BATRA - KARGIL

BRAVE PVC STORIES (KARGIL)
Vikram Batra

It takes a one-and-half-hour flight out of Delhi and then as much time by road to drive from Kangra airport to Bandla Gaon in Palampur, Himachal Pradesh. The snow-covered Dhauladhar ranges appear and disappear at bends in the winding road and dazzle you with their magnificence. And the fragrant white roses that dot the airport and make the tourists gasp in pleasure follow you all the way to Vikram Batra Bhawan, where the late Captain Vikram Batra’s old parents stay in a bright-yellow-walled bungalow.

There, they stop and bloom outside the room where an oil portrait of Capt.

Batra hangs on a wall. His father sits before it, draped in a pashmina shawl, asking his wife to get you a hot cup of tea, or lay the table for lunch or just corroborate what he is saying from the confines of her bedroom where she is reading the local newspaper. On the narrow, meandering path that crosses lush green tea gardens on one side and lazy market-places on the other it is not difficult to get directions to the Param Vir Chakra (PVC) awardee’s house.

All you have to do is mention his name and young boys with wispy moustaches, old men with doddering gait, spectacled tailors with scissors in their hands and schoolgirls with redribboned plaits happily guide you with words and gestures of the hand. You don’t really need the address that the gravelly voice of Mr Girdhari Lal Batra, Vikram’s father, has painstakingly spelled out for you a day ago.

Not very many years back, a little boy with a puff in his hair and a twinkle in his eye roamed these very walkways, often alongside his identical twin. Luv and Kush. That was what their mother called them. They didn’t have a television set at home and would slip their feet into their rubber slippers so they could sneak out of their house to Nisha Didi’s next door so they could watch the TV serial Param Vir Chakra which aired on Sunday mornings at 10 a. m. The twins would be shiny- eyed and open-mouthed marvelling at the bravery of the men who had been awarded free India’s highest gallantry medal.

Afterwards, lost in conversation about just how brave the heroes in uniform had been and just how awesome the PVC was, they would walk back home. One of the twins would actually hold the medal in his hand one day. The other wouldn’t, but he would be the one responsible for getting it home—this boy was the feistier of the twins. His name was Luv. The same Luv, whose house a writer would come looking for nearly three decades later. By then he would have become Capt. Vikram Batra, the 24-year-old soldier who fought for his country on the rocky mountains of Kashmir and died trying to save another soldier.

When she was blessed with twins after the birth of two daughters, Kamal Kanta would wonder sometimes why she had been given two sons when she had asked for just one. ‘Now I know. One of them was meant for the country and one for us,’ she would later say. All she has of Vikram are portraits and pictures and medals and memories that she is happy to share.

She remembers the day a colleague at the school where she used to teach had told her that she had spotted Vikram at the hospital. Panicking, she had rushed there to find him with a few cuts and bruises on his body, smiling broadly. He had jumped out of the moving school bus when the door had opened suddenly at a steep turn and a little girl had lost her balance and fallen off. When his upset mother had asked him why he had been so foolhardy, he had told her he was worried that the girl would come under another bus.

Right from his childhood, Vikram was bold and fearless and always ready to help a person in need. Another time, he ran from pillar to post trying to get a gas cylinder for a new teacher in the school. The teacher had just moved to Palampur and asked for Vikram’s help when he had just not been able to manage one despite all efforts. Vikram promised him that he would get him a cylinder by evening and had kept his word, carting it all the way to the teacher’s house in an auto- rickshaw from the market.

In addition to his gregarious nature— he had a vast circle of friends—his inclination to help any and everyone and his happy temperament, Vikram was brilliant at studies and a national-level table tennis player. He was judged the best NCC Air Wing cadet for North Zone. He had even received a call letter from the merchant navy, and got all his uniforms stitched, but at the last moment decided not to join, telling his beleaguered father that his dream was to become an Army officer.

He took admission in Chandigarh, prepared for the combined defence services exam and got through just as he had promised his parents. The Batras went for his passing- out parade. They were thrilled to see their handsome son in uniform and wondered just how high he would go. They didn’t know then that a few years later, the then Chief of Army Staff, General Ved Prakash Malik would sit in their house and tell them that if Vikram had not been martyred in Kargil, he would have been sitting in his office one day. It would make Mr Batra’s chest fill with pride in spite of the tears threatening to spill over.

Yeh dil mange more!

13 Jammu and Kashmir Rifles (JAK Rif. ) had completed its Kashmir tenure and the advance party had reached Shahjahanpur, its new location, when it was recalled because war had broken out. After crossing the Zoji La Pass and halting at Ghumri for acclimatization, it was placed under 56 Brigade and asked to reach Dras to be the reserve of 56 Brigade for the capture of Tololing. 18 Grenadiers had tried to get Tololing in the initial days of the conflict but had suffered heavy casualties. Eventually, 2 Rajputana Rifles had got Tololing back. After the capture, the men of 13 JAK Rif. walked for 12 hours from Dras to reach Tololing where Alpha Company took over Tololing and a portion of the Hump Complex from 18 Grenadiers. It was at the Hump Complex that commanding officer (CO) Lieutenant Colonel Yogesh Joshi sat in the cover of massive rocks and briefed the two young officers he had tasked with the capture of Pt. 5140, the most formidable feature in the Dras sub-sector. They could see the peak right in front with enemy bunkers at the top but from that distance they could not make out the enemy strength. To Lt Vikram Batra of Delta Company and Lt Sanjeev Jamwal of Bravo Company, that didn’t matter. They were raring to go.

Col Joshi had decided that these would be the two assaulting companies that would climb up under cover of darkness from different directions and dislodge the enemy. The two young officers were listening to him quietly as he spoke. Having briefed both, he asked them what the success signals of their companies would be once they had completed their tasks. Jamwal immediately replied that his success signal would be: ‘Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah!’

He said that when he was in the National Defence Academy, he belonged to the Hunter Squadron, and this used to be their slogan. Lt Col Joshi then turned to Vikram and asked him what his signal would be. Vikram thought for a while and then said it would be: ‘Yeh dil mange more!’ (This heart wants more!) Despite the seriousness of the task at hand, his CO could not suppress a smile and asked him why. Full of confidence and enthusiasm, Vikram replied that he would not want to stop after that one success and would be on the lookout for more bunkers to capture.

Capture of Point 5140

It was a pitch-dark night. Lt Col Yogesh Joshi was sitting at the base of the hump from where preparatory bombardment of Pt. 5140 had commenced. He was trying to make out the movement of his troops he knew would be climbing up under cover of darkness. The Indian artillery had plastered the entire feature with high explosives. For a long time, it appeared as if the mountain was on fire and Joshi hoped that the enemy on top was dead.

His hopes were, however, dashed very quickly. The Pakistanis had occupied reverse slope positions when the Indian artillery was pounding them and had now returned to fire at the Indian soldiers climbing up. From time to time, Joshi would see flashes on the dark mountain. From that he would know that the enemy was firing at his men and also just where the two teams had reached. The enemy had also started using artillery illumination at regular intervals, which lit up the entire area for about 40 seconds. This was done to spot the climbing Indian soldiers. Joshi hoped that his boys were following the standard drill, which was that everyone freezes and tries to blend into the surroundings when the area lights up like daylight. Movement would make them visible.

Suddenly, his radio set came alive and he could make out the voice of a Pakistani soldier. He was challenging Batra, whose code name Sher Shah the enemy had intercepted. ‘Sher Shah, go back with your men, or else only your bodies will go down.’ The radio set crackled and then he heard Batra reply, his voice pitched high in excitement: ‘Wait for an hour and then we’ll see who goes back alive.’ At 3. 30 a. m., the CO’s radio set crackled again. ‘Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah!’ It was Jamwal signalling that his part of the peak had been captured. Batra and his team were taking longer since they were climbing up the steeper incline.

The next one hour was to be one of the longest for Lt Col Joshi. He could hear gunfire and see the flash of gunpowder, but had no idea what was happening at Pt. 5140. Finally, at 4. 35 a. m., in the cold of the darkness, his radio set beeped again and he heard the nowfamous words: ‘Yeh dil mange more!’ It was Batra. He and his men had captured the peak and unfurled the Tricolour there. What was most amazing was that in this attack, the Indian side did not suffer a single casualty.

After coming down, Batra would call his parents on the satellite phone. For a moment, his father would stop breathing because he would just hear ‘captured’ and feel that he had been captured. But then the laughing soldier would clarify that he had actually captured an enemy post. He would then call his girlfriend Dimple in Chandigarh and tell her not to worry. He was fine and she should take care of herself. That was the last time he would speak to her.

Vikram’s next assignment would be Pt. 4875, from where he would not come back alive but he would leave Dimple with memories she was willing to spend a lifetime with. The battalion was deinducted from Dras to Ghumri to rest and recoup. Less than a week later, they moved to Mushkoh. This was where greater glory was in store for Vikram.

Chandigarh, 2013

Dimple is a pretty, smiling 40-year-old, who works with a Punjab State Education Board school in Chandigarh. She teaches social studies and English to the students of classes 6-10. Till 3. 30 p. m., she is busy with the children, taking classes, checking test papers, planning the next day’s lessons. She has no time to even take a phone call. But after she gets back home and sits down with a cup of tea, she confesses that in the past 14 years, not a day has passed when she has not thought of Vikram.

Chandigarh is full of his memories for her, she says. ‘When I pass the bus stop I remember how I would drop him there so that he could catch a bus to wherever he was going; when I’m in the University I remember how I first noticed him when he came and sat between me and a guy who was trying to get uncomfortably close and subtly told me to move from there. When I’m in the Nada Saheb gurudwara I remember how he tailed me in a parikrama (circumambulation) and then called out: “Congratulations, Mrs Batra, we have completed the fourth phera (circle) and, according to your Sikh religion, we are now man and wife. “ When I’m near Pinjore gardens I remember how before going to Kashmir he took a blade from his wallet, cut his thumb and put a streak of blood in my parting to dispel all my insecurities about whether he would marry me or not... ‘

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 Last Victory 

7 July 1999

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.’ A tribute by Vishal Batra 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.



References

Siachen—1971

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

The Kargil War 1999

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

Acknowledgements

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.

THE BEGINNING

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