By early morning I reached Sabah, it's southern end, and looked out for people I knew. The day was spent with nothing achieved as the iraqi check points were clogged with a million cars backed up far into every street that progress became impossible and people were caught in gridlocks from which the could not get out,which led to two problems. They could either leave the car behind with their belongings or hit the road with their precious luggage and get robbed. The search was futile except for vague replies from faces which somehow failed to connect.
In fact , nobody was allowed to leave. A permit had to be acquired from the local commandant to get out of Kuwait and he was in no mood to immediately oblige. He had plenty of other things to do. Three days went by and hope was ebbing and food was running short. A few thousand countrymen of mine had found refuge in a school nearby and were desperately trying to get the permit and as usual they tried to bribe the soldiers,which brought on unreasonable demands that most gave up and returned defeated.
The commandant's office was just of the corner where four roads met and the area was cleared off all traffic, the Iraqi army patrolled the main streets and all major arteries were free and clear and military vehicles
traversed the expanse at great speed taking soldiers and supplies towards southern border where the Iraqi army was poised to reach. We didn't have a chance in hell to go anywhere.
After waiting for two days,in the morning,clad in shorts, I knelt down at one corner of the intersection, opposite the commandant's office, holding a banner. I wrote
"PRAISE BE TO ALLAH"
"WE are Indians and we want your permission to leave".
I knelt the whole of first day,the sun mercilessily beating on me,I persevered despite the extreme discomfort and pain. The blistering heat of the day and the cold nights cut into my flesh that next day I looked like a lump of spoilt meat. Violet blisters covered my back and itched , the the sweat crept in between the blisters to burn my raw flesh.The day drew to a close and the second and third day , I was still there. Now and the I would be passed a bottle of water but I refused to eat. A few others , similarly clad, joined me the third day day and late in the evening ,a soldier approached and took me to the commandant.
"You think you are gandhi?" and lifted my chin with a small poiter he was holding and said plainly.. "you are lucky that I didn't kill you"
I was so emotionally drained that I fell and sobbed at his feet. I felt two hands lifting me and sitting me in a chair. An hour passed , somebody brought in a glass of juice which clogged my throught as it tried to slip by the dry lining of my gullet. It send me into a spasm of coughing but I recovered to face him
"What do you want"he asked in English.
'A passage out with your permission"
"You cannot afford my permission" he said
"I'll try"
"Tax.It's two thousand dollars for every permit"
"Will you allow me to ask my people whether they have that kind of money with them now"
He shrugged and let me go. Dismay and pain lined the expectant faces when I went back and announced the deal,as not many had that kind of money and those who had weren't ready to reveal it.I clapped once and stood up .Here was the turning point in my life, people listened to me. I calmly explained to them that we could make a collective offer of money, gold and anything of immediate value which should be sizeable to tempt the commander and I would organise their permit to leave this goddam hell.
I went back and carefullly and clearly explained the circumstances, that most people barely had much , but could offer some cash,gold and jewellry in return for the permit.
He pursed his lips, looked around and put his face close to mine and said "I love Indians". The statement frightened me as it came without a prologue and I thought that he liked to kill Indians.It was not so,we were fortunate as he had spent considerable time in India , as a officer trainee for advanced training in our military academy after passing out from one of the elite military academy in Iraq.
Over the next few days I arranged the evacuation of a thousand relieved countrymen, drawing up teams and planning every detail of the trip across the desert through Irag to Tebril in Jordan and from there to Amman.We had plenty of shopkeepers among us, teams were send to search for food, especially dry fruits and canned water and for cars with enough petrol for the thousand mile journey to Jordan. Children were enlisted to write down tags, phone numbers and names and addresses of relatives in India and the convoys left with clear instructions to run together and not to over speed or try things that were not necessary. The lead car carried an Indian flag ,with banners clearly stating our mission in Arabic.I was to later learn that it was no easy task and the trip took anywhere between four to five days, stopping at refugee camps and sometimes falling victims to armed thieves, but except for two small children, the journey though arduous , all reached India.
Those two weeks I would walk, or ride any where as if some omnipresent power was hovering over me ,guiding me, allowing me to accomplish a mission that I had taken upon myself .It was getting easier and in time, I had my own men writing the permits, another man collecting the "tax", and I had running conversation with the commandant about silly hindi movies , which he loved. Those two weeks flew by and then after a month of less frenetic activity, and I was getting used to the war ,or rather ,the occupation, I left.
