Wrapped in tricolour
The coffin arrived;
Her world collapsed,
The country survived.
With devotion, With dedication,
Let us somehow repay,
For it was for our tomorrows
That they gave their today.
It was the 26th may1999. A sultry summer morning. The country woke up to unusual news headlines. India had begun airstrikes on the intruders occupying key positions on our side of the Line of Control. 27th may disaster struck as Sqn Ldr Ajay Ahuja was murdered cold- bloodedly while on a rescue mission; .Flt Lt Nachiketha was made prisoner of war. As a nation solemnly watched the 5 year old lighting his father’s pyre, little did it know that this world would become a daily feature in the weeks to come. Bodies kept pouring in, wrapped in the tricolour. Each coffin brought home a new tale of valour and a greater burden of grief. We heard the last post every dusk. We celebrated the victory while our soldiers regained our territory, inch by inch. It was not just a fight against the enemy, it was grappling against nature too. Soon, Drass, Batalik, Kargil, Tololing and Tiger Hills were no more alien. They were windows to spine- chilling stories of sacrifice. They were reminders of courage and conviction, resolve and resilience, strength and sustenance. They were memorials of our martyr’s patriotism. The deafening boom of the Bofors guns was real, so was the strenuous climb by our warriors. The blazing guns were real, so were the bleeding limbs. And starkly real were the martyrs who came back eternally sleeping in coffins …blood – stained, bulleted and brave. Television brought the gruesome nerve shattering images of war right into our drawing rooms. The despair, the destruction, the dead, the dying- They were all there, right in front of us. Wives saluting their husband’s coffins, proudly and painfully.Mothers honouring their son’s sacrifice. Nationalism simply erupted out of our hearts and into the streets. What touched most was the taxi driver, the flower vendor, the inmates donating her ornaments, the children offering their pocket money in the form of donation. The overwhelming support and solidarity brightened the colours of our national flag, caste, creed, class- all were swept under the fresh wave of Nationalism as all sections of society blended beautifully to create a bond of brotherhood. The soldiers fought as one- the nation stood as one. The war might have finished but crime and corruption, insurgency and militancy, poverty and hunger – there are still many battles to be fought, many fronts to be captured. The war is not yet over for India. The clerk who will not budge without a bribe, the travelling ticket examiner who will not accommodate without a commission, the engineer who won’t move without a packet, the doctor who fools and fleeces the patients without batting an eyelid. …they are all there. There is AIDS to be fenced, there is pollution to be controlled, there are atrocities on women to be curbed. Who said the war was over for Indians? The war, as always left behind a tale of triumph as well as a trail of triumph as well as a trail of tears. Why? Because come what may, our motherland had to be saved, at all costs. As we honour and salute our soldiers, all of us, in whatever capacity we exist, can definitely contribute to the peace and progress of our country. As teachers, doctors, homemakers, journalists, shopkeepers, nurses, drivers – whatever we are, wherever we are, we can improve the world around us. Let us just do it. Let us not forget Kargil martyrs. And we can fight another war for our country.
Kodandera Mamatha Subbaiah
