Stories  
Kargil Widows – 4
by Kusum Choppra

The two soldiers looked deeply into each other’s eyes and the younger man got the message as if it had been spoken aloud. "Your daughter must follow later. Her bank account has to be opened, otherwise everything will be terribly delayed.''

Now things moved quickly. The signatures were taken. Madha and Sarpanchji exchanged quick significant looks. The latter pressed a chit into Madha's hands. He looked at it blankly " What?''
" The hisaab of today's kharcha. Now you can afford to pay me".

The soldiers’ lips curled. An old party worker who had been watching the tamasha from outside the compound wall spoke up

"Sarpanchji, the function was the party’s. Why don’t you collect from the party, instead of your widowed daughter?'' The sarcasm evoked a roar of raucous laughter from the usual hangers-on loitering near the chowk. Madha flung the chit down and shepherded his party home.

Belliya upbraided her father. '' Baba, you never mentioned Parbatiya to me''.
''Where was the time, in all this jhamela? All this natak for the dead, Mantriji, Sarpanchji, party workers, the whole village. No-one asks after the ones who still live.'' Madha make the usual condoling noises, asking after the other jamai.
''He is very serious. That is why they are keeping him in the command hospital still. We don't know if he will survive. Belliya's mother is there already.''

They reached the house and Madha had the string cot brought out into the courtyard, laid a gudri on it and sat his samdhi down. As soon as the news went inside, the womenfolk emerged to convey condolences, which drew a visible impact. Before everyone’s shocked and concerned eyes, the Old Soldier’s shoulders sagged, his eyes dampened and a dam burst. It was a veritable litany. The rest listened fascinated, Belliya hanging on to every word.

''I am the culprit. I am the one. I was the one who married both my girls to faujis. Belliya didn't want to. She resisted for days, but in the end, she listened to me. I said --- I said to her, that he would be a steady person. Fauj makes a person steady. Everything is regular, eating, drinking, working, playing even the pay; it is all steady and regular. That becomes a habit. So that not only will you be provided for while he works, but even after retirement, he’ll continue to work because work will have become a habit. And he’ll continue to bring you money.

Uka was a wild one; he would lead you a merry dance, from one day to the next, you don't know what he'll get up to. She listened to me, obeyed me and sees what it's gotten her. Bhim is gone now, only Uka is left. He may be unsteady, but he will be there...'' the voice trailed off into thought. After a pause, he resumed
''With Parbatiya, it was different. She was always different. She wanted a fauji and she wanted Sampat. They were so happy together, even for that little while that they had together, always teasing, and laughing and talking. I used to see them and pray that one day my Belliya could rest that easy with her Bhim too."

Ram jaane what Sampat told her about his station, once Parbatiya decided she must see it. I told her she could not go, there was no place for her, he could get court-martialed for sneaking her in as he had not been allotted any married quarters yet, but....

~.~

For Parbatiya, a military station had all the lure of a forbidden fairyland. But, she was its fairy, so how could a fairy remain away from fairyland? In her mind's eye, she could picture it all: the parade grounds with her Sampat marching smartly, the dining hall with Sampat downing huge meals, the mess with him drinking others under the table, the firing range with Sampat's bull's eye with each shot. How could he go wrong? He was her Sampat.

She dreamt of going to the station and meeting his officer sahebs and their memsahebs; of accompanying him to the gala, as if she was also a memsahib. Parbatiya heard all her father and father-in-law's warnings and mentally discounted them as she made her own quiet plans.

One moonless night, she slipped quietly out of the village and walked for hours to catch the early morning bus. She requested the daughter-in-law of the chai-wallah at the bus stop to inform her people, if they came inquiring.

What an adventure! Parbatiya couldn’t quite contain her excitement. It was her first bus ride alone, but she schooled herself to act like a veteran passenger. The butterflies in her tummy were kept firmly down. Her gaze fixed out of the window, watching the green trees of her hills melt into the green patchwork of fields below and then, the dusty greenless roads. The day grew hot and then hotter, but Parbatiya was shivering with excitement. How surprised Sampat would be! How thrilled!

The thought buoyed her spirits; she was able to ignore the many sidelong glances and several advances up front from male passengers unused to a young woman traveling alone.

Parbatiya had little actual trouble reaching her destination. She wasn't really worried about home; rather, confident that her message would have been delivered well in time to stave off acute panic. Clutching Sampat’s whereabouts on a scrap of paper on which she had laboriously copied out the address from his last letter home, she approached the sentry at an imposing looking gate guarding a gheru colored palace. " Go down 200 yards, turn left, again left and then right another 500 yards''

Parbatiya nodded a grave thanks; wondering what 200 yards amounted to on this hard road. Her feet were tired and aching and she was thirsty; and now more than a little anxious to end her ‘‘ adventure’’. Doubts of Sampat’s possible reaction assailed her as she recalled his remark "Officers prepare everything in advance. They don't like surprises''.

It was absolutely right. Faujis don’t like surprises. And delighted as he was to see his young wife, Parbatiya's appearance put Sanpat in a quandary. The sentry at his unit had managed to alert him without too many others involved, but what when the CO sahib got wind of it, as he was bound to? Sampat approached his subedar sahib and poured out his heart.

– Continued 

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