension, and a boy who enlists at eighteen and serves his full term should leave the army at thirty-three with a guaranteed income for life and money in the bank to boot. Some go on to serve with the Sultan of Bruneis private Gurkha bodygaurd, others find security work in the Middle East. Many embark on careers at home, running a shop or some small business. One ex-Gurkha officer is the brains behind one of Nepals most successful noodle manufacturing companies. But for others, cocooned in early manhood by the strict discipline of army life, pension in Nepal means being thrown into a society with which they are no longer familiar, and adapting can take some time. Many find continuing employment with the British Gurkha establishment in Nepal. As recruiting sergeants or gallah wallahs, welfare officers, clerks or storemen, they carry on serving their former employer as civilians, although their military
background is never forgotten.
For British officers, returning to Nepal is a treat which few want to miss. Meeting up with a one-time sergeant or company second-in-command can lead to hours of happy reminiscencethe chance to relive a jungle ambush, a night foray, or just a comic turn one holiday long ago. While they talk, both are young, uniformed mean again, at the peak of their fitness and ready for anything, and both are proudly wearing the khukuri cap badge that is famed throughout the world.
No country has produced soldiers of such renown as the Gurkhas, and today they still form a fighting machine which is unique in the worlds armies. While it is unlikely that the British Brigade of Gurkhas will endure forever, the fame is has earned will never be forgotten.
------------------
Craig Gottlieb
Gurkha House
Blade Forums Sponsor
[This message has been edited by Craig Gottlieb (edited 05-17-2000).]
The name is a military touchstone, evoking deeds of bravery and daring-do. The image is a of a solid chunk of mountain man wielding a razor-sharp khukuri whose breadth is only matched by his grin. And the reality is only a little removed form the legend. For the Nepali, serving in a Gurkha regiment is one of the greatest opportunities life can offer. For a Briton lucky enough to serve with such a regiment, there is no greater privilege; it is an experience that is never forgotten.
Tulbahadur Gurung enlisted when there were no roads in hill-country Nepal, when electricity was unheard of and when Britains Brigade of Gurkhas was emerging shakily from the trials of Indian partition. Led Pied Piper-like by a retired sergeant from his hillside home near Pokhara with a group of other young hopefuls, he walked for nine days down to the Terai. The boys stampeded in panic when they saw their first bus at dusk, thinking its blazing headlights and honking horn heralded the arrival of some demonic buffalo. Now a captain with more than thirty years of service, Tulbahadur Saheb can laugh at the memory. And he watches with interest as boys cautiously arrive at the recruiting centre in Pokhara each spring.
The Brigade of Ghurkas faces a future in which Britain no longer has colonial outposts which need to be garrisoned by the fierce Nepali warriors who have served her so well since 1815. But Gurkhas superb military qualities are such that no right-thinking general would want to lose their services. On present planning, Gurkhas will continue to be a part of the British Army well into the twenty-first century. The modern Gurkha must be able to handle radios, speak English and be conversant with a variety of technical weaponrynot to mention shooting straight, marching all day in any weather, and of course being adept with that hand-held guillotinethe khukuri.
The selection process starts in the hills when recruiters, called gallah wallahs, patrol their given areas, seeking out the strongest and most likely lads, young men who they think will catch the recruiting officers eye. These are paradedperhaps one hundred in allbefore two retired officers, who choose about one-tenth to try their luck in Pokhara. In the spring these ten will give their all to prove that they had what it takes: toughness, mental and physical agility, initiative, and the ingredient which makes a Gurkha unique. Running, obstacle courses, intelligence tests and a doko carrya rapid march up a hill with a loaded basketare all preceded by a strict medical test, and a TB chest scar or a slight eye imperfection is enough to send a boy weeping out of the gates with his hopes dashed forever.
Two British officers speak to each of the boys in turn, gauging their characters as best they can, looking for the bad apple who might spoil the barrel or trying to spot some potential which has so far remained hidden.
Results day is a series of contrasts: the tension preceding the announcements; the cheerful cry of hajur! When a new recruits number is called; the sad mumbling of those who have to wait another year before they can try again; and the joyous dancing that evening of the most recent additions to the British Army.
Gurkhas are sometimes called mercenaries by the ignorant or the ill-intentioned. They are, on the contrary, full soldiers in either the British or the Indian Army. Their prime reason for joining the British army is financial, and nobody could blame them for taking a well-paid job. With the job comes status. A lahurean enlisted manis respected at home in the village and travels abroad to see the world. In Britain, Gurkhas enjoy a special place in the hearts of the public. They mount guard at Buckingham Palace and two Gurkha officers are permanently assigned to HM The Queen. At the annual army shooting competition, Gurkhaswith the eyesight of hillmen and discipline second to nonewalk away with most of the top prizes. Gurkhas love touring their adopted country, where they admire the sights, but tartan (renowned for its warming qualities in the Himalayan foothills), and marvel at the flatness of the landscape.
Life in a regiment is a set pattern of training, sports, competitions and manoeuvres. A Gurkha rifleman is given initial training for six months, learning to handle weapons, shine the unfamiliar, heavy boots, and cope with a society very different from his own. Once every three years, home leave is granted for six months, and the boy can return as a proud man, seek a wife, buy land and enjoy his new-found status.
Back in the regiment the young rifleman joins a junior leaders cadre-the stepping-stone to promotion. A Lance Corporals strip brings responsibility, more money and the chance to work his way up the ladder to the most senior post of Gurkha Major. Commissioned men may serve up9 to thirty years and become a bedrock of continuitythey remember the traditions and events better than any regimental historian, and can look a general in the eye and remind him of when he joined the battalion as a pink-jawed one-pipper.
For the downy-cheeked British Second Lieutenant who is going to lead such superb soldiers into battle, the knowledge that he is about to join a Gurkha battalion is a mixture of pride and a little apprehension. Spring-loaded salutes are thrown his way as he walks to the company office, soldiers crash to attention, and his halting words of Nepali are often greeted with a grin. The respect is there alright, but will he be able to continue to earn it? Most British officerscommissioned from the military school of Sandhurst in their twentiesarrive to find that their right-hand man is old enough to be their father, wore an army uniform when they first wore a school uniform, and speaks English with an ease which makes a mockery of their attempts at Nepali. Small wonder the new officer is nicknamed Sano Saheb, little officer, a sobriquet whose irony is not lost on the tall tenderfoot who may tower over his entire platoon.
Gurung, Rai, Tamang, Limbu or Magar, whatever the ethnic make-up of his soldiers, Sano Saheb soon starts to learn their idiosyncrasies. They will be taking a look at their new officer, rating his linguistic, sporting and working prowessand at company picnics his abilities at dancing (clumsy in most cases) and drinking. If Sano Saheb is lucky he will be given a small command initiallyperhaps catching illegal immigrants with a dozen soldiers to command. He may be issued with a dictionary and his soldiers given strict instructions to heed none of his orders or requests unless they are delivered in Nepali. The dictates of hunger alone are often dire enough to prompt some learning, and usually Sano Saheb will return to base with a good does of working Nepali under his belt. Such situations give the young officer the ideal opportunity to find out about Gurkhas: their homes, their lives, their culture, their sense of humor, and above all to realize the unique relationship that exists between Briton and Gurkha.
Before a junior officer achieves real acceptance two rites of passage must be undergone: becoming proficient in Nepali and coming to Nepal to see the land that bred his soldiers. A British officers first trek is a revelation. Toiling up steep hills behind porters with their backbreaking loads watching children carry water and great bundles of fodder for the animals, he starts to understand why Gurkhas are so tough. Talking to Gurkha pensioners, he hears about the battles of bygone days.
Without a doubt, pension paying is the most favored occupation, as a Lieutenant is sent off with thousands of rupees to meet at a pre-arranged rendezvous with scores of ex-servicemen. Each produces a grubby pension book, exchanges a few words, salutes and leaves with enough money to tide him through the difficult times of the next year. For the pensioners it is a chance to meet and chat together; for the young Briton it is an opportunity to observe at first hand the men and the country that have made up the legend of the Gurkhas.
The Gurkha tradition started in the early nineteenth century, when Nepal sought to expand its boundaries into the plains of northern India. The British East India Company, peeved by continuing incursions into its territory, sent an expeditionary force under General Ochterloney to settle matters once and for all. Of all the minor wars skirmishes which took place on the sub-continent, this one was characterized by a unique amicability. But as far as the rules of war were concerned, opinions differed widely. One Gurkha who was wounded and then treated by a British surgeon regarded it as grossly unfair that he was not allowed to return to the fray on his own side!
The war stuttered to a conclusion in 1815, with a mutually satisfactory treaty. In return for various tracts of land which Nepal had claimed, the British were allowed to install a Resident in Kathmandubut more importantly they were also allowed to recruit Gurkha soldiers into their armies in India.
The relationship was cemented in 1857, when the Gurkhas, having eaten British salt, stood fast during the Indian Mutiny. Their loyalty endeared them to the British rank and file, and the legend of the steadfast Gurkha was born.
In the First and Second World Wars, in battles such as Gallipoli and Monte Cassino, Gurkhas demonstrated their worth again and again. Utterly courageous, supremely cheerful, stealthy as leopards in the jungles, agile as goats in the mountains, legends circulated about them which perpetuated the myth: in the dark of night, Gurkhas crawled up behind sentries, felt their bootlaces and if they were not tied British fashion killed the wearer with a khukuri; they reluctantly volunteered to jump out of airplanes but became far more enthusiastic when they realized theyd be issued with parachutes. And that deadly khukuri was never removed from its scabbard without drawing bloodonce in the Second World War a patrol of Gurkhas, finding four German soldiers asleep, decapitated one without waking the others and crept away, leaving behind a terrible lesson in psychological warfare. Gurkhas, always modest, hear these stories and smile.
When India became independent in 1947, six of the ten Gurkha infantry battalions remained in the Indian Army, while the 2nd, 6th, 7th and 10th Gurkha Rigles joined the British Army in Malaysia. The Gurkhas saw action in Malaysia an Borneo and, in the Falkland Islands in 1982, Argentinian soldiers fled when they heard their adversaries were Gurkhas who, they had been reliably informed, ate their prisoners for breakfast. More recently, some hundreds of Gurkhas served in a supporting role in the Gulf crisis and in Indonesia.
Twenty-six officers and men from Gurkha Regiments have won the Victoria CrossBritains highest award for valor and one that is not given lightly. The citationsnonstop accounts of disregard for bomb and bullet in order to rescue a comrade or gain an objectiveare almost unbelievable. The recipients, many of whom live quietly in the hills of Nepal, are now greying old men, seemingly decrepit until you ask them to recall how they won their VC. Then a khukuri jumps into their hand, the air becomes thick with exploding shell and shrapnel, and a graphic account of their heroic deed spills forth, usually ending with a simple It was nothing. I was only doing my duty.
Most Gurkhas serve for fifteen years, in which time, if they are prudent, they can save enough to see them comfortably into old age. All soldiers receive a pension, and a boy who enlists at eighteen and serves his full term should leave the army at thirty-three with a guaranteed income for life and money in the bank to boot. Some go on to serve with the Sultan of Bruneis private Gurkha bodygaurd, others find security work in the Middle East. Many embark on careers at home, running a shop or some small business. One ex-Gurkha officer is the brains behind one of Nepals most successful noodle manufacturing companies. But for others, cocooned in early manhood by the strict discipline of army life, pension in Nepal means being thrown into a society with which they are no longer familiar, and adapting can take some time. Many find continuing employment with the British Gurkha establishment in Nepal. As recruiting sergeants or gallah wallahs, welfare officers, clerks or storemen, they carry on serving their former employer as civilians, although their military
background is never forgotten.
For British officers, returning to Nepal is a treat which few want to miss. Meeting up with a one-time sergeant or company second-in-command can lead to hours of happy reminiscencethe chance to relive a jungle ambush, a night foray, or just a comic turn one holiday long ago. While they talk, both are young, uniformed mean again, at the peak of their fitness and ready for anything, and both are proudly wearing the khukuri cap badge that is famed throughout the world.
No country has produced soldiers of such renown as the Gurkhas, and today they still form a fighting machine which is unique in the worlds armies. While it is unlikely that the British Brigade of Gurkhas will endure forever, the fame is has earned will never be forgotten.
------------------
Craig Gottlieb
Gurkha House
Blade Forums Sponsor
[This message has been edited by Craig Gottlieb (edited 05-17-2000).]
