I remember the day very clearly. We were celebrating a birthday. The house was filled with guests, friends, officers from the regiment, their lady wives and children- everyone’s.
Amidst the merry making we got the message. The men had to move. Pakistani soldiers had infiltrated the LOC in Ladakh. It was war. Pack up! Steel trunks were pulled out, uniforms of all kinds and shoes; they use so many for different uniforms and different purposes, packed neatly. Everyone put up a brave front, most of all the children.
Our regiment had to cart their tanks on eighteen wheelers. That was done late at night, when the traffic was sparse. Civilians, specially old motherly figures would stop the vehicles. Flag them down and bless the young soldiers, like the queens of yester years seeing off their brave warriors before they went to fight their battles.
The air overnight became electric, tense and like a shawl wrapped over everyone but none admitted things were different. As the senior most officer’s wife in the regiment, the well being of the ladies and children were my ethical responsibility. I would often go to meet the wives and share some updates and encourage them to take care of each other, be independent and resourceful without being fool hardy, as most of them were from far away places in the north.
One fine day, I remember this young lady from far away Himachal Pradesh, away from her village for the first time, telling me, “Ma’am, Can we not be issued guns and join our husbands? Our Fauj would become double.” We all laughed, but can you fathom the sentiments?
Pic courtesy: By Indian Army – http://indianarmy.nic.in/FlashImage/F15.jpg Archive, GODL-India, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47048948
PS: This post is a part of ‘Tricolour Tales Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under #EveryConversationMatters
