The Silence Speaks

Copyright © 2014 by Major General (Retd) Pran Koul.

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Foreword

Introduction

Part I —Nostalgia

Chapter 1 Early Memories

Chapter 2 The Formative Years

Part II —Kashmiriyat

Chapter 3 Some Glimpses

Chapter 4 Festivals that Nourished ‘Kashmiriyat’

Part III —Mud Splashes

Chapter 5 Uncared Sparks to a Deadly Fire

Part IV—The Transition

Chapter 6 Initial Excitement

Chapter 7 Honeymoon Ends

Chapter 8 Beyond Academics

Chapter 9 Bitter Punctuations

Part V —The Transition

Chapter 10 Student to a Gentleman Cadet

Chapter 11 Essence of the Indian Military Academy

Chapter 12 The Tallest Day

Part VI —Beyond the Academy

Chapter 13 Bombay Sappers Headquarters

Chapter 14 Regimental Life

Part VII —The Combination

Chapter 15 Sapper and Surveyor

Part VIII —Frontier Callings

Chapter 16 Meghalaya—Initial Experiences

Chapter 17 Under the Shadow of the Boundary Hill Ranges

Chapter 18 Nagaland—The Administrative Headquarters

Chapter 19 More of Nagaland

Chapter 20 The Old NEFA Hills (Arunachal Pradesh)

Part IX —Mapping Goes Digital

Chapter 21 The American Experience

Chapter 22 Dehradun Beckons

Chapter 23 Deputation to Bhutan

Part X —Voyage to the Least Known Land

Chapter 24 Indian Expedition to Antarctica

Part XI —Back to the Army

Chapter 25 Troops in High-tech Environment

Chapter 26 At the Helm of the Institute

Chapter 27 China and Russia—Glimpses

Part XII —Call from the Surveyor General

Chapter 28 International Boundaries

Chapter 29 Sir Creek Talks—First Hand Experience

Chapter 30 Face to Face with the General

Chapter 31 Proud Moments

FOR

My parents, Sh. Nand Lal Koul and Smt. Lajwanti Koul

My Uncle & Mentor, Sh. Triloki Nath Ticku

My wife, Kunti

Navin, Smriti, Nikhil, Rishi and

All near and dear

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I don’t boast of this being my book,

rather I consider it the result of fond memories and the support of my well wishers.

Lieutenant General (Retd) S M Chadha, former Surveyor General of India, for the ‘Foreword’ and his guidance.

Mr. Andre Unger, for being the main force behind this book and for his valuable inputs.

Ms. Preeti Mishra, for her constructive and patient editing.

Navin, my son, for reading the first draft,

in spite of being down with chicken pox and his persuasion to take this project ahead.

Smriti, my daughter, for her encouragement and critical feedback all along.

Nikhil and Rishi for their occasional suggestions.

‘Oraclequest Education Foundation’ and ‘Indian Antarctic Program-Wikipedia the Free Encyclopedia’ for enriching my knowledge on ‘The Least Known Continent-Antarctica’

And above all,

My mother, for her blessings, all through.

My wife, for her continued support and patience.

Last but not the least, the Team at Partridge Publications for their support throughout.

FOREWORD

Koul is a natural and prolific story teller. The lucid narration of his memoirs from childhood in Sopore to a professional Army officer, engineer, surveyor and cartographer is full of thrilling experiences, interesting facts, history, anecdotes, adventures and morals. It covers a vast expanse of the country from Kashmir in the north to the ‘Seven Sister States’ in the east, with a vivid description of their changing physiography and cultures.

It further takes you to Antarctica, China, Russia, Bhutan and the United States.

Born and brought up in Sopore, the ‘Apple Town of Kashmir’, Koul aptly describes the ethos of ‘Kashmiryat’ and how the colourful shades of this culture got embedded in him during the years of his innocence.

Koul came under my direct acquaintance when he was posted to the Directorate of North Eastern Circle, Survey of India, in 1981. I had the chance of observing him closely while he executed the topographical surveys in Nagaland, plains of Assam and in the high hills of Arunachal Pradesh, mostly under extreme weather conditions and in areas infested with insurgency.

The picturesque description of his ‘Voyage to Antarctica’ will interest many a reader for some interesting facts and the challenges in exploring this icy continent. Koul surveyed the first Indian map in Antarctica which received a lot of recognition and publicity.

The narration of his interaction with the Pakistani counterparts on the well known boundary problem: ‘Sir Creek’, is informative and makes interesting reading.

In the end I would like to warn: that once you start reading; you are spellbound and it becomes difficult to put the book down.

INTRODUCTION

A child, born and brought up in the ‘Apple Town of Kashmir’, has many stories to share; more so, after having keenly observed, experienced and in many cases adopted various aspects of the social ethos, which weaved together the social fabric prevalent in the valley those days. I held some of these personal experiences close to my chest during my transition from childhood to adolescence, adolescence to adulthood and beyond. In my heart of hearts, I always felt that people, especially those from other parts of this vast and varied country and beyond deserve to know the salient glimpses of this unique culture of ‘Kashmiriyat’ from one who has experienced it at close range. My attempts here are to depict some glimpses in a simple form through personal narratives that may interest you, the reader.

Through my growing up years I had always cherished the desire to pen down these salient memories which unfortunately, till now, never went beyond a few poems in English, one of which was selected for publication in ‘Sabzar,’ our college magazine when I was in my teens. Though encouraged by the concerned Professor, I couldn’t take this hobby forward first as an engineering student and, thereafter, as an officer in the defence forces, mainly due to exigencies of service.

This latent desire to ‘record’ kept simmering silently within but apparently went unnoticed. This desire was inadvertently satisfied, to some extent, by writing and presenting technical papers related to my profession in various national and international seminars/workshops, some of which have been published or are archived in reputed journals including the technical literature of the prestigious ‘International Society of Photogrammetry and Remote Sensing’.

Though commissioned in the Indian Army as a sapper officer I had the advantage of being a professional surveyor as well. The dual profession provided me the springboard to survey far-flung places of our country located in plains, deserts, moderate and high hills of the North East, laden with permanent snow features, which at times even went beyond 15,000 feet above sea level. Life, for me, has generally been adventurous leading to some valuable experiences, thus enabling me to address situations under trying circumstances, not only at various levels in my profession and command, but also in my personal life.

Another desire that simmered right from my childhood was to visit the neighbouring countries of China & Pakistan. This was probably to understand for myself the mindset of the people in these two countries. Destiny would have its way and my second visit to Rawalpindi, Pakistan in 2007, as part of the Indian Delegation on the issue of ‘Sir Creek’ even brought me face to face with General Pervez Musharraf, the then President of Pakistan. Besides Pakistan and China, my profession provided opportunities to visit and sometimes even work in other countries including Bhutan, the United Sates and Russia, in various official capacities. Tibet was one such place I had the fortune to tour extensively as part of the group of GIS experts from ‘Asia and Pacific Countries’. The tour took us much beyond the townships of Lhasa and Gyangze, up to heights of about 16000 feet.

In 1991-92, I was lucky to participate in the prestigious ‘Indian Scientific Expedition to Antarctica’ leading the ‘Survey Team’, as a Sub Team Leader, to survey and map an area of our interest in Antarctica. The news about the map, published in 1993, was broadcast on ‘Doordarshan National News’, the only national TV News channel that existed then.

The ‘Film Division of India’ also produced a film on the expedition, specifically highlighting the work of my team during the expedition. The film went on to win the prestigious National Award in 1992-93 and was exhibited in Sri Hari Fort Auditorium, New Delhi, along with other National Award winning films. In fact cinema halls all over the country showed this film as a prelude to the commercial films giving our work appreciable visibility. I have tried to include some salient glimpses of this ‘Least Known Land’ in forthcoming chapters of this book.

On superannuation from the Indian Army in June 2011, the silence that was simmering deep within, knocked at the door of my mind and called upon me to vent it out. To begin with, I wrote a few English poems and in the process, I discovered that when the ‘silence within speaks’ it churns the mind and resonates deep. Thus I found myself compelled to give this desire flesh and blood which has now taken the form of this book which I call ‘The Silence Speaks’.

PART I

Nostalgia

Chapter 1

EARLY MEMORIES

When I look back, the earliest memory that comes to mind is that of my mother who had just given birth to my twin brothers. I must have been about three years old then. I faintly remember her frail face when she asked me, in a low voice, to go and buy her two eggs. I guess that was because she felt very weak and in those days it was not easy for us to afford eggs as a regular luxury.

Another memory that comes to mind is of the day when my grandfather took me to a Government School for my enrolment in Class 1. I must have been about five years old then. Sporting a proud countenance he carried me, holding a school bag in one hand and a bag of sweets in the other. The class teacher, Sh. Rajab Sahib, entered my name in the school register and the sweets—Shireen, (sugar balls) and Khazeer, (dry dates)—were distributed to the teachers and students. I vaguely remember that my grandfather was extremely excited and literally on top of the world. After distributing the sweets, he left me in the school. I was too innocent to realize that a new phase in my life had started, probably a serious one.

My mother says that when I returned from the school, I threw the school bag and went to play with my friends whom, probably, I had missed through the day. This made her angry and she complained to my grandfather that on the very first day I had flung the school bag and dashed out to play. My grandfather, in his calm way, said, Look, he is a child, let him play and don’t expect him to become an engineer or a doctor the very first day.

It was a great lesson for my mother. Even today she remembers it very fondly and narrates it to her grandchildren. Elders say that my grandfather Sh. Mahesher Nath Koul was a very learned man, had a good sense of humour and could write poetry in Persian as well. They also say that he was a genius, immensely interested in Urdu literature. He was a reputed teacher and headmaster of a Government school located in our town, called ‘Babayusuf’, which is still well known. After his superannuation, with too many responsibilities to fulfill, he continued to work in the local court. I still have a faint memory of him taking me to the temple garden on his return from the office.

I was born and brought up in Sopore, located in District Baramulla, Kashmir. The town is about 40 Kilometers North of Srinagar, the summer capital of Kashmir. It is situated on both banks of the famous Jhelum river that flows through Kashmir. The river is known by multiple names. In Sanskrit, it is called ‘Vitasta’, while Kashmiris called it ‘Vyth’. However it is now more famously known as Jhelum. The Jhelum river originates from the beautiful spring ‘Verinag’, located near the township of Anantnag and subsequently confluences with the Krishanganga river, before flowing into Pakistan.

Coming back to my hometown of Sopore, the genesis of its name has an interesting background that is related to the river Jhelum. Folklore has it that many centuries ago the river faced one of its worst floods, which gave King Avantivarman of the Utpala Dynasty many sleepless nights. The king was finally advised to call the genius engineer ‘Suyya’ to save the place. ‘Suyya’ identified the bottleneck in the river flow and attributed it to the accumulation of silt along the riverbed. This had obstructed the free flow of water and was thus the reason for the crisis. ‘Suyya’ was clear that to save the deteriorating flood situation there was no alternative but the removal of the silt from the river bed. However he couldn’t find men who were prepared to plunge into the river to remove the silt.

He briefed the king about the impending situation and requested him for plenty of Ashraffis, gold coins, and sought permission to throw these coins into the river. The king accordingly provided vast sums of the gold coins and gave him the freedom to carry out his plan. ‘On Suyya’s orders the coins were thrown into the river. On seeing the gold coins, people were tempted and plunged deep into the river along with kranjuls, willow baskets, in their hands. They removed huge kranjuls of silt to retrieve the coins and thus huge quantities of sand and stones were physically dredged out from the river. As a result, the river became deeper and the water gushed out. The water level receded appreciably, thus saving the township. The town was named as ‘Suyyapur’ to commemorate Suyya and over the ages, it became ‘Sopur’. It is now known as ‘Sopore’, though in Survey of India topographic maps it continued to be spelt as ‘Sopur’ for a long time. The township of Sopore has rich lands and is famously nicknamed the ‘Apple Town’ of Kashmir.

Being my birthplace, I have a lot of affiliation to this town and love it sincerely. I know it’s every street, it’s every rubble that is embedded in its soil, it vicissitudes and why not for, it has contributed to the growth of my flesh and blood.

Chapter 2

THE FORMATIVE YEARS

The First Enrolment

I  was enrolled by my grandfather in the Government Primary School Sangrampora, Sopore, which was not very far from my house. The teachers were extremely strict and in those days, one could not imagine a teacher without a stick in his hand. On a lighter note the stick, in many ways, was the first identification of a teacher.

I recall there were strict instructions issued by the Headmaster not to go swimming in the Jhelum river during recess breaks, which lasted for half an hour, as there had been many cases of drowning. However, some students would love to break the rule and teachers always caught culprits, who were then beaten black and blue.

To overcome this, teachers, through experience, devised a method of imprinting legs of the students with the school stamp at the exit gate during the time of recess. After the recess break, the teachers would check the impression of the stamp on the students’ legs and any student who went swimming was identified immediately. Even then, there were defaulters and scenes of culprits being thrashed, while we could hear forlorn cries, Sir, we will not do it again, were pretty common. At times we enjoyed it, primarily because we knew that they would do it again.

I remember a teacher with a long grey beard, ‘Janab Nab Sahib’, who had an irritating habit of addressing us by our father’s names. He was fond of using his stick at random and at times for no rhyme or reason. It thus goes without saying that we were scared of him. He always came like a thunder and one never knew where he would strike. Here, it may be worthwhile to mention that these teachers were very hard working and commanded well-deserved respect. Looking back, I owe them a lot.

There were a few incidents, which took place around the time I was in one of the initial primary classes. I have deliberately included these incidents as they reflect the approach of an elder or a teacher in correcting a child with the intention of keeping them on the right path. Children are very sensitive and deserve to be corrected with utmost sensitivity, not by thrashing them or creating fear in their minds.

As a young child, I was scared of walking alone at night. My father realised this and one night when everybody in our joint family was about to sleep, he told me to close the main gate of our house, which was on the extreme side of our compound. My father or one of my uncles generally did this every night.

On the given night he encouraged me to go alone and said, As you go ahead, I shall call your name loudly and you reply loudly. I agreed, and came back running after closing the gate, while pretending that I was not scared at all. Every one present at home then, including my grandmother, patted me and called me a brave boy, though I knew in my heart of hearts that it was not entirely so. My father gave me a rupee coin as a reward, which was not a small amount in those days. He thereafter made this a practice and encouraged me close the main gate of our house for a couple of nights till he was convinced that any vestiges of fear were removed from my mind.

Another incident worth mentioning took place in the month of June when summer was at its peak. My grandmother, who was crippled after the birth of my third uncle, used to have a Kangri, an earthen pot covered with willow, in which live charcoal was placed and used as a personal heater, generally in extreme cold weather of Kashmir. I remember her using the Kangri in summer as well, mainly to light the Jajeer, a piped hookah that she smoked.

During this time I had noticed my father and uncles smoking and throwing the cigarette butts around. I started collecting these stubs with the intention of smoking them secretly. Going a step further, one day, I purchased a pack of ‘Charminar’ cigarettes from the neighbourhood shopkeeper. Failing to locate a matchbox in the kitchen (to light the cigarette), I went to my grandmother, and asked for her Kangri. She asked me why I wanted it. I told her that I was feeling cold. She lent me the Kangri but doubted my intentions for, very obviously, there was no reason to feel cold during the peak of summer. After secretly lighting the cigarette in the corridor, I quickly returned her the Kangri and rushed back to complete smoking the cigarette.

I guess she might have noticed some traces of smoke, from my breath because it appears she shared this incident with my father. My father, in his own wisdom, didn’t react immediately. He beckoned me after nearly two days and said, It appears that some boy was smoking in the corridor a few days back, just find out who the boy is and let me know. I was overwhelmed with guilt and practically started sweating. My father never asked me the details, which bothered me a lot. The impact of his actions was that I left smoking there and then. The important point to note is that had my father beaten me up, chances are I would have become a chain smoker and might have been smoking even today.

The Entry to the Middle School

I am from a family of teachers. My father, Late Sh. Nand Lal Koul, was a well reputed teacher of Sopore. He was very popular amongst teachers, students and their parents alike. He was known for both his taste in Urdu literature as well as his humour. He would play the harmonium with great ease and sing Urdu ghazals very well. He had great aptitude to teach English and mathematics and was well known for that not only in the school but also in the whole town.

As a child, I always felt very proud of being his son, mainly because of the respect and reputation that he commanded as a professional as well as for being a noble human. He had a cluster of meaningful friends from all communities. It was a pleasure to see his Hindu and Muslim colleagues, well-reputed teachers, flocking around him, even after school hours. He always had a smile on his face.

He was posted at the Government Middle School, Babayusuf, where my grandfather had worked as a headmaster in his days. I always wondered why he didn’t admit me in his school. Finally, in the fourth standard, on my mother’s persuasion, he arranged my transfer to his school. I was very happy since the school was very well known, throughout the district, for its quality of academics. Over the years it has produced quality engineers, doctors, teachers and various other professionals.

It was a huge school, located adjacent to ‘Sopore Bandipora Road’ opposite a small lake called ‘Bugh Jheel’. The school was excellent in everything except for the building, which was very weak and appeared to have lived its life. I remember when we would climb from one story to the other; the stairs would make creaking sounds as if they cried out in pain.

On many occasions, we overheard the teachers’ express concern and worry, probably fearing a catastrophe, if ever the school building gave way. They had been persuading concerned officers for assistance but then Government procedures were known to take time. I studied in the same school and in the same building until my eighth standard. Luckily, neither the staircases nor the foundation gave way, during my stay.

Discipline, in this school, was paramount mainly because the teachers were very competent. There was something about this school that made it different from others. As I see now, maybe it was the teamwork, the dedication to the profession and the mutual respect of the teachers for each other that set it apart. As a result, students would get substantial care especially those who were good in their studies.

I am deliberately penning down the details because the formative years, particularly the years one spends in school, play a big role in the development of the personality and the characteristics of an individual, which finally, in one way or the other, remain with him lifelong. For success of any individual, I would give full credit to the teachers who must have laid strong foundations during their formative years. To illustrate this point, I shall narrate some examples where teachers made substantial difference to the lives of some financially deprived students.

The day at the school would begin with a prayer, led or rather sung by a team of three or four students. I remember one of them was a good flute player. His name was Kundan. I was lucky to be part of the team. The other three were Tej, Khaliq and Rasool.

We would sing three well-known poems, one of which, I remember was of Dr. Iqbal, the famous Urdu poet of Saray Jahan Se Achha . . . fame. The tune of the prayer was composed by my father. Kundan punctuated the songs with his flute, which was mesmerizing. Years later God was unkind; I learnt that in the early 90’s militants had killed ‘Kundan’, in his house, while his wife went missing since. I remember him as being a very bright student who had done very well in his career as an Agricultural Engineer.

The prayer would be followed by a moral lecture, given generally by Mohamad Ramzan Sahib. He was a strict disciplinarian and gave exhaustive elaborations on the values of life, which, I am sure, would have influenced the personalities of a number of students, the lucky ones. Thereafter, the students would read out the national news, which they would compile from the newspapers, since very few middle class families could afford radio sets those days, we didn’t have one at our home either.

As mentioned, Mohamad Ramzan Sahib was the custodian of discipline in the school with his strict nature and thus could never be taken for granted. Incidentally, he was given the President of India award for being the best teacher in the state of Jammu and Kashmir. He would teach many subjects but was especially good at mathematics. He was a great friend of