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At 15,000ft death is steely, silent
12th June 1999 Vikas Murarka @del3.vsnl.net.in
> >At 15,000ft death is steely, silent > >Wilson John / New Delhi > > > >In Batalik, you can't breathe normally. There is less oxygen there. The air > >is rarefied. The lungs scream for oxygen. The blood vessels cry for oxygen. > > At 15000-ft, you are not normal. You cannot be. The human body is attuned > >to a certain altitude. > >And that's where our soldiers are. Fighting the enemy. Facing the bullets. > > Dying alone in the snow. Falling to death from the high ridges. No one > >hears their scream. It's such a lonely death. A tiny piece of metal is all > >what it takes to die. > >They are our infantry men. The finest in the world. No other soldier has > >ever fought at these heights. At 15000ft, they can't move with ease. In > >Batalik, there are no tracks. Climb. Clamber. Crawl. > >A soldier carries a week's ration, ammunition, a 5.56mm assault rifle > >or a mortar or a rocket launcher. He carries over 20 KGs on his back > >as he pulls himself up on this rugged, cruel terrain. > >He doesn't sleep. He doesn't have time to eat. Life is not what it is. > > Life is a shell. It is the terror of death. It is the courage of facing > >it. It is fear, raw, unalloyed, unrelenting....the enemy is up there, > >somewhere hidden. It can see you, can track you down like a rat, can pick > >you out so effortlessly...and yet these men move, slowly but with > >determination to fight for the nation. To die for the nation. > >You know how it feels to be up there in the cold, cold mountains, carrying > >a heavy backpack with a gnawing fear > >that you will never see your eight-year-old daughter. That sweet little > >thing with a ponytail and a smile that lights > >up your world. You may not hear her giggles, see her climb your shoulder, > >run around, throw her dolls in anger, > >paint the walls in doodles....You will not be there for her. > >You know what fear is. That is the fear. Not being there. Death is not what > >matters. What matters is that you will > >not matter anymore. And yet the soldiers go up the hills, like the charge > >of the light brigade, never asking > >questions, never expecting an answer. They know they have a duty, they have > >a pledge, they have a promise to > >keep. Their tryst with destiny. > >It is not easy to imagine a soldier, an infantry man's life up there in > >Batalik, where the wind can sear your > >windpipe, chill your brains, make your eyes weep with pain and lungs cry > >out in sheer exhaustion. > >Brave. That is what these soldiers are. Brave in the face of death. Brave > >in the face of fear. Facing bullets. > >Forty-six of them are dead. Many more will die. Let not their death go > >waste, unacknowledged. Let us not have a memorial to Unknown Soldiers. > > > > > > -------------------------------------------------------------------------- > > > >WE BOW DOWN TO THOSE UNSUNG WARRIORS OF THE NATION > > > > -------------------------------------------------------------------- > > > >I just wish I could also Join them. But the least that can be done is FWD > >this to every Indian I know so that they too are PROUD TO BE AN INDIAN > > > >
