PROLOGUE
October 2007, 5 P.M.
The procession of pilgrims climbing up the winding, hilly road from Katra was typically boisterous and colorful in keeping with the festive period. The hilly, winding roads leading up to the Vaishno Devi shrine were clustered with thousands of devotees walking to-and-fro the ancient, holy grotto of miracles and mass faith. Those walking down were euphoric after their prayers and there were loud chants of “Hail the Mother Goddess” in the air with complete strangers warmly greeting each other with the sacred words of faith. It is said that the Goddess inevitably answers the prayers of her devotees, especially during the holy nine days period for Hindus.
For all the children who skipped along the road with their young parents, there were older, heavier folk who had to struggle along with the help of stout sticks, resting their weight on them breathlessly every now and then till they were nudged along gently by the accompanying footmen who made their living guiding pilgrims up the long, arduous route. Ponies trotted up and down the slopes carrying the weaker-willed that had given up the ambition of completing the trek on their feet. There were even some of the ailing and elderly who were being transported up the road on palanquins, each one carried by four able-bodied bearers.
Amid the vast multitude of people, there was one lonely figure quietly crawling up the road on his elbows and knees while at the same time pushing forward a flickering lamps along the route. He had patiently been doing that since the starting point at Katra. Apart from replying to the greetings of “Hail the Mother Goddess”, he was not answering any inquisitive questions put to him. There had been whispers among the pilgrims that the man was an infamous sinner who, in abject repentance, had come to ask the Goddess for salvation from the debilitating burden of his sins.
Yet, under the spirit of overt reverence and piety in the air, there was also an underlying current of slight apprehension among the pilgrims. Despite the reduced inflow of terrorists from across the border, there was strong security cover starting from Katra comprising of gun wielding security forces along the fourteen kilometers route to the shrine. This was due to the recent spate of renewed terrorist strikes at Hindu pilgrim centers.
For Captain Yogendra Shekhawat of the Border Security Force who was heading the security operation in the area during the holy period, the last five days had been hectic with over two million pilgrims going up and down the shrine at all twenty-four hours of the day. There were still four more days to go before things would hopefully return to normal.
Meanwhile, Shekhawat’s superior officer had added to his grueling task by summarily informing him that special guests of the State Governor would be arriving at the shrine by helicopter towards the evening. He had added that he would radio him the exact time of landing at the heli-pad so that he could ensure their prayers were not hampered in any way. In his state of exhaustion, he silently cursed this unnecessary development which would put that much extra pressure on his overworked men.
Shekhawat distracted himself from his brooding thoughts by thinking of his forthcoming vacation, which was to start the following week. Memories of Sikar, his hometown in Rajasthan and of Gauri his childhood sweetheart helped as always to revive his weary mind. Their wedding had been fixed for the first week of next month. Their marriage had been a foregone conclusion among their families for some time, but when the families had sat down together to formally discuss the wedding, Shekhawat had quietly insisted on his promotion coming through first. As a bridegroom, he wanted to be known as “Captain Sahib.”
But just then Shekhawat had to instantly snap out of his happy thoughts when from the corner of his eye he saw a helicopter flying down towards the portion of the hill where he along with four of his men were keeping guard. His superior had not radioed him any instructions about the arrival of the VIP’s as yet.
The chopper was still a few hundred feet above him and also at a fair distance. Shekhawat, peering up could not see the faces of the pilot or the three passengers and although the chopper was the color of the army paratroop helicopters, his well-trained instinct warned him of subterfuge.
“Attention,” he shouted out urgently to his two men who were within earshot while running towards them and while still on the move, he turned to look up at the helicopter. It had begun to swoop down on the pilgrims like a giant predatory bird and Shekhawat could by now see the passengers clearly. They were aiming their machineguns at the people on the road who having nowhere to run were scattering about like hunted animals. Shekhawat and his men had one minor advantage. Their rifles had a superior firing range compared to the machine guns the terrorists were equipped with. Shekhawat was confident of hitting his target but he knew that if he brought the chopper down it would kill any number of the pilgrims on the thickly populated road. Resolutely shrugging off his hesitation, he fixed the sight of his rifle on the descending chopper. But to his horror, he saw one of the passenger’s pull out a grenade from inside his jacket. He realized the terrorists meant to first bombard the road before opening fire with their machine guns at closer range.
Shekhawat muttered a silent prayer for the safety of the pilgrims as he started to shoot. At least one of his bullets hit the fuel tank he had aimed at but before the chopper went up in flames the terrorist managed to hurl his grenade down. Shekhawat’s last living thought as the ignited helicopter crashed down with terrifying impact a few yards away from him on the narrow road was of the regret he felt deep within at not being able to make Gauri his wife in this lifetime.
In the overall perspective, the toll was not large. The officially declared death toll was twenty pilgrims, the four militants in the chopper and four BSF men, including Shekhawat, who were later declared heroes and posthumously awarded medals for their bravery.
There were of course other innocent men, women and children who had been present and who as the fortunate survivors of the vicious attack lived on to narrate the gory tale to the world through the evermore sensation starved media.
