Friends of One Good Turn

Friends of One Good Turn

Lt. Col. Sardar Suvarnakumar Singh had always believed that what went around came around. Which is why he could not understand why he was dying here, in godforsaken no man's land. During the final moments of his life, he lay, unrecognized and bleeding, as the blood flowed out of the many gunshot wounds on his torso, the largest one being just under his right nipple.

His entire life flashed in his mind's eye as he awaited the last, final exhalation of breath that would signal the end of his existence on earth. All through his childhood, he had been nourished on a healthy diet of greens and fruits, along with a daily bed-time story that always spoke about bravery, courage, grace under pressure and love for his country. His mother, a soft-spoken soul, who would dare not raise her voice before his father, was, at bed-time, a fount of knowledge and wisdom; daily, she recounted stories that were always centered on their motherland, she spoke with pride and love about ordinary men, women or children who became brave or courageous under stress or attack, even sometimes sacrificing their lives for the sake of the cause of freedom or adventure.

Suvarna, as he was called then, grew up cherishing the values of bravery, courage and patriotism. Was it surprising then, that at the age of 19, he applied for, and was selected, as a sepoy in the Indian National Army? In the next eight to nine years, owing to his diligence, discipline and desire to excel, he had risen to the rank of Major, and about six months ago, he had been posted with 3 battalions of his Sikh Regiment at this place in the Himalayas, where danger had manifested itself in the guise of an unexpected attack by the enemy. Eighteen members of his battalion were already dead, and at least a few dozen must have fallen with him about an hour or two ago when one of them had opened the front door of an abandoned farm house and come face to face with the enemy.

The screams of his mates had been drowned by the noise of the machine-guns that fired at them from all directions. He had ducked as soon as possible, but an enemy soldier had stolen upon him from behind as he was setting up his gun to aim at one of the sharp-shooters firing his long-distance rifle from one of the windows on the front side of the farm house. Suvarna could not then have realised that the enemy had successfully ambushed his attack party and that he was, at that moment, very close to being fired at and within minutes, was going to await death.

The soldier had tapped him so that he whirled around to gaze into the bore of a hand gun.

"How dare you fire at my brother?" the soldier had asked with disdain as he had lowered the gun a short way to release the lock.

Sardar Suvarnakumar Singh did what any soldier would do under the circumstances. He feinted to his left and then, turning his gun around so that the stock came up, he rammed it into his adversary's chest with as much force as he could muster. The man fell back, but rose swiftly as he had feinted too, and quickly let loose a salvo of bullets into Suvarnakumar's torso. He saw the gentle-faced giant fall to the ground before making a quick run for it.

Just as Suvarnakumar began to feel sleepy, he felt a splash of water on his face. With great difficulty, he opened his eyes and saw an enemy soldier standing before him.

"Don't try to move, Sardarji," said the soldier. Suvarnakumar could not have moved had he wanted to, but he remained still, awaiting the final bullet that would put him out of his misery.

"If you are thinking that I am going to shoot you in your head, you have another think coming, Paapeji

Endearment for a Sikh

. Don't you remember me?"

The soft cadence of the words uttered by an enemy soldier would have surprised, nay, shocked Sardar Suvarnakumar, as he had never heard this tone of voice from any of the hundreds of the enemy that he had encountered in the past ten years.

"Who ... who are you?" he said with clenched teeth, as the pain was now becoming unbearable.

The enemy soldier uttered his name, but the Sardar could not hear it clearly. He indicated that he wanted water, and the soldier immediately took out the bottle from the holder at his side and quickly opened the cap and poured water into the Sardar's parched mouth.

Suvarnakumar could just down a few sips before a sudden bout of cough interrupted him. He could see and feel warm bloody flecks issuing from his mouth. He stopped drinking and paused to look once again at the soldier.

"Yes, Sardar, now do you recognize me?" asked the soldier, slowly patting the Sardar's back as he once again lowered the bottle to the Sardar's lips to give him some more water. Once the Sardar had had his fill, he slowly brought his hands forward and lifted the Sardar on to his lap.

"I am Ahmed, Sardarji. Remember when we had last met about ten years ago on the battlefield near Kargil?"

Suvarnakumar strained to remember, and suddenly, the cobwebs lifted from his mind. He remembered Ahmed.

***

The Sikh regiment was within a few miles of their target, and they would soon overwhelm the enemy on Tiger Hill (Kargil's highest peak at 5062 m). Suvarnakumar, as usual, was leading from the front, and about 10-12 of his colleagues were following him as they moved from one crop of boulders to the next in the shadows of the dark. Return-fire from the enemy bunkers at the top of Tiger Hill intensified, but the Indian soldiers were already gaining the upper hand. About a hundred feet away, one of the other formations had almost reached the top with hardly any loss of life. On that side, the return-fire was also reducing, and the soldiers were probably retreating and opening up a new front on the side where Suvarnakumar and his men were making their approach.

Suvarnakumar raised their infantry's battle-cry "Bole So Nihal, Sat Sri Akal!"

The One Who Says God is Truth Will be Blessed

He urged the soldiers in his group to move on as rapidly as possible. Soon, they were on the top, and his men were moving here and there, among the various rooms of the bunker to find the enemy and finish them off – either with an arrest or with a bullet.

Suvarna found himself following a dark pathway through the bunker till he came upon a small room in which crouched a human figure. There was some day-light streaming in through the windows, and Suvarna saw that the figure was an enemy soldier who looked badly hurt. Immediately, he went forward to take stock of the situation, and discovered that the man had indeed been hurt in his flank, and the wound was bleeding. If not stanched, the blood would continue to flow out till the man died. He rushed out of the room and went back to the first room inside where he had left his haversack. From within that, he removed pieces of bandage and lint along with an antiseptic liquid, an antibacterial tube and some sticking plaster. With all this in his hand, he went back inside. Quickly, he silenced the protesting enemy soldier and began to attend to his wound.

Five minutes later, he was done. The blood-flow had diminished to a slight trickle. The adversary, now much weakened from the blood loss, moved his head in silent acknowledgement and gratitude.

"I am Ahmed." He began slowly, getting up from the supine position he had been in. Wincing strongly with each painful movement of his flank, he finally propped himself up against the wall and smiled at Suvarna. "By sparing my life, you have done something I cannot even begin to describe. My old mother and my only son will thank you for ever."

Suvarna asked him to explain.

"My wife and elder daughter died in a car accident last year. My mother is too old, and my son ..." he began to weep. Suvarnakumar bent forward to console him. The soldier went on, "needs my daily attention when I am on leave from the front. If I die, my son will be orphaned."

Suvarna nodded briefly and asked the soldier to provide him the command centre's telephone number. When the line was activated, he asked for someone to come and fetch Ahmed. Then, he waved to Ahmed and said "Good bye, my friend. My name is Sardar Suvarnakumar Singh. If and when we meet again, do remember this Indian." So saying, he left.

*****

Ten years ... he recollected what his teacher had told him when he was in school in one of the moral education classes. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". He thanked Wahe Guru

Almighty God

for sparing his life, and waited for the blessed end to come. However, before he could pass on into Eternal Silence, Ahmed had already summoned help in the form of paramedics and a nurse.

One thing led to another, and finally, he was taken to an Army Command Hospital within India. Over the next four months, he gradually recovered enough to write a small letter to Ahmed. The friendship grew over time, and to date, they remain friends, regardless of the blow-hot, blow-cold relations between their respective nations.

End

Author's Note: Written for Round 8 (Jan/Feb 09) of:

FORUM

Project Write World  (13+) A celebration of writers and their distinct cultures to bring us all together. #1254279 by iKïyå§ama

Prompt: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Word Count:1610