THE NAVAL SALUTE

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It was mid-July at the anchorage and the sea was choppy. We, four cadets, were on

board the pilot vessel (a ship that supplier pilots to guide inward or outward bound ships

into now of the port), working on shifts. Not that we will be going to far off lands. We

would be floating in the mid-sea with our ship firmly anchored at the vicinity of the last

buoy of the port territory, 250 km away from the docks.

Being fresh from college, we were naturally sick. Sick because we were far of from

our sweet little home in the midst of that rocking isolation and sick because of the

rocking itself. During recess, most of the time we would lie down with our dizzy heads

under two pillows. The sea-sickness overran all of us. All of us vomited, some more-some

less, but all of us vomited all the same. The remaining period was divided between deck

work and bridge duty, once in 24 hours. But during both, our subconscious would count

the number of days left in the trip and would dream of the day when our vessel would

heave up anchor and proceed to the port.

We were directly under the chief officer, who was a real psycho.

“Come on boys, let's start chipping and painting on the hull plates in the forecastle

(the front pant of the ship)” ………. Or ……..

“Boys, time now for some scrapping and cleaning.”

rebuke
 Orders after orders he would thrust upon us to keep us busy throughout the deck-

work session.

"Work will divert your mind from vomiting,” he used to quip with a vicious smile.

So we would lurch our way up to the forecastle or anywhere as ordered and start

banging the hull plates as if it was the chief’s head.

“Easy darling! You are to chip off the rust and not the iron inside,” he would retort

in his cranky voice, with his hands on his hip as if inspecting a miner of the medieval era.

Only the whip was replaced by the lashes from his tongue. Sometimes this work and

rebuke session dug deep into our rest period, leaving us bereft of sleep for hours on end.

With half of our rest period being hijacked by our boss, we would scamper to our

cabin to grab some sleep, once let off from his clutches.

A few hours later our weary steps would be climbing up the accommodation ladder

to relieve our friends at the bridge (the wheelhouse).

The captain’s cabin was just below the bridge. We had firm orders. “Take off your

shoes before you enter the wheelhouse as the tapping will disturb his sleep” we were told

by the chief officer on the first day itself.

One day I somehow forgot to open my shoes and walked into the bridge. My partner

also overlooked it. Within minutes the master came up. He was smoking a pipe. The flush

of his cheeks and the smell around him, proclaimed that he had been enjoying his evening
drink in his cabin. The contortion between the brows spewed warning signals as his

spiritual bliss had been intruded. A volcano was about to erupt.

“Are your shoes more important to you than your job, my little fellow,” he snapped.

“Err! Sorry sir! I just missed it”. My voice trembled as I ran outside to open my

shoes.

“Remain where you are”, the he ordered.

“Do you know the naval, salute, kid?” he asked, knowing very well that all the

cadets know it before they are on board.

When I nodded, he said “show me; Salute!”

Just when I saluted, a giant wave thrashed on the port quarter (left side at the stern

of the vessel). Being off balance my left hand slipped and came forward.

“Are you holding your cocks and saluting! A salute is something more serious you

bugger! Do it properly," he commanded.

Quickly I removed my hand to the correct position and saluted again “That’s better!

That’s better. Now stay like that for ten minutes before you remove your shoes outside”.

Ten minutes later, when his sadist steps took him back to his evening pegs again, I

ran to the wings and plunged my head out to throw up into the sea.
 The news spread like hold fire - in the saloon, in the diving hall, in the alleyway

from the forecastle to the stern - everywhere. The officers were asking, the crew were

giving strange looks, the peers were showing sympathy.

The humiliation was complete when I heard that I was nicknamed “Salute Sahib” by

the crew.

Twenty four hours later, our chief officer swung into action. He called all of us to

his cabin to give us updates on our progress during the voyage. Naturally, he did it in his

own inimitable style.

“You boys are really lazy. Everyday I had to flog you to work. You should have

shown more initiative. Anyway, try to mend your ways in whatever time left. Find out

work for yourself and start your scrapping, chipping, painting, etc without even asking

me.” Then working towards me slyly from the corner of his eye, he said.

“You people cannot salute even in a proper manner”, you are so lazy.

I would have liked to spit on his face at that juncture, but some how controlled the

sudden rush of adrenalin.

On the penultimate day of the trip we hatched a plan to avenge our mortification.

That evening we went with our hammers and scrappers to work on the bulkhead (wall)

hear the captain's cabin. We shouted with full enthusiasm.

 “What all you devils are doing at this hour?” yelled the master, not knowing what

to make of the sudden zeal of the four cadets.

“Good evening Sir! Chief-Sahib has told us to scrap and paint wherever we find rust

and show extra effort in cleaning up the ship before it proceeds to the post”, I whimpered.

“Send your chief! And you four just f**k off from here.”

Ten minutes later everyone on board experienced a storm on the captain’s deck with

the chief officer in the eye of it.

That evening we partied in our cabin. Though empty cans of beer whizzed through

the port hole of our cabin into the rough sea, strangely enough, no one vomited. No one

even talked about their sweet little home, no one counted the hours left of the trip.

Twelve hours later the pilot vessel heaved her anchor and started proceeding up to

the port.

The chief never appeared before us since that blast. We saw him, finally, when we

were to disembark at the port. At the gangway, we bade him and the master farewell with

a naval salute.

Obviously, that was my best salute till date.

By : Amitava Chakrabarty.