Nippon steel in the family

The Second World War (1939 to 1945), the most “widespread war in history” affected hundreds of millions of people worldwide; it has affected me too, albeit in a small way. My grandfather (‘aata’) who was trained as a surgeon, was involved in WW II. He was a part of the British Indian Army Medical Corps, and had actively served in the war in Burma (now Myanmar), where the allies first stemmed, and then pushed back the Japanese juggernaut that was threatening the entire continent. Aata probably served in those frenetic battle-field medical stations just behind the front lines, where the freshly wounded would be immediately brought in and being a surgeon, he must have been involved in some pretty hairy situations. Anyway, aata was with the allied troops when they marched into Rangoon (erstwhile capital of Burma, now Yangon), recapturing it from the Japanese army.

My beloved Aata

When the war ended, aata was honourably discharged from the army. He returned home, now an Army Captain and bringing a very special object, a ‘spoil of war’ if you will. Aata was just a doctor, mind you; he was no warrior but when he came back from the war, he carried with him a warrior’s weapon – a Japanese samurai sword, a “katana”. 

The Imperial Japanese Army required all its officers to wear the sword and as a symbol of aggression, it must have been very effective. The unsheathed katana and the accompanying cry of “Banzai!” have remained enduring images of the belligerent Japanese army in WW II. The story behind the katana in our family is simple enough – aata prised loose the sword from the cold grasp of a dead Japanese officer lying in a paddy field. Steel from Nippon was widely regarded then as is now, as being the very best of fighting steel and the samurai sword which the Japanese Emperor Hirohito mandated all his officers to carry, was very sought-after by the Allied troops.

It was I guess in the early 1990s, that I saw our katana. My father drew out the sword from its maroon-coloured scabbard very carefully. It looked distinguished even after all the years; it was very slender and had a continuous curved blade. My father began telling me about the sharpness of the blade; the katana was quickly put to the test, first on a hapless water gourd and then again, on a few, fat potatoes. It ran through the veggies like a knife goes through butter. The veggies decimated, my father sheathed it back and I can still remember how pleased I was with the entire demonstration. The katana was not mounted or exhibited in the house; the reason for that I feel now, was cos of its history as a weapon of war. Instead it was kept high up (remember I was small then) on top of a wooden bureau, carefully rolled up inside a piece of large cloth.

For a few years, the katana was the companion of Nitul dada (the son of my father’s elder brother). In his teens, dada used to sleep with the katana under his bed, I suppose as a weapon against burglars. I can understand how as a boy, dada must have been fascinated with the katana. To my anguish, I was too small then to wield it. The katana is a single-edged sword; its razor-sharp cutting edge is a meticulous blend of unique Japanese steel called ‘tamahagane’. It must have been to protect dada from any accidents that the razor-sharp edge of the katana was blunted by repeated hammerings but it was sharp nevertheless, as the veggie exercise showed.

Shortly afterwards, aata and 'ai' (my grandmother) died, my parents and I moved out from our ancestral home and the memory of the katana faded. It was almost a year back while on a visit to our old home that I remembered the katana and I asked Nitul dada (now a 40-something father of 2 daughters) where the sword was. Dada did not know. I guess we have lost that little, history-laden bit of Nippon steel. Or is it even now, lurking in a long-forgotten corner of the house waiting to be taken out of its scabbard to be shown to a new generation?