'Yes, you are absolutely right. But I think the biggest service we can do to Balwantji is to get his achievements in the 1971 war recognized. We will give a memorandum to the people from the SBF who come here tomorrow.'
We are all excited. It looks as if finally we are also contributing to the war effort.
* * *
There are three of them who come. A tall man, a short man and a fat man. All three are ex-officers; the tall one is from the navy, the short one is from the army and the fat man is from the air force. The short man gives a long speech. He tells us that our soldiers are doing a great job.
Our country is great. Our Prime Minister is great. We are great. And our donations should also be great. They pass around a basket. People put money in it. Some put five rupees, some ten, some one hundred. One of the ladies puts in her gold bangles. Salim doesn't have any money. He puts in two packets of bubblegum. Balwant Singh is not present. He has sent word that he has a touch of flu.
Then the inquisition starts. 'Did you fight in any war yourself?' Kulkarni asks the army man, a retired Colonel.
'Yes, of course. I saw action in two great wars, '65 and '71.'
'And where did you serve during the 1971 war?'
'In Chhamb, which perhaps saw the greatest battles.'
'And which was your regiment?'
'I am from Infantry. The great Sikh Regiment.'
'Did you get any medals during the 1971 war?'
'Well, as a matter of fact, I got a Vir Chakra. It was a great honour.'
'What did you get this great honour for?'
'For the great battle of Mandiala Crossing, in which 35 Sikh did a great job.'
'What kind of person are you? You take medals yourself and deny others, without whose support you would never have regained that bridge.'
'I am sorry, I don't understand. Who are you referring to?'
'We are talking about our own soldier, who was a hero during the 1971 war at Chhamb, who lost a limb. Who should have got a Param Vir Chakra, but only got tears. Look, Colonel Sahib, we are civilians. We don't know about your army rules and regulations, but a grave injustice has been done here. Can you see whether something can be done even now? It is never too late to honour brave soldiers.'
'Where is this great soul?'
'He is right here in our chawl.'
'Really? That's great. I would love to pay my respects to him.'
So we escort him to Balwant Singh's room. We point out his door and watch as the Colonel goes in. We loiter around, unable to resist prying.
We hear loud voices, like an argument. Then a banging sound. After ten minutes or so, the Colonel comes rushing out, seething with anger. 'Is this the man you were complaining didn't get a PVC? He is the greatest scoundrel I have ever seen. I wish I could wring the swine's neck here and now.'
'How dare you talk about our war hero like this!' admonishes Mrs Damle.
'He, a war hero? That's the greatest joke in the world. He is a bloody deserter. Ran away at the first sight of trouble in the Chhamb sector. I tell you, he is a bloody blot on Sikh Regiment. He should have had fourteen years' Rigorous Imprisonment. Unfortunately, desertion cases are closed after five years, otherwise I would have reported him even now.'
We are astounded. 'What are you saying, Colonel? He recounted to us in great detail his exploits at Chhamb. He even lost a leg in combat.'
'That's a complete lie. Let me tell you his true story, which is actually quite pathetic.' The Colonel adjusts his belt. 'Balwant Singh was not in a good frame of mind when war broke out, because his wife had just given birth to his first child in Pathankot. He was desperate to be with his family. So great was his longing that at the first sign of trouble in Jaurian, when Pakistan attacked with artillery in full strength, he deserted his post and ran away. He managed to reach Pathankot and hid in his ancestral house. He must have thought he had left the war far behind, but the war did not leave him. Two days after his arrival, the Pakistani Air Force strafed Pathankot air base. They didn't hit any of our planes, but two thousand-pound bombs fell on a house close to the airfield. Turned out that the house was Balwant's. His wife and infant son perished instantly in the attack and he lost a leg to shrapnel.'
'But . . . how could he re-create the scene of battle in such great detail?'
The Colonel grimaces. 'I don't know what stories he told you, but twenty-six years is a long time to read up on great battles. The bastard crawled out of the woodwork after all these years just to fool you people and earn some cheap thrills through his fake tales of valour. Meeting him has spoiled my mood completely. It has not been a great day. Goodbye.'
The Colonel shakes his head and walks away from the chawl, flanked by the tall man and the fat man. We return to the bunker. It has not been a great day for us, either. We wonder what
Balwant Singh is doing. He does not come out that evening.
* * *
