The horrific privations of the families of fallen heroes.
Time stood still for me on 24 Nov 1962. My father, Lt Col Brahmanand Avasthy, commanding officer of 4 Rajput, was leading a part of his battalion back to base after the ceasefire in the Sino-Indian war was announced. The Chinese, devious as always, laid an ambush and massacred the column of approximately 200 men. The Indians fought bravely to the last man and last round. Hand-to-hand fighting followed and grossly outnumbered, they lay down their lives. Their bravery in battle has gone down in the annals of history. The Chinese dug a common grave and threw the bodies there. They gave my father the dignity of rolling him in a blanket and put a mess tin with an inscription : "Commanding Officer. He fought like a TIGER". from his pocket was found a blood-soaked letter to my mother. Most of his letters written to us arrived home months after he died, with his sparse material objects......uniforms, the last civvies he wore and his medals. He had kept letters written by us in his pocket. Maybe his last thoughts were of his wife and his two little girls. Who knows? But I do know that as a soldier he must have wanted to achieve victory for his nation till his last desperate breath.
The local Lamas of a nearby monastery were witness to the battle. Another witness, a young villager then, still lives there. He tells us stories of the valiant fight my father and his unit put up against the Chinese, who lay in ambush. Till today, there is an annual fair held at the site. People come and pray to the "Tiger" of La Gyala Gompa, Morshing village, Arunachal Pradesh, as he began to be called. Later, the army built a memorial at the spot and I could visit it. No doubt, the memory of my father makes us proud daughters. But children like us want an answer to the question : Why?
I must make it clear that amidst this cacophony of varying views, some provocative, some middle-line, some openly aggressive, I speak just as a wife, mother or a godmother. I do not speak for the thousands of those in uniform who I feel are also my family-members. They are promised to this country, for war or peace. But I and thousands of mothers, daughters and sisters like me will agree that all we want is the safety of our men. If a drop of their blood spills, it kills something inside us. There are perhaps no answers to the question : What will we gain by war. If war is inevitable, the forces should be made capable of victory, like in 1971. The soldiers are ready for everything in war or peace, but their hands should be fortified by powers that be. Their sacrifice should not go in vain.
Maybe I will get a lot of flak from armchair patriots. But has anyone given a thought to the families of the Pulwama casualties after a month of their deaths? After the initial hysteria dies down, all those men are forgotten. The women and children are forgotten and consigned to the lives of loneliness and struggle. This is a bitter truth. Every other day, our boys die in various sectors. Does anyone even try to reach out to their families? A bit of cluck-clucking on social media and their job is done. My mother was looked after by the army and our friends, not the government. It pains me to say this, but it is the truth. Every country fights for its sovereignty. I proudly subscribe to that, but I don't condone sacrifices in vain.
I do hear and read on social media and from some heartless politicians that soldiers are paid to die. I throw the gauntlet to all here. Take what you want, but go stay a few months on Bana Post on Siachen Glacier and protect India. The soldiers who do their duty uncomplainingly need a united heart of this country that beats for them.
Post 1962, people playing tambola would say, "6 and 2 - 62, Chinese aggression". For me, it was not only an invasion, it was the annihilation of my life, the life of my mother and that of my little kid sister, who was all of 5. A few days ago, I saw the picture of Col Santosh Babu's young son salute fis father's lifeless body, draped in the tricolour and memories flooded my mind's eye. China remains the perpetrator and young children are still thrown into trauma. Their fathers will always stay in their veins, alive in the tales of valour. But what is going to happen to those lonely days, those nights filled with fear? This feeling of cold dread grips my heart when I see video grabs of the Galwan battle casualties - young Satnam Singh, newly married Sepoy Ankur, Havildar Palani's bodies arriving to weeping, wailing mothers, wives and sisters. I see myself standing, a little lost child, not really understanding what's going on. "Where is my dad? This can't be my dad who I sent to war, waving and smiling, telling me that next month he shall be back and buy me my new frock and the doll I wanted so much!"
.......to be continued.
Tailpiece.
Got up at our usual time, the chores and was ready by a half past 9. The day was sunny most of the time punctuated with a few spells of rain. Participated in the webinar between 4 and 5, in the evening, about 'Policy for Environment Protection' by Afroz Ahmad saab.
Time stood still for me on 24 Nov 1962. My father, Lt Col Brahmanand Avasthy, commanding officer of 4 Rajput, was leading a part of his battalion back to base after the ceasefire in the Sino-Indian war was announced. The Chinese, devious as always, laid an ambush and massacred the column of approximately 200 men. The Indians fought bravely to the last man and last round. Hand-to-hand fighting followed and grossly outnumbered, they lay down their lives. Their bravery in battle has gone down in the annals of history. The Chinese dug a common grave and threw the bodies there. They gave my father the dignity of rolling him in a blanket and put a mess tin with an inscription : "Commanding Officer. He fought like a TIGER". from his pocket was found a blood-soaked letter to my mother. Most of his letters written to us arrived home months after he died, with his sparse material objects......uniforms, the last civvies he wore and his medals. He had kept letters written by us in his pocket. Maybe his last thoughts were of his wife and his two little girls. Who knows? But I do know that as a soldier he must have wanted to achieve victory for his nation till his last desperate breath.
The local Lamas of a nearby monastery were witness to the battle. Another witness, a young villager then, still lives there. He tells us stories of the valiant fight my father and his unit put up against the Chinese, who lay in ambush. Till today, there is an annual fair held at the site. People come and pray to the "Tiger" of La Gyala Gompa, Morshing village, Arunachal Pradesh, as he began to be called. Later, the army built a memorial at the spot and I could visit it. No doubt, the memory of my father makes us proud daughters. But children like us want an answer to the question : Why?
I must make it clear that amidst this cacophony of varying views, some provocative, some middle-line, some openly aggressive, I speak just as a wife, mother or a godmother. I do not speak for the thousands of those in uniform who I feel are also my family-members. They are promised to this country, for war or peace. But I and thousands of mothers, daughters and sisters like me will agree that all we want is the safety of our men. If a drop of their blood spills, it kills something inside us. There are perhaps no answers to the question : What will we gain by war. If war is inevitable, the forces should be made capable of victory, like in 1971. The soldiers are ready for everything in war or peace, but their hands should be fortified by powers that be. Their sacrifice should not go in vain.
Maybe I will get a lot of flak from armchair patriots. But has anyone given a thought to the families of the Pulwama casualties after a month of their deaths? After the initial hysteria dies down, all those men are forgotten. The women and children are forgotten and consigned to the lives of loneliness and struggle. This is a bitter truth. Every other day, our boys die in various sectors. Does anyone even try to reach out to their families? A bit of cluck-clucking on social media and their job is done. My mother was looked after by the army and our friends, not the government. It pains me to say this, but it is the truth. Every country fights for its sovereignty. I proudly subscribe to that, but I don't condone sacrifices in vain.
I do hear and read on social media and from some heartless politicians that soldiers are paid to die. I throw the gauntlet to all here. Take what you want, but go stay a few months on Bana Post on Siachen Glacier and protect India. The soldiers who do their duty uncomplainingly need a united heart of this country that beats for them.
Post 1962, people playing tambola would say, "6 and 2 - 62, Chinese aggression". For me, it was not only an invasion, it was the annihilation of my life, the life of my mother and that of my little kid sister, who was all of 5. A few days ago, I saw the picture of Col Santosh Babu's young son salute fis father's lifeless body, draped in the tricolour and memories flooded my mind's eye. China remains the perpetrator and young children are still thrown into trauma. Their fathers will always stay in their veins, alive in the tales of valour. But what is going to happen to those lonely days, those nights filled with fear? This feeling of cold dread grips my heart when I see video grabs of the Galwan battle casualties - young Satnam Singh, newly married Sepoy Ankur, Havildar Palani's bodies arriving to weeping, wailing mothers, wives and sisters. I see myself standing, a little lost child, not really understanding what's going on. "Where is my dad? This can't be my dad who I sent to war, waving and smiling, telling me that next month he shall be back and buy me my new frock and the doll I wanted so much!"
.......to be continued.
Tailpiece.
Got up at our usual time, the chores and was ready by a half past 9. The day was sunny most of the time punctuated with a few spells of rain. Participated in the webinar between 4 and 5, in the evening, about 'Policy for Environment Protection' by Afroz Ahmad saab.
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