Earliest Memories - Part 5 - The First Big Fright

The First Big Fright

In preparation for the war coming to their area, people adopted new routines. Normally, all the children played outside on the street, alley ways, any vacant ground or area, backyards, front yards and inside the houses of their friends. If a parent came out of their house and yelled out their names, someone would hear it if the child were not nearby. By word of mouth the call would be relayed and reach the child wherever they were, often quite far from home.  But now children were forbidden to play out of earshot. Pets were not let out to roam freely either.

As mentioned before, the owners of the house, that the little boy lived in, had a cow and calf ‘ Mangala’, in their backyard. There were always bundles of hay and feed for the cow that was tied to a post as it was milked. It was allowed to wander within the yard, sometimes it went for a walk. The new little calf had been born recently. The little boy heard all the grown-ups stay up one night to welcome the little one into this world. There were always patches of cow dung around the mud-packed, long back yard that was quickly gathered and applied to the mud walls in large circles. It dried in the sun and was used as fuel for the stoves to cook and heat water in winter. The house owners also always had fresh milk every day and even sold some to the family of the little boy. There were long wooden milk churns tied to the pillars on the raised platform around the backyard.  They made fresh tasty butter too. All the kitchens looked out into the yard. At one far end were the toilets, in the old style house. There was a large gate with high bars at one end of the yard that opened out into a back street.

The little calf was feisty, active and wanted to explore the world. Sometimes it would jump up and dash from one end of the yard to another. Little kids were kept away from it, as they feared it would trample them. It was also a kid who was learning about the strange new world it was born into. The little boy once had been shocked by the calf running close to him and brushing him. He had then been terrified to see its mother, the large cow, come after the calf, towards him.  Nowadays, the calf was tied up to the post most of the day and not allowed to run freely.  It always had a rope tied around its neck.  One of the bigger boys in the house usually took it for walks around the streets and brought it back. He would usually carry a thin stick, about two feet long and pretend to strike it, or actually strike it on the sides and haunches, while shouting loudly “Hoi!”  or “Haah-Ah”.  The little boy thought he was speaking the cow language! Often another child would follow the calf or cow on the walks with a wicker basket to gather the dung, which was valuable, and bring it back home.

He remembered: He was up many nights, and his father was away at work. He and his sister would wake up at the sound of the air-raid sirens that went off and they all had to practise the drills so that it became familiar. He believed he was getting brave like the big kids.

One afternoon he was out in the yard, after lunch with his sister and the neighbouring kids. The ‘cowherd’ in the family was just returning with Mangala after a long walk. He was nearing the front gate from the street. He still had to go around the side street and turn into the back street to get back in. Just as the calf neared their house, suddenly the air-raid sirens went off unexpectedly. The little boy saw the calf, jump in fright and then it bolted off down the street. The boy holding its rope was pulled suddenly and fell, letting go off the rope. He got up, dusting himself off ran after the calf, shouting and shaking the stick, asking it to come back. The frightened calf ran faster and into the road with traffic. The boy screamed and swore at it, he was afraid of a big truck or army convoy coming along at that moment.

The little boy was watching in fascination, while his sister reminded him of the need to fetch their mother and get into preparation for the air-raid. They ran inside, woke their mother and dashed out again as she slowly walked out.

A bus came down the street and blocked the calf as it slowed down, the cowherd caught up with it and after giving it a couple of light blows with his stick, talked firmly to it and dragged it round the street corner to get back home. The others in the house went about, prepared, to their air-raid spots.

Just as they were still walking out of the house, there was a sudden burst of loud noise that built up into a crescendo. It was low, loud and like a long burst of thunder claps. It shook the whole area, houses, rattled windows and the ground below vibrated.  Everyone froze in their tracks, but the older people looked up into the sky. There was a wave of one, two, three and four screaming jet fighters that flew fairly low over the neighbourhood. For about half a minute or so, something that felt like a long, long time, the little boy stood frozen to the ground, stunned. His legs started to shake uncontrollably and soon a little pool formed at his feet. His mother scooped him up into her arms and thoughtfully covered his shame with her top end of her saree, the long cloth worn typically by Indian women. She saw that his teeth were chattering. She guided her two children to the stone bench near the gate and under it. They waited there, praying. The little boy did not understand what had happened.

When the all-clear blew, they went back home. His mother quickly wiped him clean with a wet towel and changed his clothes.

“Was that Pakistani  bomb?” he asked his mother quietly.

“No, son, that was not a bomb. They were just planes.”

The little boy did not like jet fighter planes then. He did not imagine they would make such a terrible sound and frighten him. The neighbours came to check and chat. His mother whispered something quietly to them, explaining what had happened. They patted the little boy and said, “No need to worry. Everything is OK. It was not a real air-raid. It was just a drill. Some planes flew, close but did not drop any bombs.”

Soon the big, burly, loud neighbour civil warden, with Harpreet in tow, came around to check on everyone, reassure them and inform them that the planes they saw and heard a while ago were not Pakistani planes, but Indian ones. They were flying from the Indian side on a practice run or something.

They saw the little boy cowering in fright next to his mother and the big, loud civil warden looked at the little boy and said in his gruff, bossy voice,” Kya?!! Dar gaye bachhe? Kuch nahin hua. Yeh tho asli nahin tha!  Arey, bahadur bano(What?!! Did you get frightened little boy? Don’t worry, this is not the real thing yet. Become brave!)”

He gruffly patted the boy roughly on his head and went away. The little boy was quiet all night. He did not feel that he had been very brave that day. Harpreet  waved to him and offered him a toffee as he left to check on the rest of the house.

When his father came back from work, late that night, he had his late dinner in the bedroom sitting on one edge of the little boy’s bed, next to his mother’s bed. The little boy woke up from his disturbed sleep, but kept quiet. He heard his parents’ quiet whispered conversation about what had happened during the day.

“Don’t worry. It is normal,” he heard his father say, “One can never tell real bravery from such things. I know big, brawny men, who are all bravado and boast, who will shake like a leaf and cry when the bombs start to fall around them. Sometimes, it is the quiet, wimpy looking guy who will be the calmest and bravest. One can never tell until the real thing starts. He is just a child, who heard the jets so low and close for the first time. Tell him, he is just normal and its OK to be afraid.”

To Be Continued...



Copyright  (c) Kannan Narayanamurthy 2014

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