Calling Sehmat Page 16

  ‘Stop both engines,’ he heard the Captain order. As if put on brakes, the ship slowed instantly. He smiled in admiration at the quick response of the engine-room team. Working mostly through manual controls, the engine-room staff had to be exceptionally trained to receive orders, acknowledge them and pass them further down to the engine room for it to be executed in the shortest period of time.

  ‘All yours, pilot, keep her behind Kirpan,’ the Captain said, without moving from his chair.

  ‘Aye aye, Captain,’ acknowledged the NO. He then bent forward and announced into the voice pipe, ‘Slow ahead both engines.’ Without waiting for an acknowledgement from the engine room, he took the final bearings before steering the ship in the desired direction.

  Both propellers began churning water simultaneously, pushing the ship forward. The middle ground battery that the ship was threatening to hit a short while ago, began falling behind. Minutes later, the two ships were under way, leaving Bombay harbour for their first ever hunter-killer operation.

  Despite being a junior ship, Kirpan acted as the guide. It had operational sonar, the only equipment between the two ships capable of detecting the enemy hiding beneath the sea. The sonar team sent underwater transmissions and maintained a strict vigil. The crew knew that it was no friendly exercise. Even a single miss could send their ship to ‘Davy Jones’s Locker’, a term commonly used by seafarers for the bottom of the ocean. The sonar team also realized that in case of a torpedo attack, their chances of survival were at best remote.

  With headphones glued to their ears, they watched the large green sonar screen that continuously scanned the ocean. Lieutenant Commander Rana, the Torpedo Anti-Submarine (TAS) Officer, was an experienced hand, having done hundreds of similar exercises. Listening to the echo of the returning signal, he could even make out the nature of the underwater obstruction. Despite the ship being in ‘action stations’, he was not wearing the mandatory life jacket. ‘It gives confidence to my boys,’ he maintained. With his eyes partially closed, he focused intently on listening to the sound of the echoes, based on which he kept pressing the ‘all clear’ signal to the bridge.

  In reality though, danger was not far away. Hangor was an advanced French Daphne-class modern submarine. Equipped with sophisticated gadgets and sensors, it was capable of detecting targets much before frigates could even become aware of its presence. Moving at a depth of 50 metres, it closely monitored the search pattern of the two patrolling warships and realized that they were carrying out a rectangular anti-submarine search. Anticipating their movements, Hangor manoeuvred to position itself to attack. At 1900 hours on 9 December, it was all set to launch its torpedoes.

  At 1915 hours, the Commanding Officer of Hangor sounded battle stations. A short while later, he brought the sub to periscope depth but could not see the ships. It was a moonless night. Even though the frigates were unaware of the submarine being so close, as a safety measure, they maintained complete blackout and were difficult to sight. Hangor dived to a depth of 50 metres and made a sonar approach in order to lock on to the target. It fired the first homing torpedo at 1957 hours at a depth of 40 metres. The torpedo was tracked by the Hangor crew for a few tension-filled moments but no explosion was heard. The torpedo went past Kirpan without exploding.

  Meanwhile, on the Kirpan, Lieutenant Commander Rana jumped from his seat. The sound of the echo was loud and clear. Years of training and experience told him what it was. Holding the mike firmly in his hand, he shouted, ‘Torpedo, torpedo, torpedo, 240 degrees, close range.’ But before the two ships could even break the search pattern, the torpedo had already gone past Kirpan without exploding. Khukri was stationed on the port of Kirpan. Instead of moving away from the submarine’s line of attack, Kumar decided to go for the kill. At that time, Khukri was doing twelve knots. It took some time for the engine room to provide her with full power. And this delay proved fatal.

  The Hangor, being in a tactically advantageous position, launched the second torpedo at 2012 hours. Khukri was within range and moving at medium speed, thus offering an opportunity that couldn’t be missed. The torpedo travelled for five long minutes before it hit its target in the magazine compartment, blowing the ammunition hold and almost breaking the ship into two. Khukri sank within two minutes of taking the hit.

  Captain Kumar, sitting firmly in his chair, ordered ‘abandon ship’ but refused to leave his post. As Khukri began to sink, he visualized the tail lights of his wife’s car leaving the outer breakwater. He was a brave man and wore no traces of fear. Firmly gripping the armrests of the chair, he murmured, ‘Goodbye, dear, ab hum toh safar karte hein [I’m moving on].’

  INS Khukri sank at about 2019 hours, killing eighteen officers and 176 sailors. But Hangor was far from done. Even though it was in an extremely vulnerable position, it fired a third torpedo at Kirpan before fleeing to deeper waters. Kirpan outran the torpedo and later turned back to the sinking Khukri to rescue six officers and sixty-one sailors who survived to tell the tale. Having lost precious time in picking up the survivors, she was in no position to launch a counter-attack on the fleeing submarine.

  For the next four days and nights, Hangor evaded extensive search and counter-attacks of over 150 underwater projectiles and depth charges, but somehow managed to keep itself at a safe distance. On 18 December 1971, she entered Karachi harbour safe and unharmed. Having lost their flag submarine Ghazi and a host of other ships to the daring Indian Navy attack, Pakistan had managed to salvage some pride.

  22

  Tej located an old haveli in Maler Kotla. Aby pitched in and got it renovated quickly so that Sehmat could shift to her new home directly from the hospital. Even though the new town was dramatically different from the quiet, serene, cool and picturesque surroundings of her home in Srinagar, Tej was happy to fulfil her only child’s wishes. She went a step further and sold off all her assets and businesses in Kashmir to become a permanent resident of Maler Kotla.

  While Mir got busy with the impending war, Tej began her efforts to rejuvenate Sehmat and nurse her back to health. But the more Tej tried to cheer her up, the deeper Sehmat sank into depression. She soon became unaware of her surroundings and remained huddled within the confines of the four walls of her room. For Tej, it was extremely distressing to see her daughter, who would once jump in ecstasy at the sight of a butterfly, now sitting in the corner of her room, ignoring life and staring into space.

  With the passage of time, Sehmat withdrew from all activities of normal life. She also steadfastly declined to be honoured by the government for her services to the nation and, instead, preferred to live in isolation and seclusion. Her guilt entrapped her like a vice and refused to let go. Tej’s only hope was the child that Sehmat was soon to deliver, but even that failed to bring cheer to her. Sehmat delivered a healthy, cherubic boy, but far from feeling good, she now saw herself as his father’s murderer and refused to attend to the newborn.

  Unnerved by the disturbing past that flashed through her mind every now and then, Sehmat began hallucinating. Abdul’s blood-soaked face stared down at her menacingly. The sound of his bones getting crushed under the wheels of the army truck began to haunt her. She dreaded going to sleep. Consequently, instead of taking care of her child and basking in motherhood, she became hysterical. It was Aby who once again came to the rescue. He not only adopted the child but also shifted him to Delhi, thus keeping the newborn away from Sehmat. Against the wishes of Tej, he named him Samar Khan. ‘I have adopted the child,’ he argued, ‘but I have no right to change his religion.’

  Aby could feel his heart shatter into a million fragments as he drove Samar from Maler Kotla to Delhi. Holding the gurgling baby close to him, he whispered emotionally, ‘You will grow up to be a wonderful human being. You are your mother’s pride and joy. It’s only that she is a broken person right now. Never hold it against her, Samar. You have no idea what a remarkable woman your mother is. Till then, we have each other.’

  Days turned into weeks,
and weeks into months and years but Sehmat’s condition did not improve. The initial hysteria gave way to a calm acceptance and deadly indifference. She was polite to anyone she unwillingly met, yet remained detached from the outside world. The worried mother in Tej had almost given up hope of Sehmat’s recovery, till one day a miracle took place. For Sehmat, it was a regular day like any other. In her room with her mother, she, as usual, did not notice the gregarious twittering of the birds outside her house.

  The sky was overcast with thick clouds, promising rain. Suddenly, the birds that routinely gathered at Sehmat’s window flew away in all directions. The two friendly street dogs, who had once found their way into the haveli and were now part of the family, started barking ferociously, as if to chase away a stranger.

  A fakir, a nomad stood in front of the haveli. Dressed in a tattered black gown, his beard long and unkempt, he was singing hymns from holy books. Sehmat’s room was on the first floor. She was sitting listlessly on the floor while Tej, sitting on a chair, was massaging her head. Sehmat’s eyes lit up as she heard the singing. She listened for a few moments and asked Tej to stop. Then, suddenly, she sprang up and bolted out of the room at lightning speed, her hair flying behind her. Taken aback by Sehmat’s unexpected behaviour, Tej attempted to follow her in panic. By then, Sehmat’s youthful legs had carried her to the door. Tej watched her in utter disbelief. There was urgency in Sehmat’s expressions and an inexplicable excitement in her eyes.

  Sehmat held the banister briefly and ran down the wooden stairs, jumping two steps at a time, her right hand effortlessly gliding over the railing. On reaching the last step, she paused briefly before lunging towards the main door and flinging it open.

  The fakir was still standing there, as if waiting for the door to open. His eyes were shut, oblivious to the storm he had stirred in the Khan household. He continued singing in praise of the Almighty. His face was partially hidden by his long, dusty beard. His clothes were torn. His body bore injuries caused by stones that street children threw at him every day. He held a small musical instrument in his right hand that played in unison between his fingers to the beat of the hymns. His melodious voice had enormous depth, enough to electrify the soul. His lyrics spoke of a man who had seen the world in all its myriad hues. But his appearance was scary enough to keep people away.

  Sehmat watched him for a few moments before sitting down on the steps of the haveli. Shutting her eyes, she rested her head against the wall and listened intently to the hymns. Tej was shocked by the sudden change in her daughter’s behaviour. She stood at the doorstep and looked at the stranger. After a brief moment, the fakir stopped singing and turned his gaze towards the women.

  ‘Can you give me some water, please?’ he said and extended his left hand. A container slid from his palm until its thin handle nestled on his fingertips.

  ‘Yes, yes of course. Please come in,’ Tej said and moved away from the entrance, even though she was unsure of her decision.

  It was now the fakir’s turn to be surprised. ‘Are you sure that I should come in?’

  ‘Yes, of course. You must be a noble soul, for it is the first time in a very long time that my daughter has shown any kind of excitement.’

  ‘Strange. Very strange. The entire village hates me and hurls stones along with the choicest abuses at me. And here we have a lady who invites me into her home. Are you not scared of the wrath of the villagers? You must know that I am considered a bad omen by the whole village.’

  Tej noticed a mysterious smile on the fakir’s face. She felt stressed and frightened.

  Before Tej could reply, Sehmat opened her eyes and looked at the fakir. Her face displayed a sense of urgency, as if she would miss a train if the fakir did not resume his singing. Her hands were stretched open in excitement and every part of her body was filled with new-found life.

  ‘Please don’t stop. Can you sing more?’

  Tej’s face lit up with happiness. It was the first time Sehmat had shown interest in anything around her since her return to India. Her voice was pleading, urging the fakir to sing.

  The fakir looked at Sehmat and smiled. He carefully surveyed the surroundings and then, without uttering a word, walked to the other end of the hall and stopped in front of a wall which had a picture of Lord Krishna. He put his instrument and container down and sat on the floor with his back towards the two women. The servant rushed in with a tray holding a jug of water and two glasses. He too looked bemused to see the village outcast sitting comfortably inside the haveli.

  Tej filled the glass with water and offered it to the fakir. He looked up and accepted the glass but said nothing. He then gulped the water in one go and gestured at Tej to sit on the floor. She did as she was told but Sehmat kept standing, eagerly waiting for him to sing again.

  ‘You should pray, lady . . .’ the fakir began. ‘This place is worthy of becoming a temple. You’ll see your daughter become hale and hearty very soon. There will be happiness in your life once again. She has a kind heart. Her mind suffers from unfortunate developments, but by the grace of God, she’ll recover soon.’

  Tej was in a quandary about taking him seriously. She had seen an umpteen number of soothsayers in her life, who had scammed their way to riches. His looks and attire did not inspire confidence either. But the doubt in her mind instantly vanished when the fakir completed his next sentence. ‘And then you would be able to bring your grandson home.’

  Tej’s eyes widened with surprise and excitement. But before she could react, the fakir picked up his instrument and began singing again, much to Sehmat’s delight. His song beckoned her to a world where selflessness and sacrifice ruled supreme, where love conquered hatred, where humanity was the biggest truth, and universal brotherhood the only religion. Sehmat listened to him with rapt attention and continued sitting at the same spot for hours even after he left the haveli.

  She repeatedly hummed the lines that spoke of forgiveness, reflecting at the same time on whether she had really forgiven herself. The fakir visited every day thereafter and sang for Sehmat before vanishing into the dusty lanes of the crowded Maler Kotla. His spiritual songs worked like a magic potion, helping Sehmat improve with each passing day. She began to sleep well and her occasional laughter filled both Tej’s heart and the haveli’s teak walls with hope and joy.

  Tej was no longer apprehensive about the fakir and converted the living room into a prayer hall. Seeing Sehmat’s miraculous recovery, neighbours too started joining in for these early morning prayers. The fakir now had a small following of people who accompanied him through the streets, singing with him. Both Tej and Sehmat made it a point to receive the group at their doorstep each day and serve them tea and snacks in the veranda.

  Though the change came slowly, it made its presence felt. It was a bright early morning. The rays of the sun were breaking the cover of darkness and entering Sehmat’s bedroom through the large glass windowpanes. Sitting motionless, Sehmat was engrossed in meditation, trying hard to focus inwards. Her interaction with the fakir had brought her out of deep depression. She was beginning to put her nightmarish past behind her. Abdul’s face had faded from her memory to an extent that it no longer haunted her. The glow on her face was returning, encouraging Sehmat to accept life and its gifts.

  She abruptly opened her eyes and widened them as if awakened from deep slumber. Looking from left to right, she found nothing unusual but her heart did not agree with what she saw. She realized somebody had interrupted her meditation. She stood up, rushed out of her room and started walking down the stairs. Her eyes eagerly looked around, searching for the intruder. She waited briefly at the last step of the wooden stairs, gripping the banister with her right hand. Mustering her courage, she walked to the front door and pulled it open.

  In front of her was a familiar face. He was dressed in a sparkling white robe. His face was glowing; his hair was combed backwards and tied neatly in a ponytail. His hands were folded close to his chest. His feet were bare but did not
have even a speck of dust on them. Spellbound, Sehmat looked at the visitor’s face. The fakir was smiling mysteriously.

  Stepping aside, Sehmat let him in and walked behind him like a dutiful disciple to the end of the hall which, over time, had become the fakir’s seating area. She waited till the fakir turned and sat on the floor and then sat at a short distance from him. There was no trace of fear or suspense on her face, but her eyes were inquisitive. As if prompted from deep within, Sehmat then broke the silence.

  23

  ‘How do I find peace? I have sinned, committed unpardonable crimes. It haunts me,’ Sehmat asked, impatience writ large on her forehead.

  Without exchanging any pleasantries, the fakir began softly, ‘Be in touch with your soul if you desire peace. Your soul is peaceful, serene and wonderful, like the rays of the sun. The light [aura] is so brilliant! Everything comes from this light! Energy comes from this light. It’s almost like a magnetic force that we are attracted to. It’s like a power source. It knows how to heal. Conflict is natural. It is not necessarily a disease to be cured or a disorder to be curbed. It may even be necessary to some extent as it opens up opportunities for learning.’

  ‘How do I reach this state?’

  ‘Travelling is a great experience by itself. And when you have open skies and barren land to communicate with, you learn about the world and everything beyond it. You had a mission in your own heart. You thus opted to travel in the chosen path. After accomplishing your goals, you began to ponder about the right and wrong. The resultant analysis put you in deep depression. By His grace, you are back to normal. But that’s not what you want. You now wish to travel where few dare.’