AN intrusion by the enemy necessitated our mobilisation, and within 36 hours of notice, we lifted the skids of our helicopters, getting airborne to support troops in the Kargil war. I convinced my three-month-pregnant wife that this was just another routine mission. Newly married to the olive greens, she believed me.
It was only when the war scenes started getting telecast live on television that the enormity of the situation came upon her. While a fighter aircraft and helicopter were downed in quick succession by the enemy, there was a casualty at my home — our would-be first-born succumbed to stress-induced miscarriage.
In spite of heavy flying commitments, my Commanding Officer (CO) managed to spare a helicopter to fly me out to the nearest rail head. As we landed in Jammu, I was handed a ticket by an officer who accompanied me till I boarded a train for Jalandhar, where my wife was admitted. In those stressful times, when sensible decisions were hard to make, these empathetic gestures helped me reach her with minimum delay.
On my return to the war zone, I expressed deep gratitude to my CO. ‘If you really want to thank me, do something similar to someone else in need,’ he said philosophically.
A decade later, while commanding a regiment in Ladakh, I was informed that a Junior Commissioned Officer had collapsed due to high blood pressure. At that moment, I was in conversation with pilots of a helicopter waiting to take off for air maintenance of troops deployed at Siachen. The pilot immediately ordered his helicopter to be unloaded and flew him out to the nearest military hospital.
As his condition deteriorated, doctors advised further evacuation to the Command Hospital. It was afternoon by now and all scheduled flights had departed. Given the post noon air turbulence in the region, the earliest incoming flight would arrive the next morning. The Air Force base, not very far from the hospital, was then commanded by a gentleman who had been my instructor at the Helicopter Training School. I took the liberty of seeking his help.
‘Kuch karta hoon’ — he was not the kind to throw up his hands in despair. Luckily, an aircraft was returning to the plains after para-dropping its load on icy heights. He ordered it to divert to his base forthwith. I felt huge relief when the patient was in safe hands within an hour and lived to see another day. I met him after a few days as he lay partially paralysed on the hospital bed. ‘We shall remain indebted to you, sir,’ spoke his teenaged son. ‘I rather thank your father for helping me clear my long overdue debt of gratitude,’ I replied.