The Legend of Badluram Ka Badan – Where Folklore Meets Fauji Grit of the Assam Regiment

The Assam Regiment, raised in 1941 at Shillong, was one of India’s youngest regiments when the Second World War turned the eastern front into a cauldron. Japanese forces were advancing through Burma (now Myanmar) toward India, and the dense jungles of the Northeast became a crucial theatre of war.

In those unforgiving forests, amidst rain-soaked trenches and mosquito-infested camps, young men from the North East—Nagas, Mizos, Garos, Khasis, Assamese, and hill tribes—fought valiantly. They were rugged mountain soldiers, familiar with the terrain, sharp-eyed and swift-footed. And among them was one rifleman whose name would be immortalised in a song—Badluram.

Badluram wasn’t a general, nor a war hero in the conventional sense. He was an ordinary soldier — a fauji who carried his rifle, obeyed orders, and faced the same dangers as his comrades. During one of the fierce clashes against the Japanese in Burma, he was killed in action.

Ordinarily, his name would have been struck off the rolls. But fate, or perhaps forgetfulness, had another plan. His quartermaster, a certain Sub Maj Mukh Ram, never struck his name from the ration list. Whether by oversight or chance, Badluram’s name continued to fetch rations long after he was gone.

No one could have predicted how that simple clerical error would become an act of providence.

As the war raged on, the Assam Regiment found itself cut off from supply lines by the Japanese. Food was scarce. Ammunition dwindled. In the suffocating isolation of the jungle, survival became as much about resourcefulness as courage.

That’s when Badluram came back—not in body, but through the extra rations that had been drawn in his name. Those supplies, unintentionally hoarded, sustained the regiment through the siege.

In a twist that only soldiers’ humour could truly appreciate, Badluram’s ‘ghost ration’ saved the living. And from that moment, the young rifleman became a legend—a symbol of sacrifice, serendipity, and survival.

Years after the war, a regimental officer named Capt MC Banerjee—affectionately known as ‘Banjo’ among his troops—decided that this remarkable story deserved to be sung, not forgotten.

He set the tale to music, borrowing inspiration from a popular Western wartime tune and weaving in Hindi lyrics that every soldier could relate to. Thus was born ‘Badluram Ka Badan Zameen Ke Neeche Hai…’—a marching song that was funny, fierce, and deeply poignant.

It begins with the line:

‘Badluram ka badan zameen ke neeche hai, par humko uska ration milta hai!’
(‘Badluram’s body lies beneath the earth, but we still get his ration!’)

What might sound irreverent to outsiders is, in the army’s world, a salute—one that carries both affection and respect. For soldiers, humour is often the way to honour the unbearable.

Over time, the song became more than just a regimental tune. It turned into a living piece of folklore—passed down from one batch to another, sung on every parade, trek, and campfire.

Its rhythm embodies the Assam Regiment’s spirit: rugged, unpretentious, and indomitable. The lyrics are simple but layered—a reminder that in the army, heroes aren’t always the ones in history books. Sometimes, they are the forgotten riflemen whose names linger on a ledger, whose stories live in a melody.

Every recruit who joins the regiment learns to sing ‘Badluram Ka Badan’. It binds them to a lineage of courage that began in the jungles of Burma and continues across the world wherever the Assam Regiment serves today.

Today, decades after World War II, the Assam Regiment remains one of India’s most distinctive fighting forces. Its soldiers have served in every major operation—from the 1962 Sino-Indian conflict to UN peacekeeping missions. And wherever they go, their anthem follows.

The tune echoes through parade grounds in Shillong, the misty hills of Aizawl, and even in foreign missions—a reminder of the regiment’s roots and resilience.

For young soldiers, ‘Badluram Ka Badan’ isn’t just about a clever tale; it’s a moral compass. It teaches them that courage often hides in small acts—that loyalty, humour, and remembrance can carry an army through its darkest hours.

At its heart, ‘Badluram Ka Badan’ is a celebration of the soldier’s way of seeing the world—where tragedy meets laughter, where loss becomes song, and where the past lives on in rhythm.

Badluram may lie beneath the earth, but his story walks tall in every man who dons the Assam Regiment’s olive green.

And when the drums beat and the chorus rises—‘Assam Regiment, Tezpur!’—somewhere, one can almost imagine that young rifleman smiling from the mists of memory, proud that his ration still feeds the spirit of the regiment he once served.

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