Monday 13 May 2019

Diary Of A Soldier - 19, an English translation of Gautam Rajrishi's Fauji ki Diary (फ़ौजी की डायरी - १९)

Dard thaa diyaa gayaa ki har dukhee ko pyar doon
(I was given pain so I would give love to each one in distress)

Winter is beginning to make its presence felt on these high mountains. The days still have the comfort of the cover of an angelic balmy warmth, the evenings however are gradually falling under the terror of the ghouls of cold. If all goes well this winter would be the last for this battalion on these merciless mountains. The impatient wait for the next summer may make this winter somewhat easier, for having completed its tenure, the platoon would have left by this time next year for some city in the centre of the country. Meanwhile these mountains have handed over to us a pile of countless stories...such strange stories that will take a life time to be told to the civilization spread under these pre-historic mountains, and even if told - who is going to believe them dear diary !

The commanding officer of the neighbouring battalion told an extremely interesting story over the phone yesterday...

...pushing and shoving out the month of August, September has somehow made its advent. One of the many important tasks allotted to the battalion is to keep the main roads of Kashmir used by Army convoys safe. It is normal for the terrorists to stealthily put mines under these roads... this is something you are well aware of diary mine. Of all the main roads, the most important is the one that leads to Leh and has maximum traffic of army convoys. The task is performed by various companies of the battalion by dividing the road in many segments. Each segment of the road is kept secure by one company of the battalion by dividing it further into small pickets. Each such picket is manned generally by four to six jawans. Each company usually establishes, on the roadside at a fixed distance, fifteen to twenty such pickets named Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta etc. according to the English alphabet. The story is about picket Charlie.
       
The daily, long convoy of army vehicles going from Shrinagar to Leh had just crossed the stretch of twenty five kilometres of the road allotted to one company of the battalion to enter the area of its neighbouring company. The moment this news was confirmed on the wireless, the company commander - a not-so-tall but decidedly dark and handsome captain - had heaved a sigh of relief. Having instructed all his jawans posted at each picket in that stretch of twenty five kilometres to stay watchful, he was about to return to his company base when an anxious message coming over the wireless touched not just his entire being but seemingly also the air around with a thousand watt current.

"Charlie picket for Tiger, over ! ...come soon otherwise Kehar Singh will kill this woman...over!"
Coming down his ears, the anxiety in the voice of the wireless operator had begun to course through the Captain's veins when he ordered his driver to turn the Gypsy back towards picket Charlie. Picket Charlie was hardly ten minutes away and during these ten minutes Captain saab ran Havaldaar Kehar Singh's entire bio-data tens of times in his mind. Plain and simple, totally disciplined, father to two children, a little on the heavier side but totally fit physically... what crisis could he have brought about ? The Captain's anxiety was as if racing against the speed of the Gypsy on the winding, meandering road.

There was a quite a crowd collected over there when the captain arrived. He could see from afar through the windscreen of the Gypsy four jawans surrounded by local Kashmiris from a settlement next to the picket. Full of apprehension, when the Captain stepped down preparing himself to face the worst, he saw everyone from the settlement giggling and laughing and Kehar Singh - sitting with a Kashmiri doll of about ten years on his lap - feeding her puris from the packed lunch in his Tiffin. The way the story unfolded, the Captain - who had feared the worst - couldn't stop laughing out loudly...

...the mother of that Kashmiri doll was thrashing her black and blue in rage over goodness knows what reason and the little girl's wailing was reminding Havaldaar Kehar - standing on duty nearby - of his own daughter. He pleaded three or four times with the woman to leave the girl alone and when she did not pay heed the enraged avatar of Kehar Singh first pushed the woman aside and then picked up the little girl in his arms. As the furious woman lunged at him, things went beyond his capacity to control. The people from the settlement told Captain Saab how havaldaar saab, carrying the little girl in his arms, had brought down an unending shower of blows. Amongst the group from the settlement, the first to  support havaldaar saab was the father-dear of the girl, saying the insolent woman deserved what she got... this was what she did to the children every day... she would now come to her senses.

Making his return after a moment, the Captain saab had an interesting story to share with his life-partner over the mobile that evening and I am reminded of a verse from a famous song written by late poet Neeraj...
         
"Haath the mile ki zulf chaand kee sanwaar doon
honth the khule ki har bahaar ko pukaar doon
dard thaa diyaa gayaa ki har dukhee ko pyaar doon
Aur saans yoon ki swarg bhoomi par utaar doon"

(I was given hands so I could smooth out the locks of the moon
my lips opened so I would call out to each blossom and bloom
I was given pain so I would give love to each one in distress
and breath so I should bring the heaven down to this earth)

                                                                               --x--


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