Some more war stories

Being a doctor did not mean that your life was safe even if you saved lives. My grandfather (thakurda) was good friends with a Malaysian doctor and when the latter told him that he was going to the Japanese army headquarters to answer some questions they had to process his paperwork, my thakurda offered to accompany him.

Since my thakurda had not been called, he was not allowed inside. He said he would wait for his friend in the car. It soon started raining and the inside of the car was getting really humid and steamy. Thakurda got out of the car and walked to the headquarters' building to take shelter under the awnings.

As he drew closer, he heard agonized screaming coming from inside. To his horror, he recognized them as his friend's. He realized that the excuse of paperwork was only a ruse to question a suspect of hiding intelligence information. The screams gradually faded away. Thakurda waited for what seemed hours and hours, whereas it may have been a few minutes, before a Japanese officer came out. It had stopped raining and soldier marched over to where thakurda was standing and demanded to know what he was doing there.

My thakurda told him his friend's name and said that he was waiting for him to come out. The officer gave a short bark of laughter and told him to go home. His friend was not going to come out.

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My father and his younger brother (my kaka) were just 2 years apart and were (and still are) very close. They played together, slept together and also played pranks together. So, they were often punished together.

After a long day of being exasperated by their antics, my grandmother (thakurma) finally locked them up in a room and with strict instructions to sit and think about their bad behavior. As soon as the door was closed, the two, of course, headed for the window, which had grills, to look outside. Soon they heard the siren warning of an air raid.

Looking out of the window, they got a clear view of a fighter jet plane heading their way. The plane had been shot and was spiraling down with increasingly rapid speed. Shooting out flames and thick smoke, it was headed exactly in their direction. The others in the house were not on the lookout and so had no idea where the plane was headed.

I'm not sure if either of them felt that this was it and that they were going to be obliterated by an aeroplane, but they did hold hands and watch, fascinated, as they saw the plane getting bigger and bigger. The jet plane missed the house and slammed into the front of the house just next to theirs. With the sound of the explosion ringing in their ears, my father and kaka were released from their prison by my thakurma who was bordering on hysteria.

Little boys have their own notion of indestructability. Struggling out of their mother's embrace, they ran to their neighbour's house to see the smouldering ashes of the shambles that once was a house and a plane. The faces of people around them were blackened with soot from the explosion. Nothing remained of the pilot, who must have been smashed to pieces. His boots were dangling out of the debris and eager hands rushed to claim them for their own.

My father and kaka got a glimpse of the boots as the squabbling began. The pilot's feet were still in them.