Photo for representation only. – File photo
It is customary in the Army to seek the blessings of one’s predecessors on taking over an outfit. Selected to command the regiment that was once led by my father, expectations from our veterans were high. Everyone dwelt upon the importance of saving lives and minimising casualties, given that we were deployed on the icy heights of the Siachen Glacier. ‘Do pursue the case for the release of our prisoner of war,’ there was one who had asked me to do something different.
It was in the 1965 War when the preponderance of Patton tanks had forced our troops to fall back in the initial fog of war. By the time enemy offensive was blunted, we had suffered a few casualties. It was only after the ceasefire that we learnt that one of our soldiers who was missing in action and presumed dead had been taken prisoner. His name figures on the list of 54 soldiers languishing in Pakistan jails, something our adversary has denied.
For days, my mind kept brooding over the onerous task assigned to me. What could one do when successive governments had failed to affect his release? Was he still alive after decades in captivity? Wasn’t it my duty to ensure that no coffin was despatched from the war zone rather than divert energy in opening an old coffin? Practicality prevailed over emotions but this issue remained etched in my subconscious.
After de-inducting to a peace station, an idea crossed my mind, now largely unburdened; while the release of our comrade could be a far cry, there was merit in doing something for his family. It didn’t take long to dig out the coordinates of his wife, now in the autumn of her life living on a meagre pension.
I had a word with my officers and men and it was decided to renovate her dilapidated humble dwelling. Having reconciled to the futility of chasing rainbows, this was perhaps the least we could have done. I was overwhelmed when the entire regiment volunteered for monetary contribution. A team was created to accomplish this mission of charity wrapped in dignity. The camaraderie exhibited by our boys was enough to motivate other villagers to join in and the task was completed in record time. Visibly moved, the lady expressed her desire to visit us.
There were tears of gratitude as she arrived at the function organised to felicitate her. Recollecting her journey of life was like reopening a page from history. She had been married for only six months when her husband went to war. She remained single and childless all these years in the hope that one day he would return. Time had, however, failed to convert her scars into stars. Most eyes were moist by the time she finished.
‘Gunner Sujaan Singh has certainly attained a fair measure of immortality. Taro Devi, his wife, isn’t far behind; for she too has sacrificed her today for the sake of our countrymen’s tomorrow,’ I cut short my prepared speech as my own words brought a lump in my throat.