Training in the Army 33
called in to pin me down. Physically, it has been the most painful
experience of my life.
Pain only matters to an extent. After that it does not
matter how much more or less of it you have.
Over the next few days I recollected the incidents, little at a time.
It was a morning, sometime in the beginning of my 4th semester.
I, along with other batch mates, was going on my bicycle to the equi-
tation lines for horse riding classes. I used to love riding. We used to
get to ride bareback horses for three hours in the surrounding hills
and jungles. I particularly remember the one time when our horses
waded into horse-leg deep water and then galloped out of the watery
stretch. I remember once when I, along with six other riders, galloped
through a jungle stretch and at the end of it I was the only one still
atop my horse. The rest ﬁ ve horses were without the riders.
That particular day, I remember, I had got a huge horse called
‘Hercules’. This horse was from the type of horses that were used to
pull massive carriages of the Victorian era. It was one of a pair that
pulled carriages; its partner had died. It was being tested to see if this
horse could be used for riding. I didn’t like the idea. However, refusing
to ride a horse was considered a matter of ultimate shame and dis-
grace (even by me). ‘Refusing’ was not even under consideration.
I brought the horse out. The moment I brought it out, it started
grazing. Standing next to it, I tried to pull its head up with the reigns
but the horse was so strong that I couldn’t pull its head up with the
reigns (though I was no longer a weak guy). If I couldn’t pull up the
head of the horse with the reigns, it meant that the horse was too
strong. After a few attempts I took, the horse kicked around wildly,
broke loose from my grasp and ran away. I ran after it to fetch it.