IN MEMORIAM

1. MAJOR ROY BERRY
2. S. P. GODREJ
3. KAIVAN MISTRY
4. DR. ATSUSHI TOKUNAGA
5. LT. NAWANG KAPADIA

 

 

 

My father was interested in many things. In fact my mother has said on occasion that although it was she who had had the benefit of a private education it was dad who was accomplished in the art of social graces. He was a fine pianist, rode horses, played tennis and a good game of chess, spoke Hindi, French and German, restored oil paintings, could waltz with the best of them and could be utterly charming if he wanted to be. He could also be relentlessly ruthless if he thought someone had done him or his family a bad turn. He was principally a buildings engineer and structural surveyor and often at mealtimes we had to endure his theories of whether concrete or tarmac was a better surface for motorways, or hear the latest developments in drain technology, or listen to why the Humber Bridge was quite such a wonderful structure.

He was passionate about planning and development and as a town councillor was forever fighting battles to make sure some important building was preserved, or opposing the building of a new road if he believed it would be detrimental to the local people. He was for a time a lecturer in law and used this knowledge of the British legal system to great advantage over his rivals. He never lost a case, more I think that being a Yorkshireman he would not let go of an issue until others crumbled in the face of his determination. 'If a job's worth doing' he would say 'it is worth doing properly'. It was hopeless to argue. He was compassionate too and through the Witham Housing Association, which he formed, built many flats for elderly people in our home town.

It is a particularly cruel irony that he should succumb to that vilest of diseases for elderly people, Alzheimers. This destruction of the person's intellect leaving the body alive but destroying memory and character obliterates the dignity of an old person and is the most unfair way to die for someone who has been full of energy and enthusiasm throughout an active life.

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He came from a working class background and fought hard for a place in society. He wanted achievement, family security, to be respected, he had five year plans, projects he was working on, things that had to be done — 'work now play later' he would say. He liked people who 'said what they meant and did what they said'. He had an uncanny knack of knowing if you were telling a lie, or do all fathers have this skill? He was bullied at school but went into the army a private and came out a Major. He had twenty three letters after his name, but was most proud of his F.R.I.C.S. as he qualified via Direct Entry, studying at home in the evenings. He provided a 'Romantic' childhood for us and we for a while lived in a rented manor house near Oxford, and later the servant's quarters of a deserted country mansion. After this he designed and had built a house for us that had a tennis court, though it was a miracle we did not break the windows of the village hall next door. He loved dry stone walls, cement and mortar, turning things on a lathe, chopping wood. He was small in stature but then again they do not build diamonds as big as bricks.

The thing he loved most though was mountains. From an early age I begged him to take me climbing, and to be honest when he and I went off on our annual walking and climbing holiday to north Wales it was the only time when we got on like a house on fire. In his usual thorough style we worked our way through Poucher's book that lists all the peaks over 2,000 feet, and the trips always ended in an ascent of Snowdon. The first time was when I was about nine years old and we went up by the Watkin Path. When we reached the saddle between Snowdon and Lliwedd we entered the mist and the ground rose in front of us steeper and steeper, the shale slipped under my inexperienced feet and dad called a halt. He reached into his rucksack and brought out mum's washing line. This was it, I was really mountaineering now — how exciting, how serious, how one had to concentrate and how uncomfortable the drizzle and the wet rock, but I knew nothing could go wrong with dad in charge. Two days before he died something drove me to repeat the Watkin Path, something I had not done since that first time. The mist was in exactly the same place though there was snow on the summit and a biting wind. The first two people I met were a father and his son so obviously 'high' on having made their ascent — an odd twist of fate perhaps.

Having served in India during the war, and having lived in Assam building war graves for the men who died in the Burma conflict, he had the opportunity to travel and climb in the Himalaya. These were expeditions in the old fashioned style — nailed boots, ice axes that would look good now in a museum, tents made of canvas, and Sherpas who were hired in Darjeeling and who joined him and his companions in Delhi. His army connections meant that he was 'lent' vehicles and equipment, and permits were never a problem. After smaller exploits in Sikkim and Kashmir he set his sights on a more ambitious goal — Nun Kun, (7135 m), until that time still unclimbed. Today you can drive right to the foot of the mountain, in his time you had to trek from Srinagar. His climbing partners included Tom Stobart who later was the official photographer for the 1953 Everest expedition. They had a grand adventure and climbed White Needle Peak, a subsidiary of Nun Kun, before they ran out of time and all their cookers packed up. His tales and photographs of that expedition proved to be the fuel for my own trips to the Himalaya, and it gave dad immense pride when my brother and I and a few friends went back to Nun Kun and finished the job off in 1981.

He continued to be a keen hill walker into his late seventies before the disease really took hold and even then he was always restless to get away. My last time in the mountains with him saw us making an ascent of Snowdon, but by the mountain railway — something we would never have dreamed of doing in earlier years. By the next day he had already forgotten standing on the summit one last time. Such is this terrible illness.

I would like to tell you one last story about my dad. For a time he was a surveyor in London and commuted from our home in Essex. One day returning late at night he fell asleep at the wheel of his car, lost control and the car went off the road, somersaulted four or five times before coming to a stop upside-down on the verge. Dad recovered consciousness hanging upside down in his seat belt — his window was open and a hand reached in and a voice said 'its Mr Berry isn't it?' My father thought that he must be dead and that this was Angel Gabriel coming to welcome him into heaven. In fact by sheer coincidence an old student of his just happened to be travelling in the car behind and had stopped to help. It was a brief reconnaissance to the afterlife and 'time spent on reconnaissance is seldom wasted'. I would like to think that even now he is not finally gone but just off on a recce for the rest of us.

Steven K. Berry

 

 

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Till he died in May, 2000, Sohrab P. Godrej's humour and vitality remained intact. He was the doyen of all activities related to nature. A member of the Himalayan Club since 1978, President Emeritus of the World Wide Fund for Nature, India, he was associated with the Bombay Natural History Society and many other organisations. He worked actively for "The Indian Heritage Society" which fought against the destruction of many old heritage buildings in Mumbai. He did the same for other causes close to his heart. If a forest was cut at Matheran hill station near Mumbai, he would be up in arms, in courts of law. His commitment to the causes he took up was legendary.

Mr. Godrej was deeply conscious of the social responsibilities of business. The Godrej Industrial Garden Township at Pirojshanagar in Mumbai bears testimony to the various causes the Godrej's have been promoting in the fields of Housing, Education, Health and Family Welfare, and Environment. He was particularly proud that a large expanse of mangrove forest, perhaps the best on the west coast, adjoins the township which is being maintained and protected from poachers by the Soonabai Godrej Trust.

He believed as staunchly in fair business practices as he did in the social responsibilities of business. The trusteeship of wealth was a living concept with him wealth earned to become wealth shared for the common good.

Mr. Godrej lived by the values imbibed by him from his pioneering uncle Ardeshir and father Piroj sha who were driven by the motto of Self-respect through Self-reliance, reinforced by plain living and high thinking making Quality the watchword of their products instead of a mere catchword. Keeping customers satisfied and delighted, and workers contented. Putting money to its proper and most effective use. He always stressed the importance of abiding by these values for the Company's future.

Mr. Godrej believed that the best philosophy is to do the best one can. According to him, there were several components to this philosophy. The first is noblesse oblige, which holds that those who are better off in life owe an obligation to those less fortunate than themselves. Another component is to live and let live, acquire tolerance and understanding of other people. Still another is to bid good-bye, firmly and finally, to the deplorable chalta hai, chalne do (let it pass) attitude and develop a rational ethos, cultivating the scientific temper.

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Humility and graciousness were exemplified by him in all his dealings. As the President of India, Mr. M. R. Narayanan, put it in his Condolence Message: "For me, personally, his departure means the loss of an intimate and long-standing friend who was a wonderful human being whose head and heart functioned in fine balance."

Mr. Godrej was actively associated with various other bodies committed to the preservation of nature, wildlife and environment, linked with population control, such as 1001: A Nature Trust, the Family Planning Association of India, the Population Foundation of India, and so on.

International recognition of Godrej's contribution to the conservation of nature and natural resources was the conferment of the WWF 25^th Anniversary Benefactor 'White Pelican Award' on him by Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburg.

National honours included the Indira Gandhi Paryavaran Puraskar for 1991, the Indian Merchants' Chamber Award for his outstanding contribution in enhancing the image of the business community by personal service, the Jawaharlal Nehru Birth Centenary Award by the Indian Science Congress Association, and the Padma Bhushan by the Government of India.

A keen lover of art and culture, Mr. Godrej was on the Governing Board of the Indian Council for Cultural Relations. He was Past- President of the Alliance Francaise of Mumbai. Mr. Godrej travelled extensively, having visited over a hundred and sixty countries and all the seven continents (that is, including Antarctica).

Mr. Godrej was a devoted environmentalist, and in a sense a true Indian. It was more like a love affair with the environment, not merely a science. In his contribution to the Himalayan Club publication Environmental Protection of the Himalaya, he defined the importance of our environment: "Above all, for unity and racial harmony, we should adopt worship of the all-embracing Mother Nature. The Indian ethos is not complete without the inclusion of the sanctity of the Himalaya in all respects."

Naturally, he titled his contribution "The Sanctity of the Himalaya," as mountaineering, actively or passively, had given him spiritual satisfaction. He had trekked in Kashmir and Nepal. He had indulged in some climbing in the Swiss Alps, in the Andes, Rockies and had walked up to the summit of Kilmanjaro.

In the evening of his life, he coined the slogan: "Help Bring Our India Up, Quickly!" It has been said that all men cast shadows, but the rare among them shed light. Sohrab Godrej belongs to the latter category. The light he shed will illumine the path of duty for all of us for generations to come.

Rishad Naoroji

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I knew S. P. Godrej, or Spji as he was sometimes called with honour, as some one who was interested in mountains and mountaineers. It was rather easy to talk to him, almost like a friend even though he was much elder to me and a leading industrialist of India.

Once we had a gathering with Sir Chris Bonington and some of the leading mountaineers of the world. Mr. Godrej gave a party on the roof-top garden of his office building. He was wearing a black patch on his left sleeve. When I asked him about it, he said proudly: "This is my protest against corruption in India, so that people like you ask and become aware." Then, without elaborating further, he turned to Bonington and continued talking about the Alps and his Himalayan climbs. On another occasion, seeing me casting a glance at the black patch on his right sleeve, he remarked: "This is for the failure of our Family Planning Programme." His commitment to causes was legendary.

When Stephen Venables was injured on Panch Chuli (in 1992), Mr. Godrej had made it a point to visit him during one of his trips to the U.K. Even later he enquired about him. When I met him to inform him about our Indian-British Kinnaur expedition 1994, he listened carefully to all I had to say about our climbs. "Well done. Most importantly, you've all come back safely and happily."

But to me what appealed most was his great sense of humour. He was true Parsi at core, who are known for their humour. Spji can narrate a story with great aplomb. I could not help narrating an experience with him even at a sombre meeting organised to pay tributes to him.

The party was over, S.P. Godrej was about to depart from my house. Near the door he bent down to read the make of the lock.

'It is made by Godrej', my wife Geeta said. Godrej Industries makes the best locks in India and Spji is the Chairman of the Godrej companies in India.

'Good, it won't open then', Spji said and burst out laughing. 'What to do? I have formed this habit, wherever I go I look at the brand name on the locks. Once, decades ago, I went to the Russian Embassy for a visa. Waiting alone in a room I started checking the locks. I couldn't resist peeing through the key-hole to the other room. To my utter surprise from the other side, the Russian Ambassador was peeping back at me!'

It will be worthwhile to remember that whenever anyone pollutes environment, cuts a tree or kills a tiger, this great man will be peeping through a hole from above and will wave a black flag.

Harish Kapadia

 

 

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It was the summer of 1990 and along with Harish Kapadia I was trekking in the Gangotri region. As the sun was about to go down over the mountains we decided to a stroll on the banks of the Ganges to watch the majestic river cascading down in a waterfall opposite the Gangotri temple. We bumped into a group of Bombayites enthusiastically photographing the waterfall. One amongst them was Kaivan. That's where we met and Kaivan became a close friend and a long standing member of our group.

Kaivan Mistry was born in Bombay on 17 September 1968. After completing his education he moved on to become one of Bombay's most respected lighting designers and a name in the theatre circuit. But mountains were his first love. Kaivan was an avid trekker in the Western Ghats and a regularly seen at the rocks around Bombay.

In 1989 Kaivan undertook his first trek to the Himalaya, to the Annapurna Base Camp in Nepal. In 1990 he visited the Gangotri area for a trek to Dodital and then on to Tapovan. Kaivan loved being in the mountains and the happiness of being in the surroundings he loved so much was most visible and explicit on his face at all times on a trek. He underwent his formal training at NIM, Uttarkashi in 1992. In 1993 Kaivan took part in the Kullu — Spiti Lahaul expedition they explored the Ratang valley in great detail and crossed four high passes and climbed Parahio (5920 m). Subsequently he visited Rupi-Sorang valley in Kinnaur another unexplored area of the Himalaya with Harish.

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Kaivan's first major expedition was the Indo-British Kinnaur expedition in 1994 which was led by Harish Kapadia and Chris Bonington. The expedition made the first ascent of Rangrik Rang and climbed Manirang (6593 m). Kaivan himself made the first ascents of Mangala (5800 m), Saponang (5836 m) and Ghunsarang (5800 m). In 1995 we visited the Tso Moriri region in SE Ladakh. We reached the lake after a few days in Leh and then rode up to the base camp of Chhamser Kangri on horses. Ladakh sun beating down hard, made it difficult to move out in the open in the afternoon. We had to find a variety of methods of cooling ourselves. One afternoon we strolled into the mess tent to find Kaivan sitting with 2 Laukis (Bottlegourd) on his head and one under his shirt. We looked in amazement thinking our Parsi bawa had gone mad. Harish shot off Kaivan 'gando thai gayo' (Kaivan has gone mad) only to find out a few minutes later that our ingenious friend had discovered that the Laukis were the coolest thing around and were really helping him keep cool in the extreme heat. A few minutes later all of us raided the kitchen and were all sitting around with the balance Laukis on our heads.

He was a good climber but never over-ambitious about climbing. He enjoyed climbing, slow and steady relishing the views and clicking away with his camera. Whenever we used to push ourselves unnecessarily one tug on the rope and a smiling Kaivan pointed out 'Su che baba, relax guys enjoy yourself instead'. His smile was always the calming influence and it helped diffuse many a situation. Kaivan along with Harish went on to make the first ascent of Lungser Kangri (6666 m) and also climbed Chhamser Kangri (6622 m) and then trekked across northern Rupshu over 11 passes.

In 1997 we visited the Garhwal region traversing attempting to cross the Panpatia valley into the Madhyamaheshwar valley. In the second part of the trip we crossed the high passes in the Bhagat Kharak and Arwa glaciers. While some of us recceed the route ahead Kaivan made quick ascents of Deo Dekhni I (5400 m) and II (c. 5360 m). Difficult situations rarely unfazed Kaivan. While descending the difficult Shrak la into the Arwa glacier we had to descend a rather steep rock and ice wall next to an avalanche-chute. As the day wore on avalanches of all sizes poured down and one particular almost touched and had us all clinging to the rock face. As it whizzed passed, leaving us coated in a blanket of snow, we looked at each other trembling only to see Kaivan smiling and exclaiming 'Bachi gaya ave jaldi uthro' (Saved now lets rush down). He always bust out in Parsi Gujarati.

Kaivan was our handyman on all the trips. The trips many times equipment was damaged, stoves not functioning, radio not working or camera is shut. Any problem and out came Kaivan with his repair bag and somehow improvised and always solved the problem. Torn tents were mended with tapes stuck in a funny manner, stoves repaired with whatever was at hand — but finally it all worked.

Kaivan meanwhile became an active part of the team that produced the Himalayan Journal and was responsible for the indexing of the Journal from Vol 49 onwards. In June 1998 he visited the Siachen glacier in the Eastern Karakoram. Kaivan along with the team managed to reach the historic India Saddle and the Turkestan la at the head of this long glacier.

In 2000, Kaivan had injured the ligament on his ankle just a few weeks before he was to leave for the Karakoram. Determined as he was Kaivan exercised and nursed his ankle back to shape and went off on the expedition. This was the Indo-French Expedition to Rimo IV. The team reached the historic Karakoram Pass (5569 m), Col Italia and explored the Central Rimo glacier systems. On 25 September 2000 on the way back while crossing the swollen Shyok river near Gapshan the tragedy struck. Kaivan slipped and fell into the river and lost his life.

The Himalayan Club lost an enthusiastic and promising member and we lost a close friend. Kaivan will live on in our hearts and minds and his spirit still roams the mountains he loved so dearly.

Monesh Devjani

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My association with Kaivan goes back over 20 years when we were in school together. My earliest recollection was of him wearing khaki shorts, with his fair freckled face and brown eyes, grimacing when being called to attention by the school prefects before being led off to lunch; my last recollection of him was our having juice and a "Dev Anand" sandwich together behind Bhartiya Vidya Bhavan the night before he left for his fateful expedition.

What can I recount of the years spent with Kaivan, all of which were immensely enjoyable and funny. The masti and dhammal we had with his late Uncle Jimmy; playfully wrestling with him in Goa; the countless weekends we spent with friends in Alibaug, now seems so surreal and needless to say painful.

Kaivan's friends and associates will no doubt have seen certain facets of his personality depending on the context and setting in which they interacted with him. I despite being a close friend, only recently learnt of his interest in poetry. Kaivan was indeed in many ways a true Renaissance man. An intrepid photographer with interests as diverse as acoustics, lighting, poetry, and alas mountaineering. However, I am sure that all those here who came in contact with Kaivan will bear me out when I claim that the most striking characteristic about him were his human qualities.

Unassuming, genuine and transparent, Kaivan endeared himself to all he came in touch with. Always willing to help, very often at his inconvenience, listening patiently and silently to me during troubled times; I will miss his loyalty and generosity of spirit. I can recount innumerable instances of Kaivan's qualities of heart. But the one, which serves as an outstanding example, was when his cook who secretly harboured aspirations of becoming a taxi driver took his car out early one Sunday morning only to wrap it around a lamppost. Despite the frustration and anger that Kaivan must have felt at having his Sunday ruined and his car wrecked, his first thought was the welfare of his cook who he personally accompanied to hospital and had treated. The Bombay police, who are not generally given to an open display of appreciation, were quite taken aback and insisted that Kaivan leave the formalities for later and have lunch with them at the police station.

Those of you who know Kaivan's parents will acknowledge that he was in many ways a reflection of them, a 'first class' human being who truly practiced the Zoroastrian credo of "Good Words, Good Thoughts, and Good Deeds". It therefore seems all the more unjust that fate had ordained such an abrupt end for him. Perhaps it was God's will that the mountains he loved so much claimed him. Though no more Kaivan will always remain in some way a part of the lives of his close friends. The best tribute I can pay him is to hope to emulate during the course of my life, in however small measure, his nobility of spirit. May his soul rest in peace!

Yatha Jamyiad, Yatha Afrinami. (As I have prayed, so shall it be)

Zarir Bharucha

 

 

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Dr. Atsushi Tokunaga passed away on 4 September 2000, at the age of 73. He was a member of the third Manaslu (8163 m) Expedition of the Japanese Alpine Club led by Yuko Maki in 1956. In this expedition, Toshio Imanishi and Sirdar Gyaltsen Norbu succeeded in standing at the summit for the first time.

Dr. Tokunaga graduated from Naniwa Senior High School, where he spent seven years from 1940. He was already a member of the school mountaineering club during the first three years at this school and climbed many mountains in the Japanese Alps with his seniors. Upon graduation in 1947, he entered the Medical Department of Osaka University, and established the post-educational reforms in Osaka University Mountaineering Club. He held records for excellent climbs in the Ushiro Tateyama area. His ties with Toshino Imanishi originated from their common identity as former members of the Naniwa Senior High School Mountaineering Club. He also organised the four expeditions From 1961. One was to Peak 29 (7835 m), which is located between Manaslu and Himal Chuli (7893 m, Keio University Alpine Club succeeded climbing this summit).

The Manaslu expedition Report was compiled by the Japanese Alpine Club and published by the Mainichi Shimbun, in which Dr. Tokunaga wrote articles entitled "Medical Supplies and Equipment", "Medical Investigations in the Local Community" and "Hygiene Control in the Caravan". He also wrote "Medical Observations in High-Altitudes" with the late Dr. Hirokichi Tatsunuma and Dr. Fusao Yamazaki, and an in memoriam of Toshio Imanishi in the Himalayan Journal.

Dr. Tokunaga excelled not only as a mountaineer, but also as an organiser. He was a life member of the Japanese Alpine Club, the President of the Osaka University Mountaineering Club and the President of the District 2660 Rotary Club, Osaka, Yodogawa.

Teruo Oshima

 

 

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Nawang Kapadia was not an extraordinary person. But he dreamt. His dream was to serve India, and in doing so he reached from ordinary to extraordinary. As T. E. Lawrence¹ says in his famous quotation, Nawang dreamt with open eyes and, ironically, made his dream come true.

Nawang started trekking in the Western Ghats near Bombay at a young age. Trekking was in the family. We climbed a small peak when he was six years old. He raised his hands and was jumping with joy. We continued going to the hills and as a young boy he accompanied me on several treks. We once stood on the edge of the famous wall of Harishchandra Gad, a historical fort of Shivaji. It was too cold that night to sleep and we reached the edge of the fort early in the morning. The morning sun rising from behind us, cast our long shadows on the clouds swirling up from the valley. Our shadows were on the clouds which were rushing towards us. It was one of the many unforgettable moments that I shared with my son, Nawang.

As he grew up Nawang developed various interests. The first was his love for cricket. He was a strong supporter of the Bombay cricket team. I remember sitting with him at the Wankhede stadium for several days on end, cheering the great names which batted for Bombay. In fact, every time the Bombay team won a game, Nawang would be seen sitting at home and polishing off several rounds of rassagullas (his favourite sweet). He continued studying, enjoying cricket, taking an interest in the local theatre, viewing serious cinema, enjoying Indian classical music concerts, helping me in business and in publishing the Himalayan Journal. Soon he built up a record of several visits to the Himalaya. He came with me to Ruinsara lake when he was eleven, the following year to Kinnaur, and later to the base camp of Panch Chuli with our Indian-British expedition. At the start of my expeditions, Nawang and Sonam would help with the packing and in the checking-in of the large number of bags into the Indian Railways' wagons. Whenever I returned from the mountains they were the first to see my slides, hear the jokes and listen to the events, which were soon widely circulated by Nawang amongst his friends. Nawang underwent mountaineering training and he continued enjoying trekking in the Himalaya and in the Sahyadris (Western Ghats), and climbing at Pachmarhi (Central India) with us for several years. He organised few small Himalayan outings with his group of friends. Soon he was elected as a Life Member of the Himalayan Club.

 

In 1996 he was part of my team which visited the war-torn Siachen glacier in the eastern Karakoram. We climbed and saw the Indian Army in operation, at close quarters. There Nawang came in contact with several young army officers and I could see him discussing various aspects of the army life with them. There was a glitter in his eyes when he met Brigadier Randhir Sinh on the glacier and possibly this was the trip that made him decide to join the army.

Right from a very young age men in uniform always attracted Nawang. One of his maternal uncles was Lt. Gen. Ramesh V. Kulkarni. He would discuss various army-related topics with him for long hours and we have some wonderful pictures of young Nawang proudly standing with this giant man. Once when he was a child, Geeta and I, trying to punish him, left him with a policeman in the streets of Panaji in Goa. We thought he would come crying behind us, but instead he started chatting with the policeman as if they were long standing friends. After he completed graduation, I persuaded him to join the family cloth business. He could have had financial security and spent the rest of his life sitting in an air-conditioned shop and enjoying the life-style of an average Bombay boy. But within a year it was evident that his heart was somewhere else.

He applied to the Officer's Training Academy in Chennai for a one year course to become an Army Officer. After going through a tough selection process, finally as the last hurdle he was asked to reduce 12 kg in a couple of weeks. He had the Kapadia tendency to put on weight easily and relished food. But with single minded determination, Nawang exercised morning and evening, jogged, practiced yoga and above all remained on a strict diet. Once during these days we were lunching in Delhi and each one of us ordered variety of goodies to eat, and there on the table Nawang was having a bowl of clear soup and single piece of toast without butter. His determination paid off and he entered his chosen life.

I visited him in the Academy during the period of training. Over the weekend, while we were there, the entire batch had marched almost 50 km carrying loads on their backs. We were to visit him in the afternoon and Nawang asked us to get almost 14 dishes of Chinese food. Sitting at the table, Nawang and his friend polished off the stuff in a hurry. I had never seen him more satisfied, confident and fit. He was ready to be an Army Officer.

We gave him a farewell party and he was proud to be joining the 4th Battalion of the 3rd Gorkhas. Nawang was neither aggressive nor believed in violence, but he firmly believed in justice and democracy. For this he was ready take up arms. On his table there always was a photo of Mahatma Gandhi, whose principles he valued. Nawang was now living the dream — his dream and he discovered the best within him.

The unit was posted in Kupwara in Kashmir. Once in Kashmir with his unit, he was involved in operations immediately. During a battle on 11^th November 2000 he found himself trained and compelled from within to rush to the rescue of an injured Jawan, in spite being under heavy fire from the militants. It takes more courage than we can imagine to feel the pain of an injured soldier so much that you ignore your own safety and rush forward in the face of bullets. He was living out his dream. He died instantly, killed by a single bullet.

In any philosophy or religion the saddest moment for a father is to carry the body of his son for cremation. I had to undergo that experience, the hammer-blow of fate. But as an Indian poet has said;

Ashique ka janaza tha, badi shan se utha

(It was a funeral procession of a loved one and it was carried with great dignity.)

In the presence of several Army Officers, almost everyone whom we knew in Mumbai was present there. The Last Post was sounded and 21 Gun Salutes were fired. Lt. Nawang, wrapped in the Indian Tricolour was cremated. I naturally broke down, but I dare say there was a tear in every eye.

Nawang's was a soldier's death. He believed in the Hemingway's quotation, which we later found in his belongings, 'The world is a fine place and worth fighting for'. He had much promise as a soldier to work towards it. We, the Kapadia family, wear the Gorkha Khukri Badge proudly to remind us that we must keep Nawang and his memories alive, so much so that he 'lives' long after even we are gone. Sonam, Geeta and I, remain in contact with his friends and the unit and try to spread awareness about the bloody war in Kashmir. We make it a point to tell about it to all we meet and indirectly, through articles and lectures, about the problems of that war which is claiming many Nawangs.

In The Bhagavadgita, that eternal guiding truth of the Hindu philosophy, Lord Krishna states that :

While all things are supported by God, things of beauty or splendour reveal Him more than others. Every deed of heroism, every life of sacrifice, every work of genius, is a revelation of the Divine. The epic moments of a man's life are inexplicably beyond the finite mind of man.²

As a father I was looking forward to sharing days with Nawang; to listen to music, to laugh with him, to watch cricket together in the Mumbai stadiums and when Nawang would come home on leave, to climb peaks with him. Little did I realise that his aim was to ride on clouds and climb to Heaven.

The ways and means of Nature are unpredictable, but there must be some reason why such a young, affectionate and committed life was thus taken away. Nawang lives today with us as his dream. And while he lived this dream, he became bigger than all of us. A Hero.

Harish Kapadia

 

 

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