BRAVE PVC STORIES (SIACHIN) - Bana Singh In the tiny village of Kadyal near Jammu, in a small house surrounded by mustard fields, an old Sikh gets up at 4. 30 every morning. He has a big glass of chai before heading to the neighbourhood gurudwara for ardaas (prayers), returning only at 8 a. m.
After a hearty breakfast of makke ki roti and sarson ka saag, he takes out his tractor and heads for the fields. It is the same routine through the year—the only thing that changes, with the seasons, is the crop: wheat in winter, sugar cane in summer, rice in the monsoon.
In January, however, retired Subedar Major (Honorary Captain) Bana Singh, Param Vir Chakra (PVC), opens his old black steel box and takes out his war medals to polish them till they sparkle. That is the time he goes to New Delhi to participate in the Republic Day Parade. Each time he holds the PVC in his hand, he remembers a very cold day in Siachen when the winds were blowing at 50 km an hour and sweat was freezing on his palms.
Saltoro Ridge, Siachen
25 June 1987
Small and slight, Naib Subedar Bana Singh of 8 J&K Light Infantry (8 JAK LI) was wading through waist-deep snow, his AK 47 rifle slung across his back. Above 19, 000 feet, the days were no different from the nights and it was impossible to tell what time it was. A short while before, icy winds had been blowing at more than 40 km an hour, striking the soldiers like bullets on their open faces.
No sooner had the winds dropped than a snowstorm had started. The visibility was down to near zero. An impregnable grey mist had dropped around Bana Singh and the two soldiers trudging wearily through the snow. The temperature had dropped to -45 degrees, making the sweat on their palms and the breath from their nostrils freeze into needle-like icicles. For a moment, Bana Singh wondered if the task before him was even possible. But he shook his head and refused to even consider it impossible. Instead he concentrated on placing one weary foot after another.
Maybe it was best that they couldn’t see what was around, he thought. He was still to recover from the shock of seeing the bodies of his comrades, massacred in cold blood by the Pakistanis. Preserved by the extreme weather, they had been lying halfburied under freshly fallen snow, their faces grotesque masks of ice, their weapons fallen beside their bullet-riddled bodies. Though he had told his eyes not to look, they had ignored his command and continued to scan the faces of the dead soldiers scattered like rag dolls. He instinctively knew they had found what he didn’t want to look at. The crumpled body on the far side bore the handsome face of Second Lieutenant Rajiv Pande, his eyes blank and staring into nothingness.
Bana Singh froze. Only a few days back, the young and gutsy officer had been joking and laughing in the warm langar at Sonam Post. Now he was cold and dead. Bana Singh gritted his teeth and moved on.
Up ahead was the hazy outline of Quaid Post, at 21, 153 feet, where the enemy soldiers were holed up. His task was to capture the post. ‘I don’t care if we lose every man. We want that post. They killed our men. We cant let that go unavenged. Unit ki izzat ka sawaal hai (It is a matter of the unit’s pride),’ the cutting words of his commanding officer echoed in his ears.
Bana Singh gestured to his companions to stop. Their orders were to wait for three other soldiers being sent as reinforcement. Using their ice picks, the men cut into the snow wall and made place to sit huddled together, drawing heat from each other’s tired bodies. There they waited for the others to join them. Frozen, tired and hungry, they had to fight a war, when such a war had never been fought at those precarious heights ever before, anywhere in the world!
Saltoro Ridge, where Bana Singh and his men were operating, is close to the Everest in terms ofclimate and terrain. Not only were they above 19, 000 feet where the oxygen deficit made even walking a challenge, the temperature would fall below -45 degrees Celsius and just survival would become a challenge. Now they had to fight the enemy and recapture the post. What made it more challenging was that the enemy was sitting at a height and could fire down at them anytime.
However, the task had to be done because the Pakistanis had not only occupied the post by stealth but they were also firing at helicopters and had fired at and killed unsuspecting men from the 8 JAK LI patrol that had gone there earlier. Second Lieutenant Rajiv Pande, Nb Sub Hemraj and 10 jawans were in the first patrol that was sent on a reconnaissance of the area. The team was specially trained in skiing and mountain warfare, yet it was a Herculean task for them to fix ropes and scale the ice in that thin air. Every step was a challenge, but they persevered for over 48 hours in the sub-zero temperatures.
When the post was just 500 m away, Pande asked his commanding officer Colonel A.P. Rai for further orders on the radio set. He was told to advance. The patrol did not realize that Pakistan’s SSG commandos were watching them from an overhang, waiting for them to come within firing range. The moment the unsuspecting men came closer, the Pakistanis opened fire, killing all but two soldiers. Pande and his men died but the ropes they had tied would show Bana Singh and his team the way. Their dead faces would also fill the soldiers with sadness and cold fury, giving them the strength to go on.
The very next day, shocked by the cold-blooded killing of the men, senior officers of the Indian Army rushed to Sonam Post. These included the corps commander, the Army chief, and the defence minister. Col Rai, who had lost his men in the terrible shootout, was bristling with rage. He pleaded for another chance to take over the post. A full-fledged attack was planned. A small camp was established ahead of Sonam Post. Five Cheetah helicopters did 400 sorties, flying on minimum fuel to maximize load-bearing capacity, and the post was equipped with rations, pup tents, arms and ammunition.
A team of two officers, three JCOs and 57 men was earmarked for the task. Nb Sub Bana Singh did not figure in the selected team but Col Rai handpicked him for the task. ‘Bana will go,’ he said, ‘I have a lot offaith in him. ‘No one knew at that time just how prophetic this inclusion was going to be. When Bana Singh was told he was going, he unquestioningly packed his rucksack, laced up his snow shoes and joined the others. Operation Rajiv had been launched to avenge the loss of 2nd Lt Pande and his team.
On 22 June, the first attempt was made to reach Quaid Post. During the night two jawans died of hypothermia, a dangerous condition where the organs start to shut down because of an extreme drop in body temperature. It was decided that the next attempt would be made directly from Sonam Post. On 23 June, the men started climbing again at 8 p.m., but the high wind-velocity, deadly gaping crevasses and snowfall made it impossible to move ahead. The men also found it increasingly difficult to breathe in the rarefied air. By 4 a. m. they had only covered 150 metres.
They had to return to the camp disheartened, where they were met by a furious Col Rai, who had arrived by helicopter. ‘Hamari joota parade hui,’ Sub Maj Bana Singh now recollects with an embarrassed smile. ‘Aur honi bhi thi. Hamara kaam tha, hame karna tha.’ (We were summonedfor a dressingdown. And it was right too. It was our job. We had to do it. ) Col Rai told the men in no uncertain terms that he wanted the post. ‘The post has to be captured. We cannot let the deaths of Rajiv and his men go unavenged,’ he thundered as the men listened silently.
The very next day (24 June), the ropes were tied once again, this time in the same direction that Pande’s illfated patrol had taken. At 8 p. m., the climb began once again. The task force commander Maj Virender Singh was the first to go, saying he would not hesitate to shoot anybody who turned back. ‘The mission will be completed this time,’ he said, his voice colder than the wind. With that he turned and pulled himself up by the rope dangling in the snow. The men followed. They reached the exact spot where the earlier patrol had been massacred.
The bodies of their comrades lay buried in the snow around them. All discomforts were forgotten in the rush of adrenaline and the desire to seek vengeance. Right above the men was the critically positioned overhang from where the Pakistanis had shot the entire team. Luckily the snowstorm and cold winds that had reduced visibility drastically also made the enemy complacent in their confidence that the Indians would never think of an attack in such bad weather conditions. The terrible pall of grey around them was deadly for the climbing soldiers, since it hid the gaping mouths of treacherous crevasses. Two of the men slipped and fell to their deaths. Some were injured and had to be left behind. Some fell, but climbed back to rejoin the attack team. But no one waited for anyone this time. They just kept moving ahead. One by one, more soldiers were lost or evacuated because of injuries, chest trouble and frostbite.
Finally, only Bana Singh and two others managed to reach Quaid Post. About 15 m away from it, they sat huddled together in the shelter they had cut in the snow and waited for the other soldiers so that they could attack the next day.
Quaid Post, 26 June
Bana and his comrades had spent the night in the snow. They had hardly been able to sleep in the extreme cold. Soon they saw three hazy figures walking in their direction. In their white snow suits and shoes, they looked like ghosts. Bana’s blood froze and he reached for his rifle, but then he realized that the reinforcements had reached them. All five waited in the snow for a while and it was decided that they would attack the enemy post by 4. 30 pm. They closed their eyes in prayer, and then Bana told them to start moving. The heavy, persistent snowfall did not abate and they trudged on, keeping a sharp watch for craters that had been covered by falling snow and meant a painful death.
Nb Sub Bana Singh led his men alone along the extremely dangerous route, climbing in near darkness. He inspired them with his indomitable courage and leadership. Despite the bad weather and the screaming winds the six brave men reached the post and stormed it. Flinging grenades into the enemy bunker, the men charged at the enemy soldiers. Bana Singh reached for a grenade and flung it inside a bunker, latching the door from outside. He didn’t let the screams of the dying men distract him and charged with all his might, bayoneting those who were outside, taking them completely by surprise. Some ran down the slope into the Pakistani side, some were killed, others injured. Maj Virender Singh and two more soldiers had also joined Bana by then. With their light machine gun on single-shot mode since the guns had stopped firing more than once at a time in the extreme cold, Bana directed the fire at enemy soldiers who were trying to climb back. The soldiers were either killed or scared away. However, realizing that their post had been captured, they started shelling it.
Maj Virender received four bullets in his chest and stomach but refused to be evacuated. He told Bana Singh to try and capture the enemy alive, to which Singh shook his head and famously replied: ‘Sir, these bastards are not my cousins!’ It made the injured officer smile even in those moments when they were courting death. Rifleman Om Raj’s arm was blown off by a shell and hung loosely by his side as he gasped in shock and pain. Bana Singh tried to stem the bleeding with bandages from his first-aid kit, but he couldn’t. Both Om Raj, who was losing blood fast, and Maj Virender were taken a little lower down, where the weather had opened up and a helicopter could land to evacuate them. While Maj Virender survived and later rose to the rank of Brigadier, Om Raj died on the glacier in the arms of the men he had climbed up with. Both the men received Vir Chakras for their bravery.
On 27 June 1987, Brigade Commander Brigadier C. S. Nugyal climbed up to the post. In a rare, emotional moment he hugged fiercely the dirty and war-ravaged Bana Singh and his men. The post would thereafter be called Bana Top, he declared. Nb Sub Bana Singh was awarded the PVC for conspicuous bravery and leadership under the most adverse conditions. Operation Rajiv also resulted in the award of one Maha Vir Chakra, seven Vir Chakras and one Sena Medal, besides the PVC. The CO and the commander were awarded Uttam Yudh Seva Medals.
Sixty-five now, Sub Maj Bana Singh, PVC, who was born in Ranbir Singh Pora tehsil of Jammu and Kashmir on 6 January 1949 in a Sikh family, sits in his small house, amid emerald-like green wheat fields. He finishes his story with a sigh. ‘I was 19 when I joined the Jammu & Kashmir Light Infantry. I wouldn’t say what I did in Siachen was an act of bravery. I just fulfilled my responsibilities as a soldier. We succeeded. Had we not succeeded I would not be sitting here before you alive, ‘ he says.
Srinagar, 16 March 2008
A dark, slightly portly Sikh gentlemen in a light-coloured suit and turban watches keenly as the marching contingent of the passing-out parade stomps across the Bana Singh Parade Ground of the JAK LI Regimental Centre at Rangreth. He smiles when the Bana Singh Medal is announced for the recruit with the best drill and a slim, young, sprightly boy marches up smartly to collect it. Among the young soldiers is Rajinder Singh, who his father Bana Singh has come to watch. Two decades after Bana performed an act of unmatched heroism on the freezing heights of Siachen, his 18-year-old son joined 8 JAK LI, the regiment Bana began his career in. Parade over, the proud father smiles to himself and gets up to join the other parents for tea. He will return to his village and a retired life. A baton has been passed on.
This story is based on conversations with Sub Maj (Retd) Bana Singh
OPERAT ION PAWAN 1 9 8 7 -9 0
The strained relations between the Sinhalese, in a majority in Sri Lanka, and the Tamils, who constitute less than
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