Once it Happened

Once it Happened

DAULAT SINGH PANWAR

Notion Press

Old No. 38, New No. 6

McNichols Road, Chetpet

Chennai - 600 031

First Published by Notion Press 2015

Copyright © Daulat Singh Panwar 2015

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN: 978-93-5206-340-6

This book has been published in good faith that the work of the author is original. All efforts have been taken to make the material error-free. However, the author and the publisher disclaim the responsibility.

No part of this book may be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

I dedicate this book to my friend Ashok Kumar Mukherji, whom I can proudly call a true friend, a teacher and a guide. He helped me learn the language that enabled me to give words to various memorable happenings in my life. He genuinely wanted my personal advancement and growth without expecting any favour in return. Not only me, but my whole family is grateful to him. I wholeheartedly wish that everyone is blessed with such a good friend.

Although during the course of our lives and search for a living, we lost contact with each other and my all efforts to find him have failed, but he is in my heart and will always remain thus. I am sure wherever he is on this planet; God must have graced him with happiness in his life. It is not only his qualities of love and generosity that makes me to dedicate this book with all my heart and gratitude to him, but also because he was a paragon of virtue and the truest, I have ever known.

Preface

My family members and friends have always eagerly waited for me to narrate my experiences which left them awe-struck, filled with wonder and laughter. At the same time, they had the opportunity to peep into a life of innocence, ignorance, struggle, failure, adventure and success, through sincere and intelligent work. Their reaction and response to all of my stories has prompted me to write these incidents down for others to enjoy. This is, thus, for whoever wants to take a journey with me through this book.

Whenever my writing lost its momentum and completion seemed a distant possibility, my loved ones’ encouragement accelerated my writing.

While narrating these incidents, if I have used any word, expression or the incident itself that in the opinion of a reader seems offensive or factually incorrect, I sincerely apologise and provide genuine assurance that it was unintentional. Since the work is based purely on the incidents that took place across a span of over 50 years of my life, the descriptions may not be as accurate as witnessed by a lens. I have solely relied upon my memory to give their true accounts to the best of my ability and understanding without consulting any of the others who were involved in the incidents or otherwise.

Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Preface

1. Tiger’s Tail

2. Tiger’s Eye

3. Those Seven Months

4. Disastrous Air Travel

5. Dacoits of Aravali

6. Finance Minister of India

7. Umrao Jain My Classmate

8. Stripped Off

9. A Dream or a Premonition

10. The Game

11. Brides Got Changed

12. First Ever Mischief

13. The Last Wild Justice

14. Attempted Suicide

15. My Wife Could Have Become My Sister

16. Accidental Astral Projection

17. Black Magic

18. Bhabhiji

19. How Big are they Now?

20. The Roar

21. Makeup Washed

22. Wild Chase

23. Running Amuck

24. Shehjadi in Love

25. When I Got Drunk

26. A Trip to a Morgue

27. Operation Panjiri

28. The Ghee I Relished

29. Nigerian Raid

30. Respected Khaja Sahib

31. Mother or Motherland

32. New Year’s Eve

33. Cheating an Authority

34. Jack the Puppy

35. Inter-caste Marriage

36. Yes Sister

37. Dig Holes

38. From Grandsons in Innocence

Tiger’s Tail

The place I live in, is in Rajasthan, India. It lies in the middle of the Aravali Range of Hills, which divides the province in two halves. Most of the western half comprises desert plains known as the Thar Desert, and the eastern half is rocky, with stretches of fertile plains. The second highest hill in the range with thick jungles is about three kilometres from my village. When my parents got married, encounters with its inhabitants used to be a common phenomenon for the villagers who sneaked into the protected forest to fetch grass and firewood. In those days, the population of the jungle dwellers was high. The roar of a lion or a tiger from the hills was often heard in the silence of the nights. Since western Rajasthan is a drought-prone area, lions, tigers, bears, leopards, jackals, foxes, boars and some herbivorous animals would come out of the jungle to drink water from a lake adjacent to my village. Seeing the animals out in the open was not unusual for the people of the villages surrounding the hills.

The shores of the lake touched my backyard. Sitting on the roof of my house on full moon nights along with my wife and listening to the melodious sounds of frogs, ducks and other water creatures was an ecstatic experience. I miss those serene moments of my life, ever since we shifted to the nearby town of Ajmer for better education for my sons. The sight of the full moon reflected in the smooth waters of the lake would quieten anybody’s restless mind and transport the individual to a world of ecstasy. One would be dragged back to the chaotic world only by the flapping wings and quacking ducks that would get frightened by the presence of unknown danger by the lake. Visits of some of the water creatures like turtles, frogs and water snakes into our house were considered normal occurrences.

The sight of the paw prints of big cats in the morning on the dusty terrain of my village was certainly a matter of serious concern. The villagers would gather in the mornings and weigh in on the intentions of the night stroller. Tales of harm caused to someone’s livestock would be recounted again and again, although everyone knew them by heart. The fear of a man-eater haunted the village. Once again, the story of a man-eater that had killed a forester a few years ago would be told and retold to one another. Someone would remind the others how mercilessly one woman was torn into pieces and eaten by a bear in the presence of the whole village. In the absence of guns, they threw only stones at the beast but couldn’t deter it. At times, a tiger would enter the barns where sheep were housed, and take away a few. Villagers used to and still do keep dogs, but they were not much help in such situations. Strangely, the dogs would go underground at the smell of any of the ferocious animals. Not a single dog would come out and bark to raise an alarm. Such strange behaviour of dogs, I could never understand.

My mother used to tell us heroic stories of my grandmother, who died from a snake bite when I was about five. How I wish my grandmother had lived a little longer, to tell me her heroic feats in person, herself! When she was young and the taking away of sheep heads by the night raiders became too frequent, she decided to take some drastic steps. She was physically strong and a courageous lady. She went forth to handle the beast, when others didn’t dare. My grandfather was away in the British-Indian Army and was deputed at the war-front somewhere in Africa during the First World War. She was unaware if her husband was still alive and fighting at the borders of a land that was not his motherland. In the past, a very few soldiers returned from the battlefield. She assumed the responsibility of raising her six children, among whom, third in line was my father.

One night, she decided to sleep inside the barn with a sword, to deal with the beast herself. When everybody was asleep, as usual, a tiger came for dinner. He sat on the roof of my grandmother’s barn, near a hole through which he would enter to pick up its meals. Grandma waited inside. For a long time, the tiger sat on top, perhaps planning his move for a sumptuous meal or to enjoy the cool breeze from the lakeside. Grandma was impatient, waiting right under the tiger. In the dark, she could see the tail of the raider hanging through the hole. She decided to pull the tiger by his tail. Quickly, she grabbed the tail and started to pull down the beast. The tug of war between the lady and the beast went on for quite some time. Chances of winning on the human side seemed high, as she had to only hold the tail tight and hang on, using her weight against the strength of the beast. There was no reason for either to give up. When it was certain that the beast would lose the battle, it let its rectal muscles loose and cleared its bowels on grandma. Realising that the wet tail was slipping from her grip, she took a turn of the tail around her wrist and pulled it hard. It became a decisive pull, making both of them winners. Grandma fell on the floor, soaked in filth, still holding the tail skin. The tiger jumped off the roof and fled to jungle with its tail without its skin. The souvenir was hung in our house for many years to come, but the tiger was never one to return. I wish I had seen skin of the tiger, which was lost during the renovation of my house when I was still young.

By the time I grew up, got married and was blessed with two sons, the population of the village also grew. But the reverse it happened with the jungle population, thanks to hunting and deforestation. And yet, from time to time, we hear of cattle being killed at the foothills or a person being killed by a tiger in the jungle, while taking the cattle along to graze, or while collecting firewood. The tiger skin is still a very lucrative business, despite all the laws to protect tigers and other wildlife. It is said that expert hunters would enter the jungle at night, kill a tiger, remove its skin and trade the valuable hide before daylight, sending it as far as Tamil Nadu, for tanning and smuggling out of the country.

Tiger’s Eye

My family decided to spend a few days at our village, during the vacations for my sons. News of a change from the monotonous routine for my sons, then aged about eight and six, excited them. My parents were happy to receive both of their grandsons and took special care. They took full advantage of the freedom from their school routine and homework. My wife and I were free from the obligations of childcare. We had a great quality time, enjoying in every possible way. There was an opportunity to participate in the village fair, for which the kids were excited, but my wife and I were reluctant to join them. When the kids were away, accompanied by their grandparents, we decided go out. I proposed a picnic at a forest temple, the most revered in our area and in my clan. My wife accepted the proposal wholeheartedly. The temple was situated on top of a hill nearby. It is said that before the 10th Century a man called Malaji, from a village nearby, belonging to my clan, attained enlightenment and ascended to heaven in his physical body along with his horse. There may be hundreds of arguments for and against it, but who would go against religious belief? A few ventured to find out, but failed and faced the odds of society as well as of their own conscience.

My wife and I left for the hill temple early that morning with Churma, a delicacy of Rajasthan, a water-kettle that was to be filled en-route and a camera to bring home some frozen moments of the time. It took us about an hour to reach the foothills, where a small stream of sweet water flowed near a temple of Goddess Durga. After offering our prayers, we rested for a while on the rain-washed black rocks near the stream and filled the kettle from it. We posed with the statue of the Goddess and took some pictures, perching the camera on a rock in auto-mode. By then, the light pierced the darkness and it was day. The sun had just shown its fresh yellow face on the horizon, which helped the camera take pictures without us having squinted eyes. In the early sunlight, as we started our ascent, threading our way uphill, the jungle life must have also woken up to feed themselves. Holding each other’s hands, we trudged to the temple. Excited to have a scenic view from the hilltop, we started chanting songs in praise of the deity whose temple we were visiting as pilgrims would do in India. Perhaps the so-called inanimate objects like hills also felt our presence and decided to welcome us and joined in chanting prayers by echoing us. I felt like the whole jungle with its dwellers had come to know of our presence and was welcoming us in their own ways.

The monsoon had stopped a month ago and the grass, which had grown to the height of about five or six feet, turned brown and had dried. For the first half hour of our journey, we kept pace with each other. But soon, she started lagging behind. We stopped for a while to conserve our energy for the remaining journey. At times, I would climb a few steps ahead and wait for her to catch up with me. By the time we covered half the distance to the temple, we were exhausted and decided to take a breather. We found a big rock nearby and rested on it. We could see a few villages and green fields down below on the flat surface, looking like mosaics of irregular sizes set on the floor. Small dams and ponds shone like broken glass pieces. We were able to locate our house in our village and a huge banyan tree nearby through the kitchen smoke rising from the houses. We were busy appreciating the beauty of the nature that we forgot our tiredness and started frolicking like kids on seeing a butterfly.

All of a sudden we remembered that we were still half way to our destination. We quenched our thirst from the water in the kettle, shot some scenic views of our village with our camera and resumed our journey. Though the second half of the journey was less steep, we were panting for every breath. Perhaps we were tired. Sometimes, I had to hold her hand to keep her going. While panting for breath, she appreciated my concern and help. I reciprocated by saying that I was lucky to have her in my life and told her how much I loved her. She smiled and said that her impression of me was not good when we were engaged. Her parents had told her that I didn’t want to get married to her. I confessed and confirmed that they were right, because I was not ready for marriage at that age and that was the reason for my refusal. I could have married a woman of my choice later, but why go into that now? I assured her that my dislike or otherwise should not be taken seriously, after all those years of our blissful married life. We had neither met nor seen each other’s pictures before marriage and at that time she was only 15 and I was 17. Not only were we unaware of the law on child marriage, but also our parents, probably because of their lack of education. Child marriage was prevalent and common in those days.

By virtue of spread of modern education and access to satellite communication, traditions have changed. It is still not considered good in our society to see or meet the person one will be married to. The parents and matchmakers decide the fate of the marriageable young generation. When I got married, we were not allowed to have a say in such matters, because parents were considered to be the best judges for the happiness of their children. By then, I had joined the Indian Navy and was full of dreams as regards my career and education, giving priority to them over marriage. I had neither the maturity to take decisions for my life nor had a choice, so when I was forced by my parents into marriage, I gave in to their demands.

Whether I liked to get married or not at that time could still be debated. But, it was a blessing in disguise for the both of us. Since we did not decide to get married, we could not blame each other whenever our relations got strained. As God never duplicates creation, no two persons can have the same ways of conducting themselves on the planet, so there ought to be differences of opinion on many matters. But it is human weakness that we only see bad elements in others. The world would have become heaven had we learnt to see only good in others. It is strange that goodness is always more than the bad in most individuals, yet we choose to see only bad. If we develop love and compassion for others, the bad in others can easily be blanketed. She teased me by saying how much I was successful in seeing goodness in others. One of the good things I realised in our marriage is the benefit of growing together, physically and psychologically. With our growth, the understanding between us grew simultaneously. That was how we were lost in our own world, completely oblivious to the jungle surroundings. However, on seeing the landmark of the temple, we realised that we had reached more than halfway up the hill. We were happy at our accomplishment and forgot our tiredness. A sudden surge of energy and enthusiasm flowed in our veins. We were excited to see the temple. For a while, we decided to take another short breather for water and to admire the fantastic view of the plains below.

Finding a huge rock, we sat for a while, allowing the dripping sweat to evaporate from our bodies. We got involved in a discussion about our sons whom we started missing, and wished they were there with us. She said that it was not possible for any parent to forget their children on any occasion of happiness. We thought they would have been happy if they were there with us. We consoled each other by saying that they might be enjoying more at the fair. After all, it was their choice to be at the fair. Suddenly, we realised that we were alone in the soothing tranquillity that prevailed in the environment. The ecstatic feeling was engulfing us. We could hear our breaths. The rustling sound of the wind passing through the branches of the trees was intoxicating and transporting us to a world of bliss. The melody of the chorus of thousands of crickets hiding in the trees, grass or the rocks was adding elixir to the moment. There were sporadic