I can�t recall much about this army exercise except for the following incident which happened in the final few hours. Facing an impossible situation, I was about to give up when a miracle happened. As a bonus, I was given an opportunity to use this miracle to help another weary soul who had already given up.
We commandos usually trained and operated in small units. But occasionally we trained in larger units, which was the case in this battalion exercise. About two hundred of us had been walking on this endless narrow trail in a rural countryside for a long time, fully laden with our usual heavy backpacks, weapons, and other gear.
We were dying of thirst. The scorching sun beat us mercilessly; the heat and humidity was unbearable. My parched lips were cracking.
When thirsty, I sometimes swallowed my saliva, imagining I was drinking. But even this trick didn't work. My mouth and throat were dry. Even my saliva had completely evaporated. I had long since expended my last precious drop of water. My two water bottles were bone dry. I was not so much physically exhausted as I was dehydrated.
I was among those at the head of the long column of weary soldiers. This head had a few high-ranking officers such as captains and majors. I was a lowly corporal, lower than the lowest rattlesnake. Several little village huts were scattered along the way. At the huts' backyards were water taps with hoses for farming. There were no fences. I guessed that in this rural village, fences were unnecessary because everyone trusted each other.
Those taps could save my life. Oh If only I could get to them, but the exercise had the rule (like most exercises) that we were not allowed to enter the homes of civilians for water or for whatever purposes. Being surrounded by high-ranking officers made it impossible for me to sneak in. Being at the head of the column compounded the problem. It was impossible to do anything without observation by the rest of the column. Ohhhhh, so near and yet so far . . . .
The last time I checked, both my water bottles were empty, but maybe I was mistaken; maybe there was still a few drops that I had missed.
Hope, however small, welled within me. I took a bottle out of my left pouch and unscrewed it. Turned the bottle upside down -- no water. Shook the bottle -- not a drop. Shook harder -- still nothing. I lifted the bottle over my head to let my eyes pierce into the mouth of the bottle. My eyes confirmed what my heart already knew: not an atom of H2O remained. I replaced the bottle and took the other out. Did the same thing with the same result. I felt resigned. I prayed, God, I don�t see how you can help me, but please do. I can�t take it much longer!
Just when I was about to give up hope, someone shouted an order passed from the back of the column. We were ordered to turn about-face. Either we were lost, or higher command had changed their minds about our destination. So now, instead of being at the head of the column, we were at the tail end. Thus our actions would not be so easily observed. But I still couldn�t do anything because of the prying eyes of the senior officers all around me. Why don�t God blind these officers for a while? Dejected, I was ready to collapse.
Then I saw three or four senior officers dashing to the nearest water hose. They too couldn�t take it anymore. Those officers were human after all. I immediately joined the mad rush. I knew they couldn�t stop me because they were doing the same thing!
I waited longingly behind two or three officers. Come on, officers. Would you please be quick? Come on. At last my turn came, I filled my two water bottles! I wouldn't have traded these two water bottles for all the gold in the world. The officers and I ran to rejoin the main body. As we resumed our journey, I gulped down one whole bottle. You can�t believe how refreshing the water was. I was instantly revitalized. My saliva returned. Praise God for answering my prayer. But even then my thirst wasn't fully satisfied. I began to unscrew the cover of the second bottle, but something told me not to. I agonized over it for a few seconds. Finally I screwed the cover back on and put the still-full bottle back into my right pouch. I was not to regret this decision. The water adventure hadn�t ended yet.
At long last, I saw the finishing point three hundred meters away where several army trucks were parked. I felt relieved; the ordeal was going to be over soon. I then noticed a platoon mate hunched over with his hands on his knees, apparently exhausted and rooted to the spot. I couldn�t see his face because he was facing down. I moved to him to see what was wrong. He lifted his head, and I recognized Peter. His anguished face was dry and pale. His brown skin had turned to white. He murmured, �Water . . . . I need water . . . . Can�t take another step . . . . Water."
Peter was a sensitive, caring guy. "You know why some girls like me?" Peter had asked me a few weeks before." They say it's not because of my looks but because I am caring." He was right. However, because of his sensitive nature, he often took the constant abuse and insults trashed out by the trainers too personally. But then he had a point about treating others with respect.
Peter�s voice - naturally soft and feminine - was an attractive target for the insults. Our trainers loved men with loud voices for a practical purpose. On the battlefield, a loud voice is good for giving commands; the command could be heard above the clatter of gunfire. On the other hand, those with soft voices were frowned upon.
One day, a few of us were seating on the ground with a corporal trainer facing us. The corporal said, �Peter, your voice is like that of a bapok (derogatory local slang for an effeminate male)."
�Corporal, it's not right for you to say such thing," Peter retorted. "I was born with this voice. I can�t do anything about it. It's not right to make fun of what others are born with.�
The corporal looked stunned - almost shocked. What temerity, his face seemed to express. It was rare for a trainee to answer a trainer back, but the corporal didn�t reply. Maybe he thought that what Peter said made sense. Or maybe he was too stunned to respond. This incident made me realize that traces of humanity still remained in this otherwise harsh environment where a person�s feelings were deemed secondary.
Coming back to the water story, it was clear that Peter couldn't take another step. Others pointed at the waiting army trucks at the finishing point up ahead and reminded him that we had only a short distance more. He said, "I know, I know, but I still can't move . . . ." We had covered more than twenty miles that day, but he couldn�t make the last three hundred meters. And Peter was a great distance runner, one of the fittest among us.
I took my full water bottle out of my right pouch and handed it to him. He grabbed it gratefully with both hands, body now straightened. Feeling the weight of the bottle, he raised his eyebrows. �So much water left? How?"
Still too exhausted to explain fully, I just said, �Yeah." He gulped the water down, apparently oblivious to my answer which wasn�t all that important to him.
The great artist Akiane Kramarik said, "I have been blessed by God. And if I'm blessed, there is one reason and one reason only, and that is to help others." God's blessings are not mine to keep but to give.
To this day, I�ll always have the mental picture of Peter hunched over and not able to move. There was nothing wrong with him physically. He was a fit young commando. All he needed was water.
At home, we turn on the tap and there�s water. How easy. Easy also to take water for granted. Thank God for water. |
