THE HELMET AND THE WATER BOTTLE

THE HELMET AND THE WATER BOTTLE : REMEMBERING THE FORGOTTEN SOLDIER

LOG BOOK EXTRACT

It was, I think Sept 1986.


I was a rookie pilot with barely 450 hours, flying with my Squadron CO,  a taciturn disciplinarian, accustomed to explode suddenly and grab the controls  after watching you struggle to keep the speed constant, height maintained and flying balanced; ball and string aligned (didn't they teach you anything, this aircraft flies with a tilt).

Anyways, it was  a long flight. We had taken off from Srinagar onwards to Kargil-Leh- Chalunka- Tangtse-Chushul.

There was an officer from 13 Fd Regt who was to accompany us to Chushul. He had been tasked by his unit to lay a wreath on the 13 Fd memorial there. It was the 'old boy' grid working and since his CO was a friend of my CO, a sortie was arranged ---- and there was another gunner CO located at Chushul who was a friend of both these CO's!!

We crossed the Zorawar Wall,  flew along the C 1 axis (yes, I was told that this axis is normally forbidden, being under Chinese observation), skirting and admiring Pangang Tso and finally landing at Chushul. All arrangements had been made by a local artillery unit. A welcome cup of tea was waiting and so were  a couple of jeeps and guides.
A good gunner friend of mine from the Advance Gunnery days had specially come to meet me.

T/O was after a couple of hours and while the CO and the 13 Fd  officer went off in one direction,  I thought it prudent to hop into the jeep with my friend who had agreed take me for a conducted tour of the area.

We drove around the desertfic terrain, over humps, mounds, hills --  as he pointed out all the landmarks including the old airstrip where US Airforce Hercules'  had landed in 1962.
And since I had wanted to see the famed Rezangla feature and the battlefields  around Chushul, my day was made. 
As we drove past some old defended locality, abandoned now, I noticed crawl trenches and half filled slit trenches dotting the gravelled type kutcha track on both sides. 

Valiant and brave soldiers would have made a stand somewhere around. 

So many years back. 

We stopped the jeep and stood quietly, looking around. Silence.
I picked up a rusted helmet and a water bottle, the canvas cover of which was now tattered and about to fall off. 
I still have it.

In memory of men  who were better soldiers than us.

How can a man die better,

            Than facing fearful odds, 

                               For the ashes of his fathers, 

                                And temples of his gods