Journey back to 1971 battleground

Lt Gen Raj Sujlana (Retd)

THERE was an outpouring of emotions during our pilgrimage to ‘Battle Ground Zero’, where as part of 9 Sikh we had the enemy on the run 50 years ago.

A hearty welcome on our arrival at Srinagar airport guided us straight into the overwhelming spirit of the Swarnim Vijay Varsh celebrations. Our comrades-in-arms were flying in from various places to join the commemoration; the adrenalin shot up to see familiar faces emerge from the rush of passengers. Heads turned towards our cheery greetings, loud back-slapping, a never-ending embrace; it was manna for the soul.

Departing the airport, we reached the first planned halt: the War Memorial at Baramulla, where we bowed our heads. It is dedicated to the braves of 1 Sikh, led by Lt Col Dewan Ranjit Rai, the first recipient of the Maha Vir Chakra (posthumously) of free India who fell fighting among the many in 1947-48. They were rightfully called the ‘Saviours of the Valley’.

At Naugam, the chill was pronounced but we were all warmed up for the touching homecoming. At dawn, amidst ceremony and solemnity, we paid tributes at the Main War Memorial. Memories of Naugam flooded the mind: the sports ground nearby reminded me of lighter moments. Our unit wrestlers had a pet lamb, anointed ‘Gora’, who, as a ritual, was always present to attend the morning PT. Gora floated around disinterested till he heard the call of ‘officers on parade’, when he would suddenly get charged up, trotting with the pronounced jingling of the bell around his neck to join the parade along with the officers!

The following day was October 27, Infantry Day. We were privileged to stand on ‘Battle Ground Zero’. Five decades back, in 1971, our journey on foot over the rugged terrain with the omnipresent enemy threat took hours, but today we had the pleasure to be driving all the way. It was unbelievable.

We reached the famous Tutmari Gali (Pass) from where our offensive was launched. The vastness of the panorama was breathtaking; one wondered at the super-human effort that enabled us to achieve what we did. The road passed by the staggering heights we had captured. And finally, we stood in front of the special monument of the gallant men of 9 Sikh. Their names flowed — Kehar, Balwant, Balbir, Kanwaljit, Chand, Sucha, Sewa and Amar, each name carrying a special meaning. They were true to salt, their souls were definitely still around.

I saluted and prayed, ‘We have joined in celebration and laid wreaths, but silently wept for our fallen comrades; you were also sons, brothers, fathers who fought valiantly and unhesitatingly laid down your life. Deep within, we will always cherish you for defending our land, each one our pride!’

It was time to head homewards, but nostalgia held ground and our hearts felt heavy, though overwhelmed with the honour bestowed in every way by our hosts, the ‘Striking Seventeen’. Our vehicles moved out, suddenly blocked by a herd of lambs. Their bleats were loud, and one wondered if this were, perhaps, the progeny of our Gora, who was gifted to a local shepherd before the war, recognising a file of old troops passing by. Or maybe this indicated a call from our comrades for whom the Last Post had sounded here, conveying to us the words of Captain Morton Home, ‘If fate and the Gods are kind to me (us), they’ll send me (us) a Sikh half company to fire three volleys over my (our) head to sweeten my (our) sleep where we lay!’

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