When a bike became a lifeline in Sikkim

RECENTLY, I was walking through the tree-lined lanes of Panjab University in Chandigarh. The place hasn’t changed much since I left the campus decades ago; it’s still serene, still inviting reflection. As I soaked in the atmosphere, a familiar sound echoed through the stillness: the deep, resonant thump of a Royal Enfield Bullet.

A young student cruised by on the ‘Geri route’, the bike rumbling confidently beneath him. He offered me a polite nod and a small smile — simple, yet striking. For a moment, time blurred. That sound, that sight, it didn’t just belong to a university campus. It transported me back nearly three decades, to the frozen valleys of north Sikkim.

In 1996, I was posted there as a young Major in the Army, commanding 214 Field Workshop Company of the Corps of EME (Electronics and Mechanical Engineers). Our unit was stationed in a remote, high-altitude village called Chungthang, where landslides and avalanches were part of daily life. One such incident, however, was unlike anything we had faced.

A massive landslide struck at Lintha Khola, around 70 km from Gangtok, cutting off the North Sikkim Highway, a critical artery for both civilian and military movement. The 112 Mountain Brigade had troops stranded beyond the slide; road clearance and restoring the tracks in motorable condition by the General Reserve Engineer Force would have taken weeks.

My brigade commander gave me a clear but urgent directive: “Find a way. Fast.” As a qualified mechanical engineer, I knew we had to rely on resourcefulness rather than resources.

Months earlier, our team had showcased a field innovation, a ropeway system powered by a Bullet. We removed the rear wheel, wound a steel wire rope around the drum and used the bike’s torque to drive a pulley system. What began as an experiment now became our lifeline.

We moved swiftly, established the system at the site and began ferrying supplies, rations and even personnel across the gorge using slung containers. The ropeway bridged the impossible. Troop movement resumed. Morale surged.

But what truly made this operation memorable was how it transcended military boundaries. As a gesture of brotherhood, we extended the ropeway service to local civilians who had been equally cut off. That Bullet, once just a rugged machine, became a shared thread of survival and solidarity.

In 1999, I was awarded the Chief of Army Staff’s Commendation Card for this innovation. But more than medals, what endures is the echo of that engine across snowy cliffs, and the knowledge that in that moment, we had turned a motorcycle into a mission.

That sound I heard on the campus reminded me: sometimes, the most extraordinary stories start with the most ordinary things — a road, a rumble, a nod. And a Bullet that became far more than just a ride.