The Land of Roses

       Gauri looked at the old key she was holding. Today it brought out mixed emotions in her - a lump in her throat and a mad desire to laugh. Because his cupboard would be unlocked again. Those earrings would finally come out of the closet. She would wear them today. All her life, she had waited for this day. She’d almost feared it would never come. But here it was. The day of redemption. The day when history would be made. Because there had been enough of them like him. Too many. Too many to be justified. But not anymore. No, there wouldn’t be any more of them like him. And there won’t be any more of them like her.

       The doors creaked loudly as she opened the cupboard. A pungent smell reached her nose and the combined effect of the smell and the accumulated dust sent her into a coughing fit. She waited for it to pass. As she recovered from the cough, she breathed in again and looked inside the cupboard. There was a wide assortment of objects. She found herself reaching for a dusty old frame. One glance and it all came flooding back. A reminder of happier times. The glimpse of a perfect life - whole and complete. And an acknowledgement of the self-imposed denial. Denial of reality, and then the realisation that the memories were still there. Hidden somewhere in a forgotten little corner. A corner, she sometimes pretended, did not exist. It had been a while since she had visited this part of herself. The flashes of the bygones came onto her in rapid torrents, though slightly blurred now, like an old reel of some black and white movie. She was still amused with the way her movie had started.

       They had met through Gauri’s brother, Milind. He was her brother’s friend and three years older than her. Gauri had always insisted that she didn’t want to have an arranged marriage. So when Milind Dada suggested that she meet his friend as a prospective groom, she had flatly refused. Because journalist Gauri Jadhav prided herself on being a fiercely independent woman. Milind Dada had said, “That’s rubbish, Gauri. Why don’t you meet him first and then decide? You’re never going to find a guy like Sameer again.”

       When they finally met during Milind Dada’s wedding, Gauri could not help liking Sameer. Somehow, small talk led to long phone calls and ‘hanging out as friends’ turned into romantic dates. What started off as a crush soon blossomed into love. A year later, Gauri proposed and Sameer accepted. The families were told and whatever apprehensions her parents might have had about Sameer’s profession, disappeared on meeting him. Gauri and Sameer got married. She would later laugh at the look on Sameer’s face as she’d popped the question and his playful teasing about how she’d stolen his thunder by proposing first.

       Even now, she laughed out loud and it was the sound of her own laugh that brought her back to the present. Her laugh turned into a sob as she looked again at the dusty frame in her hand. Strange, she thought, how some objects affect us. Strange, scary even, the way they hold so much power over us, even when the subjects that they signify have been...

       “Gone. Long gone”, she said in a whisper as a tear trickled down her eye.

       That is why she never touched his cupboard. It was painful, not just because he wasn’t there anymore but because time had started to make its’ presence felt. It happened slowly but it had been a while since she struggled to remember his face - his broad forehead, his dark eyes, his sharp nose and his beautiful lips. The memories were there but he was fading away from them. She struggled to remember the sound of his laugh, his cheeky look when he said something funny, the worry showing on his face when she was down with a terrible fever - it was all slipping through her fingers. But she would not let it go, because that was all she had. So she chose to deny his absence altogether. Or sometimes even his existence, for that matter. On some days she would pretend she’d never met anyone called Sameer, and on the others, she’d pretend he was alive.

       Her mind went back to that day which had changed her life. Sameer had come home after a long time - for the last time. They had been married for three years but she hadn’t seen him in eight months. When he came home, she threw herself into his arms and he broke the news to her. One word was all it took. One word to stop her heart. Hers as well as his.

       Siachen.

       She never suspected when Major Sameer Deshmukh was transferred there that he would literally die ON the battlefield. The world’s highest battlefield, to be precise.

       Or maybe she did suspect it. She just never thought it would happen with him. Because she knew about Siachen - an inhospitable terrain with extreme weather conditions - sub-freezing temperatures, cold hostile winds - uninhabitable by all practical sense. It was a media sensation, that place. It was, apparently, one of those issues that had made matters worse with Pakistan. And every time it was in news, the same process repeated itself - allegations and counter allegations, blame games - the same old stuff that left you wary after a while and made you wish that they’d just sit down together, find a solution and be done with it. Simple as that.

       That’s what it was for her - Siachen - a faraway land with faraway stories, which had faraway problems with simple solutions. That was all it was for her - until now. Now, when her own husband would go and serve there. Her life would be permanently sealed with the destiny of Siachen.

       Siachen, she would now realise, was a real place with real stories. There were real problems that civilians could hardly even imagine and solutions were only in theory. Because the Siachen conflict was almost as old as independence itself. The region had been a part of the boundary dispute - the 76 km stretch of the Siachen glacier and its’ surrounding area in Kashmir’s far north - which both India and Pakistan claimed as their own. The British, in their wake, had left a legacy of political instability through incomplete boundary demarcation, in addition to Partition, which would haunt both the countries for years to come. Common sense dictated that the extremities of Siachen rendered it practically uninhabitable by all means. And yet, the Indian Army had been holding post there since 1984 - they said it was a highly strategic location from a national security viewpoint. Since then, India had continued to spend crores everyday over Siachen and it's security. Both sides had lost more than 2000 troops over the years - most of them due to geographical extremities and a mere fraction in actual combat. The talks about demilitarisation were merely that - talks - because neither India nor Pakistan budged from their stands - neither politically nor physically. And ironically enough, the word Siachen literally meant 'land of roses'.

       Gauri was used to Sameer’s transfers by now. She herself had to travel a lot for her work. He had served in the remotest of locations in the country. She was proud of what he did and yet it scared every time to see him go. Somewhere, a small part of her knew that maybe, someday, he would bravely die defending the country - a hero’s death. But a bigger part of her hoped that he would live to tell the tale with his battle scars as proof.

       She was right on one count. He would die defending the country.

       But he wouldn’t be killed by the enemy. He wouldn’t be killed by the wounds inflicted by their weapons.

       He would be killed by nature’s fury. He would be caught in a massive avalanche. He would be buried alive under thirty feet of snow and die of hypothermia, frost bite and multiple organ failure. He would die because, even though his spirit was strong enough to withstand any calamity, his body was not. Thirty feet under the snow - medically there was no hope, especially when it was already six days since the calamity had struck and the rescue team hadn't been able to find him and the other ten soldiers who had been with him when the avalanche occurred.

       A phone call from Siachen had brought her the news. Gauri, who was visiting her parents at the time, had collapsed to the floor. She would later remember very little about the days that followed. How she survived, she knew not. The only thing that she remembered was that they never found his body. His last rites were completed two months after the incident, on his belongings, instead of his dead body.

       For a few years after that, she was a shell. She took up a desk job at work. She wouldn't talk much, she wouldn't go out, she just led a mechanical existence. She would even avoid meeting Milind Dada because she knew it was as painful for him as it was for her. After all, he was the connecting thread between Sameer and her. She lived like that for two years until that day, when her life changed for the second time.

       Gauri was sitting in front of the TV one day, absentmindedly flipping through the channels. She suddenly came across 'breaking news' flashing on all news bulletins. As she realised what was going on, a cold dread consumed her - a horrible sense of deja vu. There had been another avalanche at Siachen. Eight soldiers were buried alive under twenty feet of snow and only one of them had been rescued. He too, was battling for his life in the ICU. She sat like that in front of the TV until she realised with a start, that what pulsed through her veins now was not grief but white hot fury. Eight more martyrs like Sameer. And eight more widows like her. That day, for the first time, she would come out of her shell and see that it wasn't about her and Sameer alone. There had been so many more like them and there would be countless more until this madness was stopped.

      That day, she decided to fight. She would be the fearless journalist she had once been. She would be a brave soldier’s wife and she would fight. Fight against what had taken him away. Him and so many others.

       And so it started. The process that would bring redemption. Armed with her purpose, she talked to everyone who she thought could help her - Sameer’s superiors, her superiors, university professors, political analysts, retired soldiers, senior bureaucrats, authors - the list was endless. She set out on a mission that would lead her to the others like her - the wives and families of soldiers who had died in Siachen - both from India as well as Pakistan. It took three years to find and contact them. Being a journalist had been the best help so far. The contacts from her office had helped her get in touch with one of the most influential journalists in Pakistan, Aziza Qureshi. Aziza was moved after Gauri told her what she had in mind. She promised Gauri that she would do all she could to help her fulfil her purpose.

       Together they launched a massive civilian movement called 'AMAN' on both sides of the border. Non government organizations by the same name were started in both countries. They were entrusted with the work of gathering support and influencing public opinion. Every available medium would be used - traditional ones like newspaper, radio and television as well as modern ones like social media. With the entire media involved in it, it rapidly garnered attention. The struggle had begun.

       From the very beginning, they knew that this was not an easy road to travel. Far from it. This was a battle. And everything was fair in war. They were threatened by many of those who felt that the movement was an existential crisis for them. There was blackmail, life threats and even attempts on their lives. There were times when they had narrowly escaped. All of this, in addition to the lack of political will, change of governments in both countries, communalism, vested interests, mutual hostility, the threat of non state actors, terrorists, confusing of this issue with the others like Kashmir - there were too many roadblocks. But most of all, it was the historical hatred among the common people of India and Pakistan, which was the hardest to defeat. It was a knockout round. If they were to survive, they had to win each game.

       They had struggled through the years, slipping, tripping, falling, but always rising to play to the end. It took a long time, lots of patience and heavy sacrifices on their side. But in the end, even destiny could not deny them what was rightfully theirs. The day they were waiting for was here at last.

       Today would be history, as the news channels constantly reminded everyone. Historic day, they kept screaming, as “BREAKING NEWS” kept flashing on the screen. Never in the history of the world had such a long standing strategic issue been resolved through civilian pressure. A year ago, The Siachen Peace Agreement had been signed between India and Pakistan. A year ago, it was decided that the two countries would jointly build a Siachen Peace Park along and around the glaciers' downstream side and the flags of both the countries would be hoisted together at 6000 metres - a tribute to the more than 2000 soldiers from both countries, who had lost their lives in the prolonged conflict. A fortnight ago, the actual work was completed and today, the park would be inaugurated by the Indian President and his Pakistani counterpart through a live conference from Delhi. Smt. Gauri Deshmukh, as the undisputed leader of the movement from India, had been invited along with Mrs. Aziza Qureshi, her counterpart in Pakistan, to be guests of honour.

       Gauri would turn seventy-three next week. Her mad desire to laugh was in the brief moment when this thought crossed her mind - she was an old woman now but her husband would still remain as young as ever. She sat now in their Delhi home looking at the old frame as tears trickled down her eyes. She took out the box of earrings which he had gifted her before he left for Siachen. "Wear it on our date, the next time I'm home", he had said. After he died, Gauri couldn't bear to look at his gift, let alone wearing it. But today was different. Today she would finally wear those earrings to the inaugural function.

       For everyone who had fought for the movement, the day had come but very late. The wait had been too long and the price paid had been too heavy. During the forty-two years of their struggle for demilitarisation, so many more lives had been lost in Siachen. So much more money - thousands of crores of rupees - had been spent in securing the 'human cold storage'.

       But Gauri would not think today of what had been lost, because she was eternally grateful for what had been won. There would be no one like Sameer anymore.

       "Ma'am, your car is here", her secretary called from the living room, interrupting her thoughts. Gauri took the earrings out of their box and wore them. Picking up the dusty old frame, she said quietly to her husband's photograph, "Well, how do I look?" And somewhere from the depths of her heart, Sameer's voice would answer, "Beautiful as ever, my love!"