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Abhimanyu was sipping a cup of hot tea sitting in his bunker at an infantry post in Arunachal Pradesh- India’s easternmost province which bordered China. He had been here for six months. It was the rainy season when he had just arrived here in July immediately after getting commissioned into a battalion of the Mahar Regiment. He had got fed up of the rains. Now it was the snow. He had had enough of it. He would do anything if his commanding officer would give him leave for a few days and he could visit his hometown, Delhi. He was desperate to meet Vinita. His fellow subalterns in the battalion would often tease him that she would run away with some ‘corporate type’ if he didn’t visit Delhi soon. Abhimanyu would smile and enjoy the banter. He knew his Vinita.
During the daylight hours he could see the Chinese Army posts across the border. Had it not been for their uniforms the soldiers on the other side could well be from one of those battalions of the Indian Army which had mongoloid troops, say, the Gurkha regiment, the Assam Regiment or the Naga Regiment. He would often see them play volleyball, basketball or soccer on the other side. In the mornings he would see them at drill. Most of them were friendly and would wave across. His own hardy Mahar troops would also smile and sometimes shake hands with the Chinese troops when tourists wanted to take pictures. It was a strange feeling. Abhimanyu knew that if, God forbid, the situation were to deteriorate he would have to fight and kill the men across the barbed wire.
He often wondered at the hopelessness of his post. In case of hostilities breaking out his post would get overrun. They were at a disadvantage. This was a known fact. In fact his battalion’s adjutant had described this post as the ‘Gallantry Award Post.’ What he meant was that in case of war it was this post’s responsibility to keep the Chinese at bay for as long as possible. It was expected that the men at this post would fight till the last bullet and then fix bayonets and charge the enemy. “You are the right person to send here,” the adjutant had teased him. “Yes,” Abhimanyu had replied, “there’s no way I can get out of this post alive if hostilities commence. I will live up to the tradition set by my namesake in the Mahabharata.” The adjutant had laughed out loud and said, “Make sure you get posthumous PVC. It will be good to motivate the boys.” He was referring to the Param Vir Chakra – India’s highest military gallantry award.
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Abhmanyu often thought about his grandfather who had fought on similar terrain 45 years ago in 1962. This was the year that the two Asian giants had gone to war. His grandfather was a non commissioned officer in a battalion of the Rajput Regiment. The battalion had been completely wiped out. The men had fought bravely. They had outdated .303 Lee Enfield Rifles and the Chinese had automatic weapons. The Indian soldiers had no woolen clothes. They had stuffed newspapers inside their thin sweaters to keep themselves warm. Many of them had suffered from frostbite of the toes when the snow had seeped in through their thin canvas shoes. Today, as he sat there in his bunker wearing winter clothing purchased from Europe and with the latest in automatic weapons and night vision devices, he wondered what must have gone through the minds of his grandfather and his colleagues as they fought valiantly, but in vain.
Abhimanyu’s own father had been barely ten years old then. The news of his grandfather’s death had reached the village rather late. There was gloom in the village when people came to know that fifteen brave men of their village had died in that particular action. They had received many a gallantry award. At that time in 1962, their village had widows of men who had died fighting in World War I. Fifteen more young widows joined this dreaded and honored club that year. Luckily for him, Abhimanyu’s father completed his high school education and joined a bank as a clerk. It had been his ambition that Abhimanyu join the army as an officer. Abhimanyu’s schooling was in those small towns of Haryana where his father had been posted. When he was in Class VII he was sent to Sainik School Kapurthala. This was a school which trained young boys to become officers in the Indian Army.
Abhimanyu liked the new school and the military training imparted there. Ajay, his childhood friend, who had joined along with him, hated every moment of it. He ran away a couple of times till his parents got tired and took him away. Abhimanyu’s years at school and the National Defense Academy at Khadakvasla, Pune were busy but uneventful years. He did reasonably well in his training. He wasn’t very happy to be commissioned into the Mahar Regiment as it was not as glamorous as the Gurkhas or the Special Forces. But once he was in and he saw the toughness and dedication of his men he realized that his battalion was indeed special in all senses of the word.
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He missed not being able to use his mobile phone. The signals were too weak here. And they were not officially allowed to use cell phones at posts. During the daytime he could see the Chinese soldiers on the other side of the border fiddling with their cell phones. It made him jealous. He would pay any price to be able to send an SMS to Vinita. He knew that he would have to spend another month at the post. His CO had promised him leave in February. He prayed that he didn’t go mad by then. But when he thought of his grandfather and his comrades who fell in 1962 all his complaints vanished.
As he finished his tea he was called outside the bunker by his soldiers. In the moonlight he could see some Chinese soldiers standing near the barbed wire. He walked towards them. Just behind him was Anil, his sahhayak and shadow. He could hear him releasing the safety catch of his assault rifle. “Zaroorat nahi hai,” he said sternly. As he reached the barbed wire he saw the young Chinese subaltern smiling. “Happy New Year, Nav Varsh ki Shubhkamnein,” said the Chinese officer. Abhimanyu was taken aback momentarily. He grinned when he remembered that many Chinese officers had done courses in elementary Hindi. He went near the wire and shook hands with his counterpart. “Happy New Year, Xin Nian Kuai Le,” said Abhimanyu. Now it was the turn of the Chinese subaltern to show surprise. They both laughed loudly and embraced. Two young men from two of the world’s most ancient civilizations held each other tight. Even if they were not enemies they were definitely not the best of friends. But for those few seconds when these young men hugged each other all that was forgotten. Even their soldiers, tough infantrymen all, were smiling.
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Dev Kumar Vasudevan is an educationist, freelance writer and blogger based in Mhow, Madhya Pradesh. He belongs to an Army family. This story was originally published at Sulekha.Com.
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