Remembering the Sher Shah of Kargil
As a teenager, one tends to look for a role model. I found mine in 1999 when I saw a soldier on TV, brimming with confidence, sporting a beard and a camouflaged jacket, talking to a reporter, who in my view, was also awestruck by his soaring spirit.
Captain Vikram Batra, the smiling young officer, had captivated the nation with his oneliner: “Yeh dil maange more”. I started reading his stories of valour in the Kargil War in newspapers and magazines. With limited resources at that time, I tried my best to gather more information about him. Bugging my friend’s brother, who was training at National Defence Academy (NDA), was a regular affair.
The photo of the young braveheart laughing beside an antiaircraft gun snatched from Pakistani soldiers is certainly one of the best images imprinted on my mind till date. Recapturing Peak 4875 was a Herculean task but the formidable Sher Shah (Captain Batra’s code name) had clear plans. Hurling grenades at the enemy’s machine gun post, he got shot in the chest and was mortally wounded. But he had left his legacy for that peak is known as Batra Top today.
The news came as a shock for by then I was already nurturing the dream of meeting him after the end of the conflict. A swashbuckling soldier who had planted seeds of patriotism in younger minds was gone, perhaps too early. I wanted to see the man who had chiselled my personality without even meeting me once. I along with a friend planned to attend his funeral, an idea that was disapproved by our parents; probably they thought we were too young.
But the idea of meeting him never fizzled out of my mind and heart. During my graduation in veterinary science, I deliberately picked up an assignment for Palampur, leaving other lucrative options. All alone, I felt I was on the way to salvation. Tenting outside his home for three days, my wait was finally over and I requested his father for an access to the shrine dedicated to him at his home. He was amused to see my happiness when I touched his belongings. For me, it was a dream come true, a feeling I can’t explain in words.
“Khana kha ke jaana (Have food before you go),” were the only words I heard from Vikram’s mother and I felt nothing had changed for her in five years. I vividly recall Vikram’s portrait with sparkling eyes, penetrating deep into the soul. The house abounds with his memories and the silence has a lot to say. I don’t remember what I said to his parents in that half-an-hour meeting but I clearly recall their moist eyes, nesting love for their Luv (Vikram’s nickname).
Drenched in tales of his heroism and sacrifice, all I could say to them was “apna dhyan rakhna (Please take care of yourselves)” as I left after touching their feet. It was both an ecstatic and agonising experience but even now every visit to Palampur reminds me of those eyes filled with pride for their son and the mountains still echo the unmatchable roar of the Sher Shah of Kargil.
CAPTAIN VIKRAM BATRA’S HOUSE ABOUNDS WITH HIS MEMORIES AND THE SILENCE HAS A LOT TO SAY