The Great War

by Rakhshanda Jalil

  Lahna Singh filled the second bucket and said, ‘Think of it as watering the melons in your fields. Water like this, so rich in nutrients, is nowhere to be found in all of Punjab.’

  ‘Yes indeed, this country is a veritable paradise. After the war, I will ask the government to allot me ten dhuma8 of land here so that I can plant my own fruit orchard.’

  ‘Will you call your wife here, too? Or will you keep that white woman who gives you milk…’

  ‘Shut up! The people here have no shame.’

  ‘Different countries have different cultures. Till now, I have not been able to make her understand that Sikhs do not smoke. She insists on offering me a cigarette, wants to put it in my mouth, and if I move away, she thinks the king is annoyed and will now not fight for her country.’

  ‘OK! How is Bodha Singh now?’

  ‘He is fine.’

  ‘As if I don’t know anything. You give him your blanket and spend the night by the brazier. When it is his turn to keep watch, you do his duty. You let him sleep on your dry wooden plank while you lie in the mud. Don’t you fall ill now! This winter is death for us and those who die of pneumonia are not granted any land by the government.’

  ‘You don’t need to be worried about me. I will die by the canal in Bulel. My head will rest in the lap of my brother Keerat Singh, and the shade of the mango tree I planted with my own hands in my garden will be over me.’

  Vazira Singh scowled and said, ‘What is with all this talk about death? Let the Germans and the Turks die! What say, brothers?’ Then he started singing:

  Dilli sheher tein Pishor niyun jaandiay

  Kar laina longan da bazar mudiay;

  Kar laina nodayga sauda aadiay

  Oye laana chat kuday noon

  Ke baana ve maazedar gooria

  Huun laana chatka kuday noon

  While going from Lahore to Peshawar

  Do a little business of cloves, my boy

  Do the best business there is, my boy

  Put a tempering of cloves in the pumpkin

  See what a tasty pumpkin it is, my boy!

  Who would have known that such bearded, family-oriented, uptight Sikhs would sing such bawdy songs? However, the entire bunker echoed with this song and the soldiers felt refreshed all over again, as though they had been sleeping and having fun for the past four days.

  The second watch of the night had passed. It was dark. There was complete silence. Bodha Singh was asleep on three empty biscuit tins with two of his blankets spread out below him and Lahna Singh’s blanket and overcoat over him. Lahna Singh was on guard duty. One eye was on the entrance to the bunker and the other on Bodha Singh’s frail body. Bodha Singh moaned in his sleep.

  ‘What is it Bodha bhai? What do you want?’

  ‘Give me some water.’

  Lahna Singh held the cup of water to Bodha Singh’s mouth and asked, ‘How are you feeling?’ After drinking the water, Bodha Singh replied, ‘I’m shivering. Ram-Ram, it feels like an electric shock is going through my body. My teeth are chattering.’

  ‘Here, take my jersey.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I have the brazier and it makes me feel hot. I’m sweating.’

  ‘No, I will not wear it. For four days, you’ve been…’

  ‘Yes, I remember now. I have another warm jersey with me. It came just this morning. May God bless the memsahibs who are knitting them and sending them over from foreign countries.’ Saying this, Lahna Singh started taking off his coat and then his jersey.

  ‘Are you telling the truth?’

  ‘What else? Am I lying?’ Saying so, he made the reluctant Bodha Singh wear his jersey. With only his khaki coat and denim kurta, Lahna Singh went and stood guard. That bit about the memsahibs’ jersey was merely a story, nothing more.

  Half-an-hour passed. Someone called out from outside the bunker, ‘Subedar Hazara Singh!’

  ‘Who’s it? Lieutenant sahab? Yes, sir!’ Saying this, the Subedar saluted his senior army officer and stood to attention.

  ‘Look, we have to attack right now. A mile away towards the eastern corner, there is a German bunker. There aren’t more than fifty Germans in it. There is a path between the trees here. There are two or three turnings. Wherever there is a turn, I have stationed at least fifteen soldiers. Leave ten men here and take the rest. Seize their bunker and stay there until you receive further orders. Don’t move. I will stay here.’

  ‘As you command, sir.’

  Everyone got dressed quietly. Even Bodha Singh took off the blanket and started pacing around. That’s when Lahna Singh stopped him. As soon as Lahna Singh stepped towards Bodha Singh, Bodha Singh’s father, the Subedar, pointed towards his son. Lahna Singh understood immediately. An argument ensued about which ten men would stay behind. Nobody wanted to be left behind. After a lot of persuasion, the Subedar marched off with his men.

  The Lieutenant stood facing Lahna Singh’s brazier and started smoking a cigarette. After about ten minutes, he held out one towards Lahna Singh and said, ‘Here, have a smoke.’

  In the blink of an eye, Lahna Singh understood what was going on. As he tried to hide his facial expressions, he said, ‘Give, sir.’ As he extended his hand, he saw the Lieutenant’s face and hair in the glow of the fire. That’s when he was alarmed. How had the Lieutenant’s sideburns vanished in just one day and in its place, how did he have prisoner-style close-cropped hair?

  Maybe he was drunk when he decided to cut his hair? Lahna Singh decided to find out. The Lieutenant had been in his regiment for the past five years.

  ‘So, sir, when will we go back to India?’

  ‘As soon as the war ends. Why, do you not like this country?’

  ‘No, sir, there’s no fun in hunting here. Do you remember that time last year when we went hunting in the Jagadhari district during a mock-battle drill?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I remember.’

  ‘That’s when you rode the donkey and your cook Abdullah stayed back to offer water at the local temple.’

  ‘Of course. What a jerk that man was!’

  ‘And then a nilgai9 came out of nowhere. My, I had never seen one so huge! And then you fired your bullet and it went right through its shoulder and came out of the other side. With an officer such as yourself, it is a pleasure to go hunting. Why, sir, has the mounted head of the nilgai come back from Shimla? You had said that you’d hang it in the regiment’s mess.’

  ‘Yes, but I had it sent back home.’

  ‘Such huge horns! At least two feet long!’

  ‘Yes, Lahna Singh. They were two feet and four inches long. Why have you not smoked your cigarette?’

  ‘I’ll just have it. Let me first go and get a match.’ Saying this, he entered the bunker. He no longer had any doubts. He immediately decided what had to be done.

  Lahna Singh bumped into someone sleeping in the dark.

  ‘Who is it? Vazira?’

  ‘Yes, Lahna. What’s the problem? Couldn’t you let me sleep for a little longer?’

  ‘Wake up! The end of the world is here, and it’s dressed as our Lieutenant sahab.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The real Lieutenant is either dead or he’s been captured. Some German is wearing his uniform. The Subedar never saw his face.

  I have seen him and even spoken to him. He speaks fluent Urdu, but in a bookish manner. And he even offered me a cigarette!’

  ‘What should we do now?’

  ‘Now we’re dead. We’ve been betrayed. While the Subedar and his men are wandering in the mud, we will face an attack. Get up, go and track down our men, follow their footsteps. They wouldn’t have gone very far. Tell the Subedar to return immediately. It’s all a lie about the enemy bunker. Go from the back of our trench. Make sure that that you do not make a sound, not even a twig should snap. Hurry up!’

  ‘But the order was to stay here…’

  ‘To hell with the order! This is my order… Jamadar Lahna Singh’s. And I am the highest-ranking
officer here right now. Do as I say while I deal with this Lieutenant sahab.’

  ‘But there are only eight of you here.’

  ‘Not eight, but ten lakh. Every Akali Sikh is equal to a lakh and quarter men. Go now.’

  Lahna Singh went out but stayed near the entrance of the bunker. He saw the Lieutenant sahab take out three explosives the size of berries from his pocket, push them into the wall of the bunker and connect them with a wire. At the end of the wire, there was a ball of thread, which he placed near the coal brazier. He was just about to put a matchstick to the ball of thread when…

  With the speed of lightning, Lahna Singh hit the Lieutenant in the elbow with the butt of his rifle. The Lieutenant dropped the match. Lahna Singh hit him again, but this time in the neck. The German cried, ‘Ach mein Gott!’ and fainted. Lahna Singh took the explosives out of the wall and threw them out of the bunker. He then dragged the Lieutenant towards the brazier and started searching his pockets. He found three or four envelopes and a diary, which he kept in his own pocket. The German’s moustache moved. Lahna Singh started laughing and said, ‘Well, Lieutenant sahab, how are you feeling now? Today, I have learned a lot of things. I have learned that Sikhs smoke. I have learned that there are nilgai in the Jagadhari district and that too with antlers that are two feet and four inches long. I have also learned that a Muslim cook offers water in a Hindu temple. And that the Lieutenant sahab once rode a donkey. But, tell me this, where did you learn to speak such fluent Urdu? Our Lieutenant sahab could never finish speaking even five words without uttering “Damn!” at least once.’

  Lahna Singh had forgotten to check the man’s trouser pockets. The German had shoved both hands into his pocket, as though he was cold.

  Lahna Singh continued speaking, ‘You are quite clever but I, Lahna of Manjha, have spent years with the Lieutenant sahab. And to defeat Lahna, you need four eyes. Three months ago, a Turkish maulvi came to my village. He would hand out amulets to women desperate to have children and to children he would give medicines. He used to sit under the shade of Chaudhuri’s tree and smoke a hookah. He used to say that Germans are very knowledgeable. After studying the Vedas in great detail, they have learned how to operate airplanes. They don’t butcher cows. And if they were ever to rule India, cow-killing would come to a standstill. He used to advise the shopkeepers to take out their savings from the post office and say that the British are murderers and cannot be trusted. Even Polhuram, the postmaster, got scared. I had grabbed that mullahji’s beard and thrown him out of the village saying, “If you dare step foot in my village again, I will…”’

  The gun went off from the Lieutenant sahab’s pocket and the bullet went straight into Lahna’s thigh. That’s when Lahna used his Henry Martin and fired two straight shots into the Lieutenant’s head. Hearing the gunshots, everyone came running.

  Bodha started shouting, ‘What happened?’

  Lahna made him go back to sleep saying that he had shot a mad dog who had entered the bunker, but to the others he narrated the entire story. They all stood ready with their weapons. Lahna tore a piece of cloth from his turban and tied it around his wound. It was a flesh wound; the tight bandage stopped the bleeding.

  Meanwhile, seventy Germans invaded their bunker, screaming and shouting. The first attack was quelled by the guns fired by the Sikhs. The second, too, was somehow stopped. But there were only eight men (and Lahna Singh was by now dead tired) and they were seventy. The Germans were climbing over their dead comrades and charging into the bunker. Within a few moments they would…

  Suddenly, a voice called out, ‘Wahe Guruji ki Fateh! Wahe Guruji ka Khalsa!’10 and a shower of bullets rained upon the backs of the Germans, who found themselves caught in a crossfire. Subedar Hazar Singh’s men fired from the back, while Lahna Singh and his soldiers attacked from the front. With every step that the Germans took, the soldiers at the back fired twice as harder.

  A final battle cry was heard: ‘Akali sakhiya di fauj aai! Wahe Guruji ki Fateh! Wahe Guruji ka Khalsa! Sat Shri Akal Purukh!’11 And the battle was over. Sixty-three Germans were either dead or wounded. Fifteen Sikhs were dead. The Subedar’s right shoulder was bleeding, a bullet had gone through him. Another bullet had pierced Lahna Singh’s ribcage. He filled up his wound with the slushy mud of the trench and then tied his turban tightly around it. Nobody even got to know about the seriousness of Lahna Singh’s second injury.

  The moon had risen during the fight, a moon that had inspired Sanskrit poets to describe it as kshaya, or waning. A breeze blew, which the poet Banabhatta would have called dantvinopadeshacharya.12 Vazira Singh was recalling how the wet mud from the French field had clung to his feet as he ran towards the Subedar to warn him of the attack. The Subedar was praising Lahna Singh for his quick thinking and for taking away the papers from the fake Lieutenant and saying: ‘If you weren’t here, we would all have been dead by now.’

  The sounds of the battle had reached a bunker about three miles to their right. They had telephoned the base. Two field doctors and two ambulances were sent out immediately; they reached our bunker in an hour-and-a-half. The field hospital was close by. They would reach by dawn, which is why they bandaged the wounded and laid them down in one car and piled the dead in the other. The Subedar wanted a proper bandage to be tied around Lahna Singh’s wounded thigh, but he shrugged it off saying it was a small wound and that it could be seen to in the morning. Bodha Singh was shivering with high fever. He was made to lie down in the ambulance. The Subedar refused to leave Lahna Seeing this, Lahna said, ‘I ask you, on Bodha’s life, and on your wife’s, get on that ambulance.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Send the ambulance back for me once you get there. And they’ll send a car for the dead Germans as well. My condition is not that bad. Can’t you see, I’m standing? Vazira will stay with me.’

  ‘OK, but…’

  ‘Is Bodha already lying down in the ambulance? Good, you should also get on. And listen, if you write a letter to the subedarni, do send her my regards and tell her I’ve done as she had asked.’

  The cars started. As the Subedar was getting on, he held Lahna’s hand and said, ‘You saved my life and Bodha’s. What letter? We’ll go home together. You can tell your subedarni yourself. But what had she said?’

  ‘Now get on the car. Remember to write what I have said… and say it too.’

  As soon as the ambulance had gone, Lahna lay down and said, ‘Vazira, get me some water. And please untie my waistband; it is completely soaked.’

  Moments before death, memory becomes crystal-clear. All the events that have taken place throughout one’s life present themselves at that time. The colours of all the scenes are bright. The dust of Time is completely removed from them.

  Lahna Singh was twelve years old. He had gone to stay with his uncle in Amritsar. At the curd seller, the vegetable seller, everywhere, he meets an eight-year old girl. When he asks her, ‘Are you engaged?’ she says, ‘Dhatt!’ and runs away. One day, when he asks her the same question, she says, ‘Yes, it was yesterday. Don’t you see this silken embroidered shawl?’ Lahna heard this and was instantly saddened. Then angry. Why was he angry?

  ‘Vazira, give me some water.’

  Twenty-five years have passed. Now, Lahna Singh is a jamadar in the 77 Rifles. He had not thought of that eight-year old girl. He can’t even remember if he had ever met her or not. He took leave for seven days and went home to appear in a legal matter. Once there, he received a letter from an officer in the army stating that war has been declared and he must return to duty at once. At the same time, he received a letter from Subedar Hazara Singh that he and Bodha Singh were also going to war. On the way, he should go past their home so they can all go together. The Subedar’s village was on his way and the Subedar was very fond of him. Lahna Singh reached the Subedar’s home.

  When it was time to go, the Subedar came out from his home and said, ‘Lahna, the subedarni knows you; she’s calling for you. Go, meet her.’ Lahn
a Singh went indoors. The subedarni knows me? he wondered. Since when? He had never met anyone from the Subedar’s family staying in the regiment’s quarters. He reached the door and bowed. He heard the blessings. Lahna Singh stayed silent.

  ‘Do you recognise me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you engaged… Dhatt… Yes, it was yesterday. Don’t you see this silken embroidered shawl? In Amritsar…’

  The tide of emotions caused a flicker. He changed his side. The wound in his ribcage bled out.

  ‘Vazira, give me some water. She had said.’

  He was dreaming. The subedarni was saying, ‘I recognised you the moment you came. I am asking you to do something for me. My fate is ruined. The sarkar has given a medal for bravery and land in Lyallpur. It is time now to show our loyalty. But why has the sarkar not made a platoon for women? I too would have gone with Subedarji. I have only one son. It’s only been a year since he enlisted in the army. Four more boys were born after him, but none of them survived.’ And the subedarni began to cry.

  ‘Now both are going off. My fate… Do you remember one day the horse of the tongawalla had run amuck near the curd seller’s shop? That day you had saved my life. You had charged between the horse’s legs, picked me up and put me on the shop’s stoop. In the same way, you must save these two. This is my request… I am spreading my anchal13 before you.’

  And the subedarni went inside, crying. Lahna Singh came out wiping his tears.

  ‘Vazira, give me some water… She had said.’

  Vazira Singh sits with Lahna Singh’s head in his lap. Whenever he asks, he gives him some water. For half an hour, Lahna Singh is quiet. Then he says, ‘Who’s there? Keerat Singh?’

  Partly understanding, Vazira answers, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Brother, pull me up. Put my head on your chest.’ Vazir does that.

  ‘Yes, that’s better. Give me some water. This year the mango will grow in the rains. Uncle and nephew will sit under its shade and enjoy the fruit. This mango is as tall as my nephew. I had planted it in the same month that he was born.’