(….. continued from here)
While at Ferozepur, I had frequent attacks of malaria while the others mysteriously enough were unaffected. Once on hearing that I was down with ague yet again Major Jaswant Singh jocularly asked the Lord and Master of mine, whether this was a bi-annual or quarterly feature. My first-born was not even one at the time. How could I have managed without the help of these wonderful souls??
There was very little of me to start with, small that I was, with the officers of the Unit frequently pulling the L & M’s already long legs, asking him exactly where the ration went. With each subsequent attack of malaria, I became weaker and fresh bouts became harder to cope with. The aftermath of Operation Bluestar ensured that the Unit was constantly away on duty. On one of the rare (and lucky) occasions that my husband was present in the station, I had one of my attacks. Shivering and running a very high temperature I was left with no option but call Jaswinder Singh and tell him to get help. As Jaswinder himself was needed to take care of my baby son, I asked that our friend Maj T’s helper be requested to go to the office to convey the news of my situation to the L & M.
Jaswinder promptly hurried over to get Pal Singh. But do you think Pal Singh went rushing off on hearing the news?? He first came to find out how bad things were and finding me shivering uncontrollably, asked where the blankets were kept (it was summer and the blankets were all in trunks), opened the trunks, took out the blankets and gave them to me, brought a glass of water for me and asked me if I needed anything else and then left to inform the L & M. I heard later on that he had been working in the vegetable garden under Capt.T’s mother’s supervision, but simply ran to our house with a cursory,
“Hamara Saab ka Memsaab beemar hai.” (Our Ma’am is unwell) leaving the lady bewildered and fuming. I met Pal Singh some years later at Siliguri, when he was the Mess Havaldar.
Drinking at all times of the day and night was Amrik Singh’s weakness. There is an unwritten rule, one that these sahayaks are reminded of time and again, that they will not enter the Saahib’s residence in an inebriated condition. Amrik Singh succeeded in concealing his drunken condition before we finally cottoned on to it. One day I was combing my son’s hair having got him all ready after his bath, when I heard someone clapping. Surprised, I turned to find Amrik Singh standing near the dining table with a wide grin on his face and clapping approvingly at my son. Guessing rightly that something was amiss from the vacuous nature of his grin, I tactfully sent him on an errand and closed the door behind him.
Yet another day, he did not turn up for his duties at all. The men who were to do the whitewashing were already on the scene. The curtains had to be taken down, the furniture moved and I had a little baby on hand. Where was Amrik Singh?? I had no idea. I sought help from my neighbor’s sahayak., who found the absconder fast asleep in his room in a drunken stupor at 11 a.m. He was in no condition to be of any assistance. Repeated warnings did no good and so he had to be sent back to the Unit, a pity because he was otherwise a helpful, cheerful and a simple soul.
Then there was Seva Singh with a permanently depressed face, but a hard worker. The young Balwinder Singh, an eager beaver type, who preferred being a sahayak to doing Unit duties got a bit drunk on Diwali and tried bursting crackers carelessly with his hands, making me worry about the safety of my children. He accompanied our luggage to Kerala. Without knowing a singe word of Malayalam he managed to get things done using mime. One thing I remember about him is the way his jaw dropped when I got a vacuum cleaner. He thought it was atrocious that I should spend so much money to buy what was after all nothing but a machine to do sweeping. Then there was Basant Singh who was quieter than a mouse but so efficient in his duties and always ready for a game of cricket with the children. He rarely ever smiled in our presence, though with the children his lighter side was shown more frequently.
Years later, my husband was posted to the Sub Area in Danapur. There entered Sukhdev Singh, a young sardar whose efficiency in his work went way beyond his slight frame. Our house was next to the highway. Whenever it was time for the L & M to leave for office, he simply walked out and though in his old army issue olive green trousers and white vest, stopped the vehicles with an imperious wave of his hands, so that his Saahib could have right of way. His demeanor was such that people just meekly complied.
Once, the sons and I were returning to Danapur, from a visit to my brother, in Delhi. The train we boarded would halt only for a very short time at Danapur. So, the L & M sent Sukhdev Singh to board the train at the station prior to it, to assist us in alighting with our luggage at Danapur. Some times it so happened that those in a hurry to board the train prevented those getting off from alighting. As I sat in the AC coach, I saw a sardar open the door of the coach and walk in confidently with a hockey stick. Some hockey player, I thought to myself. Looks familiar though. (You must have got a fair idea regarding my eyesight from this) It turned out to be none other than Sukhdev Singh who had come well prepared to face any eventuality and to make sure, Memsaahib and children got off the train safely. Needless to say things went smoothly with a hockey stick wielding sardar making way for us.
Sukhdev Singh accompanied our luggage when it was sent via truck to Trivandrum. Since he had never seen the sea, we decided to take him for a dekko to the Shankhumukham beach. He was simply awed by the roaring sea and the waves beating the shore. He stood staring at it in wonder and a little dread. My children whooped with joy as the waves rolled in one after the other, begging us to be allowed to go in still further into the water; but Sukhdev, the courageous sardar who would have marched fearlessly into the battlefield anytime, stood behind my 14 year old senior son, holding on to his shoulder for dear life and peeking over his head at this majestic spectacle of the blue sea throwing up one huge wave after another, non-stop. He would venture no further than that. The L & M and I were amused to see Sukhdev thus. Taking his eyes off the sea for a moment, he innocently asked his Saahib in all seriousness,
“Ye samunder kabhi rukta nahi hai Saab??” (Doesn’t the sea ever stop Sir?)
Before the L & M could answer the question (probably equally seriously) I cut in and keeping as straight a face as possible told him,
“Kya kare Sukhdev, Fauji ko chutti milta hai lekin, beechare samunder ko koyi chutti deta hi nahi!” (What to do. Soldiers get leave, but no one gives an off to the poor sea) making not only the L & M and the children but also Sukhdev Singh too to laugh out.
After soaking in the sea air for some more time, we returned home, not forgetting to take Sukhwinder to Aryanivas for a crisp masala dosa.
My eyes moisten when I remember them, they who served us selflessly, with love and devotion. These strangers who came to our lives were any day better than ones own relatives back in our hometown, who had to have a reason to look you up or help you. Need I say more??
By the way, Baldev Singh did teach me to make authentic sarson da saag. The taste lingers…..
(Concluded)
Aah this was wonderful. And now I have hope for our country. If a person from the South makes authentic sarson ka saag, and I can cook ossum crispy dosas …. we can make it happen
Of course we can!
Thanks Ritu.
Yeah Ritu it makes me hope too. India is India because of things like this.:)
You said it, Ritu.
2 weeks back I gave my Methi-Aloo recipe to a friend from Bihar. She makes yum Masala Dosa.
Our country is a true melting pot.
sarson ka sag and makki ki roti…would cross the seven seas to eat that right now…I do cook a lot of North Indian food but somehow I feel, they taste a little South Indian!
Ohh you love sarson ka saag too! As for the south Indian taste, do you use masalas made by south Indian companies?? If so, the south Indian taste is inevitable, whatever the masala name suggests!
Wonderful!
Thank you
wow! Shail, what an account of army life. I would love to read it again and again. If the nostalgia takes you down the memory lane once again , please don’t let your fingers stop from tap dancing.
we are waiting , all eagerly.
Yeah I sure will let the fingers tap dance. Maybe about learning to drive in Danapur!
Love sarson ka saag
Lots of memories!!
You too eh?? I simply lovvve sarson ka saag, though I have almost forgotten its taste having been staying in the south for long now!
the posts remind me of my gud old life at chandigarh..
I miss the warmth, the large heartedness, the jokes, the exploding laughs, the lohri pop corns, the baisakhi dances, the yummy parathas for breakfast, n the lovely people.. sigh..
Oh wow, Lohri and Baisakhi ….and paranthas!!! I simply love stuffed paranthas!! Sigh…
Shail,I’m so happy I had a chance to come and read this,though it reminds me that as soon as I left my husband in Malalysia last week he came down with another bout of malaria too.I could have used your help there translating the Indian dishes for me.
Wonderful tale as usual.You make everything so beautiful and close.
Sally, It seems that yam in the daily diet prevents the occurrence of malaria among the Africans and when yam went off their diet, the incidence of malaria increased. Just a fact I noted and tucked away in my mind from a book I read: ‘The color purple’.
Hope your husband is quite okay now.
Yeah if I had been around I could have translated the dishes for you.
Was waiting for this post to be up. Loved the read. So many memories woven around it
Thanks Deeps. Glad you liked it. Yes, so many memories and it feels good to jot them down.
Shail, in addition to appreciating your narration style i must commend you for having remembred the names of your sahayaks so vividly. Even my namesake also figures there.
Thanks for sharing.
Thank you Balvinder!
Yes, your name sake is there too. 
BTW, I am pretty good at remembering things, though my sister beats me hollow any day.
Sarson da sag eh? How come I got only meen pollithachi…errr is that right?
No, its not right. *trying to keep a straight face* ….and thank you Vivek, for NOT being right because from the time i read your comment I have been grinning. Pollithachi, huh?? It is meen ‘pollichathu’!!
Of course I loved the fish too.
Which one, meen pollichathu or nemmeen curry??
…or the fish pickle??
Beautifully narrated. Your affection and concern, and clarity of memory because of their care, fills the narrative. Salutes to them
Thank you Usha. Really, they were all so sincere and such a help to us. My memory is just okay as compared to that of my sis who would probably recite for you the kavita she learnt in her Malayalam class when she was probably 7!
Isnt it wonderful ??? How we come across some lovely human beings during our course of life and how they touch our hearts with their gentle nature and helping heart ??? Its so heartwarming to read your post here.
It is wonderful indeed how some people enter our lives and leave their foot prints. Thank you Uma.
we never hear any of these stories in the BIG MEDIA. this needs to be published. -
Thanks Anrosh. Its always feels good to recall little incidents such as these.
I loved this narration(both parts). Its such a blessing to have such people in our world. This just goes to reinforce my belief that each person who comes into our life has something that makes us richer for just having them in our life.
Thanks Rashmi. That’s a wonderful thought how each person who enters our life does so to enrich it in some way.
What a huge smile I am sporting yet again:)
As so many friends have already written…love the way you have remembered each one of them. The way you remember their eccentricities…their way of looking at life…everything….
I remember the Bhaiyya who would take come with toffees for us. Big strapping guy from Rajasthan with the most fearsome moustache ….but one who would melt like butter whenever he was around us..the lil ones…:)
Loved this “Kya kare Sukhdev, Fauji ko chutti milta hai lekin, beechare samunder ko koyi chutti deta hi nahi!
This will still elicit guffaws
I do remember each one of them Indy
The way Sukhdev asked about the sea still makes me smile when I remember it. 
Ahh the bhaiyya with the fearsome moustache and a melting heart. I can picture him!
Makki di roti-Sarson da saag. Me loves.
Shail, I love reading fauji stories. Nostalgia!
BTW Congratulations on the Katha Sagar win! Just noticed on your sidebar.
More common likings eh Soli??
Thanks. I thought you knew about the win!! I had posted a blog soon after thanking all of you who helped me win!
Thanks for bringing these interesting people “to life” and for “sharing them.
You are welcome Bob!
Enjoyed the narration! All those beautiful souls come live so vividly.
Thank you Basanta.
Came to your blog from Indyeah’s….and I so loved this post. Being from the Defense I could relate to so much…My brother is with the Sikh Regiment, shall send him a link to your post..I laughed at the Uppar Jana story… Such simple people, who enrich our lives just by being themselves..was impressed by the way you have remembered and narrated these incidents to us.Thorughly enjoyed reading this post.
@Poonam J,
I don’t know how I missed answering your comment Poonam. I am really sorry. I am thrilled to know your brother is from Sikh Regiment. I hope he enjoyed reading this
Thank you. Glad you liked it
Pingback: The Sardarjis | Shail's Nest