Earliest Memories - Part 1

“Everyone has a story… to tell. And I want to tell you this one.”

This is the story of a little boy from India, barely three years old. He is actually a grown old man now, still fancies and likes to think of himself as middle-aged, but this is from when he was a child, from his earliest memories that he can still recollect today in some detail. The following are the memories as recollected by this man. Many of the details of the family situation and the events that happened were filled in by his parents to provide the context within the story.

It was the early sixties. The family had two small children, the little boy and his older sister, a couple of years older to him. The father worked for the government and was posted up in the north of the country, in a town very close to the border with a neighbouring country.

He remembered. The new place was cold, very cold. His parents said they were in Amritsar. It was very different from where he was born. The floor had an interesting blue pattern and was sunken in the middle. That was their room. He used to follow the lines on the pattern on the floor and found himself crossing his own path, fascinated. His mother wondered what he was doing, apparently running around in circles in the middle of the room. Sometimes he ran so fast that he turned giddy and fell down laughing.

They had moved recently from the south of India. It was a new state, with a different language, different food, different music, different climate and people wore different traditional attire. The family rented a portion of a large house in which lived a large family – with members from four generations. The oldest was the great-grandfather, over 90 years old. Some of his grandchildren were recently married and there were a couple of young girls in their older teens or early twenties who were getting of the marriageable age. There were a few great-grandchildren. The house was in the middle of the town, with a large courtyard with rooms built around it. There were gates and entrances to two streets. Different members lived in different rooms or quarters within a walled compound with gates for exit onto two streets.

Right outside, there was a wide footpath on one side and then the street.

He remembered running around playing, chasing his sister, who was bigger than him, tripping and falling once, bumping his face on the hard ground, the warm taste of blood in his mouth and the shocked expression of his mother as she wiped away the blood, put sugar in his mouth and asked him to keep it shut.

 The family that rented them a portion of their house was very kind and loving.

-          His mother was not well and everybody said she was pregnant and going to have another baby.

-          He and his sister got the cold, cough – a nagging, tiring big loud cough that hurt much in the chest.

-          The doctor visited them at home. There was strong strange smelling and weird tasting medicine.

-          The doctor gave them injections too. He and his sister would cry out loud and hated the doctor. They had first liked his friendly, cheerful nature when he offered them small, sweet biscuits and candy as treats. After the first injections, they hated the sight of his smiling face. They tried to run away and hide from him, but it was no use. Their mother had to come searching for them and drag them, resisting to the doctor. It was too much for her and they had been scolded for making things harder for her in her condition. He and his sister had gradually learned to come and sit and take their injections bravely. They were rewarded with hugs, cuddles, praise and biscuits.

-          The family of the house-owners would have their dinner every night, all together, in the big hall. The little boy’s family was invited too and they felt they belonged to the larger family.

-          There was a big stack of rotis or parathas in the centre on a large plate. A smaller stack was always first offered to and kept next to the great-grandfather. The rotis were fresh, warm and the smell of  desi-ghee over them wafted across the big hall. There were small bowls with fresh, warm daal (spiced lentil soup) and  sabji (vegetable dishes) to go with the rotis.  There were usually more than one or two dishes, since each married son’s wife often cooked something in addition to the common items cooked in the main kitchen and brought it for everyone. It was considered offensive to cook only for one’s own family. The only thing young mothers cooked for their own family was if their child or someone needed something special or if they were ill.

-           Soon the boy and his sister could tell from the smell what was in the dishes. The little boy’s mother usually brought some of her own cooking – rice and some South-Indian dishes to share. They would always receive some rotis, daal and sabji and give out some samples of their own food to the host family. Mostly, the dinner was in the light of oil lamps, just after dark.

-          The dinner ritual was usually the same. The oldest housewife and the grandmother would carry the food for the great-grandfather who was seated at the ‘head’ of the arrangement, on a low-wooden bench. After his food was kept next to him, he would insist the little children be served first. He would wait until the others had served food onto their plates to feed the children and then say a few words of news of the day, advice, prayer, thanks and blessings for all. He would wait until the little ones had their first bite before starting to eat his own food. After swallowing his first bite, he would give an honest, impartial comment about the food itself – if the salt and spices were right and everything was OK. Almost every day, his comments would be positive approval. If there was something not quite right, he would say it, but with love and suggestions for the future.

-          Then all the men would be served on their plates, while the grandmother fed the children who were toddlers or older. They sat around her and each got a mouthful in turn. There were always a few who liked to eat that way. Some very young children liked to be fed by their own mothers or eat from their father’s plate.

-          All the young mothers ate after feeding their children. The older women would wait to eat with them.

-          As they ate, there was a constant murmur of talk of the news of the day. Everyone seemed to be talking about something big that was apparently going to happen. The young boy caught the hint and confirmation of it. He heard the words ‘WAR’ and ‘PAKISTAN’ very often. He did not know what exactly it meant. But he heard it for so many days and so many times that he could not wait to find out exactly what ‘WAR’ and ‘PAKISTAN’ meant. There was talk of what should be done if the ‘ PAKISTANIS’ came over. He used to wonder why they would want to come over here and not remain in their own houses. He could not understand why people worried so much. But since he had heard so much about them, he could not wait to meet the PAKISTANIS. He once ventured to ask “What are the PAKISTANIS? Where are they?”  The little boy imagined them to be some fearsome creatures.

-          Everyone laughed at his questions. Some pointed in a direction and said “Not too far in that direction!” Sometimes, they would all listen to the one radio in the house. It would normally play songs, but news would be on around dinner time. Everyone seemed to listen to it intently.

-          As they finished eating, the men would put away their plates, help clean up messes, and help the kids wash up and brush their teeth before bedtime. The great-grandfather’s plates and dishes would be taken away. The men would help prepare the bedding for the night and put the little ones to bed while the women finished eating. Some children would study by the lamp lights. Electricity was not always on at night and it was normal.

-          The younger women and youthful girls would pitch in and wash the dishes right away and put them away for the night. It was a busy, active household.

-        

He remembered.

-          On some nights, when the young boy, his sister or mother was ill, they would eat in their own rooms. The teenage girls in the house-owners family would visit and help. They would play with the little boy and his sisters. They would sometimes learn a few words of their South Indian language and say something to tease them and have a laugh. The little boy and his sister picked up a lot of the local language easily.

-          The little boy’s father was rarely home during dinner. He sometimes came home really late, or not at all. He hardly seemed to be home. He seemed to mostly be ‘At Work’ and everyone understood. Sometimes his friends or people claiming to be his friends would drop by to check on them. They would deliver medicines or messages or even groceries! The little boy and his sister thought it was all normal!! They never knew life any other way since they had moved to this new town.

-          Sometimes the father would come home randomly in the day and they would all go for a walk to a famous temple and lake nearby. They would have ‘kulfi’ (Indian ice-cream) and treats such as ‘Aloo- Tikki’, ‘Samosa’, ‘Chaat’,  or ‘Lassi’ on the way home. The little boy and his sister wished he could spend more time with them that way. They tried to show-off to him words they had learned in the local languages and sing songs they had heard on the radio. The father smiled and lifted them high on his shoulders and walked around the house or outside. He was a tall man, well over 6 feet and the view from the giddy heights of his shoulders were a treat and thrill for the little boy. He squealed in delight and fright. It was always a breath-taking feeling as he was lifted high or set down quickly back to earth!

The Build-Up To War

There was a war approaching. Pakistan was just across the border, quite close to where they lived. Preparations were afoot on both sides. There would be not much time to react. The local civil wardens had gone around, asking people if they wanted to evacuate to safer places further inland. Many went to their villages, but most city dwellers decided to stay put. They did not want to leave their houses and possessions or friends or had nowhere else to go. They were willing to take the risk that they may suddenly come under occupation of the Pakistani military.

There were some who were confident that the Indians would push into Pakistan! The family of the landlords of the little boy’s house decided to stay. His father wanted his mother to leave and go down to the south of India, far away from the potential warfront where they lived. He could not go with them since he was on government duty. The mother was in two minds. She wanted to leave for the sake of the safety of her two children and the unborn one. But she also wanted to be close to her husband.
“We’d all rather die together, than live torn apart forever,” she would sometimes say.  At other times, she would look at her happily innocent little children who were playing and laughing, blissfully ignorant of the seriousness of the situation. She would wonder if she had a right to risk their lives. It was not quite certain that even if they decided to leave Amritsar that they would make it safely back to the south of India. Their first major stop would be Delhi, the national capital, normally just about a day’s journey from Amritsar. They had family friends there who would take care of them, if they arrived safely. But Delhi itself, as a national capital, was always a major target and there would be long stretches of areas between Amritsar and Delhi that were vulnerable to attacks and bombings when hostilities commenced. Already, the trains were all running only at night, very slowly and the journey to Delhi sometimes took 2-3 days instead of the usual one day, if there were no further complications! There had been instances of sabotage of train tracks, ambushes on roadsides.

There was already constant shelling and exchange of fire across the border along a long stretch, from Kashmir to their north to Rajasthan to their south. There was a good likelihood that in attempting to leave, they would perish on the way.  There was a chance they would survive remaining where they were.

There were long and constant discussions in the family of the landlords about the war and what the little boy’s family should do. They told the mother of the little boy – “You are like our family. We are all staying together. We will live or die together as a family. This is our house, our land and our place. We will not be afraid of the Pakistanis. Why, we even had relatives on the Pakistani side.  Some probably are there still. We used to be one people. We have been through the worst of violence during the partition of India in 1947. We will likely get through this too and survive and thrive. We will not be afraid if the Pakistani military overruns us. We will fight if need be. If they leave us alone, we will go on with life as usual, as best as we can. Don’t risk a long journey with little kids, in your pregnant condition, without your husband. The children are ill. There are no proper facilities on the way to Delhi. Stay back! We will take care of you.”

There were some young men and some of the older men who spoke out with great bravado.

“Let the Pakistanis come. We will kill them if they dare to mess with us. They do not know we are all tough and soldiers at heart!”

“I cannot wait for them to come here, so that I can teach them a lesson and show what I can do!” boasted one young lad, who then cursed the Pakistanis with some colourful epithets.

The old grandfather then cut him short.

“Stop this nonsense. Prepare for the worst, but stop this nonsense and abuse. Remember, THEY were once US. They still ARE us. We just don’t understand each other and fight. There is too much bitterness created between us. Too much blood has flowed, but apparently it is not enough! Keep in mind, they must be going through similar discussions and planning on their side too, just like we are doing, even as we speak.”

Some looked at the scared expression of the little boy and laughingly asked him, “Hey, what will you do if the Pakistanis come over here? What if they take away your toy?”

The little boy was a bit frightened at that thought and his expression showed it. Some children older than him had a laugh, until they were chided for this by their grandmother.

“Shame on you! You older ones should know better than to frighten a child and laugh. Get back in the house, RIGHT NOW!!”

“Its OK. Don’t worry child. Things will be fine,” she consoled the little boy, soothingly, giving him a hug, “You come to me if you are afraid. No one will trouble you.”

Still, other than the prospect of his toy being taken away by a ‘Pakistani’, the little boy and his sister did not grasp the concept of war.

He remembered: There was a constant talk of war. Everyone clustered around the radio a lot. There were a lot of electric power cuts. There were great, strange preparations being made. Windows were papered shut with black paper. Thick curtains were put on at doors and windows. Blackout drills were practiced. Oil lamps were used inside with doors and windows shut. It seemed to be dark a lot of the time. They went for less walks and treats outside. The roads were off limits suddenly.

The family of the landlords had a cow and a recently born calf. It was called ‘Mangala’. One of the young boys in the family was usually in charge of walking it around, feeding it and scooping its dung to bring it back to the house. It walked around the inner courtyard when not tied up next to it’s mother. It used to be sometimes taken out for little walks around the block. One day, in the bright afternoon sun, there was some kind of ‘curfew’ or drill when no one was allowed outside the house. The little boy peeped out the window. Suddenly he saw the little calf running by on the footpath, being chased by his ‘manager’, calling after him and trying to bring him back. There was a rope around the calf’s neck and it was trailing.

“Mangala! Mangala! Come back!!” yelled the young lad running, panting behind him, “Don’t go into the road!”  He finally caught up and dragged the reluctant calf back inside the house, giving it a few strokes of a thin stick he carried.

Apparently, the road was a no-go zone, with military and police vehicles and trucks needing unimpeded access on it during special times.

-To Be Continued


Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014
All rights reserved