It was almost 10 pm by the time the OP party reached base camp. The company commander briefed Abhimanyu about the operational aspects and then the DOs - Reach the post before day light else the enemy would fire at you, reporting twice a day on a conference call, an observer to monitor the route to the Pakistani side of the glacier 24x7, ration the water, send a link patrol to collect ration every Wednesday and Saturday and so on.
Then came the DONTs. No movement during the day - don't step out of the bunker in the daylight. Simple one line and that was it. How difficult could it be. As it is he was lucky that he got his turn for his Siachen tenure during the summer months and that too at this post where there was no ice during the summers. He'd seen the others melt snow on a stove to get water in the glaciated parts. Since the area was limited, so there was only that much space to step out of the bunker and stretch and shit. Ice from around the bunker would be gathered to be heated for the daily requirements. You couldn't venture far for an enemy sniper might sight you and take a pot shot. Often a lump of shit would appear in the pan after the ice had melted....
The party started its climb to the post at around midnight. It was supposed to take them 4 hours of climbing at altitudes of 11000 feet to reach the post. Abhi checked his watch and the radium dial showed it to be 4:30 am. It would be daylight in an hour and at this rate they were still an hour away. Ballu, his radio operator was struggling with his rifle, large rucksack and the radio set. They would definitely not make it in time. Abhi pictured the next day radio log as "One officer and three jawans shot dead by enemy". He picked up Ballu's rucksack and shoved him along to pick up the pace. They barely managed to reach as dawn broke out and huddled into a 4 feet by 4 feet bunker made of large stones and covered by a time roof which had a sign "kitchen" painted outside. It was just about 3 feet high and everyone huddled around the stove on which tea was brewing.
Narry, the officer who was de-inducting was waiting sitting with a tea cup in hand. He welcomed the party and handed out 'shakar paras' cautioning them to drink less of tea since the time to go for ablutions was over. The tea itself reeked of kerosene oil and a fine film floated on top.
He then explained to Abhi that since they were 'eyeball to eyeball' with the enemy, the 'morning drill' had to be done with one at a time before dawn broke or after the fall of darkness. Shitting was a simple process - sit on the edge of the cliff and shit below. There was a rope to hold on to in case you weren't too sure of your balance specially since everything had to be done in the dark.
The officer in the party had the luxury of a separate bunker to sleep. 2 feet by 7 feet with a height of 3 feet. So you crawled in and crawled out. There was a bottle of kerosene with a rope inside which burned to help you read books and magazines if you had carried any with you. The roof of the bunker had a layer of soot - thick enough to start a small scale eye liner industry. Water would come on mules every Wednesday in 20 liter jerricans from which kerosene had been emptied out and so irrespective of how or what you cooked or what ingredients you used, kerosene and it's smell was going to remain an integral part of your diet for the next 90 days. 3 liters of kerosene enriched natural water for each person to cook, drink and wash - everyday. And this was supposed to be a summer luxury....
Four people confined to an area of 20 feet by 20 feet for 90 days. As the days passed, each one of the four men party knew each stone of every bunker, the complete history of everyone's family, their crushes, their fantasies, their fears. Discussions graduated from 'this is what I joined army for' to 'we're part of a larger plan' to 'this is all bullshit' and finally to 'politicians are all idiots and no one gives a damn'. Life, God, comparisons between the young Sonia and Benazir, everything possible was discussed. The toughest were the 45th to 60th day after which it was all downhill waiting for the next party to induct, blessings counted and plans made to discuss what would be done after going into civilisation ...
Most of the day went in writing letters - they too graduated in a similar tone/ tenor. Friends, relatives, people you'd met only once for 5 minutes, anyone whose address could be remembered was written to. All letters were sent open for the unit censor to strike out with a marker anything that was 'unparliamentary'. Each one knew what time to wake up, where to step and how much of rope to hold in the dark of the morning. Soon brushing your teeth also became a luxury and kerosene certainly helped control your desire to drink water. Shaving was not even thought of. Everyone came down from the post as a sardar with long hair and flowing beards. The same magazine had been read umpteen times. The same songs heard every night on the HX radio set which managed to tune onto AIR Radio when 'fauji bhaiyo ke liye' would play.
Food was the salt rich tinned mutton, dried onions and potatoes, powdered eggs, tetrapacks of milk and some pulses. All of which would cause astronomical amounts of acidity and constipation. It was all designed to make you last and survive in such a scenario... Once a month some 'special rations' would come - nuts, chocolates, condensed milk, juices. Soon hunger died and some posts had even made Cadbury shelves and Cadbury steps ...
Many cried when they finally left the post after ninety days. Some clicked photographs wearing a turban with flowing beards. Some went back to Base Camp (Siachen) to offer ammunition to OP Baba's shrine for a successful tenure! Some gloated about their mental fitness, others took years to forget the experience. Some suffered from short term memory loss while it took years for the stomach lining of others to recover. you can leave Siachen, but Siachen never leaves you .....
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