Like so many others, this plane never made back to base after dropping its cargo in Kunming.
The evergreen jungle soon overgrew the area and it was only in 1967 that the villagers ventured into the
area again. Kimusai shifted to a new village, Longkhimvong, which was being established some kilometres
away from the crash site and led the villagers to the aircraft. They started clearing the forest for cultivation
and the huge bulk of the downed aircraft was revealed.
The villagers knew the worth of aluminum and they piled logs on top of the plane and set it on fire. Some
made utensils out of the melted aluminum while others sold it off. They also made fantastic machetes and
knives out of the steel and Kimusai’s son Samuel, still uses one.
Kimusai is a great story teller and by the time he finished, the sun had gone down the hill and the skies
turned a flaming red. He had a faraway look in his eyes as he stood up with a deep sigh and made his way
home.
That night we stayed at a community hut by the side of the village church. Dinner was of rice, boiled
vegetables and meat of some jungle fowl. The headman’s wife made some jungle fowl soup which was
unbelievably delicious. No restaurant can ever replicate that. We sat in the kitchen by the fire and ate the
simple food served with a liberal dose of affection. Since there is no electricity, the villagers burn pieces of
pinewood and they act as candles.
The concept of breakfast as the world knows it does not exist in most of Nagaland. So at 7 in the morning,
we were served rice and vegetable and with a full stomach, we made our way to the crash site.
It was evident that the villagers had not burnt the forest at the crash site for a few years. The grass was
taller and thicker and the trees bigger. I could hear a stream but could not see it initially because of the
thick undergrowth. Retringia slashed a path with his razor sharp machete and we followed close behind. It
was deadly quiet and except for the occasional call of the lone eagle that circled the sky, ours were the
only noises.
Over the years most of the aluminium had been melted down and the small metal pieces carried away to
be sold off as scrap metal. We found a still shining landing gear, some twisted wheels, parts of gearbox,
crankshafts, a fan of some sort and some other heavy parts were scattered over a very large area. We
walked down stream, slashing away the thick foliage and found a number of large engine parts. I am sure a
concentrated search would reveal a whole lot of parts.
Even though the area had been burnt and cleared in the past, we were surprised to find pieces of unburnt
fabric and rubber hose pipes scattered in the area. A whole lot of parts are buried underground and some
keep popping up during cultivation almost every year. A couple of years back, a villager dug up a radio set
and a rusted and loaded revolver! Excavating the place will call for a major effort. It will be almost
impossible for an excavator to be brought down the hill through the forest and manual digging will be a
huge exercise.
It is an overwhelming sense of discovery, something that I have searched for a very long time. And the fact
that the headman told me that I was the first person from mainland India to visit the site made it even
more satisfying.
As I sat on a fallen tree and looked down the valley, I couldn’t help but imagine the plight of the crew as
they came down in flames. Even if they had survived the crash, it would have been near impossible for the
wounded to survive the dense jungle crawling with wildlife.
After half a century, nobody knew where the three graves were but I said a silent prayer for the men who
died so far away from their homeland.
The remains lay in a far and obscure place but it is well worth a visit. It makes us realise the kind of hell
that the soldiers went through during a long and bitter war.