In the course of my research, almost everyone I met expressed their great desire to see once again the place they were forced to abandon decades ago. Even their children seemed very curious to see for themselves the land that always featured in their parents’ and grandparents’ stories.

A few of them still continued to visit Assam from time to time, carrying with them gifts and even dollars, in search of their estranged kin. But despite having all mandatory travel documents in their possession, they were always made to feel very apprehensive by the prying eyes of the immigration officials, further worsened by the harrowing experiences of the past. They still had to answer unwholesome queries. On some instances the over-zealous inspectors would browbeat them into parting with the dollars, gifts or food items they had brought along for their loved ones.

However much I tried, I could never bring them back their long-lost days of joy and harmony. And I could do precious little to drive away the catastrophic nightmares that never stopped haunting them. My only endeavour was thus to hold up to the world the plight of their history, mostly unknown till date, on an elaborate canvas, and express the hope that such a horror never comes to pass again in the future.

I first heard of Chinese aggression from my father, the late Birajananda Choudhury, who was an eyewitness at the battle of Wallong. I made use of his hands-on experience in this novel. He died at the time I had just began writing the book and I remember my father with the utmost gratefulness. I also acknowledge my indebtedness to the late Noren Baruah who passed on to me precious information barely hours before his death.