Neighbours

Dated: Nov 21st 2001

There was fear deep down in his throat. His heart was beating faster than it should. His stomach was going topsy-turvy & knotting itself in curls. But his face betrayed all this. His eyes were calm & full of peace. He had a manufactured broad smile on his lips. And his walk was brisk & full of gaiety. He was afraid, and – paradoxically – the fear made him eager to get the job done, for the waiting was the worst part, & the encounter itself was like ether. He made his way through the rough terrain & the jungle, occasionally came across some of his own men, who warned him against what he was doing, but he carried on. He had nothing to lose, not after what happened the previous day, except perhaps his life, which was now nothing to him, or he wouldn’t be doing this job. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, an open space arrived. This was more dangerous. The enemy could easily see him now. Perhaps shoot at him too. But he continued walking towards the LOC.
The bullets started arriving, & the stomach increased its churning. Any small movement near the LOC caused this. He had expected it. But none of them were aimed at him. He knew it wouldn’t be. Shooting was just a warning, an indication that you are not supposed to be where you are, from the enemy camp. He knew their orders, for he had given the same orders to his troops on his side of the border. It was not a rule followed strictly, but an unspoken treaty, a protocol.
Perhaps it was the smile, perhaps it was his dress code, a Sunday white kurta – and not the usual army uniform – with pockets that revealed what it contained – one that a peasant might wear on a cool, summer night – or perhaps it was his upstretched arms, an indication of surrender & being unarmed, or perhaps all the above made the shooting stop altogether while he could sense the enemy looking down at him with a feeling of whats-up attitude. He stopped walking. This was it. The hyped-up LOC. Either he was dead now, or a minute later. He waited, hands outstretched, palms wide open.
He didn’t die. His message went across. Army personnel behind a far-away rock made his way slowly toward him pointing his rifle. Gupta knew there were a hundred men watching him. So if ever he could kill the army man, the hundred men would tear him into a hundred pieces within one-hundredth of a second. He also knew – as did the man approaching him - his own hundred men were watching the encounter too. And he had specifically ordered cease-fire. Even if he was shot at.
The man came upto about thirty feet’s distance from him & shouted in his native language, “What do you want?”
“Peace”, Gupta said simply & immediately.
The man’s reaction changed from incomprehension to utter confusion & then finally to ridiculousness. “Who are you?” The rifle in his hand didn’t move an inch.
He told him. The incharge for this part of the LOC.
The man’s reaction again changed from disbelief to amazement & then finally rested at admiration. Not every chief came to risk his life this easily, far less in a Sunday kurta. The man asked for proof. Slowly, Gupta’s hand went to the breast pocket & he got his ID card. He threw it towards the man. The man squinted at it & was satisfied. He asked again, “What do you want?”
“I want to see your chief.” The man forbid himself in asking why again. He looked at Gupta for a long time, estimated his innocence & request, & slowly retreated with his gun still pointing at him. He said, “Wait here. Hands down.”
Gupta stood under the lovely November sun for 2 most tense hours he had ever spent, hardly moving before he saw a group of men towards him, headed apparently by the chief. He was a brave man. He knew, as well as Gupta, that he was a dead target now for Gupta’s hiding personnel. It was clear that even he cared less for his life. Gupta wondered why. The chief neared Gupta & picked up the fallen ID. “Name, rank?” Gupta told him. Then the chief gave his name & rank, like a true Army man. Mohammad was his name.
“And what do you want?” Mohammad asked. Gupta gave the same reply he had given the soldier. Mohammad’s reaction was more mature. He just looked at him curiously & inquisitively, wanting more answer. So Gupta continued, “Tell me, Major, do you really hate India?”
The question caught him off-balance. He chose his words carefully. “Not exactly. I am just doing my job, which is guarding the border.”
The relief in Gupta was all too apparent for anybody to see. His hopes increased. Any other man would have said ‘Yes’ instantly. Mohammad was on the same frequency as his. The Gods were on his side. His job became all the more easier now. “Excellent. And I don’t hate Pakistan.”
“So?”
Gupta immediately came to the point. “ So I want us to be friends. Love thy neighbour.” Mohammad looked at him for a long moment, wondering whether he was serious. And then decided he was serious. He made up his mind. “Meet me here, alone, tomorrow, same time.” With that Mohammad threw the ID at him & he & his army walked away, leaving Gupta stranded. His hopes fell, but only just. He picked up the ID & slowly walked back.

* * *

Same fear. Same knots. Same smile. Same dress. Same time. Same place. But more positive & determination. Gupta had planned his attack through words today, now that he had an idea what sort of a person Mohammad was. Mohammad came early. Gupta greeted him friendly. “Good Morning, Major.”

“Good Morning.” Mohammad’s voice gave nothing away. But Gupta went ahead nevertheless, with his plan:
“Let me explain, Major, before I hear your decision,” began Gupta. “Life is short. A man lives just 40 prime years. In that span, one must make most of it. Not by worrying what your neighbour is going to do in the night. Not by constantly keeping a watch with rifles. Dammit, we are learned men. We are grown-ups. We should not quarrel & squabble like children. We must respect one another’s existence in this world. And the first thing we can do is be on friendly terms with our neighbour. I am not the Prime Minister of India. So I can’t have it all. But I am in charge of this region. I want peace. I give you my word, we will not infiltrate or invade your side of the LOC, & I hope you do not too. This way, we can pull all our army personnel away from the border, wasting their time watching so-called enemies & put them to better use. Let’s face it. We are like two houses side by side. No house keeps watch on the other. You have your space & we have ours. Let’s be happy with one another. Let’s do away with rifles & grenades. Innocent people die for nothing.

“Our countries spend millions of tax-payers’ money everyday just to see that there are no attacks from the enemies. What a waste when there are billions of people homeless & without food. Why should we fight one another? Why should we hate one another? We will respect you as human beings & you respect us as human beings. We should not be animals preying on one another. I kill you. You kill us back. There’s no end to it. There’s no point in it. After all, everybody is going to die one day or the other. So, as long as we live, let us live happily. I beg of you, let there be harmony. Let us make this world a better place to live. I will allow any of your men to come to my region, to meet people, to establish relations. After all, we are neighbours. We might need your help. You might need our help. I cannot speak for the whole of LOC, but as long as I have control of this stretch of LOC, I want to be friends with you. Are you game?”
Gupta looked intently at Mohammad. That’s it. His job was over. The ball was now in Mohammad’s court. A smile lit up Mohammad’s face. “Well said, Major. But you need not have said at all for I had already decided to be game. I agree to befriend you.” For a moment they stood there looking at each other. Then something snapped & like some kind of a magnet, they were drawn to each other & they hugged. This was it. A simple solution to a seemingly unsolvable problem. There would be no more tension. One could live in peace & harmony.

Gupta was then one of the happiest persons on the Earth. He had achieved what his wife always wanted him to achieve. She’d definitely be pleased, thought Gupta. Mohammad too was elated. No enmity with India meant his job tension would be decreased by 80% while he still got the same pay. All that was now left to do was to talk to the various militant outfits like how Gupta talked, & advise them not to perpetrate the ultimate human glory of peace atleast in this part of the region. If only he could ask them to do so in all other regions as well, there would be no innocent deaths at all, in either country. In time, he decided, he’d try to do that too.

Gupta invited Mohammad for a lunch the next day & Gupta, in return, was given an open invitation. An unwritten treaty was agreed upon, based purely on belief & friendship, of not watching any longer the other party in anticipation of an attack for there would be no attack. In effect, the region in Pakistan & the region in India may well have been two lovely loving neighbouring villages. Soon peace & harmony led to prosperity. No bad elements were detected by both sides, & those that were detected were taken care of. Pure love prevailed. Children in India played with children in Pakistan. Women exchanged dishes. Men exchanged drinks. And all it took to bring about this change were not rifles or grenades, but a simple kurta & loads of love.

It was a month before Mohammad came to know that the real reason why Gupta had taken such a risk on that November day was that, just on the previous day, Gupta’s wife had died by the Pakistan army’s random shoot-out. It was remarkable, almost superhuman, that the death of his wife did not trigger another here-we-go-again stuff of hate-machine in him, but rather a crave for love & a desire that nobody else should be killed unnecessarily. The death redefined Neighbours. It was another month before Gupta came to know that the real reason why Mohammad had agreed was that even his wife had died the same day Gupta’s wife had died by the Indian Army’s random shoot-out.