Lightning ripped the night sky, followed by an explosive clap of thunder, as they drove in through the gates.
‘Come on honey, let’s run for it before the rain comes,’ he said, helping her out of the car.
Laughing happily, hands clasped tightly together, father and daughter made a dash towards the club house.
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks and turned her face up to the monsoon sky.
‘What is it, Pia?’ he asked, as fat drops of warm rain began to drum down upon them. ‘Come on, let’s go in, or we will both get drenched and mummy will be cross.’
‘Look up and smile daddy,’ she said, ignoring him. Pouting and dimpling just as another streak of lightning flashed, she added, ‘God is taking our photographs.’
Overcome by a stab of fierce love for his curly-haired moppet, he scooped her up, squeezed the little girl to his chest and ran into the club veranda. Where, as he had expected, his wife was waiting, with an expression darker than the thunder outside. Crossly berating him for getting their little girl soaked to the skin.
Two weeks later, he sat, hunched under cover in the snow bunker with the rest of Charlie Company. On standby to fire the first shot pending orders from the Head Quarter tent a mere five hundred yards behind them.
Major Vicky Mehta had resumed duty as the Company Commander at 63 Infantry Brigade, Nathula, Sikkim, after a month’s Annual leave with his family in Delhi.
Nathula Pass was a strategic border point between China and India in the north eastern sector of the Himalayan range. At over 5000 meters above sea level. It was a good posting, despite the high-altitude conditions, and the brigade was commanded by the very strict but genial Brigadier Gupta.
Every now and again, minor skirmishes broke out between the soldiers of the two opposing armies. It was imminent, given their proximity. Specially during the sundown revile, rifles were held that much more firmly, and the officers command on their men a touch keener.
All was well on his return, and Vicky’s unit was preparing to move to lower grounds soon. However, tensions had sparked last week when a Chinese patrol lost their way in a snowstorm and blundered into Indian lines.
The debriefings began as per protocol, and an extra company was deployed along the LOC (Line of Control). The Brigade Commander conducted these briefings personally along with his Unit Colonels. Army Headquarters in Delhi had been notified, but they had faith in the commander, and let him deal with the matter himself.
Indeed, just last night, at the mess over pre-dinner drinks, Vicky had been cornered by the Brigadier, who enquired after his wife and Pia. He had been quite amused by the story about God taking photographs and proceeded to recount a few anecdotes of his own children when they were little. This was SOP, standard operating procedure, the Old Dog believed in the personal touch.
On a serious note, he had said to the small cluster of officers, that the Chinese soldiers were happy in isolated barracks, being entertained by Bollywood movies, and would be escorted back to the LOC at 0900hrs the next day.
However, events took a dangerous turn when the three Chinese soldiers overthrew the orderly who brought them breakfast and managed to run out before being apprehended, pinned to the ground, and returned to the barracks. This time, with a lot less courtesy. But not before they had screamed out in their language, loud enough for their own army men to hear. Afterall, the Chinese ranks were lined along their side of the LOC too.
This soon escalated to an angry volley of abuse from both sides, neither understanding the others’ language. Officers charged in with more troops, to calm the situation, while the wireless scrambled to notify Command Headquarters.
The General was choppered into the brigade, and similar frenetic activity was visible on the other side. It had now become a matter of political diplomacy, as shots had been fired, and neither was willing to retreat first.
Vicky, looking through the binoculars, could see Major Xian on the other side, placating his men, the same as Vicky was. Xian was a good guy, Vicky thought. Some months ago, they had exchanged cigarettes and smiles, and made small talk in pidgin English. That was back in the spring when they were both on flag checkpoint duty.
A plan exploded in his mind.
Thinking quickly, he motioned his signals man over and called the HQ tent on the wireless.
‘Request permission to see you, sir,’ he said to Brigadier Gupta.
Captain Verma scuttled over to take his place, as Vicky tried to explain his plan to the senior officers in the tent.
‘Dammit Major, it’s too risky,’ the General said.
‘I know this man, sir,’ Brigadier Gupta spoke up quietly. ‘If he thinks he can do it, I’m prepared to back him.’
‘Two minutes, that’s all we give you boy,’ he said. ‘Get your best sniper to give you cover, and good luck.’
‘Jai Hind, sir,’ Vicky said, saluting smartly before leaving.
Taking the three Chinese soldiers with him, he marched the short distance to the LOC with small deliberate steps. All four men had their hands in the air.
With every rifle from both armies pointed at them, Vicky made eye contact with Major Xian, indicating he should come forward too.
The two men conversed then. They needed to shout, but the wind which had picked up a tempo of its own was louder than their words, and no one heard what transpired.
Through their high vis binoculars, the senior officers could see the two majors meet halfway into No Man’s Land, shake hands, and… were they exchanging wallets? Surely not!
Major Batra, returned to his bunker, and gradually the armies retreated to normal positions.
Later that night, the Brigadier asked what everyone wanted to know,
‘What DID you say to the Chinese officer?’
‘Sir, I asked him how his little girl was. You see, his daughter is five, just like my Pia, and we had compared photos before.’
Outside the mess, lightning flashed again, before the thunder exploded.
All the officers looked out and smiled.