Prologue
Ladakh Sector, 1995

‘Life can change in a split second.’

I experienced this on that sunny morning when the world seemed more than perfect—a glorious expanse of the Himalayas at a distance, a sparkling tributary of the Dras barely a hundred feet away, and a valley showing off a fresh, new carpet of wildflowers!

After months of bitter winter, when temperatures dropped to minus 30 degrees Celsius, I was soaking in the warm, toast feel to the air. That wasn’t all! Breaking the long spell of solitude, I had the pleasure of some interesting company—Capt. Gautam, my senior from the unit, who had come visiting from his forward post. “You lucky bastard! We deal with gunfire, and you get to live in this heaven!” he slapped my back hard.

“You’re right, sir, this place is something else! But don’t forget, just a few weeks back, the snow was ready to eat us up!”

We were standing on the edge of a cliff, overseeing the colourful valley fenced by tall mountains. Capt. Gautam looked around, “What a sexy view, man! Wish I had my camera.” He had climbed up to my post, straight after a night patrol in the neighbouring valley. I gave him a mock salute, “No sign of fatigue, sir, can’t make out that you were up all night!”

“Oye! Maska mat lagaa, chai-shai pila,” he rubbished my compliment.

“Right, sir,” I turned to instruct the cook to arrange for our breakfast. Barely had I moved 20–30 steps when I heard a loud bang—artillery shelling! Even before we could take positions, there was another explosion and a shell landed pretty close to Capt. Gautam. As the splinters flew around, he heaped up on the spot. I lay on the ground, stunned. Being a newly commissioned officer, I had heard of the terror of artillery, but never experienced it. I took a while to recover from the daze.

In the meantime, some of our sentries jumped into action. Literally putting their lives on the line, they rushed towards Capt. Gautam and moved him to the safety of a bunker. I can never forget the sight—how in one instant, that cheerful, smiling man was reduced to a blood-soaked limp body, matted with debris; barely breathing. Through all the blood and gore, I noticed that he had lost a portion of his right leg.

Gathering all my courage, I took charge, and requested the Battalion Headquarters for an urgent air evacuation. I was asked to wait for an update.

Suddenly, the world around us started to change, as if the weather was somehow connected with our sagging spirits. Thick, dark clouds appeared from nowhere, increasing our anxiety manifold. Even in clear weather, air access was difficult given the tall mountains on all sides. now with poor visibility, the task seemed impossible.

The shelling had stopped, but it could restart any moment. After ensuring that our troops were safe and bunkered in, I focused on helping Capt. Gautam, whose erratic breathing was making me breathless. We were doing everything possible to stop the bleeding, which honestly didn’t add up to much.

Time was running out and if he didn’t get help fast, he wouldn’t be able to make it. just then we heard the rumble of a helicopter. We peeked into the sky, but it was too hazy to spot anything, even though the chopper seemed to hover somewhere close. hope lit up our faces and I started assuring my knocked-out senior that everything was going to be fine.

“The sound seems stationary, they’re not able to approach us,” someone whispered. “How can they fly between the mountains in this haze and rain?”

The pilot hung on for a while before making a retreat, as though he wanted us to know that he tried. As the rumble went down and finally died out, I had a pit in my stomach. Despite the field dressing, Capt. Gautam had lost a lot of blood and chances of saving this good man seemed bleak. In desperation, I even considered moving him down the mountain on a stretcher. But the weather and the distance ruled it out.

Helplessness was killing me!

Even though I had trained hard to be an army officer, at 23, I was just a youngster. I tried to project courage and positivity to my troops, but in reality, I felt like a five-year old: lost and terrified. Capt. Gautam’s happy face, beaming in the morning sun kept flashing before my eyes. Why did he have to visit my post at all? Why couldn’t he have come a day prior? Why didn’t I ask him to walk along with me? What kind of wicked fun explains such attacks?

Suddenly, we heard the rumble again. Our people hadn’t given up on us! I got emotional just listening to the operator: “Adverse conditions. But pilot trying to access the valley from another side.” After a few moments, the precious update we were all praying for: “Chopper approaching in seven minutes.”

My heart burst with pride! One man was risking himself to save another life—that of a brother officer who in fact, was an absolute stranger.

Even after two years, memory of the incident gives me the chills!

That day, through sheer determination and skill, the pilot airlifted Capt. Gautam and deposited him at the Base Hospital at Srinagar—a place legendary for saving lives. Thankfully, the tradition continued with Capt. Gautam. Despite losing a foot and some part of his intestines, he battled it out at the hospital, making a full recovery in three months. I couldn’t speak to him during this period, but I got a letter from him with a ‘Thank You’ note! He believed that it was our exemplary care that saved him despite such grievous wounds. I wrote back: “Chai Shai is waiting for you, sir. This time, bring along your camera.”

After a few months, I was moved to the Kashmir Valley— the world of Counter-Insurgency. Unlike the isolated post, life here was busy and dynamic. We were constantly on our toes adapting to the unsteady socio-political mood. Six months later, I was back in the mountains. This time, higher up in Bimbat, where the winter was unforgiving, with temperatures dipping below minus sixty! No artillery shelling this time, but we braved an avalanche, which unfortunately took two of our men. The rest of us escaped narrowly, with some ‘chilling’ memories of survival.

Overall, my field tenure was quite action-packed. But through this bumpy ride, I became the soldier I wanted to be!

After two rugged years, replete with violence, injuries, disruption, and death, I was about to start a brand-new chapter of my life; one that would be filled with love, laughter, and peace.

Or so I thought!

My unit was moving to a family station—Namkum, a remote cantonment in Bihar (now Jharkhand). While everyone was excited about the new place, I was obsessed with just one thought—what’s the point of a family posting if one is single!

I know, 25 is rather early for marriage, but for me and my girl, it had already been a long wait. and so, ignoring factors like peak summers and little preparation time, an impromptu wedding was planned.

Finally, it was time to proceed on my annual leave. Moving out of the valley into the plains of Jammu, I started comparing my life with the terrain—just like the Zojila Pass, I was leaving behind all the twists and turns of life here onwards, it would be a smooth sail...with the most special person in my life—Mohana!