''There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.''
While browsing through the pages of an old diary yesterday, my eyes fell on this quote by Maya Angelou, the renowned African- American writer, making me aware that I too have been suffering from one such experience carved deep in the memory, still fresh with its peculiar blend of emotions. As if motivated by some unseen spirit, I decided to record all that had been lying in my memory for the past many years. As I took the pen and paper, events began to unfold themselves before the mind's eye.
Like a flashback in a movie, scene after scene began to appear on the screen of memory . and I remembered how I was awakened by the phone ringing late in the night, on a dark July night, when one of my cousins called at about 12 p.m.and told me in a trembling voice '' Sorry to disturb you at this odd hour, but I couldn't wait, its bad news... Rohit's helicopter crashed in Siachen this afternoon ...'' Already half asleep, I was too deeply shocked to react at the moment, but certainly did not want to believe what I had heard and stood there petrified, the phone receiver hanging down. A little later, I tried to console myself with the thought that it could be just a bad dream. we had heard about such incidents in the past too.
. Don't we tend to think that bad things happen to others only?
The rest of the night felt the longest and most fearful, imagining what was going to be faced next. The mind kept oscillating between the happy memories of the past and the horrifying scenario that was about to follow. Rohit was an extremely enthusiastic person, a favourite of everybody in the family circle and very popular among friends. He had joined Indian Air Force a few years back and was very happy serving there as it had always been his dream career. How tragic that his life had ended so abruptly!
Of all the images that kept recurring, the face of Ritu, the newly -wedded wife of Rohit, was the most poignant. She had gone with him to start and enjoy family life just a few months back. How would she be facing the catastrophe all alone, far away from the family in that remote place? How would she have reacted to this bolt from the blue, something that she might not have imagined even in the worst of her nightmares?
The night passed as it always does, and it was time to be at Rohit's house. I entered the gate that was already wide open as people had started gathering, having got the tragic news. The shocked and shattered family was waiting for further information about the mishap. It was communicated that during a routine flight to supply provisions to high-altitude posts, his chopper was hit by a missile from across the border resulting in the tragic incident. The site of the crash had been located and the bodies of the two pilots recovered. Official formalities were being completed before they are flown to be handed over to the families.
It was a painful wait at a house that had celebrated a happy wedding just three months back, the memory of which was still fresh in mind. More and more people were coming in, adding to the already huge gathering. But no one could speak to any of the bereaved kins, let alone to the aged mother who had been lying unconscious ever since the news came. A pall of gloom was spread over the entire house and even the neighbourhood.
Wasn't it what we call the silence of the graveyard?
'' It is coming '', someone whispered and all eyes turned towards the army vehicle stopping at the gate. With throbbing hearts, we stood in solemn silence, watching the flowerbedecked coffin wrapped in Tricolor, being taken out and a grief-stricken Ritu walking in with heavy steps. I could understand she was not wearing those big, dark glasses just to avoid the sultry July sun.
And suddenly, the uneasy calm was broken by a loud wailing, '' No Rohit, no! You were not supposed to come home this way! '', was the mother's heart-rending cry of sorrow that left no one untouched and what followed was beyond description. Needless to mention, the whole place was inundated by a flood of sorrow with tears in every eye.
But where was Ritu? My eyes were looking for her and found that she had been taken inside where Rohit's mother was lying almost unconscious, surrounded by close relatives. Now and then, she would murmur sorrowfully and then fall unconscious again. Seeing Ritu, she burst into tears and loud wailing, hugging her tight for long.
I felt it was time to leave them with each other, sharing their heartbreaking sorrow that was too personal to be realised by anyone else.
Days and weeks that followed continued pouring in messages of condolence and empathy for the bereaved family. Ritu's parents had arrived the very next day to be with their daughter in her most miserable situation. They stayed there for about two weeks and wanted her to go with them while leaving. But Ritu refused to move away saying she couldn't leave Rohit's mother and sister alone at this critical juncture.
Time kept moving at its usual pace, turning days into weeks and months. Slowly, life began to appear normal, at least outwardly. But, even when all seems lost, the future stands in front of you with all its peculiar challenges. With each passing day, the question of Ritu's rehabilitation was getting more and more pointed with everyone concerned. Wasn't she too young to live the rest of her life shedding tears over what had happened and couldn't be undone?
But then, what should be done to help her rise again, was the big question.
Among many suggestions, the most common was that she should try for a teaching job in some local college. Some suggested that she should prepare for civil services exams. It was also proposed that she should start some kind of business from home itself. Ritu listened to everyone with due respect but never opened her own mind. Having been close to her for the past few months and watching her behaviour, I had a feeling that she was slowly making up her mind to do something that no one had even thought about. During one of my visits, she confided in me that she wanted to do something different, something that might ensure a safe and dignified life for her, that she did not like to be looked at with pity or sympathy nor would she accept any help or job on compassionate ground.
And one day, she did open her mind, surprising everyone with her decision, she said, she would join Army and continue doing what Rohit loved and enjoyed. Though appreciative of her wish, the family was also concerned about how that frail, young lady could undertake such a tough job, that too, after the trauma she had recently undergone.
But she was too determined to yield to any doubt or dissuasion and politely asserted that she was ready for any challenge in her way... all she needed was the support of the family.
Things had already started changing and time seemed to move faster. The chain of events that followed was well in tune with the plan of a resilient young lady
The next week I heard that she had joined an institute that prepares candidates for entrance tests to defence services. I felt that she had found her calling and taken the first step towards achieving it. At the end of the year, I got a short message from her, '' Cleared the written exam, now going for SSB. '' ''Congrats !! I wrote back, ''Go ahead, you are already halfway through and will make it definitely ''.
And I did not have to wait long when she called with another good news, '' I have made it, finally,'' her voice sounded like the chirping of morning birds. Overwhelmed, I exclaimed, ''That's what I had expected. I wish I could spread a red- carpet for you right from Allahabad to Doon, so, so, much proud of you ..''
She was with us for a few days before leaving for the Officers Training School Chennai. Time passed sooner than we could know and the day came when we had to bid her farewell. It was a period of overwhelming emotions, love and concern; pride and relief, overlapping one another and blending into a unique feeling.
With no convenience of air travel back then, she had to take a long train journey to her destination and it was proposed that someone from the family should accompany her. But she said she would manage it on her own and did not need anyone to go with her. After all, she had to make a fresh beginning and it was the first step in her new venture. I knew she was right and appreciated her decision.
On the appointed date and time, we all went to the railway station to see her off. It was early morning and the sun was yet to appear on the horizon, but the light was already there replacing the dark shadows of the night and heralding the beginning of a new day.
She boarded the train and stood near the window. The engine sounded its familiar whistle and the train started moving. Before it caught speed, I watched the confident young lady waving at us with a winsome smile, slowly passing out of the view.
Bidding goodbye to a dear one has always been painful to me, but strangely enough, that day, it was a different experience, being sad and happy at the same time, a feeling that was beyond words.
Returning home in that queer mood, I was suddenly reminded of the legend of the Phoenix, the mythical bird, which is said to rise from her own ashes and fly free in the seamless sky again. I didn't know why, but the image of Ritu I had just seen off, suddenly appeared before my eyes and I asked myself,
Does Phoenix belong to legends alone?
