Land of roses

A.J. Philip salutes the indomitable spirit of the jawans and officers 
in the world’s highest battlefield — Siachen

Wild roses along the Nubra lend colour to the snow-clad hills in Siachen Photos: Manoj Mahajan/The Tribune

OUR prayer had its effect. The sky was clear and so was the Khardung-la, which we could see from our room. Since we had no navigational knowledge, we kept our fingers crossed. Nevertheless, we got ready, either to go to Siachen or return to Chandigarh.

Then, the phone rang. Gp Capt B.R. Krishna was on the line with the good news that the weather god was favourably disposed towards us. A veteran who has piloted all kinds of aircraft in the IAF fleet, he did not forget to drop a bomb before he hung up the phone: "You never know how the situation would be after an hour. Anyway, the flight is at 7 a.m."

As we waited for the pick-up van to go to the helipad, photographer Manoj Mahajan had a query. How did I hit upon the idea of visiting Siachen?

A decade ago, I travelled with a couple of jawans, who had their posting at Siachen and were returning to their home state. The name "Siachen" aroused my curiosity. I wanted to know about the living conditions in the world’s highest battlefield. Initially, they were extremely reticent.

But when I used all my persuasive skills, they opened up and began giving me a graphic account of life at a Siachen post, 18,000 ft high, where at the best of times the temperature was minus 20 degree. In winter, it plummeted to minus 60 degree.

They had no clue whether Siachen was strategically important for India or not, but what bothered them was whether they would be able to make love to their wives when they reached home. "Five months on the glaciers impair your health in hundred and one ways", they said in a chorus.

"We lived in a tent full of soot from the kerosene lamp we used. It was everywhere — on the face, on the dress, on the utensils and on the bed. Forget a bath, we could not even wash our mouths properly. We could not stand our own stink. More than a minute in toilet meant buttocks and genitals getting frostbitten. Thank God, we escaped frostbite that has crippled more soldiers than enemy fire.

"Men are not supposed to live at that height. Lack of appetite and indigestion were our constant companions. The only thing that grew at the heights was the beard. We reckon that we have lost at least 10 years of our lives serving in Siachen, although we spent only a few months there".

Their complaints rolled into my ears like an avalanche. They were happy there was somebody to listen to them. Then and there arose a desire in me to visit Siachen. A few years later, I had a breathtaking view of the Siachen glaciers when I flew from Islamabad to Gilgit in the Northern Area in Pakistan.

The Pakistani pilot was so friendly that he even allowed Indian journalists to go one by one to the cockpit to have a good view of K2, the second highest peak, and Siachen, for which the two neighbours have been fighting since 1984. While returning from Gilgit via the Karakoram Highway, I had another view of Siachen.

Manoj was so worried about the pick-up van getting late that I doubt whether he was listening to my story. A gentle reminder on the phone and the Maruti Gypsy was in front of our room. Wg Cdr Nishant Sharma, who was to fly us, was bubbling with enthusiasm.

A four-seater Cheetah helicopter had been rolled out of the hangar and the technicians were checking its vital systems. Wing Commander Sharma and co-pilot A.V. Athavale, too, joined them in the final inspection. For them, it was a routine sortie but for us it was a lifetime opportunity to fly in a chopper. "Please go to the loo and empty the bladder", advised the Wing Commander. Whether it was out of concern for our future comfort or to reduce the weight on the machine is not known.

Cheetah is a small, lightweight helicopter, adapted from the French Alouette. "It was never meant to fly as high as 20,000 ft from the sea-level. The highest Mont Blanc in Europe is less than 16,000-ft high. In India, the helicopter was reconditioned to fly higher. Today, it serves as the lifeline for the troops posted at various heights in the northern, southern and central sectors of the Siachen glacier", said a young pilot, who loves flying the time-tested Cheetah.

As soon as the pilots got in, we lumbered in behind. They wore helmets with breathing devices connected to an oxygen cylinder. There was no helmet, no oxygen connection for us. However, we had to sign a document absolving the Air Force of responsibility if we died or suffered injuries in an accident. The ground crew closed the glass doors and we strapped on our seatbelts.

Soon the rotor blades began to roar and we realised we could no longer communicate with the pilot. Psalms 23 came to my mind as the helicopter, tinier from the inside, rose vertically for a few feet, stood still and descended and touched the ground. Was there a snag?

My fears were unfounded as within a minute, it again rose vertically before hovering horizontally and soared up towards Khardung-la. At a distance we saw a lonely bus, surrounded by snow, negotiating a curve on the world’s highest motorable pass. Below the helicopter, the sand dunes gleamed white against the winsome blue of the Nubra river.

Suddenly, I realised that the door had not clasped tight at the bottom allowing icy air to hit my feet. My ‘humble’ socks and sports shoes were inadequate to withstand the cold. Would I have frostbite? The thought bothered me and I kept exercising my toes and clicking pictures as the chopper moved slowly but steadily towards the world’s coldest battlefield. Snow-capped mountains stood vigil as the Nubra meandered and merged into the Shyok that flew parallel to the Indus.

An hour later, we reached the Siachen Base Camp. We could see in front of us the Siachen Glacier, an enduring accumulation of ice, snow, water, rock and sediment. We had to wait till the rotor blades came to a standstill and the ground crew opened the door for us to come out of the helicopter. Col Sudhir Kumar Jha was there to receive us.

He took us to the Base Camp reception where photographs of dignitaries like Prime Minister Manmohan Singh and Defence Minister A.K. Antony visiting Siachen adorned the walls. What struck my attention more was an inscription on the building, which is a Ladakhi saying — "The land is so barren and the passes so high that only the best of friends or fiercest enemies would want to visit us".

A cylindrical, kerosene-fuelled contraption with a tubular outlet kept the room warm. "We waited for you yesterday also. Now tell me, what are your plans?" asked Colonel Jha as a uniformed waiter brought us Kashmiri kehwa in cloth-covered Army glasses followed by an assortment of hot, spicy snacks.

"We would like to see the Base Camp and visit one of the Siachen heights where our soldiers are posted", I replied. From the Colonel’s expression, it was apparent that we were asking for the moon. "There are some problems, Mr Philip. Only one person can fly in a helicopter. For reasons of safety, helicopters fly only in pairs. Plus, you need to acclimatise".

It was pointless to make any further pleadings. Instead, we decided to make the best use of our visit to the Base Camp. I remembered Wing Commander Sharma advising us to round up our visit as quickly as possible before the Khardung-la closed. Colonel Jha drove us to the Siachen War memorial. We stood silent as high marble slabs with the names of the soldiers, who fell more to the vagaries of nature than to the enemy bullets, stared us in the face. Among them was Naib Subedar Bana Singh, whose heroics propelled the government to name one of the Siachen heights as Bana Top. Inscriptions from the Bhagvadgita, the Koran and the Guru Granth Sahib adorned the memorial.

A short drive from there, past a gate that screamed "Do or Die", we reached a small makeshift shrine dedicated to Om Prakash Baba, better known as O.P. Baba, a soldier who disappeared in the glaciers. His spirit is believed to be wandering in the area, protecting the soldiers from crevasses and avalanches.

Baba "looked terribly young, with romantically distant eyes and a long moustache, like the archetypal tragic hero of the First World War" wrote Myra MacDonald in Heights of Madness.

"Come, I will show you the origins of the Nubra," said Colonel Jha as he led me a few steps from there. There right in front of my eyes was the Nubra emerging like little streams from the melting ice. Never before had I seen a river emerge from nowhere except when I watched my friend Sanjoy Hazarika’s awesome documentary on the Brahmaputra.

I would have stood there watching the Nubra’s birth a little longer but for Colonel Jha’s reminder to hurry up. We had an appointment with Lt-Col G. S. Dhanu, who was in charge of training the soldiers so that they could withstand the ordeal of a 90-day posting at the heights. The amiable Colonel Dhanu led us to the classroom in the open, where a large number of jawans, JCOs and officers were huddled together on hemispherical concrete benches listening to an instructor on how to face avalanches, a common occurrence in the region. A demonstration on how to rescue an avalanche-hit jawan was part of the class.

Despite straining my ears, I could not follow the goings-on. In the distance, I could see a few jawans in the company of a sniffer dog locating an injured jawan and taking him on a stretcher to safety. As the class was in progress, one of the jawans sitting in the rear began to vomit and lost his balance. His colleagues sitting around picked him up and took him for medical aid.

"These incidents happen as life is tough here. We make the training so rigorous that the soldiers are equipped to face any situation during their posting at the heights," explained Colonel Jha. He showed us models of a snow-scooter bridge and a suspension bridge. The soldiers have to build these bridges to cross crevasses on their way. Alongside them were three Russian-made storm-air tents of different sizes, their homes during their stay at the peaks.

We entered one of them, which has a capacity to accommodate eight to 10 persons. It had thick insulation, so thick that once the tent was zipped tight, a small candle was all that was required to keep the inside warm. From there, we went to see jawans training in ice-wall climbing.

Jawans clad in ‘Siachen uniform’ that costs up to Rs 1 lakh, were climbing up and down a black ice wall using ropes, snow-axes and other implements. I climbed a little to take a close-up picture only to realise that I got tired and had to stop to take a good breath. Small wonder that soldiers take up to 24 days to reach their post by foot. They have to carry a heavy backpack containing, besides weapons and cartridges, food and their personal belongings.

"Let us get back," said Colonel Jha. On the return journey, he showed us some trees the Army had planted along the Nubra to make the land a little greener. "Here only wild roses grow. You can see them all around. The word Siachen means "the land of roses".

On a request, Colonel Jha showed us a showcase in which food packets given as ration to the jawans were displayed. Cashewnuts, raisins, tinned meat and fish, high-calorie drinks, dosa, vada mixes, chocolates and other such items were on display. A simple chapatti at the Siachen heights cost the Army upwards of Rs 100.

Colonel Jha asked a soldier to show us the sheds where the soldiers slept. Kumar from Thiruvananthapuram was happy to find in me a country cousin. But he would not allow us to take pictures of the jawans leisurely cleaning guns and exchanging gossip. Myra MacDonald found, "Next to the bunks, the men had pinned up posters of Hindi film actresses and models in sexy but unrevealing black underwear". But we found only pictures of gods and goddesses.

By the time we returned, Colonel Jha was ready to drop us back at the IAF helipad where Wg Cdr A.K. Upadhyaya waited to receive us. He offered me a cigarette, which I politely declined. Colonel Jha was happy to receive it.

"Why is smoking so high in Siachen?" I asked. Wing Commander Upadhyaya was the one to answer: "It is to keep us warm. Every time we fly, we lose a few heartbeats and a bit of hair." In saying so, he attracted my attention to his head, which was as bereft of hair as the Saltora range of greenery.

From the discussions there, I could make out that the return journey was not all that easy and we might even have to consider staying at the Base Camp for a day. "Tribune staff stranded in Siachen" could be the headline of a report, I thought. No, the weather improved and we got back to the helicopter. We had one last look at the Saltora range as the helicopter lifted vertically, turned sideward and flew over the Nubra valley.

As feared, the Khardung-la was closed. The pilots took another route via Mang-la and we were back at the Leh helipad one-and-a-half hour later. Group Captain Krishna, who was monitoring our visit, was there to receive us. I returned sad for the unknown soldiers who kept vigil at those inhospitable heights where they considered lucky if they could see a crow, the only creature that braved the cold.

Even the crows would not dare to go to Siachen during the winter. Why couldn’t India and Pakistan come to an agreement to keep the Siachen heights unmanned as they were till 1984? Former Prime Minister A.B. Vajpayee seemed to plead for the jawan when he wrote in his poem, Never Place Me So High: "On a very high mountain, trees cannot take root/ Plants do not grow, grass will not survive/ Only snow remains/ White as the shroud and cold as death." Concluded

HOME