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Lest we forget...

25/4/2014

33 Comments

 
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Mr Girdhari Lal Batra, Vikram's father; and below my plane lands at Kangra Airport flanked by the Dhauladhar ranges
March 2014
Delhi-Bhatinda Intercity Express, Chair Car

The kid with the runny nose is rummaging in the plastic magazine holder attached to the seat in front. I reach over his head to pull the curtain against the sunlight streaming in through the glass. He has only recently displaced me from my window seat by bawling “khidki ke paas baithunga” and this Christopher Columbus of the kid world now seems to have made a discovery. In his chubby hand he victoriously holds a tiny packet. “Chocolate flavoured you-know-whats. Dotted, Ribbed, Flavoured,” it says. I do a mental double take. Yes! It is what I suspect it is. Alarmed by the services Indian Railways seems to have started offering travelers; I am quick to cash in on this opportunity to get back my rightful place. Nudging his fat mother, I tell her, “iske haath mein gandi cheez hai”. I have just finished tapping “ta dhin dhin dha” on the armrest when the volcano erupts. Mom lets out a shocked “Hai Ram!” and tugs at the packet which kid is trying to rip open with his teeth, mumbling, “meethi faunf” (he lisps). Mom whacks him one and drags the screaming midget to Daddy who snoozes one row away. To make her case stronger she carries along the piece of incriminating evidence. I quickly reclaim my seat and rest my head on the cheap Rexene, watching the yellow mustard fields zip past. Ah! Sweet revenge! 

Let not my cheap shenanigans distract you from the nobility of my purpose. I am on my way to Bhatinda from where the kind and caring Brigadier Ajith will give me his Number 1 Gypsy which will take me to village Chehlanwali where retired Subedar Kala of  4 Mech lives. He is the last survivor of the war fought with the Chinese at Bumla.  He fought besides the late Subedar Joginder Singh, PVC, in 1962, and later brought his ashes home. He has promised to tell me Joginder Sahab’s story and is the one who will tell me how Joginder Sahab charged like a lion with his bayonet when all his bullets had finished and was finally shot by the Chinese.
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The biggest problem I faced writing this book of essays on the 21 Param Vir Chakra award winners of independent India was that most of them were dead. And it's not easy writing a story about a dead stranger. But as I began tracing their lives through friends and families and soldiers who knew them and fought by their side, these names started getting familiar. They started walking in and out of my head and leaving footprints on my psyche by the tread of their DMS boots. They started interrupting my conversations and stepping over my thoughts as I slept. As the days passed, they got even more familiar. Taking me by the elbow, they started coaxing me to come see the hills they had climbed, the roads they had walked, the girls they had loved. They made me stand outside houses they had lived in, and had me knocking at the doors, asking to be let in. In other words, they started behaving like old friends; who take you for granted because they know they own a part of your heart.

Vikram (Capt Vikram Batra) – yes, we were now on first name terms - who died saving another man in the heights of Kargil, made me book a Spice jet flight to Kangra. As I stood on the runway looking at the snow covered Dhauladhar ranges glowing orange in the morning light and wrapped my muffler tighter around my neck, I thought he must have grown up seeing these mountains every day. Already, it seemed as if I knew him better. Outside the airport, fragrant white roses bloomed and my cousin Sandeep waited for me in his spanking new Scorpio and snazzy Ray Bans. He had taken a day off (he is a serving colonel) and insisted on driving me two hours to Bandla gaon (Vikram’s village) because, he said, “Didi! For me, going to his house is like doing a pilgrimage”. The roses followed us all the way to the bright yellow bordered Vikram Batra Bhawan and then stopped and bloomed outside while we walked in to where Vikram’s portrait hung on a sitting room wall and his dad sat before it, wrapped in a soft pashmina shawl. I later found his girlfriend teaching in a school in Chandigarh. With a wry smile in her voice she told me how she could never convince herself to get married even though it had been nearly 15 years since he died. She told me that her heart still misses a beat when the phone rings at 7.30 pm on a Sunday, which was the time when he would call her every week before he went to fight the war from which he never returned.

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For the handsome Lt Arun Khetarpal, who refused to abandon his burning tank Fama Gusta even when he was told to save his own life in the 71 war, I stood under a black umbrella knocking at the door to his mother’s beautiful Delhi farmhouse on a rain splashed morning. I was let into the tastefully done up sitting room, where she was wheeled in in a cotton nightie, a friendly lab wagging its fat tail by her side. She had just come out of a surgery, her hair was cut really short and she whispered his name so gently that it appeared as if he was in deep sleep and she did not want to wake him up. All this while Arun stood there in his uniform, tall and handsome, hands resting on his hips, a smile playing on his lips, and watched  us from a photograph on his mother’s bedroom wall. Mrs Khetarpal died shortly after I interviewed her and those who love her believe that she is now sitting somewhere with Arun, making up for all the time he left her alone. I still remember the pride in her voice when she had told me how she let Arun go for the war with the words: “Don’t come back a coward. Fight like a tiger.” That was exactly what he had done. She was the one who had opened the door to the postman 44 years back and received the telegram that said: Deeply regret to inform your son IC 25067 Second Liut Khetarpal reportedly killed in action sixteenth December. Please accept sincere condolences.
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The fragile Poornima Thapa, who works in Pune and is writing a book on her father – the legendary late Major Dhan Singh Thapa, PVC, was the one who told met how her father defended a small post called Sirijap near Pangong Tso (lake) in Ladakh which the Chinese attacked in 1962. Nearly every soldier of his company was killed and the post was set on fire by incendiary bombs but Maj Thapa continued to fight with his khukri even when he ran out of bullets. He was given up as dead and awarded the PVC posthumously. A few months later he was found alive. He had been taken Prisoner of War and had suffered torture at the hands of the Chinese but he could finally return to his family who had already conducted all the rituals of his death. “My father never liked to talk about those days. It must have been humiliating for him,” she told me.

When I came back home from my travels, these stories kept me awake till the early hours of the morning, cups of coffee got cold on my bedside, and I typed out my essays with a quilt drawn to my knees,  table lamp turned so that its light did not spill beyond my keyboard. My fingers learnt to move almost as softly as Mrs Khetarpal’s voice so that the sound of the tapping keys would not disturb the one who slept. Who had to wear a uniform and go to work the next day.

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This story began one evening when I was walking down the Mall in Ferozepur cantonment where kids raced bicycles and red poppies bloomed by the roadside. Looking up, I caught the eye of the late Company Havildar Major Abdul Hamid, PVC, of 4 Grenadiers who was killed in 1965 while blowing up the seventh Pakistani Patton tank from his RCL gun in the Khemkaran sector. He was watching me from a laminated poster on the roadside. I had been offered my first book contract and was feeling a little giddy from happiness. Looking up, I declared: “I am going to write your story Abdul Hamid.” He did not respond but Manoj, my husband, who had been walking by my side, trying not to trample any flowers, smiled and stepped off the sidewalk; and broke into a jog gesturing to me to meet him end of the road. That was a year back.

Last week, I met him there. Abdul Hamid’s was the last story I wrote. So technically, it is the end of the road that took me past yellow fields of mustard and golden wheat ripening in the sun. It took me beyond the Sela pass in Tawang where an entire lake freezes over in the winter and to Bumla where Subedar Joginder Singh died fighting with a bayonet in a war where soldiers lacked everything except courage. It took me to Sirijap in Ladakh where Maj Dhan Singh Thapa sliced necks off with his khukri and it took me all the way to freezing Rezang La in Chushul where 13 Kumaon’s Major Shaitan Singh and his men (113 in all) were brutally massacred by the Chinese who outnumbered them completely. They died following orders that said: You will fight till the last man and the last bullet. When 13 Kumaon sent me a list of Rezang La martyrs, it ran into three pages on my laptop and made my eyes wet.

The bodies of these soldiers were discovered three months later by a Ladakhi shepherd. They had frozen in the cold in their moment of death. They still had guns in their hands. Not one of them had tried to run away.  I met two Rezang La survivors, both 73 now. They recounted how a grievously injured Maj Shaitan ordered them to leave him behind since he would only lessen their chances of survival. I can’t share with you these stories just yet but one day I hope I’ll be able to put a book in your hands. Till then, this blog will have to suffice as a tribute to the brave soldiers who died fighting and to their families who have lived with loss all their lives and yet been generous enough to share with me what they still have –memories of those dead heroes. 

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Jind, a railway station right out of a period film. Pic taken from the train to Bhatinda
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Subedar Kala who told me the brave story of Subedar Joginder who died in the 1962 war
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The ladies of Sub Kala's pind who insisted that I would have to share their lunch: Rotti todo ji
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(Left to right) Rezang La survivors Subedar Ram Chander, who carried Maj Shaitan when he was injured; and Naik Nihal Singh, who had both arms smashed by machine gun fire but managed to walk back to Company Headquarters
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Maj Rama Raghoba Rane, one of the very few who lived to wear the PVC on his shirt front.
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That's Arun at the National Defence Academy
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Lt General Tindy Sharma, who is in his 90s, told me about his brother Major Somnath Sharma (portrait on the wall) or Somi, who was independent India's first PVC
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Company Havildar Major Abdul Hamid as I saw him on a poster in Ferozepur for three years
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With the ladies of Kala Sahab's pind in gaon Chehlanwali
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The kid
33 Comments
Upinder Kaur
24/4/2014 06:13:38 pm

Very nice & interesting work Rachna, a true homage to the solders who sacrificed their life for the country. Hoping to see the complete book soon:)

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ather
24/4/2014 07:26:03 pm

wow- thanks for re-entering our lives again with this fantastic and inspring homily. It is a testament to your skill as a writer that you can capture not just the moment but a period of history. You move from the ridiculous- I can't stop laughing at your intro and the episode with the 'meethi somf' - to the sublime with consumate ease. You have no doubt captured some powerful narratives that will resonate all the more through your recounting them. As usual, I love the visually arresting details of your travels through India.

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Gary grewal
25/4/2014 05:57:39 am

Always a pleasure to read your stories Rachna de luv them keep up the good work waiting for your book to b published

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Jhoomar
25/4/2014 09:41:43 am

Sure the stories are heart-breaking and inspiring but I look forward to reading the book as I know you must have poured your soul in to these stories. Congratulations...am so proud of you!!

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PJ
25/4/2014 01:03:45 pm

Capital stuff! Best in class!!

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noopur
25/4/2014 02:15:09 pm

Brilliant rachna....cant wait for the book....I will buy your first 50 copies ...promise ....

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Y S Rawat
25/4/2014 03:47:59 pm

The trailer is indicative of the quality of the contents of the book. Eagerly looking fwd to is release. Book my order for a copy right now Rachna.

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Parag chhibber
25/4/2014 05:42:36 pm

Really inspiring... True fauji ma'am. Waiting for the book now.

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Mahendra
25/4/2014 08:47:32 pm

Good stuff, I doubt if anyone has written a book on PVC winners which captures such fine nuances. Looking forward to the book!

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Neeru
26/4/2014 05:00:50 am

I like your lucid and simple writing style
I feel as if I am part of all what you experienced
Always enjoyed reading your articles.

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Aces all the way
26/4/2014 12:29:20 pm

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savreet sahi
26/4/2014 03:05:52 pm

Rachna..u r too good...ur thoughts...ur skill 2 make the whole episode not only interesting but leaves a deep impact for a long time...All the best will wait for the book....keep up the good work!!

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aditya
26/4/2014 03:28:49 pm

I like your writing style and Your story telling is incredible. I will wait for your book. :) These all are my childhood heroes.

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Sangeeta
26/4/2014 07:26:29 pm

Like Rawat uncle said ,Rachna, the blog is indicative of what lies in store fr us.. sensitive, subtle n witty.. steering clear of the melodrama that usually n inevitably colours such odes to martyrdom.. book one copy fr me too.. ( hope family members are entitled 10% discount ) ;-)

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suman
26/4/2014 07:51:06 pm

very nice n so touching......will definately read it....keep up the gud work

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Meenakshi
26/4/2014 08:10:49 pm

Awesome .So touching .Waiting to read the complete book .Best wishes always:)

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abhilasha
26/4/2014 08:15:21 pm

Eyes are already moist n something has kinda got stuck in the throat..heart heaves heavily..by what is coming next.These real life heroes have always left me thinking.N the details with which u seem to have explored their lives..n offered it to to us,is indeed comendable.So proud of u sis.Eagerly waiting..gor it to hit the stores.God bless.:)

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joeie
26/4/2014 11:39:35 pm

Appreciate the hard work you must hav put in to compile and put it together in such beautiful words maam...waiting for the release of thebook....all d best.....JAI HIND KI SENA.....

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Rachna
28/4/2014 09:07:31 pm

Thanks Joeie. Pl leave yr email id next time

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Prithviraj
27/4/2014 04:13:30 pm

Can wait to lay my hands on the book, Rachna. The brief curtain raiser shows amount of work that you have put in ! Awesome !!

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RITEN KHOSLA
27/4/2014 04:53:42 pm

In these times of Comedy with Kapil,and an odd politician making a mad comment that Soldiers are paid to die after all,it is indeed a daring initiative to chronicle the stuff these gallant men are made of.And if we know RACHNA,she will never make it a sob story.Each case is not only a Profile in courage,but an unadulterated version of what a Human Being ought to be in relation to his country,society,family.Your book will redefine the word CELEBRITY.I look forward to getting my copy and helping the publication to reach people who think PVC is a type of pipe used in plumbing.

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Maitree Rawat
27/4/2014 05:21:32 pm

Great work. Plan a day for release of the book. Keep the wheel moving by venturing out to unfold all the untold events similar to this. You are deserve a BIG SALUTE.

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Pratibha Sharma
27/4/2014 05:58:31 pm

Hi Rachna, I appreciate your laudable work..You,ve put every word with extreme lucidity.... wud love to read the complete book.... plz keep me informed.... I too am an army wife ....

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sandeep
27/4/2014 08:01:31 pm

DI
BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN .....AND VERY TOUCHING.....WE ALL ARE WAITING FRO THE BOOK PUBLISH ........GOD BLESS AND GOD SPEED

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Karun
27/4/2014 08:53:41 pm

I am not a fan of reading at all but for sure you got my attention by your simple writing style. Obviously the topic is well chosen and I must tell you that I felt like crying while reading your article. Cant wait for your book to come. Please do keep me in mind and let me know when it is on the stands!
Good work and keep it up!!!

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Ranjana Chand
28/4/2014 02:31:40 am

Very well written Rachna..as always !

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Anisha
29/4/2014 05:23:22 am

absolutely awesome stuff... What beautiful narration.. You can evoke emotions with your simple yet powerful style of writing.. Waiting for ur book and to say I have met this celebrity ;-)

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tanu
30/4/2014 12:23:59 pm

Straight from the heart......as always and it shows. Bet these heroes who have been haunting your life (and by default sometimes mine as well) for the past year are smiling and giving the book their blessing . You have not only depicted their stories beautifully exploring the person behind the hero but bought them back into the lives of all who read the blog and the book lest we forget.....getting my outfit together for the book launch.

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Ata Hasnain
30/4/2014 10:53:50 pm

Well done Rachna. makes us all proud.

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Jagbir Yadav
4/5/2014 12:26:27 am

Rachna... It is a fantastic and heart touching glimpse into life of the bravest of brave. Eagerly looking forward to release of the book.

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isha
6/5/2014 02:13:31 am

Dear masi,
Your article is excellent. You combine sentiment with occasional humor, which stands on a base of facts - one of the major qualities that appeal to me when I'm reading.
I can't wait for your book!
Isha

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Pushpa Bisht
7/5/2014 04:27:08 pm

Reading your article moved me to tears. I have lost very dear people in wars . The 1971 war was over, the brothers were coming home, the kitchen was a riot of celebratory cooking but only one brother got back. Handsome, endearing, my childhood hero Capt. Sunil Vashisht was felled in the last hour. I can read another cousin’s name among the martyrs in Dehradun Bus Stand. He had gifted me an Irving Stone (which I was to read years later) before he went to war. Dog-eared it continues to be a precious possession.
Yours is an apt pilgrimage. Such stories need to be told again and again, again and again... lest we forget. Congratulations! So looking forward to your book. What a fabulous writer you are!
PS. We were only kids then but I would like to get in touch with Poornima if you have her phone no. I distinctly remember Pamela who was the younger sister I guess.

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MANOJ shrivastava
13/8/2014 02:28:02 am

A big thanks to Rachna for her maiden release and timely reminder to us of our true heroes. The ultimate brave I.e. Param veer.
The book is very interestingly written and very inspirational too. I bow my head and salute to the gallant men of our armed forces. The book is a must read for all .

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    Rachna Bisht Rawat is a full time mom and part time writer. She is married to an Army officer whose work takes the family to some of the most interesting corners of India.

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