In an era before the land ceiling law kicked in, for all male members of a large land holding family, a well-made firearm was much like a haute couture brand that added to one’s style as well as substance. It was a symbol of courage, status, power and an essential part of one’s persona. Guns were carried by the "raees" (land-owning nobility) even when they went to the court—which was often because there were so many legal disputes going on over land titles. I was then a boy growing up to be a gentleman farmer and my family had huge land holdings, so arms and ammunition were an integral part of that journey to adulthood.
Until the 70s, when life shifted to a more modern way of living, I, like my ancestors, would strap on a gun, even as a teenager, as part of one’s personal style. Though that era has long passed, the possession of heritage arms and ammunition continues to signify a lavish lifestyle and remains a regal reminder of a bygone age. Today, these licensed guns are mostly confined to ceremonial attire or celebratory firing, though I would not recommend the latter as much can go wrong when shots are fired indiscriminately into the air.
My favourite piece from an inherited collection, which I now carry on extremely rare ceremonial occasions, is a 1928 Spanish-made Astra 7.63 bore pistol. The date engraved on it is 12 July 1928. It is of great historical value since it is almost a hundred years old. This unique firearm, dating back to the World War 1 period, converts from a pistol to a rifle with the walnut wood case being used as a rifle butt. So it can also be used as a long-range weapon. It is a beautiful piece and anyone who knows and appreciates guns will fall in love with it because it is so well made.
Part of a heritage arsenal of arms and ammunition handed down from my ancestors, once land-owning gentry in Faridkot, Punjab, this pistol was first owned by my grandfather, Rai Sahib Kishore Chand. It then passed to my father, Tek Chand Ansal, and now rests with me. As a young boy, I would join my father and brother Abhimanyu (both sadly no more) on hunts for small game, carrying the pistol crossbody on a leather strap. I vividly recall those days in the thousand-acre forests of Faridkot, where we would set out for night safaris with torches in the late 60s and 70s, when no roads yet cut through the woods. On those adventures, this pistol-cum-rifle was always by my side.
Now it stays stored away, brought out only once a year for maintenance. It remains in perfect working condition, and the bullets are still available. If I recall correctly, the last time I fired it was at a shooting range in Delhi in the 90s. I continue to renew the license every five years. Of course, I don’t carry it around in Delhi, but perhaps one day I’ll flaunt it with a traditional outfit on a very special occasion. It would give me immense pleasure, and be a matter of great pride, to show off this beauty.
I don’t think a firearm like this can even be made these days. It is part of a legacy that will go on to my son, who I hope will appreciate its sentimental value as well as its historical significance—a relic of a way of life lost forever.
