The Brave: Param Vir Chakra Stories (26 page)

Dimple and Vikram were college sweethearts. They had only attended a few months of classes together at Punjab University when Vikram left to join the Indian Military Academy. They kept in touch and decided to get married. Had Vikram come back from the Kargil War that was the plan. Only he didn’t. Instead, Dimple got a phone call from a friend saying Vikram had suffered a terrible injury and she should call his parents. When she rushed to Palampur, she saw a coffin bearing his body, surrounded by a crowd of media and local people. More than 25, 000 had collected for his funeral, not just from Palampur, but also from the nearby towns of Baijnath, Paprola and Nagrota.

‘I didn’t go closer because there was too much media there and I didn’t want to break down and create a scene. ‘ She watched quietly from a distance holding her brother’s hand. Vikram’s parents noticed the girl in salwar-kameez standing in the crowd but they were too upset to find out who she was.

Dimple returned to Chandigarh and decided she would rather live with his memories than get married to someone else. ‘He was a wonderful, fun-loving guy. He was very handsome. He loved to do things for people, but why I miss his so much is because he was my best friend. I could tell him my innermost feelings and he would understand,’ she says.

Sometimes when she accidentally looks at the clock and it shows 7. 30 p. m. on a Wednesday, or on a Sunday, Dimple’s heart still misses a beat. For nearly four years, till he went to war from where he did not return, that was the scheduled time for Vikram to call her without fail, irrespective of where he was. ‘He could be in Palampur, Dehradun, Sopore or Delhi but the call would come and I would always stay around the phone so that I could pick it up before my father did, ‘ she remembers with a wistful smile.

The telephone no longer rings for her at that allotted time and, even if it does, that familiar voice is no longer there. He would have called but they don’t have telephone connectivity where he has gone now.

The wind was like a knife—cold and sharp—and Capt. Vikram Batra, who had been promoted after his first assault in June, knew it could slice the skin right offhis cheekbones. To an extent, it already had.

That was why he and his 25 men from Delta Company, 13 JAK Rif., blended in so well with the barren landscape. Their grey, sunburnt faces with unkempt beards and tissue peeling off under the wind’s painful whipping merged perfectly with the massive boulders behind which they were taking cover. Pt. 4875 was still 70 metres away and their task had been to reach that ridge, storm the enemy and occupy the post before daylight. Unfortunately, the evacuation of Capt. Navin, who had a badly injured leg, had taken time and it was already first light. Through the night the men had been climbing the slope with machinegun fire coming almost incessantly from the top of the ridge. Intermittently, their faces would glow in the red light of the Bofors fire that was giving them cover from the base of the Mushkoh valley.

The morning of 7 July there was a lot of pressure to proceed. Lt Col Joshi spoke to Batra at 5. 30 a. m. and asked him to reconnoitre the area with Subedar Raghunath Singh. Just before the point was a narrow ledge where the enemy soldiers were and it was almost impossible to go ahead. There was no way from the left or right either and, on the spur of the moment, Batra decided that even though it was daylight he and his boys would storm the post in a direct assauLt Setting aside all concerns for personal safety, he assaulted the ledge catching the enemy unawares but they soon opened fire. Though injured, Vikram continued his charge, with supporting fire from the rest of the patrol and reached the mouth of the ledge, giving the Indian Army a foothold on the ledge. This was when he realized that one of his men had been shot.

Even as he tried to keep his chin down with a shot whistling over his head, his eyes rested on the young soldier who had been hit and was lying in a pool of blood just a few feet away. Till a short while ago he had been crying out in pain. Now he was silent.

His eyes met those of Sub Raghunath Singh, who was sitting behind a nearby boulder, maintaining an iron grip on his AK-47. ‘Aap aur main usko evacuate karenge,’ (We will evacuate him, you and I) Batra shouted above the din of the flying bullets.

Raghunath Sahib’s experience told him that the chances of the boy being alive were slim and they shouldn’t be risking their own lives trying to get him from under enemy fire.

But Batra was unwilling to leave his man. ‘Darte hain, Sahib?’ (Are you afraid, sir?) he taunted the JCO.

‘Darta nahin hun, Sahib,’ (I am not afraid, Sir) Raghunath replied and got up.

Just as he was about to step into the open, Batra caught him by the collar: ‘You have a family and children to go back to, I’m not even married. Main sar ki taraf rahunga aur aap paanv uthayenge,’ (I will take the head and you take his feet) he said pushing the JCO back and taking his place instead. The moment Batra bent to pick up the injured soldier’s head, a sniper shot him in the chest.

The man who had survived so many bullets, killed men in hand-to-hand combat and cleared bunkers of Pakistani intruders, fearlessly putting his own life at stake so many times, was destined to die from this freak shot.

When he was in Sopore some time earlier, Batra had had a miraculous escape when a militant’s bullet had grazed his shoulder and hit the man behind him killing him on the spot. He was surprised then. As he lay dying, destiny surprised him yet again. He had plans to follow, he had tasks to achieve, an enemy to vanquish. He was surprised that the bullet had found its mark despite all those unfulfilled duties. Batra gasped in disbelief and collapsed next to the young soldier he had wanted to give a dignified death to. The blood drained out of his body even as his stunned men watched in horror.

Spurred by Batra’s extreme courage and sacrifice, a squad of10 of his men (each carrying one AK-47 rifle, six magazines and two No. 36 hand grenades) attacked through the ledge, found the Pakistanis making halwa and killed each of the enemy soldiers on top, with zero casualties of their own in that assauLt The fierceness of their attack frightened the Pakistani soldiers so much that many of them ran to the edge and jumped off the cliff, meeting a painful end in the craggy valley.

Even in his death, Vikram Batra had kept the promise he had made to a friend casually over a cup of tea at Neugal Café in Palampur, on his last visit home. When his friend had cautioned him to be careful in the war, Batra had replied: ‘Either, I will hoist the Tricolour in victory or I’ll come back wrapped in it.’

If I begin with our journey, it started in a small town, Palampur, in the Dhauladhar ranges in district Kangra.

Luv, as we called Capt Vikram Batra, PVC (Posthumous), and I, Kush, his identical twin (just 14 minutes younger) had a life full of laughter and pranks till we grew up and decided that we wanted to be part of the Indian armed forces.

How fast time flies. And how all of us don’t get what we want. Luv made it into the Indian Military Academy in March 1996 and I, rejected thrice by the Service Selection Board, had to settle for a career in management.

When Vikram visited us during his annual leave, looking tall and handsome in his uniform, I realized how much passion I still had for the forces. With great pride in my eyes I watched my brother marching ahead in life so much faster than we had thought.

Having got commissioned into 13 JAK Rifles with his first posting in Sopore, Vikram already had some daring face-to-face combat with the enemy in insurgency operations. We knew he was born to fight against the odds.

It was around the same time that the Kargil War happened and he was asked to move there to help fellow soldiers flush out Pakistani intruders who had entered Indian terrain. The last call Vikram made to Mom and Dad on his movement had given us some jitters, but we always knew that he was a daring officer for whom facing any challenge was a cakewalk. His last statement to one of our friends before proceeding to Kargil that either he would hoist the Tricolour or come back wrapped in it still echoes in our hearts. It showed what iron he was made of.

It’s been 15 years. A lot has changed and a lot has remained the same. I have many more grey strands in my hair. Vikram remains as youthful as ever. Time cannot touch him. In these 15 years, there has hardly been any day when Vikram has not been spoken about.

The greatest memory etched in my heart so deep is from way back in 1985 when the Doordarshan-telecast serial
Param Vir Chakra.
We didn’t have a TV then and would watch at our neighbours’ house. I could never have imagined even in my wildest dreams that the stories we saw in this popular serial would one day become so real for us. Or that Vikram would be the hero. The famous radioed message, from a height of 18, 000 feet, ‘Yeh Dil maange more’, by Vikram caught the fancy of millions of Indians, and they still haven’t forgotten it. Or him.

So many times strangers come up to me and tell me that I look like Vikram or ask if they have seen me somewhere. I have been asked by hundreds of people if I am related to Vikram. Each time, I know they are thinking of Vikram and I feel proud of being his brother.

Death is the ultimate truth of life but how many of us have the courage to face death with open arms? My brother Vikram was a Param Vir—Bravest of the Brave.

I salute all those soldiers who are the real Virs of this nation.

Param Vir-Our Heroes in Battle
by Maj Gen Ian Cardozo

The Coldest war; Frozen in Fury on the Roof of the World
by Barry Bearak, published 23 May 1999,
The New York Times

Indian Defence Review
—Strategic Importance of Siachen by Maj Gen Sheru Thapliyal, Issue Vol. 21. 1, Jan-Mar 2006

Param Vir—Our Heroes in Battle
by Maj Gen Ian Cardozo ‘The Kargil War 1999’,
Bharat Rakshak

Putting Our Children in the Line of Fire’, by Gen Shahid Aziz,
The Nation,
3 Feb 2014

‘Nawaz Blames Musharraf for Kargil’,
The Times of India,
28 May 2006

Kargil Planned before Vajpayee’s visit: Musharraf’,
Indian Express,
13 May 2006

I would like to extend my sincerest thanks to Hony (Retd) Capt Bana Singh, PVC, Sub Yogender Singh Yadav, PVC, and Hav Sanjay Kumar, PVC, for sharing with me their brave stories with a humility that touched me to the core. I would also like to thank all those soldiers who shared with me their recollections of the painful wars they fought and the brave colleagues they lost. Also, the loved ones of dead heroes who welcomed me into their homes and let me sift through their albums and memories to help me know these PVCs better.

I am particularly thankful to Lt Gen (Retd) S. N. Sharma, PVSM, AVSM, brother of the late Maj Somnath Sharma, India’s first PVC; Subedar (Retd) Kala Singh, who had served with both the late Lance Naik Karam Singh, PVC, and the late Sub Joginder Singh, PVC; Mrs Rajeshwari Rane, widow of the late Maj Rama Raghoba Rane, PVC, Col J. P. Chopra, VrC, who was with Maj Rane in the 1947 War; Lt Aditya Tanwar and Hav R. D. Tiwari of 4 Guards for spending a precious Saturday evening and Sunday morning helping me research Naik Yadunath Singh in their Regimental Archives at Beas, 4 Guards for their hospitality and Number 1 guest room, and Brig (Retd) N. Bahri for passing on regimental lore about Yadunath; Maj Gen (Retd) R. P. Singh, AVSM, VSM, for permission to use material from his book on the late Maj Gurbachan Singh Salaria, PVC; Poonam Thapa, daughter of the late Lt Col Dhan Singh Thapa, PVC, for her time and memories; Hon Capt (Retd) Ram Chander and Hav (Retd) Nihal Singh, Sena Medal, of13 Kumaon for their vivid recollections of the Battle of Rezang La; the late Hav Abdul Hamid, PVC’s grandson Mr Jameel for sharing stories no one else knew; Mrs Zarine Mahir Boyce, daughter of the late Col Adi Tarapore, PVC, for her memories of her father, Col Bal Singh, Commandant, Poona Horse, for reading the draft on Col Tarapore, Lt Gen (Retd) Ajai Singh for his conversation about the 1965 War; Col (Retd) O. P. Kohli for his recollections of late Lance Naik Albert Ekka, PVC, and the BangladeshWar; Air Cmde (Retd) Ramesh V. Phadke for helping me know Flying Officer Nirmal Jit Singh Sekhon, PVC, better; the late Mrs Maheshwari Khetarpal, for her time (she passed away shortly after I spent a morning with her remembering 2/Lt Arun Khetarpal PVC), Mr Mukesh Khetarpal (Arun’s brother), who told me stories about his brother with a lot of love, Risaldar Maj (Retd) Nathu Singh for war narratives (he was with Arun in his dying moments); Col (Retd) S. S. Cheema, SM, and Col S. S. Punia, who fought the 1971 War along with late Col Hoshiar Singh, PVC, for helping me reconstruct the battle and specially to Col Cheema for editing the chapters on Col Tarapore and Col Hoshiar Singh; Col Vijay Kumar, CO, 8 Mahar, and Subedar (Retd) Dilip Maske for helping me understand the bravery of late Major Ramaswamy Parameswaran, PVC; Mrs Mohini Pande, Param Vir Chakra awardee late Captain Manoj Pande’s mother for sharing with me her memories of his growing years, that made her cry so many times; Brig Asthana for telling me about Manoj’s tenure in the battalion; Mr Girdharilal Batra and Mrs Kamal Kanta Batra, parents of late Capt Vikram Batra, PVC, for their time and the loving lunch they gave me in their beautiful house in Bandla Gaon, Himachal Pradesh, Vikram’s twin brother Vishal for his help and his friend Dimple for her memories of him.

I am also grateful to the Commanding Officers/ Commandants of all the PVC paltans for giving me access to documents, citations and war diaries, and for introducing me to retired soldiers and families of the dead heroes. The stories I wrote were based on their recollections.

Thanks also to Maj Gen (Retd) Ian Cardozo, whose book
Param Vir, Our Heroes in Battle
was a source of constant guidance and to Squadron Leader (Retd) Rana Chinna, Secretary, United Service Institution of India Centre for Armed Forces Historical Research, for giving me access to the exhaustive USI library and personally helping me find relevant war journals and books for my stories.

A sincere thank you to the Additional Directorate General of Public Information, (ADG PI), Indian Army, for providing valuable material, contact details and assistance in the project. They were a part of this book from start to finish. Thanks also to artist Rishi Kumar for stretching his work schedule to come up with face illustrations of the 21 PVCs at a very short notice.

I am particularly grateful to Col Sudhir Thakur, from 3 Engineer Regiment, for seeing this book through from start to finish with unflinching patience and for clearing every road block I encountered. Believe me, there were plenty! Sudhir was there at every step. Without him, this book couldn’t have been possible. I would also like to thank Maj Gen (Retd) N. R. K. Babu, who inspired me to keep writing, right from when I joined the regiment as a young Army wife and was a little upset about having to leave behind a career in journalism, by tasking me to write the 3 Regiment history to this project where he set the ball rolling by a personal visit when it looked like permissions for the book would not come from the Army. But then we are all from 3 Engineer Regiment, which makes them family and I tend to take them for granted.

Thanks also to Brigadier and Mrs M. K. Ajith Kumar, my adopted family, for facilitating interviews in Punjab for the stories on the late Lance Naik Karam Singh PVC and the late Subedar Joginder Singh PVC and for letting me live in their Bhatinda house, feeding me and tolerating me while I worked on their personal computer almost through the night. And to their golden retriever Toffee for licking me awake when I fell asleep at the computer.

I am also grateful to Col Rajeev Singh for finding me coveted phone numbers despite the constraints of a busy command, and Whatsapping them across with a cheerful message: Ma’am I’m faster than Google. And to my ever- smiling, wise cousin Tanu whose advice, time, house, car and driver were always at my disposal.

A grateful thanks to my old friend and former
Financial Express
colleague Renu Agal for introducing me to Penguin while I was living in back-of-beyond Ferozepur, the last town on the Indo-Pak border. Thanks also to my book editor at Penguin Anish Chandy for giving me this opportunity to give back to the Army something in return for all that it has given me. And to Archana Shankar at Random House for meticulously reading and rereading the proofs and for her patience and belief in me.

Thanks also to Manoj, my husband, for babysitting our son Saransh while I was away on my voyages of discovery and for being there to pick me up from airports and railway stations with a reassuring smile on his face. And to Saransh, for ensuring I complete the book in those moments of self-doubt: ‘But Mamma, I’ve told all my friends. You have to do it now. Nahi toh meri beizzati ho jayegi,’ he said. To my brother Col Sameer Singh Bisht, SM, for using his personal experience in Kargil for editing my Kargil drafts. And lastly to my dad Brigadier (Retd) B. S. Bisht, SM, VSM, for driving me to tears with those dreaded daily phone calls, gruffly demanding ‘How many chapters have you done?’ but always, always ending each conversation with an All the best beta’—something he has been wishing me all my life. I like to believe it works.