Apart from amazing strategy and intense discipline, the Indian army works using other more tools as well; one being rum. Being up there and as cold as it is, rum is a big favourite of many locals and knowing this, many friends are made around a drink or two. A great thing about rum is that it's a phenomenal ice breaker and so conversations pour out as fast as the drinks.
As part of their strategy to gain intelligence about the enemy, informants for the army are often ploughed with bottles and bottles of rum. Sure, they're paid as well but it's much more about the rum for most. I happened to make a friend of one of the informants. I can't tell you his name but I can tell you that with him was one of the greatest friendships I've ever had.
I had called him to dhaba we usually meet at. The fire was ready with the two glasses and bottle of rum already in place. The food was still getting ready. In fact, the cook was an ex Jawan who had been injured and couldn't serve anymore and had taken up this position to stay as close to the action as he could. He knew what the conversations we conducted were about but always kept to himself and knew where his loyalties lied. My friend arrived a little while after me and greeted me warmly as he always does; more so that my own brother does. We sat and I poured him a drink to give some warmth in the blistering cold. He asked, "Bhai Sahib, aaj koi khas baat hai kya? Janam din ya kuch? Mein tho aapko parso khabar leikar milne vala that." "Nahi, nahi yaar," I replied, "aaj bas milne ka man kiya tho bulla liya. Kaam ki baat hamesha hoti hai." The cook brought out some chicken, still steaming.
I began to tell him my favourite story. I hadn't told anybody this story and I didn't know a better person to tell it to first. It was a story from a very long time ago; before I had the white in my hair or even the belly nurtured from years of rum and chicken.
It was when I first joined the army and we had been tipped off by someone that there were three terrorists hiding in a small house in the market place. I was picked as part of the team to bring them in. Geared up and racing through all the training tactics in my head, we arrived at the market place right in front of the house. We burst with guns pointing in every direction with no one in the house but a glimpse of a foot escaping through the window. It was them, they were running. All split up, I was ordered and pointed in the direction of one. He knew the market much better than I did and managed to take every galli possible darting at every turn and over every wall he could find. His exit had been planned and he knew that it would be extremely difficult for anyone else to keep up. He kept majorly to crowded areas so as to not allow me to take a shot at him. No one stopped him either but I didn't really expect them to.
"Iss kutte ne mujhe itna bhagaya, itna bhagaya! Aur tab, mujhe mauka mil gaya." He passed a path where there were no people and I took my shot. While taking another one of his turns, the bullet missed his back but went into his shoulder and I could see him fall to the ground on the other side of the corner. I moved forward slowly, ready for any surprises and stuck to the wall. I turned the corner and pointed my gun straight at him. He was bleeding everywhere and didn't seem to be armed. He didn't seem to be trying to escape; he knew he didn't have it in him anymore. I took out the cuffs and approached him cautiously to arrest him when he shrugged me off and asked, "Goli pehle kisne chalayi?" "Maine" I replied. "Tho aap mujhe marne hi vale the. Agar aap mujhe vapis lejaoge tho ya tho tum log mujhe aadhi jaan leikar hamesha ke liye rakhoge ya phir mere log mujhe maar denge. Agar aap mujhe pehle goli chalakar marne vale hee the to abhi bhi maar sakthe ho." And I killed him. That was the first person I had ever killed. And till then I had wondered if I would be able to handle it, be able to kill another person. And I realised after that, that killing them is what should be done, for us and for them.
"Aur aaj aap mujhe marne vale ho." He said as he finished his drink. He didn't ask, he said.
There was in incident today where a few of my men died. Good men died. And it was because of my friend, the informant. He had been double crossing me and getting me to kill their people who they needed sent away. But like the man I killed that first day, I didn't want my friend to be tortured like I know he would be. I wanted at least a respectable death for him if he hadn't leaded the most respectable life. And that's when I shot him.
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