one cold night he escaped into Pakistan and lived there till
his death some years later.
Dad never told me his exploits that took months sometimes
on foot since the lion-infested Sasan-Gir forest was
impossible to cross even in 4-wheeled Jeeps and Land
Rovers. But I guessed a lot, pretty accurately. Many stories
were told later by his friends and admirers. Once I sat
eating humble food in Rajesh Canteen, a very down-at-heel
sort of eatery in Gorwa industrial estate, during my first
serious job in industry. I observed the pleasant Mr. Kaushik
Patel, as the owner-manager, always smiling to himself and
often paying back more change to customer, more than
necesssary. It turned out he was a hopeless alcoholic as
many of his community in Baroda are. Gone cases.
After six months on an impulse I made small talk with him.
He wanted to know if I was in any remote way related to
Y.S.Babi. I said I was his son. He got up and shook my
hands, with both his hands and his eyes turned moist.
" What an upright police officer!" He exclaimed and told me
a story. It seems during the 1956 riots when Gujarat was
torn away from the erstwhile Bombay state, Ahmedbad
was one helluva place to be in. He happened to be there,
and in some notorious locality, he saw one police officer
with a revolver in his hands, holding off a crowd of no less