The Kargil Victory: Battles from Peak to Peak

Patton

BOOK I

MY KARGIL DIARY

Kargil, 1976

Pristine nature

Envelops me,

The snow and the wind

Blind me.

All I sense is my lonely self,

As alone as the man behind me.

The gruelling Commando Course in the ‘happening’ town of Belgaum had just concluded. Here I was, a starry-eyed Young Officer (YO), staring excitedly at my very first Posting Order. Kargil, here I come!

A two-night halt at the Transit Camp at Srinagar was followed by a hop onto a Military Convoy. The convoy rolled rather slowly, as they always do, and we revelled in the opportunity of traversing our very own Paradise-on-Earth at leisure. The picturesque green landscape of the Kashmir valley soon gave way to snow-capped peaks. We were now at the Zoji La. The road here wound through snow, already lying heavy over the tracks of the previous vehicle to come this way!

By evening, we were at the base at Kargil. A barren landscape and eerie silence interrupted by flurries of snow greeted us. They were to be our companions from now on, particularly when moved even higher up to an altitude of 18,000 feet as the Company Post* Commander to a handful of soldiers. Down below was a white blanket, as the clouds mostly settled around Kargil base. Above, the sky was crystal clear and one could see millions of stars shining alongside the beaming moon, which looked much bigger and closer than I had ever seen it before. The weather changed frequently from clear to cloudy to threatening thunder, several times in a day. Nature presented itself on a mighty note, supremely indomitable. Cold winds swept through at high speeds all through the day and night, and the smallest slip by any one of us could send one hurtling thousands of feet below. Temperatures dropped to minus 50, even minus 80 degree Celsius. Everything froze, perhaps even our thoughts! All we were aware of was our immediate surroundings and our desperate ploys for sheer survival. Here, there were only a few trees but none of them bore any leaves. One longed to see the green world, and the welcoming warmth of bustling crowds.

Days rolled into weeks, and weeks into months and then an errand to Kargil gave me a chance to come back down to base. The prospect of interacting with new human beings was reason enough for much happiness. Kargil had some eighty to ninety hutments with a tea stall and a few other shops on the roadside—a mega-city to me! Just a handful of cheerful faces mingling together were enough to create the ambience of a market street and convince me that I was still part of a normal, civilized world.

My return from this frozen moonscape after more than a year gave me a new sense of belonging and respect for the might of nature and Mother Earth. Little did I know then that this experience in Kargil would one day come in handy for me while dealing with the oldest scourge of humanity—war!

* A piece of ground occupied by the military which shelters their equipment and personnel, and facilitates training and operations.

Kargil, 1999

Staring into the valley two decades later, memories of that visit flashed past my eyes. I was now the Founder Commandant of a Corps Battle School raised to deal with terrorism in the Kashmir Valley. Little did we know then that while we were involved in our daily routine of the Battle School, disturbing developments were taking place beyond Zoji La. There were reports of small intrusions at several places. The local troops posted in the Kargil area were dealing with them and the situation did not, then, look alarming. But more troops were being rushed in as the intrusions increased and so did the loss of lives. And then, to my horror, the men under training at the Corps Battle School were also sent there!

Strange, Serious, Sinister—the newspapers and visual media began speculating about the happenings in Kargil and tales started spreading across the country.

A soldier wishes for peace, but always considers himself lucky if he gets a chance to be part of a war effort. I had an opportunity earlier as part of the Indian Peace Keeping Force in Sri Lanka, but the operations there were of a different nature. I felt Kargil beckon to me. This was, after all, where my military career had begun. Perhaps, I would get to gather stories of heroism and valour to narrate to my grandchildren. Perhaps I would inspire young people to serve our motherland!

Thus motivated, I found myself at the doorstep of the highest officer I could report to directly—the Chief of Staff in the Corps Headquarters in Srinagar. While he appreciated the fact that I had volunteered to go to the troubled area, he was hesitant to permit me to do so. I explained my intent of cataloguing stories from the battlefield for the purpose of analysis and application in future war efforts. Besides, I argued, all the battalions which had been sent there so far had been trained at the Corps Battle School, and as their guru, the rapport that I had built with them would enable me to motivate them further. He was convinced and I was allowed to proceed.

A signal was sent to all the formations in the battle zone to expect my team and to extend all facilities that could assist me in my self-assignment. The word had spread within our own station as well. Even before I could order the packing of my bags, one of my dearest colleagues in the Corps Battle School, Major Ram Singh Kadian (Kady to all of us), stood in the doorway to my office. He was joined by Major Subbiah Kailasam, and they requested me to allow them to accompany me to Kargil. Others, too, lined up after them, with scant regard for their own lives. Such is the spirit of a soldier!

Finally, I conceded only to Kady coming with me, with the others joining me later, perhaps. I didn’t wish to dampen their enthusiasm, so the reason I cited was that someone had to look after the Battle School (even though there was no one left there to train!)

In the Battle Zone

Riding atop a military Jonga* and accompanied by a 3-tonne Shaktiman,† we reached Zoji La. It was time to bid farewell to the beautiful Kashmir valley. On the other side of Zoji La, the snow-clad mountains and valleys were stern and bare, without greenery. It was the month of June when heatwaves pummel major parts of India, but freezing temperatures greeted us there. The only road was full of military vehicles and a handful of private trucks, all loaded with military equipment. A camp bustling with activity came into our view. We headed for it and met the Commanding Officer (CO). We were welcomed and advised to stay the night as movement was not easy without headlights: in battle zones it is a rule of thumb to turn them off and avoid making an easy target of yourself.

As the sun set, the Pakistani artillery started shelling.* The bombs flew past us, bursting with a loud thundering sound as they landed, and sending shockwaves that shook the ground. While we were alarmed, the soldiers present continued their work as though this was nothing out of the ordinary. Gradually, we realized that the shells were all landing somewhere behind us. We were told that it was a routine affair and the Pakistanis had not been able to find the exact coordinates of the camp yet.

Through that cold night across Zoji La, we heard innumerable stories about the experiences of the soldiers, to the accompaniment of many hot beverages. The only problem was that none of the heat got transferred to our shivering bodies. Eventually, fatigue took over and we dozed off.

Pakistani shelling once again greeted us the following morning. We seemed to be getting used to the sound. It remained biting cold until much later when the sun broke through the mountains, kissing the sky. A welcome sight and sensation! Thus warmed, we resumed our journey towards Dras, our first destination. Despite the heavy shelling targeting any open patches, we encountered quite a few loaded vehicles, moving in both directions. Artillery bombs exploded all around us throughout the day, but fortunately always at some distance. We reached Dras by lunch time.

We were struck by the equally cheerful lack of concern about the shelling from the officers and men present at Dras Headquarters (HQ). As a matter of fact, the joke doing the rounds was: ‘If you hear the artillery bombs whistling above you, don’t worry as they’re flying overhead. If you don’t hear the sound, again, don’t worry; once the bomb hits you, you won’t be there to worry!’ This became our mantra whenever we encountered artillery shelling thereafter.

I was assigned a bunker underground. It was a dug-out in the ground, covered with a tin shed, which had lots of earth thrown on it. The entrance was a narrow passage and one had to almost crouch to get in. I was told to cover the entrance at night to keep out the cold and any shrapnel from bombs that might land nearby. Seeing my face fall, the Dras officer tried to comfort me, saying that it wasn’t that bad. I boldly enquired about an empty hut nearby—couldn’t I sleep in it? An emphatic ‘no’ was the answer—the hut was a ‘registered target’* of the enemy!

I shared my previous experiences in Kargil with the men. After I had fallen asleep at night, the heavy snow had enveloped my bunker and also filled up the passage, jamming the door shut, with me inside. All the other bunkers at my post were in the same situation, with no one outside to dig us out! Fortunately, a pair of sentries realized that something was not quite right and managed to dig us out, one by one. I would rather face enemy bombs than such a fury of nature any day. And, after all, the hut was still intact despite the heavy odds against it! Well, I was a guest and my wish had to be honoured, so I slept in that tin hut for the next couple of days, without even bothering about the bombs flying overhead.

MAP 1: Kargil Battlefield

Dras was the nerve-centre of all the action. The HQ were tucked in close to one side of the National Highway 1D and dominated by mountains from all sides. The prominent Posts occupied by the Pakistanis included Tololing, Black Rock, Tiger Hill and Point 4875.* Tololing was the nearest height; it had recently been cleared of the enemy after a heavy fight. Action at Tiger Hill and Point 4875 was in progress.

I was keen to move up to see the action, but my role did not permit me to interfere in any of the operations. I requested Brigadier Amar Aul, the Dras Brigade Commander, to permit me to go to the Forward Posts, and though he was initially hesitant to allow me to proceed to these areas fraught with danger, he eventually granted permission.

Kady and I took our Jonga up towards a post called Sando. It was a 10-kilometre-long upward journey, right under the nose of the enemy. We were clearly visible from all their posts. En route, we found our own artillery tucked into the mountainside, preparing to fire their guns. They were surprised to see us, but happy to meet new people. Their ‘josh’ (enthusiasm) was visible and they looked neither tired nor apprehensive. The tips they gave us on to how to escape from enemy artillery shelling while on the move came in very handy throughout our stay in Kargil.

Sando Post was like a table-top at 16,000 feet, with the enemy posts surrounding it. We were greeted by smiling soldiers, seemingly unaffected by their precarious position. The CO was Colonel D.K. Borah, my senior at the National Defence Academy (NDA), who rushed us into a cramped underground bunker where one could barely stand. He was visibly pleased to see us, as no one had been able to visit them for a long time, but surprised that we had not yet been shot down by the hundreds of ‘enemy rounds’* that had been raining upon them every day during the daylight hours and sometimes at night too. Until then, I had not realized the gravity of the danger we were exposed to.

The CO showed us around and took us to a vantage point from where we were shown Tiger Hill and many other enemy posts, in detail. An elderly moustachioed Junior Commissioned Officer (JCO)† was especially introduced to us as he’d been instrumental in saving many lives by giving advance warning about enemy bombs. A towering personality, he had the uncanny knack of being able to sense danger. Intuition, honed and cultivated, perhaps! He stood guard all the while to warn us about any dangers.

We were once again moved to the bunker, where we were surprised to find the Brigade Education Officer and the Medical NCO from the Brigade HQ. He had just arrived, with orders to carry necessary medical equipment for