HINDU TERRORIST----SHORT STORY OF DISPLACED PERSONS
"------------ As I touched him, he half- opened his eyes and mumbled something like------ 'betrayed----I have been betrayed by fate once again------it was 'guru' who did it first time -------- Now it is some one who is an informer------ Naseem------- I did try to come back to you and explain------sorry----------- I couldn't make it and find out as to why did you forget me--------but I did remember you--------even after 45 years--------see you in next birth."
With thesse words he went silent. It seemed that he was dead. This brought an end to our operation. It had all started with a telephonic call from my Commanding officer (CO)-----------", so said the young army officer (around 20 years old) to me with a choked voice. I. had been posted as COL ADMINISTRATION of the Infantry Division for almost a year, then. It was April 1994 and we were near Ludhiana for collective training. I was checking up with him the details of a Court of Inquiry against him. His choked voice and tears in his eyes nudged me to hear his side of the story.
Time has come when I must share with you this story. He had narrated thus.
It was the wintry month of November 1992. I was posted at Amritsar (Punjab) along with my battalion. I am ex- NDA and had been commissironed in the army from Indian Military Academy, Dehradun, in December 1991. In those days, my battalion was involved in counter militancy operations in Ajnala block of Amritsar district. My battalion had a number of achievements to her name because of the meticulous way our unit had organised intelligence in our area of operations. We used to get minute to miute information: even if a fly moved in the area, we would know it. This was due to the untiring efforts of our Second In Command, Lieutenant Colonel, Iqbal Singh. He had his trusted informers in all villages around. Officers used to discuss that they were the 'moles'. I did not understand their significance then. But I had realised in a few months only that the intelligence and information was the key to counter-militancy operations. If the flow of 'actionable intelligence' was uninterrupted, your job was half done. It seems, being a local, Colonel Iqbal had created some moles amongst the terrorist organisations.
It was the middle of the night on 24 November 1992 when I got a call from my commanding officer, Col Beant Singh. He was almost hysterical, when he spoke,"Listen, Village Kathu Nagal, near Ajnala---five top khalistanis along with a retired ISI officer of Pak army have been spotted. There is a yellow house --double storey of Balkar Singh----they have taken shelter there. Go, get them. Make sure no one escapes------Your team is ready--- 'radio contro'l has been activated by adjutant----but maintain radio silence-----a back up team is led by Captain Rajat Sharma---he will be available to you at Ajnala road crossing. You tie up details of radio communications and code words with the Adjutant. This is a very important task-------police party, led by ASP Balwinder Singh, is ready to join----The informer is with them---he will guide you-----Get cracking------Make sure no one escapes--------I am available on call------Don't let us down------all the best".
I had no time to seek clarifications as the old man had kept the receiver down. This is the normal briefing we get in counter militancy operations. After 10 minutes or so, I met our adjutant in the office. He took just five minutes to further brief and introduce us to police party. Civil vehicles , two white maruti gypsies, two ambassador cars and one Maruti Zen,were placed at our disposal. I was to lead in Maruti zen and each other vehicle was to follow at an interval of three minutes. We were to assemble at a selected RV near a banyan tree some 500 meters away from the village. Thereafter, we were to move on foot to target area.
Within 25 flat minutes I was on the road to KathuNagal. By 1.30 AM we were on the house. Militants got alerted. Fire-fight started. The militants shot dead sepoy Jagat Pandey and Constable Sukhwinder Singh. We continued to make efforts to close on to the house. Captain Rajat sharma also joined us by 2 AM. Two more columns from the battalion were on the way to reinforce us.
Around, 3.30 AM there was a firing inside the house-----we heard some shouts. Then everything went silent. We waited half an hour. Fired some bullets into the house. There was no response. Captain Rajat sharma asked me to move into the house and check. We moved in with caution. As we entered one of the bed rooms, we saw five bullet-ridden bodies lying scattered. What surprised me was a badly wounded bearded old man with an AK-47 rifle in his hands. He could fire at us but he did not. He had probably fired and killed other militants. He was mumbling something, what I quoted above. He seemed to me a retired army officer of Pakistan army. On his left arm was a Muslim name engraved : AKbar Kassim. When I approached him I had not realised that he was still alive. But moment I touched him, he seemed to have collapsed.
I checked his pulse. He seemed to be dead------I searched his ruksack----found a few diaries and some old black and white photographs, badly soiled and almost disfigured. I scanned the diaries. Most of them were in Urdu and I couldn't make out a head or tail. Two of the diaries which interested me were written in English and pertained to the years 1947 and 1984. I kept these diaries with me. Rest of the documents were taken by the police and we moved back to the unit with great pride on the success of our operation, though it was courtesy the old man, masquerading as Akbar Kassim, that we had succeeded. Frankly speaking, but for him there could have been more than two fatal casualties, if other militants had continued to fight. But they were persumably silenced by the old man. I could not fathom his reason then, for, I was not interested, too.
Next day I took out the diaries and began to shuffle through through it----- I picked up the 1947 diary first----As I began to go through it, I was nudged to read on----it generated interest----it was written in English----I began to read the diary. It ran:-
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"Will you remember me" She had suddenly shot this question.
I was stunned. I did not know why she had asked this question. I should have dismissed it as rubbish but I shot back," What makes you think otherwise?"
" No! No!! I really want to know what love is. " I asked Naseem.
" Oh really! You, Yavesh! You the topper of Punjab University of M A (Previous) in English literature, want to tell the world that he was cluless about love. And it seems both of us have been poodle faking for the last two years. Is that so, yavesh? " Naseem was angrry.
"Don't get cheesed off-----So you mean our poodle faking over the last two years is called love. A great definition , Naseem. Poodle faking is love-----and love is poodle faking-----wonderful, Naseem-----"
"Cut it out Yavesh and be serious---you know what is happening politically. There is a Hindu-Muslim divide and politicians say India would be partitioned into Hindu India and Muslim India. We are going to be two separate countries-------"
"Two separate countries----? Naseem,---Muslim India-----Yavesh, ------Hindu India. Do you mean this? what rubbish? What a tragedy it would be if it happens? Hold on----did you ask me if I would remember you or not because you feel we would get separated on religious lines? Oh, is love divisible, Naseem" I quizzed her.
" No, love is not divisible---it does not recognise human boundaries or definitions---it is a desire to possess something you like----yea , this is love-----the heart often transcends the man-made barriers of caste creed, religion, language and geography. " Naseem had replied.
"So if we aren't going to be separated, where is the question of forgetting and remembering each other when we are together----------"
"Yavesh-----------------"
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Next page it was wriiten----------
Today it is 22 February 1947. I had this interesting conversation with Naseem yesterday. She seems to have been worried for her parents who are in Jalandhar. I am going to talk to 'Guru' and his father Sardar Beant singh who are going to Jalandhar in April.
Thereafter some pages of the diary had been torn-----------------there were some scribbling in the last few pages of the diary.
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So this was the Naseem, Akbar Kassim, the old man had talked about before his death. The old man's story was getting weird. What was he doing looking for Naseem in India? Who was Yavesh? Was this old man Yavesh Kaushal of the diary? If he was Yavesh Kaushal, then what was he doing in Pakistan ----that too as an army officer---probably a retired Colonel Akbar Kassim? Mystery was deepening. Who was 'Guru'? Who was Sardar Beant Singh?
It really aroused my own interest because my own grand father and great grandfather had studied at Government college Lahore, around same time. My grand ma had told us that our grandfather Gurbbachan Singh had studied economics at the same coolege. He was a very brilliant student. My grand ma's name was Gurbachan Kaur.
I further read some hastily scribbled pages of the diary.----it went:-
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. I married Naseem on 12 March 1947 before she left for Jalandhar to unite with her parents. There is no news of her since then. she has been away for almost over two months. There is communal tension all around. News comes daily of Hindu- Muslim riots in the villages around or killing of Hindus and Sikhs in our part of Punjab. They say India will be divided into two dominions i.e. India and Pakistan. India would be for Hindus and others and Pakistan for Muslims. So the 'whiteman' has played his trick----divided us on religious lines---He ruled us by dividing us----He has now created a religious gulf between us.
Today, it is june 13, 1947. There is no news of Naseem and her parents. I got a letter from 'Guru', my university friend, saying that Naseem and her parents had left Jalandhar and they were in a camp near Kartarpur village. He further stated that the camp has been set up to collect Muslims who were migrating to proposed Pakistan. Silly? Why should Naseem and her parents migrate? There ancestors had been living in Jalandhar for centuries. They belong to Jalandhar. It belongs to them. I fail to understand the logic. silly woman, she has not even written to me.
It is 14 August 1947. India stands partitioned Into India and Pakistan. It was encouraging to hear Sh. Mohammed Ali Jinnah on the radio. He said that Hindus were welcome to live in Pakistan. He assured that no discrimination would be against anyone because of religion. All Pakistanis were equal before law. It was a breath of fresh air, coming from the first Governor General of Pakistan. So we can live in Pakistan, without being second rate citizens. Why must I leave the place I was born----where my forefathers had their ashes merged with the soil?
It is 15 september 1947. There are Hindu -Muslim riots. People are killing each other. They say Muslims have been slaughtered in East Punjab. Same thing is happening here. Where are we heading? How about Naseem? Has she come to Pakistan? Where would she be? I must find out.
23 October 1947. My friend Ghulam Mohammed came today. He suggested that I along with other family members change our Hindu names to Muslim names for our own security and safety. I don't know what to do. If only Naseem and her parents were here. I consulted my mother and father. They, too, agreed because migration now was out of question. My father, Pundit Roshan Lal Kaushal, retired Tehsildar of Lahore, assured us that soon things would improve and then we could move out to India. We are living in model town Lahore. It is somewhat more safer than other localities of Lahore.
What a day December 18 1947 was? India and Pakistan are fighting a war over Kashmir. The relations have worsened. The day is a disaster for our family, too. My sister, Prem Lata, had eloped with my best friend, Ghulam Mohammed a fortnight back. They were probably in love. I did not know. They had got married. My father suffered a heart attack. He died of this at 1130 A.M, today. I can not carry out his last rites as per Hindu traditions because he had converted to ISLAM---on the face of it, all of us had converted, though not whole heartedly. My mother is insisting on his creamation according to Hindu rites. I can not do this. There are no Hindus around our locality anymore. I had to go for burrial as per Muslim traditions. My mother cursed me----well, I suppose I am destined to be cursed by fate , too. Naseem, where are you? I am a Muslim now----there will be no hassels now for your family to accept me.
29 December 1947. I get a letter from my friend 'Guru' in India. But, what is this?-----Just a two liner------It says-----Naseem was blessed with a male child on December 18, 1947? He says that the child was named Gurvinder Singh. I cry-----cry, cry, cry------Has my friend 'Guru' nay, Gurbachan Singh Singh ditched me? Did he forcibly marry Naseem? How did Naseem agree for this? Or could it be my son? 'Guru' might have married her to provide legitimacy. I don't know---I can not say anything----Oh, god, why are you so cruel to me?
It is January 17, 1948. I don't know for some strange reasons, I have been denied migration to india by the Government of India. They say my conversion has something to do with this. But I know it was my friend Ghulam Mohammed, husband of my sister Prem Lata, who is doing this. I have been told that he had joined the police as an deputy superintendent of police and was working as some sort of an intelligence officer. Prem Lata had hinted this when I had broached this subject of our migration. She had said that she won't allow us to do that..----Now what ------Mr Yavesh Kaushal----errrrrrrrr Akbar Kassim-----------what is your choice? You have no alternative but to stay on------forget Naseem---------forget her for ever----- My parents are dead-- My only sister is here----What would I do in Hindustan?-------- But, what do I do for my living?
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There was no further entry in this diary. But one thing was clear. 'Guru' was Gurbachan Singh of Jalandhar. He had a son Gurvinder Singh born to Naseem. It was amusing because the names resembled my own father and grandfather. Was it a coincidence?
But we belonged to Pathankot. My grand mother, Gurbachan Kaur, had retired as a principle of a private school. Earlier our family was based at Ambala, where our grandfather was principle of a private College.
However, he, along with my father, was killed by unidentified persons in 1984. No one knows who was behind it. Todate, it remains a mystery. My mother and grandmother suspect it was the work of professional killers. Some say it was the job of some old students of my grandfather who were rusticated by him . Some even say that it was the the job of some militants. I can not really say because I was at school on that fateful day because of Independence day Celebrations, when, in the broad day light, the killers had struck at our home iin Mahesh Nagar, Ambala cantonement.
So, this resemblence of names seemed to me a pure coincidence. But the story of the old man, Akbar Kassim, nay Yavesh Kaushal, was getting into knotts. I opened up the second diary, pertaining to the year 1984 and started reading it.
The diary had begun with January 1, 1984. He had scribbled only on some days in English. Most of the pages were in Urdu. I later learnt that they were all full of love songs and poems. His entries ran thus :-
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Yesterday, i.e. 31 December 1983, I, Akber Kassim, hung my uniform--I finally retired from Pakistan army. I served with dignity and I retired with honour. So what, if I did not become a General but I was a most respected half colonel. generals were scared of me because of my job. They are all rats. They are totally corrupt and ambitious who can sell their mothers for the next rank. Thankf God, mecifully I did not become a General to join their rat race. I am a self contented man.
But one thing remains------I have not completed my mission as yet------I have not been able to do ---the only thing I hated to do but I would do-------Inshallah---my chance will come. I will seek answers from her, one day, for betraying me.
It is my 37th wedding anniversary, the other day. But we have never been together except the first day of wedding in March 1947. She had left for Jalandhar in April 1947. Thereafter, she never contacted me----she married 'Guru' and gave birth to his son------She owes an explanation to me------Naseem----I will seek it from you----I will dig you out wherever you were hiding------------you will pay for ignoring me-----or may be ditching me.
Indian army had surrounded the Golden Temple at Amritsar two days back. They used tanks and artillery guns. We expected Sikhs to rise in revolt. But they somehow managed to control it and the storm blew away. I am told Bhindranwale and Major General Ram shabeg Singh are dead along with many other Khalistanis.
I am out of communication with my own boys---Particularly Jashminder singh----Chief of Khalistan Tigers-----I must find out his plight-------He must stay alive to find out the whereabouts of Naseem and her family-----where did she disappear after they were last spotted in Chandigarh by Jashminder?------------Jashminder had done a neat job, thereafter.
Two of my boys of Khalistan Tigers were killed in an encounter by police inTarn Tarn. No news of Jashminder---I have asked Shera----Sher Singh to assume command of the group. I have to motivate the boys to do better than other groups---Khalistan Commando Force and Khalistan Zindabad Force were doing much better.
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As I turned the page s to read the entry of August 1984, I got a call from my CO, Col Beant Singh. As usual, he was crisp, "Listen youngman, your good work has been recognised by higher ups-----you get ready fast----a team of BBC TV and DOORDARSHAN is coming to interview you on this encounter. Tell them about that old man----that ISI handler of Militant groups----what's his neme Col Akbar Kassim-----Police has already given them some information-----find out and coordinate with the police. Tell them the truth but only as much as they ought to know----You understand what I mean
It was already 11 A.M. I got ready and reached the office. My 2IC was already waiting for me. He briefed me and rehearsed me. When he was fully sure of me, he escorted me to our officers Mess where the TV Channel jouHrnalists had already reached.
I was asked the details. Then, suddenly the BBC guy, shot back to me, "how do you say that he was an army officer of Pak army and of ISI?"
I said, " it is plainly apparent from his diaries"
" Which diaries----The diaries police has given us are in Urdu and they are full of urdu poetry-----some romantic poems in the memory of his beloved Naseem" the BBC interviewer was grilling me.
I don't know what happened----I suddenly pulled out one diary from my pocket and handed over to him, saying " This Diary------read the last entry". Of course, it was the diary that pertained to the year 1947.
" Have you read it?", he asked. I said, " yes".
"Anything interesting? " , he further asked.
Like a fool, without realising the implications, I said, " it seems his origional name is Yavesh Kaushal------he----" I could not complete my question because now there were eyebrows raised and smilingly BBC interviewer had remarked, " You mean a HINDU TERROIST".
" No, I did not mean that---I talked of his past" I replied.
" Or it could be another game to defame Pakistan --------------------"
" No, No---please ask only operational questions", my 2IC butted in .
" Thank you ---no more questions" said the interviewer and began to wind up.
My Second In Command was furious with anger. He asked me as to why did I not tell them about this mystery of Akbar Kassim. I told him that I had read the diary that morning only. But no one was listening to me----I was getting plastered from alll sides.
It was hell that day of 25th November 1992. My good name had been sullied by none but me. I came to my room and went to sleep. I got up at about 8 PM and glanced at other entries of the diary-----I was just shuffling when, I got a message from the mess that my mother wanted to speak to me. I rushed to the officer's mess. It was my mother on the other side.
" Navneet, are you OK?" My mother asked.
" Yes, mom, why have you rung up" I asked.
" Oh, I saw the Doordarshan News , where you had given an interview on the operation you had carried out in Kathu Nangal" My mother clarified.
" I see---It is OK---Don't worry" I told her.
" No, No speak to your grand mom", my mother said.
" Hullo, Navneet, you said this man Akbar Kassim was a Hindu---some Kaushal' she asked.
" Yes, grand ma------his diary said so----he was Yavesh kaushal---married to some Naseem---who seemingly ditched him" I replied.
" Oh, my god, he was Yavesh----you mean Yavesh Kaushal from Lahore------" grand Ma was almost hysterical.
" yes---yes grand ma------He was so. Did you know him? " I asked her.
" Know him ?----what ?---he was your Grand father-----real Grandfather----Gurvinder's father." she shocked me.
" I do not get you grand ma----Are you the NASEEM, he talked about.
" Yes, yes, -----you see------ me and Gurbachan never married-- Gurbachan, whom you called Grandpa, was a brother to me------------I had waited all these years for Yavesh---I had changed my name because Gurbachan had suggested to avoid the prying eyes of the society. People thought we were husband and wife but we were only brother and sister----Your father knew this.--------" grand ma began crying.
" Oh my god----don't worry grand ma---I will come and explain to you-----------"
I rushed to my room---------to read the second diary-----------
I read the entry in the month of August 1984-----It said:-
" 15 August 1984----------------Shera my Chief of Khalistan Tigers told me that he has taken my revenge. My friend Gurbachan Singh, alias GURU was knocked down along with his wretched son Gurvinder. Shera told me they pumped in some 33 bullets in their bodies. I have taken my revenge-----he deserved to be eliminated for having betrayed me----------"
"Oh my God----my father Gurvinder was killed at the behest of his own father----and my real grand father has been killed by his own grand son ?------What a travesty of fate? But what was the fault of Sardar Gurbachan Singh---a real do gooder--------------- ?" I began to wonder and decided to go home next day to console my grand mom.
Next day at 8 AM as I boarded the bus at Amritsar Bus Stand for Pathankot, I scanned an English news paper----The Tribune------" A HINDU TERRORIST FROM PAKISTAN------AN ISI agent----------" was screaming across the first page of the news paper. There was no need to read the story----I knew there would be all bumkum in it----for the real story was with me and I had no intention of telling others----It was a family tragedy for us.------------------------------ -J
