Piggeries Every unit in the Army worth its salt had piggeries. It was too tempting to resist. Piggeries produced easy money and delicious meat – a hard-to-resist combination. We were poor in those days. So if the CO of an Infantry Battalion wanted to throw a ‘Barakhana’ for the pleasure of the men, the Second-in-Command, or the 2IC, would call the Subedar Major (SM). The two would whisper amongst themselves. The SM would plead for moderation and the 2IC would show him the accounts. Pigs were precious. At the end of it, each would nod their heads sagaciously, as if each had won a battle, and a few pigs lost their heads. A few years later, the Army put piggeries under the scanner. Pigs were a source of terrible disease. Piggeries themselves were filthy. Piggeries were banned. Personally, I had never seen any of these terrible afflictions caused by our pigs. That started a new phase – hidden piggeries. It was real cloak-and-dagger stuff. No one knew where the piggeries were. As a Commanding officer, I did not know where our piggery was, till I stumbled upon it inadvertently. Each unit found ways to hide their precious pigs, especially during visits by senior officers. One Infantry Battalion, located high in the mountains, was being visited by their Boss’s Boss. So it was important that no pigs be seen. All their pigs, squealing and protesting, were prodded and shoved into a tin shed. The door was locked. The pigs grunted in disgust. Now pigs are powerful creatures. Their ancestors are wild boars. Anyone having the privilege of facing one in the wild would agree that they are not only strong, but very scary. Anyway, the visitor arrived. He was received by the Commanding officer with due ceremonies. And then everything happened. The pigs broke the door and raced downwards in glee. The visitor was surrounded by squealing pigs of all descriptions. I watched this event from a window a little above the stage.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Jul 2014 17:11:19 +0000
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