Along with the other passengers, I was excitedly waiting in line beside the AN32 plane that would soon take off for Chungshang, an Indian Air Force Advance Landing Ground (ALG). Since I was a young child, I have desired to live in a mountainous area—not just for the sake of touring, but also for weeks or months—moving up and down the slopes, taking a bath in the stream, singing the local folk songs, and interacting with the local people.
Some of the pupils at my school were from nearby Bhutan and Surya Pradesh, the land of the rising sun. Some of them were quite close to me and were my classmates. They frequently marveled at their locations' natural beauty, the vibrant celebrations, the unusual cuisine they once consumed, and their costumes and dances. Whether it was while walking, in bed after supper, or during the off hours in the academic building, those pals could talk about their native locations for hours on end. They were the most delighted as the vacation days drew closer.
Stories from the hills served as the basis for a few novels written in my mother tongue. Those novels did a good job of describing the people and their festivals, the clothes, the hill girls' beauty, and the romantic but brave boys. Additionally, I got the chance to see a film during my school years that was directed and produced by Bharat Ratna Bhupen Hazarika. The film likewise focused on the relationship between the people of the hills and the Brahmaputra Valley.
My affection for the hills was most likely cultivated in me during my early and teenage years as a result of influences from my hilly companions, books, and the classic black-and-white Bhupen Hazarika’s film.
"All of the passengers are present, then?" The military-sounding comments of the flight engineer transported me back to the tarmac. The elderly, yet seasoned and seemingly sound, professional flight engineer, who was tall and dark, began his usual pre-flight briefing in front of the passengers in line. "All right, gentlemen, I'll be giving you a briefing for a few minutes regarding the aircraft's interior, safety equipment, and emergency response techniques………”. I had flown in that small but sturdy military plane too many times, so I knew almost every word he spoke. A page of a SOP outlining the safety measures that passengers, pilots, and operators must take was the script used in the pre-flight briefing. Therefore, it was not necessary to listen to him, but it was military protocol to maintain eye contact while wearing an enthusiastic look. Otherwise, he would feel dismayed.
Wao, this will only take a few minutes. It was tremendously exciting to know that in about thirty minutes I will be in a place I had wanted since my school days. The terraced farm plots full of golden crops, the lovely streams, the shallow rivers with stone beds, the blue hills, the dense and green woods, the short men with Mongolian features, the roasted meat, and the Roxy would all be part of a heavenly time in my life. It was hard to think I'd be there in a short while.
“OK gentlemen, get inside. Make a line and proceed”, the engineer ordered. Together with the other men in blue, I lined up and went through the back door of the airplane. I was given a seat in the back because I was at the rear of the line. As instructed by the engineer, we positioned our bags in the middle and took our seats. The bags were expertly knotted by the flight engineer. In order to do the task quickly, a few of the passengers also assisted him. At that point, he began performing random component checks. It became apparent after a while that he was nearly finished performing the standard checks. Shortly after, the pilot and co-pilot, both dressed in flying suits, came in through the right front door, stopped close to the door, and turned to face the engineer. The engineer standing close to me lifted his right arm and gave a thumbs up, presumably to let the captain know that everything was alright. Then, both pilots waved to the passengers while entering the cockpit. In contrast to most of the airplanes, this cockpit had no doors, allowing passengers to observe the pilots' activities.
The engine began at last. This flying machine's propellers take a few minutes to reach the movable throttle. The flight engineer approached the rear entrance and used a lever to close the tailboards as the engine's screaming sound intensified. We were relieved when the loud engine sound subsided entirely. The flight engineer took the seat next to me in the rearrest.
He seemed at ease as if his work for that time was done. In order to listen to the radio transmission between the pilots and the controlling tower, he took a headset that was strung from the steel crane rope above the seat. I asked the engineer if I might use one of the additional headsets that were hanging on the rope above. He pulled one gladly and extended it to me. He attached the cord to one of the radio ports while I was wearing the headset.
“Jorhat, 406…. permission to taxi”, I could hear the radio communication loud and clear. “406 Jorhat, clear to taxi”. The aircraft then began to roll. The machine was eventually set up for takeoff at the end of runway 20. “Jorhat, 406….Permission to take-off”. “406, clear to take-off”. The airplane's engine immediately reached full power, accelerated quickly along the center line, and after a short while, it was in the air.
I restlessly glanced through the little round window pane to catch a glimpse of the lines of the blue hills and the silver clouds within them as the propeller rose to cruising level and left the airfield zone. A few sporadic cauliflower-shaped clouds were visible emerging from the little fissures between the hills as we flew above the stunning terrain. I felt as if my dream was fulfilled. The hills, as if, were waiting for me extending their arms to welcome me; The streams on the ground must also be prepared to embrace me with their cool and sweet water. In some corner, there might be a native lady roasting some yak meat in the central fireplace in a house with some Roxi kept in an earth pot beside her. The vibrant and beautiful girls as swift as the bees might be aware of my trip to their home place and might be rehearsing the folk songs and dances to present before me. The strong men might be wandering in the jungles to arrange some local fruits and vegetables to cook for dinner. The headman might be detailing various people with different tasks to make the welcoming occasion a success.
The clouds became denser and taller over time. Now, it was hard to see the blue slopes. Lightning strikes could be seen in the distance. "Chungshang, do you read me? This is 406." I knew we were getting near to our destination when I heard the pilot's radio call. However, what was that? The controller at Chungshang had not responded. For the second time, the pilot called, "Chungshang, this is 406. Do you read?". After a short pause, there was a response in a noisy and deem voice, “406, Chungshang, reading you two to three, distorted, go ahead” “We are 60 Km from Chungshang at five O’ clock. Bad weather conditions, Charlie Bravo ahead, ascending to 24000 feet, radar indicating better conditions towards eight O clock, turning left, will be descending from ten O’ clock, confirm conditions over approach”. “Roger, approach partly clear, covered with Sera Charlie and Sera Tango, call before descending”. Well, the weather wasn't too bad, though. The approach path to the airfield was also not too awful, with only a few low clouds that were not hazardous, and the thunderclouds were to the north. The west was clear. We'd land safely with a little delay.
The rivers resembled white rope braids, the hills had shrunk too much, and the solitary dwellings were hidden away except for the occasional reflection of sunlight from a tin roof. It didn't matter if you peered through the window now because nothing was visible. I began to focus on the radio discourse once more. Yes, the captain transmitted a message, “Chungshang, 406. We will now be descending”. “Roger, report at one zero zero level, no traffic”, ATC Chungshang responded. Good going; we'll be arriving shortly. I could feel the plane descending, especially in my eardrums. The plane most likely dropped rapidly.
A short while later, the captain transmitted, “Chungshang, 406. Reporting from one zero zero”. “Roger, continue descending coma approaching, report at final. Base reporting …….cloudy, November hotel one zero two two”. After transmitting the weather, the controller paused. Okay, we'll be landing shortly. God, I'm so happy and pleased right now. I guess the weather over Chungshang would be very pleasant. Would there be a crowd waiting for us when the plane is parked on the tarmac? Perhaps, standing in the first row of the throng, holding garlands, would be the hill girls dressed in their traditional ceremonial attire. Oh, come on! I am occupied with too many dreams. Today, I am frequently forgetting that I am a soldier and that I have been sent here to perform my job. Now that I was back in the real world, I was feeling a little shy, but a smile accompanied the shyness. I think like a dumb man sometimes. It is okay, having lovely dreams is not a bad thing……“Chungshang, 406. Reporting final”, the captain transmitted. “406, clear to land, surface wind……November hotel one zero two one”. The undercarriage came down with a jerk and after a short while the flying machine landed with many bumps. It was the roughest landing I experienced in my life.
The plane was parked close to the tiny control tower at the end of the runway. It took a while for the doors to open and the propeller engine to stop. All of us stepped off the plane. Outside were the official jeep a little distance away, two helpers, a clerk with some files, a few men in blue, and some army personnel in PT kits. That was all. No crowd, no girls, and no garlands. It was a routine military sortie. Oh! I'm back on the ground now after having dreams up until a short while ago. I wasn't disappointed, though. As I had anticipated, the weather was lovely. The surrounding houses were different. They were all made of wood and had a brown or grey appearance. There was no concrete house. No sound of engines could be heard. No, the dusty and brown Kutcha roads were devoid of motor vehicles. There were no stores, tea stalls, or greengrocers as in any other area of the mainland that I could see. A few ladies were spotted sitting on the grass outside the barbed fencing. They were dressed in traditional black clothing, which wrapped their entire body from neck to toe and was obviously unwashed and unironed for weeks. Some of them were knitting sweaters. They were chit-chatting among themselves while staring at us blankly and without any interest in us. It didn't seem like they were there to witness the arrival of the flight; they were most likely sitting there to warm themselves in the sun. Oh! My expectations were too high, come on. Maybe I'll have some pleasant moments and have a good time with some of them.
"Welcome to Mechuka, sir. I will ask you to formally assume charge tomorrow, and you will be our commander. I'll be by your side through any complicated situation. I am Rajneesh Sir, one-year junior to you, I am here as a controller”. Oh no! I was sent here as a Detachment Commander! This was not possible. Taking on all those military duties and leading the team is not why I came here. I volunteered to come here for another reason. What would have become of my plans, my dreams? Maybe this dude is here to destroy me! "What happened, sir? You seem to be somewhere else." He attempted to make a joke to lighten the mood, maybe noticing a change in my look. "No, Rajneesh, that is not how it is. Since I am not a controller and have limited knowledge of the airfield layout, SOPs, and other things, including traffic control and flight routes, I thought it would not be appropriate to assume leadership. Hence, I shall want you to remain the commander”, I immediately responded appropriately.
I entered the room. Everything was made of wood, even the floor of the washroom. The room was kept up nicely. The sitting room outside had a color television. In those days, color television that was funded by the government was uncommon and considered a luxury. Additionally, the bedroom was tidy and well-organized—much more for a soldier like myself back then. I opened the window of the bedroom. A similar, dusty, and Kutcha road went by the house. On the other side of the road was a line of wooden houses, grey in color, apparently dilapidated. Small gardens were seen in the front yards of the houses but were with very less flower plants which were unhealthy. The brown and dry beds of the gardens indicated that the soil was not fertile. I could see a small shop in the corner by the side of the T-junction. Some cheap clothes and toys were displayed outside the shop. A woman was sitting on the verandah of the shop with a small quantity of vegetables, mostly beans and some local vegetables. …….Things were not appearing as I expected.
"Please come, sir. The lunch is ready." When I turned to look behind me, I saw a short, teenage kid with typical hilly features. According to his response to my question, his name was Pemba. I went in the direction of the dining room. Something stopped me. No, lunch is not appropriate at this time. I was hoping to see something more. Ignoring the boy, I walked over to the compound gate, unlocked it, crossed the street, and looked around. There was a sizable sandy playground in front of me that had no vegetation. I can't recall if I've ever seen a playground this poor. Something was amiss. Where was the beauty now? It looked like brownies everywhere! And there was silence everywhere. A woman and a man walked by without a word. Looking down, the woman moved with the usual head basket. They appeared unhealthy. They had noticeable wrinkles that could be identified from a distance. The men's bare feet were extremely worn out, with cracked heel skins, and their dresses were ripped and filthy. The long, dirt-stained nails were black. I could smell a bad odor when they passed by. It was likely that these people went days without taking a bath.
I went back with a heavy heart, shut the gate, and made my way to the dining room where others were waiting for me. Pemba began serving us the food as soon as I got there and sat down. He served rice, chapati, dal, papad, egg fry (Bhujiya), and a vegetable dish consisting of soya nuggets and potatoes. The egg fry had a different appearance. Noticing me looking at the egg fry for a while, Rajneesh added that there weren't many green vegetables there and that the price of the mutton and poultry was rather high. The army supplied the egg powders used to make that ‘Bhujia’. It was yet another strange incident that caught me off guard. I asked, "Why, I guess the natives are cultivating." “Naturally, they engage in some cultivation”, Rajneesh said, grinning absurdly. “However, because of their extremely antiquated working methods, they are only able to generate a small amount—not enough for themselves. They all are non-vegetarians but cannot afford to buy chicken, mutton, or eggs. As a result, they eat beef, which is relatively less expensive. …….My vision of roasted meat has also been dashed, ……Oh God!
I wanted to take a nap after the supper. I went to my room when Rajneesh confirmed that there would be no further air movement on the day. As time went on, my thoughts became increasingly pessimistic. Everything has fallen short of my expectations so far. Let me see; I might find something worthwhile in the evening.
"Good evening, sir." Pemba came in holding a tray of cups and a flask. It was 4 pm. Pemba added that others were waiting for me to go for a walk while he filled a cup with tea from the flask. I immediately finished my drink, dressed appropriately for the walk, and went outside to join the squad that was waiting for me. "Where are we going?" I asked. "Sir, there is only one place for walking in the entire town, and that is our runway," replied Prakash, another young coworker, with a little laugh. His laughing was echoed by others.
I was in disbelief as we got closer to the runway. Prakash was right in what he said. The runway featured a large number of men, women, and kids. Additionally, there were groups of kids playing games, some groups of young girls playing native games, and other groups of people lounging around chatting. The whole population seemed to be on the runway. I made an effort to watch the individuals as we strolled. The same goes for the unkempt and outdated attire, sickly people, and kids with runny noses. Some of them expressed displeasure in their facial expressions when they saw me looking at them with excitement. "There will undoubtedly be some local friends or acquaintances here." I looked at the aborigines and asked everyone in a general way. "Not really, sir. For official purposes, we know a few locals." "Why? You two have been here for months”. I couldn't contain my astonishment. “We're not sure, sir; these folks don't want to interact with us”. Another guy retorted, "We are outsiders here to them." ……..How depressing!
The sun was going down. I suggested we wrap up our stroll and head back.
In the evening, a neighbor's home was hosting a sort of feast. From a musical system, some regional folk tunes could be heard. I felt eager to attend in order to observe their performance at their gatherings. I asked one of my coworkers if I could attend the event. He gave me a negative response and told me that we were not permitted to attend those civilian events. Also, the locals didn’t like any outsiders interfering with their festivities. …….Oh no! Why was I there? Are all of the books, poems, anecdotes from my school pals, movies, and ads for the vibrant hills festivals that greet us false?
I received some air movements for the base and the surrounding helipads the following morning when I was giving my first weather report over the radio. By 0800 hours, the earliest plane was supposed to arrive. Before 07:30, we all prepared and took our positions. My place was in a corner of the tiny control tower. The controller relaxed after learning that I had prior experience in RT communication and controlling transport aircraft and helicopters, though I was not authorized and qualified. At approximately 07:35, the airplane made its initial call. He held the headset out to me, indicating that he was interested in my capacity for control. I directed the aircraft up to the ‘Down Wind”. He seemed pleased with that.
By midday, the day's aircraft movements had concluded. There was no further job. I immediately accepted when Rajneesh offered to accompany me to view some locations. We boarded the old military jeep, the detachment's only four-wheeler, and one of the three motor vehicles in the valley (apart from the army vehicles). The other two vehicles belonged to the Police Station and the Additional Deputy Commissioner. He drove through the market and the so-called town's winding kutcha roads. With no lamp posts, no cars; and little stores offering roasted beef, vegetables, traditional clothing, and some stores selling low-cost Chinese goods, it appeared to be a town from the ancient time. The quiet town had no sound of automobile horns, music, or engines. The population was also less communicative, moving from place to place primarily silently or with very low-pitched speech. At least I didn't discover any local charms. "Let's head back, Rajneesh," was the first thing that I uttered.
It being a holiday the following day, there was no air commitment. Rajneesh took me to see various natural spots to entertain me. First, there was a river, a river with a shallow riverbed primarily composed of stones and rocks was incredibly lovely. The water was immaculate. Near the river's edge, some nude kids were playing and taking baths. It's a lovely scene. However, something was wrong. I scanned the surroundings to see what was lacking…….. Well, well…….The surroundings were indeed different. The sandy, light brownish riverbanks were dry. Before the hill, which was a few hundred meters from the other bank, there was no greenery or vegetation.
We then proceeded to a waterfall. It was lovely and vibrant, with a lot of water cascading down from a hill and collecting below before flowing into a tiny stream. The cascading water made me want to take a bath. I walked over to the fall and stood by the plunge basin for a long in order to experience the excitement and joy of being so close. Very pure water once more! I gathered some in my hands and took a sip. It tasted great and was pure water. All of a sudden, I had the sensation that tiny insects were biting my arms and feet. Oh! Those could be mosquitoes. Near a waterfall, mosquitoes? …..Very odd. As I scratched the areas that were itching, I turned to face Rajneesh, who was grinning mischievously at me. I asked him, using my facial expression, what he found so humorous. He claimed that it was the biting midges (dumdum), not mosquitoes, that had bitten me.
"What?" I examined the itch-producing locations. God, oh God! My arms and feet were gushing blood from numerous places. Additionally, a lot of little creatures that resembled flies were flying about me. I immediately fled the area and yelled at Rajneesh to join me in the jeep. We had to return quickly to apply some ointment to the regions that were bleeding. I came to the conclusion that the waterfall was best viewed from a distance and should not be approached.
The next day after passing my weather report in the RT set, I transmitted…..”Jorhat, Chungshang”……Jorhat replied, “Go ahead”….”A signal follows”, I replied…….”Standby”, …….after a little while, …….”Chungshang go ahead with signal”……..I transmitted the signal…….FROM DETT COMMANDER CHUNGSHANG TO CHIEF OPS OFFICER JORHAT ….STOP……..CORPORAL SHYAM’S MOTHER SERIOUSLY ILL ….STOP….INDIVIDUAL REQUESTING IMMEDIATE LEAVE COMA AIRLIFT…..STOP………..
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