Mahendra Nath's Site

                                  MORE PASSAGES FROM 'REMEMBRANCE OF MY INDIAN PAST'

With a view to reaching the hills at the earliest, I caught a bus for Rishikesh without wasting any time in Haridwar yesterday morning. My first destination was ‘Muni-ki-Reti’, a religious camp set-up by Swami Shivanand, two miles from Rishikesh. I had heard a lot about the swami and I wanted to meet him. At 9 a.m. he came out to his office, followed and helped by a long train of disciples. I was surprised to find a number of foreigners, girls in mustard-coloured saris and boys in just underwear and angarchhas. These people were behaving like orthodox Hindus.

The swami is seventy-four years old and is said to be already beyond this world. But to me he gave an impression of being very much self-centred. First he looked at a number of his photographs with visitors. Then started the ceremony of washing his feet by milk water. Mantras were recited simultaneously. Later, the charnamrat was distributed to all present. And everybody, including the foreigners drank this with great respect. Somehow, I was left completely unimpressed by the whole proceedings.

Swamiji then went out and posed for two pictures with his new foreign disciples. Another ceremony was performed and some prasad distributed. Now the swamiji entered another room by the side of his office where a comfortable chair with thick cushions was laid out for him. A number of books containing his writings were kept by his side. A Telegu lady recited some Sanskrit hymns in which every­body joined. The recitation ended with an English prayer for self-purification.

Swamiji first noticed me when I went to him to receive flowers, which he was distributing to everybody. ‘Have you come from America?’ ‘No, from Calcutta.’ Till I left his ashram he remained under the impression that I was a Bengali.

After he had distributed his books to the followers present, I approached him. His face bore the sign of a question mark. I hesitated. ‘What do you want?’ he asked firmly. ‘I have a confused mind and came to seek your blessings,’ I mumbled. ‘Do japa and read this book and everything will be all right,’ he commanded after handing over his book Amrita Gita to me. ‘But I can’t concentrate even for a minute,’ I argued, ‘and my mind is ever wandering.’ ‘The vain wandering of several births have left this impression. It will take sometime before you get over it. Do japa,’ was his final reply. I went back to my seat and he started signing outgoing letters. When he showed his palm to a palmist called Ghosh to find out what was in store for him in future, I wondered if anybody, whether a saint or a prophet, ever gets rid of his ego even if he finds God. I tried to do some japa silently. As if to test me at this stage appeared a lovely, unassuming, ever smiling, pretty European girl dressed in a saffron sari which hid a most seductive figure. I looked at her, looked at swamiji, looked inside my heart, and thought of God and His creation.

‘Have you done japa before?’ Swamiji asked me all of a sudden. I looked blank. A Madrasi monk sitting next to me prompted me to go to him again and ask to be initiated. ‘What mantra do you want?’ ‘Om Namah Shivaya.’ He recited a hymn, handed me a mala and asked me to do japa sometimes with, and sometimes without, the mala. Then he handed over some more books to me. Presently, he retired and I came down to the guest house and had meals with his Scandinavian disciples.

‘How long can one stay in the ashram?’ I asked one of swamiji’s ardent disciples. ‘As long as one wishes,’ he replied. ‘What does one do to earn his living here?’ I questioned. ‘Good qualities and a spirit of service is all that is required here.’ ‘It will be my endeavour to develop these qualities and remain in the world,’ I said to myself. ‘If only I fail there will I come up here.’

Following the example of my fellow traveller, I mustered up enough courage to go down the ghat of Alaknanda and have a dip in the freezing water out in the open. I was still recovering from the not-so-pleasant effects of the holy bath when I was handed over to a panda. This panda really treated me like an inanimate substance. Sometimes he would clutch my hand and pull me around, then he would push me and guide me to a particular spot, then he would take charge of my hands and make me do things which I understood not at all; but the climax came when he got hold of my head and literally rubbed my forehead on a statue. All this time he had been zealously reciting some Sanskrit hymns. Little did he realise that his poor victim couldn’t even concentrate on God under those circumstances because he always wondered what was coming next! Personally speaking I liked it much better last night when I was left alone to do what I wished.

Coming out of the river I saw the most beautiful sight. Behind the temple was a snow-clad mountain turned golden due to the rising sun’s refreshing rays and contrasting with it was the background of a sky blue sky! Once again I missed taking photographs of such a rare scene; I thought I would take the pictures after finishing all the ceremonies; but by the time I was ready with my camera thick clouds veiled the sun. As a result I spent a few moments to put away in my memory, the scene which would keep bringing moments of joy anywhere, any time just by being recalled from memory.

The last item on the agenda was paying respects to a ninety-year-old yogi who lives all the year around at this snowbound location. During winter, when everything is covered by snow, he confines himself to his small hut. He has reduced his necessities and interests in life to get divine pleasure.

Why can’t others even attempt to deny some luxuries of life? Why can’t I? I don’t think a human being can achieve this in a short time. One has to regulate oneself for years, nay even several births, to reach that stage. Nevertheless the important thing is to make an endeavour to do right.

I was lucky to be alone with him and had some enlightening conversations. He definitely clarified one doubt of mine. For that alone it was worth coming all this distance. On my asking him if my marriage with Usham would be the right thing to do, he simply replied, ‘The question of right or wrong does not arise, you have wanted it so much that nobody can stop it.’

Going back to my room I wrote a few letters and then came out to wander around and take some photographs. But the snow-clad mountain was still shrouded with the thick white clouds. Lucky are those who get some opportunities to do what they want. But most of us are stupid and are unprepared to grab the opportunity when it comes and later we lament our unlucky stars. I once again make a promise to strive to remain prepared for opportunities in future. There was nobody to chastise me about this mistake. But then it is enough that the cloud of incompetence demeans oneself before one’s own eyes.

Even so, I reconnoitred the area. Went up to the Bhairava temple about half a mile up, took some photographs and then I let my mind and heart be absorbed in the colourful flowers. I could see millions of red poppies and buttercups. I plucked one specimen of each for you. They looked so beautiful, as I made a small bouquet of them. I wished I could hand them over to you by some divine means.

After spending a couple of days at Aligarh where Usham met relatives and friends, off we flew to Bagdogra for our honeymoon at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute (HMI) headed by Brigadier Gyan Singh. A jeep sent from HMI took us through a picturesque winding road, whose beauty was enhanced with the view of a slowly climbing toy train. At the HMI the Singhs received us with great affection, introduced us to Tenzing Norgay, who along with Sir Edmund Hillary were the first men to reach the summit of Mount Everest in 1953. He was now the chief instructor at the HMI, and they escorted us to their guest house where, we were told, Prime Minister Nehru stayed during his visits to Darjeeling. The suite was luxurious with a breathtaking view of the Himalayas. While the breakfast and lunch were served in the suite, we had to walk over to the Singhs’ residence for dinner.

The very first evening Usham captivated the brigadier. Looking at his own whisky-loving plain wife, he could not help asking Usham what she saw in me to marry me. I resented the question, but the awkward fact was that even I did not know the answer. With bated breath I looked at her. ‘He is brave,’ came the unexpected reply. Now Brigadier Gyan Singh was interested in Brigadier Gyan Singh. Quite simply and directly. And in a way that I thought him to be a genius. ‘Why do you say that? Did he fight in the Burma Campaign under Field Marshal Slim? Or did he lead the first Indian expedition to Mount Everest?’ he rapidly fired. Actually, he was narrating part of his own biography knowing fully well that I could not be anywhere near those two ventures. He also omitted to add that the expedition to the Everest had failed. Once again I was at the mercy of the wit of my wife who settled the matter in a jiffy by proudly proclaiming, ‘He is not afraid of dogs.’ They say you are not what you are except in terms of relation to other people. I have reason to believe that Usham was being honest that evening. What I did on 20 July 1958, at the entrance to the piano teacher, Mrs Hunt’s house had a meaning for Usham, which was unique. That is not to say I would have hesitated in doing a really brave deed for her if the situation required it.

Passages from Chapter XX A Son is Born

To make our lives a little more exciting a letter came from Jussawala, Zia’s lawyer in Bombay who took care of her interests. Her uncle in Bhopal had invited her and me to Bombay to negotiate a settlement regarding her father’s property. Zia’s instinctive reaction was to say no. Her mother had warned her that her uncle’s ambition now was to dispatch her for a reunion with her father – and by the same route – by poisoning! I seized the moment to prove my bravery to my innocent wife by undertaking to be her bodyguard while escorting her to Bombay for the fateful meeting.

Portents were not bright from the beginning. I bought our own air tickets from Calcutta to Bombay and found ourselves without any accommodation on reaching Bombay while the host and his wife were comfortably lodged at the Taj Mahal Hotel. Fortunately a dear army coursemate of mine, Satyapal Narula, was posted at Bombay and agreed to host us at his house in Colaba. We received an invitation to have drinks at 7 p.m. with Nawabzada Rashiduz Zafar Khan, at the Taj, on our first evening. I wore my evening dress and escorted my ward in a taxi for the ten-minute journey. On reaching the hotel I sent our two engraved calling cards reading captain and mrs m n mathur to the room of the Nawabzada and his wife. After a wait of fifteen minutes the couple came down to the lounge, met us very amiably, treated us to a princely drink of fresh lime juice, and asked the bellboy to fetch us a taxi for our return. I didn’t want to end the evening looking like a small fool; I decided to end it as a big fool! Surprised at our early return the Narulas asked us to share their meal; I declined, and persuaded them to join us for dinner at Astoria, a fashionable restaurant in central Bombay. And a wonderful time we all had drinking, dining and gossiping; never mind the bill! Next day, at the meeting at Jussawala’s office the uncle and his lawyer suggested that all of us meet at Bhopal next month to inspect the property left behind by his free-spending brother and decide what Zia would accept as her share, which was 1/10, according to Islamic law. Now emboldened by her survival so far and lack of any apparent threats, Zia had no hesitation in accepting the proposal, which was supported by Jussawala and me.

A wiser man now, the trip to Bhopal, I planned by train. At Shamla Kothi, the residence of Zia’s late father, we were given a comfortable suite on the top floor of the house, which gave us a beautiful panoramic view of the Bhopal Lake. But when it came to property, Muhammad Miyan, the uncle’s secretary escorted the two lawyers, Zia and me to view a dozen or so dilapidated buildings and offered any two of them to Zia. All other property, his share in the main house, and the jewellery had been spent by Saeed Miyan (Zia’s father) in womanising and racing; or so it was alleged. In the evening Chacha Miyan (Zia’s uncle) asked me for my views and I told him, much to his relief that my intention was to make peace between him and his niece, and the question of property I would leave for him to decide. I was young then and not aware of the ways of the world; otherwise perhaps I would have tried to get a better deal for Zia. The long and short of the visit was that it was decided that all the declared properties would be costed, and her proportionate share, 2.1 lakhs, would be given to Zia in tranches. Fortunately, a remarkable notion has existed in Zia’s mind since then that the sum be retained as a capital which should not be subjected to subtraction nor utilised for multiplication by wise investments. All these decades, all that she has got from this inheritance is simple interest at the State Bank, which has paid her income tax, her accountant, and her minor shopping expenses.

A bigger gain of the Bhopal visit was establishing a polite, correct and friendly relationship between Zia’s uncle’s wife, Biya, and the two of us, which has survived all these decades without any bickering. Often in the evenings Zia’s uncle would sit down in their verandah and ask me to join him for a drink (now whisky and soda – fresh lime was the drink of the day at Bombay due to prohibition), and reminisce about the days when his brother was alive, and Zia’s mother used to make Saeed Miyan’s life miserable by constant nagging. The only bright spot in that marriage was baby Zia; her English governess had standing instructions to call Rashid Miyan for watching the one-year-old baby being given a bath. He also told me that he had heard that Zia’s mother subsequently married and divorced a Pakistani colonel – a piece of information, which I could neither confirm nor deny. At dinner time, General Habibullah, who was my commandant at the National Defence Academy, and who had now retired and settled down in Bhopal, would join us to provide some stimulating conversation. He pleased me immensely, and the uncle a little bit, by declaring that a sapper (me) would be an asset to the family. Alas, I have done nothing for the family to justify that confidence!

Excursions were organised for us to visit the sights in and around Bhopal. We took in the lake, the Great Mosque and the ancient Buddhist stupa. And when we visited a place called Islampur, which was nothing but a series of destroyed temples, I remarked to Niloufer, Zia’s teenage cousin that it was senseless to destroy works of art. She retorted unhesitatingly that it was against Islam to worship statues and that it was right to destroy them!

More from Chapter XX A Son is Born

It was raining intensely on the afternoon of 6 September 1961 when the baby was born. From the Calcutta Military Hospital I drove to the head post office to send telegrams to my parents and Zia’s aunt in Bhopal about the birth and then came home to look in the Ramayana for a suitable name. On the page that I opened, the first name that stood out was Varun. And that was the name given to our bundle of joy which was duly registered at Calcutta Corporation and reported in the Army Returns.

What should have been a great time for both of us, watching our precious child grow, was turning sour, thanks to Usham’s mother. She kept telling her daughter that she was living in terrible conditions after childbirth and that she should not get up from the bed for forty days. As a result, after the maid finished her duties in the evening, I had to remain awake during the nights to take care of the mother and the child. Fortunately, Usham’s grandmother always restrained her daughter from damaging our marriage.

In fact, the old lady was quite an institution by herself. And it was to her that we looked for guidance. She went and called on Ms Padmaja Naidu, then governor of Bengal, and asked her to keep a benevolent eye on her grand­daughter. The gracious governor then sent flowers for Usham, invited us for a private tea, and for a reception which she held for the visiting Pakistani cricket team. And at the reception she went out of her way to introduce us to Usham’s cousin Pataudi, who was a member of the Indian team, and to Usham’s godfather, a Colonel Baig, who was manager of the Pakistani team.

With the eventual departure of Usham’s mother from Calcutta, our lives took a turn for the better. We enjoyed bringing up Varun who rolled about on our sitting room’s rug or in his playpen when not in the maid’s, Usham’s or my lap. He had no cares, no responsibilities. Any object that he could get hold of, he tried to break by throwing it with his full power. He knew he was the centre of attraction when any visitors came; and we both loved showing off a happy and laughing son to them. In the mornings Usham would give him an oil massage and then leave him on a bed in the compound for sunbathing. During the day he amused himself with several toys, especially cars that he had acquired, and in the evenings I had to carry him all the time whether at home or visiting people. All the time he was serious about his food so much so that all my shirt and coat jackets bore the marks of his milky mouth.

Baooa gave us the pleasure of coming to us to take care of Usham and the baby for a few weeks. I really haven’t met anybody else in my life that is satisfied with so little, is completely non-demanding, is always ready to help others, and is thrilled by small pleasures. She loved living at our Fort George home, which was so near the officers mess, the club, the library and the medical inspection room. She freed Usham and me from all worries of running the home and taking care of Varun, and still displayed great enthusiasm for sightseeing and eating out at restaurants in Calcutta. But in view of my strained relationship with her mother, Usham considered it her duty to be a bit aloof from my mother, as if to pay me back in my own currency. I have always regretted letting Baooa return from Calcutta within a month for fear of her being treated disrespectfully by Usham.

Varun was dark like me, handsome like his mother, and tall for his age. Usham’s thoughts centred on him as long as she was awake. I started planning his welfare and for the first time started saving money for him. Varun was the pivot of the house; every desire ended somewhere in him. Usham and I had ceased to be self-justifying beings; we never thought of ourselves save as the parents of Varun. Perhaps he knew all about his importance. Even when he was punished – which was quite often – he was made to understand that it was because much was expected from him.

From Chapter XXII Which Major?

In the hope of giving my wife a pleasant surprise, on the day when I got my promotion and posting order, I withheld this piece of intelligence from her. In any case, she was ignorant about military promotions and appointments and the situation did not interest her. I, on the other hand, decided to make the best of my remaining few weeks’ stay in Calcutta. I would ask everybody to pack up and take a reluctant wife, a laughing son, and a deaf cook for trips to Shantiniketan, Bhubaneshwar, Puri and to the mouth of the Hooghly. On realising that I was invested with a certain incurable quality of childishness, she forgave my irresponsible ways and suffered the inconvenience of travelling by crowded buses and trains, rather cheerfully.

But at the end of these trips she was quite tired of eating out at godforsaken places, could not bear the cooking of someone who could not and would not hear her advice on finer points of the culinary art, and she herself did not have the time nor the inclination to cook in addition to looking after Varun.

The problem of sustenance was solved by eating in the nearby officer’s mess where a few bachelors would join us in the evenings for drinks before dinner. Most of them were junior to me; even those who had picked up the rank of major a little earlier had done so due to expansion of their regiments. But she rather enjoyed the respect and attention accorded to her by these majors, who were in turn treated with deference by the lieutenants and captains as required by military etiquette. The situation did not peeve me because I knew that Brigadier Shivdayal Singh was about to rectify the matter.

Soon enough a signal came to my desk at the office requiring me to assume the post of garrison engineer, Shillong, in the rank of major. It was undeniable that I was a lucky mediocrity at whom this attractive post had flung itself. In all modesty I immediately rang up my lovely wife – me and my sense of humour – and asked how she would like to be the wife of a major? A short pause, and then she inquired, ‘Which major?’

At the office I summoned a conference of all contractors and engineers only to find that most of the projects were on hold because of lack of decisions. I simply asked for suggestions from them and then decided on the most sensible solution even if it happened to violate some regulation or appeared to bestow extra benefits to certain contractors. I would visit the sites every day mainly to educate myself but in the process site workers also got decisions on the spot. Within a few weeks the engineers and contractors had started achieving a lot. A couple of bridges that were held up for months showed remarkable progress, trucks and jeeps that were off-road for want of spare parts and were in the process of being condemned were put back on road, buildings of the corps headquarters were being repaired, new quarters for married personnel were being built, and above all the corps commander’s residence was being refurbished in accordance with the wishes of Mrs Umrao Singh, her daughter, and her husband. Evidently she was a proud, even a haughty creature, with her careful controlled politeness. She considered herself to be superior to all men in uniform in Shillong. She certainly displayed no great respect for the general; maybe the rumours then abounding about him, similar to those which made American President Clinton immortal thirty-seven years later, had something to do with that attitude.

Through no fault of mine, I found myself in an unaccustomed situation. The station was abuzz with the turnaround of the division when Colonel and Mrs Kale returned to the station. He was a tall, kindly, polite and warm Maratha and she was a short, shapely, flirtatious and voluptuous Punjabi. They both said that everybody was talking about how Major Mathur has changed the division for the better. I could not help stealing a look at the sky and wondering at the irony of life. When I did my best, I was adjudged a failure; and when I was clueless and let others work, I was successful! From day one we hit it off in style and formed a mutual admiration society. If I had any problem at work I just had to give him a ring and he would be there to help me. But my newly acquired reputation also condemned me to longer hours of work. In one breath I would say all leisure was rot and it was only work which mattered. And in the next I would suddenly demand how was it that I had no time for anything but work, unlike some officers of corps headquarters. However, I was plagued by apprehensions about the management of the division.

Fortunately, my will power to continue to see improvements in the division remained a driving force. But my capability to convert this into action was being impaired due to commencement of special police inquiries against engineer Dutta and adverse confidential reports by the CWE on the other two engineers. I assured the police that Dutta was an honest man and the CWE that the two engineers had become angels overnight. And with that, all my junior engineers acquired, in an increasing degree, the supreme gift of unquestioning obedience to me!

At about that time two well-known personalities of Indian politics passed away. One was the octogenarian chief minister of Bengal, Dr Bidhan Chandra Roy, who had ruled Bengal since independence and who used to provide free medical service at his home for two hours before commencing his official work every day. The other was also an octogenarian, Dr Puroshottam Das Gupta, a senior and intellectual congressman, whom Nehru sidelined for being religious! All the offices and shops were closed as a mark of respect in consciousness that all our doings are in vain. I could not help reflecting that this world is not my home and in a short while I too shall also get into the boat to nowhere! And what shall I have lived for?

Swami Ranganathananda of Ramakrishna Mission visited Shillong and was invited to give a talk at the officers’ mess to a small gathering. He told us that the Upanishads present religion as a matter of experience of the highest truth, and not as mere belief. This is the supreme characteristic of the Sanatana Dharma. Vedanta teaches the scientific-philosophical approach to the highest reality. The Vedanta allows and welcomes questioning by seekers. No dogmas can allow or stand questioning. Truth alone can do it. The Vedas say:

This Atman (being) hidden in all beings, is not manifest (to all). But it can be realised by all who are accustomed to inquire into subtle truths by means of their sharp and subtle reason.

Something stirred inside me, touched me, and I had a feeling that all was not lost. Somewhere there was such a thing as peace of mind and goodness. That night when I dozed off, thoughts of the mystery of life merged into the incoherence of my dreams.

For a while social life took centre stage at Shillong as there was talk of the impending move of the corps headquarters to Siliguri. The governor of Assam, retired Chief of Army Staff, General S M Srinagesh and Mrs Srinagesh invited Zia and me for a pleasant and sumptuous lunch together with a few more couples. There was a ball at the Shillong Club where flirtation was the order of the day. Endless house parties meant I remained in a perpetually drunken state. About this time I was also allotted proper married quarters in the form of a semi-detached bungalow, the other side of which was occupied by a charming couple, Dusty and Prema Doss, of Gurkha Rifles. Prema got such a bang out of just living that it was a pleasure being just in her company.

In due course of time IV Corps HQ arrived at Gauhati after evacuating from Tezpur. And I as the GE had to provide accommodation for them.

All army wives and children were asked to leave Assam and special flights of air force transport planes were arranged from Gauhati to Delhi for the task. As I was camping at Gauhati then, Colonel Kale drove down from Shillong with his wife, my wife and Varun. I was merely asked to be at the airport to bid Zia and Varun goodbye. Everybody who was to go to Delhi emplaned, the engine of the aircraft started, and just as the ladder was about to be removed, down came Zia from the plane carrying Varun. Air Vice Marshal Maharaj Singh, who was in charge of all the air force operations, and next to whom I was standing to watch the plane take off, inquired who the lady was and why she was coming down. Sheepishly, I admitted it was my wife and probably she had forgotten something. He asked me to go to the tarmac and help. Quite taken aback I was but delighted, when, as soon as I was within her hearing range, she declared that she was not leaving me and going anywhere; whatever happens we would be together, let the Chinese come. When I relayed this to Maharaj Singh he addressed her directly and exclaimed that he was very proud of her and told her that, if the necessity arose, he would send her out of Gauhati on a special flight!

Delhi was now getting geared for a long-term conflict with China and one of the measures was to extend Borjhar Airfield at Gauhati for fighter and transport planes of the IAF, build taxiways, blast walls for protection against enemy action, and underground operational readiness rooms for the pilots to wait. A separate GE was posted for the job. Unfortunately the man, one Mr Dutta (every other man in Gauhati was a Dutta – so it seemed) could not get on well with the Assam State Electricity Board (it was involved in the work because their staff had become idle due to closure of dam projects in Assam – after all they did not wish to build dams for the Chinese!), the air force wing, or with the new CWE who had replaced Kale, Lieutenant Colonel P K Nayar. Once again the chief engineer, Shivdayal Singh, came for a visit and on the spot asked me to take over as GE, Gauhati. This was a new experience because so far I was only used to being fired

Chapter XXVI The Life Cycle

My mother was a perfect karmyogi, certainly none greater have I come across in my long life. Every morning she would get up at 4 a.m., have a cold bath, say her prayers, read the Ramayana, and then straight on wade into the housework of cooking breakfast for the whole family, supervising the cleaning, ensuring everybody had lunch and dinner at their respective preferred timings, and making sure that the laundry was taken care of. Only in her rare spare time would she amuse herself with reading novels, listening to music, going to movies, or socialise with her women friends – Papa spent every evening at the Library Club where he went to play bridge. She virtually sacrificed herself for the welfare of the family.

Nobility, sweetness, cheerfulness, charm and friendliness always oozed out of her, and divinely free of indolence she was when it came to any errands to make any member of her family more comfortable. She always ate last and retired for the night after everyone else was in bed. The only desire that she ever gave expression to was to pass away from this world while still working, and without troubling anybody for even a glass of water. Rather than suffer any disabling sickness, she had the sweet urge to close her eyes and surrender utterly to the perfect safety of leaving the body. With an instinct endowed to her by her daily meditation, she felt the vastness of the divine embrace enfolding her liberated spirit – Brahma engulfing the soul, the only real part of her temporary personality.

I recalled that it was only two days back that I had received a letter from her in which she revealed how happy she was to read adulating sentiments in my last letter which I had fortuitously recorded. She had also declared that she would journey to Gauhati on the day I chose for helping in Usham’s childbirth. Might it be that her liberated soul had entered Usham’s womb?

Next morning in the Indian Airlines planes to Calcutta and Nagpur, and at the Borjhar and Dum Dum Airports, it was only the second chapter of the Gita that gave me a proper perspective and prevented me from becoming a wreck. Discoursed Krishna to a grieving Arjuna, verses 12, 13 and 14:

Nor I, nor thou, nor anyone of these,
Ever was not, nor ever will not be,
Forever and forever afterwards.
All, that doth live, lives always! To man’s frame
As there come infancy and youth and age,
So come there raising-ups and laying-down
Of other and other life-abodes,
Which the wise know, and fear not. This that irks –
Thy sense life, thrilling to the elements –
Bringing thee heat and cold, sorrows and joys,
’tis brief and mutable! Bear with it, Prince!

They all joined the funeral procession from home to Chandaniya, the cremation ground. Relatives, friends, neighbours, and numerous others whose hearts she had touched during her life – they all filed in. It was for the first time that I witnessed a cremation. The body was rested on a pyre of firewood, ceremonies conducted by the family priest, and the pyre lit by Papa. It was remarked, that a lucky woman was she for having passed away while her husband was alive, the children grown up and educated. And she went away painlessly. All that was true. But she did not want to die that soon. I knew she wanted to come to Gauhati and be there for the birth of our next child. I thought of her age; she was only fifty-three.

I thought of her goodness; she was ever ready to do a good deed, and never a malicious thought entered her mind. I thought of her charm and friendliness; she was permeating them all the time. Although always she had done her duty, I knew she had thought much more. I wondered if she thought of the adventure of breaking away from it all. I did not want to leave the scene of her final departure before the cremation was complete but in a gesture of mercy to the gathered barbarians, the priest suggested we all leave. I had a last look at the sight of the universal unknown engulfing the minuscule unknown that had been the part of her temporary personality.

27 January 1964 was a Sunday and a number of people visited us that day mainly to inquire about Usham’s health. They all came and socially chatted with us, men drinking beer and their wives displaying themselves as fair statues. It was only when Mrs Nayar came at about 4 p.m. and saw Usham that I was chastised for keeping Usham at home in what she said was the eleventh hour of pregnancy. Straightaway I put her in my car, and with Mrs Nayar in attendance, drove to Chhatribari Mission Hospital. Within an hour my dream came true: amid much screaming Usham gave birth to a daughter. When I glimpsed her a little later in the room where all the newborn babies were preserved I couldn’t help noticing that all the other babies looked so ordinary compared to my supremely beautiful child. In thankfulness I headed straight to the Shiva temple on the banks of the Brahamaputra before sending telegrams to Papa and Dada and returning home to celebrate with friends.

So far all the women that I had met were like books that I had already read. But this young lady was a library of the unknown. Never one blind to beauties, my affection for her could straightaway make out that she was going to make our lives the sort of which dreams are made. Next morning I took two-year-old Varun to see his new sister. The new sister was at that time being nursed by her mummy and a great sense of delight spread over Varun’s face on seeing her. Spontaneously he roared, ‘Dolly, dolly.’ And Dolly we have called her since then.

28 January was celebrated by the Corps of Engineers as the day when the first Indian engineer-in-chief, Major General Asarappa was commissioned, and who on retirement from the Indian army promptly got employment in the British army in the rank of major. Normally these dinners were stiff, black tie, boring, formal affairs. But that year I lost all inhibitions and used the occasion to celebrate the birth of my baby daughter – even old Colonel Nayar was roped in. I think all of them were quite happy to divert from the irrelevance of the day.

Obsessed with making our newborn immune to all possible diseases we got her inoculated and vaccinated against whatever the doctors advised. In the process poor Dolly suffered quite a bit, especially when one vaccination itself became septic, and left a permanent mark on her. Even so, because of her I was now free from the pain inflicted by Colonel Nayar and revelled in living. I can perhaps very truly say that from then on I didn’t decently envy any other human being, rich or famous, and have been content with my mediocre career.

6 September

In the afternoon went with DQ (for deputy assistant quartermaster – administrative staff officer) of the brigade to select a brigade maintenance area. En route two Pakistani F 86 planes flew over us for reconnaissance and we found cover under a tree. When we returned, the deafening noise of enemy shelling of our positions greeted us. Our own artillery regiment (from TA – Territorial Army) was without ammunition and as such could not return fire and was withdrawn from forward positions. I was given the task of protecting left of the Sulaimanke – Fazilka road. I redeployed the field platoon, organised the defence, and even planned a counterattack. But let me confess that when I tried to steal some sleep I didn’t feel very comfortable. I hate war.

Life is strange. A guy dreams of war all his life, joins the army at the first possible opportunity, trains for it for twelve years, and then on the first day he hears shelling in anger – he hates war. Still I had the good sense of not disclosing outwardly what I felt inwardly. It was of paramount importance to maintain an outward appearance that radiated enthusiasm and confidence. At least my laborious study of military history was paying off even as my study of philosophy revolted against war.

11 September

On 7 morning C Platoon was sent up but it couldn’t start working on minefields for 14 Punjab due to heavy enemy shelling. In the afternoon went over to the village of Pind where, it was reported, some six rockets were dropped by Pakistani Air Force which remained unexploded. I took Pilot Officer Ramesh with me to the village, which was thirty miles towards Ferozepur. The ‘rockets’ turned out to be drop tanks of fuel.

After the brigade commanders’ conference at 1700 hours I took NP, C Platoon commander, to 14 Punjab’s location. Against my own conviction and on NP’s advice I let the jeep drive us right up to the forward defence line. On alighting from the jeep I was greeted by a shell of a 120-mm Brandt gun. I took to the ground immediately in bewilderment. On regaining control of myself I rushed towards the command post (to meet the battalion commander) but during that endeavour was subjected to a repeat performance of shelling by the enemy. Took position under a tank near the command post for an hour as the shells kept falling left, right, centre, and almost on top too. During a brief lull I went over to Colonel C S Bhuller for discussing his requirements of minefields. He stated the obvious – I had brought the enemy shelling for his position and that the work could not commence during the shelling – but requested me to send some defence stores. As I started my march back to the jeep, ‘bang’ came a shell and the next moment I was again under a tank. During a brief pause in shelling I made a dash towards the trees, where my jeep was supposed to be, but the shelling recommenced with greater intensity and I had to jump in the nearest trench occupied by a gunner, Naik. Now the enemy infantry assault advanced and soon enemy shells and bullets were flying all over the area. For quite some time I only prayed and sweated. Gradually I gathered my confidence and started looking out and watching the battle.

I left a blank page after that entry hoping to describe the dramatic event of the remaining evening at leisure. Apparently that leisure I did not find till today. But those hours are so deeply engraved in my memory that even after more than thirty-four years I can narrate events of those hours as if it happened only yesterday.

That was the first time I watched a night attack by the enemy. As the enemy troops advanced towards our position their artillery fire was lifted and Verey Lights went up to illuminate our areas for their troops to attack our positions. Simultaneously, our own artillery, mortar, tank, and machine gun fire intensified at the advancing enemy. Soon the advancing enemy troops were exposed to the sights of our infantrymen by the illumination of our own Verey Lights. Concentrated heavy small arms fire struck the enemy with great force. Screams and groans filled the atmosphere and then suddenly there was silence. That signalled to us that the enemy attack had been beaten back. First I thought of heading back to my own unit lines on foot; that seemed to be the way not to expose myself anymore to Pakistani hostility. Then it occurred to me that my jeep might still be in the area where I left it with the driver Govindaswami, still waiting for me – alive or dead. So thither I stumbled to. Alas, in vain. There were no signs of either the jeep or its driver.

Assuming that the enemy had captured them, I started my long walk back to the unit area, which was about six miles back. The night was completely dark, the sky was completely cloudless, and the atmosphere completely soundless. Apparently that night God had withheld permission for the tree leaves to oscillate. Even the delicate foliage of a clump of pepper trees did not stir. Breathless was the darkness cooled by the early autumn. My mind had difficulty even in visualising Usham, Varun, and Dolly as even my soul appeared to have left the body. Mechanically reciting Hanuman Chalisa I let my legs do the walking under the almost continuous canopy of the trees lining the road – all the time looking out for enemy infiltrators. Up to that day I had an idea that God is very far away and is very high above. Not any longer. I felt He was with me. After a thousand years (so it seemed to me then) the unit sentry’s pale face gazed at me having heard the sound of my hasty and ponderous footsteps.

Well might the sentry imagine that he was seeing a ghost. For my driver, having witnessed my running and falling at the commencement of the battle, waited for another ten minutes for any signs of life in me, and then rushed back to the unit to take the tidings of my being killed in action! The fact that the news was slightly exaggerated was celebrated on my return with mugs of rum in my bunker with other officers. I savoured the moment of relief from the greatest danger that I had ever faced from the enemy.

From Chapter XXXII CHEATING DEATH AT HUSSAINIWALA

20 September 1965

At 4 a.m. I was woken up in my bunker by a ring from the brigade major who wanted to see me immediately. At his office I was apprised that the situation was forbidding, with 2 Marathas out of communications, presumably overrun by the Pakistanis. The brigade commander was ordered by the corps commander to move to Hussainiwala immediately with two troops of tanks, one artillery battery, one field platoon, and the officer commanding 10 Field Company. However, before we left at 6 a.m. the good news came that 2 Marathas had repulsed the enemy attack. We reached Hussainiwala at 8 a.m. and met a confident Colonel Nolan who told us what he needed to bolster his defences. I quickly worked out the requirement of mines and defence stores, and rang up the brigade major to send them up.

I was very glad to find that three enemy tanks had been disabled by the anti-tank mines laid by us, due to which the enemy assault was beaten back.

Soon I organised a recce party for bridge demolition, another for minelaying, and earmarked yet another for the demolition of the three tanks. But the last task did not have to be carried out as the tanks were subsequently destroyed by the recoilless guns. I left Colonel Nolan at 1700 hours to report to the brigade commander who advised me to see him again next morning regarding the demolition of the bridge.

Amid falling shells, I slept in a pukka building for the first time since the operations commenced.

This is the sort of stuff soldiers do. There is neither virtue nor sin in it. It is all part of the same thing. But what Pakistanis were trying to do was not nice. Nonetheless, I had one of my better days of the war that day; what with three enemy tanks destroyed by our mines and I helping the brigade and battalion commanders in defence. When I took off my helmet for a short while at his bunker, Colonel Nolan shouted and asked me to put it back on my head. Immediately after, he asked me to take no offence. I told him I was taking no offence except if shrapnel hit my head!

It must be said that engaging together in the war effort made us all feel like part of one big soul. That night I slept well even though the shelling was going on around me. The fear of war had been driven out by constructive work. That internal calm was better than many joys that I have known in my life.

Thus my life changed overnight – changed as only a sudden stoppage of firing in a battlefield, without any defeat or victory can change. Just a day earlier cooked food, a glass of water, or even going to bathroom seemed luxury. Today we drove around in safety and watched the destruction of villages, vehicles, tanks and humans. And everywhere, weary people were stretching. How this seemingly unnecessary war had, and continued, to mess with thousands of lives which were forced into this ugly situation. Yet they say every man is born free.

The well-armed hordes of Pakistani cavalry attempted to drive towards Delhi as Turks marched to Byzantium but were repulsed by their lack of skill and superior Indian tactics. These people are born in the wrong age – only middle ages were fit for them. We did not have to reassure the troops that the invaders were bad; they were bad for every one to see. In fact there was a crime here that went beyond resistance and denunciation. While so much havoc was being inflicted on the wealth of both the countries there were people on either side of the border who wondered where the next meal would come from.

Even so, listening and watching the stories of the enemy forces made me wonder why these people think they are so different from us. Driving around in the wilderness even my soul did not appear to be mine but rather like a part of a great big soul which has to be with the rest. And what was being achieved by freeing prematurely so many souls from their bodies? Some of their bodies were still lying around – a ghastly sight, confirming my view that human beings are just like any other species, in that they are born and then they die. It is purely our egoism that makes us think we are superior.

My old hero from the armoured division days, George Narayanan, now a colonel, turned up for a few days to visit his brother-in-law, Charlie Murty, at Wellington. I persuaded him to come and have a drink with me. He was his own charming self but declared that he had stopped drinking. Remembering what great times we used to have together over drinks at Jhansi, I persuaded him to have a glass of beer. He smiled understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it that I have come across four or five times in life – it concentrated on me with an irresistible prejudice in my favour. We drank and chatted about the old days and future dreams; and then, when I dropped him back, he bid me an affectionate goodbye. How was I to know that that was his final goodbye to me. Within a year I would get the tragic news of his death from alcohol-induced jaundice.

At the end of the training season Indu, wife of my friend Ramesh, who was DQ of the Division, was entrusted with the task of staging an English play for the Army Club, the hero of which Johur aspired to be in order to fulfil his ambition of excelling as an actor. He approached Indu for the role and when told that she would think about it, he boasted to one and all that he had been selected for the role. When finally Indu did choose her man, she had the task of making the blow light for Johur. Apparently she told Johur in Hindi that he was not selected for the role because of his height. The equivalent Hindi word for height actually means length. And ‘length’ is the word Johur used when telling us why he could not fit the role in the play. ‘It was because of my length,’ he explained in English.

Usham had no such problem in explaining her predicament on the morning of 16 May when she rang me from her hospital bed at the Military Hospital, where she had been admitted a day before. ‘I am dying,’ she declared. Panic-stricken I rushed to the hospital to find a comparatively calm Usham complaining of excruciating pains, which, presently led to the birth of a beautiful baby who was instantly exclaimed ‘Fairy’. Next week I received orders to move to Rangiya in Assam (a non-family station) to take command of 4 Engineer Regiment of the 23 Mountain Division.

I took the regiment out to a bridging camp for six weeks to a nearby river and let them train extensively in building bridges and rafts. The grand finale was a demonstration of the regiment’s prowess to which all the brigade commanders of the division and the GOC himself were invented. The GOC reckoned this to be an opportunity to impress his corps commander, Lieutenant General ‘Happy’ Khanna (commanding IV Corps) and requested him to witness the ‘attitude of aggressiveness’ of his division. Since both the corps and the divisional commanders were from the artillery, I decided to add icing on the cake by demonstrating ferrying of mortars and medium machine guns on mules swimming across a water gap.

On the appointed day, the day on which I expected to win glory, I prepared a speech of which Guderian and Slim would have been proud, and delivered it fluently to the assembled generals and brigadiers. The atmosphere was charged with great expectations. Like clockwork my sappers built various bridges and rafts over which troops and equipment were moved. Finally I gave the signal for the mules, on which were tied guns and mortars, to be launched in the river. First three mules swam majestically, the audience broke into applause, and a sense of pride pervaded me and my men. Alas, the fourth mule lost its confidence midstream, made manoeuvres to return to the home bank, and in the presence of the august audience drowned in the river unceremoniously. I stopped further launching of the mules and sent a few good swimmers to untie the gun from the drowned mule, and retrieve it from the shallow and slow-flowing river.

But the damage had been done. The two generals walked over to the riverbank where the other loaded and now reluctant mules were waiting, and gave me a tongue-lashing of my life. I ask the reader to forgive the confusion which pervaded my mind at that time. I looked at the generals and looked at the mules, then I looked at the mules and looked at the generals, I again looked at the generals and looked at the mules. But in my confusion I still could not be sure which were the generals and which were the mules.

I presented no such confusion in my GOC’s mind, though. He gave me an assignment to personally carry out a reconnaissance in Bhutan. To me it appeared that he had lapsed into sanity, though I suspect it was his way of chastising me for the ‘mules’ fiasco. My jeep dropped me to a point from where I and my batman, Paul, took off on foot for a week’s odyssey in the mountainous wilderness of Bhutan. I was completely on my own, trekking almost incognito, in a foreign, though not unfriendly country. We avoided all habitation, slept in any shelter that we could find, brewed only tea and did no cooking and began to love emergency rations. It was indeed a very exclusive club – we managed to remain unobserved not only by the Chinese and Bhutanese, but would have also remained oblivious to Indians had we perished in those forested mountains.

And perish I almost did when crawling on a precipice I slipped down towards the ravine a thousand meters below. The slope was sandy and I could find neither bush nor stone to hold on to with my hands. Slowly but surely and helplessly I kept slipping down and was even afraid to shout for help lest the shout accelerated the slide. Silently I uttered my last prayers and calmly awaited the worst. Fortunately, Paul was not very far behind, and came to my help. He lay down flat on the ground and extended his hand which I grasped, to regain solid ground – and my life. Without any fanfare, after a ten-minute break we continued with our mission. On return I spent hours preparing a report on my mission and when I handed it over to the general I knew I had won him back for he gave me a smile which he normally reserved for the occasions when I had handed him an unmakable bridge contract.