My late grandfather’s younger brother believes he will outlive all of us.
Lt. Col. (retired) Amarjit Singh is 78-years-old, wears ripped jeans and points to mine with contempt to say, “mine are au naturel”. He makes wooden chairs, ferments his own orange-brandy and fruit wine concoctions, and has a long white beard that muffles the rapid gun-fire-words that tumble out so quick that you can barely keep pace with him. But like all grandparents, he’s full of stories – but you will have to strain your ears or make him repeat himself over and over till he tells you indulgently, ‘sod off!’
Amarjit uncle’s belief in his longevity is derived from numerous visits to astrologers, seers and numerologists. I’m inclined to agree with him, because of what happened half-a-century ago.
Roguishly handsome at 25, Lt Amarjit Singh was in the Corps of Engineers, posted in a unit deployed to lay roads in Chungthang, Sikkim.
The road was half-finished due to a terrible accident that claimed the lives of two officers, eight NCOs and 15 Tibetan workers in 1961. The section that had to be completed was a narrow stretch between a 1,000-ft cliff and the fast-flowing River Teesta below.
Singh had jackhammers for regular drilling and wagon jacks which could drill holes at an angle 30-feet-deep into solid rock. To prevent casualties, he placed a jawan on either side of the stretch with a whistle to warn of falling rock. In addition, he also placed two Tibetan workers with bugles.
One day he noticed, above the middle section of the road about 60-70 feet above him, four vertical rock slabs. They stood out and he noted that one vertical piece of rock had started to protrude. His sentries confirmed the rock was dangling menacingly.
That night, he dreamt the rock slid down and buried him alive. He was jolted awake in a cold sweat.
During the day, work went on. But at night, the dream continued to haunt him despite pegs of rum before dinner. Amarjit had no choice but to confide in Havaldar Shanmugam, who tried to raise his spirits.
“Don’t worry, Saab!”, he said, “those rock slabs will not harm you! We will simply blast them out of the sky! You will finish the road, Saab!”
Havaldar Shanmugam’s words put the fight back in Amarjit and he made plans to blast a section of the affronting rock. The first explosion loosened a lot of rock, but failed to dislodge the tilting slabs. Controlled detonations over the next two days proved futile.
By now, news of Amarjit Singh’s prophetic dream had travelled from his Captain to his Task Force Commander and finally to the Commanding Officer. All of them advised caution.
Amarjit had promised to finish the road in a month, so that the Project Chief Engineer Colonel Ramanathan could fulfill his dream to drive his imported Blue Jonga across the cursed stretch.
The 25-year-old was under pressure to finish the road and escape the surreality of his recurring nightmare.
Day 4 of blasting. Sometime in the afternoon, the crew noticed debris falling from above. Just as it stopped, slabs of rock started dropping. The Nepalese guards and the Tibetan workers blew their respective whistles and bugles in panic.
Amarjit shouted at everyone to run, but slowed down for a split second to signal a panicked worker to leave his instruments behind (they were fined for losing equipment).
Suddenly, a big slab of rock fell ten feet ahead of Amarjit. Then another, right on top. He escaped in the nick of time. But right then, a huge slab fell over him and then... total blackout.
He was dumbstruck. It had happened so fast. It occurred to him that his dream had indeed come true. He thought himself to be dead and began to wonder “Don’t you see anything after you die? If there is such a thing as a soul, is it blind?”
And then came the pain.
Amarjit saw a ray of light through a chink above him. He pushed his hand out and managed to clear away some rock. Inch by inch, he pulled himself up till he could stick his head out and shout out to the jawans who, until a moment ago, were convinced they saw him tumble away into the raging river below.
Amarjit suffered deep cuts and wounds on his waist and leg, but not a single broken bone. Lots of scrambled eggs and chicken meals later, he reported back to duty. He never had that bad dream again.
Amarjit succeeded in making the road motorable in a month’s time, and Colonel Ramanathan was the first to drive over the new road as scheduled. What was not planned was his insistence that now Amarjit drive him across in the imported Blue Jonga and watch the hillside (the imported Japanese jeeps were left-hand drives).
The spot where Amarjit’s dream came true has been christened after him.
He was invited by the Army in March this year to lay the commemorative slab bearing his name. A proud moment for the soldier, which he plans to record in a book he will soon publish to pass on his memoirs.
‘Amar View’ will live on forever, much like the man himself.
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