Military Humour: Ode to Billy Joe; India won but it was such a dog’s life 

Our friendship was forged under shared adversity of a dull military station located in a godforsaken corner of the country. It lasted a lifetime, till he chose to quit at a rather young age in his home town of Bengaluru a few years ago. He left behind a huge void that we try to fill with his memories. He was just a couple of years our senior in age and a little junior in service, having joined the Army after his graduation. He joined Army Ordinance Corps as a Short Service Commission officer after coming out of Officers’ Training Academy at Chennai.

He wasn’t even posted with us in our remote cantonment at the foot of the Foothills of the Great Eastern Himalayas. He was sent there on a temporary duty from Guwahati. But there’s nothing unusual about that for a young freshly commissioned bachelor officer. He had barely taken in what little pleasures Guwahati offered. Having lived and studied in Bengaluru and Chennai, it was already quite a comedown for this young man with an infectious sense of humour and joie de vivre. He then got shunted up to our cantonment in North Assam as Officer Commanding of a Salvage Sub Depot. He was the only officer in his unit.

We welcomed him like a long lost brother. And he reciprocated the sentiments in ample measure. He was sent to our Mess for temporary accommodation and decided to stay on. He brought with him crazy new stories, an acerbic wit and was great fun. Having tired ourselves reminiscing about our Medical School years, he was truly a welcome change. Lieutenant William Joseph aka Billy Joe of Herman Raucher and Bobby Gentry’s ‘Ode to Billy Joe’ was heaven-sent answer to our prayers. There was never a dull moment after he joined our Mess. From playing ‘Squash Ball Cricket’ to singing bawdy picnic songs to the tune of Kris Rau’s guitar, from constant attempts at giving our Mess menu a twist to joining us for those C Grade movies at the local cinema hall, and continuously passing sarcastic remarks as our lives got waste d in that miserable station, Billy Joe kept us amused.

During the working hours, Kris and I had at least each other’s company. We also had our revered Commanding Officer, Colonel Deep Purple Singh. Billy Joe was all by himself, with a handful of Johnnies and about fifty contractual civilian labour. His work was dull and tedious.

And yet, it was difficult to keep his spirits down.

I remember a particularly warm and humid day when he got back late from office. I landed up in his room as he was changing out of his uniform. “Hey Billy, how was your day?” I asked. He muttered something about it being a dog’s life. He then took off his lanyard, put it around his neck, gave me the other end to hold and began a growling bark that was so hilarious that I had a bellyache from bouts of laughter.

We became known as The Trio straight out of Herman Raucher’s other book, ‘Summer of ‘42’. Kris Rau was Oscy, the big bully and leader of the gang. I was Hermie, the dreamy and absent-minded one, and Billy Joe was our Benjie who got shouted down ever so often.

We would pull rank on him and often veto his madcap suggestions. And he would come up with a zanier proposal before we had finished dismissing the last one. I remember one time walking 10 kilometres along the railway tracks on a Sunday, on Billy’s suggestion. He said he wanted to take in the country life. Both of us forgot that we had to walk the 10 km back too!

I t was 25 Jun 1983. It was another muggy, humid evening. Against all odds, Indian Cricket team had made it to the finals of Prudential Cup. We were to face the star-studded West Indies Cricket team led by Clive Lloyd and boasting of such greats as Greenidge, Haynes, and Kallicharan among others. We had early dinner and placed our chairs on the road outside our rooms in the Mess. The final was a real humdinger of a match with numerous twists and turns. We were glued to our transistor broadcasting the running commentary straight from Lord’s Cricket Ground. There were numerous animated discussions between the three of us interspersed with prayers for our team. When Kapil Dev ran back some twenty metres and held the catch to dismiss Viv Richards for a paltry 33 runs, our hopes soared. Kris Rau ordered some snacks but the beer was kept in the ice-bucket. Kris Rau wouldn’t let us touch it. We were already shouting ourselves hoarse every time a West Indian wicket fell. There was such tremendous excitement in anticipation of an Indian victory. Finally, Mohinder Amarnath claimed the last wicket, dismissing the mighty West Indies for 140 runs. Incredibly, Kapil’s Devils had won the match by 43 runs! Beer bottles were vigorously shaken and then opened to spray one another with beer even as Indian cricketers sprayed champagne on the balcony of Lord’s.

That’s when it happened. A stray dog, having got whiff of Kris Rau’s chicken tikka, tried to sneak in to grab a piece of it while we were busy spraying beer in jubilation. Billy saw him, and stood between the chicken tikka and the dog, trying to shoo him off. The desperate dog sank his teeth into Billy’s calf and took a good bite before we could react. The bloody cur had drawn blood!

We had to rush Billy to the hospital to wash and dress the wound. It was a clear-cut third degree dog bite. The dog had escaped in all the confusion and could not be traced again. I had to give Billy Joe the bad news- Hospitalization and 14 shots of Anti-Rabies vaccine. We were then using the Inactivated Sheep Brain vaccine. That was before the advent of the Purified Chick Embryo Cell vaccine. All Billy said was, “It’s a Dog’s life!” He cheerfully went through the painful 14-injection course with amazing grace.

The news about Indian victory spread all over the station next morning. But another piece of news spread even faster. All the units and officers’ messes as well as officers’ homes were abuzz with “Billy ko Kutte ne kaatliya.” Farewell Billy Joe!

And thank you for being such an amazing friend. You will always be missed.