THE Kargil war never happened, I am told by the
intelligence officers of the ‘G’ branch of the army. The battles of
the summer of 1999 actually took place in Drass, 60 km away, while
Kargil proper was the victim of fierce shelling.
At 20,000 feet and above, the revelation comes as something of a
shock, at par with the sights and sounds I encounter near India’s
northernmost borders. Caught between Aksai Chin and Pakistan
Occupied Kashmir, facing the Karakoram and Pangi ranges of the high
Himalayas, I’m as close as it is possible for a civilian to get to
Siachen, the highest battlefield in the world.
The glacier itself, though, is off-limits
for anyone without the right clearances from Army headquarters.
There’s no question of trying to wheedle one’s way in: Near the Line
of Control, the Army’s word is law. As the Border Roads
Organisation, they built the roads. In their trucks and jeeps, they
man them. And in their OG, they decide who goes where.
Well, that’s slightly unfair. I’ve had a relatively unhindered
passage from Lahaul-Spiti, where I’ve just completed a challenging
mountaineering course, via Leh and Nubra into Kargil in various
buses and SUVs. On the way I pass through Khardung La, the highest
motorable pass in the world, three military towns—Diskit, Hunder and
Panamik—even North Pollu, as the locals fondly call the northernmost
checkpoint in the region.
As I near the border with both Pakistan and China, visions of the
armies on either side become more vivid. Is it my imagination or is
the nomenclature actually turning foreign? Names like Shyok and
Tangtse, more Chinese than Tibetan, usher one into the Siachen base
camp. More akin to the Central Asian landscape than anything the
term ‘Kashmir’ evokes, the region between Diskit and Hunder is an
ice desert littered with sand dunes and dromedary camels.
Conquered by Zorawar Singh for the Dogra Empire around the 1840s,
the entire area was Buddhist before pockets converted to Islam. The
distinction is most obvious on the way from the meditative, Buddhist
Ladakh to Islamic Kargil, also known as Little Baltistan.
The former battleground of the Indian Army is rough, rustic and
very hospitable—and completely unyielding when it comes to allowing
pesky outsiders to visit the actual war zone. So at 1 the same
bitterly cold night, I make my way to Drass, where I wait from 3 am
to 8 am to visit the War Memorial by first truck.
Tololing, Tiger Hill, Mushkow, Zojila, Sheela Top, Anmala
Junction, Najula Top. It’s been five years since the war, but the
names of the peaks and passes roll off my tongue easily as each
becomes associated with a particular geographical feature. Though
quiet now, thanks to the ceasefire, the tension is still palpable,
the memories of battle still fresh at the headquarters of the
Mountain Brigade, which did most of the fighting.
Staring in disbelief at the 400-odd names of fallen soldiers at
the Memorial, it’s impossible not to be overwhelmed by the sense of
the folly of it all. Each name on the tombstones here has a story to
tell, a distinct tale of heroism and patriotism. Each comes from a
different family, each played a unique role in the war here.
The Pakistanis must have a different version of the same story.
But as the two nations continue to face each other as adversaries 57
years after separation, I can’t help feeling the real victims are
the common people and martyrs such as these. Before moving on, I pay
my own homage to the fallen men of the Indian Army.
In a sombre mood, I catch the night bus to Srinagar across the
Zoji La. Traffic plies only at night here, and all vehicles are
herded into a valley for checking by the military. Once in Srinagar,
my co-passengers and I are asked to alight and walk 20 metres in
front of four machine guns for an ID check.
But while it’s easy to rage against the war machine, to protest
the curtailing of civic freedoms, it’s impossible to leave the
border areas without a renewed respect for the armed forces. The
stoic courage of the soldiers under the harshest physical conditions
is all it takes to inspire a prayer: for peace, for progress. For
the people.