About six years ago ...
On a warm, sultry summer afternoon, a thin boy with a side parting in his hair and shiny new leather shoes walked down for his service selection board interview for NDA. He was trying to keep his mind off the bite in his toes, the sting of the cheap elastic in his socks and the guilt he had felt asking his poor father for money to buy them. He reminded himself that he was the best NCC cadet in his state and desperately hoped that his basic knowledge of English would not desert him during the interview.
‘Why do you want to join the Army?’ the interviewing officer was stern and abrupt, and looking straight into his eyes.
‘I want to win the Param Vir Chakra,’ he replied returning the stare, hoping the sentence was grammatically correct. The interviewing officer looked at the others on the board and exchanged a smile.
Sometimes, they say, there is magic in the air and we must be careful about what we say because it will come true. Not only did young Manoj Kumar Pandey from Sitapur district in Uttar Pradesh get into NDA, he also won the Param Vir Chakra, the Armed Forces’ highest gallantry award. Unfortunately, he hadn’t said he wanted to wear it live.
Yogender Singh Yadav
Grenadier Yogender Singh Yadav was lying in a pile of bodies. Around him lay his comrades, all six of them, brutally killed. Their fingers had been ripped off, limbs torn out of their bodies, legs twisted grotesquely under their torsos, heads smashed beyond recognition.
War is terrible. It reduces breathing, living, brave, young men into lumps of bloody flesh and bone. It reduces friends, colleagues, brothers, fathers and husbands into scarred, broken, ragdolls that were indistinguishable from each other, their vacant dead eyes mute witness to the pain they had undergone. It also reduces soldiers, trained emotionless killing machines, to emotional wrecks.
When Yogender Singh tried to stand up his leg just collapsed under him and he lay there and wept, the sound of his loud wailing echoing in the cold, desolate heights of Tiger Hill. He wept till his eyes ran dry and his throat didn’t have the strength for another cry. He didn’t know then, but there were fourteen bullets lodged in his body. Six of them had cut into his arm, rendering it useless as it hung from the shoulder, the bones exposed and rubbing painfully against each other each time he shifted his weight. A grenade had burst at his foot, making him feel as if his leg had been cut off—he could not feel it anymore. Another had smashed across his face, slicing into his forehead leaving a gaping gash from where blood was dripping into his eyes.
It was all over, he thought.
When the Kargil War started, Yogender Singh Yadav had been on leave. It had barely been a fortnight since he had married Reena, and her pretty, smiling face was still on his mind when he joined his battalion in Dras on 22 May. That very day they had their first casualty. The reality of war dawned on Yogender Singh during his initial deployment as a fighting porter when, in 22 days, he witnessed the loss of two officers, two JCOs (junior commissioned officers) and 21 soldiers.
After the capture of Tololing by 2 Raj. Rif. (Rajputana Rifles) and 13 JAK Rif. (Jammu and Kashmir Rifles), Yogender’s battalion was withdrawn to Ghumri where they spent a few days recouping and repairing equipment. Within four days, they got orders to attack Tiger Hill, which was the highest peak of the Dras area. The Pakistanis had set up bunkers there. Colonel Kushal Chand Thakur, commanding officer of the battalion, had a darbar and briefed the men about the task at hand. He told them that they were fortunate to be getting an opportunity to take revenge for the deaths of the men they had lost. Standing in the cold, he pointed out to them the post they had to attack.
Ghatak Platoon, the commando section of the battalion, would be the first to attack. Yogender Singh Yadav was not in the Ghatak Platoon, but since men were needed to fill up for those who had died in Tololing, he was one of the chosen few. ‘There were 23 of us,’ he says, ‘one officer, one JCO and 21 jawans. I looked up to where CO Saab was pointing and I could see a straight rock-face rising into the sky. It would be a difficult climb, I thought, but we would do it.’ The men would soon discover that not only was the route difficult, it also had enemy posts on either side. And not only would they have to dodge enemy fire, the precarious height would cause breathing problems, the lack of proper winter clothing would be a major deterrent and the cold would seep right into their bones.
2-3 June 1999
It was a dark night. Led by Captain Sachin Nimbalkar and Lieutenant Balwan, the men climbed in silence. No one seemed to want to break the quiet, particularly because they didn’t know how long it would last. Using hands and feet and ropes to pull each other up, they climbed higher and higher on Tiger Hill, shadowy figures that appeared like ghosts of the night. It was becoming colder with each step and the men were badly missing the winter clothing that hadn’t reached them yet. Most of them were in combat gear with sweaters and jackets; they had their own gloves and boots, but these could not compare with the comfort of snow shoes and gloves. The reinforcements would arrive only after 18 Grenadiers had captured Tiger Hill, but for these men of Ghatak Platoon and Delta Company who were tasked with attack and support that would be too late.
It was only when morning broke that the men realized that they had been climbing through the night. Taking cover behind rocks, they waited to assess the situation. In their backpacks were rations for 72 hours—dry puris, cashew nuts, raisins, almonds, tea leaves and milk powder. Some men had bought biscuits from the last village they had crossed, so they were richer than others.
Just ahead rose a crest that Capt. Nimbalkar felt was Tiger Hill. The men decided to keep walking and were disappointed to reach there at 5. 30 a. m. only to find that it was a false crest. They climbed down and kept walking. The entire day passed and hunger pangs began to hit them, but the men did not stop.
At around 6 p. m., they had almost reached the top. Capt. Nimbalkar asked the Ghatak Platoon to take a break and make tea while he and a few other soldiers would go and reconnoitre the area. It appeared calm and silent and Nimbalkar and his boys had just moved about 100 metres ahead when they were suddenly hit by a volley of fire. They had walked right on to a ridge that had enemy bunkers on both sides.
Taking shelter behind rocks they called for help. The men opened fire, but it was completely ineffective since they could only see the fire coming, but not where the Pakistanis were. The tea break was quickly given up and the CO informed about the setback over the wireless set. They were told to stay behind the rocks and keep their heads down—the Army would give them artillery support. The guns started firing from Dras and finally by midnight the men were rescued. They were miraculously unhurt except for one soldier who had injured his hand.
Now that their cover had broken and the Pakistanis knew that Indian soldiers were already on Tiger Hill, CO Kushal Thakur directed the men to attack before the enemy could react. When it came to choosing between life and food, food again took a backseat and all plans for a meal were dropped again. The men got on their feet and, with Yogender Singh Yadav and his namesake Yogendra Yadav leading as scout number one and two, they started climbing again. At 5. 30 a. m. when they were in a nala, climbing up via a narrow bridge with water trickling under their feet, they were suddenly hit by gunfire. It was coming from enemy bunkers lined up on both sides of the ridge.
There was complete chaos and only the seven soldiers who were right in front managed to climb up, the rest cut off by the fire and forced to step back. Yogender Singh Yadav, his buddy Yogendra Yadav, and five other soldiers had managed to cross the enemy fire. However, they had been cut off from the rest of their comrades. They had no option, but to go ahead on their own.
A terrible adventure was in store for them.
Yogender’s story
There were just seven of us now and we could not even turn back since the enemy had cut off our route. We decided to go on. Right ahead we could see a post. It was a rough sangar (a small, temporary fortified position originally made up of stone, now built of sandbags and
similar materials) made of rocks piled up together. We had no idea how many of them were inside it, but since we had seen them before they saw us, we just opened fire on them.
Four of their men were killed instantly. When they stopped firing, we knew they had all died. By then, alerted by the exchange of gunfire, the Pakistani soldiers in another bunker above us had started shooting at us as well. It was a Catch-22 situation. Bullets were flying through the air and we could neither go back nor forward.
Just then, Havaldar Madan, who was our team leader, shouted, ‘Get inside their sangar. That is the only safe place.’ Someone shouted back that the area could be mined but Hav. Madan said there was no choice. ‘Pehle goliyon se bacho phir mines ke baare mein sochna,’ (First, take cover from the bullets, then think of mines) he said curtly and we made a dash for the sangar. They had not had the time to mine it. Once inside, we took up firing positions and with the bodies of the dead Pakistanis lying around us, opened fire on the bunker above us.
The shootout went on for five long hours. There were no casualties, but the constant fire did not allow us to advance an inch. We realized that with all reinforcements cut off from below, our ammunition would not last very long. The ammunition left behind by the dead Pakistanis was also being used up fast. It was just a matter of time before we ran out of bullets. We thought we would die and decided we would kill as many as we could before getting killed. So, we decided to stop firing and let them get closer.
Around 11. 30 a. m., 12 enemy soldiers came down to check if we were dead or alive. We still had 45 rounds each in our rifles and were just lying low. They came really close. I still remember them clearly, they were in cream-coloured Pathani suits with yellow pagris and had flowing beards. They were wearing white coats with hoods. Some of them were really tall while others were of medium height.
We kept quiet till they came really close. Then suddenly all seven of us opened fire at them. Except for two enemy soldiers, who managed to escape, all the others were killed. The survivors ran up to their other post and within half an hour, more than 35 Pakistani jawans had surrounded us. The sound of gunfire echoed through the peaks as they directed the fire of their heavy weapons at us. We were facing HMG (heavy machine gun), UMG (uber machine gun) and RPG (rocket-propelled grenade) rounds that were flying at the sangar from the top. They also started rolling large boulders down at us.
Since there was very limited ammunition with us, we did not want to waste any and stopped firing. They spotted our light machine gun and directed RPG fire at it, blasting its barrel off. A young soldier was manning it and he ran to Hav. Madan in panic. Hav. Madan asked me to throw the LMG in his direction. Just as I went to pick it up, I looked up and found seven men in Pathani suits standing right above the sangar. ‘Ustad, woh aa gaye hain,’ (they are here) I shouted to Hav. Madan. Ustad told me and Grenadier Ananth Ram to go and support our sniper Lance Naik Naresh. The moment I ran to do that, they flung a grenade at me. It hit me in the knee; it felt as if my leg had been blasted off. I felt it with my hand and was relieved to find it still there. Just then, another grenade caught me on the forehead. I collapsed, blinded by pain and the blood that was dripping into my eyes from the deep gash. It was flowing like water from an open tap. I couldn’t see a thing.
By then, both Grenadier Ananth and I had reached Lance Naik Naresh, the sniper we had been told to help. I asked Naresh to bandage my head since the blood was flowing into my eyes but he told me to start firing first. I kept wiping the blood off my face with an old sleeping bag that was lying there. Seeing my plight, Naresh opened his roll of bandage. As he was trying to put it on my wound, a shell hit him. He closed his eyes, leaned back and fell down. He was dead with the bandage still in his hand.
I turned to Ananth and had only just started telling him this when a UMG burst hit him too. His head was blown off. After that there was complete pandemonium. One after the other, the Pakistanis jumped down on us with cries of ‘Allah hu Akbar’. There must have been around 35 of them with weapons in their hands. Out of the seven of us, two were dead, two were injured (including me and the other Yogendra whose finger had been cut off). So there were just three functional men facing 35 heavily armed enemy soldiers.
In a second even that would change.
All of Yadav’s mates were killed in the machine gun fire that the Pakistani soldiers directed at them. They were so heavily outnumbered that they did not get a chance to retaliate. Yogender Singh Yadav was the only one who did not die despite the Pakistanis making every effort to ensure that there were no survivors by firing at the fallen men again and again. When four rounds were fired at the man next to him, Yogender Singh Yadav saw his body shudder and jump in the air. He just closed his eyes and waited for his own turn to be killed. A Pakistani soldier came close and fired at him even as he lay there with his eyes shut. Yogender Singh felt the bullets hitting his body, but he promised himself that he would not die.
Satisfied that all the Indian soldiers had been killed, the Pakistanis sent a message to their base camp in the Mushkoh valley that there were Indian soldiers on the mountain and an Indian LMG post down below that should be destroyed. Yogender Singh knew that 18 of the soldiers, who had split up from his team, were trapped on the mountain. An overwhelming desire to stay alive if only to save their lives came over him and he willed himself to not lose consciousness.
Through his bloodied eyes, he could faintly see two men coming in his direction. One of them picked up his gun, not realizing that he had a hand grenade strapped to his beLt Using all his remaining strength, Yogender Singh Yadav pulled out the grenade, removed the pin and flung it at the retreating Pakistani soldier. It got stuck in the hood of his jacket and though he tried to throw it off, it was too late. An explosion rent the air and the Pakistani’s head was blown off. He dropped down dead right on top of Yadav. Yogender Singh Yadav picked up his rifle and though he could not stand, he started shooting the other enemy soldiers who were standing a little distance away.
The shooting created instant panic. The Pakistanis, who had believed that all the Indians were dead, thought reinforcements had arrived from below and panicked. As they ran, Yogender Singh Yadav crawled after them and saw their camp. ‘It was 1. 30 p. m., the sun was out and I could clearly see snow tents and a langar (meal) in progress. I couldn’t do anything since I wasn’t even able to stand, but I had this mad desire to survive and go down to my MMG (medium machine gun) post to warn my battalion.’
As he crawled back to where his comrades lay dead, Yogender Singh looked at them. ‘Someone had his head blown off, someone had a ripped chest, someone’s intestines were falling out of a sliced stomach. These were my friends; they had been closer to me than my own brothers. Everybody had died a painful death except me. I just sat there and cried. And cried, ‘ he says.
As his body started getting cold, he started feeling the intense pain of his terrible injuries. His shoulder bones had become exposed and were rubbing against each other making him cry out each time he shifted he moved. He realized his arm had become useless. After unsuccessfully trying to pull it out of the shoulder socket, he just pushed it on his back and tucked it inside his belt so that it would not come in the way.
‘Inside my head I heard a voice saying, if you are not dead yet, you will not die now. And then it said get inside the nala, ‘ says Yogendra. And then, with his shattered arm tucked into his belt and with fifteen bullets in his body, Yogender Singh crawled into a nala near the sangar and slowly dropped down into it.
5 June
Yadav was hanging from a rock with his good hand when he saw the rest of the 18 Grenadiers party down below. Calling out to them, he asked for help. The men quickly got him down and, taking turns to carry him on their backs, they brought him to the camp that had been established midway on Tiger Hill. The sun had set by the time a weak and shivering Yogender Singh Yadav was brought to the CO’s tent. The immense blood loss had made him so weak that he could no longer see. Yet, when his CO asked him if
he could recognize him, Yogender Singh Yadav said, ‘Saab mein aapki awaz pehchanta hun. Jai Hind, Saab!’ (Sir, I recognize your voice. Jai Hind, Sir!)
Lying down in the CO’s tent, warmed by stoves that were lit up to stop his constant shivering, Yogender Singh Yadav told his battalion exactly where the enemy was, how their post could be reached and what route should be followed. He then passed out.
Three days later
Yogender Singh Yadav recovered consciousness on 9 July. It had been three days since he had been shifted from Tiger Hill to the Base Hospital at Srinagar. He woke up to find a ceiling fan above him and, for a moment, could not figure out where he was. The nurse informed him that he was out of danger and in the hospital. He asked about his battalion and was told that Tiger Hill had been attacked by around 100 soldiers of Bravo and Delta Companies along with Ghatak the night that he had returned. They had followed his advise and had taken over the post without any resistance from the enemy. Almost two truckloads of ammunition were recovered from Tiger Hill. The haul included a. 82 mortar.
Yogender Singh Yadav was shifted to Delhi where bone grafting was done on his arm. He was lucky that all the bullets had missed his vital organs and, though it took many years to recover fully, he now bears only bullet scars and the cut on his abdomen from where ribs were taken for bone grafting. His arm hurts in the winter and he can’t lift it beyond a certain height, but Yogender Singh Yadav has accepted that gracefully. Looking at him, it is hard to believe that he shot five men in cold blood, held his own against a company-strength of Pakistani soldiers and nearly died on a craggy peak.
The Brave: Param Vir Chakra Stories Page 18
