Mysore city is blessed in more ways than many other cities of South India. Its location is ideal. An imposing hill with a temple of Goddess Chamundeshwari. River Cauvery flows just 12 kms away. River Kabini is just 35 kms away. A green cover all around with a salubrious climate. Even summer is forgotten as fast as one started complaining of the heat with the monsoon setting in by May end.

If these are nature’s bounty bestowed on our city, providence too has been kind with the Wadiyar dynasty ruling the Kingdom of Mysore with this city as its capital. And blessed are the people because the Kings who ruled after 1800 AD have all been good kings with most of them being patrons of art, literature and music. And during the long reign of Krishnaraja Wadiyar IV the Kingdom became a Rama Rajya as Gandhiji called it and the King himself was a Rajarishi. Philosopher-king. It was this king who ruled the kingdom with the help of renowned Dewans [Prime Ministers]. One among them was Sir Mirza Ismail.

For some years I was a member of ‘Freemasons,’ sort of secret club known as The Grand Lodge of India, Lodge Mysore. Recently I was going through its publication known as ‘The Square and Compasses’ and was intrigued to find the name of Sir Mirza Ismail being mentioned in it in glowing terms just as his work in Mysore was much appreciated.

His name was mentioned in connection with the problems the ruler and administrators faced in the Kingdom of Jaipur, Rajasthan, from vested groups. The situation was similar to what happened during the building of the Great Temple in Jerusalem after Jews were freed from their Babylonian captivity after 70 years of exile.

It appears during the year of exile of Jews, there was no government of any kind in the country and many outlaws, murderers, debtors and others with dubious characters from neighbouring countries came and settled in the Jewish country, specially in the city of Jerusalem. These people resented the arrival of Jews, from their Babylonian exile, trying to restore law and order. There was daily strife between the two warring sides which compelled the labourers at the temple area literally to work with the ‘trowel in hand and sword by the side.’ This, of course, has become part of the traditional ritual in the Freemason ceremony.

Recalling this historic ancient incident, the report in the magazine connects it to an incident in modern times. It says, “In our own times, we have heard of Sir Mirza Ismail — Special Officer entrusted with the task of beautification of the city of Jaipur in Rajasthan. With undaunted courage and determination, he went on with pulling down dozens of houses as per his masterplan without fear or favour, even those of big and influential citizens who naturally tried to oppose his doings.”

No wonder the grateful citizens of Jaipur named a major road after Sir Mirza Ismail. Now compare this with ourselves. Is there a road named after this great Dewan of Mysore Sir Mirza Ismail? I don’t know. Is there a road named after Sir M. Visveswaraya? I do not know. Yes, someone told me there indeed is a Mirza Road but it does not run even a km length in Nazarbad. In Jaipur, I have seen Sir Mirza Ismail Road, a double road, running to a few km length in keeping with his stature. Yes, there is also one inconspicuous Circle named after Sir MV ! Could they not have a statue of Sir MV there just like the other two statues of Maharajas?

Incidentally, the message from the Grand Master Most Worshipful Brother Vasudev J. Masurekar, OSM, has the opening paragraph that takes you to 2nd century BC and then brings you to 2014 AD. It speaks of Delphic Oracle in Greece where I had been about five years back, hence my interest. The Grand Master says:

The temple of Apollo at Delphi, built in the 2nd century BC, has three phrases carved into the stone. First is, “Know thyself,” second “Nothing in excess” and the third is “Make a pledge and mischief is nigh.”

These three statements have made the Oracle of Delphi famous universally.

All the three statements are profound and impacts on every individual’s life. Because we do not try to know ourselves, we delude ourselves as someone that we are not. Buddha has taught us to follow the golden path, the middle path. Nothing in excess. Neither more nor less. The third statement is rather complex. No wonder over the centuries there have been many interpretations of these words and debates by philosophers and scholars.

However, let me venture to interpret the third statement in the light, nay in the dim light, of my own wisdom. It says, “Make a Pledge and Mischief is Nigh.” These are the days where politicians in our democratic country keep making pledges, from swearing on our Constitution, to protect and preserve it, to provide a good administration and infrastructure. But, our experience has been that they seldom keep their pledge. That is why I interpret this statement to mean, ‘when you make a pledge, you are near a mischief.’ You are upto some mischief! Read politician in the place of you. Howzzat?

e-mail: kbg@starofmysore.com

source: http://www.starofmysore.com / Star of Mysore / Home> Abracadabra….Abracadabra / by K.B. Ganapathy  / July 02nd, 2014

by Dr. K. Javeed Nayeem, MD

Last Sunday my wife and I went on a journey that we had wanted to undertake for the last thirteen years ever since she lost her brother who was serving in the army as an officer. Major S. M. K. Ghori, a former student of the Maharaja’s College here, laid down his life in the cause of the motherland while fighting insurgency in the forests of Baramulla District in the State of Jammu and Kashmir on 1st July 2001. Two of his most trusted men too went down fighting alongside him on that fateful evening. Four days later while we were waiting with all our grieving family members at the Bangalore Airport for his body to arrive, I told my wife that we should try and visit his unit not only to see where exactly he was serving when his end came but also as an act of homage to his sacrifice.

A trip to Kashmir somehow never materialised over the next thirteen years and finally when a chance came up last week in the form of a group tour with about a dozen doctors’ families, my wife and I felt that it was the right time for us to go there. Having finished our sight-seeing in and around Srinagar with the others members of our group we extended our stay by a further two days to accomplish what we had been looking forward to. Upon contacting the army top brass through my brother-in-law’s wife we were told that his unit was still stationed near Baramulla and arrangements would be made to allow us a visit.

Very soon a Colonel who was the chief of the unit called us up and said that he would be happy to show us around the place and also insisted that we stay back for lunch. We very politely declined this part of the invitation as we did not want to intrude on the time of officers and men who were expected to be in a state of operational readiness round-the-clock. However, we agreed to have a cup of tea with them without wasting much of their time. A friend in Srinagar who used to meet us every evening arranged for a trusted cab driver to drive us to our destination and back since he did not consider it safe for us to go there with an unknown person. As he was from the nearby town of Sopore where he had his ancestral house, he said that we should be his guests for lunch which would expose us to the traditional Kashmiri hospitality. This was a suggestion to which we readily agreed and left early in the morning. The drive from Srinagar towards the western border of the country was full of security bottlenecks with all vehicles being stopped and photographed by heavily armed men in combat readiness. The road lined on either side by tall poplar trees passed through some very fertile countryside, full of verdant apple orchards nourished by a maze of mountain streams with snow-clad hills in the not too distant background. The apparent tranquillity of the hills belied the turmoil that they have been witness to from time to time.

After a drive of about thirty kilometers from the town of Baramulla through some of the most remote and lonely stretches, we reached the army unit where we were welcomed with a warmth that we had never expected from men in uniform. The Colonel himself was standing with his deputy to receive us with fighting men’s iron handshakes and they escorted us to the drawing room of their barracks. It had a large life-sized portrait of my late brother-in-law on one of its walls since he was the only officer of the unit who had died in action since its inception while it had lost twenty-nine Jawans whose sacrifice was in no way less significant. Their photos too adorned another wall in a close cluster which perhaps was a reflection of the close ties they shared while they were alive.

The Colonel briefly told us about their life as soldiers and the uncertainty that comes with it. Later he himself drove us in his personal vehicle to the place from where we could see the hill across a lush valley at the base of which my brother-in-law and his men went down fighting. We stood in silence trying to visualise the final moments of their brave stand. Returning to the base we were a little surprised and even embarrassed to discover that the tea was almost a meal prepared and served by men in uniform in a manner that would have put the most talented hostess to shame.

We were then invited to stand alongside the painting of my brother-in-law and have a picture clicked as a keepsake of our visit which we did [see pic]. It was a very sentimental moment against which I had warned my wife well in advance and thankfully she put up a brave face.

After I signed the visitors’ book it was time once again for iron handshakes but this time to say goodbye. It was a very short drive to Sopore, a Spartan town with horse-drawn carriages and tin-roofed houses that seemed to have been frozen in a time warp like the rest of the Kashmiri countryside. The atmosphere seemed a little eerie as we found that every entry point was guarded by heavily armed soldiers alongside their armoured personnel carriers. We located our friend’s home which was tucked in a maze of narrow alleyways and were soon lost in another session of tea accompanied by some traditional Kashmiri snacks and dry fruits. The tea itself was a very distant cousin of what we drink here as it is salted instead of sugared. My host then suggested that he would take us for a traditional lunch to a resort overlooking the Wular Lake, the largest freshwater lake in Asia which was just a stone’s throw from his village. The breathtaking view from the place was something to be treasured forever in the mind’s e

ye. It is because of sights like this that Kashmir has come to be called a ‘Paradise on Earth’. After a hearty meal we parted company as it was time for us to get back to Srinagar. On the way back too we noticed unusually hectic military activity along the main road and on the outskirts of the town we even saw an ambulance and a large convoy of army vehicles parked around a house. We did not make much of it and reached Srinagar safely for a good night’s rest.

Early the next morning one of my friends who had been in our group and who had returned with the others a day earlier called me up from Mysore to tell me that Sopore had been the scene of a fierce gun-battle between security forces and insurgents the previous night. Since a civilian youth too was killed in the crossfire it appears there were widespread protests and an indefinite curfew had been imposed on the whole town with all roads completely blocked. Occurrences like these are a very common feature of life in Kashmir and the ensuing inconvenience is accepted as a normal part of living there. The whole of Monday and Tuesday, till we left Srinagar, life remained completely paralysed in the entire valley. My wife and I thanked God that we had been able to get away in the nick of time from what could have become a tricky situation blocking our exit. Our ‘Mission Kashmir’ had been accomplished at last !

e-mail: kjnmysore@rediffmail.com

source: http://www.starofmysore.com / Star of Mysore / Home> Feature Articles / Friday – June 27th, 2014

______________________________________________________________

 AN ODE TO A SOLDIER

Sir,

This refers to the letter of Brig. R.S. Rajan, vsm, (SOM dated June 30) on the need to remember the martyrdom of Maj. Ghori with mixed feelings of sadness that we forgot the sacrifice of young Indian Army Officer for his nation and a desire to undo the indifference.

I knew his Commanding Officer. He was always full of praise of Maj. Ghori, who he said was an epitome of an Officer and a gentleman. Being in army and that too a serving officer, I am not supposed to interact with media or give my opinion. We in armed forces respect the rule and follow it. However, I could not control myself on reading Brig. Rajan’s letter and hence this letter.

Ncc Group Mysore will take concrete steps to ensure that the memory of Maj. Ghori remains alive in Mysore and India. May I very humbly appeal the citizens of Mysore to respect our martyrs as they have sacrificed their today for your tomorrow, their own families lie forgotten and unattended, perhaps as our neighbours.

We as soldiers always follow the credo that ‘The country comes first always and every time … Our own honour, safety and welfare comes last, always and every time’. Maj. Ghori followed the Chetwode credo to his last breath. The need of the hour is that all Indians make a beginning towards it.

May I end my first letter to media with an epic poem on the saga of HORATIUS by Thomas Macaulay:

To every man on this earth

death comes soon or late,

How can a man die better

Than facing fearful odds

For the ashes of his Fathers

And temples of his Gods,

Maj. Ghori was a HORATIUS

for all the Indians who

breathe today and tomorrow.

—Col. Rajeshwar Singh, Shaurya Chakra, Sena Medal, Group Commander, NCC

Mysore, 1.7.2014

source: Voice of the Reader Section / source: http://www.starofmysore.com / Star of Mysore / Home> Voice of the Reader  / July 07th, 2014

This is in response to the story above.