Stories  
Kargil Widows – 3
by Kusum Choppra

She would have almost broken into a smile, had she not been rudely jerked forward. The stern-faced matron of the white saris pulled her forward, slinging a sari around her shoulders, shrouding her in '' their ‘‘ white sari, hissing "Don’t cry now. Oh, these red-rimmed eyes; they’ll look so terrible on TV".

As she progressed, the party workers had been questioning each other mutely. Suddenly, one moved forward to block the TV camera’s spotlight. Before anyone could protest, Belliya was cut off expertly from her father and her in-laws and surrounded by white clad party workers. The party worker allowed himself to be shoved away from the camera's eye.

The Sarpanch and the Mantriji carefully placed their hands on her head, blessing her for the camera. Even the officers who had brought Bhim home were hemmed in by the white crowd.

" Vande Mataram. Bolo vande... Bhimrao amar rahe "

Slogans rent the air. The TV cameras whirred, picking up shots of the startled widow, shrouded in an alien white, surrounded by loyal ''villagers'' led by the Mantriji, saluting her.

Belliya looked anxiously into the crowd, trying to pick out her family, Baba, but the lights of the TV crew dazzled her. She lifted her hand and rubbed it across her eyes. It made a poignant picture, which was to move thousands to tears.

But Belliya? She was traumatized, by her sense of loss, her insecurity in the crowd, the claustrophobia of the crowds and the buntings all around and the raucous blare of the loudspeaker, droning out speech after speech. Her mind turned blank, her eyes glazed over and she would have tipped over, if two women flanking her had not caught her in time.

When Belliya surfaced again, another speech was on. Someone was reeling off lists of figures. She tried to pay attention. " Jeevan bhai panch hazar, Patel Samaj dus hazar, Vankar samaj be hazar ... As the list grew, Belliya noted her father's face grow longer. After sometime, his trademark sneer appeared briefly, before he quickly covered it with the end of his pagri.

Finally the Fauji Sahib took the mike. He spoke in Hindi. Belliya could follow a little. Bhim had taught her all he knew during his last leave. The Sahib recounted Bhim's devotion to duty and his bravery. He expressed tremendous satisfaction that the community was reaching out to help Smt. Bhim in her time of need. That, he emphasized, would be in addition to what the government would give her as pension and gratuity etc.

At last, it was over. The Mantriji and his TV left, with deep prannams to the martyr's immediate family. And then finally the focus did come to them. The crowds melted away quickly, neighbors afoot, the slogan shouting party workers in their hired trucks, their leaders slamming their car doors and brakes.
Unsure of what next, the family turned to head home. The Sarpanch was confabulating with the Fauji sahibs. He called out to Madha. "Thobo. Hold on, there are some formalities to be fulfilled.'' Madha looked suspicious. He looked questioningly at his Samdhi. After all, he thought, he is an ex-fauji. The two came up, shoulder to shoulder. '' What formalities?''

The Fauji sahib spoke up '' we must get Smt. Bhim's signatures on this file.''
'' Why?''
Sarpanchji butted in. '' Madha, be sensible. Belliya must open a bank account and sign the papers to claim pension and everything else, gratuity, provident funds, the money for the house, the children....'' he reeled off the list, holding up fingers for each item, eyes gleaming greedily.

Madha turned around. Handing over the marigold topped urn to his wife, he motioned to the womenfolk '' you carry on. I’ll finish this off.''
''No, no,'' Sarpanchji remonstrated. '' Belliya must remain. She has to sign''.
''Why?''
‘‘The government will only give the money to her, in her own bank account, with only her signature. Not yours, not mine ''.

The old man chewed on that information, disappointment was writ large on his face. Belliya and her father held back. They approached the table. Cleared of all the paraphernalia of martyrdom, it now held the Fauji sahibs and their files and papers.

The father saluted and spoke up. "How long will this take? Can we not do this at Dhrol, my village? I have come to take Belliya home and the bus is due shortly''.
His words struck panic in Madha and Sarpanchji. Intuitively the two tacitly joined forces, when earlier it was the two samdhis against the overweening overlordship of the Sarpanch. "Why?'' the question was very sharp.

But the Fauji sahib was merely questioning "Why do you want to take her?'' The Old Soldier preferred to address his mates

''Janab, you know these women. Already the whispers have started --- she ate up her husband. They'll make my Belliya life hell. And I can't stay to protect her. I have to go back.''

Madha and the Sarpanch butted in unison. ''She's our daughter. We’ll look after her.'' For good measure, Sarpanchji added, "She’s the pride of our village. How dare anyone say any such thing to her? I'll pull out their tongues''.

The sahibs merely asked ‘‘why don't you stay for a week or so, let things settle down?''

''Sir, Belliya is not my only Kargil daughter’’ Belliya’s bowed head shot up. '' Bhim is gone but my Parbatiya’s husband, my other jamai is hanging between life and death. She needs us there, me, her mother, and her sister. Who knows what will happen?" his voice trailed off brokenly.

The Fauji saheb's lips tightened. "You must go, I can see that. How serious is it?"

– Continued

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