It's late at night or in the very
early hours of the morning that it happens. When the hubbub of the world is
stilled, and all is silent as people rest tired bodies and lose themselves to
dreams and deep slumber. It's not even something that I experience very often,
being a sound sleeper. But once in a while, something awakens me and in the
brief moments of wakefulness, I hear it. The distant rumble of a truck, the
thrum of its engine or the long low honk of a truck horn as it wends its way
along some road somewhere. Memories steal in, now mere fragments with the
onslaught of time but vivid in their tenacity.
Long queues of trucks parked
along a winding road in darkness. Military trucks, Bedford lorries, the odd
jeep or two, an Assam State Transport bus¹ with its distinctive
rhino symbol. As the trucks grind to a tired halt, my mind replays the sound I
recall so well even these decades upon decades later – a sibilant hiss as
compressed air from miles of driving over rough mountain terrain is released from
the brakes. The handyman jumping smartly down from the elevated truck cabin to
deftly place a wooden wedge against a rear wheel so the truck does not roll
away. Passengers moving about quietly, stretching legs and backs after being
cooped up inside the vehicles for hours, some making for nearby bushes in
urgent answer to nature’s call.
Military escort parties then shepherded all vehicles moving around
the territority laden with essential supplies and passengers, both military and
civil. Convoy Commanders, usually young army captains, assigned to provide safe
passage against insurgent ambushes, empowered to make stops and starts for the
thirty to forty strong vehicle convoy and authorised to take any necessary
action in the event of trouble. With nighttime journeys obviously
unthinkable, the convoy Commander would call for a night halt at day’s end and
military personnel would unload provisions of water and rice bags and cook
evening meals on kerosene stoves by the roadside. Most passengers carried their
own tiffins, as they called them, while the army men would share their food
with those with nothing to eat. Since I was a little too young to remember details, an older cousin with a sharper memory tells me
that my grandmother would carry boiled eggs, potatoes and rice that she had
laboriously prepared in advance to feed her little family enroute the long
journey. Once the meals were eaten and cleared, passengers would get back to
their respective vehicles for an uneasy, restless night’s sleep in cargo holds
sheathed with thick waterproof tarpaulin. The next morning, after quick
obligatory revisits to the nearby bushes, the truck engines would throb back to
life and the convoy would be on the move once again. Another convoy traveller
tells me that there was no washing of faces or brushing of teeth, unless there
was a little stream nearby, no morning tea or meal, none of which particularly
bothered poverty-hardened survivors of a famine which had directly caused
the rambuai².
But it’s not just convoy memories
that nocturnal motor sounds evoke. For years the only passage for Mizos to the
rest of the world was via the Silchar³ route, now part of the
Indian National Highway 54. A tortuously winding road snaking through the
mountains with a steep fall on one side and cliff slopes overgrown with
vegetation on the other, just barely wide enough for two heavy vehicles to pass
each other. Landslides were common occurrences particularly during the rainy
season, causing time-consuming delays and forcing travellers to sometimes spend
several days in covering the slightly less than 200-kilometre distance between
Aizawl and Silchar.
Having travelled up and down this
highway several times in my early years, first for survival and refuge, and
later for schooling in Shillong, Haflong⁴ and Darjeeling, I
remember how fresh and bracing the mountain air felt especially when returning
home from the scorching plains of Silchar. But the physical passage through it
was often difficult and challenging. At times when the road was impassable due
to landslides and rockfalls, travellers had to make do with spending nights
either snatching naps in the buses, cars or jeeps, or taking grateful shelter
in one of the little villages along the way, the inhabitants of which were used
to unexpected overnight guests.
The shadow of rebel ambushes and
attacks along travel routes persisted long after the rigid convoy travel
restrictions for civilians were eased off. On one occasion, this time at the
height of summer in June 1980, I was part of a college excursion tour visiting
various cities in the country – Calcutta, Bombay (as they were then known) and
Delhi where the first thing we did, after freshening up from the long train
journey from Gauhati, was to visit Pu Laldenga, leader of the MNF, at the
insistence of the boys in our tour party. He was then living in Delhi for peace
negotiations with the Central Government, and as we all crowded into their
sitting room, the boys hung on to his every word in hushed reverence as he
spoke persuasively about politics in low, confidential tones, while most of the
girls dozed off in exhaustion.
By the end of the tour, we
finally headed home, piling onto our hired Mizoram State Transport Bus at
Silchar, relieved to leave behind the heat of the plains and breathe in
refreshing cool air. We happily sang songs (as Mizos tend to do when riding
long distance in vehicles) – patriotic Mizo songs, Christian songs, and the bus
sailed past the small border towns of Vairengte and Bilkhawthlir without
incident. At the outskirts of the next town, Kolasib, we were stopped to be
told that MNF rebels had ambushed an Indian Army bus, killing four and injuring
others, literally minutes after we had driven past. One of the boys remarked
that the rebels had probably already been in position, hiding and waiting in
the bushes by the road, and seen and heard us singing as we moved past. It was
an unsettling thought.
I recall that it was also on this
occasion that the bus was stopped once more, this time because there had been
an accident, of which there were regrettably many, given the treacherous
terrain. A truck had driven off the road and a rescue effort was underway for
the victims. As we got off the bus to stretch our legs, a team of rescue
volunteers were just climbing out of the ravine with one of the bodies – a
smallish figure, a woman we were told, slackened in death, and respectfully
laid by the roadside, shrouded in a Mizo puan⁵. Mizos are
reverential with their dead, with a “mitthi puan” traditionally brought by
mourners to drape over the mortal remains of the departed soul by way of paying
their last respects. In case of accidents in isolated places such as road
accidents, at least one or two women who happen to be nearby quickly remove
their puan to cover the body. Or when YMA⁶ rescue teams set out in
search of missing persons, many volunteers carry along a puan in case the
missing is found dead.
It's been many years since but I
remember all too well the sound and feel of sitting in a vehicle lumbering
along the mountain roads, swaying and lurching past kilometre after kilometre
of thick jungles and little highway hamlets. The steady hum of the engine
gently lulling passengers into exhausted sleep, woven into which were the
frequent honks of the motor as it navigated the many twists and turns through
the winding road, while manoeuvring past the many goods trucks coming from
Silchar, heavy-laden with provisions for the Mizo populace.
In retrospect, I suppose having
spent so much of my early life on those long road journeys, I will always
retain a great deal of nostalgia for sights and sounds that remind me of those
days, no matter how traumatic or exhausting. And nighttime sounds will continue
to wake me from time to time, bringing in whispers of those long gone, long
done, long ago yesterdays.
¹Assam State Transport:
Mizoram was earlier part of the state of Assam and called the Mizo Hills
District before becoming the Union Territory of Mizoram in 1972 and achieving
full statehood in 1987
²rambuai - the Mizo
Uprising/ Revolt (known as the buai or rambuai in Mizo) led by
the Mizo National Front (MNF) which broke out on March the 6th 1966
with a declaration of independence from the Indian government, a direct
consequence of the Mautam famine of 1960 when the Indian govt. did little to
help the Mizo people
³Silchar - a small town in Assam
⁴Haflong – a
small town and hill station in Assam
⁵puan –
traditional attire for Mizo women, a sarong-like cloth wrapped around
the waist and covering the legs
⁶YMA – Young
Mizo Association, the largest secular, non-government group in the state
