HISTORY-INDIA UNDEFENDED

HISTORY-INDIA UNDEFENDED

A foreigner who studies our history, will be surprised to observe that this country never tried to defend itself.

The Himalayas guard our northern border like a formidable fort; the seas protect the peninsular half . If it was England , we would never have been enslaved. Our failure is that we never felt we are one.

There were a number of small kingdoms , always at war with the neighbours.

When the French attacked Pondicherrry , others did not come to the help. Were they happy that it served them well?

Baber was approached by disgruntled Rajputs , to invade India. He was reluctant but was persuaded to come to India. The fact is that it was the British East India Company that united various Principalities into a single Nation. In this sense , they are the father of the nation, not Mahatma Gandhi! When they departed from the scene , India was again divided into three different entities. Now we are busy fighting against Pakistan. Is it a curse?

The real enemy is Nepal. The boundary between the two nations is a vast , thick forest , with hills and valleys which can never be guarded. It is a paradise for smugglers , Maoists and carriers of narcotics. The Central Government knows this but is helpless. Like the invasion of Sikim by Morarji Desai, can Narendra Modi cobble Nepal? The people will be happy . Even for salt , they look to India. Even as I write this , dozens of Nepalis have died there , demonstrating against their government.

Before the revolution , the Kings of Nepal used to be blood relations of Indian Kings and ironically , it is the only Hindu Kingdom in the world. So the closeness is as near as that of Kashmir. More over , there are no Muslims here.

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THE MIDDLE CLASS <script type='text/javascript' src

All intellectuals, who influence the course of history, come from the middle class.
There are several layers in this category. The lowest layer is extremely eager to hide their poverty.
Alas! Today, they are crushed under the weight of spiraling prices. I belonged to this class, until I was promoted. We got salary on the first of each month. So the first week passed off comfortably. The last week, I borrowed money from my colleagues.
I used to take advance from salary, normally given for Festivals. Occasionally, money was taken out of Provident Fund, on false pretexts. Afterwards, I count the months to see when I would be free from salary cuts!
In fact, the thrill of bringing money in cash, on salary day, is now gone, with pension being credited in the bank and needs few, to buy things.
Sometimes I feel that good salary is required, when we are young, gradually decreasing in old age!

FICTION-MY SOUL MATE

“Hi”
I was reading a magazine in the Library, when I was surprised to hear a sweet voice from a lovely girl and looked up. I could not place her
“Sir, Don’t you remember me? I am your student in the college. My name is Sunanda.”
Slowly I remembered the vivacious girl, who was very talkative and I had to warn her often. She seemed to be wealthy and did not care for her studies. I wondered why she is here in the Library. She offered to give me lunch and we went to a restaurant.
She was very talkative. I rarely opened my mouth. Afterwards, she took me home in her car.
There was nobody at home. “My parents are doctors and come home very late”: she explained. Her room was full of photographs of film stars, cricket players etc.
“Do you play cricket?”
“No”, she said.
“Don’t you have brothers and sisters?”
“No; I am all alone. What about you, Sir?”
“Oh, mine is a joint family in far away Keralam. I have all sorts od relatives-uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters, all living under the same roof.”
“Wonderful. Wife?”
“No. I am thirty four. They are pressing me to marry. “The girls are frightened by the population.”
“I love to see your relatives. Here I get bored.”
“We can go only in summer vacation.”
In the meantime our friendship thickened. We toured in nearby places, unknown, aimlessly, to be moving, to escape from boredom. Often, we took snacks and tea in ramshackle tea shops, full of flies.
“What will your doctor parents say, if we are seen here?”
“I damn care. How do street children survive?”
At last, the much awaited vacation came and we decided to go home in her car, driven by chauffer. We broke journey whenever we felt. I found that she was interested in temples and hills.
“What do you pray?” : I asked.
“To get a good husband”.
After twenty days, we reached my home, on the bank of a river.
“How enchanting! I love to stay here all my life.”
She loved the orchard, full of mango trees, jack trees, etc, the cattle shed and almost everything there.
She ate chips and ripe mangoes.
She talked to all people, irrespective of their sex. Children were happy to get plenty of chocolates.
Uncle never gives us anything- they complained about me.
Sometimes, we went through the river, in a small canoe, made of mango tree.
Village people looked at the lady in pants and made their own stories about us.
One day we met my friend living on the bank of the river. He was very happy and gave us tender coconuts, with delicious juice.
She had deliberately switched off her mobile phone.
I contacted the college and found out that she has failed.
“Who cares? I must learn to milk the cow here. That is more important.”
“Why for?”
“To help the people here.”
“Are you going to stay here permanently?”
“I talked to Maji. She is uncommitted.”
“Here we do not marry, without seeing your horoscope.”
“Are you supersticious?”
“Not my opinion; my parents too must agree.”
From her date of birth, a horoscope was made. It showed that I would die, if I married her.
“In that case, I too will jump into the river.”
I talked to Maji. We decided to consult her parents.
When the college reopened, I flew to Delhi.
Sunanda’s parents came to the college to see me. I explained the position thus:
“We are good friends. She is stubborn and invariably I give in. About marriage, it is left to my parents; I do not like to disobey them.”
They enquired about the route to my village and left.
I used to hear from Suanda almost daily. It seems that she was born in America and the time of her birth has to be modified accordingly. So the objection did not exist. Will her parents agree for our marriage?

I could not suffer the pangs of separation. To while away the time, I started writing about history, which was her subject. All my notes were e:mailed to her. She never replied, but phoned to me several times a day. She started borrowing books from the town library and completed my teaching notes. Then she flew to Delhi and we continued as before. Instead of blabbering like a child, now she asked questions about her subject.
In the end, she passed her examination with good marks.
This made a lasting impression on her mother. I met her for the first time. She was more beautiful than her daughter and almost my age. She hugged me and thanked me profusely for tutoring Sunanda. She hinted about her consent for our marriage.
When we met the next time, we emcraced and declared our love for each other!

US-TALIBAN SECRET TALKS, FATHER-SON DIALOGUE =’text/javascript’ src=’

There are reports of negotiations, at a secret place, between representatives of the United States and the Taliban, FOR ENABLING THE FORMER TO PULL OFF THEIR TROOPS.
Long ago, when Afghanistan was ruled by Russia, the CIA created Taliban to harass and defeat the Russians. This was achieved, when the free people of that country, especially women, enjoyed freedom like their Western counterparts, were subjugated by religious fanatics, who enforced purdah (veil) and even the huge statue of Budha,
( I quot from the web “6th century[1] monumental statues of standing buddhas carved into the side of a cliff in the Bamyan valley in the Hazarajat region of central Afghanistan, situated 230 km (143 miles) northwest of Kabul at an altitude of 2500 meters (8,202 ft). Built in 507, the larger in 554,[1] the statues represented the classic blended style of Gandhara art.[2]”)
was destroyed by machine gun fire, shocking the whole civilised world.
Now Taliban will rule the country once again.
Will history repeat?

ALLAHABD HIGH COURT HAS MADE HISTORY =’text/javascript’ src=

It was a great relief to hear the judgement of the Allahabad High Court, in the Ayodhya land dispute.
Instead of hair splitting about legal issues involved, they suggested division of disputed land in a fair and equitable manner, taking into account the historic back ground and the sentiments of religious groups involved.
Some newspaper has described it, as being something of a Panchayat ruling. Well, that is what I want!
The whole Nation is grateful to them.

RUSSIA HAS CREATED HISTORY IN NAVIGATION

An atomic icebreaker sailed from Russia’s northern shores to China, via the Arctic Ocean.
Until now, they had to go via the Mediterranean sea, Arabian sea and Indian Ocean. It was a huge oil tanker. Any oil spill can play havoc with the otherwise pure environment of those frozen seas.
In achieving progress, environment is the casualty.

INFERTILTY

History is replete with instances of childlessness.

King Dashrath of Ayodhya conducted puthrakameshty yagam (Yajn) to invoke divine power to produce children.

Heroine of freedom struggle of 1857, Rani Lakshmibai of Jhansi, was a close friend of the British. But she failed to have a son and the British refused permission to adopt one. She was so much annoyed that she herself fought against the British forces, in the ensuing war.

This trend has gained momentum in recent times. I know several couple who would pay any price to have babies, male or female.

Has the modern life style contributed to what is called anapathyata (infertility)?

I BELIEVE THAT WE SHOULD NOT ASK FOR ANYTHING. Our Father in heaven knows what is best for us.

JALIANWALLA BAGH

BAISHAKHI

Baishakhi is an important festival of Punnjabis.

Those were the days of revolt and terrorism against British rule in the whole of North India, especially Punjab, under militant local leaders . Col. Dyer, the commander of the military unit in Punjab wanted to put an end to anarchy and chose Baishakhi, on the thirteenth of April every year, to teach a lesson to all Indians. There was a meeting at Jalianwalla Bagh and he ordered his machine guns to be placed at suitable positions and started firing at random to kill maximum number of innocent people, who had come to attend the meeting. There is only one exit point from the maidan (open ground) and the people ran here and there and many died in the stampede; many jumped into a well and died. Dyer became a hero to the British subjects who raised money to defend him.

Punjab became quiet. Armed uprising against the rulers is most common throughout history. The State too indulge in terrorism to suppress the revolt. Ireland won independence through a series of uprisings and was always antagonistic to the Crown.

We are witnessing a repetition of history here today.

BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS, CHIDAMBARAM

When the Government sends armed personnel to fight the Maoists in the forest, without understanding anything about the enemy, you are responsible for the consequences.

The forest is unfamiliar to us, while the Maoists and their supporters know it like their palm. They are familiar with the terrain, rivers and hill features. They know every movement of the army (whether you call it CRPF or BSF is immaterial) and can reach any spot with lightning speed.

We are handicapped in every way. This was what happened in 1962 China war.Luckily, they did not annihilate our army men. Maoists cannot afford to keep prisoners.

Why don’t you read history, Chidambaram?

The Americans tried to fight the Viet Cong guerillas by destroying forests but their enemy used extensive tunnels net work to baffle them. In the end, when forty thousand Americans lost their life in Air to ground war, they sued for peace.

How many people should be killed in our forests before we accept their offer of cease fire? Ten thousand, one lakh or ten lakh?

You do not care because you are safe in Delhi or at Lalgarh, because a lot of jawans are ready to lay down their lives.

Remember, history will judge you.

A GREAT MAN PASSES AWAY

South of the big temple tank at Peruvanam is an old, two storey building, belonging to Pichakassery Moossad, octagenerian genius who never got a chance to come in lime light.

He wanted to become a cinematographer; instead, spent his life as a teacher.

He has scripted and directed several plays in his youth, written lymmericks and was well read and an intellectual.

I learned from him much about the past history of the village and the Shiva temple. I shall write in detail later.

He passed away early morning today.