Reminiscences of earlier wars
As the sky lit the border city of Jammu, my home town, with Pakistani drones and other projectiles, making futile bids to find targets in the City of Temples, it became reminiscent of the theatre of war one witnessed during my childhood and teens in 1965 and 1971. The only difference this time was the technology on display.
Circa 1965- Pakistan thrust a war on India, my father was posted in hilly town of Batote, a safer place 100 kilometers from Jammu, where I was studying in fifth class. But soon we were in Jammu on the first available opportunity as, perhaps, my father wanted all of us to see least the remnants of armed conflict and become part of the social milieu engaged in relief work. He took us on a pilgrimage to a bombing site outside the then small Jammu airport in the cantonment area followed by a visit to Srinagar (Kashmir), 300 kilometers away, where a locality Batamaloo, near the house of my maternal uncles, had been burnt to flush out the Pakistani infiltrators. He made us visit some other war related areas also, ostensibly to give us a feeling of the war-zones and its after-effects. The local Kashmiris had played an important role in informing about the infiltrators hiding in the Srinagar localities under Operation Gibraltar launched by Pakistan.
Back to Jammu: Our first task, in 1965, was to get familiar with the black-outs and related drills followed by getting in touch, there were hardly any phones those days, with relatives and friends to know their well-being. It was not an easy task as whenever we ventured out sirens went full-steam warning of air-raids. Mostly one had to walk through the streets and bazars of the then a small city to reach from Mubarak Mandi to Raghunath Bazar.
Nevertheless, soon we got accustomed to this culture and how to tuck ourselves to safe zones in the midst of air-raids. Then followed the Herculean effort to find out the extent of damage caused either by the air raids or the situation in the nearby borders or rest of the country.
The only source of news was the All India Radio - Radio Kashmir, Jammu as it was known till recently in Jammu and Kashmir before the partial abrogation of Article 370 of the Constitution. However, since the news bulletins were limited, most of the time it was the rumour mill at work either giving inflated figures of the casualties or false reports about areas captured either by India or Pakistan.
In the meanwhile our elders encouraged us to indulge in some social work. So, all our cousins got together and decided to raise funds which we did through celebrating some festival (if my memory serves me right Kanya-pujan) that came in between. We bought fruits, biscuits to distribute among injured soldiers admitted in the local SMGS hospital with no space in the army hospitals, and civilians displaced from the border towns who were sheltered in schools and colleges. Many of the injured civilians were also admitted in the hospital.
Still etched in memory is the horrific image of a six-feet plus Sikh soldier writhing in pain with splinters all over his body. One quickly kept some fruit by his bed side and left. We went from one ward to the other to enquire about the injured soldiers and civilians and gave them fruits and biscuits. There were others injured and heavily bandaged, with scary cries renting the air.
1971 war came with different dimensions. As a new college entrant and an 11th standard student, one had to take care of one’s grandmother in our old ancestral home, as my father was on a posting in Delhi, and shuttle between my paternal and maternal homes in the tense city.
No one was scared this time. Despite instructions to stay inside and remain in safer places, people would go to roof-tops to witness air-raids by Pak Saberjets which, invariably, were brought to ground by IAF Migs in the combat. What followed was a round of applause from people lauding IAF fighter-pilots’ heroics.
There were many instances of Pak fighter pilots targeting the citizens on the roof-tops but it never deterred them. This is to say that the official safety instructions need to be followed in letter and spirit and not giving the attackers an opportunity to find the soft targets.
The city was flooded with war-cries of “crush Pakistan” and other sundry slogans praising the Indian armed forces. There were placards on display on shops and in prominent places in the city and we the students, affixed badges to this effect on our chests.
The other take-away from this war was the decision of our college principal Dr S M Iqbal, who was an eminent educationist, to keep the college open. The historic British-era GGM Science (erstwhile Prince of Wales College) was flooded with displaced persons from border villages. We were directed to take care and serve these people through various means. Mostly, it was organizing and distributing food and giving healthcare facilities, which were provided by various governmental and social organisations, among them.
Organising blood donation camps in the midst of booming anti-aircraft guns which were stationed on all four corners of the college as also on some vantage and high positions of the hilly old city to protect the only bridge, connecting Jammu and Kashmir with rest of the country, on river Tawi, was a daily routine. Well, there were many enthusiasts to donate the blood, there were others who would give it a miss, in turn inviting ire of the principal.
One fine morning when the students were supposed to attend a blood donation camp, we were welcomed by the dominant sight of Dr Iqbal waiting while standing on a desk specially brought from a class room. He was angry and fuming as there were very few students who had turned up to donate blood. “Stop wearing those badges with slogans of crush Pakistan if you do not want to donate blood,” he thundered. It had a salutary effect and the next camp was a hit.
