THERE hasn’t been a more tearful goodbye than the one I received as a newlywed that morning from my wife, who was unaware of the perils of soldiering. Our flight had been mobilised to provide aviation support to our troops fighting in Ladakh. Kargil, a little-known town till then, had suddenly emerged on the world map.
With just a year of flying experience and no hill flying background, I underwent on-the-job training. Operating at those unforgiving altitudes with reduced oxygen levels tested both human and machine endurance. The helipads were barely wide enough to land, leaving no room for error. Flying in pairs offered some solace; at least our location would be known in an emergency. Each sortie was a new experience and every landing back at base felt like a homecoming.
With the Line of Control losing its relevance, we had to determine whether landing sites were in friendly or hostile territory. Those who returned with splinter marks on their helicopters deserved their gallantry awards. For the wounded, we were ‘angels of mercy’. Sadly, some would not survive or be maimed for life, raising questions about the worth of living in a vegetative state. The smell of death was nauseating.
Stress and anxiety were writ large on the faces of flying commanders on reconnaissance missions. Heavy lies the head that wears the crown and many lives depended on their decisions. We also flew journalists who covered the war, including Vishnu Som and Barkha Dutt. Bollywood stars Vinod Khanna, Nana Patekar and Salman Khan visited us, providing a colourful interlude to the otherwise grey battle zone. For a change, these celebrities asked for photos with us.
Each day was an emotional seesaw. When one of our helicopters crashed, there was a stunning silence in the crew room. Hearing about the wellbeing of pilots was a cause for celebration. Capt Vikram Batra’s legendary words on TV, ‘Yeh dil maange more’, cheered us up; his death just days later was a rude shock. There was joy when we won back Tololing Ridge and Tiger Hill, but it was dampened by the task of carrying the mortal remains of those who achieved this victory.
For my parents, it was a harrowing time, with both their sons in the war zone. We returned to Jalandhar with mixed emotions after the guns fell silent. We had won the war, but one of us had not made it back, falling prey to the fickleness of fortune.
Otto von Bismarck said: ‘Anyone who has looked into the glazed eyes of a soldier dying on the battlefield will think hard before starting a war.’ Thankfully, there hasn’t been a war since then. But who can predict a soldier’s fate or the enemy’s mind?