The Angel (Part 1)

(This is a work of fiction)

My Grandfather always had a story to tell.

I especially remember those long evenings sipping tea in the veranda, safe from the heavy monsoon rain inches away, as he would tell me of the many strange and often fascinating moments of his life.

'Gramps' as my younger brother and I used to call him, had quite an extraordinary life. Even in his seventies he was a good deal stronger than most men half his age, he was a bodybuilder and wrestler in the old days and collected many a trophy from strongman competitions. I never failed to notice the twinkle in his eyes whenever he recounted his bouts in the akhada or wrestling mud pit where he would wrestle other tough guys in the ancient, traditional fighting styles.

Growing up around this ageing mountain of a man, we always tried to emulate his workouts and join him in chanting the Hanuman Chalisa. He used to say that his strength came directly from the God of strength, Hanuman himself. While everyone seemed to admire his faith and erudite experience most people received his stories with a pinch of salt.

Now it was a well-known fact that Gramps had served in the Second World War as part of the Indian effort against the Nazi threat. I used to help my granny in her monthly rituals dusting and sometimes polishing his post war medals and bravery awards before putting them back in the display case. In between moves of chess, I would notice the far away look in his eyes as he gazed at the medals standing in the glass case nearby. Prodding him to make his move would have been an invasion of his daytime reveries but to a young boy of 10 or 12, beating grandpa at chess or snakes and ladders was much more important.

One particularly memorable September evening, we sat in the veranda watching the late afternoon sun disappear behind a thick blanket of dark nimbus clouds. A cool breeze was gathering momentum, rustling through the leafy branches of trees lining the garden path, swirling mild clouds of dust off the ground signalling the storm that was to follow. Mom and dad were not at home and granny was busy as usual baking a cake or some other delicacy in the oven.

'Why does it rain grandpa?' I asked him.

'Ohh well my boy, maybe God wants to give the Earth a good bath eh?' he chuckled over his thick shell framed glasses. He laughed one of his silent heavy chuckles again and then said- 'maybe there are angels racing each other in the sky and making it rain.'

I liked the thought of that.

But are angels real grandpa? I haven't seen them'. I insisted.

Ahh yes they are..they are he said, a twinkle in his eye as if he knew something.

Where are they, where do they live?'...a little boys questions can go on and on, as I'm sure you are all too aware dear reader.

He put his newspaper down and began playing with his spectacles. I got very excited because he always did that when he was going to tell me a story. What he went on to tell me left its mark on my young mind and in its own way shaped the course of adventures, which I was to face in the years ahead. He told me this story with more detail when I was older and ready to understand it with greater maturity.

This is his story:


Many years ago during the Second World War, I was only 17 years old and very far away from your great-grandparents and home in India. I served in the Maratha Infantry and we were part of the Allied war effort against the Nazis in Italy. Our boys fought side by side with British, French, Polish and Soviet troops at the time.

Italy has some of the most beautiful countryside in the world and it was such a pity to see the land and its people being ravaged by this war. Pristine green meadows contrasted by milky white houses. Chapel bells ringing in the distance with the cool breeze in your ringing in your ears. There were infrequent moments when we did experience a peaceful interlude such as this and one could be forgiven for almost forgetting that we were in the midst of a horrible war. Then the sound of gunshots in the distance would bring us back to the present. The luxury to pause for thought was rare, this was a war and every day was a life and death situation.

Although formidable opponents, the Nazis were retreating into the countryside and using villages, monasteries and farmland as lines of defence. Everyday was a new challenge; we had to deal with landmines strewn just about everywhere. We could not afford to be careless where a misplaced step could mean the loss of our limbs and even our lives.

I remember a day just like this; it was the winter of 1944. We had pushed the Nazi lines some distance away to a small village near the Chapel of Montecassino. There was a severe hailstorm; it felt almost as if God was weeping at the sight of so many of his children destroying each other. I was stationed along with five others by a hill overseeing the enemy lines ahead. There was not going to be an offensive march ahead in these conditions, it made better sense to wait until the downpour abated.

Up ahead in the distance I noticed some movement in the fading light. Using my binoculars I saw some German soldiers marching a line of local villagers away from the village into the forest nearby. My heart melted. I could make out the weeping faces of the people, their hands tied, eyes wide with fear, weeping bitterly, tears shrivelling the skin on their sad faces. I signalled my companions Raj Singh and Zia Khan, who saw the same spectacle but without orders or approval we could not move ahead. It began snowing pretty heavily and the notion of just a few of us going on ahead was most certainly suicidal. I felt helpless watching them go by, it made no difference if we were going to fight to take their village tomorrow, these people would be dead by then. I looked again and saw there were young children among this group, their hands bound as well. I had seen a lot of horrors in the war in my young life thus far but this was too much to bear. I never felt hate and helplessness as much as I felt that moment.

I don’t know what made me do what I did. Perhaps it was irrationality brought about by exhaustion, maybe I hated the Nazi soldiers too much to think clearly or follow command. I took my rifle and ventured out onto the other side of the hill. My comrades noticed and called out to me, their voices muffled in the downpour. I did not look back, all I could see in my minds eye were the terrified faces of the children, I did not care if I lived any further, I wanted to save these poor innocent people or die in the effort.

I followed the group, keeping some distance from them. There were about 35 people prisoners, including women, elderly men and at least 15 children flanked by 10 German soldiers. I wanted them to stop somewhere, before I acted. They couldn’t be going too far away as it was getting dark and they would want to get back to their camp, or so I thought. The forest that we entered was dense with much snow covered foliage to hide behind and remain undetected. It was getting colder.

After a half hour or so, they stopped by a small chapel which may have been uninhabited. Beside the chapel was a large pit in the ground. It couldn’t have been more than 10 feet deep and 20 feet wide. I realised this was one of the thousands of execution pits in which Jews would be shot or sometimes pushed into, while the soldiers shot at their victims almost like a sport to amuse themselves. The soldiers shouted at the people to jump inside the pit. After a warning gunshot they prisoners did as they were told. I wished I had the support of my comrades behind the hill.

As the soldiers readied them selves to fire at their victims in the pit, I took aim as well and fired the first shot at the one who was barking orders to the others. He fell dead in an instant as a result of a clean shot in the head. The others turned frantically looking everywhere unsure from where the bullet was fired. I felt like a ghost in the falling snow and moved a few meters away and fired again, this time shooting another soldier in the chest. He fell into the pit; I heard some screams from the children. A shot was fired at my direction and I ducked behind a large rock. I could not outlast the remaining 8 German soldiers. The shots being fired over my head seemed to bring to light the fruitlessness of my actions, now not only those villagers but even I would meet my doom in the four walls of that muddy pit.

The something very odd happened. The ground began to shake, at first the tremors were mild but then became harsher and more destructive, it barely occurred to me that there was a minor earthquake on this miserable day. However the shooting stopped and I turned again firing a volley of shots at my counterparts, four of whom got hit. Two of them died while the other two fell to the ground. To my horror I saw the ground open up beside the pit and swallow all four of them. I could not see any of the remaining soldiers and to save myself I climbed onto the rock I was hiding behind.

I could make out the people in the pit were still alive, shivering but alive. I almost felt an adrenaline rush to think that the Germans had run away or died by my gun or by the strange earthquake. Suddenly I heard a crack and a jolt of pain in my arm; I fell off the rock and saw one of the remaining soldiers shooting at me from about 10 meters away. I felt it was the end and without my gun, I blindly stumbled ahead, falling into the pit. The last sight I remember was the shocked and frightened faces of the children there and the falling snow. I fell unconscious.

The Angel (Part 2)

It felt as if I had been heavily asleep for days or even more.

I awoke to the sound of the most haunting music I had ever heard in my young life. The sound, the melody, the emotions they evoked.. my young mind could not begin to comprehend. I felt as if the instruments playing this music had a life of their own. I opened my eyes and realised I was still in that pit but strangely I was alone. It was not snowing as before neither was it as bitterly cold. It was daylight but unlike any daylight I had ever known. Radiant white light spread everywhere, shimmering, glowing like a thousand suns. I stood up and looked all around, confused, dazzled and afraid.

Perhaps I was dead. Then I felt sadness for my parents who were praying for me everyday back home far, far away. How I had missed them this past year. My sadness seemed to wash away with the music. Music emanating from walls around me, the trees and sky above me and the ground beneath me. I felt light, almost rejuvenated, I felt happy which made me feel even more confused.

And then I saw something, which changed my whole life.

In front of me stood a radiant being, about 15 feet tall, cloaked in glowing whitish gold light. I could notice a highly muscular frame taking shape in that light and then two enormous wings. It was an Angel. His gaze was looking upwards towards the sky, His wings were a mix of white and rose coloured feathers. I felt a strong surge of love running all around me and within me, I wept with poignant happiness, poignant sorrow, I wept at this spectacular sight, I wept with bliss, glowing with this light shining through my every pore, enthralled in this intoxicating music playing through the deepest recesses of my soul.

He looked at me with compassion in His eyes and smiled slightly. He did not speak a word but I knew what he was saying. He spoke neither in words nor in signs. I just knew what He wanted to say. I got a feeling, a sensation of immense strength from him as he moved His arms slightly and spread His wings wide for me to see him in all his glory. The more His wings expanded the more intoxicating was the music and the deeper the light appeared to glow through me. The questions uppermost in my mind whenever I would pray all those lonely nights was why did God allow such horrors, why evil people did what they did, why did the innocent have to suffer so.

As if to answer my question I found myself standing closer to Him, somewhere far away. It looked like another part of Italy, it was a sunny day and we were atop a large cathedral overlooking miles ahead almost as if the world was spread out flat on a table. As I gazed into the distance, I saw thousands of other winged beings, giant Angels everywhere, across all lands among people of different races and continents. Some people were peaceful, others were at war but wherever I looked I could Angels and these angels would walk amongst these people, help them as they went about their daily lives regardless of who they were or their circumstances.

Then I saw the Angels were standing with my family in India, my comrades who fought beside me and to my shock I found them with my enemy – the Nazi soldiers. I would have felt anger if that were possible, but the bliss evoked by the music, the light and the feelings of love coursing through my veins made it impossible for me to even entertain the thought of anger. The same light, the same music, the same love that was coursing through me was being sent into the hearts of the Nazi soldiers as well. There was an aura of darkness around them however; the darkness was their own fear, their own ignorance and their own pride. This was keeping the light from reaching into them.

I began experiencing feelings of forgiveness towards this evil regime. I began crying for them not out of spite or even pity but as if they were my own brethren who had lost their way. I began to wish dearly that the light which was blazing though me, would go through them as well, I could hear my own voice inside praying for them, praying deeper than I had ever prayed before. I only felt love and this love was more powerful than any weapon I had come across. For only a greater love could ever change intense hate into forgiveness and love. I could feel a sensation of love so strong that I knew if it touched the most hateful, vengeful person on Earth or even in hell, it would change that person forevermore.

I then noticed the ground I was standing upon, it was the muddy pit I had fallen into. I saw the Angel in front of me again. He was silent but He spoke to my heart, more than anybody I have ever known. I understood now that it was He who made the ground shake and open up, it was He who sent me to help these people and it was He who saved my life. The light subsided as did the music which seemed to be a heavenly piano, a hauntingly beautiful melody, no Earthly piano could ever reproduce.

His wings spread wide and His arms moved to the side, His presence signified strength in all its magnificence. I felt that I need never feel afraid ever again. Then He smiled at me and looked upwards and gently lifted off the ground. I vaguely remember the music and the light fainting into the hushed silence. The last sight before me was the rose and white feathers on His wings.

I heard a faint cry and turned around and found myself lying in the wet muddy pit I had fallen into. I saw the children screaming before me. I stood up almost in singular fluid motion realising where I was. It appeared as if no time had passed since I had fallen from the rock nearby. I could not hear any shots being fired. I signalled for the others to calm down and that I was not the enemy. I noticed that during the earthly tremors a small tree had fallen halfway into the pit. I climbed half way up the trunk of the tree to get a better look. I could not see anyone outside. No more gunshots and no more soldiers. Could the soldiers have retreated back to the nearby village, I asked myself.

I did not know Italian but motioned again for the group to quieten down once again. I climbed out of the pit and made a quick sweep of the area. Seeing no signs of anybody else, I assisted the people to climb out. They were in shock and wouldn’t be able to last in the biting cold for long. I was certainly not going to wait for the German soldiers to return. I cut the bonds that tied their hands and made them follow me back on the path I had come from. The young children were nearing exhaustion and I held five of them, two in each arm and one on my back.

It was with tremendous relief that we reached our base beside the hill and into safety. My Polish Commanding Officer, Bogdan Dverofwisk was absolutely dumbstruck. Instead of firing me for a serious breach of discipline, he came over and hugged me with all his might. It was then that I felt a jab of pain in my shoulder and arm. I may have passed out after that for later on I was told they removed 3 bullets from my right arm and shoulder and much blood was lost. It was inconceivable for anybody to have survived for as long as I did, let alone rescue a group of Prisoners who were to be executed. I knew this was possible only because of the Angel. The next day the Allies marched on ahead and took over the Village ahead of us. We fought many more difficult battles over the next couple of months.

The Angel (Part 3)

In the autumn of 1945, we had won a major battle at the large Cathedral of Montecassino but not before sadly bombing it to smithereens. I remember that fateful morning in April 1945 very well. I climbed onto the ruins of what must have been a beautiful structure. And then I realised looking out into the distance, it was the same summit from where I stood beside the rose winged one, months earlier to see the rest of the world filled with other angels. I sat down in awe. I did not tell anybody about my experience, for at the tender age of 17 thrown into the midst of battle, I did not have the chance to assimilate all that had been shown to me.

But even then, a change had occurred. I never hated the enemy again. I felt pity even sorrow for their deaths but realised that it was essential for the forces of Good to triumph over evil if this world was to keep living. I would always look to see if there was a winged one nearby, whether it was on the battlefield and even after the war ended. I was proud of the Indian effort, we lost 5,600 soldiers to keep the darkness of a Nazi world out forever.

Fear never ruled my life; neither did any emotions of hate. Over time I realised with the advent of other experiences that we are not alone, we are never alone. There are Angels who walk among us, talk with us and help us grow closer to God. All we need to do is open ourselves. The light is all around, we just need to open the doors of our hearts..

Epilogue:

I never doubted Grandpa’s experience for he was a remarkable man among men. Never claiming to be special he espoused the essence of service, humility and love to everyone he came across.

He passed away peacefully in his sleep many years later; my grandmother did not shed a tear, she believed as he did. She knew many, many things as well.

After his funeral that humid August afternoon, his ashes were scattered over the Ganges over the recitation of Sanskrit hymns and shlokas as he departed on his final journey to God and his beloved Angels. I sat by the banks of this ancient and Holy River with a knot in my throat and a heavy heart, I was missing him already. A thought of him flying among Angels, perhaps with wings of his own, passed my mind and that made me smile.

I felt a gust of wind brush my face and felt the stirrings of a mild shower from a passing cloud above. I looked upwards and closed my eyes to soak the gentle coolness of the drizzle.
After a few moments I looked down and there upon the ground, beside my feet lay..a white and rose coloured feather..