In a message dated 06/25/2003 7:44:29 AM EST, [EMAIL PROTECTED] writes: << I am posting it, with his permission, in three parts. >>
What follows is the second of three parts of subject article by A. M. Barrie (c): The train gathered speed and was soon on the open arid plains of the South Punjab through which we travelled most of that day. The swaying of the carriage, the regular clicks of the wheels passing over segments of rail and the deep drone as we crossed rivers, lulled me. These conditions also rendered the others somnolent. I watched Mother and Dad nod their heads in silent slumber. They loved each other tenderly. In fact Mother was quite helpless without him. I was gently aroused from this reverie when the train slowed down. It was late afternoon. We were entering the historic Plains of Panipat where, on three occasions Indian soldiers lost battles to northern invaders. Did we slow down as a mark of respect to India's fallen men? The flat, dry landscape was ideal for deployment of elephant, horse and cannon. I imagined the lusty shouts of the victors drowning the moaning of the wounded and dying. By sundown we passed through Panipat and headed north. It was meal time. Aunty Dot had supplied an ample hamper. The fare in the restaurant car was expensive. Buying food from wayside vendors was unhygienic. I contended myself with a sandwich and an orange, spending the evening gazing at the fields in the waning sunlight. At 9 o'clock, after a cup of tea, we bolted the doors, turned off the lights and turned in for the night. The puffing engine, the rhythmic drone of wheel over rail, the occasional shrill whistle, seemed like a lullaby. I slept soundly, not even disturbed by the few stops we made that night. I awoke next morning to a changed landscape. By now we were well into the verdant Punjab (land of five rivers), which was the breadbasket of India. Clusters of leafy trees dotted the lush green landscape. The air was fresh. Now and then the scent of jasmine pleased the nostrils. The corn had ripened and villagers were harvesting the grain. Herds of cattle gazed on the luxurious green sward. Some raised their heads in curious rumination as we passed. At 4 p.m. we made our first major stop at Ambala. It was an important interchange for trains bound for Himalayan towns to the east. We remained there an hour as the train took on more water and coal. Crews were changed. There was a knock on the door. It was an Englishman. "Do you have any room in there, please?" he asked. "My staff fouled up my reservations and I have to be in Lahore tonight. We welcomed him. His presence was reassuring. He did not give his name, just mentioned that he was posted to Lahore. Dad availed himself of the opportunity to replenish our stock of fresh fruit. Together with Herman and I, he trotted off to a nearby vendor. "Where are you going, Sahib?" asked the inquisitive vendor. "To Ludhiana" lied Dad glibly. "Very good place, Sir" he said "Very nice climate." It was not wise to mention that Pakistan was our destination. This could have stirred animosity. Having bought enough apples, oranges, pears and grapes, we sauntered back to our coach. A ragged beggar accosted us. "Give alms, Sir," he cried, "My mother is dead, my father is dead, my uncle is a no-good bum and Sohan is charged with the care of his ailing brothers and sisters." Dad dipped his hand into his pocket and drew a few coppers which he placed in the grubby outstretched hand of the beggar. "Thank you, very much, Sir," said the grateful Sohan, may God give you many sons" On reaching the coach we were confronted by a burly Sikh ticket collector, in an immaculately white uniform. His beard was luxuriant and his waxed moustache curled neatly over his lips. He was in to check out tickets. He examined them, counted the number of passengers and, after punching a hole in each returned them to Dad. He then departed, politely bidding us a safe journey. The Englishman was very quiet. He said very little except when he offered us tea and biscuits which mother politely declined. I felt sure he was in Army intelligence. A shrill whistle blew and we began to roll again. I gazed through the window at the fading platform, turbans and kirpans. Once more we were plunging through the green Punjabi countryside. We passed the little town of Pagwara, a fascinating little place. It was beautifully planned with magnificent red-brick mansions and creeper covered cottages. Each mansion was bounded with an iron railing supported by stone pillars. Carefully manicured lawns were bordered with roses, violets and pansies. The sweet scent of the jasmine bush hung heavily in the air. It was a town of high ranking government officials and businessmen. With whistle and steam the Peshawar Express sped into the night. But two hours later it slackened its pace. We were nearing Jullunder. Two trains before ours were detailed; the passengers were slain. The fresh track was not tested so the driver proceeded with utmost caution. Forward progress was fraught with danger. Railway policemen armed with night sticks patrolled the track. They guided the engineer with flag and lantern. Here and there freight cars were lying on their sides; broken into, vandalized. Charred hunks of metal were all that were left of those still on the rails. We inched into the station and stopped. Soldiers with fixed bayonets stood guard at all entrances and exits. No one was allowed off the train until security men had thoroughly searched the cars and tracks for explosives. The train was halted for an hour. Stealthily it pulled away from Jullunder. As it drew out of the city, scars of the recent rioting were plainly visible -- gutted store fronts and apartment buildings, overturned trucks and ox carts. The stench of reeking garbage pervaded the air. To be continued.................... Thanks for the favourable comments I received: Pat de Sousa Maryland, USA ########################################################################## # Send submissions for Goanet to [EMAIL PROTECTED] # # PLEASE remember to stay on-topic (related to Goa), and avoid top-posts # # More details on Goanet at http://joingoanet.shorturl.com/ # # Please keep your discussion/tone polite, to reflect respect to others # ##########################################################################
