Diary Of A Soldier - 15
Battees Saal Bahut Se Sawaalon Kee Umra Hotee Hai
(Thirty Two years is the age of many a question)
Indra jit... lance naik Indrajit Singh is no more. My prayer to Ma Bhavaanee, to enable me to take back all the soldiers of the battalion safe and sound after the two and a half year tenure over here, went unheard. Today is the fifth day... when the sixteen officers and the eleven hundred soldiers of the entire battalion have been unable to take in even a single morsel of food. A soldier's death during encounter with the enemy does become acceptable somewhere, in some corner of the mind with the passing of time. But death because of the ferocity of weather or delay in the arrival of medical help owing to the difficult terrain causes lifelong pain.
It was after midnight... must have been after two a.m... when the wireless set recevied a message from the operator. It was partially the concern in his voice and partially the fierce weather outside... the dreadful mix of the two together were creating in the mind a certain air for the making of a disaster. The group of thirteen soldiers, back from leave, had started this way at seven in the evening. By all reason the group should have arrived after a climb of seven hours. It is always safer to travel after sunset on snowy mountains as the risk of an avalanche is minimal during night. We generally receive the weather forecast of this region each morning with an accuracy of 99.9 per cent, directly from Delhi. But this night, perhaps, came in the category of that 0.1 per cent. When the group just back from leave had asked for permission from the base to start their climb towards the battalion, the weather had been completely clear. The half-moon had arrived with all its brilliance along with hoards of stars. It was just an ordinary night...which, unknown to anyone, was going to bring in an unforgettable flood of pain by the time it ended. A message from the group of soldiers just after two hours of the start of their climb had said that Indrajit was experiencing a mild chest pain. They had also received my order to return immediately to the base. But Indrajit had insisted... it is nothing... let's go up. The chest pain grew terrible midway. First aid did bring his breaking breath somewhat to normal but lance naik Indrajit closed his eyes forever a few moments before the break of dawn. The on-alert helicopter pilots, ready to pick up Indrajit any moment to carry to the hospital, didn't stand a chance against the cruel whipping of the weather.. Even in these advanced times of science and modern technique, we have failed to bring helicopters to our country which are capable of making safe flights in such foul weather.
It must have been perhaps three in the morning when finally my restlessness, despite the best efforts of the subedar major and the other officers of the battalion to stop me, compelled me even in that blizzard to rush down towards the base. When somehow, after a thousand... ten thousand years... I reached my soldiers stumbling and faltering, Indrajit had passed on... leaving us behind.
There were so many memories associated with Indrajit. Prior to the tenure at Pithoragarh, he had been with me for three years, here in Kashmir... in the jungles down below over there. He had been with me so many times while patrolling, in so many ambushes and operations. Always with a smile... and singing, every now and then, songs from Haryana.
The post mortem report said he had, during the climb, picked up and swallowed a piece of snow which then went to settle in his chest and proved fatal. During the four week training prior to posting on these high mountains, we had been told thousands times never ever to swallow snow to quench our thirst when tired. Ever since I have received this information, the waves of sorrow and pain have been joined somewhere also by a wave of anger.
Being a soldier you cannot be careless even for a moment... a soldier just can't afford to be careless... and carelessness against instructions given during training has especially proven to be fatal more often than not. A small mistake has not only brought the life of a young soldier to an untimely end... it has also robbed the country of an able army man. Those left behind are his wife, his four year old daughter, his old parents and we... his colleagues and comrades.
The most difficult moment in a commanding officer's life comes when he has to inform the father or the mother or the wife in the family of a departed soldier. With a sobbing heart and trembling hands, I have no idea how I was able to break it to Indrajit's father over the phone. The wail rising from the other end has, as if, rendered me deaf for life. How I wish no father would ever have to hear the news of his young son's demise... and no commanding officer in the armies of the entire would ever have to inform the family of a soldier in his battalion of his death.
This is all that I pray for ! Is it too much ?
Words are failing me today dear diary. Such bizarre, delirious bits of intoning are rising from the pit of my chest. A portion of a poem by Babusha Kohli puts wet bandages on these scalding bits of intoning late at night on these icy, smouldering mountain. Listen my diary :-
"Aasmaan kehta hai ki kisee ko itne ratjage na do
ki pakkee neend kaa pataa dhoondhe
aasmaan ke paas aankhe hain par haath nahin
zakhmee gardan par tamage taange gaye
uskee neend kee mittee par ugaaa diye gaye gulaab ke phool
aakhir shaanti aur sannaate mein koi to furk hotaa hai na
dar-asal mere dost !
sannaate na torre gaye to jamhaai aatee hai
ki battees saal bahut se sawaalon kee umra hotee hai... "
(The sky asks not to give so many wakeful nights to anyone,
that one has to go looking for the address of sound sleep
the sky has eyes but not hands
medals were hung down the wounded neck
rose flowers sown over the soil of his sleep
after all there is a difference between peace and silence
the fact is my friend !
that silence, if not broken, brings on yawns
that thirty two is the age of many a question..."
... Indrajit would have turned thirty two in June this year !
-x-
Battees Saal Bahut Se Sawaalon Kee Umra Hotee Hai
(Thirty Two years is the age of many a question)
Indra jit... lance naik Indrajit Singh is no more. My prayer to Ma Bhavaanee, to enable me to take back all the soldiers of the battalion safe and sound after the two and a half year tenure over here, went unheard. Today is the fifth day... when the sixteen officers and the eleven hundred soldiers of the entire battalion have been unable to take in even a single morsel of food. A soldier's death during encounter with the enemy does become acceptable somewhere, in some corner of the mind with the passing of time. But death because of the ferocity of weather or delay in the arrival of medical help owing to the difficult terrain causes lifelong pain.
It was after midnight... must have been after two a.m... when the wireless set recevied a message from the operator. It was partially the concern in his voice and partially the fierce weather outside... the dreadful mix of the two together were creating in the mind a certain air for the making of a disaster. The group of thirteen soldiers, back from leave, had started this way at seven in the evening. By all reason the group should have arrived after a climb of seven hours. It is always safer to travel after sunset on snowy mountains as the risk of an avalanche is minimal during night. We generally receive the weather forecast of this region each morning with an accuracy of 99.9 per cent, directly from Delhi. But this night, perhaps, came in the category of that 0.1 per cent. When the group just back from leave had asked for permission from the base to start their climb towards the battalion, the weather had been completely clear. The half-moon had arrived with all its brilliance along with hoards of stars. It was just an ordinary night...which, unknown to anyone, was going to bring in an unforgettable flood of pain by the time it ended. A message from the group of soldiers just after two hours of the start of their climb had said that Indrajit was experiencing a mild chest pain. They had also received my order to return immediately to the base. But Indrajit had insisted... it is nothing... let's go up. The chest pain grew terrible midway. First aid did bring his breaking breath somewhat to normal but lance naik Indrajit closed his eyes forever a few moments before the break of dawn. The on-alert helicopter pilots, ready to pick up Indrajit any moment to carry to the hospital, didn't stand a chance against the cruel whipping of the weather.. Even in these advanced times of science and modern technique, we have failed to bring helicopters to our country which are capable of making safe flights in such foul weather.
It must have been perhaps three in the morning when finally my restlessness, despite the best efforts of the subedar major and the other officers of the battalion to stop me, compelled me even in that blizzard to rush down towards the base. When somehow, after a thousand... ten thousand years... I reached my soldiers stumbling and faltering, Indrajit had passed on... leaving us behind.
There were so many memories associated with Indrajit. Prior to the tenure at Pithoragarh, he had been with me for three years, here in Kashmir... in the jungles down below over there. He had been with me so many times while patrolling, in so many ambushes and operations. Always with a smile... and singing, every now and then, songs from Haryana.
The post mortem report said he had, during the climb, picked up and swallowed a piece of snow which then went to settle in his chest and proved fatal. During the four week training prior to posting on these high mountains, we had been told thousands times never ever to swallow snow to quench our thirst when tired. Ever since I have received this information, the waves of sorrow and pain have been joined somewhere also by a wave of anger.
Being a soldier you cannot be careless even for a moment... a soldier just can't afford to be careless... and carelessness against instructions given during training has especially proven to be fatal more often than not. A small mistake has not only brought the life of a young soldier to an untimely end... it has also robbed the country of an able army man. Those left behind are his wife, his four year old daughter, his old parents and we... his colleagues and comrades.
The most difficult moment in a commanding officer's life comes when he has to inform the father or the mother or the wife in the family of a departed soldier. With a sobbing heart and trembling hands, I have no idea how I was able to break it to Indrajit's father over the phone. The wail rising from the other end has, as if, rendered me deaf for life. How I wish no father would ever have to hear the news of his young son's demise... and no commanding officer in the armies of the entire would ever have to inform the family of a soldier in his battalion of his death.
This is all that I pray for ! Is it too much ?
Words are failing me today dear diary. Such bizarre, delirious bits of intoning are rising from the pit of my chest. A portion of a poem by Babusha Kohli puts wet bandages on these scalding bits of intoning late at night on these icy, smouldering mountain. Listen my diary :-
"Aasmaan kehta hai ki kisee ko itne ratjage na do
ki pakkee neend kaa pataa dhoondhe
aasmaan ke paas aankhe hain par haath nahin
zakhmee gardan par tamage taange gaye
uskee neend kee mittee par ugaaa diye gaye gulaab ke phool
aakhir shaanti aur sannaate mein koi to furk hotaa hai na
dar-asal mere dost !
sannaate na torre gaye to jamhaai aatee hai
ki battees saal bahut se sawaalon kee umra hotee hai... "
(The sky asks not to give so many wakeful nights to anyone,
that one has to go looking for the address of sound sleep
the sky has eyes but not hands
medals were hung down the wounded neck
rose flowers sown over the soil of his sleep
after all there is a difference between peace and silence
the fact is my friend !
that silence, if not broken, brings on yawns
that thirty two is the age of many a question..."
... Indrajit would have turned thirty two in June this year !
-x-
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