The Jungle Major*

artwork by mustofa zaman

The relatives', as well as the general public's, indignation over the proposed marriage was due to the immense disparity between not only the outward appearances but also the family positions of the girl and her betrothed. The man was short, dark and had buck teeth. He was a mere driver who was employed by a rich man in town to drive a one-ton vehicle. He could speak some Hindi and a smattering of English, and came from a minor clan in the village.

But the woman? Ah! She was quite another story! She was fair, slim and possessed of the most charming smile. Not only that, she came from a good family and belonged to a major clan. Her elder brother was studying in the engineering college; her sister was married to a Dobhashi in Mokokchung. It was rumoured that this beauty had had a string of suitors who courted her but every single one of them eventually drifted away to marry some other village girl much inferior to her in many ways. The villagers were amazed that any sane man would reject such a comely girl and marry dowdy-looking 'village' girls.

But then there it was, the apparent mismatch was on, and the marriage took place in due course. The couple moved to a house of their own, and seemed to be leading a normal life. The man, whose name was Punaba, earned enough to keep his wife in relative comfort. The woman, who was called Khatila, seemed happy and content as a housewife. Many years passed, but the couple did not have any children. At first the villagers did not pay much attention to this fact. But soon rumours began to circulate: he was either impotent or sterile; or the woman was barren. Just as the initial announcement of their marriage had produced adverse reactions, now their childless state became the subject of many lewd comments and absurd speculations.

All through this period, the couple ignored the snide remarks and appeared to be totally absorbed in each other and their own household. Punaba went on regular trips to nearby villages and after collecting the fares, would go to Mokokchung to give the money to his boss and to receive his salary. Khatila cultivated a small field on the outskirts of the village and grew some vegetables in her kitchen garden. Married life seemed to suit her; her beauty remained as fresh as ever.

It was after a year or so of Khatila's marriage that the entire land was plunged them into a struggle, which many did not even understand. This particular village also became a part of the network, which kept the underground outfit supplied with information, food and occasional arms. The subject of independence became public talk; young people were eager to liberate their homeland from 'foreign' rule. Some actually disappeared from the village and their names henceforth were spoken only in whispers. Skirmishes were taking place close to the village and the atmosphere within the village became one of fear and mutual suspicion. It seemed that a pall had descended upon the entire land.

Some villages to which the underground leaders belonged were severely punished. The houses were ransacked by the security forces, the grain in their barns was burnt and the people themselves were herded inside areas fenced in by bamboo stockades. This form of group incarceration was the infamous 'grouping' of villages which the Nagas hated and dreaded even more than bullets. Numerous stories proliferated of women being molested by the security forces and the obstinate ones who refused to give information being severely beaten. But so far, Khatila's village was not touched by any of these horrors as none of their boys who joined the underground movement was of any importance in the eyes of the government.

One day, Punaba did not return from his usual trip but Khatila did not seem unduly worried by this. A month passed and then another, but there was no sign of this quiet man. When asked about his absence, Khatila replied that he was plying his business in Mokukchung. Before long, however, the village grapevine brought news that their very own Punaba had joined the underground army. It was also reported that strange people visited Khatila with provisions when the adults were away in their fields and disappeared before their return. She became more reclusive and her visits to her parents' home also became less frequent than before.

Not long after the news of Punaba joining the underground army reached the authorities, the government forces came to the village and began questioning the villagers about him. Even Khatila was summoned and asked where her husband was. She replied that she did not know and she did not care. Judging from the description of the man given by the gaonbura, the officer concluded that a beautiful woman like her did not care about a man like Punaba. So they went away after threatening the villagers; they even cautioned Khatila that if she was lying to them, she would be punished. "We know how to deal with women like you," the officer said lasciviously. In the evening some of the village elders came to her hut and asked her to send word to Punaba not to visit her. Khatila meekly replied, "I shall try." She knew that her husband would surely come to know about the incident through the underground grapevine. But she had to play the part of a dutiful woman because she knew that she could not afford to antagonize the village authorities in any way.

It was not long before the oppressive measures adopted by the army to quell the rebellion backfired and even those villages, which were till now not directly involved in the conflict, became sympathetic towards the underground forces. By this time, Punaba's village became one of the main conduits for supplies and information to them. Punaba sent messengers to Khatila regularly and she knew all that was going on in the underground outfit that her husband was now heading. He rapidly rose in rank and after only three years of service, was made a captain in the rebel army. During these years he even managed to visit his wife several times, even though the visits were short. While he was in the village, lookouts would be posted at strategic points to note the movements of the other army. This was one such visit when Punaba had come to see his wife after a gap of five months and recovering from the most recent bullet wound on his right arm. The restful stay with his wife after the arduous activities of underground life seemed to be doing wonders for Punaba; he felt healthy and happy for the first time in many months. But all that was too soon to be over. That morning, before they could get up from the bed exhausted from the morning's bout of ardent lovemaking, urgent thumps on the bamboo walls were heard, with the whispered warning, "Sir, sir, wake up. The army is coming. Our sentries fell asleep. Run away, sir." Punaba's orderly joined in, "Sir, throw your gun and uniform to me and I will wait for you on the northern bank of the third well." The voices then melted away.

Khatila was in a quandary: what should she do? She could hear their voices and the sound of their footsteps on the path leading to their house. For Punaba trying to escape now was out of the question; he would be immediately spotted and shot down like a dog. He would never surrender and their small thatch house had no hiding place. She bundled up his uniform and gun in a sack and threw it down to the orderly who grabbed it and vanished into the jungle. Next, she fished out some old clothes and ordered him to get into them; then she smeared his face, hands and feet with ash from the hearth, and began shouting at him, "You no good loafer, what were you dong all day yesterday? There is no water in the house. Run to the well immediately or you will rue the day you were born." At the same time she emptied all the water containers through the bamboo platform at the back. By the time the soldiers reached her house, she was loading the water-carrying basket with the empty containers and showering more abuses at the hapless servant. Someone thumped on the door but Khatila continued with her tirade. When there was another loud thump she shouted, "Who is it now? Don't you see what I am doing?" Taking her own time she opened the door. "What do you want?" she growled at the young captain who looked somewhat surprised at her manner. Whereas he had expected to see a cowering woman, he was confronted by a disheveled but defiant person who seemed to be utterly oblivious to any danger. He stood there in confusion; surely the intelligence report was right; that Punaba had come to the village on his periodical visits to his wife and this was his house. But where was he? He could not have escaped through the tight cordon that was put in place by his boys.

Just when he decided to affect a sterner stance, Khatila turned her back on him and began to shout again, "Hey, where is that lazy so and so? Haven't you gone yet?" The servant, with the water-carrying basket on his head, proceeded towards the front door. The young captain tried to stop him but Khatila was prepared for this; she said, "Sahib, no use talking to him, he cannot talk. Besides, don't you see there is no water in the house? What do you want with a servant?" So saying, she gave a shove to Punaba with some more choice abuses and he hurried out onto the path leading to the third well. Soon he and his small party vanished into the jungle and out of the cordon set up by the soldiers. The captain did not actually have a clear idea about the person they were looking for, except for the fact that the woman's husband was the wanted man and this house was the target of the search. Watching the retreating back of the ungainly 'servant' he thought, surely he could not be that person. The young and inexperienced army officer did not realize that the beautiful but simple village woman had thus foiled a meticulously planned 'operation' of the mighty Indian army and that a prized quarry had simply walked away to freedom.

Alone in the house now, she assumed another pose, asking the captain coyly whether he would like some tea; she could get that much water from her neighbour. The officer was temporarily dazed by Khatila's beauty and would have sat down for tea, but his JCO firmly reminded him, "Sir, aor bohut gharka talasi baki hai, hame chalna hai." (Sir, there are many more houses to search. We have to move now.) Though irritated, he said "Thik hai, chalo" (All right, let's go.) Reluctantly he led the search party away from the house. Only after the entire search party left the village could Khatila relax and she was never more grateful than on that particular morning for the ugliness of her husband which had saved not only them but the entire village. Had he been killed or captured that morning the entire village would have been punished for harbouring a notorious rebel and not informing the government forces about his presence in the village. But thanks to the audacity of Khatila's ploy, the entire village was saved from such a fate.

Meanwhile the struggle between the rebels and underground forces continued. So did Punaba's periodic visits to see his wife. It was never discovered whether one of their own villagers informed the authorities or the information was supplied by someone else. He continued to serve in the outfit for some three more years and was promoted to the rank of major in the underground army. When a general ceasefire was announced, Khatila persuaded Punaba to come overground and be with her. She told him that life was becoming too lonesome without him. It also happened to be the period when the government was trying to rehabilitate the 'surrendered' cadres of the underground army, and Punaba was given a job in the State Transport Department as a mechanic and was posted at Mokokchung.

Years later, the real story behind this 'exploit' of Punaba, the jungle major, soon became the favourite subject whenever friends dropped in to share a drink in the evenings. Every time the story was recounted, Punaba would ask his wife playfully, "Aren't you glad that your jungle major is so ugly?" and equally playfully she would answer, "So, where is the water I sent you to fetch that day?"

*This story has been abridged and taken from These Hills Called Home by Temsula Ao, reviewed below.