NORMALACY and the EXISTENCE of A SUPREME BEING. Well! The story goes back 36 years. I was in the prime of my youth—an educated and a modernyoung man of my own philosophies and beliefs. To say the least, there was no scope for superstitions and blind faith inunproven and unscientific phenomenon. I was like any normal young man of all times-- brash, aggressive, unrelenting, uncompromising, and uncaring as well as a non-believer in the orthodoxy and a narrow minded worldview of religious rigidity. GOD and RELIGION, then, were the BACK BENCHERS, somewhere in the INSIGNIFICANTSLOTS of my MIND! My profession had further strengthened my prejudices of the uselessness of RELIGIOUS EXTRAVAGANZA of MYTHS AND LEGENDS. In this profession,you sleep with dead bodies littered around you. You keepdoing your job; while men keep falling DEAD as you yourself DEFY DEATH. It was night 18/`19 December 1971. I was on my way home, on some leave to my village, called BALACHAUR, a tiny HAMLET of around 200 houses. It was then part of HOSHIARPUR district of PUNJAB and now it falls under NAWANSHAHAR district. The village has now overgrowninto a township of around 30,000 people. Two nearby villages have been swallowed by it and it threatens to eat a few more. Just on the previous day i.e.17 December 1971, INDIA had won a great victory in the BANGLA DESH war. Whole Nation had gone crazy—MILITARY MEN were the heroes everywhere---there were celebrations and thanksgiving parties—girls of LSR & MIRANDA HOUSE in New DELHI and some other big towns of those days had made brave statements of marrying wounded and crippled soldiers---women were flocking and welcoming soldiers on the railwaystations and bus stands and applying “TILAK” (LONGISH MARK WITH VERMILLION ON THE FOREHEAD) on soldier’s forehead--- Radio stations were blaring out patriotic songs with soldiers as heroes. I can tell you most SOLDIERS were BLOATING with such high appreciation. By the way, I reckon the wholeCREDIT WAS BEING TAKEN BY THESE “REAR ECHELON SOLDIERS” whom the authors of “CRISISIN COMMAND”, Richard Gabriel and Paul Savage,dub as “REMF”—with due apologies to some sensitive friends, it stands for “ REAR ECHELON MOTHER FU*K**”.I suppose this is the way things are always— FRIUTSARE ALWAYS ENJOYED BY PERSONS OTHER THANTHE ONE WHO SOWED THE FRUIT PLANT During the immediate wake of this HYPE of VICTORYSONGS and perceived GREATNESS of SOLDIERS, on 18 DECEMBER 1971, at around 0835 hours, a poor me, landed at SRINAGAR Bus Stand hoping to catch some bus to go to JAMMU. What luck? A Maarwaris couple, who had been stuck in the valley during the war period, was negotiating with a KASHMIRI TAXI DRIVER. I toolanded there. On seeing me, the couple extended me an invitation to travel with them up to PATHANKOT. How could I resist? They were a young twosome— probably newly married—who had come to KASHMIR around 1 December but got stuck up due to war. The name of the man was AMIT PATEL and he addressed his wife as ASHU—I do not know her exact name. We took off at around 9 AM and made it to PATHANKOT—then a RAIL HEAD FOR J&K, at about 2045 hours. It was an awesome journey with army vehicles being given preference everywhere. Roads were jam packed with boisterous military men having a whale of a time in enjoying their sudden MOMENTS OF FAME at every village, hutment or road side eateries. They were undoubtedly thrilled at so much attention being bestowed on them through their countrymen’s unabashed display of GRATITUDE to their Valour. A lot of exaggeration and gibberish wasbeing dished out as episodes of personal bravery by ‘rear echelon soldiers’. Some of them had never been combat soldiers and some others had never held a weapon in their lives in ‘olive green’. It was crazy and I was missing the excitement by being with a decentand a well behaved MARWAARIS couple in the taxi.They had plenty of eatables and we had our fill every hour. At Pathankot, the couple bid me goodbye and rushed to the railway station to catch the train to their sweet home. I was charged no penny. I moved to a road side DHABA (Eatery) and hoped to catch a truck to HOSHIARPUR. While having a cup of tea, a JALLANDHAR BOUND truck came and I asked SANTOKH Singh, the driver, if he could take me up to DASUYA. He readily agreed. The tea stall owner did not take from me 25 paisa for the excellent cup of warm tea he had given me. I insisted but he stubbornly refused. I had no choice but to accept the free hospitality of a poor tea stall owner. When many years later, in 1998 to be exact—I stopped at the same place, the stall had gone and a full fledged MOTELwas functioning. I, then, saw the PHOTOGRAPH of the TEA STALL OWNER FRAMED and HUNG on the WALL---I knew what had happened. That is a separate story to be recounted some other time. I got into the truck of SANTOKH SINGH around 21.30 hours. Instead of getting down at DASUYA, I carried on to Jallandhar and he dropped me at RAMA MANDI Chowk. It was around 0030 hours on the morning of 19 December 1971. My place was still some 85 Kms away—on Road Jallandhar-Chandigarh. Luckily, a small convoy of military vehicles came by. They were empty vehicles which were returning to Command HQ at Shimla (HP). They saw someone of their elk and in no time offered me a seat in the co-driver’s seat of the leading vehicle. It was around 1 AM that we might have started and the vehicles went at full blast. At around 0230 AM I was dropped at the “T” junction along the BIST DOAB C ANAL where the road from CHANDIGARH bifurcated to HOSHIARPUR. This canal takes off from River SATLUJ at ROPAR Head works, some 30 kms away towards CHANDIGARH. The canal was constructed in mid fifties. Today it has a beautiful road running from ROPAR to BALACHAUR---where it dissects itself to HOSHIARPUR and JALLANDHAR. In those days, at this “T” Junction, there was a single THATHED HUT of a tea stall, owned by a person called YATI. In this hut barely two/ three persons could be accommodated. He had a mud room behind this, where he lived with his family. Today, this place is buzzing with activity, round the clock. In fact, it is the emerging economic Zone of this township. There is a beeline of Restaurants and DHABAS along the road for a distance of 2-3 Kms on either side of the Flag of the “T”. My village is at a distance of three Kms from this T Junction. In those days, there used to be the course of an EAST-WEST semi-dry seasonal stream (CHOE or KHADD), unabridged and sandy, some 400-500 meters away from the “T” Junction towards the village. The area around it had thick wild grass right up to the village. At the other end of the stream, we had a FUNERAL GROUND for the last rights of the DEAD MEN of the village. To say the least, at around 0230 hours, in the wintry night there was no means of conveyance. Even during day hours, one used to wait for hours before one could get a bus. Therefore, I started on foot. I had only one small suit case. Luckily as I approached the Dry Stream Southern Edge, I met one of my Village UNCLES—who was going to his fields. Zaildar Balwant Singh was a man of around sixty nine. When He saw me, he instantly recognized me and fired me in anger. “What are you doing here at this unevenly hour?” he had shouted. I explained to him as to how I had made it in one day from SRINAGARto BALACHAUR. He couldn’t believe that I had come in a day. “Have you deserted?” he had commanded. “No, No, uncle I have come on leave, because mother had suffered a stroke”, I had replied. He was not convinced. He started talking of the war with PAKISTAN. I started narrating to him stories of our valor in the KASHMIR VALLEY . He started walking with me. He then, narrated to me the story of one MUSLIM boy, called YOUSOUF—the ONLY GRADUATE of the VILLAGE in those days—a ‘TELI’ by caste—who had become a BRIGADIER in Pakistan Army. He asked me about him. I knew nothing of him.Then, he talked of some CAPTAIN RAO FARMAN ALI of ASRON village (MUSLIM RAJPUTS—of GHOREWAHA CLAN—a sub caste of KACHHWAHA RAJPUTS of PUNJAB —owing ancestry to JAIPUR in RAJSTHAN) whose father was a big land lord of the area. ASRON village is near ROPAR on the Northern banks of River SATLUJ and tucked into SHIVALIK HILLS. This used to be the crossing place on SATLUJ before the BRIDGE AND HEADWORKS CAME UP IN 50’s. The village is now humming with lot of INDUSTRIAL activity. In those days, in 1971, it was a deserted village of MUSLIM RAJPUTS who had migrated toPAKISTAN. The RAO SAHIB of ASRON was a friend of ZAILDAR BALWANT SINGH. His son, Rao Farman Ali, had been commissioned into BRITISH INDIAN ARMY in pre-independence days. I knew nothing of this gentleman, too. His stories were so interesting that I didn’t know as to when I had reached the outskirts of my village. As we came near the bylane of the SAINI MOHALLA (Group of houses where people of SAINI SUBCASTE LIVE), he bid me farewell and cautioned me not to venture alone at such oddly hours. He told me he had to go to his fields as his TENANTS were waiting there for SUGAR CANE CHURNING (we used to call it BELNA or KOHLU for extraction of cane juice). I touched his feet and carried on my way home. I must have reached home around 3 AM. My family was very happy. We talked and talked of the war. I fell to sleep around 4 AM. Next day, I got up and spoke to my father about BRIGADIER YOUSOUF of Pakistan army. He confirmed and also added that YOUSOUF was his class mate (my father) and he had got VICEROY COMMISSION (VCO) while in BRITISH ARMY. VCOs were the forerunner of JCO rank of INDIAN/ PAKISTANARMY. He remained in touch with his village friends even after migration and retired as a brigadier around 1969. I asked him about Captain RAO FARMAN ALI—my father laughed on my ignorance. “BUDDHU (DUFFER), He is the same Major General RAO FARMAN ALI, who was the Chief of Staff of PAKISTAN ARMY in EAST BENGAL (now BANGLA DESH). I was flabbergasted at such crass ignorance. He had been in the news for many days before surrender of the PAKISTAN ARMY in Bangla Desh. How could I not link his name? Then my father snapped, “why are you asking me all this?” “Oh, I was just confirming because Uncle Balwant Singh, Zaildar uncle, had told me about them last night” I had said. “Shut up, don’t talk nonsense”, my father was suddenly serious. I was utterly confused. I told him that he had narrated these stories to me just last night. “What? Last night you met him?” my father was shell-shocked. “Yes, He walked with me” I replied. “I don’t believe this” uttered my father. “Why”, I asked. “Because, he died on 15 December 1971. We performed the last rites.” My father had muttered. I was stunned and shocked. It was unbelievable. How could that be? There was nothing like GHOST about him. He was a normal man walking with his stick, as I had always seen him before this. Then the fear overtook me and I went silent. I fell sick for aweek and my leave was a waste of time. I remained fearful of his coming again but he never came back. Whenever I narrate this story, it raises a number of questions. Do you have any? Tell you frankly; thereafter I never came across any such phenomenon but this incident and episode keeps haunting me for the last 36 years. There is no falsehood about this— MANO YA NA MANO (BELIEVE IT OR NOT).
Posted on: Sat, 11 Oct 2014 20:53:28 +0000
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