A Kids view of a war

December of 1971. I was on a holiday from boarding school and as november turned to December in Satwari in Jammu, my thoughts were as far from the daily humdrum of boarding school life as the crisp morning air could make it. The war on the eastern front was already 9 months old and there was rumours of "opening the western front" all through October and November. The only war I had seen at age 11 were the world war biggies on the big screen - Tora, Tora, Tora, the Battle of Britain, In Harms Way etc. In my minds eye, I could see wave upon wave of enemy fighters darkening the sky above us as ack-ack guns opened up with their deadly barrage. I imagined the fate of the pilots of those slow lumbering bombers and wondered what it would be like to be all of 11 years and very dead!

The reality when it happened was almost almost clinical. We heard about the PAF airstrikes on 14 of our bases on the evening news on 03 Dec and our own counter strike on Pakistani airfields. I missed all that action though. In Jammu, except for the buzz in the air, life was almost business as usual. On the morning of the 4th, I was up and awake early and scanning the horizon half expecting to see the row upon row of bombers with their fighter escorts. Nothing. A few eagles rode the wind, the sky was a azure blue and there were birds chirping as usual. Nothing to excite a 11-year old that day. After breakfast, I went to the backyard to chat up Karade who had just been issued a brand new rifle - a gleaming 7.62mm SLR. I hadn't had a chance to look at it yet, but decided that I would get around to it sometime during the day. We had a fairly large house with an even larger estate with two lawns up front divided by the driveway, the guava orchard on the left with the beds of homegrown vegetables in early bloom, two blackberry (jamun) trees and a set of servants quarters and a garage at the back.

What happened next needed post engagement analysis and review for it happened so suddenly. There was this whoosh of air. The first thing I noticed was the birds scattering and taking to flight from the trees around us. I felt punched in the gut by a heavy fist. And then this earth shattering roar that felt like the world had come to an end. Karade was frozen in horror for a moment, jaw wide open, eyes popping, seeking an explanation that came once again, this time, low over the tops of the trees - a glistening streak of metal and flame that extended to twice its body length - an F86 Sabre jet. Karade was already stretching into a full blooded sprint to the corner of the backyard where one of the three trenches were dug out in anticipation.

He paused in flight momentarily, turning back to look over his shoulder and yell out a warning to me - "Baba, jaldi karo...idhar!" And then his foot caught a root and he went down into the trench in a cloud of dust. I scampered in after him, cringing at the level of noise that seemed to be coming from everywhere. As I jumped into the trench, I noticed the rifle propped against the side and without thinking, I picked it up, rested it on the edge of the trench and my right hand slid automatically to find the bolt. I touched smooth metal. Where the hell was the bolt? I scratched the right side of the breech in desperation, hoping against hope that the bolt would appear by magic, my .303 rifle instructors words pounding in my head. No luck. I took a lead on the third aircraft and pulled the trigger hoping the breech was loaded. No luck again.

The next thing I remember was Karade asking me to step back and hand the rifle to him. By then it was over. There were six aircraft in that flight and I had missed my chance to get into the war and contribute. And much later, I figured that the new SLRs had a recessed cocking handle on the left of the breech!