The Flying Machines and the Martyrs

I had been in a chopper once, which my uncle piloted. It was an old luxury chopper used by the then CM

of the state. My uncle had taken us for a joy ride over the city. The sound of the rotors was deafening.

It was amazing to experience the way it alights from the ground, so effortlessly with a smooth gesture.

I remembered it as a sound of fun until the war started. The Kargil war. Scores of mortal remains of the

Bihar regiment soldiers were carried in choppers to and fro. As days went by, the number of trips

increased.

In the early days, we as young people, used to look up in the sky to mark this not so common event. Trying

to figure out what was going on. Definitely it had something to do with the war. Maybe an exercise.

By the by, we realised, it wasn't any exercise. It was the routine of bringing back the martyrs home - in a

coffin.

Some coffins had bodies intact, many had the ones whose faces had been reconstructed to similarity or

the ones with no faces. Some contained the ones with few or no limbs, and then there were ones which

held only the gathered limbs.

It was heartbreaking.

Each day we heard that sound and even though everyone chose to keep quite about it, our expressions

did alter for a moment and then we carried on with our usual daily life activities.

As time passed, that sound no longer remained pleasant or intriguing.  No one even bothered to look up.

We had stopped counting. There were days when these choppers flew in till late evenings. They had a

duty to perform, a dead line to meet. 

After many years, the war was long over and a memorial built to honour the brave soldiers. People forgot

about it and life moved on.

Brain is a strange thing. It stores dormant memories that emerge or get triggered by a sound or smell.

Long lost memories or feelings associated with a particular sound or smell or scene are all stored in a

shady corner and emerge at the most unexpected moments.

 

I thought I had got over the feelings of doom, heartbreak, helplessness and alarm triggered by the sound

of those flying machines. But time and again I am proven wrong. For even today my first expressions

upon hearing the sound of rotors, is that of dread. Yesterday 3 jets flew past in the sky. I couldn't see any

of them from my home but somehow it didn't feel pleasant. I said aloud to my daughter that maybe it's a

training exercise. There was a face off between the Indian and Chinese soldiers on the Ladakh border. 20

Indian soldiers lost their lives. A commanding officer had succumbed to his injuries. Later at night I read

the day's news to find that his mortal remains were in fact brought to Hyderabad and his family had

reached here too, to perform the last rites.

War and violence does scar the thoughts irrespective whether one is near of further away from it. The

power loaded leaders have a role to play. The medieval territorial tussle will go on but thankfully there are

a few who show those tearful longing eyes bidding farewell to their loved ones with dignity. Things are

so different at the ground level.

It should make us feel responsible and do our bit to support them and stand by the families of these

brave hearts who protect us from so many threats. And those who are still naive need a wake up call and

must learn how to stand united.

It takes courage, to answer a call,

It takes courage, to give your all,

It takes courage, to risk your name,

It takes courage, to be True!