Dara
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Dara - Suresh Kundal
Perestroika
About the Author
The author was born in a Punjabi family at a place called MHOW (Military Headquarters of War) in India. His father, Mr. Sardari Lal Kundal, was a dynamic personality and a nature-loving man. During the course of his career in the Indian Army, he was awarded with seven bravery medals by the president of India for his valor. His mother, Mrs. Sheela Kundal, a homemaker, assisted his father in all the ups and downs of life. The author has a younger brother, Mr. Sunil; and a sister, Ms. Seema. His father brought another member by train, carrying her in a small bag and feeding her with a milk bottle during the journey. The family was highly excited to welcome this new member – a cute little dog – and named her NOORI.
His father being a defense personnel, the author had a brilliant opportunity to live at several places in India in an army culture. He pursued his education in Bangalore Military School (formerly known as King George School). Here, he had access to varied sports and extracurricular activities, boxing being his favorite. Henceforth, he completed his post-graduation in Geography from HNB Garhwal University. While working for a company in Mumbai, he pursued his Business Management degree from NMIMS.
The author founded his export/import company in 2006 and began travelling to Hong Kong, China, West Africa, Europe, Russia, etc., and gradually expanded his business. Since his childhood, the author was a nature lover, with an artistic bent of mind. Although he used to sketch, paint, and write during school/college days, it was in 2018 that he discovered his hidden talent when one of his manuscripts, Dara, was accepted by world’s leading publishers, Austin Macauley, and they gave him an opportunity as a professional author.
He lives in Mumbai with his beloved mother; a beautiful wife, Purnima; and his two pretty daughters, Ginni and Nikki.
About the Book
Dara is a story of a legendary boy, which dates back to early 1940s. He is born in a poor family, in a remote village of Vaidan Di Kotli, situated at Indo-Pak border. His life is full of struggle and adventures. He is a fortunate child born in an unfortunate family.
During Indo-Pak partition in 1947, people migrate in large volumes from either sides of the border. Dara’s family settles in a village called Khilchian, 30kms from Amritsar. A school master sees a sparkle in Dara’s eyes and convinces his step-mother to put him in a school, but he finds true friends amidst the immortal elements of nature and animals. Later, the school master encourages him to join the Army.
Dara meets a caring friend in a recruitment camp. After joining his regiment, he discovers a band of brothers…a family beyond blood.
Once, while crossing a graveyard, he gets trapped in a vicious circle. It’s a rendezvous with death. While he is away, his sister, Beero, is forcibly married. Dara sinks in a deep anguish.
Dara falls in love with a beautiful damsel and is submerged into an ocean of romance.
Dedication
Dad, you have been THE ONLY inspiration behind my writing Dara.
The hilly areas where once we dwelled, the smell of Pinewood trees which still is smelt,
When the season used to change to white – it was so compelling and bright,
Sliding down the snow on our way to school, still it tickles my heart till depth,
Partly devoured Pears thrown down by parrots – I want to pick and eat them again,
City-lights between those far-off hills, that looked so amazing in the night,
The downhill twisty roads, where I rolled the round dry fruits,
The heat of Jungle fire, which made the crickets run away and birds fly off
That Echoing Noise, to which often I wondered – was it a woodcutter or woodpecker?
The oozing gumdrops gradually filled the hanging Tins – it smelt so good, which I still want to taste,
The shortcuts that I sought, ended up at steep landing places,
The Triumphant Guns roared all night at firing range, shot by you and men at practice,
I want to collect those hot brass shells which were ejected into the inverted helmets,
I want to trigger those pink night rounds, which illuminated for quick short fires,
The long strolls to Charring Cross, on which we seldom felt tired,
Toy train, Tunnels, Gooseberry and Apricots, lingering and sightful, so they were.
Your transfers to Plains, Plateaus, Hills and Doons – Yes! – were mercerizing in their own unique ways.
Those quotes in Punjabi, which a few I remember and shall cherish them forever.
The smell of your helmet and of canvas uniform and that aluminum POW badge still is fresh, as it was.
So committed, ideal and congenial, that you were. I wish to follow those trails which I missed to tread. I wish to be born as your son, again and yet again.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Suresh Kundal (2019)
The right of Suresh Kundal to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528918541 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528918558 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528962353 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
I am thankful to my beloved wife, Purnima, as she is the first reader and a candid critic to my works.
A speck of dirt that I am, without the knowledge, which our English teacher Mr. S. Natarajan bestowed upon us. All my batchmates have been a driving force, Ashok Kumar in particular, who has funded the publication cost for Dara and has provided the entire moral support from time to time. What I am today is only because of my school – Bangalore Military School.
Long Live The Georgian Spirit!
Chapter 1
Vaidan Di Kotli
Dark was the Sun and mournful was that day. A boy of seven wearing a frown on his face was hooking his cows on the naked hills of Kotli village at Indo-Pak border, which barely offered any grass to graze. The hills had turned brownish with mud. In the absence of vegetal cover, the soil was too loose to hold on and often eroded by itself. Quite often it slipped like sand and couldn’t withstand even the force of the wind. Boulders had protruded up in at several places on account of consistent weathering.
The lining of the rib cage of the cows revealed that they hardly bore anything