WHEN I WALKED WITH A GHOST--A TRUE STORY!
Jul 2 2007 | Views 1288 |
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Tags: Golden period of soldiers 1971 war real incident Ghost
Tags: Golden period of soldiers 1971 war real incident Ghost
WHEN I WALKED WITH A GHOST-A TRUE STORY!
“Rubbish!” This is what most of you will yell. And some of
my rationalist friends would dismiss it as “ILLUSIONS” of my
fertile mind. Alright, dammit, you have your prerogative to trash
it. But what can I do? I have walked with a ghost for a distance
of three KMs. No, I am not gassing. It is something like
“Ripley’s BELIEVE IT OR NOT”. I have undergone this true
experience and that’s why I turned into a believer in THE
EXISTENCE OF SOULS, SUPER NATURAL POWER,
PARA
BEING. Well! The story goes back 36 years.
I was in the prime of my youth—an educated and a modern
young man of my own philosophies and beliefs. To say the
least, there was no scope for superstitions and blind faith in
unproven and unscientific phenomenon. I was like any
normal young man of all times-- brash, aggressive,
unrelenting, uncompromising, and uncaring as well as
a non-believer in the orthodoxy and a narrow minded world
view of religious rigidity. GOD and RELIGION, then, were
the BACK BENCHERS, somewhere in the INSIGNIFICANT
SLOTS of my MIND! My profession had further strengthened
my prejudices of the uselessness of RELIGIOUS
EXTRAVAGANZA of MYTHS AND LEGENDS. In this profession,
you sleep with dead bodies littered around you. You keep
doing your job; while men keep falling DEAD as you yourself
DEFY DEATH.
It was night 18/`19 December 1971. I was on my way
home, on some leave to my village, called BALACHAUR, a
tiny HAMLET of around 200 houses. It was then part of
HOSHIARPUR district of PUNJAB and now it falls under
NAWANSHAHAR district. The village has now overgrown
into a township of around 30,000 people. Two nearby
villages have been swallowed by it and it threatens to
eat a few more.
Just on the previous day i.e.
Nation had gone crazy—MILITARY MEN were the heroes
everywhere---there were celebrations and thanksgiving
parties—girls of LSR & MIRANDA HOUSE in New DELHI
and some other big towns of those days had made brave
statements of marrying wounded and crippled soldiers---
women were flocking and welcoming soldiers on the railway
stations and bus stands and applying “TILAK” (LONGISH MARK
WITH VERMILLION ON THE FOREHEAD) on soldier’s forehead
---Radio stations were blaring out patriotic songs with soldiers
as heroes. I can tell you most SOLDIERS were BLOATING with
such high appreciation. By the way, I reckon the whole
CREDIT WAS BEING TAKEN BY THESE “REAR
ECHELON SOLDIERS” whom the authors of “CRISIS
IN COMMAND”, Richard Gabriel and Paul Savage,
dub as “REMF”—with due apologies to some sensitive
friends, it stands for “ REAR ECHELON MOTHER FU*K**”.
I suppose this is the way things are always—FRIUTS
ARE ALWAYS ENJOYED BY PERSONS OTHER THAN
THE ONE WHO SOWED THE FRUIT PLANT
During the immediate wake of this HYPE of VICTORY
SONGS and perceived GREATNESS of SOLDIERS, on
18 DECEMBER 1971
landed at
bus to go to
who had been stuck in the valley during the war period,
was negotiating with a KASHMIRI TAXI DRIVER. I too
landed there. On seeing me, the couple extended me
an invitation to travel with them up to PATHANKOT.
How could I resist? They were a young twosome—
probably newly married—who had come to KA
around 1st December but got stuck up due to war.
The name of the man was AMIT PATEL and he
addressed his wife as ASHU—I do not know her
exact name. We took off at around 9
it to PATHANKOT—then a RAIL HEAD FOR J&K,
at about 2045 hours. It was an awesome journey
with army vehicles being given preference everywhere.
Roads were jam packed with boisterous military men
having a whale of a time in enjoying their sudden
MOMENTS OF FAME at every village, hutment or road
side eateries. They were undoubtedly thrilled at so
much attention being bestowed on them through their
countrymen’s unabashed display of GRATITUDE to
their Valour. A lot of exaggeration and gibberish was
being dished out as episodes of personal bravery by
‘rear echelon soldiers’. Some of them had never been
combat soldiers and some others had never held a
weapon in their lives in ‘olive green’. It was crazy and
I was missing the excitement by being with a decent
and a well behaved MARWAARIS couple in the taxi.
They had plenty of eatables and we had our fill every
hour.
At Pathankot, the couple bid me goodbye and
rushed to the railway station to catch the train to their
sweet home. I was charged no penny. I moved to a
road side DHABA (Eatery) and hoped to catch a truck
to HOSHIARPUR. While having a cup of tea, a
JALLANDHAR BOUND truck came and I asked
SANTOKH Singh, the driver, if he could take me up
to DASUYA. He readily agreed. The tea stall owner
did not take from me 25 paisa for the excellent cup
of warm tea he had given me. I insisted but he
stubbornly refused. I had no choice but to accept the
free hospitality of a poor tea stall owner. When many
years later, in 1998 to be exact—I stopped at the same
place, the stall had gone and a full fledged MOTEL
was functioning. I, then, saw the PHOTOGRAPH of the
TEA STALL OWNER FRAMED and HUNG on the WALL--
-I knew what had happened. That is a separate story to
be recounted some other time.
I got into the truck of SANTOKH SINGH around
21.30 hours. Instead of getting down at DASUYA,
I carried on to Jallandhar and he dropped me at
RAMA MANDI Chowk. It was around 0030 hours
on the morning of 1
was still some 85 Kms away—on Road
Jallandhar-Chandigarh. Luckily, a small convoy
of military vehicles came by. They were empty
vehicles which were returning to Command HQ
at Shimla (HP). They saw someone of their elk
and in no time offered me a seat in the co-driver’s
seat of the leading vehicle. It was around
we might have started and the vehicles went at full
blast. At around 0230 AM I was dropped at the
“T” junction along the
the road from
HOSHIARPUR. This canal takes off from River
SATLUJ at ROPAR Head works, some 30 kms
away towards
constructed in mid fifties. Today it has a beautiful
road running from ROPAR to BALACHAUR---where
it dissects itself to HOSHIARPUR and JALLANDHAR.
In those days, at this “T” Junction, there was a
single THATHED HUT of a tea stall, owned by a
person called YATI. In this hut barely two/three
persons could be accommodated. He had a mud
room behind this, where he lived with his family.
Today, this place is buzzing with activity, round the
clock. In fact, it is the emerging economic Zone of
this township. There is a beeline of Restaurants
and DHABAS along the road for a distance of 2-3
Kms on either side of the Flag of the “T”.
My village is at a distance of three Kms from this
T Junction. In those days, there used to be the course
of an EAST-WEST semi-dry seasonal stream
(CHOE or KHADD), unabridged and sandy, some
400-500 meters away from the “T” Junction towards the
village. The area around it had thick wild grass right up
to the village. At the other end of the stream, we had a
FUNERAL GROUND for the last rights of the DEAD MEN
of the village.
To say the least, at around 0230 hours, in the wintry
night there was no means of conveyance. Even during
day hours, one used to wait for hours before one could
get a bus. Therefore, I started on foot. I had only one
small suit case. Luckily as I approached the Dry Stream
Southern Edge, I met one of my Village UNCLES—who
was going to his fields. Zaildar Balwant Singh was a
man of around sixty nine. When He saw me, he instantly
recognized me and fired me in anger. “What are you doing
here at this unevenly hour?” he had shouted. I explained
to him as to how I had made it in one day from
to BALACHAUR. He couldn’t believe that I had come in a
day. “Have you deserted?” he had commanded. “No, No,
uncle I have come on leave, because mother had suffered
a stroke”, I had replied. He was not convinced. He started
talking of the war with
stories of our valor in the
walking with me.
He then, narrated to me the story of one MUSLIM boy,
called YOUSOUF—the ONLY GRADUATE of the VILLAGE
in those days—a ‘TELI’ by caste—who had become a
BRIGADIER in
I knew nothing of him.Then, he talked of some CAPTAIN
RAO FARMAN ALI of ASRON village (MUSLIM RAJPUTS
—of GHOREWAHA CLAN—a sub caste of KACHHWAHA
RAJPUTS of
RAJSTHAN) whose father was a big land lord of the area.
ASRON village is near ROPAR on the Northern banks of
River SATLUJ and tucked into SHIVALIK HILLS. This used to be
the crossing place on SATLUJ before the BRIDGE AND
HEADWORKS CAME UP IN 50’s. The village is now humming
with lot of INDUSTRIAL activity. In those days, in 1971, it was a
deserted
PAKISTAN
BALWANT SINGH. His son, Rao Farman Ali, had been
commissioned into BRITISH INDIAN ARMY in pre-independence
days. I knew nothing of this gentleman, too. His stories were so
interesting that I didn’t know as to when I had reached the
outskirts of my village. As we came near the bylane of the SAINI
MOHALLA (Group of houses where people of SAINI SUBCASTE
LIVE), he bid me farewell and cautioned me not to venture
alone at such oddly hours. He told me he had to go to his fields
as his TENANTS were waiting there for SUGAR CANE CHURNING
(we used to call it BELNA or KOHLU for extraction of cane juice).
I touched his feet and carried on my way home. I must have
reached home around
We talked and talked of the war. I fell to sleep around 4
YOUSOUF of
YOUSOUF was his class mate (my father) and he had got
VICEROY COMMISSION (VCO) while in BRITISH ARMY.
VCOs were the forerunner of JCO rank of INDIAN/
ARMY. He remained in touch with his village friends even after
migration and retired as a brigadier around 1969. I asked him
about Captain RAO FARMAN ALI—my father laughed on my
ignorance. “BUDDHU (DUFFER), He is the same Major
General RAO FARMAN ALI, who was the Chief of Staff of
PAKISTAN
I was flabbergasted at such crass ignorance. He had been in
the news for many days before surrender of the
Then my father snapped, “why are you asking me all this?”
“Oh, I was just confirming because Uncle Balwant Singh,
Zaildar uncle, had told me about them last night” I had said.
“Shut up, don’t talk nonsense”, my father was suddenly serious.
I was utterly confused. I told him that he had narrated these
stories to me just last night. “What? Last night you met him?”
my father was shell-shocked. “Yes, He walked with me” I
replied. “I don’t believe this” uttered my father. “Why”, I asked.
“Because, he died on 1
last rites.” My father had muttered. I was stunned and shocked.
It was unbelievable. How could that be? There was nothing like
GHOST about him. He was a normal man walking with his stick,
as I had always seen him before this.
Then the fear overtook me and I went silent. I fell sick for a
week and my leave was a waste of time. I remained fearful of his
coming again but he never came back. Whenever I narrate this
story, it raises a number of questions. Do you have any? Tell
you frankly; thereafter I never came across any such
phenomenon but this incident and episode keeps haunting me
for the last 36 years. There is no falsehood about this—MANO
YA NA MANO (BELIEVE IT OR NOT).
© rajee kushwaha., all rights reserved.
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