Chapter 7
Colonel Prabal Pratap Singh, commanding officer of the 3rd parachute regiment of the Indian army, took a garland of fresh mogra flowers from a platter held out by a waiting servitor and after garlanding the framed picture of his father, came to a smart salute before it. This was a ceremony that he carried out without fail every morning, whenever he happened to be in his ancestral home among the Aravali mountains in the state of Rajasthan. His father had been an Army officer like him, as indeed had been his grandfather before him. It was a family tradition, and tradition was honoured in the atmosphere of the fortress-like dwelling wherein his family had lived for the last five hundred years.
The house crowned the top of a precipitous hill and from its windows the Colonel looked out on a semi-desert landscape, stony hills covered with a sparse growth of zerophytic thorns. There were no sand dunes though, and the deep wadis that ran down the hills had patches of green cultivation. Some of these oases contained clusters of habitation, a huddle of dark brown roofs and adobe walls showing through the trees. To all those who dwelt in these villages the Colonel was thakur saab, the lord of the manor, the chief of their clan and their principal magistrate and the fount of their racial traditions. The family had lived in the fortress on the hill for more than five hundred years and it had always been thus.
The Colonel revered the memory of his father who had died leading his battalion in defence of the Chushul sector of Ladakh in the Indo-China war of 62. The whole battalion had perished in the fight including its commanding officer. This single battalion had held at bay an entire division of the PLA for more than a day, holding out in their trenches till their ammunition ran out. Then they had charged the Chinese with their bayonets and died with the cry of Jai Bhawani, the battle cry of Rajput warriors, on their lips. His father, a major in the Rajput regiment was posthumously awarded the Param Vir Chakra, the highest gallantry award that an Indian soldier can win on the field of battle. He had lived and died according to the true traditions of the family-whose motto could be roughly be translated as death before dishonour.
Colonel Prabal Pratap Singh looked exactly like the popular stereotype of the Rajput aristocrat. His face was finely cut, with large, rather bulbous eyes, a prominent nose and a moustache that bristled upwards with martial flair. It was the face of a person used to commanding others. But the eyes were those of a dreamer. The Colonel was in fact, like Major James Cameron whom the reader has already met in the foregoing chapters, an idealist. According to the Colonel, the whole point of life was in living up to a self-imposed code of honour. He had enlisted in the army out of a sense of obligation, because he felt duty bound to honour the family tradition.
Once in the army he quickly distinguished himself, not just for personal bravery and reckless disregard of danger, that was taken for granted given his background and lineage, but as a brilliant tactician, who was always a step ahead of the enemy. He commanded a company of the Indian Peace Keeping Force that was sent to Shri Lanka following Rajiv Gandhi's peace treaty with the Sri Lankans. The jungles of the Jaffna peninsula proved to be a death trap for the soldiers of the IPKF. The Indian army was unfamiliar with the terrain and unsure of its mandate It proved to be no match for the ruthless guerrilla fighters of the LTTE. The Tamil tigers ambushed the Indian army almost at will, hundreds of soldiers lost their lives, and many more had their arms and legs blown off from land mines. But the Major, as he then was, quickly understood the Tigers' tactics and outsmarted them. His company was the only Indian force to actually ambush the Tigers on their own home ground. The double eagle battalion, so called because of the two headed eagle, which was its emblem, became a byword for ruthlessness and daring, even among the Tigers, and its commander became the most feared and hated soldier in the whole Indian army.
When the IPKF left for home, Major Prabal Pratap Singh, was considered one of the rising stars of the officer corps. But as the others waited for the Major to make the right moves, he did nothing. He neither joined the polo playing, gin swilling aristocratic set in the army, nor did he frequent the corridors of the defence ministry in Delhi. He did not cultivate the generals, scorned staff postings, and spent his evenings with volumes of military history, away from the partying and socialising that was expected of a rising young soldier. While others lobbied for plum postings in the army HQ, he deliberately sought to be sent out to the remotest outposts on the border, in the most inhospitable terrain possible. Nonetheless, though his career did not prosper as it might have, he did not fail to attract notice as usual. Among the army brass, he acquired the reputation of being wayward and eccentric but brilliant and courageous. If there was a difficult operation to be mounted, PP as he was known to friends and intimates, could be relied upon to execute it. But if it was only a question of some routine exercise, it was better not to involve him.
His Battalion was currently posted on the Indo- Tibetan border, guarding one of the lesser known and the Colonel loved it. He loved the awe- inspiring mountains that guarded the pass. From his bunker, high up in a rocky durance overlooking the pass, he could see far out over the Tibetan plateau that stretched away to the north as far as the eye could see. He spent many hours with his field glasses, gazing out over the enemy territory. He was familiar with their troop dispositions, and from his observation post, on the mountain flanking the pass he could see convoys moving on the Chinese side, bringing troops and supplies. He could see that the Chinese were present on the other side in strength. They were well armed and well supplied. Clearly they were taking no chances, and if ever issue was joined between them, it would be a tough fight. Secretly he hoped, that issue would be joined one day. The only ambition that he still cherished, was to somehow avenge his father's death at the hands of the Chinese. He knew that wars were fought between countries and it was irrational to harbour any personal animus against the enemy. But this he could not help. He was sure,. that if battle were ever joined now, his troops would be able to match the Chinese, man for man and bullet for bullet.
When two hostile armies confront each other across a border, it is common practice to send out patrols into the enemy territory. The patrols test the enemy's resolve and alertness, and they also gather valuable information. This is even more likely on the Indo-Tibetan border, because there is no agreement between India and China on the demarcation of the international boundary. Even the actual line of control between the two armies is not drawn on any map. It exists only on the ground, and is maintained only because both sides are anxious to avoid war, for the time being. There is nothing there fore, to prevent either side from moving the boundary markers, and when that happens, war can erupt.
There are places, however, where. the border is defined by natural features so awesome that it is impossible to transgress it. This sector of the border was one such place. On one side were the mighty peaks of the high Himalayas, inviolable in their armour of snow and ice, on the other side was the bleak windswept plateau of Tibet, thousands of feet below the mountains. The divide between the two natural features was so abrupt, so stupendous, that it was impossible not to see it. There were no patrols here, simply because access through these mountains, except through the passes was impossible, and the passes were closely guarded and heavily defended.
But if the Colonel couldn't sneak into the enemy territory, he could at least familiarise himself with his own side. of the border, and this he did, climbing mountain after mountain with the zeal of a fanatic. He became, in the process, a fairly good mountaineer, and his young company commanders often found it difficult to keep pace with him. Within a year, he had climbed most of the big peaks in his sector. There was only one mountain that he could not climb, an unnamed summit that was called peak 6531 because it was exactly 6531 meters high. It stood a little apart from the main mountain massif, its sides were sheer rock and ice, its shape was almost that of a perfect pyramid and from its summit, which the Colonel was finally able to climb after two failures, one could look down directly into Tibet. Below the summit was enemy territory, a desolate wilderness where there was no sign of any habitation, or of any troop movement. The enemy obviously apprehended no danger from this side. And they were right. No one could ever climb this peak and then climb down the north face into Tibet. At least no attacking force could, unless it consisted only of expert mountaineers. Even air drops were ruled out, not only were the sides of the mountain too steep, the ridge was razor sharp and the summit was hardly broad enough for a man to stand on. The Colonel, who was fond of playing war games in his mind, thought that if he had to launch a surprise attack on the enemy, this was where he would do it from.
The Colonel had been almost two years in this mountain redoubt when one day, he received an urgent summons from his old commanding officer, Brigadier Hukum Singh, now director of military intelligence in the army HQ, to report to Delhi without delay. He reached Delhi after four days of hard travelling. He didn't enjoy the journey, or the prospect of meeting his superiors, but these occasional summer to the HQ were a part of life, a professional hazard to which he was more or less resigned. Hukum singh met him affably.
"What have you been up to now PP?"
"Up to? PP raised an eyebrow.
You haven't been lobbing too many mortar shell across the border, have you. We are now at peace with our neighbour and the politicians don't want any trouble."
"Certainly not. That would be unprofessional conduct of the worst kind, and you know me better than to suspect me of folly such as that. You know I am no trigger happy warmonger."
"You wouldn't mind a real war though, would you PP?"
"No I would not, but that's another matter. Why have I been summoned this time, sir. Not another VIP visit I hope?"
"Not much chance of that PP." They both knew that the last VIP who visited his outpost, a general on the verge of retirement, had to be brought down from the pass in a M18 chopper with pulmonary oedema- water in his lungs. "No PP its much more serious than that. You have to smuggle an American girl into Tibet. There is also a lama in the party. Let's go and see the chief. I'll explain the whole thing to you there."
They walked across the road to the noble sandstone pile of the Defence ministry. The British had rather let themselves go over this building, the Colonel thought. Its domes, cupolas and towers rose majestically in the warm spring sunshine, epitomising the imperial vision. They entered the building through a side entrance, avoiding the huge arched gateway under the central dome. The personal flag of the chief of army staff, crossed with the army flag, flew over the east wing where the chief had his chamber. The general welcomed them warmly, even effusively. With his thick caterpillar moustache, his gruff voice and ramrod straight bearing, he looked the stereotype of the blimpish colonial soldier. But appearances were deceptive. The general was a shrewd judge of men and a good soldier. One of the best in fact.
"Welcome to the pigeon hole, my boy!"
The general referred to the defence ministry as the pigeon hole because of the grey pigeons that tenanted its roof in large numbers. Also because the civilian bureaucracy, with which he was perennially at loggerheads, pigeonholed most of the proposals emanating from the army HQ. The general enjoyed his own pun. He had imbibed the manners and customs of the Sandhurst educated officers who had trained him. But the clipped accent, the my-boy and my-dear-chap manner, the immaculate almost dandified turnout, the monogrammed cravat, the red tabs on the collar, all the spit and polish, were only a show. Underneath was the sharp brain of first class strategist.
The Colonel saluted the general smartly before accepting the profferred chair.
"So how are my old friends the Chinese? Keeping quiet eh! Who is your counterpart across the border PP?"
"A major sir, major Wang Wei, he is called I think. We meet regularly once a month."
"Good show. Carry on like this and there won't be any thing left for the mandarins of the defence ministry to discuss when they visit China next month. Brigadier, have you briefed PP on why he is here."
"I have told him he is to organize a smuggling operation, I thought you may like to add to that sir."
"Humm ..... well there isn't much to add. An American girl and a Tibetan Lama have to be sent into Tibet. The matter is considered rather important by all the concerned parties, including the government of India. That is when we thought of you. Do you think you could do it."
"If you will forgive my asking sir, why is the army being brought into it. Surely the Americans or the Tibetan resistance could manage this."
"Well the ... the concerned parties, shall we say, have reason to believe that the Chinese have got wind of the matter. They have increased surveillance of the border. Right now, even an Indian yak couldn't get across the border without a Chinese army permit. For the same reason air drops are ruled out. The Chinese have an excellent radar and tracking system, and high flying aircraft can not evade detection. That's where you come into the picture. No one knows the border better than you do. If there is a the slightest chance of sending some one across you would know. That at least is what I was told. I hope I haven't called you all the way to Delhi on a wild goose chase, my boy. I was counting , on you rather, you know."
"Well, if that's the way you see it sir, I believe something could be done." He saw in his mind's eye, the outline of peak 6531. "It will take some time sir, and we will have to adopt unconventional methods. But yes, I believe it could be done."
"Well, good luck then, the Brigadier will fill you in on the details."
The two officers rose, saluted the general and turned to go. They had taken just a few steps when the general's voice again boomed out. "PP!"
"Sir!"
"There is another reason why I want you to take charge of this mission. This could be our chance of getting some of our own back at the Chinese. I knew you would be interested in that, my boy. Good bye."
