Chandigarh. The last link between madness and sanity. I arrived in
the late hours of the night. It was bitterly cold. Usually is, this time
of the year. Clear sky though. They told me there was a confirmed
flight next morning with my name on the manifest.
There was nothing to do but to kill the night. The bar at 204 transit
mess is a purely functional one. Meant for serious binging. Then again
it’s probably one where most men go to seek solace in the proverbial
chalice.
I knew it was a mistake the moment I entered. The only other occupant
of the bar was the old man. Clutching his drink as if it was his last.
Late forties, I guessed. That would make him a colonel, unless of course
he had been shafted somewhere along the trail.
The barman looked at me, not very pleased that another had wandered in
Understandable, considering the late hour. I was in two minds, but
then what the hell, those who are about to die and that kind of stuff.
There was no alternative but to sit next to the old man. There were
just two stools. The light was too dim to see him clearly. Nodding the
obligatory ‘good evening sir’, I slid into the stool next to him. He
tried to lift his head, but somewhere in between decided that the effort
was not worth it and muttered a reply. The barman shuffled to me,
disrelish very evident on his face.
‘Drink sahib?’ he asked. Perhaps still hoping that I had come to use the telephone or something.
Large whisky, soda’ I said dashing his hopes.
After I took a swig I turned to the old man. He might have been made
of stone for all the movement he made so far. Of course, there was no
doubt that he was stoned.
‘Coming back from leave sir? I ventured.
I got a grunt for a reply.
Come to think of it, that was a pretty stupid question. A man coming
down the glacier would hardly hang around the transit camp would he? But
then I had to sound polite and if he wanted to be left alone, well mud
in his eye I guess.
I finished my drink and motioned to the barman for a refill. Belligerently he poured another and stood back.
‘Cigarette, Navy Cut’ I asked the barman.
‘Sorry Sahib, only Charms’ he replied, happy that he had managed to pique me in his own small way.
‘Not even a packet’ I persisted.
‘No sahib, only Charms’ was the delighted reply.
At this the old man slid something across the bar. It was the packet
of the brand I had asked for. I mumbled my thanks and thought if I
should mouth the perfunctory denial before I pinched his fags, but then
on second thoughts, he didn’t look the sort of person who would insist.
As I lit the cigarette he spoke. ‘I am coming back from a funeral’
Oh hell, now the chap has started and he is going to tell me his whole
story, I thought. Last thing I wanted to hear about in this place was a
funeral. Not the sort of thing to get cheered up on the way to the
glacier.
But then I had asked for it, so here goes. ‘Someone in the family
sir?’
He looked up sharply, ‘You could say that" It wasn’t a very pleasant
beginning.
Two months ago they told me about the option of volunteering for a stint
in the glacier. Like many officers, I had no idea about what it
involved except that it was frightfully cold. Back then I had been going
through some problems in my unit and I thought that it would be a
change if nothing else. I suppose I should have been suspicious at the
alacrity with which my posting was effected, but of course, now it was
too late. Here I was on my way up. Taking a last drink at a decent
altitude. I was keen on knowing more about this supposed hell hole.
After all, I was going to spend the next year up there; and hoping to
come back in one piece. I was inquisitive purely for this reason.
‘An accident perhaps?’ I continued.
‘ Yes. At the glacier’
‘How?’ I persisted.
The old man took a long breath and shifted his frame. I could see his face in better light now.
Definitely a commanding officer or thereabouts, I decided. They get this gleam in their eyes when they become one I suppose.
‘You going up for the first time?’
‘Yes’
‘Ah’ he responded as if my naiveté was the reason for my persistence. ‘Sure you want to hear about this?’ he continued.
‘Of course sir, anything I could find out about the glacier is welcome’
The old man began the story. No doubt, he was either drunk or simply
pulling my leg. I mean things don’t happen that way, do they?
If there was a place on earth that could represent hell, this would
be it. Siachen. A stony dead freezing wasteland, blanketed with ice
through eternity. The only sign of life being the glacier itself. Like
some prehistoric monster, twisting and slithering sinuously. Pulverizing
or sweeping away everything in its path. Scimitar like winds swoops
from the mountains surrounding the glacier, buffeting and crashing into
the sheer cliffs. The unimaginable cold chills the very marrow of the
bones, like millions of
tiny needles. Slicing through clothing, skin and gristle. And the icy
chill, that benumbs the body and desensitizes the mind. Degenerating and
finally sapping the very will to survive. It is a place where even the
sun capitulates, and shines impotently. The locals dread the place. Not
that there are very many of them. The site of death, they call it.
Just like evil is sometimes beautiful, so is the glacier. Overpowering
in its awesome grandeur. And yet, in the most beautiful of its moments,
death lurks just a footstep away. Many killers stalk the glacier. The
most lethal of them are the avalanche and the crevasse. Between the two,
the latter is more feared and for good reasons. The avalanche usually
predicts its wrath. It behaves in an understandable pattern. There are
identifiable avalanche prone areas. Cliff walls whose sheer gradient
cannot sustain the tons of load that is brought to bear on it during the
night’s snow fall. Places which receive sun’s rays through a longer
period of the day causing the ice to behave as viscous layers. Or even
spots where due to a quirk of nature, the mountains behave like the
prongs of a fork. A faint
reverberation between them, amplifies a million times, waking the
sleeping giants from their slumber.
Despite its destructive potential the avalanche can be avoided
through the simple expedients of precaution or pre-emption. With
experience, it is possible to choose routes that avoid the avalanche’s
footprint. If that was not practical, an avalanche can be set off using
explosives, before it strikes. But the best method, and the simplest,
was to restrict all movements to the early hours of the morning, when
the cold binds the ice mass onto the slopes. They demand respect, but if
given that, the avalanches usually forgive their victims. Not the
crevasse. As the glacier convulses in its serpentine motion, it creates
deep cracks or crevasses. These bottomless chasms, seem to run to the
bowels of earth. A rock thrown into some of these crevasses clatter for a
long time before they fade out of hearing and yet not reach the bottom.
Crevasses seem to have lives of their own. Almost as if each one had a
distinct character. Which perhaps they do. The Glacier’s torque and
twisting shapes them, giving them a form. This sometimes remains
unchanged for years. At other times it is mercurial like a snowflake.
Some crevasses are narrow
and straight, almost parallel, in their slice to the core of the earth.
Other’s twist and turn on their way to the depths. Some have broad
gaping mouths, at times as wide as a mile. Others a slit, just enough
for a knife’s blade.
Crevasses are more like treacherous assassins, lying in lurk for its
quarry. Almost as if the glacier was a beast which evolved its own ways
to trap and kill its prey. Falling snowflakes land on the lips of the
crevasses. When the width of the mouth is just right, those that freeze
there, become a receptacle for other flakes and an intricate lattice of
ice forms across the mouth of the crevasse. This sort of ‘ice bridge’
has been known to sustain the weight of several tons. Indeed, who knows
how many such crevasses exist beneath the thick layer of ice. But at
other times, this crust breaks, swallowing the unfortunate soul crossing
it. And once the crevasse struck, escape was rare.
The only defense against a crevasse was the ‘Rope’. When men moved
across such terrain, they tied themselves to each other using a long
rope.
Between each man there is generally a slack of eight to ten feet. That
way if ever one or more were unfortunate enough to discover the
existence of a crevasse the hard way, they still stood a chance of
staying alive. A group of men traveling in this manner is called a
‘rope’. And so it was the early hours of the morning that the ‘rope’ set
out on its journey across the
twelve kilometers that would bring them to the forward post. This
particular one consisted of eight men, a usual number. The load each
carried though, was more than usually heavy. The summers were fast
approaching. (About four months of the year are euphemistically called
‘summer’ because the temperatures are slightly higher them). It was
imperative to stock all the posts with provisions, before the
campaigning season began, especially the liquid gold of glacier -
kerosene. In addition to the equipment, each man was carrying a jerry
can of the oil, pushing the all told weight to almost 50 Kilos each. The
loads were carried on backs using a frame of aluminum harness, thereby
keeping the hands free. The going was especially strenuous that day. It
had snowed heavily through the night and the surface had still not
hardened completely.
Each footstep went down ankle deep. There was a strong cross wind
with the gusts abruptly changing directions, staggering the men off
balance. The men were very tired. Yet it was better to keep moving than
to stop. To halt would mean to let the thin film of sweat freeze in an
instant,
sapping yet more of the precious body heat. And the thought of the
warmth and rest just three kilometers away spurred them on.
It was then that, without warning, that the crevasse struck. In
retrospect it was quite simple to deduce why it could have happened to
the last person on the rope. The crust, which had formed over the
crevasse, had in all probability been weakened by the passage of seven
men across it. Each man’s footstep, boring just a little more into the
layer. And it broke below the feet of the last man. Before he had the
time to release the scream of terror, he was plunged into the crevasse.
The seven feet of slack accelerated his body weight and the full force
of the pull transmitted to the men ahead. It was a very wrong place to
be caught.
Most of the men were on an uphill slope and the ground afforded
little purchase. Four of the men were immediately jerked off their feet.
Those who had the presence of mind went flat on the ground and struck
in their ice picks. But the picks ploughed uselessly through the powdery
snow and the whole rope was being pulled slowly, towards the crevasse.
Each man in the rope realized the danger that was beckoning them just a
few feet away. The panicked struggles of the man inside the crevasse
were causing the entire rope to be dragged gradually but surely into the
crevasse. His screams of terror and gyrations only reminded each
man of the fate that awaited them. The Patrol Leader screamed at the man
inside to stay still, and after what appeared to be an eternity, he
seemed to be able to control his panic and stopped moving. Each man
froze in is place. The worst nightmare of any soldier doing the "link"
was unfolding in front of them. They knew that they were caught in a
trap. Any motion they made slid them closer to the crevasse and towards
certain doom. Despite the jerk of the fall, the patrol leader thankfully
realized that his radio was still near him. He inched towards it. And
his movement caused a fresh drag toward the lip of the crevasse. The
situation was obvious. Any attempt to move was to invite disaster. It
was a stalemate. The crevasse had played its hand. The next move was
left to the men.
The patrol leader had no choice.
Part II
‘Cut the rope’ He shouted at the penultimate man who was closest to
the lip of the crevasse. There was an wave of shock amongst the men. To
cut the rope was to abandon all chance of saving their comrade dangling
between life and death. Almost all chances at least. Yet the more
experienced among them realized that the command though brutal, was the
only course of action left to be taken. It was clear that the pull
caused by the man inside the crevasse was threatening all of them. Their
attempts to move had proved just that. And to wait endlessly expecting
the situation to change was suicidally stupid. If anything, it would
only get worse. The winds would soon freeze them and the last vestiges
of energy would be drained battling the cold.
They were caught in an impasse and they realized that. Besides while
they lay pinned, they were powerless to help the man inside. He would
dangle there until incredibly low temperature of the interior of the
crevasse reduced him to a lump of ice. Despite the logic it is hard to
be the one to cut a man’s lifeline. The soldier drew the knife in his
hand but was hesitating. ‘Cut it Damn you’ the patrol leader shouted
with fresh venom.
The lash of the order moved the man involuntarily and the blade
sliced through the rope. They could hear the fresh scream of terror as
the man inside felt his lifeline give way. But abruptly it stopped. The
men gathered themselves and rushed to the lip of the crevasse. They
peered in and what they saw was another miracle of the glacier. The men
heaved a sigh of relief. If they could get help in time, maybe there was
a chance after all. The patrol leader ran back to his radio and began
shouting into it.
Ten minutes later, the news of the accident was relayed to the Base
camp. The Base camp is located at the tail of the glacier. Here the
glacier succumbs to the decrease of altitude, losing solidity. Melting
into a trickle, it meanders into the river Shoyk towards the west. The
base camp is also the point where the glacier technically starts. It is a
logistic and rescue base rolled into one.
The specially trained rescue team at the base camp has an unenviable
job. They are called upon to effect rescue missions to virtually all
crisis that occur in the glacier. And there are enough of them to keep
them busy. As soon as the code word for an accident was blared on the
loud speaker at the base camp, the rotors of two helicopters began their
beat. They would require about 10 minutes of warming up before the
blades could painfully gather enough purchase in the thin atmosphere.
And even then, they would be able to transport just one man at the most,
to the altitude they had to operate at. The rescue team itself was in
the control room finding out what information they could gather. Which
at this stage was not much.
‘Man down in crevasse’ said the base commander. This particular team
was being led by a much younger man. ‘How long?’ he asked as he looked
at the map in front of them. He was not particularly bothered
about the location . That was the job of the pilots; who were charting a
flight plan towards the rescue point. But he had to know the vital
information about which area the crevasse was in, simply because each
area had it’s own peculiarities. ‘Could be anywhere upto 45 minutes,
maybe more. Add the flying time and maybe it would be closer to an hour
before you get there.’ said the base commander quite pessimistically.
‘Lousy timing’ said the senior pilot as he looked out of the window.
They all understood what he meant. It was another of the glacier’s
peculiarities.
The main valley which contained the glacier averaged the breadth of a
kilometer. The glacier itself was fed from the countless smaller and
very narrow valleys, many of which hardly ever saw the light of the day
because of their narrow mouths and winding structure. As the sun rose
during the day, it warmed the air on the glacier. The white iridescent
snow acted as a powerful reflector and the air mass was quickly heated.
As the hot air started rising the colder air from the feeder valleys
rushed in to fill the vacuum. This incoming gust created a phenomenon
akin to high speed gales which treacherously shifted its direction and
speed. That made flying over the glacier more difficult, as noon
approached.
And a virtual impossibility after noon.
The pilot glanced at his watch. ‘Three hours max. Do your stuff in
that time and we can get back home’ he told the rescue team commander.
‘We are ready when you are.’ The team consisting of four was taken in
two lifts. While the helicopter was flying towards the accident site,
another rescue team had started from the parent unit. This team also
consisting of
four, was being transported in snow scooters. In addition to the
standard rescue gear, they were carrying hot beverages for the stranded
men. Both the teams arrived almost simultaneously at the site.
The helicopter marked the site of the accident and then deliberately
veered away to find the drop point which would spare the men below the
blast of the rotors down wash. The patrol leader received the rescue
team and they started towards the crevasse. The helicopters started on
their way back to ferry the second lift. ‘It’s incredible’ said the
Rescue Team Commander, looking down the crevasse, as he shook his head
in disbelief.
This crevasse plunged straight down for about 30 feet before it
narrowed and sharply twisted at an angle. It was this twist which had
saved the man inside. While he dropped, his body had got stuck into the
wedge made by the twist and he lay there jammed between the two walls of
the
crevasse.
The Team commander swung the powerful beam of his flash light beyond
the man but could see nothing but darkness. He moved the beam back
towards the victim. That was another surprise. The fall itself did not
seem to have hurt him much. He was still conscious and coherent. They
could only see his upper body but there were no signs of blood. Also he
could move his arms weakly, another good sign. But there was no telling-
below his waist.
Preliminary examination over, the rescue team started their work.
First they would anchor the man to a rope. To prevent him from slipping
further down. They started clearing the snow on a spot near the edge of
the crevasse to find the hard ice surface beneath. Firm enough to hold
the
piton, which would take the load of the team going in and the victim,
when he was brought out. While the Team Commander worked he was thinking
out his strategy.
Crevasse rescue is a complicated task. More often than not, crevasses
have overhangs. That usually means icicles growing downward, which ruled
out a straight pull. The victim would simply be impaled on the icicles.
The work around was to slither down, level to the victim, and anchor
him to one’s own body. Then heave the victim away from the crevasse wall
using both legs and hands. Each heave had to be timed perfectly with
rhythmic pull of the rope above, lest they be dragged across the wall.
In this case mercifully, there were no icicles but still the victim was
stuck for some time. That meant he would be dead weight. In any case his
legs are a goner, he thought. Forty minutes in the deep freeze and the
doctors
have no option but to chop them off. Still that was not his to worry. It
would come later. His preparations finished, he straightened and turned
around.
They could hear the drone of the approaching helicopters, getting the
second set of men. One last bit remained. They had to know how deep the
crevasse was. This was a tricky part. The rescue team has to know the
score. They need to know whether the crevasse is very deep or relatively
shallow. Makes world of a difference to the way they work.
If it is reasonably shallow, they can at times take risks, secure in
the knowledge that a mistake will not plunge them into the depths. It
was against rules, but the team sometimes would take off their own
safety harness to work unencumbered. However determining the depth is
left till the very end. Usually just before the rescue team is going in.
There’s good reason for that too.
The reactions of a crevasse victim follow a predictable cycle. The
initial moments when he falls in, are of sheer terror. Nobody obviously
knows what happens to those who don’t make it, but those who are
eventually rescued, gain a fair control of their nerves after a little
while. And when they see and sense that efforts are on to rescue them,
some even become confident enough to appear positive. They do know that
it is not going to be for free. But losing a few digits or maybe even a
limb to frostbite is relatively a small price to pay to stay alive. That
is so in the cases when the victim can see that the horror that has
struck him, is not so horrible after all.
But there are occasions when the victim discovers that the situation
he is in, is actually worse that what it appeared. This new found
knowledge can be the trigger which sparks off a wave of fresh panic. In
instances like this one. By this time the victim would have certainly
lost all sensation of his body. Might even be fooling himself that his
legs are resting on the bottom of the crevasse. If at this juncture he
were to discover that he’s stuck in a bottomless chasm, it would be like
a weak swimmer detecting that he’s at the deep end of the pool. But it
had to be done. As unobtrusively as possible, the Team Commander dropped
the chunk of solid ice into the crevasse.
Part III
‘Shit’ mouthed the commander involuntarily. The continual clatter of
the stone confirmed their worst fear. The crevasse was very deep. The
Team Commander adjusted his harness and started down into the crevasse,
his mate playing out the anchor rope while he descended. The rest of the
rescue team had reached. They began harnessing themselves to follow.
‘Mike One to base. We are in’ one of them spoke into the radio.
Fifteen kilometers and twelve thousand feet below, the voice crackled
out of the speaker, telling the base that the attempt had commenced. As
always the base control room was occupied by the members who advised the
team actually on ground. Most of the men in the room had a lot more
experience to draw upon. The doctor was there too, to counsel about on
site resuscitation. Their main purpose was to coordinate other resources
that might be demanded by the team up there. And they had another task.
To veto any idea that might be endanger the lives of more men. The
last job was the most unpalatable one. Indeed the control room has had
its share of casualties. The men looked at the clock on the wall. Most
eyes turned automatically towards the doctor. He had been waiting for
their unspoken query. ‘Slim, very slim’ was all he said.
‘Base, we are coming back’ the voice of the helicopter crew came through.
The first part of the chopper crew’s job was over. The second part
was to get the team and the victim back. Something that they did not
always achieve. On many a occasion their return manifest comprised the
same number as their inbound one, and in especially unfortunate
instances - less.
It was decided that the close confines of the crevasse permitted only
two men to work at a time. The remaining two stood ready to relieve
those inside or to effect a secondary rescue. It was not unknown for a
member of the rescue team himself to be trapped inside, necessitating
another
rescue in the bargain. The Team Commander reached level with the victim.
The relief on the face of the victim was obvious. The commander drew
his arms around the victim as the second man of the team slid a
looped harness around the upper body of the victim. If nothing else he
was not going to plunge any deeper into the crevasse. On closer scrutiny
the situation became apparent to the rescuers. Their man was stuck
between the walls of the crevasse. There was no option but to pull him
free. Tough job, but not something they had not done before.
The Team Commander tugged twice on the rope securing the victim,
signal to the men above to start pulling. The entire team heaved the
rope. Nothing happened. Puzzled, both the team inside and those waiting
at the lip of the crevasse, moved the rope to check if it was snagged
somewhere. It wasn’t. The Team Commander repeated his signal and
added a shout. ‘Pull harder’, he said as he grasped the rope in his
hand.
The men strained with their complete strength, the strain breaking a
thin film of sweat on them. The harness around the victim crunched as it
crushed the powdery snow and bunched around his body. But the man did
not budge an inch.
The Team Commander first felt it in his hand. It was then that the
true horror of the predicament struck. First to the Team commander, then
to the team members and finally to the victim. Upto this time the
victim had been surprisingly calm. Arrival of the rescue team and the
reassurances he got, had given him hope. That was the drill. Always give
hope. It is an inborn survival instinct. Hope. But now he realized that
something was dreadfully wrong. From the time of his fall he had been
told and instinctively known, not to move. He felt like an insect that
had fallen in a spider’s web. Keep still, don’t move. Don’t cause any
tremors that may break the fragile grip of the walls and plunge you
down, they told him.
Only the grip wasn’t fragile. It was awesomely powerful. There were
of course several explanations of what had happened. The victim’s body
had been in close contact with the icy walls of the crevasse. His body
heat caused a thin film of ice on the wall to melt probably for a
fraction of second and them immediately re-freeze. Clutching him there
like an ice tray stuck to the floor of the freezer.
And of course, the Glacier moves all the time. So perhaps from the
time he fell in, it had been twisting murderously clenching him in a
death grip. Who knows? But at that moment inside that crevasse, the
commander knew one thing for certain. That the combined strength of nine
men
could not pull the victim up. He tugged his own rope twice urgently. He
needed to talk to base. They would know what to do. They always knew. He
was alarmed. This was like nothing that he had faced before. In his
panic he even forgot what his sudden departure would signal to the
victim. That would come later.
Right now he had to find a way to get him out. The men above noticed the
repetitive jerking of the rope. They let go of the one they were
holding and hauled the Team Commander out. He snatched the handset from
the operator and spoke. ‘He’s stuck. We can’t pull him out.’ The control
room at the base camp was galvanized by the latest transmission. The
Base
Commander was not sure he heard this correctly.
‘Mike One, come again’ he said.
‘He’s stuck, Damn it. He is frozen there like an ice cube. We tried pulling him, he is not budging.’
If the circumstances had been otherwise the Base Commander would have
felt small sense of satisfaction. The rescue team was asking for his
guidance. Only he did not have any to give. ‘You need more men up?’ he
asked. ‘No use. The rope is stretching’ came the dismal reply.
The purport of this statement struck all men in the control room. The
rope used in the glacier, if it had a mind of its own, would probably be
offended by the generalized nomenclature it is referred to. This is a
specially constructed piece of equipment. Designed using a complex
combination of fibers, its slender proportions belie the fact, that it
is one of the strongest materials created by man, And yet when the heft
on it exceeds a limit, it begins to stretch, seeming to admit that the
strain on it was beyond what it creators envisaged it would ever be used
for.
The control room was perplexed. The unquestioning faith of the Team
Commander on the ability of the control room to find a solution to his
problem was painfully evident. The control room had to respond. ‘You got
scooters there? Use them.’ Said the Base Commander, referring to the
snow scooters he knew to be in location. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
it was the doctor. ‘If he’s pulled by the scooter it will break his
bones.’
‘You have a better idea?’ asked the Base Commander. The doctor looked
away. Up above the Team Commander chided himself for not thinking about
it. He gave instructions for the snow scooter to be positioned. They
hooked the rope to the snow scooter. The driver glanced at the Team
Commander. Seeing him nod he gave the machine its full throttle. The
rope bit into the lip of the crevasse digging in a furrow and
stretching. Without orders the men seized the taunt rope and stated
pulling at it. It was no use of course, but then in these moments of
madness, logic doesn’t work.
The victim did not move.
‘Nothing, no movement’ The Team Commander apprised the control room.
‘Try again’ came the reply from the control room. What else could they
say ?. ‘It’s time’ the pilot spoke in the control room.
The control room was jerked back to another cruel reality. The wind
was already playing up. The choppers had to go in immediately to get the
rescue team back. It was an irony. They all knew that too. The rescue
team for all their skills could not be left stranded up there. It was
simply a question of human anatomy. They were stationed in the base
camp. Centrally located. To be able to respond to any sector of the
glacier. Unfortunately that also meant that they were totally
un-acclimatized for the higher altitudes. For them to remain at high
altitudes beyond what was absolutely essential was to court disaster.
And if the chopper did not go fetch them back now, they would have to be
left through the night.
Unacceptable risk.
The Base Commander looked at the clock on the wall.
‘Ten minutes?’ he asked the pilot.
‘No more’
The Base commander turned towards the radio. ‘Mike One, you’ve got
about twenty minutes before first lift comes. Do your best.’ Up above,
the Team Commander looked incredulously at his own watch. Twenty minutes
damn, what could they do in that much time. The situation inside the
crevasse was turning nasty. The victim had begun to understand that
there was something drastically wrong. That he might not be rescued
after all. He began to panic all over again. In a desperate voice then
commander instructed the team.
‘We all go in.’
Part IV
The Team Commander and his partner pitched in two fresh ropes using
the same anchor and slithered down. They carried their ice axes, and
started to hack at the edge of the ice wall. It was useless. The close
confines of the crevasses prevented the full swing of the axe. The walls
were so hardened that the picks just bounced off them, hardly making a
scratch. As they swung ferociously, one of the picks slipped and dug
into the victim’s arms. The miserable man cried out as this fresh pain
flailed him. Finally realization struck them all. There was no way this
man
could be pried free from the crevasse.
They could now begin to hear the faint thump of the approaching
choppers. Time was up. The Team Commander motioned to his men to start
moving up. Very reluctantly they tugged their anchor ropes and started
being pulled up. The victim had broken down completely. He was
sobbing uncontrollably. Pleading not be left there. The Team Commander
fought back to control his own tears. There was nothing, absolutely
nothing that he could do. He heard the first sortie land and moments
later, take off. They had another twenty minutes or so before the
choppers
came back for him.
‘Don’t leave me Sahib’ implored the victim.
The Team Commander couldn’t take it any more. All his training, his
skills had never prepared him for a situation where he would have to
watch helplessly as a man died painfully, slowly, being able to do
nothing about it. There were no words to say, no hope, no consolation to
offer. Somehow the victim seemed to find a new strength. Perhaps he
finally got the courage to accept his fate.
His speech was much steadier when he spoke again.
‘My family, Sahib, I have three small children. And my parents, they are old.’
‘They will be looked after, don’t worry’ replied the Team Commander.
‘They should not know that I died like this.’
‘No they won’t. They will be told that you died immediately on falling.’
‘Tell them. Tell them that…’
‘Yes. What do you want us to tell them?’
‘Tell them that I am sorry. You know, for leaving them like this.’ Fresh tears started streaming down his eyes.
‘Don’t be. They will be looked after.’ The team commander found his
own voice choking. It was uncanny, talking so matter-of-factly to a man
who was about to be left to his death.
Like an unbelievable nightmare. It could not be happening, and yet it was.
‘How much longer?’ asked the victim.
At first the Team Commander misunderstood. He started to say that the
choppers should be coming back any time now, but then he realized what
he was being asked.
‘No long’ he lied.
‘It’s not painful, I cannot feel anything’
‘Yes and soon you feel drowsy and that will be it.’
‘I am frightened Sahib’.
‘Think of god’ the Team Commanded touched his arm. ‘And don’t worry about anything.’ His words sounding empty.
‘Can you.. can you stay till I go Sahib?’ he asked hesitatingly.
As if to answer his question the feeble drone of the choppers
filtered down the crevasse. They were back for him. Suddenly the
crevasse seemed a lonely and a terrible place to leave a man to wait for
a lingering death. The Team Commander freed one of his hands and
gripped his anchor rope. His other hand held the palm of the victim. To
tell what was passing through his mind is not something that words can
accomplish.
‘I have to go’ he muttered shamefully.
The victim did not let go of his hand. The Team Commander jerked his
rope twice. And then the screaming began. The victim’s shrieks of terror
followed the Team Commander all the way to the top. He felt he could
hear them even above the din of the rotors. As he pulled out of the
crevasse he could feel that the winds had picked up speed. He saw the
pilot motioning at him urgently, to board the chopper. His partner was
already beginning to pull out the equipment.
The team commander stood motionless at the lip of the crevasse. Time
seemed to stop for him. The downwash of the choppers threw snow and
debris all around. He could see the pilots motioning for him to hurry.
But he heard nothing. Nothing, except the screams of the man inside the
crevasse.
‘Wait ‘ he said abruptly to his mate. ‘I’m going down for a minute.’
‘But Sahib, there is no time’ argued his partner. ‘Even if you have left something it is not worth going back.’
The team commander did not reply. Instead he started to slide down
the crevasse again. His partner seemed to read his mind and reached out
to hold him. ‘Don’t do it Sahib’ he implored. ‘It’s not correct.’ ‘There
is nothing else I can do for him’ the Team Commander jerked his arm
free and started down.
‘I am coming with you Sahib’
‘NO’ he shouted. ‘ I will do this myself.’
‘What’s he doing?’ Hundred paces away, the one of the puzzled pilots asked his co-pilot worriedly.
The gusts were already jostling the helicopter on their skids. The pilot was fighting hard to keep the chopper under control.
‘Victor one to base, what the hell is this chap upto? We can’t hang
around here any longer’ the pilot radioed the base camp. "I have no
idea’ came back the voice of the Base Commander. ‘He knows he has to
pull out of
there.
After what seemed an eternity the Team Commander came out of the
crevasse. His partner pulled him out and they began running towards the
waiting choppers. Fifteen minutes later they were back in the base camp.
As per the norm the entire team and the air crew moved to the control
room for debriefing. The Team Commander was not amongst them. Every body
thought that it was because he was disturbed. None mentioned his
absence. That evening he was at the bar, well on to a drunken stupor
when the Base Commander joined him.
‘Finally it’s always the bar’ he said to the younger man. ‘Whether we get the man out or not.’
The Team Commander did not move.
‘It is a part of the game.’ Continued the Base Commander. ‘Sometimes
we win, other times the glacier. No reason to feel too bad.’
The Team Commander turned slowly to face him.
‘It’s not that’ he said. ‘That’s not why I am sad’.
And as they looked at each other, the Base Commander understood.
For a long moment they did not speak. Finally the Base Commander broke the silence. ‘If that’s what you did, it was brave.’
‘I don’t feel very proud.’
‘Nevertheless it was courageous. Not many would have thought about it, and fewer could have done it.’
The Team Commander did not reply.
‘How?’ asked the Base Commander.
The team commander took a long breath and turned away before answering.
‘I used a rope’
‘Did he…?’
‘No. He knew it was the best way out.’
The Base Commander heaved a sigh and began walking away.
‘There are two more things’ said the team commander.
‘What?.’
‘His family has to be told’.
"Obviously, someone will be going to do that, might have already done so, you know’.
‘No. You have to do it’
‘Why?, I mean why me.’
‘Because’
‘Alright, and the other thing?’
‘I want a transfer. I can’t do this job any longer’.
‘Sorry about the second part. No way. You can’t apportion problems
without accepting to handle some yourself’. The Base Commander did not
wait for a reply as he left the bar.
The cigarette burned my finger and I was jerked back to reality. I
mean what I was hearing so far was a fantasy wasn’t it ? I looked at my
watch. It was very late. The old man had almost finished. ‘So you see I
am coming back from a funeral, figuratively. Because the body is up
there inside a
crevasse and will be there, from here to eternity.’
‘You are…’ I began.
‘Yes. I am the Base Commander at the base camp.’
We finished our drinks, rose and left for our rooms. Of course I did
not believe a word of what he said. Things just don’t happen that way do
they?
