Shunka, Our domestic help becomes a JCO

  Shunka, our domestic help becames a JCO 

I am not from an elitist family, but from a well to do Sud/Sood family who save every penny to build a financial reserve, I believe my father had enough money to hire help if it was necessary. We lived in the city, but when the schools closed in Shimla in the winter, the whole family closed lock, stock and barrel and returned to the village where our ancestors lived. Back in the village, there was an urgent need for help for my mother with 5 children between 15 to 2 years old, for different jobs. I am the two years old. We are the village micro credit managers, like 28 other families in the village. The year is 1945 and Pirthi, a Brahmin farmer about 3 miles walk from our village home had borrowed some money from my father which he could not pay back. He had a son named Shunka (Sunak Ram), 14 years old and he sent him to work in our house as a part payment. It was a good deal for my mother and the best from my perspective as Shunka carried me on his shoulders all the time. For Shunka his schooling had not taken off in 1945, though a tiny elementary school had existed just 2 miles away and taught the 3R. He attended that school with great irregularity as distance as well as his parents need for additional helping hands at the sowing time and later at the harvest time kept him away from the school. I can't say for certain, but it was my mother who persuaded Pirthi to send Shunka to school. In an act of goodwill, my father suspended his recovery and allowed the boy to go to school. 

For the next four years in the winter, we returned to the village as usual and Shunka will come back to work in our household for three months. He worked during his morning and evening free hours. His big job was to draw water from the well about a mile away, also go get milk and miscellaneous items from the Village market again about a mile away. All this he did with great diligence. In return, my mother will cover his tuition fees for the entire year. My sisters later told me that his school books were well kept and that his homework was always up to date. 

In the year 1950/51, when we came back to the village for my older sister's wedding, Shunka was nowhere to be found. His dad said that since they ran out of money, at the age of 19, Shunka joined the army. I missed him very much, but life continued, besides, I was 6 years old and had no need to be carried on the shoulders.

Ten years later, during the winter break, I went to my Aunt’s house to stay for a month, Shunka came back on his army leave and came to say Hello, to my mother and father. Two more of my sisters were already married and my brother was a university student in another city. Shunka asked about the welfare of everybody, including me. He was trying to imagine that, me the little boy whom he carried around would have grown up by now. I the youngest of the lot, was now 15 years old and finishing high school. My mother was happy to know that Shunka himself was married and had two little children. But his bond with me was a special one.

Another ten years, I became an engineer, very tall and healthy and working in Kota, Rajasthan. That year Shunka came to see my mother and father and to renew the old acquittances. He was pleased to meet them and specifically asked for my whereabouts. Well, she told him that I am an engineer and currently posted in Kota and not married. Expression changed on his face, I am told, as he said that he, Shunka, is also posted at Kota in the Guard’s Regimental Centre. In 20 years, the rookie Shunka, had become a Havildar, later a Subedar and now a JCO. During his early years in the army, he completed high school and additional training. My mom gave him my address in Kota and he promised to meet me there.

Kota is blatantly hot place. In the summer, the temperature reaches 45 degrees, although the Chambal River passes through it, but it has no effect on the cooling, even somewhat. We young engineers after office hours sit down in the open in the front yard of our houses and exchange sweet nothings about daily happenings. That day the same routine was happening.

Then, highly unexpected, a military olive green Jeep stopped in front of our house gate. An army man stepped out and he checked out the house address and returned back to the Jeep. Four of us sitting unmindful of an Army Jeep parked outside carried on with our conversation. Then an officer type came out and knocked at the gate and asked me by name. That surprised the hell out of all of us. Why was an Army man looking for me? All four of us crowded at the gate and I acknowledged to the army man in uniform that I am the person he was looking for. He looked at me, I am as tall as he was, and smiled. He called me by my childhood name and I was surprised. I momentarily thought that no one had called me by that name for the last twenty years, so who is he? The second thought crossed my mind that he probably was mistaken and was looking for somebody else. Then he introduced himself as Sunak Ram from the nearby village of our own. Then I started thinking that he had definitely been sent by my family from the village. I still did not get him. It wasn't until he identified himself as “Shunka” that my face illuminated. I immediately switched to my native tongue and asked him to come inside the gate. Shunka was pleased that I am beginning to recall. The amusing incidents of childhood began to flash to me. Now I knew who he was. My next question was, did my mother give you the address, and he said “yes”! And then we embraced each other as two long lost acquaintances meet. The women in the neighborhood, who expected that I would be handcuffed and taken away, breathed a sigh of relief. 

Childhood memories renewed. Very quickly tea and pastries were brought in. The other guys who were watching wanted to know all about our acquaintances. He was delighted to relate his version of our association. He wanted to know all about the rest of the family. Delighted, the conversation continued. He told me that his father had died and that his own family lived in the village. They had expanded their former little farm and are now hiring assistance for the fields. This was an interesting conversation for all of us. My colleagues were watching the conversation with fun as we spoke our native language, of which they picked up a few hints only. My mother tongue is a form of Punjabi spoken in a local Pahari accent. It is easy for Punjabi speaking folks to follow.

An hour passed, we had enough of village talk. It was time for Shunka to leave. In a trifle with a very smart handshake, he returned to the Jeep. He left his ID, in case we wished to purchase anything from the Army ‘Canteen’. No, I wanted nothing. My departure date for the United States was set for the next four months, therefore any purchase will be unnecessary.

The point of the story is that what is written in your fate is unknown to you and others. It unfolds the way the God has determined. Forty years later when I was in my village for a regular sort of visit to see the now abandoned ancestral home, I was told that Shunka had passed away. I was sorry to hear that.