The Cost of Freedom
From an Air Force Officer who flew out the Kargil Casualties, The Just Missed Ones, The Injured Survivors….
The Unknown Sikh Soldier in the Kargil War
I remember it as if it was yesterday. It was the 23 May 1999, and the Kargil conflict was ongoing, my crew and I were in Awantipur to pick up 24 casualties (20 sitting & 4 on stretchers) the casualties on stretchers were extremely seriously wounded. The age of the passengers ranged between 19-27 years. Some had bullet wounds, where the bullet had gone through and through, but he still had his legs and could sit, stand and walk so wasn’t on a stretcher (I guess, in a strange Army way, making them feel better, that’s how the system works, it actually works. I have actually seen a Gurkha with a bullet wound, helping another Kumaoni who was limping along. It’s a system which teaches one to be empathetic towards others). The men who were on a stretcher were the really badly hurt ones, they were those, who had stepped on a land mine & had their legs blown off. A very different sight from those as seen on TV news videos, moving from wounded soldiers to heavy snowfall in some other part of the world, while people watch eating their dinner, disinterested, barely looking up from their phones, this was real life. The pain was terribly real. Also, it was not possible to merely change the channel.
The aircraft was the workhorse of the IAF, an An-32, it reeked of Savlon and fear. As we waited for the last patient to arrive, I realised that my An-32 also was a micro India. The Naga soldier was seated next tall Jat, the Tambi was next to Maratha, the Rajput was next to the JAKLI, Mahar was next to a tall Guards soldier & the tiny Gurkha next to an equally small and sturdy Kumaoni. All united by shades of Olive Green and the invisible thread of pain. Injuries they had suffered on our behalf.
In the ambulance, which was parked just at the edge of the ramp (behind the aircraft), was a Sikh light Infantry Soldier, he was really young. So young, that his beard had barely started to grow, a mere boy. He had lost both his legs in a land mine explosion. In an effort to distract him, I asked him are you fond of cricket? His eyes brightened up immediately, and he promptly said Yes, Sir. Seeing his response, I addressed all my passengers, (The World Cup was ongoing in England ) India is playing with Kenya, and Sachin Tendulkar has scored 140 runs in 101 balls not out. He has helped India reach 329 in 50 overs. Tendulkar has dedicated his innings to his father who’s funeral he had returned from the previous day. What do you all think, will we win?
‘YES SIR’ was the immediate answer, All of a sudden, a Tendulkar Tsunami swept through the aircraft and that ambulance behind it.
Everyone forgot their pain & their injuries. They forgot their predicament, all they could talk about was Tendulkar & his century. Everyone started talking to the person next to them. Everyone broke language, and cultural barriers and, new friendships were instantly formed.
I could see my new friend in the ambulance, talking animatedly. His eyes all lit up; his smile was ecstatic as he described Tendulkar’s shots. His injuries and pain were forgotten briefly. He was happy, all my passengers were happy. For a brief period, everything was the way they ought to be.
Epilogue: When I landed with my passengers in Delhi, I shared the good news with them that we have indeed won the match, far away in England. My young friend, who was on a stretcher strapped securely to the floor, smiled at me. I shook his hand and wished him well. I was relieved it was dark, and he couldn’t see my eyes. My crew and I stood behind the aircraft as they disembarked silently wishing them well. It’s men like these, the ones who were passengers on my plane, who silently walk away after giving their youth for all of us. They are the ones we owe our freedom to.
Dear Country Men and Women, Freedom doesn’t come Free.
You get it for Free because it has been paid for in Full by the Lives and Blood of our Soldiers.
