on his forehead had deepened. He suddenly looked very old.
“So I hear,” Amrat Singh said. “We get news of the Japanese movements from a guerrilla force patrolling the Naga Hills. They keep the generals updated on the enemy’s advance.”
“The Naga Hills! That is the most treacherous jungle,” exclaimed Dadamoshai. “I can’t imagine British soldiers surviving those grueling conditions.”
“They are being assisted by the Nagas,” said the Forest Officer. “The Nagas, as you can imagine, are the only people capable of navigating that mountainous terrain. Also being a strong and hardy people, they run up and down as stretcher bearers. The soldiers are cutting their way through using machetes and taking extra doses of Benzedrine to stay awake. Grueling, as you say.”
I sat in the dark trying to imagine the British soldiers holed up in the rainy jungles with the Naga headhunters. I hoped to God they had ample food. The Nagas were known to be cannibals. They were a ferocious tribe who wore bushy loincloths and embellished their shields and earrings with the hair and bones of slain enemies. But the Nagas were also known to be an intensely loyal and moral people and they hated the “Japani.”
“Hundreds of Nagas have also joined the regular British Army in Kohima. People are coming together from all walks of life to stop the Japanese invasion. Even the tea planters—many planters have left their gardens to join the regiments.”
“Tea planters!” I exclaimed, unable to contain myself.
All heads turned toward the dark corner where I was sitting.
“Who was that?” asked Amrat Singh, squinting in my direction.
“Oh, just Layla,” said my grandfather dryly, “listening quietly as usual. Of late, Layla has a growing interest in the tea industry. I found one of my books in her room.”
I squirmed. “It’s a very interesting...history,” I muttered vaguely.
“I agree,” said Amrat Singh. “It’s fascinating. Many Assam tea planters are ex-army men, you know, from the First World War. So it is only natural that they rejoin British forces in this hour of need. I dread to think what will happen if Assam falls to the Japanese.”
Was Manik going off to war? I wondered. It sounded risky enough living with leopards and elephants in Aynakhal; then to march off to fight the Japanese with a bunch of Naga headhunters and armed with a blunderbuss that misfired sounded like suicide. I wanted to ask more about the tea planters and their involvement in the Japanese invasion, but Dadamoshai had smelled a rat and I did not want to draw any more attention to myself. So I excused myself quietly and went to my room.
* * *
As it transpired, the British allied forces defeated the Japanese only miles before they reached Dimapur. It was a precarious win. The colonial power teetered dangerously, only to upright itself in the end. Crushed and depleted, the Japanese Army crawled back over the border through Burma, thousands of Japanese soldiers dropping like flies along the way.
The news of the British victory came on a glittering spring morning. It was a beautiful jackal wedding day. A visible sigh of relief went through our town. The farmers came out with their dhola drums and pepa flutes and Assamese youth danced with abandon in the rice fields. Storekeepers threw open their shutters, dusted shelves and played cinema songs on their radios. The fish market reopened and rickshaws honked bulb horns and plied the red dirt roads carrying fat ladies with their shopping baskets. The Gulmohor trees on Rai Bahadur Road showered down blossoms and even the koels sang sweetly among the branches.
* * *
Aynakhal T.E.
30th May, 1944 2:45 a.m.
Dear Layla,
I am up at an unearthly hour, as you can see. The dryer in the factory broke down and I have been up all night battling with the mechanics to get it working again. Production got backed up. The leaf plucked today (and we are talking about 200 kilos of our best leaf of the
“So I hear,” Amrat Singh said. “We get news of the Japanese movements from a guerrilla force patrolling the Naga Hills. They keep the generals updated on the enemy’s advance.”
“The Naga Hills! That is the most treacherous jungle,” exclaimed Dadamoshai. “I can’t imagine British soldiers surviving those grueling conditions.”
“They are being assisted by the Nagas,” said the Forest Officer. “The Nagas, as you can imagine, are the only people capable of navigating that mountainous terrain. Also being a strong and hardy people, they run up and down as stretcher bearers. The soldiers are cutting their way through using machetes and taking extra doses of Benzedrine to stay awake. Grueling, as you say.”
I sat in the dark trying to imagine the British soldiers holed up in the rainy jungles with the Naga headhunters. I hoped to God they had ample food. The Nagas were known to be cannibals. They were a ferocious tribe who wore bushy loincloths and embellished their shields and earrings with the hair and bones of slain enemies. But the Nagas were also known to be an intensely loyal and moral people and they hated the “Japani.”
“Hundreds of Nagas have also joined the regular British Army in Kohima. People are coming together from all walks of life to stop the Japanese invasion. Even the tea planters—many planters have left their gardens to join the regiments.”
“Tea planters!” I exclaimed, unable to contain myself.
All heads turned toward the dark corner where I was sitting.
“Who was that?” asked Amrat Singh, squinting in my direction.
“Oh, just Layla,” said my grandfather dryly, “listening quietly as usual. Of late, Layla has a growing interest in the tea industry. I found one of my books in her room.”
I squirmed. “It’s a very interesting...history,” I muttered vaguely.
“I agree,” said Amrat Singh. “It’s fascinating. Many Assam tea planters are ex-army men, you know, from the First World War. So it is only natural that they rejoin British forces in this hour of need. I dread to think what will happen if Assam falls to the Japanese.”
Was Manik going off to war? I wondered. It sounded risky enough living with leopards and elephants in Aynakhal; then to march off to fight the Japanese with a bunch of Naga headhunters and armed with a blunderbuss that misfired sounded like suicide. I wanted to ask more about the tea planters and their involvement in the Japanese invasion, but Dadamoshai had smelled a rat and I did not want to draw any more attention to myself. So I excused myself quietly and went to my room.
* * *
As it transpired, the British allied forces defeated the Japanese only miles before they reached Dimapur. It was a precarious win. The colonial power teetered dangerously, only to upright itself in the end. Crushed and depleted, the Japanese Army crawled back over the border through Burma, thousands of Japanese soldiers dropping like flies along the way.
The news of the British victory came on a glittering spring morning. It was a beautiful jackal wedding day. A visible sigh of relief went through our town. The farmers came out with their dhola drums and pepa flutes and Assamese youth danced with abandon in the rice fields. Storekeepers threw open their shutters, dusted shelves and played cinema songs on their radios. The fish market reopened and rickshaws honked bulb horns and plied the red dirt roads carrying fat ladies with their shopping baskets. The Gulmohor trees on Rai Bahadur Road showered down blossoms and even the koels sang sweetly among the branches.
* * *
Aynakhal T.E.
30th May, 1944 2:45 a.m.
Dear Layla,
I am up at an unearthly hour, as you can see. The dryer in the factory broke down and I have been up all night battling with the mechanics to get it working again. Production got backed up. The leaf plucked today (and we are talking about 200 kilos of our best leaf of the
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