8 August and an evening to spare in Firozepur! There could be nothing better than to rush to Hussainiwala border on the outskirts of the sleepy town. And that is precisely what I did, hiring a Maruti car, which raced to the border in ten minutes. How far is it from the centre of the city? ‘Barely 8 kilometres’, the driver mumbled and led me to the Martyrs’ Samadhi before I could even think about being overcharged for such a small distance. The way to the wall carrying images of Bhagat Singh, Sukhdev and Rajguru has been laid out in red stone. It nearly burnt my soles (the shoes are taken off out of reverence!) and I wondered why no one ever had thought of spreading a mat for the visitors. There were many children who chose to splash in the water being filled up in the pond near the statues of the three martyrs whose names have become inextricably interlinked in the annals of our history. The fourth, Batukeshwar Dutt, was acquitted in the infamous Lahore trial and later died in Calcutta in 1964. Alternatively, they rushed to the green lawns below where a Samadhi in black granite stands in memory of Punjab’ Mata- Bhagat Singh’s mother in fulfilment of her last wish. ‘Have the sacrifices of such young men gone in vain’, I wondered, ‘as thoughts about the self-centred, power-hungry politicians invaded my mind. Beyond her Samadhi, there was a row of brick pillars on which Firozepur-Lahore trains used to run in good old days and made the district prosperous. Now it just highlighted the eternal divide.
A five- minute walk takes you to the gate manned by BSF who issue a small paper token allowing you to proceed. There is a notice announcing a ban on cameras, video cameras, mobile phones etc. I am carrying two of the forbidden items so check with the sentry. I am told that I can carry my mobile phone, which wouldn’t work in view of jammers installed at the border and the camera too is fine. The Notice must have been put up before they heard about Google Earth, which makes it unnecessary to shoot pictures of likely targets on the ground and no one ever thought of removing it. I walk for another ten minutes to pass through a tall arch with the four lions visible in the middle. The actual gates are just a little ahead but we are herded in to enclosures on either side- women to the left or men to the right. ‘Why this segregation?’, I felt like asking but the stern demeanour of the burly six feet plus Sikh soldier made me melt away without a whisper. There were the privileged ones who were allowed to drive right to the gate behind us and also to occupy chairs perched on our side. The commoners like me were pushed towards a stair case leading to steps behind.
The heat was unbearable and beads of perspiration kept falling from my chin. I wondered whether the BSF jawans guarding the border were made of better stuff or wore an absorbing fabric. The stands were filling up fast. The Pakistani side had lots of men in long shirts and salwars. Their women sat in a separate enclosure draped in black burqas or ethnic decorative dresses. A woman and her cameraman were shooting the entire sequence with unhindered access. They must be from PTV, I thought. Patriotic music was also being played on their side. I could not restrain myself any longer and asked the BSF officer close by why their speakers are silent. There was a shout for someone who nonchalantly replied that he did not know how to play a tape. Hope he knows how to fire a shot, I thought raising my eyebrows. Nonetheless ‘Chak de India’ did pierce through the silence a little later and I felt better.
The ceremony was a repeat of what I witnessed at Wagah and recounted in the earlier post on my blog. There was lot of stamping of feet by half a dozen men on both sides and long shouts, raising the rifle with a single hand and handing it over to the man standing next. The crowd on both sides was blatantly partial clapping for their own men and derisively laughing at the other. The presence of a couple of East Asian women with covered heads in the front row on Pakistani side and their enthusiastic support for Pakistani rangers was duly noted by the crowd.
As the Sun dipped over the horizon, the soldiers changed sides and brought the two flags down diagonally meeting for a minute at the middle. The symbolism was not lost on me but the crowd did not care and had begun to melt away. As I walked back in the twilight, I noticed barbed wire farther to my right with the flood-lit double-fencing to my left. I asked the BSF guard whether both the security rings belonged to us. He confirmed they did and we were walking between the two.
‘Don’t the Pakistanis need any barrier against us?’
‘What for? He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who would like to go there?’
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