This story goes back many moons to when I was a really young Flying Officer at a then-remote Air Force Station in Udhampur. As is a young man’s wont, I had purchased a brand new Enfield motorcycle which many of you may not have heard of – ‘Fury’, a recently introduced 175 cc, shiny and sleek machine with front disc brakes, a rare feature in the early nineties.
Truth be told, I was also trying my best those days to woo a pretty young doctor who had recently been posted to us, and who is now my wife for the last 34 years.
One fine morning, off went the two of us astride my ‘Fury’ to Chinar complex, the Army’s much-vaunted shopping area located around six kilometres away through a shortcut through the town. After a nice outing and lunch, we returned via the same path.
Those of you familiar with Udhampur would know that this route has a steep climb and a hairpin bend as we approach the town from the Chinar side. Not that I had any worries, what with my spanking new, powerful silver motorcycle thrumming along beneath me.
But halfway up the climb, we came up on a heavy old truck which was struggling its way up and barely seemed able to negotiate the vagaries of the road. Having no choice but to stay behind it due to the narrow lane, we duly came to the aforesaid hair pin bend.
The truck wheezed its way up and around the turn, and we followed right behind it. Then all of a sudden, it seemed to give up the good battle and just stopped in the middle of the road. Having no other option, so did I, maintaining a healthy distance from him, and that perhaps saved my life.
After a brief lull when we fidgeted and waited, we were shocked to see the truck starting to roll back, slowly at first. Our first thought was that it was inadvertent, and the good lady sitting behind me quickly got off and ran towards the truck, yelling at the driver to stop. Her entreaties seemed to have no effect whatsoever, and the monster started picking up speed. I remember thinking this cannot be happening to me. After that, I really do not know what happened; maybe I jumped off, or maybe the impact threw me off my seat.
What I do remember when I regained my wits, lying splayed on my back on the road, is the sight of the huge vehicle just a few feet above and away from me and the very concerned voice of the young lady doctor. To my eternal gratitude, I saw that my faithful ‘Fury’ had wedged itself fully under the right rear tyre of the truck, much like a chock that you see under an aircraft’s wheels, stopping its rearward movement and thus saving my life.
Thanking my stars, I dusted myself off and we went looking for the driver, only to find that the drunken slob had wisely run away. We stood by the roadside, trying somehow to pass a message to the unit mates of our predicament in those mobile-less days. A few kind passers-by in their vehicles did slow down, only to enquire solicitously as to which hospital the hapless bike driver had been taken to. We did not know whether to laugh or explain.
The matter did not end there. After a long wait, the local police arrived and I don’t remember them being overtly friendly to our cause. Anyway, being very lucky to survive without any injury, we returned to our officers’ mess and perhaps had a drink to celebrate.
The next day brought new tidings. The owner of the truck was requisitioned by the police to drive it out in the continuing absence of the absconding driver. He duly recommenced the climb, with the unfriendly police inspector sitting next to him and the mashed-up ‘Fury’ loaded behind along with whatever other cargo the truck was already carrying. What they did not know was that due to light rains previously, the road’s shoulders had become a bit weakened. As the owner deviated to the left side of the road to let oncoming traffic pass, the truck decided that enough is enough and keeled right over the edge! It then flipped multiple times into the deep ravine below.
My poor ‘Fury’ appears to have enjoyed its newfound role of a knight in shining armour and elected to reprise it, this time to try and save the blessed truck, which had caused this whole mess to begin with. As per its new mission plan, the ‘Fury’ took off from the rear of the vehicle and landed first at the ravine bottom, and waited patiently to receive the full weight of the truck on its fragile shoulders, getting reduced to a pulp in the bargain.
The next day, we visited the owner of the ill-fated truck, who had broken his ribs, and the unfriendly but injured police guy in the government hospital. They did have the grace to look a bit sheepish. The insurance guy surprisingly proved to be friendlier and proactive, perhaps in recognition of the bravery displayed by my bike, and coughed up some money in due course.
By the time we received the insurance amount, lo and behold, we were already married. My new wife used the extra funds to buy our first set of curtains, which hung proudly in our drawing room for years, reminding us of our shared escapade.
Dear reader, I must admit that these days I do secretly wonder at times – did that close shave on a narrow Udhampur road on a distant summer day kind of nudge her to consent to marry a rather underpromising and shy character like me after six odd months? If that be the case, then my faithful ‘Fury’ did win its last fight, that too gloriously!
(The author is a veteran with four decades of service in the Indian Air Force)
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of THE WEEK.
