Chilling humour

During the December 1971 operations, services of former officers were requisitioned by the armed forces to perform public relations dutie...

During the December 1971 operations, services of former officers were requisitioned by the armed forces to perform public relations duties, which involved briefing reporters and taking them around the theatres of war. One such officer was Pramod Kapur who, because of an injury sustained in the 1965 conflict, had taken premature retirement. In 1971 he was back as a PRO.

The day after ceasefire had been declared, he offered to take me across the border with West Pakistan to a village called Malikpur where his old armoured regiment was stationed. We crossed the Basantar River near Dera Baba Nanak in Punjab, into what was Pakistani territory, shortly after noon. Gunfire could still be heard close by. Local commanders on both sides were trying to have their last say in the proceedings. We had to drive the jeep along a very narrow path, because the fields on either side had been heavily mined by the enemy, and only this track had been cleared by the Sappers.

As we drove we saw frantic activity on anothertrack parallel to ours, about 100 m away. Like ants moving up and down a single file, villagers from the Indian side were transporting cartloads of whatever they could lay their hands on, in the areas occupied by our army, back to their homes. They must have found their own way around the mines. And what they carried included household goods, bicycles, furniture and even doors and windows. Pramod did not like it at all. Looting was against all rules and such things brought the army a bad name, he said.

Anyway, we reached Malikpur and there was much back-slapping as Kapur met his old comrades. The evening we spent with them included a few rubbers of bridge played by a hurricane lantern in an underground bunker. It was pitch dark when we started on our return journey. Strict blackout had to be observed as we drove back gingerly along the narrow path.

A few kilometres down the road the jeep suddenly stopped. Kapur and his orderly got out to see what had happened. I stayed huddled inside. It was getting verycold and I was glad I knew nothing about the mechanics of a car. Despite their best efforts they could not get the engine to kick again.Suddenly out of the darkness, driving only on parking lights, a friendly8217; truck coming from the opposite direction India loomed upon us. Its driver also tried to help, but to no avail. There was no option but for the truck to push the jeep in reverse turning around might have triggered a mine back to the camp.

We groped our way through the blackout. Dismounting at the periphery of the encampment, I got a fright when, in the darkness, a jawan darted in front of us with a menacingly held gun and asked for the password. Luckily Pramod remembered. With the gun still held horizontal, he took us to the commanding officer who, after a chuckle over our predicament he had repeatedly asked us to stay the night, ordered that we be given a couple of blankets each, and cots were laid for us in an empty classroom in the village school.

It was cold, very cold. Huddled in flimsyblankets we could feel the chill getting to our bones. The wind made it worse. It was blowing right through the room. Kapur8217;s cot was near the door. 8220;Dammit, shut the door,8221; I yelled across to him.

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A muffled snigger issued forth from within the folds of his blankets. 8220;What door?8221; he said, 8220;Even the windows have gone. And guess who took them?8221; Another snigger.

Somehow I survived the night. But the army8217;s had not finished with its macabre humour, yet. The coup de grace was delivered by a jawan as we were trying to catch some warmth from the early morning sun outside. He came to me with a glass of fresh sugarcane juice and said, 8220;Sahib, drink this. You will not feel hot.8221;