Brig Jagbir Singh Grewal retd
OUR newly posted brigade commander took charge in July 1995. Thenceforth, it was a hectic schedule with briefings, introduction to various roles and familiarisation with the terrain. The responsibility to acquaint the brigade commander with the battalion’s area of operations fell on me, the battalion commander. A palpable chill pervaded the air as we drove off from Udhampur in a small convoy during the twilight hours. Short of Patnitop, we veered off the winding mountainous road to Chenani — a quaint old township. This road further led to Mantalai, which boasted of an airstrip and housed the ashram of the famed Dhirendra Brahmachari, who had wielded tremendous power in his heyday. The site had fallen into disuse after his demise in 1994.
After having driven the vehicle for a few kilometres on the bumpy road hedged within the scraggy pine trees, our Maruti Gypsy suddenly rattled and shook badly. Instantly, a deafening, earth-shaking explosion nearly burst our eardrums, and the accompanying intense flash of lightning swept through the surroundings. Bringing the vehicle to a screeching halt and flinging open its doors, we dashed towards the mountainside to seek cover behind the crevices and bends of the rocky terrain as splinters and stones chased us, chunks of earth trickled downslope and massive boulders thunderously rolled down the mountain — we had been ambushed.
Expecting that rapid gunfire would target us at any moment and reveal the hostile party’s location, we cocked our weapons, waiting to retaliate promptly. But no gunfire came as we stood by endlessly, for what seemed like ages. I realised that an indigenous type of explosive device had been laid on our route and it had been blown up prematurely a few yards ahead of our vehicle, possibly by nervous operators. ‘What a waste of effort,’ remarked our brigade commander. ‘Anyway, I have been battle-inoculated adequately,’ he joked, perhaps to reduce the discernible tension.
The protection party escorting us briskly moved uphill from our flank to secure a foothold on the ridge-line that overlooked the explosion site. They accosted a few naive-looking, ill-clad farmers who were tilling their land. After this miraculous escape, I also expeditiously ascended the cliff and got the uneven terrace-shaped fields cordoned off. A prompt search operation revealed an abandoned terrorist hideout. A cache of arms, ammunition and some tinned eatables was unearthed.
The explosive device had been laid by the insurgents’ overground workers, who were initially perceived to be innocent. They would have been paid by the insurgents. Addressing the latter as terrorists is befitting, because terrorism is their vocation. Exposing themselves for the cowards they are, these terrorists remain hidden while executing their nefarious designs through their informers and moles, who succumb to greed of petty sums.