As the small military convoy headed up the steep hill road towards Aizawl, the capital of  Mizoram, Brigadier Vijay Sinha looked out of the window of his staff car. A few yards ahead was a jeep with his armed escort -  a young lieutenant and four rather ferocious looking Gurkhas armed to the teeth. Another jeep with five armed men and a driver was keeping a similar gap behind them. Vijay couldn't help smiling. “The Government wants to keep me alive,” he thought. His daughter Anjali who was sitting with him in the back seat had dozed off, her head on his shoulder. He felt a surge of affection towards her. She had been born in Military Hospital Aizawl twenty five years ago when he was posted there as a young Captain. His wife, Anuradha, had refused to go back home to Patna for the delivery. She had had a premonition that if she were to do so then Vijay would get killed  fighting the Mizo insurgent groups who were opposing the rule of Delhi. “An olive green angel” were the words used by his commanding officer Colonel Kaul to describe the cute newborn baby.

When the convoy reached a relatively flat stretch of  road Vijay asked his staff officer Captain Debashish Mohanty, who was sitting in the front seat,  to ask the convoy to stop. A message was sent on the walkie-talkie and the convoy came to a halt. Vijay woke up Anjali, “Get up lazybones, see how beautiful the scenery is from here.” Anjali woke up with a smile. She did not remember anything of Mizoram from her infancy. She was barely a year old when her parents had left Aizawl and had gone to Jodhpur where her dad had been posted to a Desert Corps.  Her mother Anuradha was no more now. She had died when Anjali was eighteen. “ I feel Mama is here with us at this moment Papa,” she told her father. Vijay smiled, “I am sure she is.” Debashish had gone to get some tea made for them. The soldiers guarding them had done a fast job of making a few cups of tea. Tea,   biscuits and the lovely view from the top. Lush green forests, groves of bamboo and beautiful flowers. It was as if they were in heaven. Vijay, Anjali and Debashish stood by the side of the road and looked at the beautiful sight below them.

”Time to leave,” said Vijay. “Yes Sir,” said Debashish. A word from him and the lieutenant ordered the escort to get ready. “We could do without this escort,” said Vijay, “Mizoram is a peaceful place today. It wasn’t so when we left with you last,” he told Anjali. “Oh,” said Anjali. “In fact it was a few kilometers from here that Shekhawat Uncle was killed in an ambush in 1983. He had fought bravely but he stood no chance.” Anjali was shaken by this sad fact, “Oh papa, were the Mizo rebels cruel?” “Not at all,” said Vijay, “they believed they were fighting for a just cause. Our politicians can turn heaven into hell. I do not blame the Mizos.” The convoy continued up the hills. Vijay remembered Anuradha and her beautiful smile. He dozed off thinking of her and her beautiful long hair. He used to call her Jaya. “Because Jaya Bhaduri looks like you,” he used to tell her with a smile. “Tum bhi na…” Anuradha used to protest lovingly.  He felt like crying whenever he remembered the way she used to say  “Tum bhi na…” .

”Wake up Papa,” he heard Anjali saying. He woke up with a start. He had been asleep an hour. One of the jeeps had a punctured wheel  and they would have to use a spare. They had to wait for ten minutes or so till this was done. Vijay took a water bottle and wet the hand towel he was carrying. He used it to wipe his face. He and Anjali sat on the rocks by the side of the road. Anjali had taken out her camera and was clicking away merrily. A group of Mizo schoolgirls passed them. Smartly dressed in navy blue skirts and white shirts. Laughing. Full of innocence.  They smiled at Anjali and she took a few pictures of them too. Debashish brought them some tea and biscuits. “Oh no,” said Anjali, “we just had some.” “It will do you good,” said Debashish, “especially as none of us have had any lunch.”

While they were sipping tea the young lieutenant came and told Debashish that there was a nice stream flowing nearby. “Let’s go,” said Vijay. Anjali laughed with happiness. The stream was barely twenty yards away.  Its beauty took one’s breath away. Anjali took off her shoes and socks and sat on a rock with her feet dipped in the water. Debashish took her camera and clicked some pictures of her. He was a few years younger than her and he had a crush on her. Vijay had understood it. He was touched by it.

”Time to move Sir,” the young lieutenant came and told them. Debashish held Anjali’s hand as they made their way through the rocks towards the path. Vijay looked at them and wondered what would happen to Anjali if he were no more. She couldn’t go back to Patna and live there with his brothers. Her rather cosmopolitan upbringing had made her a total misfit in Bihar. She refused to get married too. He didn’t hold that against her. He uttered a silent prayer for her.She looked up just at that moment, it was as if she heard his prayer.  It was a beautiful sight. Debashish was holding her hand and she was looking towards Vijay and smiling. There was something about her smile which was infectious. Vijay’s fears evaporated. He realized that he needn’t worry about her. She would always be happy. It was as if his prayers had been answered.
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My earlier Short story: A policeman escorts a young vagabond boy in a bus. The boy looks mortally scared. I feel for him. A real life event. The policeman, the boy and the writer :