Kargil Vijay Diwas: It all started much before 1999...

Boommmmm! The sound came from a distance just seconds after our convoy came to a halt. It was July of 1998. I was travelling from the army transit camp in Srinagar to Kaksar, a village in the Drass tehsil of Kargil district. Each of us had to disembark at a different location. What was happening? Was a road being built? I wondered. "Sir, sadak mein bombing ho rahi hai (the road is being bombed)," the bus driver said. It appeared that as soon as Pakistani forces on the other side of the LoC would see a convoy on the highway, they would start bombing it.

I was only 22 and had recently graduated from the Indian Military Academy (IMA), Dehradun. Although I had been selected for military intelligence services, graduates like me, who had to take on the role first had to serve in the infantry for three years. Consequently, I served with 4 Jat Regiment, but as per army protocol, my exact posting was not revealed to me. I was merely instructed to report at the headquarters in Jammu. Once there, I was asked to leave for Srinagar and only when I had to board the convoy, did I learn that I was being sent to Kargil.

When I told the driver where I had to get off at Kaksar, he said, "Main wahan nahin rukunga. Wahan bombing hoti hai (I won't stop the bus there, there's usually bombing there)". But I insisted he stick to protocol. Once we got the clearance to move again, he said, "Saab main ruk jaoonga, par aap darwaze pe khade raho... jaise hi gadi ruke, utar jaana (Sir, I'll stop the bus, but you be ready by the doorway to jump off as soon as we stop)." As soon as I got down, the bus zoomed off. As the Pakistani forces were targeting convoys, and not individuals, the bombing reduced and I made my way to the battalion office — mostly consisting camouflaged shelters and bunkers.

Despite the rustic conditions, as is the tradition in most regiments, on the first night, every new officer is "baptised" with an introduction to the regiment's history – 4 Jat Regiment is one of the oldest – and some wining and dining. It's the one day you're made to feel like a king.

A day later, accompanied by a few jawans, I headed for my company headquarters – each battalion has six companies, mine was Charlie – to take over from the previous Company Commander from the Punjab Regiment. It took us two days to climb from 10,000ft we were at to 17,400ft where the company headquarters was. We moved only at night to avoid being seen by the Pakistani forces during the day, and stopped in between to acclimatise. The Pakistani forces must have realised that there's been a change of guard — the Punjab Regiment is easy to identify due to turban-sporting Sikhs — and began bombing at our settlement to scare us. Being inexperienced, I sought guidance from the battalion commanding officer and in response, our mortar team retaliated. The equipment allows us to fire blind i.e. without actually seeing the target. More often than not, our bombs would be off target and soon, the shelling stopped.

I realised, I had to do something about it, and began explore the nearby areas to find a location from where assess the enemy. One morning, I came upon a vantage point atop a peak that was higher than the Pakistani side. I could see everything — Pakistan's posts, targets and the place they had attacking our convoys and civilian villages from. While some jawans kept a vigilant eye out, I asked the others to build more bunkers in the area. Despite the army's hierarchical structure, I took a crowbar to break stones and started a friendly competition, eventually leading to great camaraderie and bonding.

Besides the routine daily reports, I started giving the battalion officer intelligence about developments I gathered from the vantage point – the Pakistani forces were building a bigger helipad just 25km from their posts; charcoal drums being used to construct a road; the addition of troops into their battalion headquarters, and so on.

Over time, I also learnt how to direct mortar bombs. The second time we took a shoot, we completely destroyed the position they had been attacking our convoys and civilian villages from. Having seen fellow jawans get wounded and die, we were ecstatic at destroying their weapons. No line of control is peaceful, but one doesn't expect firing on the roads and civilian population. In the evening, it was my turn to get a firing from the battalion officer. "Do you even know how many bombs you've fired? What will you do if they retaliate at night?" Young and inexperienced, I hadn't kept count. Turned out, we blasted over 100. Somehow, we managed to get permission to convert our war reserve to frontline ammunition. This meant 120 bombs would have to be lugged from the company post, involving a 3km and 3,500ft climb, to our post at night. The team was exhausted, therefore to boost their morale I took the first rucksack myself. The team was surprised that I returned and were motivated enough to do another two rounds each. After that day, I always gave them a specific count while ordering them to fire.

By now, our targets were getting very precise because of the vantage point, making the other side suspicious. One day, while I was at the peak, they fired at the entire ridge and a bomb missed my ear and dropped into the valley. I was stunned, and turned deaf for a few seconds. It took me a few minutes to gather myself and take charge.

In response to all the intelligence I had been sharing, the battalion officer, who would discuss it with the officer at the brigade head office, would revert with additional intelligence to be gathered. I am certain other commanding officers must have shared similar information too. If only it had all been collated at a higher level and someone had connected the dots, perhaps, we would have anticipated the war in 1998 itself.

—As told to Pooja Bhula