I feel like I’ve lived two lives when I look back at my past. One, in a constant cycle of training and fighting which were equally gruelling. Such was the life of a soldier in our army. And the other, since I was injured and returned home. Although I cherish the peace I have now been afforded, I do miss, although sometimes with mixed feelings, the adventures of my past. I look out into the fields these days and can sometimes hear the clanging and banging of swords and shields. I recall, equally well, the sweat and tears of training to kill, as I do the blood and screams of battle. I had been slow to get on track in lieu of my scrawny frame but rose the ranks once I got through the initial years.
I often reflect on the lessons of battle in my newfound leisure. And one battle is particularly etched in my mind.
Our army had arrived at the mountainous region at the outskirts of our territory to avert the definite peril that would come if our neighbours were to advance. The oncoming army, nearly twice our size, hailing from a tribe equally larger in size and resources, had hardened fighters, with sharper blades and stronger shields.
We, however, were fearless and not unaccustomed to the uncertainty and chaos of war. Although we had never been so outnumbered, we had defeated many great armies over the years. Tales of our victories were told to children and celebrated in poetry. Our hardened veterans and ferocious young soldiers gave us equal parts of experience and the naivete to take on bad odds. That said, the heart and soul of our army’s advantage lied in our special force of small battalions. These small teams, of 25 each, had the ability and training to turn and regroup into combined formations, reacting to the situation at hand. And, as I remember of my own battalion, they were so internally united and coordinated that each team moved like a single body. They could rip through enemies’ troops like boulders through a field of sheep.
That night, at camp, we recounted our conquests to the younger fighters in a mood of drunkenness that seemed to say; ‘Our foes are in for a bloody surprise’.
The general, a man who spent as much time with books as he did with his sword, was unlike most leaders of armies. That was what made him formidable.
As was his usual habit, he didn’t join us at the camp. He spent that evening as he always did. Away from the campfires and the collective mood. He needed to be alone with his thoughts on the eve of a battle. He sat in a spot from where he could see us, but I doubt he could hear us.. A small rock, perched at the edge of a hill, overlooking a steep drop. I remember the white strands of his beard shining in the glow of the lamp he set down beside him. He put on his gloves, although it wasn’t a very cold night and tucked his feet inside the fleece he carried with him. It was comforting to see him steady and still, gazing into the sky. It meant he was weighing things in a way that we could not.
As dawn came and we began to get into formation, he was back amongst us, animated as though he was not the same man that sat so still last night. That was his way. He strategized quietly and battled fiercely. We, too, were ready for the fight.
Special forces batallions were placed in front of each flank. Mine was at the front of the left one.
The remaining special forces were held back closer to the general’s personal guard and a small number of foot soldiers, overlooking the battle from a little hill. As always, it was reassuring to know that the general was overlooking the whole battle field. While we were in the thick of it, he could manouver us as needed.
The enemy emerged from the horizon. Their drums and horns got louder. We could hear their swords bang against their shields. We stood our ground waiting for our cue. When our drums began to beat from behind, they started low and slow and then louder and faster. It was our way of grounding ourselves and then building up our momentum.
The horns were our signal. We heard a quick two and charged ahead. With the special forces forming the crest and the soldiers behind as the trough we crashed down and forced through like a mighty wave. Our speed and movement stunned the enemy but their sheer numbers made us water against rocks.
Then came a long drawn horn. That was a bit unexpected, as it meant that our special force battalions were to hold back. At that point we had managed some damage to the enemy forces, but with their numbers, there was still a long way to go before the odds could be in our favour.
As we, the special forces, held our ground and slowly pulled back, the soldiers who were behind us pushed forward. We could see that they would soon be in trouble. And they must have felt it too.
3 horns spaced equally, signaled to them to fight to the finish. No turning back, no manouevering. Just straight ahead. Attack at will. As I peered over my shield, I saw our troops spread out through the enemy ranks. They were in trouble but they weren’t giving up. In fact, the scattered madness with which they attacked, with desperate force, left the enemy a bit spread out too. Taking away the option of turning back, in the face of difficult odds, can be effective in any situation. In battle, when loyal soldiers face impending death, they become lethal. But again, they were still too outnumbered. I could see that, and I was sure the general could too.
We, the special force batallions, kept pulling back until we were completely separated from the forces that had been behind us. That’s when we were met by the general and the troops that had been with him on the hill.. And a wall of fire was lit in front of us. We could see through the flames, our heroic soldiers, drenched in blood, fearless and menacing. Although, they were just not enough to beat the enemy, by the time our soldiers began to fall, the enemy too had weakened considerably.
Finally, the enemy troops came toward us, as we stood behind the fire. Had they been facing equally tired foes, they might still have triumphed. But the martyrs of our army, now strewn across the battlefield, had shocked them, scared them, and made them bleed. Physically and emotionally. Though the remaing enemy forces charged in toward us, they couldn’t break through. Our arrows tore into their weary ranks and the soldiers who were able to jump through the fire were swiftly taken down. Tired and weakened they turned back at last.
‘Cold feet’ our general said as we looked to him at the end of the day. As my hands and feet got cold last night, I had a thought. Warmth is afforded to the heart by letting the extremities go cold. And I realised that today was going to be a cold, hard battle. So I followed the lessons of my body. And though we are weakened, we have survived. Our army and our tribe will rebuild and fight again another day.
— — – – – – ——
The extremities of our bodies; our feet and hands, go cold in order to maintain warmth for the crucial internal organs that are centred in our bodies. Although it feels uncomfortable, this is an important and effective strategy.
In the context of war, allowing soldiers to die for the sake of the army, or the state, sounds harsh, but may often be necessary. If an army can think as one person, the thought may sink in easier.
Where else can this understanding benefit us ? In our companies ? In relationships ? Even in daily life perhaps ? Nature is a book worth reading so let’s have a think.
In the operating theatre, a diabetics injured leg may be amputated to save the person.
In a company, sometimes, some staff may have to be reduced, or comforts and benefits cut to save the company in hard times. An employee may need to let go of personal ego and credit, to let the organization grow and move forward. This is especially relevant when the organization’s cause is of the nobler kinds.
In relationships, we may have to let things of less importance go to let the core reasons get more attention. For example, we may like to have a highly qualified companion, but maybe amiability or some other trait is more important. And within a relationship itself, maybe we will have to let go of spending time together exactly as per our expectations, for the sake of just spending time together.
In daily life, we could think of time and energy in this way to great avail. Some tasks need less time, less energy, so that core tasks can get more.
It sounds harsh at times, but nature’s laws of general betterment at the cost of some individual sacrifice, do seem to have a well of worthy lessons. The important insight in all cases maybe this;
Although it seems, when our hands and feet go cold, that a sacrifice has been made toward the central organs, it is in fact in self- interest, as the hands and feet depend on the proper function of those key organs, which are working constantly in the interest of the whole.
This does pan out well across all the examples we thought of above.