FORGOTTEN HERO Fearless falcon By Lt-Col (retd) Quazi Sajjad Ali Zahir, Bir Protik Story Dated: Friday, November 25, 2011 16:47 hrs IST Remembering the supreme sacrifice of Lance Naik Albert Ekka Gallantry personified: The author with Ekka's widow, Balamdine All he wanted to do was make a living; instead, he made history. This was the single thought that kept running through my mind as I entered the small, humble home of Lance Naik Albert Ekka, who was posthumously awarded the Param Vir Chakra for his gallantry in the Bangladesh Liberation War. I wanted to know about Ekka—who was this man who fearlessly laid down his life in the battlefield for the liberation of my country? Like millions of his countrymen, Ekka was a man of humble beginnings. He was born in the village of Jari in the district of Gumla in Jharkhand. A member of the Oraon (Falcon) tribe, Ekka joined the Bihar Regiment on December 27, 1962 and was later transferred to the Guard Regiment. He was a man whose sense of duty and courage was only rivalled by his kind heart and his sense of pride in being Oraon and a soldier—it was something he talked about all the time whenever he visited his family on leave. That Ekka took pride in coming from a tribe long known for its valour should come as little surprise. The Oraon have a glorious tradition of bravery in battles in Rohtasgarh against the Aryans, in Chotanagpur against the oppressive zamindars and against the British Army. It was a legacy that Ekka lived up to when his time came to serve. Curious villagers walked by my side as I approached his home. His elderly widow, Balamdine, hurriedly came out to greet me, leaning on her walking stick. By her side was her only son, Vincent, who was one year old when his father joined the war. As we talked, Balamdine told me she had heard about Bangladesh and about Gangasagar, the place where Ekka was martyred. I showed her photographs of Gangasagar, the Pakistan defence positions and the spot where he was killed. She touched the photographs gently, with deep affection and held them close to her bosom. She cried softly, the tears sliding off her wrinkled cheeks, her face marked by sorrow, as she tried in vain to dry her face with the edge of her sari. In a quavering voice, she recalled that four or five days after Ekka's death, a group of soldiers came to her house with the bad news. She remembered crying out aloud, feeling that the world had come to a standstill. She also recollected the soldiers trying to console her, saying he was martyred for the cause of the nation and that his act of heroism had saved the lives of his unit soldiers. Balamdine touched my hand gently. It was the first time she had ever seen a Bangladeshi. She held on to my hand, and Vincent held the other, as if we were connected at that moment by a lifetime of bloodlines and memories. Finally, she broke the silence, curious to hear about Ekka's last battle and about Gangasagar. I quietly recounted the role of 14 Guards in the battles of Dholoi and Gangasagar and how bravely Ekka charged towards the enemy lines, destroying them from bunker to bunker. Despite being wounded, he continued to advance, until he was fatally wounded by machine-gun fire. I narrated everything that I had studied about the battles, and Balamdine and Vincent listened, engrossed. They could not get enough. Finally Balamdine asked: "Did he put up a good show? Did he die well?" Balamdine said she wanted to visit the place, but her own poverty never made that possible. Living on the five acres given to her family by the government after litigation, she makes ends meet with the monthly pension of Rs 5,000. Vincent's auto-rickshaw is out-of-order. I could only assure the "Veer Ramani" that if she desired, it would be my honour to arrange for her visit to Gangasagar. But ultimately, this soldier who fought and died for a cause greater than his own was a father and a husband, and while the memory of his sacrifice has dimmed with the passage of time, his absence is felt every day and grieved by the ones who loved him the most. I can still see Balamdine weeping bitterly as she said, "I did not want him to die so young and make Vincent an orphan." It was time for me to leave. It was dark as the mother and son walked me to the car, but I could make out the deep sadness etched in their faces. I, too, felt a deep sorrow, as if I was leaving a part of my family behind, a tie forged by the blood and sacrifice of a man for a country that was to become my own. As we made our way back, I felt an urgency to stop near the statue of Ekka in the small town square of Chinpur. I stood there for a long time. It was as if Ekka was telling me, "Wait with me for a while, when many others have stopped waiting for me." Forty years have passed since Ekka's death, yet so few of us know of him and others like him. In their untimely deaths, each soldier and civilian has asked for very little. Perhaps, they did not expect to be forgotten, their lives, hopes and their sacrifices, erased not just by the passage of time, but our own inability to remember and record that they lived and that their contributions mattered. For the living, this is the ultimate responsibility—the task of documenting the struggles and sacrifices of the ordinary woman, man and child—and that task is far from complete. It is a task we should embrace with humility, urgency and a profound sense of honour and gratitude. It was my fortune to be able to visit the home of Ekka and pay my respects to his family. Their sacrifice and Ekka's unflinching sense of ultimate duty are forever enmeshed in the history of my country's independence. I am proud to have taken part in the same war with Ekka, and having fought for the same cause. A cause we would all do well to remember and honour.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
[ALOCHONA] The Fearless Falcon - Lance Naik Albert Ekka By Lt-Col (retd) Quazi Sajjad Ali Zahir, Bir Protik
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