Saturday, April 4, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
My Experience of the 1971 Indo Pak War
It was the autumn of 1971. The carefree days of the Air Force base dissipated. The air crackled with purposefulness as it crystallized into operational readiness. It was the eventuality all men in uniform work towards .
The East Pakistan crisis had lead to an influx of 10 million refugees on India's border, burdening a fragile infrastructure. The world communities remained mute spectators to the horrors that were unfolding. As other options closed, India was edging towards a confrontation with Pakistan.
As storm clouds gathered, the station morphed into a state of alert. Houses camouflaged, windows blackened, lights dimmed. Vacations and courses cancelled . Husbands enlightening spouses about their entitlement and benefits in the event of death. I wondered how one "benefited" " from the death of a loved one. My husband was very matter of fact about the whole thing, as he put away the papers. He even joked that I would be better off financially with him dead than alive. Don't grieve. Get married. Move on, he said. How easily the instructions rolled of his tongue!
Late into my pregnancy, I sat alone in darkened rooms as men starting spending more time in units. I dreaded my after dinner constitutional when I would be suddenly confronted on darkened roads by guards with bayonets - barking, halt! who goes there!
There was activity on the base. Men reported to their units. Civilians moved out. My friend was coming into the base with a 3 month baby - against parental advise. "I will never forgive myself if my husband were to die without seeing our child" she argued. I saw the phalanx of young wives, with their younger children. What was going on in their minds? A friend broke down when she heard the sound of a car backfiring. Most put up a brave front, their emotions masked.
I was in a quandary. We had so much wanted to be together when our first-born arrived. Go home! My lady doctor friend admonished me. No military hospital is going to entertain you, They will be inundated with war casualties. Your husband is going to be fighting a war and will have no time for family." she said. Most of the domestic and other staff had already vacated the base. Still we held on - confused, hoping something could work out.
Then, suddenly, the choice was taken out of our hands. Raj was asked to report to another squadron - destination unknown. So, I packed my bags and got ready to leave. No airline would accept me at that stage of pregnancy. We said our byes, the unspoken hanging heavy between us. I boarded the train at Jullundur to Chennai. My brother-in-law escorted me.
En route we saw trains laden with troops moving towards the border. And the people of Punjab? They were there in droves to cheer them on. There was an outpouring of love as they ran along tracks plying soldiers with food . Touching, hugging, crying, blessing..... Soldiering was a tradition in Punjab andI don't think there was a single family, rich or poor, who did not have a loved one in the service of the nation.
Soon after, on December 3rd, the war finally broke. To say my mother was worried, would be an understatement. She went into a state of shock. I tried to make light of the situation but by the end of the day when all was quiet , dark thoughts that had been shut out, crowded in uninvited.
Two days later I went into labor and on 6th early morning our son was born. I was alone, having sent my distraught mother home. I glowed in the joy of motherhood but wondered whether it was our destiny to be a complete family again. Where do we send our congratulatory telegrams, we wondered. Telegrams went out to various air bases . As it turned out, Raj was in the eastern sector and after Dacca fell, they moved to Ambala and then Amritsar. The telegrams followed him and there would be a message waiting for him everything he came back from a mission. In the squadron diary in which events are logged, it was mentioned that the Maindarkars had been blessed with 17 sons!
My many cousins who came visiting , cheered me up by improvising maps on the wall and pinning redstickers as troops advanced. It was wonderful how my family rallied around lifting my spirits.
On 8th December the Pakistan radio gave out names of pilots whose air crafts had been shot down and who had been captured. Raj's name featured among them. The many people who had heard this, made their way to my father-in-law's house to condole and cheer. At least he was alive and a guest of Pakistan, and , would eventually come home. Though this was disinformation on Pakistan's part to give out names to lower the morale of the fighting forces, nobody knew the truth.
My father-in-law's many calls to Air Headquarters went unanswered because during a war, nobody had the time . Worried sick, he wondered about the welfare of his other son, Ulhas who was with the armored division on the western front. On 12th December, coming back to Amritsar from the front, Ulhas' path crossed with that of a pilot rushing to go on a sortie - it was his brother. Later that evening he managed to get a call through to his parents to let them know he was well.When his father despaired about his brother being a POW, Ulhas was shocked and asked him when it had happened? Imagine my father-in-law's relief when he learnt what had transpired on the runway that morning!
The war ran its course. Raj was sent home as a special concession. He was not allowed to see his newborn till the baby's head was shaved (a barter my mother had made with the good Lord to bring the father home safe). As Raj squirmed at the thought of a razor running over the baby's soft crown, the barber mentioned our baby was a veteran because mostly people brought their babies directly from the hospital!
I looked at him - he had changed. War does that to people. When I see his composure in the context of what happened - I marveled at his fortitude... "That's what we are trained for. If I allow my emotions to get the better of me, everything I have learned will unravel and nullify the very purpose for which I have been trained over the years". he said.
Most of our friends had gone. I lay shell shocked, sleep eluding me as images bombarded me. Sounds echoed in my head of happier times. Holi, Diwali, New Year, picnics. The children - they were all so young, some of them still babies. There was guilt too in wondering why God had spared you. Often when I hear people say that war is the solution to a political problem, I doubt they have a clue as to how radically it changes people's lives. My friend who had made it to her husbands side in timewith her baby , was not so fortunate.
I went to meet her at her parents place - words eluding me. What exactly do you say at a time like this? She told me how everyday they monitored the number of air crafts taking off and those coming in. Of confidence and spirit flagging as the toll rose. Dreading the arrival of the flagged office car and the news it would bring. The caring and concerned CO's wife, who gathered the young wives under her roof when their morale plummeted. The deadly game of wondering on whose face the CO's eyes would rest. And so it happened to my friend one day when the CO walked in after a mission. She knew. Handing the baby over to a friend, she asked for the privacy of a room. Alone, she wailed and cried her heart out. When she came out, she was stoic, composed though her face was flushed. After that it goes to her credit that she never shed a single tear in public.
That's one thing about the service widows I have seen.Their dignity and composure in the face of death. Maybe its a dread you learn to live with when you marry into the forces. Maybe its some of the military discipline that rubs of on you. Whatever the reason, I have always felt as proud of these ladies as much as their men in uniform.
The East Pakistan crisis had lead to an influx of 10 million refugees on India's border, burdening a fragile infrastructure. The world communities remained mute spectators to the horrors that were unfolding. As other options closed, India was edging towards a confrontation with Pakistan.
As storm clouds gathered, the station morphed into a state of alert. Houses camouflaged, windows blackened, lights dimmed. Vacations and courses cancelled . Husbands enlightening spouses about their entitlement and benefits in the event of death. I wondered how one "benefited" " from the death of a loved one. My husband was very matter of fact about the whole thing, as he put away the papers. He even joked that I would be better off financially with him dead than alive. Don't grieve. Get married. Move on, he said. How easily the instructions rolled of his tongue!
Late into my pregnancy, I sat alone in darkened rooms as men starting spending more time in units. I dreaded my after dinner constitutional when I would be suddenly confronted on darkened roads by guards with bayonets - barking, halt! who goes there!
There was activity on the base. Men reported to their units. Civilians moved out. My friend was coming into the base with a 3 month baby - against parental advise. "I will never forgive myself if my husband were to die without seeing our child" she argued. I saw the phalanx of young wives, with their younger children. What was going on in their minds? A friend broke down when she heard the sound of a car backfiring. Most put up a brave front, their emotions masked.
I was in a quandary. We had so much wanted to be together when our first-born arrived. Go home! My lady doctor friend admonished me. No military hospital is going to entertain you, They will be inundated with war casualties. Your husband is going to be fighting a war and will have no time for family." she said. Most of the domestic and other staff had already vacated the base. Still we held on - confused, hoping something could work out.
Then, suddenly, the choice was taken out of our hands. Raj was asked to report to another squadron - destination unknown. So, I packed my bags and got ready to leave. No airline would accept me at that stage of pregnancy. We said our byes, the unspoken hanging heavy between us. I boarded the train at Jullundur to Chennai. My brother-in-law escorted me.
En route we saw trains laden with troops moving towards the border. And the people of Punjab? They were there in droves to cheer them on. There was an outpouring of love as they ran along tracks plying soldiers with food . Touching, hugging, crying, blessing..... Soldiering was a tradition in Punjab andI don't think there was a single family, rich or poor, who did not have a loved one in the service of the nation.
Soon after, on December 3rd, the war finally broke. To say my mother was worried, would be an understatement. She went into a state of shock. I tried to make light of the situation but by the end of the day when all was quiet , dark thoughts that had been shut out, crowded in uninvited.
Two days later I went into labor and on 6th early morning our son was born. I was alone, having sent my distraught mother home. I glowed in the joy of motherhood but wondered whether it was our destiny to be a complete family again. Where do we send our congratulatory telegrams, we wondered. Telegrams went out to various air bases . As it turned out, Raj was in the eastern sector and after Dacca fell, they moved to Ambala and then Amritsar. The telegrams followed him and there would be a message waiting for him everything he came back from a mission. In the squadron diary in which events are logged, it was mentioned that the Maindarkars had been blessed with 17 sons!
My many cousins who came visiting , cheered me up by improvising maps on the wall and pinning redstickers as troops advanced. It was wonderful how my family rallied around lifting my spirits.
On 8th December the Pakistan radio gave out names of pilots whose air crafts had been shot down and who had been captured. Raj's name featured among them. The many people who had heard this, made their way to my father-in-law's house to condole and cheer. At least he was alive and a guest of Pakistan, and , would eventually come home. Though this was disinformation on Pakistan's part to give out names to lower the morale of the fighting forces, nobody knew the truth.
My father-in-law's many calls to Air Headquarters went unanswered because during a war, nobody had the time . Worried sick, he wondered about the welfare of his other son, Ulhas who was with the armored division on the western front. On 12th December, coming back to Amritsar from the front, Ulhas' path crossed with that of a pilot rushing to go on a sortie - it was his brother. Later that evening he managed to get a call through to his parents to let them know he was well.When his father despaired about his brother being a POW, Ulhas was shocked and asked him when it had happened? Imagine my father-in-law's relief when he learnt what had transpired on the runway that morning!
The war ran its course. Raj was sent home as a special concession. He was not allowed to see his newborn till the baby's head was shaved (a barter my mother had made with the good Lord to bring the father home safe). As Raj squirmed at the thought of a razor running over the baby's soft crown, the barber mentioned our baby was a veteran because mostly people brought their babies directly from the hospital!
I looked at him - he had changed. War does that to people. When I see his composure in the context of what happened - I marveled at his fortitude... "That's what we are trained for. If I allow my emotions to get the better of me, everything I have learned will unravel and nullify the very purpose for which I have been trained over the years". he said.
Most of our friends had gone. I lay shell shocked, sleep eluding me as images bombarded me. Sounds echoed in my head of happier times. Holi, Diwali, New Year, picnics. The children - they were all so young, some of them still babies. There was guilt too in wondering why God had spared you. Often when I hear people say that war is the solution to a political problem, I doubt they have a clue as to how radically it changes people's lives. My friend who had made it to her husbands side in timewith her baby , was not so fortunate.
I went to meet her at her parents place - words eluding me. What exactly do you say at a time like this? She told me how everyday they monitored the number of air crafts taking off and those coming in. Of confidence and spirit flagging as the toll rose. Dreading the arrival of the flagged office car and the news it would bring. The caring and concerned CO's wife, who gathered the young wives under her roof when their morale plummeted. The deadly game of wondering on whose face the CO's eyes would rest. And so it happened to my friend one day when the CO walked in after a mission. She knew. Handing the baby over to a friend, she asked for the privacy of a room. Alone, she wailed and cried her heart out. When she came out, she was stoic, composed though her face was flushed. After that it goes to her credit that she never shed a single tear in public.
That's one thing about the service widows I have seen.Their dignity and composure in the face of death. Maybe its a dread you learn to live with when you marry into the forces. Maybe its some of the military discipline that rubs of on you. Whatever the reason, I have always felt as proud of these ladies as much as their men in uniform.
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