I
started writing this blog while I was still in the train to Kerala. I hadn’t
seen my sister for five years and even failed to attend her marriage. So when I
learnt that she is coming to Kerala from Dubai for the vacations, I thought of
meeting her up and decided to book a single ticket to her place. It was almost
Christmas and rush time so tickets weren’t available but I still bought them on
a waiting list believing that it would get confirmed. And so I stared down at
my mobile screen in disbelief on the day of the journey as Indian Railways
graciously informed me that my ticket has just fallen short of confirmation and
the chart has been prepared. But I was nevertheless determined to make the
travel, even if it meant travelling without a berth to sleep.
It
was an AC coach so I didn’t have the option to adjust myself with fellow
passengers who had confirmed seats. But I sure could travel near the door,
adjacent to which lie the revolutionary Indian Railway toilets in which human
poop crash land onto the tracks after passing through a tunnel; as in one of
those slides in Water Kingdom! (eww). But nevertheless I was content I managed
a ‘seat’ or whatever it is you want to call it. Now the next thing was company.
I couldn’t afford to sit alone in this place for two days; I would be bored to
death and may not even sleep properly. Also, having someone for company would
discourage the ticket checker from kicking us out of the train on charges of
travelling without reservation (they normally don’t but it would be perfectly
justified if they did so). And so I waited and waited until a dark, burly man
with arms like that of a freight crane climbed the compartment with a big metal
suitcase and a large baggy green duffel bag. Definitely a member of the armed forces,
I reckoned. I was delighted when he didn’t move into the compartment and
started adjusting his bags near the gangway, which meant he too was on a
botched up waiting ticket.
One
thing lead to another and three hours into the journey we were sharing dinner.
And in those three hours I felt like I knew his life story. His name was
S.K.Nair and he was a unit commander in the 4th Battalion of the
famed Kumaon Regiment of the Indian Army. In his 28 year old career he had
served in almost all forms of terrains from Northeast India to the Gujarat
border and even in the tough, unforgiving glaciers of Siachen. But the one
thing that stood out for me in his impressive curriculum vitae was that he was
a Kargil war veteran where he was part of Operation Vijay. He even showed me
the Yudh Seva Medal he received for his services during the operation where
they fought against Pakistan Army members who had crossed into the Indian side
of the Kargil Line of Control.
After dinner, we spread out our bed sheets on the corridor but sleep was a depravity
thanks to the stinking toilets a few meters away. He plucked out a bottle of
Coke from his bag but the odour gave it away; it was alcohol. He smiled
sheepishly at me and called out to the soft drinks vendor who was roaming back
and forth the coaches and bought a Coke (the real one) for me. After two gulps
of his drink, words began to flow out like an express train. And so in one of
the many unguarded moments, he related to me an incident that happened in his
youth when he was just a few years into service. The incident definitely may
sound straight out of a bollywood flick but it still was dramatic and needed to
be documented.
“I
was just twenty-six years old. You know, the young and the restless kind? My
first posting was in Upper Assam for peace keeping activities. My transfer was
just due in two months when the Government declared ULFA as a terrorist
organization. Tensions in the area escalated and there were killings
everywhere. The army had to fend of fights and minor skirmishes from both ULFA
as well as Maoist troops. And when they were not fighting us, they were busy
fighting each other. In any case, many tiny villages bore the brunt of the
attacks and the army always intervened. In such conditions all transfers were
called off indefinitely and more troops were being sent in. Everybody was
pissed; all of them wanted to escape that hellhole. But not me.” A controlled shyness cracked upon his face and
he tried in vain to control his smile as it met his cheeks from end to end. I
wondered how a bottle of alcohol can make even the hardest of them falter.
“She
would come thrice a week with groceries from the nearby village and set up a
makeshift shop for the morning. She was alone mostly but sometimes in the
company of a little boy; not her son; she was too young to have a son that old;
her brother maybe.”
“Or
it would be better if we put it this way – You WANTED him to be her brother and
not her son.”, I pointed out. He was as sloshed as an ape so I saw no harm in
adopting a more endeavoring tone.
“Nahh.
I know boy. She must have been just twenty and that boy was easily over ten.
Plus I am no good a soldier if I can’t tell a woman and a mother apart.”, he
slurred and waited for my approval to move on. I nodded.
“So
yeah this woman. My platoon was posted along the market and my shifts lasted
eight hours a day anytime I choose. I ofcourse opted for the morning slot; that’s
when she came; by the only bus that ferried people from the town to the
village. And there were only three buses each day so timing myself to reach the
bus stand wasn’t much of a task. I would stand there daily upon her arrival and
would hold my INSAS rifle in a combat ready position, puff my lungs up with all
the air I can take in, bark orders to no one in particular and strut like the
ringmaster in a circus; all just to impress her. You know when…”
“Did
you get anywhere with that? I mean with all those antics of yours?”, I
interrupted, impatiently wanting him to progress forward.
“Yes
ofcourse! By the end of the first year I could smile at her confidently, by the
end of the second year she started smiling back at me..”, he beamed with pride
while I remembered that I myself had spent three years just smiling at the girl
I like and my conditions weren’t even as demanding as his!
“So
you know we had started to talk and stuff. I even began buying groceries from
her though I got enough of food from our base and didn’t need any more. She
told me about her problems; how she had to leave school after the ULFA
activities in her village increased to break-neck point; how she had to support
both her brother’s education and her mother’s medical bills. She thought it was
funny to think about medical bills when the nearest hospital they had was just
bombed to shreds a few months back. But she never once did complain about what
life had done to her. She was a tough woman. Those kind who have the guts to
stand up to adversities and move on; the ones who can move mountains if need
be.” , he went on and on and spoke with great fluency for a drunkard.
“So
if you ask me whether it was love, I cannot say that. Maybe it was just
sympathy that I had for her for the circumstances she was put through, for the determination
she showed in wake of these circumstances; sympathy which later grew into
empathy and then to a state of immense respect and awe which I must say looked
to me a lot like ‘love’. I didn’t know if it was love or otherwise. I knew no
other emotion of a similar kind.”, he was now beginning to get progressively
moody. The initial nostalgic tone was now replaced by a less potent form of
catharsis.
“I
had even contemplated leaving the army and marrying her and everything. Ofcourse
I wasn’t serious about it but that thought was gaining momentum with each
passing day.” , he paused, opened the empty ‘Coke’ bottle and sucked whatever
little drops of alcohol that remained.
“So
one day I couldn’t make it to the bus stand on time; we had some extra combat
drills to perform. It had happened before and I knew I would find her at the
market. I walked through the morning crowd, patiently screening people ahead
for that familiar face; the sole reason why this tempestuous place was
tranquilizing to me. I saw her as I moved forward. She had had a busy day. Her baskets
were almost empty and she was good to leave in some time.”, his tone getting
heavier with each word.
“As I inched closer she saw me and looked up
and smiled; almost asking me where I had been throughout the morning. ‘Army
drills’ I was about to say when right there in front of her a frag rolled in
and before I could say or act, it exploded and with that she blew up into tiny
bits of flesh and bone. And before I could lift my rifle, I felt the stinging
sensation of bullets ripping through my torso; I fell down and blacked out
never believing I would survive.”, he had said everything quickly without any
dramatics, leaving me no time to anticipate this tragedy. He wiped his eyes
before any teardrop could make its entry. After taking two or three deep
breaths he continued.
“Twelve
civilians and one of my colleagues were killed. A regular Naxal attack. I survived
despite four bullets punching holes in my body and also got the Parakram Medal;
they give it away to soldiers who sustain injuries during military combat. To
many that medal is a symbol of their pride and honor. To me though, it’s a symbol
of loss, pain and sorrow. There are times I wished they had killed me along
with her; I found no meaning to live this life with nothing to look forward to.”
“There
are some love stories that never happen and there are some that just end
tragically. But then there are also some love stories whose wings are clipped
just as they begin to take flight rendering it handicapped for life. I guess I fell
into the last category.” He didn’t speak anything after that. Wishing me a
goodnight he lied down to sleep perhaps burying all his sorrow once again like
he had been doing for the past twenty-four years. I didn’t feel compelled to
ask him anything either. I had not expected his tale to have such an agonizing
end and perhaps I needed some sleep to get over it.
.
.
.
.
The
next morning when I woke up, commander S.K.Nair was standing at the door
sipping tea. He gave his best smile and said, “I bothered you with my stupid
Assam love story didn’t I?” , he asked laughingly. “I am sorry! It seems like
my wife is not the only one who has to hear that! I am sorry if it bothered
you. Its just this old crap which I blabber every time I get drunk; I can’t
help it. Want to have some tea?”
“Sure.
Thanks.” I said. I was happy to know he was married and was having a fine life.
But at the same time I fully accepted the fact that this man, who had not
weathered after all these years of hardened military service, clearly nurtured a
broken heart, a heart which even after twenty-four years mourned the death of a
woman he once loved.
