Tonight, 55 years ago, my father went to war. It was on the night of the 2nd that they got their orders. On the dawn of 6th September 1965, the 7th infantry division would be commencing offensive operations.
They would cross the international border to secure the bridge over Icchogil canal. With ma and my sisters at Firozepur, just 7kms from the border, telling family was out of question & my father just told ma that they were going on an army exercise.
At 2 pm today, my father handed over an extra 500 rupees, telling ma that this might be a long and protracted exercise. He left his insurance papers under a book on top of his desk, and hugged his two daughters and wife hurriedly before joining the convoy.
Can't imagine what it takes to go off to war, not knowing if you will come back without even being able to say goodbye properly.
My mother found out that day when everyone was rushing to the bunkers when an air raid siren went and she airily told them it was just an exercise.
There was a rear party assigned to book tickets and send everybody back to their families - in ma's case, Calcutta. Ma flatly refused. In Calcutta, there was no hope of knowing what was happening to her husband.
Instead, she and three other families moved in with a friend at the Nestle plant just 30 km away, and then rented a house in nearby Moga . My elder sister was 8 then and remembered that none of the ladies wanted to cook.
They would make khichdi once a day for all 3 meals.
All of them would sit around and sing religious songs all day and wait for BBC bulletins. My sister still reacts violently when she hears those songs & remembers those times. When one of the ladies got news that her husband was fine, the others would actually be jealous.
It was just 5 days before ma first heard from my father. In that time he had been strafed, lost a driver and had a minor burn from a fire set off by tracer bullets. And still probably had an easier war than most.
War is hell for soldiers, and their families.
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