The Brave: Param Vir Chakra Stories Read online

  Just then an HMG burst from a sniper, sitting atop of a coconut tree, catches Parry on his left wrist, smashing the bone to bits and nearly severing his hand. The impact is so high that it takes off his watch, which falls some distance away. Even as his men watch, Parry charges at the militant closest to him, completely disregarding his grievous injury. He snatches the man’s weapon and shoots him, shouting at his men to follow.

  Just then, another HMG burst hits him in the chest. In his pocket he has a Mini Clear pistol and rounds he has planned to use to send a success signal. They burst and the brave officer collapses, falling on his face. When his body is recovered by Capt. Sharma almost an hour later, his watch is found lying near him. It has stopped at 8. 10 a. m. ‘I was just three metres behind him,’ says Maske. However, the fire is so intense that for a long time the soldiers are not able to even reach his body.

  Though shocked by the loss of their brave commander, the six jawans are inspired by his sacrifice and continue to fight back. They can see the militants scattering in panic. ‘They were young boys and girls in lungis (sarongs) and T-shirts. Most of them were carrying AK-47s though they did not have either helmets or slippers on their feet,’ remembers Maske. The rebels start jumping out of their hideouts and running away while still firing at the soldiers.

  The battalion has, meanwhile, sent reinforcements. Capt. T. C. Bhattacharya and 20 other ranks reach the location and start firing at the three temples. Bhattacharya enters the first temple and manages to catch a militant. It is a bold action that unnerves the other rebels and sends them fleeing. Bhattacharya succeeds in extracting information from his prisoner about a hideout from where three AK-47s, two rocket launchers, 200 booster charges and 100 kg ofexplosives are recovered. A team of1 Maratha Light Infantry, led by Major Devendra Brar, also arrives. This party of 25 soldiers helps Maske and Ankush Waghmare move forward and retrieve Parry’s body. It is brought to an empty house where Raj Kumar is given first aid. Slowly the firing stops.

  Six militants are killed in the attack and an unknown number wounded. 8 Mahar loses Parry, Naik Appana Sarje, Rajan Lal and Milind Kohle, while nine others are wounded.

  On 25 November, Parry’s body is flown to Chennai and handed over to his kin. The three martyred soldiers are cremated with full military honours at Uduvil.

  For his gallant act of bravery, exemplary leadership and command, Maj Ramaswamy Parameswaran is awarded posthumously the nation’s highest gallantry award, the Param Vir Chakra. His saga of valour and selfless sacrifice will continue to inspire new generations of Mahar soldiers.

  ‘The casualties would have been much higher had Parry Sahab not decided on going for a counter-ambush, ‘ says Maske. ‘He lost his life, but saved so many others.’

  Parry, as Maj Parameswaran is affectionately remembered by his men, was a devoted and committed officer, who liked to lead by example. Jawans who served under him remember his considerate but firm command and quick forgiveness. He was an approachable man, who the soldiers could easily confide in. He would never humiliate a man by punishing him in public, but if someone was wrong, he would not let that go unchecked either. He is remembered by the men who were in the last patrol with him even today for saving their lives by putting his own on the line. He was a Tamilian fighting against Tamil militants, but he never looked at things that way. He considered himself an officer of the Indian Army first and was a perfect example of how soldiers rise above narrow constraints of caste and politics to become devoted citizens of a nation.

  Parry was born on 13 September 1946 in Bombay to K. S. and Janaki Ramaswamy. He completed his schooling from SIES (South Indian Education Society) High School, Mumbai, in 1963 and his graduation in science from SIES College in 1968. In 1971, when India was fighting Pakistan, he joined the Officers’ Training Academy in Chennai and passed out on 16 June 1972. He was commissioned into 15 Mahar and served there for eight years. In May 1981, he got married to Uma. In April 1983, he was sent to 5 Mahar.

  Brigadier E. V. Reddy, a young lieutenant in 5 Mahar when Parry was a senior major with more than 10 years of service, remembers the couple posted at Dehradun, with a lot of affection. ‘He was an affable, gentle guy, who could bring cheer into any gathering. She was a poet and writer and they were devoted to each other,’ he says. The youngsters would often drop by at the Parameswarans’ house for a meal and Brig. Reddy recounts how Parry would cook and feed them south Indian fare like idli and dosa. Parry was handpicked for 8 Mahar, which was the first unit of the Indian Army to land in Sri Lanka as part of the Indian Peace-Keeping Force, because he could speak Tamil. He was raring to go.

  The peace-keeping operation had completely backfired and the Indian Army, which was initially tasked with ensuring peace and seeking surrender of Tamil militants, found itself fighting a hostile force. Since these were early days, the participating units did not have proper maps or intelligence and since the militants were freely using women and children, it was difficult for the men in uniform to retaliate against this civilian force.

  It was while taking part in Operation Pawan as part of 91 Infantry Brigade, 54 Infantry Division, just a month and 20 days after he joined 8 Mahar, that Parry was destined to attain martyrdom in the battle of Kantharodai. Strangely enough, on 23 November 1987, Uma’s mangalsutra broke at home in Dehradun where she had continued to stay after Parry left for Sri Lanka. She was really upset since she took it as a bad omen, but her friends told her not to be superstitious. Two days later, she received the news that her husband had lost his life fighting the Tamil rebels. She was completely shattered but has since remarried and picked up the pieces of her life.

  NOTE

  Capt. Sunil Chandra from 8 Mahar was commanding a squad when on 16 October 1987 he received news that another company located at Annaikottai had been surrounded and repeatedly attacked by the militants, causing heavy casualties. The soldiers needed an immediate replenishment of ammunition, which they had exhausted. An attempt was made to supply by helicopter, but that failed due to militants directing heavy fire at it. All routes to get there had also been blocked by the LTTE.

  Capt. Chandra, along with 15 men, was detailed to take the reinforcements to the company. He left Uduvil at 7 p. m. on 16 October and fought his way through, despite being wounded in the leg. His party incurred eight casualties, and reached the besieged company on 17 October, when it had been left with just six rounds of 7. 62 mm and two grenades. He was hit by an MMG burst in the chest, but crawled on till he reached the company and handed over the ammunition. Subsequently, he succumbed to his injuries. He was posthumously awarded the Vir Chakra.

  The battle account was reconstructed from conversations with Subedar (Retd) Dilip Maske, who participated in the same operation

  THE KARGIL WAR 1999

  Of all the wars India fought none caught the imagination of the people as much as Kargil. This was the first war fought with constant media coverage. Indians until now obsessed with film stars got to see for the first time what real heroes looked like as television sets beamed right into our bedrooms images of armed soldiers and gritty young officers bravely climbing the peaks of Tiger Hill and Dras to flush out crafty intruders.

  The Tricolor was eventually unfurled on every peak but many of these brave men never returned from the war. We were left with images of coffins being saluted and parents, spouses and little children weeping quietly at funerals that made every Indian realize the terrible loss that every conflict results in.

  Attacks were launched at heights above 15, 000 feet in subzero temperatures. Soldiers had to fight in an environment where even breathing is a strain. With heavy backpacks, they had to climb for days on meagre rations and sometimes nothing to eat and face bullet showers and grenade attacks to finally flush out the enemy sitting secure behind sanghars and bunkers and in snow tents.

  The Indian government’s decision to not let the Army cross the LOC reduced their tactical options greatly. Conditions were nightmarish for battalion commanders when uncompro
mising orders from the top demanded results almost overnight. These results were achieved but at a great loss. Twenty-five officers and 436 jawans were killed, and 54 officers and 629 jawans wounded at Kargil. Many were disabled for life.

  It was in these daunting circumstances that four of the heroes of the Kargil War won their Param Vir Chakras. Two of these were officers and two jawans but only two could survive to tell their brave tales. About the other two we know from the accounts of comrades who fought besides them, witnessed their acts of glory and then brought their bodies home.

  A backgrounder

  The Pakistan offensive in Kargil was part of a much bigger plan by Pakistan and it took Indian policy planners by surprise. During the winter of 1998-99, some elements of the Pakistani Armed Forces were covertly training and sending Pakistani troops and paramilitary forces, some allegedly in the guise of mujahideen, into territory on the Indian side of the LOC. The infiltration was code named Operation Badr, and was aimed at severing the link between Kashmir and Ladakh and causing Indian forces to withdraw from the Siachen Glacier, thus forcing India to negotiate a settlement of the broader Kashmir dispute. Pakistan also believed that any tension in the region would help make the Kashmir issue international.

  Pakistani Lieutenant General Shahid Aziz, then head of ISI analysis wing, later stated that there were only regular Pakistan Army soldiers who took part in the Kargil War. ‘There were no mujahideen, only taped wireless messages, which fooled no one. Our soldiers were made to occupy barren ridges, with hand-held weapons and ammunition,’ Lt Gen Aziz wrote in his article in the daily The Nation in January 2013.

  By early May1999, Pakistan had extended its defences well across the Line of Control (LOC) in the Mushkoh, Dras, Kaksar and Batalik sectors. The extent of penetration across the LOC varied from 4 to 8 km in each sector. Strong defensive positions were established by regular troops of the Northern Light Infantry and Special Service Group commandos, with full support of artillery, mortar and anti-aircraft missiles. Military stores were dumped and anti-personnel mines laid. A force of 2000-strong had moved into Indian territory. They were directly overlooking the Srinagar—Leh highway.

  The first reports that there were intruders came in from a bunch of shepherds on 6 May 1999 and it took the army time to determine the size and extent of the intrusion. A patrol that was sent out never returned and it was only on 10 June 1999 that the Pakistani Army returned to India the cruelly mutilated bodies of Maj Saurabh Kalia, the patrol leader, and his five soldiers. The bestiality of the Pakistani soldiers and the manner in which they had treated the Indian soldiers who had been taken prisoners was shocking. What was even worse was that the government of India, other than making a few statements, did not and has not till date taken the case up more strongly with the world bodies. Major Kalia’s father is still waging a lone war against the war crime.

  The extent of intrusion in Kargil, when it was fully known, was staggering. Fighting on mountains is always to the advantage of the defender who is secure behind his defences while the attacker who has been ordered to ‘throw them out’ is totally vulnerable in the open as he climbs steep slopes which are at times almost vertical and require the use of ropes. The defending Pakistani soldiers were very confident that the odds were so much in their favour that they could beat back any attack.

  It would have been a difficult war to win but for one factor in the Indian armed forces that the enemy had not factored in—raw courage. Through sheer grit and determination, young officers in their 20s led their men to impending death, paving the way for others to follow.

  Initially, without maps, supplies, adequate ammunition and even winter clothing, the ill-equipped infantryman fought and eventually won this battle for India. He was supported by the gunners who tried to reduce the odds by continuously bombarding the heights where the enemy soldiers were lodged and the Air Force pilots who fearlessly flew overhead and bombed the enemy bunkers.

  In many vital points, neither artillery nor air power could dislodge the Pakistani soldiers, who were not in visible range. The Indian Army had no option but to send up soldiers for direct ground assaults which were slow and took a heavy toll, given the steep ascent that had to be made on peaks as high as 18, 000 feet. Since any daylight attack would be suicidal, all the attacks had to be made under the cover of darkness, escalating the risk of freezing. Accounting for the wind-chill factor, the temperatures were often as low as -15 degrees Celsius near the mountaintops.

  The high-risk frontal assaults could have been avoided if the Indian Arm had blocked the supply route of the enemy, virtually creating a siege, but this was not permitted since it meant Indian troops would have to cross the LOC, something that India was not willing to do since it would have reduced international support for its cause. The Army thus had to pay a very heavy price for diplomacy by losing brave young soldiers in circumstances that were biased against them.

  According to India’s then Army chief Ved Prakash Malik, and many other scholars, much of the background planning, including the construction of logistical supply routes, had been undertaken much earlier. Some analysts believe that the blueprint of attack, that had been sidelined by other political leaders, was reactivated soon after Pervez Musharraf was appointed chief of army staff in October 1998. After the war, Nawaz Sharif, prime minister of Pakistan during the Kargil conflict, claimed that he was unaware of the plans and that he first learned about the situation when he received an urgent phone call from Atal Bihari Vajpayee, his counterpart in India. Sharif attributed the plan to Musharraf and ‘just two or three of his cronies’, a view shared by some Pakistani writers who have stated that only four generals, including Musharraf, knew of the plan. Musharraf, however, asserted that Sharif had been briefed on the Kargil operation 15 days ahead of Vajpayee’s journey to Lahore on 20 February.

  Two months into the conflict, Indian troops had slowly retaken most of the ridges that were encroached by the infiltrators; according to official count, an estimated 80 per cent of the intruded area and nearly all high ground was back under Indian control.

  Four brave soldiers were awarded the Param Vir Chakra for their supreme bravery in Kargil. They were:

  Grenadier Yogender Singh Yadav, 18 Grenadiers, Param Vir Chakra.

  Lieutenant Manoj Kumar Pandey, 1/11 Gorkha Rifles, Param Vir Chakra, posthumous.

  Captain Vikram Batra, 13 JAK Rifles, Param Vir Chakra, posthumous.

  Rifleman Sanjay Kumar, 13 JAK Rifles, Param Vir Chakra.

  Manoj Kumar Pandey

  Batalik sector, Kargil

  2-3 July 1999

  Manoj Pandey sat crouched in a trench, almost blending in with the rugged brown slope. He was watching a burst of Bofors fire light up the purple sky. The unruly stubble on his chin made his face itch. He could smell the nauseating sweat in his hair even from under his helmet with a rip in the lining where the hard metal pressed against his scalp—cold yet strangely reassuring. Under the grime smearing his face, his features were good—a well-defined straight nose, firm mouth, broad forehead creased in concentration. He didn’t wear a moustache. His chin was determined, his eyes warm, brown and finely lashed, though at that moment they were bloodshot from serious lack of sleep. He sat motionless, staring stonily ahead, his rough, weather-beaten hands clasped firmly around his Insas rifle.

  A khukri (a traditional Nepali dagger) hung from his belt and rubbed against his thigh, the evil glint of its cunning blade sheathed in soft velvet. At the regimental centre in Lucknow, where he was trained to be a Gorkha Rifles soldier, he had been told it was the best weapon to use in close combat, small and deadly, instilling instant terror in the enemy. He had been trained to slice a man’s neck off, cutting swiftly across the skin—right to left, left to right, ripping through veins and sinewy muscles in one powerful move. At the regiment’s Dussehra celebration when he had just joined his unit two years ago, he had been asked to prove his mettle by cutting off the head of the sacrificial goat after the puja. For a moment his mind
had wavered but then his arms had lifted in the air, bringing the glittering blade of the sharp dagger down on the scared, bleating animal’s neck, severing it from its twitching body in one massive blow that sprayed his nervous, perspiring face with warm blood. Later, in his room, he had trembled at the act and washed his hands half a dozen times to take away the guilt of his first deliberate kill. He had always been a vegetarian and a teetotaller.

  In the past two months, Manoj had come a long way from his natural humane reluctance to take lives. He had contrived attacks, planned kills and used stealth to surprise enemy soldiers as they sat on craggy peaks. He had climbed up freezing mountains, trudging through snow and sleet, even without winter clothing in the initial days. He would use woollen socks as gloves to shield his freezing fingers, peeling them off when they got soaked in a sudden shower, twisting them to squeeze the water out and slipping them on again. He had fixed targets within the sight of his rifle, taken aim and pressed the trigger; tracing the bullet’s path with his eyes as it zipped through the distance and embedded itself in human flesh. He had killed in cold blood, shooting men through their heads, through their hearts, dispassionately watching them bleed to death.

  His expertise with the khukri as a weapon of execution had, however, not been tested yet. His instinct told him that tonight could be the night.

  Manoj Pandey shifted his weight and winced. The edges of his briefs were cutting into his groin. Every time he moved, the rough fabric would slice through the raw skin, digging a micro-inch deeper. He had been wearing the same clothes for almost a week.

  Running a hand across his soiled combats, he felt the murky stiffness of sweat and grime. His fingers hovered over the rips and tears where the fabric had been ragged threadbare by crawling on razor-sharp rocks. But there was consolation in company. Cocking his head slightly, he silently observed the dark outlines of his men—short, stocky Gorkhas, grouped unevenly around him in the darkness—dirty, starving and battle-fatigued, yet brave. He made no sign, his eyes remained dark and languid, no emotion flitted across his face, but for them he felt deep warmth in his heart.