AFOVA New Letter 2 of Year 2021

Section 7 – Panorama CV 2 No. 02 / 2021 Page 284 of 332 I didn't reply him but I was far away in the time clock that suddenly wound back by several years. I was not a day more than twenty when I was sent with two lungis and a few takas into the territory. I was to report to the pastor of the orphanage, located close to a Church in Dacca. I was put on a boat from Haldibari, in Jalpaiguri. The boat had to play hide and seek with the enemy defense forces. In my shirt pocket was a bill dated March, 1971 of a lungi from a shop in Mymensingh. That we didn't get past a sleepy town on the bank of Brahmaputra, barely a few miles north from Mymensingh and we took refuge in a small church out there, was the thing that remained in my mind, in spite of more serious and several severe incidents, in the months that followed till I was picked up by a helicopter near Sylhet after the 'surrender' instrument was signed in December, 1971. I was born in a refugee camp that was set up in Kamalpur, near Agartala in August 1947. My parents and another three survived the cross over into India and the severe cholera epidemic and moved on to Silchar town, up north east of the camp. My father soon passed away and we were under the patronage of a Catholic Missionary. At the age of sixteen, I joined the Academy in the far off Pune and was commissioned into an Infantry arm. My Bengali that was passed on to me by my mother still remained that of my native village south of Sylhet which was the reason I was inducted into the enemy territory. History has told us all why and how it was necessary to fight with our neighbour on the refugee issue but the Lady PM had taken a daring step. Not many even consider it as a bad tactic in the regional geopolitics. Apart from bits and pieces of what I did in that period between March and December, 71 that I want to remember, I am not privileged to tell you all but something very personal and private took place during the monsoon of 1971. I am barely five feet and three inches and my physique, though strong, appeared frail. I could very well get mixed up with the locals, clad in a lungi. So, one evening, with the fish I had picked up from the local market, I was returning to the parish building, when I noticed a small gunny parcel on the roadside. The parish building was isolated and away from the town. The dogs had not picked up the scent but the parcel moved a bit sideways. I was curious and I immediately sent for the priest and additional help. To cut the story short, there was a small built girl of not more than fifteen. The body had plenty of bruises and the local doctor told us that she had been physically abused and