Operation Parakram and the safe trench

DURING Operation Parakram in 2001, my unit was deployed near the India-Pakistan border in the western sector. Tensions ran high, and an attack from the enemy seemed imminent. Our orders were clear: Take defensive positions and dig deep trenches to serve as field offices, operational rooms and shelters for troops and equipment. The emphasis was on speed, camouflage and safety.

Being a sapper unit gave us an edge — we had a JCB digging machine, a rare asset in such forward areas. This marvel of a machine could dig deeper and faster than any number of jawans with shovels. The Commanding Officer (CO) directed that all trench constructions should be primarily underground with only camouflage nets and minimal surface visibility to reduce exposure to enemy observation or attacks by air or artillery.

Sub-unit commanders sprang into action. Everyone wanted the best trench — not just deep and safe but also clean, smartly designed and, dare I say, stylish. We took it as a point of pride. Earth-cut steps, neatly finished walls, cleverly designed entrances — we wanted our makeshift offices to outshine the rest.

The JCB became the star of the show. And the man controlling its schedule — the adjutant —became even more powerful than usual. Every sub-unit commander tried to butter him up, hoping to get the machine early and for longer hours. The adjutant, not one to miss an opportunity to impress, decided to make the deepest trench of them all for the regimental headquarters’ operations room. He was quite excited and put the JCB to work, digging such a deep trench that wooden stairs had to be constructed to climb down into it.

When the CO came around for inspection, he was taken aback by the sheer depth of the adjutant’s trench. Looking over the edge, he appeared impressed, though mildly bewildered. Trying to earn some brownie points, the adjutant beamed and confidently said, “Sir, this trench will be perfectly safe for everyone sitting inside — no matter what kind of bombing occurs outside.”

The CO paused, still looking down, and with a slight smirk asked, “But what if the bomb lands inside the trench?”

The adjutant froze, caught off guard. He glanced helplessly between the CO and the Subedar Major standing beside them, unable to conjure a suitable reply.

Sensing the tension, the Subedar Major — ever the sharp thinker — interjected, “Sir, then everyone will be safe outside.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then came a burst of laughter from the CO and the entourage. The seriousness of war preparations had been briefly lifted by this perfectly timed, dry-witted reply. It was humour in uniform at its best — a reminder that even in the midst of a looming conflict, the Indian Army’s spirit remained unshaken.

Musings