Fauji - A writing Competition entry by Parul Paul

 

Fauji

By Parul Paul

(Based on Jallianawala Bagh Masaccare) 

It was the 11th of April 1913, (British India). Two days prior to Baisakhi, I returned to my native village from my regiment. The villagers, along with my huge family, welcomed me.I had been working at the Balouch British Regiment. I was the only fauji from my village who served in the army. My eyes were searching for Shera, who always welcomed me with drum beats, but this time he was not there. 

Villagers was preparing for the biggest celebration in Punjab among the Sikhs. My mother always taught me that spring brings new things and pleasures in one's life. Our hearts were filled with great expectations, and our eyes with hope. Our village is located near Amritsar surrounded by the evergreen fields of Punjab. My father is a granthi (priest) at the gurudwara. He has always been dedicated to God and his principles. He is a simple man who is interested in hymns and feeding the poor. My mother is the sweetest being and always my dearest. She loves stitching, and she stitched a woolen coat for me so that I could bear the coldest night in the forefront. 

"Mannu, can you help me make these kada prasad for the Gurudwara?" My mother asked.

"I have to leave maa to my friends they are waiting for me ".

My group of friends include Ballu, Sukki, Guru, and especially my best friend Sher Singh, whom I used to call Shera. He was few years younger than me, but I was the youngest in maturity before Shera. Our perceptions are in contrast, but our hearts were connected. We shared a common interest in playing hockey. We had lots of juvenile memories. We always used to meet and spend a whole hour on a wooden scaffolding near the local pond.

All were discussing each other's lives. Suddenly, Shera arrived. I hugged him, but he didn't seem happy to see me.

"Mannu, how does it feel to serve the British against Indians?" asked Shera.

"Faujis never bargain. It is my duty, Shera. I don't feel anything but doing my job without any personal feelings because I am the only bread earner in the family. " I replied. 

He told me about the consciousness of the Rowlatt Act passed by the Britishers and the outrages among the Indians. Shera was different that day. 

At evening, I had my dinner at Ballu's home. Chachi made my favorite food. "Mannu, we are going to the Golden Temple this Baisakhi to celebrate and attend sabhas",Chachi said. 

"I will also send Ballu to fauj so that everyone could salute him like they are doing to you",Chachi said. I promised Chachi that I will help Ballu to become a fauji too.

I came back home and got a telegram to reach immediately to the regiment for an urgent mission on the day of baishakhi. 

I got sad, thinking about baishakhi celebraion with my family and friends, but duty was my first priority so I had to leave. 

On the next day, 'Mannu, when will you come back next?' Father asked. 'Soon baba,' I replied.

My friends dropped me off at the bus stand. 

"Mannu"! Ballu screamed. He saluted me and wished me the best for my mission. I saw Shera  more disappointed this time. 

I reached the regiment; they called us to reach Amritsar. The call was from General Dyer. He was about to take us on a secret mission to Amritsar; he didn't disclose anything more to us. On April 13th, Baishaki day, many troops joined us along with some Gorkha regiment, and we all moved to the Bagh located in Amritsar.

"We have to shoot," one soldier murmured.

I was frightened about the mission. Dyer told us that we have to shoot them, the big mob gathered at the Bagh.

"They conduct sabha against Britishers. They are not our brothers but enemies," Dyer said.

He told us to shoot on his first command. We all closed the exit with troops and entered the Bagh.

We assembled in a position, and General Dyer ordered, "And fire."

My thumbs were trembling, but I shot once, twice, and multiple times.

Those bullets were fired at my heart. I died a thousand times before they died.We all shot them until he said 'Stop'. 

Thousands died, many jumped into the well. I stopped myself and put the gun down. Before leaving, I saw a guy. Yes, it was Ballu. He was about to die, one of those bullets stuck in his chest. I rushed secretly, and tried my best to save him, but I failed. I cried my heart out and then saluted him. I took his body to Chachi. 

This time, the villagers saw me not as a fauji but as a murderer. They banished me as I was a part of it. I feel ashamed of myself too. 

"I broked my promise, Chachi. I couldn't make Ballu a fauzi.Please forgive me if possible".

My family along with me had to leave their homes and moved out from the village forever. 

At the bus stand, Shera came to me. 

"Fauzi, don't bargain.' Really? Not even for brothers, for family, for motherland? I will never forgive you, Mannu. I will kill that bastard for sure, and then you". Shera said

I left him, left my village, my friends, the regiment and my country. I moved to London because of my shameless sin. I had to pay for the betrayal i have done with my brothers, with my motherland. 

Twenty years later, I was in London, working as a staff in a publishing company. On the baishaki day i went for to gurudwara for prayers. 

A radio beeps " A leader of gaddar gang from India shooted the dyer".I knew he was shera. He kept his words.