MAJOR GENERAL RAJPAL PUNIA

DAMINI PUNIA

OPERATION KHUKRI
The True Story Behind The Indian Army’s Most Successful Mission
as Part of The United Nations
PENGUIN BOOKS
 Contents

Foreword
Introduction
Preface

1. Man Proposes, God Disposes

2. Beef Fiasco Mid-Air
3. Lungi
4. String of Pearls on the Boulevard
5. From the Plains of Kenema to the Tangled Forests of Daru
6. Bonjour: At Guinea Border
7. Hostages
8. Mini Khukri: Gateway Home
9. Meeting with General Issa Sesay
10. Last Letter before the First Attack
11. The D-Day: Operation Khukri

Illustrations
Footnotes
Introduction
1. Man Proposes, God Disposes
2. Beef Fiasco Mid-Air
3. Lungi
4. String of Pearls on the Boulevard
5. From the Plains of Kenema to the Tangled Forests of Daru
6. Bonjour: At Guinea Border
8. Mini Khukri: Gateway Home
9. Meeting with General Issa Sesay
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
 EBURY PRESS
OPERATION KHUKRI

Major General Rajpal Punia, YSM, an alumnus of Sainik

School, Chittorgarh, was selected for the National Defence
Academy, Khadakwasla, at the age of sixteen. He was
commissioned into the Indian Army on 9 June 1984 and
joined 14 Mechanised Infantry (16 Jammu and Kashmir
Rifles). General Punia was the orchestrator of Operation
Khukri while commanding a company as part of a United
Nations Peacekeeping mission in Sierra Leone. He
commanded the oldest brigade of the Indian Army along the
Line of Actual Control. He attended the National Defence
College course in Thailand, and the United Nations Senior
Mission Leaders’ Course in Japan. He has the honour of
commanding the prestigious Armoured Divison. Under his
command, he successfully controlled the ‘Jat agitation’ of
2016 and vacated the Dera of Ram Rahim in Sirsa. He has
served over thirty-five years in the Indian Army, and
counting. He is a fine orator and has been penning down his
military experiences since the very beginning of his career.
He has numerous articles and research papers to his name.
This is his first book.

Damini Punia is the proud daughter of a brave soldier and

wife of a Bengal Sapper Officer. She is an alumna of Army
Public School, Dhaula Kuan, Delhi, and Lady Shri Ram
College, Delhi University. She is the official commentator of
the Republic Day parade of our nation at Rajpath. She finds
writing to be very liberating. This is her maiden attempt as
an author.
 Advance Praise for Operation Khukri

‘Operation Khukri is a fascinating and gripping account of

one of the finest United Nations Peacekeeping operations,
undertaken in Sierra Leone, West Africa, during 2000. It is
the story of 233 Indian Army officers and men, who were
besieged for over three months without any replenishment
or resupplies, encircled by rebels of the Revolutionary
United Front (RUF). The RUF demanded the surrender of all
UN peacekeepers, including a British and a Russian officer,
but the troops of the Indian garrison at Kailahun, displaying
“nerves of steel and an indomitable spirit”, refused to lay
down their arms. As the Additional Director, General Military
Operations, I was masterminding “Operation Khukri” and
ensuring that Major Punia and his garrison were provided all
possible support, including gunship helicopters of our air
force and long-range artillery, so as to make this force
capable of undertaking a fighting withdrawal rather than
surrender. I could not take my eyes off this engrossing
narrative. This book is recommended to our soldiers and
countrymen, and also to all UN peacekeepers, as it very
eloquently describes an operation, one of the most
outstanding in the annals of UN Peacekeeping history,
where soldiers of the Indian Army chose death over
cowardice, dignity over two meals and honour over
freedom’—General J.J. Singh (retd), former Governor of
Arunachal Pradesh, and former Chief of the Army Staff

‘Operation Khukri was conducted by the Indian

peacekeeping contingent during my tenure as Army Chief.
This is an inspiring story based on the personal experience
of an Indian military peacekeeper in the deep jungles of
Sierra Leone. It is about his involvement in winning the
hearts and minds of the locals, negotiating peace and then
leading a fighting break-out when his camp of 233 soldiers
was surrounded, for over two months, by armed rebels.
When faced with conflict, his soldierly mindset and devotion
to duty scored over his moral conscience’—General V.P.
Malik, PVSM, AVSM, ADC, former Chief of the Army Staff

‘It is a matter of privilege and personal pride for me to write

a few words on the military heroes of the country, who
rendered their heroic services not only for safeguarding the
sovereignty of India but also beyond our borders, in far-flung
Kailahun, Sierra Leone, West Africa, in 2000. I express my
deep gratitude towards the members of the armed forces
and their families, for their courage and sacrifice while
serving for the United Nations during Operation Khukri, led
by Major Rajpal Punia (now Major General). I congratulate
Major General Punia, one of the 233 soldiers who worked
tirelessly to shape the brave story of Operation Khukri. This
book is a befitting tribute to our immortal soldiers who laid
down their lives to keep the tricolour flying high. It will
surely be a treasure trove of inspiration for the coming
generations, the armed forces and for all those who wish to
learn about the heroic deeds of our brave soldiers like
Havildar Krishan Kumar, Sena Medal (posthumous). I
appreciate the efforts made by Major General Punia in the
making of this book and wish him all the success in his
future endeavours’—Droupadi Murmu, Governor of
Jharkhand
‘Operation Khukri is an important, distinguished and
educative account of the trials and triumphs of a real war
hero on the epic battlefields of Sierra Leone’—Phagu
Chauhan, Governor of Bihar

‘Operation Khukri is a gem of a book that deserves to be

read by every Indian. It will surely keep the reader hooked
till the end. Brilliant narration. Operation Khukri signals our
glorious victory and enhances our respect for our armed
forces’—Jagdeep Dhankhar, Governor of West Bengal

‘Fighting the deadliest rebel force is not easy, and doing so

on their own turf is difficult 100 times over. But our 233
brave soldiers fought their way to freedom. This book is the
epitome of valour and pride of our soldiers in Olive Green’—
Randeep Hooda, actor and equestrian

‘I was a military observer at Kailahun during the May 2000

crisis and was held hostage by the RUF rebels along with
Major Punia. I was witness to the heroic and responsive
leadership of Major Punia in handling the crisis. Major
Punia’s efforts in Kailahun carved a glorious path for India–
Nepal relations. It was because of his diligent endeavour
that all peacekeepers and military observers returned to
their respective countries with honour and dignity’—Major
General Suresh Kumar Karki, Suprawal Jana Sewa Shree,
Gorkha Dakchhinbahu, Nepal Army

‘It is rare for Indian soldiers on a peacekeeping mission to

first become prisoners of the local militia and then, after
months of captivity—without much food or sleep—to fight
their way out of their camp, surrounded by armed rebels in
the jungles of Africa. This required a daring plan, tenacity,
professionalism and sheer cold courage. Major (now
General) Rajpal Punia, and his determined band of officers
and men from 14 Mechanised Infantry and a Gorkha Unit
(5/8 GR), did precisely that, to create a legacy that will
perhaps never be emulated in the foreseeable future. Hats
off to Rajpal Punia and his band of very brave men. Major
Punia’s leadership, despite enormous pressures, in
confronting multiple factors in war-torn but diamond-rich
Sierra Leone in West Africa, was remarkable. He sought
peace to the very end but not a compromise, as surrender
for him and his men was not an option. Thus, he eventually
led his men in a dramatic break-out from his camp,
surrounded by heavily armed rebels, to a rendezvous with
his headquarters. Before doing so, Major Punia exercised
astute political–diplomatic skills (normally not the forte of a
soldier) while keeping as his primary aim the preservation of
India’s dignity and the honour of the tricolour. It is a story
that every Indian—especially army officers—must read and
learn from. This is a tale of leadership and valour, superbly
narrated by Damini Punia. It is the stuff that legends are
made of’—Maroof Raza, defence analyst, and consulting
editor, Times Network
 To my grandfather,
Shri Chimna Ram Ji Punia.
I am who I am because of you.

To the army behind the soldier, my wife, Anita. My deepest

gratitude to her, without whom this book wouldn’t have
been written. Thank you for being the first person who
believed in me as a writer. Thank you for teaching me how
to follow my heart. She has been my pillar of strength, my
core and, above all, my biggest cheerleader since 1989.

—Major General Rajpal Punia

Layout of Kailahun
 Foreword

Sierra Leone, a small ex-British colony in West Africa, is a

picturesque nation with abundant natural resources but lack
of freedom among the people to revel in the treasure that
nature had to offer. Sierra Leone had been battered by years
of civil war, military coups and been a victim of a rebel
movement, whose motives were dubious and methods
plainly vicious. Under the grip of endless horror and tragedy,
around 50,000 people died in Sierra Leone, with more than a
million displaced, and peace eluded the nation for over nine
years.
Way back in 2000, as a novice reporter, I had the
opportunity to visit Sierra Leone and interact with the Indian
peacekeepers in Daru. Through my presence in the war-torn
nation, I could be a via media between India and the Indians
in Sierra Leone. Being in Daru, I learnt about the 233 Indian
peacekeepers who were cordoned off in Kailahun, the
heartland of the Revolutionary United Front (RUF).
These 233 soldiers, under the command of Major Rajpal
Punia, braved over two months of confinement at the hands
of the RUF, without basic necessities available to them.
Stationed in Daru, I heard the tales of the ‘Tiger’, aka Major
Rajpal Punia, who had refused to lay down weapons before
the rebel forces even at the risk of his life.
Day in and day out, I could see peacekeepers of all other
nations, without arms and stripped off their uniforms, being
transported to Liberia in ramshackle trucks. But the Indians
did not surrender, the Indians were brave.
 As luck would have it, I had the privilege of a rendezvous
with Major (now Major General) Rajpal Punia. It was a
transcontinental meeting in Daru, after his successful
completion of Operation Khukri, which he had orchestrated
to a T. Operation Khukri was the epitome of the grit,
determination and valour of our Indian Army soldiers. The
233 soldiers of 14 Mechanised Infantry and 5/8 Gorkha
Rifles fought against the curveball that the RUF threw at
them. And when peace was no longer an option, the Indian
soldiers fought, and how—for the dignity of their uniforms
and the honour of our nation.
This book is the reality of a soldier I happen to admire a
lot. I am honoured to have been a part of one of the most
successful operations of the Indian Army on foreign Soil.
Years later, in 2018, I met Major General Rajpal Punia, Yudh
Seva Medal, at the Republic Day press conference, which
was chaired by him. During the press conference, I felt as
though time had stood still, as though it was just yesterday
that I was interviewing this brave young officer in the Blue
Beret who had returned from the clutches of the deadliest
rebel force in the world—to be present that day, heading the
press conference, with me sitting at the other end of the
podium.
I take great pleasure in writing this foreword for Major
General Rajpal Punia. It’s unfortunate how we Indians were
not aware of this brave act of the Indian Army on alien soil
as part of the United Nations. This book will surely inspire
the youth of our country and tell the world the saga of a
soldier who was responsible for 233 beating hearts and had
to ensure that zero caskets returned home. This spine-
chilling narrative will surely keep you gripped till the last
word.
 Sir, it was an honour to have been a part of this journey of
yours.

Jai Hind!

Gaurav C. Sawant
Senior Executive Editor, India Today
 Introduction

On 24 March 2020, I caught the flight to Patna at the

eleventh hour. Delhi was slowly getting submerged under
the dreadful coronavirus pandemic, and the Prime Minister
had ordered a complete lockdown in India. My father was
posted at Danapur Cantonment, fifteen kilometres from
Patna, a place unheard of. I didn’t know what to expect, but
the fact that our abode was on the banks of the holy river
Ganges was enough to get me all excited about this trip.
Being optimistic about returning in a week’s time, I packed
my stuff and rushed to the market to get a travel cage for
my companion Noddy, a three-month-old beagle. And so, we
embarked on this adventure with masks around our faces,
gleaming eyes peeping through, a small strolley for me and
a mini rucksack for Noddy.
We reached Danapur hours after the sun shifted west and
hence couldn’t discern much in terms of the area around.
The following morning was surreal beyond words as we sat
on the gazebo overlooking the Ganga, feeling the cool
breeze in our hair. From that moment on, the gazebo
became our spot. Noddy would enjoy calling out to the
boats that sailed across. A week switched to a month and a
month turned into two—Noddy and I were still in Danapur.
As the days of summer decreased our gazebo time to half, I
decided to dive deep into our storerooms, filled with endless
memories and souvenirs from our travels across the country.
Every army home is filled with an abundance of black iron
boxes covered in the dust of nostalgia stacked one over the
other. The snowy numbers painted on them keep
multiplying as we move from one station to another with
piles of stories, mementos and memories.
While riffling through the treasure trove, I got my hands
on a diary bound in brown leather, cracked and dry with
age. The year ‘2001’ was engraved on its top right corner. It
smelt faintly of naphthalene balls (something that is found
in the box of every army soldier). The pages were crumbly,
and what remained of the diary’s original stitching was
barely holding it together. A faint scrawl on the inside of the
leather cover declared that it belonged to Major Rajpal Punia
(my father). The story of Kailahun ran through these pages
in bleached ink. The captivating minutiae of Operation
Khukri had me completely engrossed. The diary was like a
motion picture flashing before my eyes, with moments of
pride, laughter, sorrow and, most of all, respect—respect for
the Olive Green and the Indian Army.
Major Rajpal Punia led Operation Khukri, one of the most
successful operations of the Indian Army as part of the
United Nations Peacekeeping in Sierra Leone, West Africa, in
the year 2000. It’s a spine-tingling story, of 233 Indian Army
soldiers who were cordoned off for three months without
food. They had not spoken to anyone back home. There was
no news about their families, and yet the josh (zeal) was
high. The air of uncertainty hovered over the cloistered
soldiers, but their pride for their motherland was intact.
We Indians today owe our high station, in relation to other
nations, to these brave hearts, most of whom go unnoticed
in a country with over a hundred crore people. The world
had to know of the Kailahun story, and that is how the idea
of this book took shape.
The book is indeed a restructuring of Major Punia’s
memories and an attempt to highlight the courage and
valour of every soldier donning the olive-green uniform in
India. This book portrays the magic of the camouflage
uniform, where the swirly patterns of patriotism are stitched
together with the thread of the soldier’s courage and
immense love for their home country. This book is certainly
special to me as a daughter, but it should be so for every
citizen of India, as this was one of the most successful
missions of the Indian Army in the blue beret of the United
Nations. It is truly unfortunate that people are not aware of
an operation that transpired a year after the Kargil War, an
operation where soldiers chose death over cowardice,
dignity over two meals and honour over freedom. The Indian
soldiers fought both mentally and physically on alien soil,
against an unknown enemy, a war not for territory or peaks
but a war so that the tricolour could flutter with pride over
millions of peaks in India.
This book is dedicated to Havildar* Krishan Kumar, Sena
Medal (posthumous), the only gallant warrior we lost in the
operation. The debt that we owe to Havildar Krishan
Kumar’s family can never be repaid. India owes its existence
to Havildar Krishan Kumar and many other fallen comrades
who didn’t let the honour of the tricolour dwindle.
To all the soldiers who sacrificed their lives for the honour
of our nation. To every tricolour casket that landed in every
city, town and village in India. To the families who lost their
loved ones so ours could be close to us. India is truly the
Nation of the Brave.

Jai Hind

Damini Punia
 Preface

It is a heartfelt confession that the intent behind this book is

to share with the world the tales of tenacity and valour
along with the horrendous experience of encounter with
death endured by 233 Indian peacekeepers, day in and day
out, for three long months in Kailahun.
The Kailahun story is very close to my heart, and for this
reason I shall let my emotions take control of the steering
wheel, guiding the events as they unfolded. I would fail in
my duty as a Company Commander towards every soldier at
Kailahun if I don’t give shape to the chronology of the
developments that manifested during the ‘May 2000’ crisis.
The Revolutionary United Front (RUF) had held thousands of
United Nations peacekeepers hostage, but the Indian
peacekeepers at Kailahun stood their ground, displaying
nerves of steel and an indomitable spirit, ready to face
death rather than lay down weapons before the rebels. For
us, our honour was paramount.
During that mission, my belief in destiny was reinforced
manifold, and even today, when I look back, I express my
gratitude towards God for paving the way for me to reach
Kailahun. I thank every soldier who was in that crisis with
me for being my inspiration. Words fail me, but I’d like to
thank Colonel Martin, the Brigade Commander of the rebel
RUF brigade located at Kailahun, and the Papa Giema of
Kailahun, without whose faith in me I could not have fulfilled
my duty towards my brethren soldiers. While doing what I
did, I had to pay the enormous price of carrying this
emotional baggage to date, and I can probably never wash
off the red stains of collateral damage—innocent civilians
who lost their lives—as we fought to save the lives of my
soldiers, my responsibility.
It is a long, emotional and rather spine-chilling story that I
am going to share with you all, leaving the responsibility of
judgement on my readers. I assure you that I shall humbly
accept your verdict.

Major General Rajpal Punia

 #1

Man Proposes, God Disposes

September 1999

I had just moved to Babina, a one-horse town on the banks

of the Betwa River in the Jhansi district of Uttar Pradesh.
Prior to this, I was posted at Tangdhar in Jammu and
Kashmir, a high-altitude terrain along the Line of Control
(LoC) which was very active in low-intensity conflicts. I was
the Brigade Major controlling all the operations, including
heavy firing across the LoC, which used to be rather
frequent and intense. Our brigade was like a jetty into
Pakistan, and we were referred to as the ‘Chutney* Brigade’,
since the Pakistani bunkers felt they could make chutney
out of us as per their whims.
We were stationed across the Shamshabari mountain
ridge, which generally was the baseline for the LoC. Our
location was so precarious that the Pakistanis dominated all
the peaks overlooking our brigade. Incidentally, ours was
the only brigade that was across the Shamshabari ridge,
and it was as if we were always in the soup. I was posted
here when the Kargil War was in full swing, and a counter-
reaction of the Kargil operation was anticipated in our area. I
recollect pushing six battalions, as reinforcement, into the
area, which was earlier held by three battalions. I also
vividly remember the Adjutant of the Richamar* Battalion
pleading with me not to dispatch any more troops since
there was no place to even stand in the bunkers.
Broadly speaking, it was three years of high altitude,
combating militants, controlling the trans Line of Control
firing, which made even a minute’s sleep a silken dream,
and finally, the last straw being the Kargil operations. All
this made the last three years an eventful ride that
eventually transformed my vision of the world around me,
and those memories were forever etched in my journey of
life.
There aren’t rainbows without rain, and so these three
years did take a heavy toll on my family life. On one side
was my call of duty, the fulfilment of an oath to obey all
commands, even to the peril of my life, as nation comes
first, always and every time. On the other side was the
separation from my family which came with its share of
agony and heartbreaks. So, after endless days and nights of
feeling a little blue, we as a family were really looking
forward to finally living together at Babina, where my
battalion, 14 Mechanised Infantry (16 Jammu and Kashmir
Rifles), was located.
I have always been a staunch believer in the proverb ‘Man
proposes, God disposes’. People may come up with any
number of ingenious plans, but ultimately, the forces
outside our control determine our future course. God’s
intent started unfolding on my first day at work in Babina
when a signal came from the Army Headquarters stating
that I was selected for deputation in a United Nations
Peacekeeping mission in Sierra Leone, West Africa. Under
normal circumstances, it would have been a time to rejoice
and celebrate, as all military personnel look forward to such
an opportunity because of the accompanying extensive
international exposure and, not to forget, a chance to draw
a salary in dollars. Yet my heart sank reading the signal,
since I could only think of my family’s reaction to this news.
Truth be told, the previous evening itself I had heard my
four-year-old daughter telling her mother, ‘Hope Papa will
not leave us now.’ I had a lump in my throat imagining my
daughter’s tiny inquisitive eyes questioning as to whether
we would be staying together, whether Papa would attend
their birthdays and school functions—every blink of her eye
was hoping for an affirmative.
My colleagues, oblivious to these facts, insisted on a glass
of beer in the officers’ mess before heading home, and I
somehow agreed, thinking what chilled beer could do to
your confidence! At the officers’ mess, I told my brother
officers that though the drinks were on me, I had decided
not to go for the mission. The moment I would decline, one
of them would be nominated for the mission, since our
Mechanised Infantry Company* had to be commanded by an
officer of our own battalion. It was a proud moment for the
battalion and, therefore, a piece of news to celebrate.
On my way home, I contemplated whether to break the
news to my family. Eventually, I didn’t divulge the
information, for the only reason that I didn’t have the heart
to talk about it; however, to my utter surprise, by then my
wife had already learnt about the news. I explained to my
wife that I had decided to decline the deputation, and there
was no room for second thoughts over this decision. Hearing
this, my wife, who has always been our guiding light,
reminded me of my singular principle in life, to move with
destiny. Being a daughter and a wife of an army officer, she
did not want to see her husband shy away from
organizational orders. She asked me to follow my ‘Uniform
Dharam’* of moving wherever the organization posted me,
and serve with utmost devotion and sincerity, as always.
I didn’t have any logic or words to counter her argument;
and honestly, I didn’t even want to, since she was beaming
with pride, and that was enough to push me for this mission.
I remembered the oath which every soldier takes on wearing
the uniform, that no matter what the circumstance, he will
serve his motherland till his last breath. I embraced her, as
though asking for reassurance that our souls would be
connected for a lifetime and that absence would only make
our hearts grow fonder of each other. Incidentally, that was
our first evening in the new house allotted to us at Babina,
and I was to leave the following day.
I had to report to Delhi to my newly assigned battalion for
the mission, the 5/8 Gorkha Rifles, and jointly we were to
establish a new mission in the war-torn country of Sierra
Leone in West Africa. A cursory glance at the status of
various countries around the globe immediately made it
clear that Sierra Leone was one of the poorest countries in
the world, further exasperated by years of civil war and
military coups. The nation had also long been the victim of a
rebel movement called the Revolutionary United Front
(RUF), whose intentions were dubious and approach
barbaric. Sierra Leone appeared to be in the clutches of
endless mayhem, with over 50,000 deaths, millions of
people dislodged, gruesome crimes inflicted on women,
children and others, including ravishment, arson, mutilation
and mass murder. Tranquillity had circumvented Sierra
Leone for nine years. Cities and towns were drowning in
insecurity, with the supposedly vanquished rebel army
indulging in malevolent retributive campaigns against the
vulnerable civilian population. After years of turmoil, the
Lomé Peace Agreement was like the light at the end of the
tunnel for the people of Sierra Leone. The agreement,
signed by the RUF in July 1999, stated that the RUF was
willing to lay down weapons to a neutral force of the United
Nations. Hence, the Indian Army was given the proud
privilege to set up a mission in Sierra Leone to aid in
establishing peace on alien soil.
A tremendous amount of background preparation takes
place at the preliminary stage prior to any mission of this
scale and magnitude. For an international mission of the
United Nations, orientation and in-depth knowledge of the
ethos of the organization were to be imbibed. Hence, the
initial two months in Delhi were meant for integration and
preparation, and each one of us was cautioned concerning
the impending task. That was when the severe routine of
physical fitness, training, and also the gathering of all
possible information about Sierra Leone, commenced.
Colonel Satish was our Commanding Officer, a thorough
gentleman but a man of few words with an impassive facial
expression that was enough to put anyone under stress; and
his Second-in-Command, Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma,
was diametrically opposite, yet even he could impose
pressure by the sheer variety of expressions, which were a
gift from God. The Gorkha Regiment of the Indian Army is
allegedly very OG,* while being from the Mechanised
Infantry with an entirely disparate environment, we found it
an arduous task to blend in, and had to undergo a lot of
churning as part of our integration in Delhi. We had to
coalesce with the Gorkha Regiment for the mission; hence
orders from two different Commanding Officers, located in
Delhi and Babina, were to be accommodated.
The Indian Army is an invincible organization, and the
soldiers are trained to adapt to the whole nine yards in no
time. Luckily for me, my senior-most Subedar† in the
company, Fateh Singh, was a gift to mankind, for he exuded
positivity and didn’t have the unfavourable two-letter word
‘No’ in his dictionary. Even the young officers in my
company, Captain Sudesh, Captain Prashant and Captain
Sunil, were self-driven, gallant officers, and the company,
being a homogeneous entity comprising soldiers solely from
14 Mechanised Infantry, didn’t face any turbulence despite
having to camp in tents in Delhi, right behind the Sadar
Bazar area of Delhi Cantonment.
As part of our preparations, we were supposed to gather
as much information about Sierra Leone as possible, since
knowing the ropes would aid our deployment in a far-off
land. The entire process of assimilating information was an
eye-opener for all of us as the more we learnt about Sierra
Leone, the more blessed we felt to have been born in India.
In spite of being the erstwhile wealthiest country in the
world, with an abundance of the best-grade diamonds,
Sierra Leone lacked basic amenities like electricity and tap
water, even in the national capital, Freetown. Nearly 30 per
cent of its population were amputees because of the civil
war that had gripped the country for over a decade.
Countless monstrosities were inflicted on the people by the
RUF.
The one similarity between Sierra Leone and India was
that, like India, Sierra Leone had been a British colony. It
was under British subjugation till as late as April 1961, and
when the British left, the local currency, the leone, was
equal to the US dollar. But when we went there in 1999, one
dollar was equal to 3000 leones.
Geographically speaking, Sierra Leone is a small nation
situated in West Africa with a seacoast on the Atlantic
Ocean, Guinea to its north and Liberia to the south. Its
capital, Freetown, derived its name from the fact that the
prosperous countries left the slaves free in this town during
the eighteenth century. It’s ironic that in the foregone times,
the people inhabiting the place were known for being free
and out of the clutches of slavery. They were now slaves to
their inherent trepidation as, except Freetown, the entire
nation was ablaze.
After 1961, post-independence, consecutive governments
could not arrest corruption in the country, and by the mid-
1980s, corruption was at its peak. That was when Foday
Saybana Sankoh, a Corporal in the Sierra Leone Army,
started the Revolutionary United Front, with an intent to
provide his people a corruption-free nation. Due to this
noble ambition, his revolutionary ideas were welcomed by
the people of Sierra Leone, and Foday Sankoh was
respected for his virtuous initiative. Little did they know that
the new outfit they thought would aid in bringing sunshine
to their country clouded with the showers of corruption
would later turn out to be the cause of the bloodiest war in
the history of Sierra Leone.
There is no denying the fact that in its embryonic stage,
the RUF did the right amount of work for the betterment of
people. Hence, it became quite robust in a brief period. But
as they say, power tends to corrupt, and absolute power
corrupts absolutely. The RUF was a live example of this. The
democratically elected Government of Sierra Leone was
overthrown by Foday Sankoh with assistance provided by
Charles Taylor, the President of Liberia, a country
neighbouring Sierra Leone.
With its burden of unaccountable corruption, Sierra Leone
stepped into a civil war, with too many stakeholders along
with anarchy and chaos grasping the entire functioning of
the country and completely devastating a former peace-
loving nation. During that time, the West African countries,
under the leadership of Nigeria, formed a conglomerate
called ECOMOG (the Economic Community of West African
States Monitoring Group) to restore normality in Sierra
Leone. Even that failed to control the RUF, and the ECOMOG
was brutally defeated by Foday Sankoh and his outfit in the
late ’90s.
Since then, the RUF had been controlling the entire
country, including the diamond areas, and the Government
of Sierra Leone, under the presidency of Dr Ahmad Tejan
Kabbah, controlled only Freetown. Diamond smuggling by
the RUF became the order of the day. As barter, the best
weapons and drugs started coming into the RUF’s hands, as
even the most prosperous countries of the world were
involved in this infamous act of diamond smuggling. The
situation further deteriorated to the extent that the world
had to take note of this. As a result, with the United Nations’
intervention, all stakeholders, including the RUF, had to sign
the Lomé Peace Agreement in July 1999. As per the
agreement rules, the RUF agreed to lay down weapons to a
neutral force of the UN, and thereafter a free and fair
election was to be conducted in Sierra Leone. As part of this
agreement, we were awaiting our induction. Our priority was
to get deployed and, thereafter, commence the
Disarmament, Demobilization and Rehabilitation Programme
(DDR) of the RUF rebels. The DDR process was primarily to
reintegrate the rebels into the society by way of training
them in different vocations which they could pursue post
disarmament. The DDR approach would consequently set
the stage for free and fair elections in the country.
As we gathered a considerable amount of information
about Sierra Leone, which was an ongoing exercise, our time
in Delhi was also spent in the medical examination of every
soldier who was part of our contingent. Prior to deployment
in any foreign assignment, every soldier must go through a
strict medical check-up. The strictness was further
reinforced as a result of the medical advisory issued by the
United Nations due to life-threatening diseases prevalent in
Sierra Leone. Every possible medical test that was feasible
in our country back in 1999 was conducted on us. Soldiers
who were medically unfit were returned to their units, from
where their replacements were dispatched. Time was at a
premium, so we requested their respective units to earmark
a pool of reserve soldiers and locate them in advance in
Delhi, so that movement time could be saved. Medical tests
took place on a daily basis, where some samples were given
and some reports were received.
There were two categories of soldiers in our camp for ease
of selection. The first group was the one detailed for the
mission, and the other had soldiers who were part of the
‘Reserved for the Mission’ group. The soldiers looked
forward to this new assignment for various reasons, some
for the thrill of travelling by air to a far-off land, while for
others, this mission was a chance to improve their financial
situation as they would draw handsome salaries.
Usually, evenings were the most dreaded, as all soldiers
would anxiously await the arrival of the Company Havildar
Major.* He would walk into the camp with the medical
reports he had received so far. I cannot begin to explain the
divergent nervous energies that surrounded the evening roll
call awaiting the announcement of the Company Havildar
Major. This scenario in the camp became customary, where
some hearts were broken and some new faces with added
vigour joined the wagon. I witnessed some of my boys
holding their reports and going towards the temple, while on
the other side, there were those who packed their bags and
asked for railway warrants for the rearward journey.
For me, it was painful to witness this process day in and
day out. To top it off, the toughest challenge for me was to
pick a new boy from the ‘Reserved Category’ for every
medically unfit boy. To ease the activity and eliminate any
scope for bias, I decided to resort to the drawing of lots for
‘Reserve Nomination’ in our company. Eventually, by the
grace of God, the medical selection concluded, and we had
the final list of men appointed for the mission. It further
enhanced the seriousness and gravity of the training, and
other preparations for the mission were accelerated.
By now, two months of the integration phase in Delhi were
over, and we had stepped into the twelfth month of 1999, in
which the deployment had to commence. During the
previous two months, while I was busy preparing for the
mission, my wife and kids were adjusting in a new place,
and it troubled me immensely that I could not be there to
help them settle in. But as they say, not all are high days
and holidays. So, we had to stand our ground and let the
high waves of separation pass. I realized that post-
deployment, I would be away for one year. So, I spoke with
my wife and asked her to come to Delhi for a few days.
Despite the children’s examinations, the tickets were
booked, and here I was going to receive them at the New
Delhi railway station, truly ecstatic to meet them after a
long time. That moment of embracing my wife and kids was
the highlight of the Delhi tenure for me. The children were
thrilled to ride in a white Gypsy, with ‘United Nations’
written on it in black, and equally excited to see their Papa
in a blue beret. I had arranged for their stay in Taurus Hostel
adjacent to our camp in Delhi Cantonment.
 Despite my family being in town, I continued with my
routine as Load Master. My task as the Load Master
encompassed the complete movement of troops and stores
from India to Sierra Leone, and this being a new mission, the
need of stores was enormous. When Colonel Satish, our
Commanding Officer, learnt of my family being in town, he
immediately called for me in his office, and that was when
the fear of the unknown suddenly gripped me. I wondered
what the reason behind this unforeseen invitation was.
I walked into the Commanding Officer’s office with oodles
of courage and optimism. After a brief pause, the
Commanding Officer inquired whether I had taken my family
out somewhere in Delhi, to which I immediately replied, ‘No,
sir.’ His face broke into a million-dollar smile when he said
that the next day I wouldn’t be going for loading at the
airport. He ordered me to take my family out sightseeing in
Delhi and asked me to take a day off. He also informed me
that we would be flying out in a few days from now and that
I needed to make the best of the next day as family time.
I returned to Taurus Hostel in high spirits and announced
that I had time off for the next twenty-four hours, every
minute of which I would spend with my family. It was all
smiles that evening. At night, there was a lot of hustle-
bustle in the guest room where we were staying, as the
children were busy chalking out the next day’s programme.
The places on their bucket list were India Gate, Appu Ghar,
Qutub Minar, and the most exciting place to visit was
McDonald’s since, in those days, McDonald’s existed only in
select cities of the country.
Usually, my wife had to wake them up, but wonders never
cease—that day, I was surprised to see the kids up early in
the morning, with tremendous energy and eagerness for the
day ahead. The day was off to a great start with the drive on
Rajpath, a visit to Rashtrapati Bhavan, and then to India
Gate. Lucky for us that it was December; the weather was
conducive for our excursion.
The Delhi of those days was far more beautiful than the
city of today, with more trees than buildings, more fresh air
than harmful emissions, more people than vehicles, and
people with great patience and values. It was indeed a
gratifying day, but the highlight for my children was
receiving gifts with their Happy Meals at McDonald’s. Finally,
when we returned to Taurus Hostel that evening, the other
occupants at the hostel could sense the joyful tremors
resonating through the spring in my children’s step and the
luminous smile on my wife’s face.
Post a rather relaxing day spent with my family after so
long, I was back to the grind, controlling the morning
loading process at the airstrip at Palam Airport, New Delhi.
Coordination between two independent battalions was a
laborious task, but fortunately for me, Major Nair, who was a
Company Commander in 5/8 Gorkha Rifles, was a great
friend of mine, and he went on to become the nucleus of
this heterogeneous group for me. Way back in the training
days, he was called ‘General’ Nair in the National Defence
Academy, as those Gentleman Cadets who were relegated
twice were termed Generals as a status symbol by other
cadets in the academy. So, while Nair was six months senior
to me, he later passed out as my junior. Major Nair had the
responsibility of ensuring that the complete entitled
equipment was issued to the Battalion Group, including kits
supplied by various contractors who had been supplying to
several battalions, inducting in the United Nations, for ages.
Here I must share with you that none of the dresses and
kits would fit my tall frame of 6’4”. Finally, Major Nair had to
get the supplier of individual kits to see me. I remember
meeting this young lad, Preet Bawa, who assured me that
he would personally cater to my size. Thereafter, Preet
would get special boots and dresses, and I was at last glad
to have a kit fit my size. Preet would often tell me, ‘Sir, you
must keep our flag flying high and need not worry about
your fittings and kits, as that is my responsibility.’ I
developed a great bond with this young fellow, thanks to his
motivational spirit. Even today, I remember Preet for his
memorable statement, ‘Sir, keep our national flag flying
high.’
Soldiers are supposed to wear their pride, the national
flag, on their chests when they go abroad on a United
Nations mission. Those pieces of the tricolour pinned to our
olive-green uniforms filled our hearts with devotion for our
motherland; it was like a patriotic fervour, with every beat of
‘Jana Gana Mana’, the Indian national anthem, flowing
through our veins and our heads held high, representing our
honour, India.
The greatest strength of the Indian Army is
‘regimentation’, a sense of pride and ownership wherein
generation after generation it becomes a matter of honour
to join the same regiment or battalion as one’s father and
forefathers. Also, the regiments are like an extended family,
where even the elders of a battalion remain connected post
relinquishing their command. As part of this connect,
Colonel Daya Nand Dahiya (retd), along with Mrs Dahiya,
visited us in Delhi to address and motivate the personnel of
14 Mechanised Infantry, who were proceeding for a
challenging task as part of United Nations Peacekeeping.
Colonel Dahiya was the Commanding Officer of our battalion
when I was commissioned, way back in 1984. The first
Commanding Officer has a significant impact on the
development of every officer. As part of his visit, a quick
Sainik Sammelan* was organized. Colonel Dahiya reminded
all ranks about the great history of our battalion and asked
everyone to do their best in adding the jewel to the crown of
the battalion.
An informal tea was organized post the Sainik Sammelan,
after which we joined Mrs Dahiya for lunch in the makeshift
officers’ mess, where, in a one-to-one interaction, Colonel
Dahiya inquired about the performance of Captain Prashant,
son of Colonel Dahiya, a second-generation officer who was
in my company. I reassured him regarding Captain
Prashant’s performance, telling him that he was a highly
motivated officer and physically very tough, who had been
drinking five litres of milk daily for quite some time now!
My words—that I would channelize Captain Prashant’s
energy in the right direction and that he would be back with
flying colours—comforted the Colonel. Before leaving,
Colonel Dahiya also discussed some matrimonial proposal
for Captain Prashant with me, to which I smiled and said,
‘Sir, don’t be in a hurry to finalize since we are leaving in
the next two days. You’ll have an entire year to look for the
right match.’
The Delhi chapter was finally culminating, and our real
journey was about to commence. Delhi was a mix of
emotions. On the one hand I was to bid adieu to my family,
while on the other we had to move forward with utmost
coordination and harmony on a United Nations
Peacekeeping mission overseas. It’s ironic how the mind of a
peacekeeper could race like a tornado on the mere thought
of leaving their loved ones behind.
A barakhana* was organized for the contingent on the
closing night in Delhi. The camp was surrounded with the
bright faces of the soldiers whose spirits were flying high.
The boys were to travel to a nation they hadn’t heard of
before, almost an undiscovered territory. The breeze of
excitement gripped the night as everyone retreated to their
tents.
 #2

Beef Fiasco Mid-Air

28 December 1999

Finally, the momentous day of our departure arrived, and

Subedar Fateh got the entire company together. I addressed
my boys to wish them a pleasant journey and highlighted
the importance of a smooth induction, as, in my opinion, a
good outset is half the voyage. I also took a pledge from
every soldier to set standards of utmost sincerity and
conduct since hereafter, all of us were the ambassadors of
our nation. It would be our moral obligation to ensure that
no harm was inflicted on India’s prestige and that the image
of the Indian Army was not tarnished in any way.
Subedar Fateh, apart from being a soldier of the same
company, was also a guardian in disguise for his fellow
brethren. On his own initiative, he had ensured that every
soldier was self-sufficient for at least twenty-four hours,
preparing shakar paras* and puri sabzi† for everyone. This is
a standard procedure for any movement, regardless of the
distance to be travelled. The moment I finished talking to
the boys, Havildar Krishan Kumar walked up to me. He was
emotionally charged up, his nerves swelling with immense
love for his country, and his emotions muddling his words
spoken in chaste Dogri.* Teary-eyed, he expressed his fright
at the thought that he might not be able to come back. He
touched the soil of our motherland with his hands to
symbolically bid farewell to his nation that had made him
the soldier he was. He had been my driver for a long time in
the battalion, and I knew him intimately as an individual
with a very high emotional quotient. I hugged him and
dismissed his thoughts as an unnecessary apprehension,
and asked him to focus his energy on the mission with
paramount optimism.
The convoy of vehicles was lined up for movement from
our camp to the international airport, which at that point in
time did not have the facilities of the newly constructed
Terminal 3 of Indira Gandhi International Airport, New Delhi.
The last few minutes at the camp were rather emotional for
all of us, with the vibrations of our war cry, ‘Bharat Mata Ki
Jai (Long Live Mother India)’, filling the wind hovering over
us with ebullience and glory. The customary prayer was
conducted by Sepoy Vinod, who was doing the dual duty of
soldier and priest, post which the convoy started rolling with
a sea of blue berets. I bifurcated from the convoy to pick up
my family, who were also due to leave the same day by
train after seeing me off at the airport. My wife did the aarti†
before we left Taurus Hostel.
I was elated to see the civilian staff of Taurus Hostel, who
had lined up to see us off. They had become like an
extended family, considering the duration of our stay. Mr
Rautela, who was in charge of the civilian staff, wished me
luck and took a promise from me to stay with them again on
my return. On our way to the airport, I could see the eyes of
my better half well up. She held back her tears, and her
silent serenity was loud enough to shake my soul to its core.
I felt shivers down my spine as I bid goodbye to the love of
my life. Her downcast eyes were speaking a thousand words
only to convey sincere regret over her decision. However, I
knew that she was a very strong lady, and the three-year-
long separation had made her even stronger. At that
moment, I was short of words. So I took a deep breath and
held her hand tightly for the rest of the journey to the
airport.
My children were also quiet, as though away with the
fairies, probably remembering the struggle their mother had
to face head-on over the last three years. Reaching the
airport, I could see the excitement of the people present
there; they stood stargazing at all the uniformed soldiers in
blue berets, with the national colours on our chests. Finally,
the time had come to bid farewell to my wife and kids. A
silent stare, and just when I remembered my son telling me
‘Papa, you are my hero’, I couldn’t hold my composure any
more. I hugged my son and daughter with wet eyes, and my
wife joined us in the huddle. I could feel my wife’s hand
wiping the tears off my eyes—the watery eyes of a soldier in
uniform. Indeed, she was the daughter and wife of a soldier.
With fireworks in my chest, I picked up my luggage and
moved towards the departure gate. Realizing that I was
slightly behind schedule, I looked for Captain Sunil, who was
to wait for me at the security check while the rest of the
company went through immigration. Captain Sunil quickly
guided me through immigration and also informed me that
the chartered flight of Air Uzbekistan, which was to take us
to Sierra Leone, had already landed. The boarding was quite
smooth, and upon realizing the requirement of translating
the flight attendant’s announcement into Hindi, I deputed
Captain Sunil to do the needful. Post the announcement,
Captain Sunil was mocked by Captain Prashant for being
nominated as the stewardess. No flight in the world would
have been in such high spirits as was that Air Uzbekistan
flight at that moment in time, with chants of ‘Bharat Mata Ki
Jai’ echoing through the aisle while the aircraft was taxing
towards the runway.
The moment I reclined my seat, the thought of not seeing
my wife and kids for the next year gave me a sinking
feeling. I closed my eyes, covered my face with a
handkerchief and felt extremely sad for my children, who
had suddenly matured in the last three years. And now, the
thought of spending another year away made me feel the
guilt of not being able to share their childhood and not
being around when they needed me the most. My son took
up the responsibilities of the man of the house and
promised me that he would look after his mother and sister
the way I used to. I was worried only about one thing: that
my duty towards my country should in no way snatch my
children’s carefree childhood. When other dads were
teaching their kids how to swim or play a sport, here I was,
representing my country in a far-off land as my wife played
the dual roles without any furrow on her face.
Clouded with these thoughts and deeply engrossed in
guilt, I never realized when the flight took off. I was jolted
back to my senses by Captain Sunil, who shared the
disastrous news that our soldiers were served beef by the
flight attendant. I immediately inquired from Sunil whether
they had already eaten it, to which he said ‘yes’, and I
warned him against sharing this news with anyone. I called
for the pilot and explained to him how cows were
worshipped in India by a large population. But the problem
remained, as now there were very few vegetarian meals
available. I instructed Captain Sunil to ask Subedar Fateh to
tell our men to eat puri sabzi for the next meal and once
again cautioned Sunil to not share this mishap with anyone.
It was a long flight of around sixteen hours, which
ultimately took more time than expected due to a very long
refuelling halt. We were to halt for refuelling in Khartoum,
the capital of Sudan. Unfortunately, we landed there well
past midnight only to be welcomed by the airport personnel
informing that refuelling could happen only at first light, and
since we were a military aircraft, none of us were allowed to
deboard the plane. The aircraft was parked next to the
refuelling station, and the nozzle of the fuel dispenser was
our view from the window. I am sure our aircraft could well
have set a world record for maximum hours spent at a
refuelling station. I recall to date that the person who came
for refuelling in the morning simply said, ‘We don’t work at
night.’ That statement made me realize that it was
imperative to get used to the new environment, the ‘African
way of working’.
Finally, post the take-off from Khartoum, we were elated
to hear the announcement that we were about to land at
Lungi. The only international airport in Sierra Leone was in
Lungi, a coastal town in the Northern Province. Our advance
party had already reached Lungi with heavy equipment, and
the tented colony was already ready for our stay. As the
aircraft descended towards the runway, we could see the
magnificent crescent seashore and the tents pitched against
the backdrop of the uncluttered deep-blue sea extending as
far as the eyes could view—a dream location indeed. A deep
sense of ecstasy gripped us as we registered the fact that
this spectacular view would be our company location for the
next few days.
I was incredibly delighted to see that the personnel of our
advance party had reached right up to the aircraft to receive
us, as there were no security personnel at the airport. I was
told that no flights other than the United Nations chartered
aircraft were landing there. It seemed more like a military
airbase. Our personnel unloaded the baggage from the
cargo hold area and loaded it on to our vehicles, which were
parked right next to the aircraft. I once again confirmed
whether this was the only airport in Sierra Leone, and I was
told that it was so.
It was difficult to have envisaged a site like this. And now,
my most significant cause for concern was who would stamp
our passports, as without that we would be termed
clandestine immigrants. Naib Subedar Dewan, a Junior
Commissioned Officer who had come in the advance party,
informed me that he would get all the passports stamped
the next day from their immigration office, which was closed
on that particular day. I was thankful to the Almighty that
our pilot was so competent in his work as there weren’t any
marshallers at the runway to guide him towards the taxi
bay. Anyway, I understood the system and the prevailing
situation that had created a turbulent canopy over a rather
peaceful nation, which, ironically, had fought a bloody civil
war over the last decade. I ordered for a report post arrival,
and Captain Sudesh Razora, my Second-in-Command,
quickly got everyone to fall in.
A swift check was carried out before I was given an all-OK
report. I thanked the pilot and his team for a wonderful
flight, and we proceeded towards our camp, which was
pretty close to the runway. My God! What a sight it was—
crystal clear blue waters, white sand sparkling like
diamonds under the blinding sun, and the officers’ mess
along with the tents acting as a separating funnel between
the airport and the sea. The view stood as an apt metaphor
for the life of our soldiers—who are a perfect blend of the
might of the sky and the tranquillity of the sea.
I decided to look up the Commanding Officer to give him
the arrival report. He was in his office tent, which was
adjacent to the officers’ mess. Colonel Satish was pleased to
welcome me and asked me about my first impression of the
place, to which I replied with a question, ‘Sir, how long are
we going to stay here?’ He told me that nothing was fixed.
Hereafter, our further movement would be cleared by the
Force Headquarters, and lucky for us, the Force
Commander, Major General V.K. Jetley, was from India. He
did hint at least a month-long stay at Lungi and asked us to
commence the training after the initial settling-in.
I decided to look up the company location before I went to
my tent. It was around a kilometre away and again not very
far from the beach where we were putting up. The boys
were shifting in their baggage. Subedar Fateh, indicating the
bunch of local girls standing rather close to where we were,
wasn’t pleased with the security arrangement of our
company. I understood his concern and asked for a
concertina coil wire to be put around our camp.
I asked for the langar (kitchen) to be made functional at
the earliest and double sentries to be placed on all four
corners of our location, with a proper sentry post
constructed. While leaving, I asked Subedar Fateh to warn
everyone about the prevalence of AIDS in Sierra Leone, as
reported in a recent survey. The soldiers were given
adequate information about it so as to protect the larger
group. Moreover, in my opinion, as AIDS engulfed the
country, spreading rapidly through various means, our
soldiers, due to their constant interaction with local leaders,
could disseminate the same information to the wider
community.
 After a thorough check of the company arrangements, I
moved back to my tent. My whole life was settled in that
conical iron structure. The pictures of my wife and kids
framed in metal, with ‘My Happy Place’ engraved on it,
adorned my bedside table. My tent would be my home for
God knows how long, I thought, and I somehow had to
create the magic of home here, with tarpaulin and not
concrete, with sand and not tiles, with photos and not
people. The infectious cheer of my kids was replaced by the
gloomy sound of the sea. The feeling that I was miles and
miles away from home was finally sinking in, and with an
abundance of memories I slipped into deep slumber.
 #3

Lungi

Lungi is a provincial town in Port Loko District of the

Northern Province of Sierra Leone. It lies approximately forty
miles north of the district capital, Port Loko. In those days,
Lungi had a population of around 4000. It was best known
for being home to the Lungi International Airport. The sea
separates Lungi from Sierra Leone’s capital, Freetown.
The ferry service between the two towns seemed the
most convenient mode of transport. Some of the best hotels
and restaurants were in Lungi. However, there were hardly
any tourist activities in those days. Still, there were
historical monuments representing the rich cultural heritage
of Lungi, which also bore silent witness to tremendous
atrocities due to the civil war.
The ancient name of this town was Medina, and the
majority of residents followed Islam. One remarkable fact
about Sierra Leone is that religion was a matter of faith, and
there wasn’t a single incident of a riot as a result of
communal tension—something that could become a
takeaway point for India.
At this picturesque coastal town, the emerald ocean
contrasted magnificently with the glistening golden sand,
and even the international airport was across a sea estuary
from Freetown. You had to go a long way overland, so the
quickest and safest way was by ferry or boat. However,
today, a bridge connects Lungi and Freetown, making
commuting more comfortable and faster than before.
The sharp-featured and medium-built locals were primarily
fishermen who supplied their catch to Freetown. The native
population was conversant in English, since Sierra Leone
was a British colony until 1961. Lungi was part of the
government-controlled area, and there wasn’t any intense
threat of the RUF rebels. Even then, the locals had a lot of
stories to share about the RUF and also about the bloodiest
attack the year before on Freetown and Lungi, in which
thousands of people had lost their lives in Freetown. (Lungi
was lucky, since the significant weight of the RUF attack was
in Freetown as they intended to capture the capital city.)
After the initial settling-in at Lungi, I started the morning
physical fitness training of my company on the beach,
where we had the locals as spectators. The local people
were friendly and helpful, but they always asked for
financial assistance and food from the Blue Beret. Overall, I
found Lungi to be nature’s masterstroke, endowed with
beauty in abundance and a treat to the eye.
We were here as part of the Lomé Peace Agreement, to
which the RUF founder and leader, Foday Sankoh, was a
signatory. Still, it had two grey areas. Firstly, it didn’t have a
specified time given for the RUF’s disarmament. Secondly,
the disarmament process was termed ‘voluntary’ as per the
agreement. Given these two points, the immediate
deployment of the UN force, though it had arrived in the
country, was inadvertently delayed. I could foresee that our
stay in Lungi was going to be a little longer than anticipated.
As a result, our Commanding Officer instructed all Company
Commanders to focus on preparation for the following task:
gathering intelligence about the RUF and training.
Accordingly, I prepared a four-week schedule for intense
training, physical fitness and focus on overall preparedness
for the task ahead. The battalion was camping in an area
next to the airport, while the company was around a
kilometre away, which was enough to give me a free hand in
organizing my company’s training.
I have always been a dyed-in-the-wool fan of physical
fitness—it was the top priority as regards the training of a
soldier. At Lungi, our day would start at 0500 hours, with an
hour-long strenuous endurance exercise session and running
on the beach, followed by a dip in the sea. By then, our
breakfast would arrive, under the supervision of Subedar
Fateh. I doubt if any luxury hotel could compete with our
breakfast spread, given the quality and variety of ration we
were getting under UN Peacekeeping. There used to be a
little break of about half an hour post breakfast, which was
followed by weapons training, fieldcraft, tactical lectures,
route marches and compulsory patrolling for everyone in
the company. We would conclude the rather exhausting day
with a swim in the sea, witnessing the unwavering gaze of
the setting sun that slowly sank below the horizon—a
horizon that seemed to be stitched with a silver line.
There were a total of three platoons in our company, and
to sustain the interest of the boys and enhance the
competitive spirit, I started organizing inter-platoon
competitions. Occasionally, we would also set up ‘Company
Barakhana’ on the beach. Upon learning of our company
activities, Colonel Satish decided to join us for beach
volleyball to boost the morale of the soldiers. The evening
volleyball matches became very popular, with casual
betting on the platoon likely to win and the number of
spectators going up since, besides football, volleyball was a
much-loved sport in Sierra Leone. We ensured that after the
match, none of the locals left without having Indian tea.
Gradually, the locals became very fond of us, and a lot of
valuable intelligence regarding the RUF deployment,
strengths and tactics started trickling in. Despite rigorous
training and intense focus on physical fitness, our boys
enjoyed the daily routine, which enhanced the voluntary
participation by all ranks into our training schedule. I
remember our Commanding Officer appreciating our
training model; he even asked other Company Commanders
to replicate the same model.
After about two weeks of following this schedule, one
evening, when I went for my routine company round after
the game, I saw a visibly disturbed Subedar Fateh. He
confirmed my intuition by saying that there were 2–3 boys
of our company who were involved in philandering. I wanted
to arrest this trend here itself, and there were multiple
options available, including returning these boys to India.
But I was more concerned about the ripple effect of this
illegal and immoral activity on the honour and reputation of
our battalion. So, I had two different options: either to report
the matter to the headquarters, or to handle it at my level in
such a manner as to put an end to this trend here itself.
I had a long and honest chat with Subedar Fateh, who
requested me to take cognizance of the issue at my level
and make an example of these boys in a way that,
hereafter, nobody could even think of indulging in this sort
of licentious behaviour even in their wildest of dreams. Now,
the first issue was the confession by these boys before I
could proceed with the punishment. Fortunately, Subedar
Fateh had shared the names of the few boys who had been
witness to this. I called for these boys, and as anticipated,
they outrightly denied any wrongdoing in the company. I
then handed them their movement orders for going back to
India, which I had already prepared. Seeing the orders, they
started sobbing, and that was when Subedar Fateh pulled
them aside to give them a piece of his mind.
As expected, within a matter of five minutes they returned
to my office not only to confess but also to request the
hardest punishment possible. My intent behind arresting the
ripple effect guided me to make them stand in front of the
company and accept that they were guilty before I
proceeded with the field punishment as laid down under
military law. One positive thing that happened, as a result,
was that the company knew that their Company
Commander was vigilant enough to know about the covert
events taking place. To cap it all, I announced that the next
person getting into such nefarious activities would be
unceremoniously shunted back to India, and that legal
proceedings would be initiated against them when they set
foot in the Battalion Headquarters in India. But it must be
said that while the Indian contingent was initiating stringent
measures against such disgraceful acts, such was not the
case with the peacekeepers of other nations.
I once witnessed an aircraft surrounded by local girls and
tiny children at the Lungi airport. Upon inquiring, I learnt
that the plane was de-inducting the Nigerian soldiers of the
ECOMOG, who had been fighting the RUF before the arrival
of the UN force. These Nigerian soldiers had been here for
the last 3-4 years now. It was time for their departure, and
the girls surrounding their aircraft were their ‘bush wives’
who had come to see them off.
Besides that, I was well aware that the challenges and
tasks ahead of us would require seamless integration
among the Indian contingent’s personnel. We all belonged
to the Indian Army, wearing India on our shoulders, carrying
the honour of the tricolour in our hearts and in our minds
the memories of our fallen brethren who sacrificed
themselves for the dignity of our motherland. We were an
army that swore allegiance to the Constitution of India and
strove to uphold its core values of unity and brotherhood.
Hence, our soldiers not pacing forward as one was a matter
to be dealt with amicably, as petty regimental issues could
in no way be allowed to wither the prestige of our nation in
an alien land with an impending task ahead of us.
The orders came in that the battalion was to get deployed
in two places, viz. Daru and Kailahun. Kailahun was the most
challenging deployment since it was the RUF headquarters
and was bang on the border with Liberia towards the
western-most point of Sierra Leone. Earlier, Kailahun was
part of the Kenyan deployment. Eventually, they declined
and, despite his best efforts, the Force Commander General
Jetley could not enforce it since the Kenyans gave a written
order against the deployment. There were also countries
with vested interests in having Sierra Leone as their
operational base—they preferred to be deployed in diamond
areas only.
So, there were severe deployment issues that the Force
Headquarters was battling with, as on the one hand the
area of mobilization was changing day after day, on the
other, the headquarters had to keep a check on the
possibility of illicit activities that might take place in the
guise of peacekeeping. Coming back to the integration issue
of the Indian contingent and the orders for Kailahun being
the area of our deployment. After every other nation’s
denial, our mobilization process had to begin at the earliest.
I was lucky in this, as apart from my company, the other
company to be deployed at Kailahun was Major Nair’s
company, and owing to the bond that Major Nair and I
shared, the bonhomie could be ensured in our area of
operation. I believe Colonel Satish had well appreciated the
importance of the Kailahun region as also the fantastic bond
Major Nair and I shared. Therefore, despite the integration of
soldiers being a cause for concern, there was no issue
regarding the deployments in Kailahun. Today, when I look
back, I am more than convinced of the importance of the
lateral relationship between leaders or commanders, which
trickles down to their units and their men.
The radio communication network of the 5/8 Gorkha Rifles
was an absolute hit, as messages were relayed in no time. I
found it very useful, and hence, for easy access, I made it
imperative for all company appointment holders to be
available on a different channel. I ensured efficient
communication as through that, further orders could be
disseminated and corrected in no time. Hence, by zapping
or surfing channels, I could move from the battalion to the
company channels, and I also noted that this practice had to
be ‘taken home’ once we got back to India.
While the different companies of the battalion were each
gearing up for their move to the allotted areas of
deployment, one evening, Major Anil Raman, the Adjutant*
of 5/8 Gorkha Rifles, announced that the Republic Day of our
nation was approaching. Our Force Commander, General
Jetley, wanted to celebrate the day on a grand scale in
Freetown, and all battalion officers were to attend the
celebrations. Suddenly, there was a rush of enthusiasm in
the evening breeze, and the excitement over the idea of a
visit to Freetown made us all grin from ear to ear. The event
was to take place three days later, and due to scarcity of
time, everyone started working out plans. A conference,
chaired by Colonel Satish, was also convened to figure out
the arrangements that needed to be made.
The Force Headquarters had to fall back on 5/8 Gorkha
Rifles for all administrative arrangements, as this was our
national event in a foreign land. I was pleasantly surprised
to learn about the large Indian diaspora staying in Freetown,
who were extended an invitation to the Republic Day event.
Major Ramesh Yadav, an intelligence officer, was part of 5/8
Gorkha Rifles as their Public Relations Officer (PRO). He was
tasked with the job of ensuring the attendance of everyone
of Indian descent residing in Freetown.
Major Yadav and I went to Freetown the very next day,
considering the time constraint, to try and contact as many
Indian-origin people as possible and request them to attend
the event, which was to be graced by the presence of the
President of Sierra Leone besides other dignitaries. This was
my first trip to Freetown, though Major Yadav had been
there on several occasions. There was a UN-chartered ferry
that took our white Gypsy across the sea, and from there,
we drove down the streets of Freetown. In the United
Nations mission, there aren’t any assigned drivers. It is
expected of everyone to drive their vehicles themselves,
and all the vehicles in Sierra Leone had left-hand steering
control, which made our Gypsy, with its right-hand control
system, stand out.
Major Yadav, being the PRO, had already developed links
in Freetown, which came in handy when we were looking to
contact people of Indian descent, who seemed to have
created a niche for themselves in a foreign nation. On my
request, Major Yadav agreed for an advertisement about the
forthcoming event in the local newspaper the following day.
It was a hard day’s work but satisfying nonetheless, as we
had left no stone unturned.
 Hence, we deserved a glass of beer before we took the
ferry back to Lungi. The local restaurant in Freetown had a
variety of beers, from Cobra to Hunter, and a 200 ml can
cost 3000 leones; it was like getting a bottle of beer in India
for Rs 10,000. But irrespective of the cost, we enjoyed our
glass of beer and headed back for Lungi.
The Republic Day celebration had to be a grand success.
The main thing on which the success of the event depended
was the turnout of the Indian diaspora, a problem that we
had already addressed pretty well. As anticipated, it was a
splendid evening which continued far beyond midnight, and
after the President’s departure, the merrymaking multiplied
manifold. Everyone was in high spirits. It was a first-of-its-
kind event in Sierra Leone since our arrival, and everyone
had worked earnestly to make the Republic Day celebrations
a success.
The Force Commander was present till the end and was
very supportive throughout. We had to take the ferry route
back to our tents in Lungi, since the stay at Freetown would
have stretched our administration. In any case, nobody
objected to a night ferry ride post a fantastic party—it was
the perfect end to an eventful day. The previous night’s
celebration was much needed to gear us up for the tasks we
had to undertake.
The only thing missing for me in those days was not being
able to hear from my wife, owing to the lack of telephone
connectivity. During that time, owning a residential
telephone was not only a matter of great pride but also a
huge luxury that everyone couldn’t afford. Moreover, it
wasn’t an easy task to get a telephone connection. There
used to be long waiting periods that we in the army couldn’t
accept due to the nature of our job, which required frequent
postings. Therefore, it was a priority task for me, before I
departed from India, to get my family access to a telephone
at home. I had deputed the most reliable signal Non-
Commissioned Officer (NCO) from my battalion at Babina, to
get an out-of-turn connection from the telephone exchange
in Jhansi. I had handed over all the requisite letters of
urgency concerning my foreign deputation to Havildar
Faquir Singh, my Signal NCO, before I left Babina.
The news that the telephone had been installed, shared
by my wife in one of her letters, was like music to my ears. I
decided to dial the number from the ISD facility available at
Lungi airport immediately after my morning prayer.
Standing in front of the telephone booth at the airport,
dialling those oh-so-precious numbers and waiting for an
answer from that transcontinental distance gave me
butterflies in my stomach. The telephone ring I heard was
like the ringing of bells in a temple where I was eagerly
waiting for my prayers to be answered, and my prayer, my
soul, my wife did answer the phone. Her melodious ‘Hello’
made me fall in love with her all over again; it was a
moment when the world came to a halt.
In my excitement, I hadn’t even calculated the time
difference. It was midnight in India, but there she was,
energetic as a small child on a happy morning. After that,
calling my family on an everyday basis became a part of my
routine. As the ISD facility was only available in Lungi, I
wanted to utilize it for as long as we were here.
I also made sure that I was writing a letter home almost
every alternate day. Thanks to the swift services of 1 Central
Base Postal Office (CBPO) of the Indian Army, the letters
moved back and forth at a fast pace. Located in New Delhi,
1 CBPO is specially designated for military correspondence
to all foreign countries. The charm of receiving a letter has
no substitute. Unfortunately, today’s generation has
somehow missed out on this beautiful experience, which is
beyond compare. I still wonder how merely the sight of an
envelope was enough to transmit vibrations of joy and how
putting the envelope in your pocket could evoke a feel-good
experience.
On those afternoons when I received a letter from home,
the lunch would suddenly turn delicious, irrespective of the
menu. Post lunch, while lying in bed, I would open the
envelope, which was a source of the utmost happiness. It’s
fascinating how, in times when you’re away from family,
little things can cause euphoria and paint your life with
kaleidoscopic hues. They hold considerably more eminence
over any other remarkable triumph. In an age when SMSes
and tweets have given us the ability to collect our thoughts
and transmit them in a quarter of a second, there is no
denying that the warm solicitude associated with a
handwritten letter has no replacement.
Meanwhile, unofficial inputs, concerning our further
movement to the deployment areas, were trickling down.
The stay in Lungi had been more than satisfying, and the
mere thought of bidding goodbye to the place was
becoming unbearable. Lungi also had a special place in our
hearts because the road taking us home would pass through
this town, which has the only airport in the country. We
didn’t even realize how the past few weeks had flown past,
like a cool breeze, in no time.
Our Battalion Headquarters had given us the warning
order for movement. Colonel Satish wanted the entire
battalion group to move to Daru, and subsequently, two
companies would stage forward to Kailahun. We were
currently deployed in the western area and were required to
cross the entire country’s width to reach the extreme
eastern point that is Daru, which was like a jetty, with
Guinea to its north and Liberia to its south.
Sierra Leone is divided into four administrative provinces:
the Western area, primarily around Freetown—where we
were at that moment—and three other regions called the
Northern, Eastern and Southern provinces. Back then, each
province had several districts that were administered into
various chiefdoms headed by a paramount chief called the
Papa Giema. The chiefdoms were further divided into
sections and then into villages at the bottom of the pyramid.
The capital of the Eastern Province, where we were
heading, was Kenema. This region comprised three districts,
namely Kenema, Kono and Kailahun. For us, the terrain was
also going to change: from the coastal area to the
mountainous with intricate jungles. Though it was located at
a height of not more than 3000 feet, it was the density of
the forest and not the altitude that was the cause of grave
distress. The network of roads hadn’t been developed to the
optimum. The only smooth way to get there was through
the road connecting Freetown with Kenema via Boa, and
further movement beyond Kenema was again on a poorly
maintained road. The Eastern Province was rich in natural
resources, including diamonds, and shifting agriculture was
practised by the local Mende people.
The total distance to be covered between Lungi and Daru
was around 350 km, and considering the fact that the roads
for most of the journey up to Kenema were adequately
carpeted with concrete, we planned to cover the distance up
to Daru in a day.
As per plan, the advance party was to move a day prior,
under Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma, and I was to take
the main body by road, for which a fair amount of briefings
and coordination had commenced, considering the number
of vehicles. Finally, it was decided that the main body would
move in two sections, the first under me and the second
under Major Nair. As this was the first convoy movement in
Sierra Leone post the civil war, we didn’t want to create
unnecessary caution among the RUF cadres. We were also
instructed to be self-contained for a week. This drill of the
Indian Army regarding self-containment is a tested and
proven initiative. As events unfold, you would realize that it
was imperative to be self-sufficient even if it was just a day-
long journey. All the preparations for the impending move
were in place, and I was glad that besides the officers of my
company, even Major Yadav, the PRO, was part of the
convoy.
 #4

String of Pearls on the Boulevard

Finally, the ‘D-Day’ of our movement from Lungi, 1 February

2000, was just a twilight away. Despite the main body
moving in two convoys for facilitating control, the number of
load-carrying heavy-haul vehicles was twoscore, and hence I
realized that it was going to be an outstretched convoy. I
passed a strict mandate for the loading of all vehicles to be
completed by nightfall of the previous day, and for the
vehicles to begin moving at first light on 1 February.
We decided to take the Freetown–Bo–Kenema highway as
it was well trodden and correspondingly, route charts were
prepared and issued to every vehicle. A conference of all
vehicle commanders was organized at dusk, on the eve of
the momentous day, post the lining up of vehicles in the
sequence of the move.
Serial numbers were written on sheets of paper and
pasted on every single vehicle. Captain Sudesh was
nominated to follow in the last vehicle, with the recovery
conveyance under his command, whereas Captain Sunil was
to be with the first vehicle, with instructions not to go ‘pedal
to the metal’ and maintain the speed of 50 km/hr. All
preliminaries were in place, and I went for a final stage
check of every vehicle and met their drivers and
commanders before I hit the sack.
We were to move at first light, and—my God!—witnessing
a group of locals who had gathered to bid farewell to us was
a sight to behold. Words fail me. The warmth extended by
the local community, the folk tunes of the region they
hummed for us, would be etched in our hearts for eternity.
Filled with gratitude, we bid adieu to Lungi and its residents
and embarked on our journey, all vehicles moving in
tandem. The sight of ebullient young children running
behind my Gypsy made me marvel as to how such a brief
stay had sculpted a rooted nexus with the local community.
With these musings in my heart, I waved at the locals,
whom we kept seeing gathered on the roads till we crossed
Lungi.
A ginormous convoy of around fifty white-coloured United
Nations vehicles, including the twoscore heavy-duty load
carriers, appeared like a string of frosted pearls on a richly
picturesque highway. The fleet was to cross the entire
breadth of a nation torn by a bloody civil war that had lasted
over a decade. I realized that the thunderous cheering by
the locals had continued even after we crossed Lungi. We
were carrying a ray of hope for the destitute citizens of
Sierra Leone, a nation rich in natural resources.
After being on the move for about two hours, we halted
for breakfast. I decided the port of call in an open stretch
along the road to avoid any built-up area. The view was
captivatingly pristine, with the cloudless sky beaming like a
diamond, clear and shiny. With verdant plains on either side
of the road, it was a sight for sore eyes.
Much to my astonishment, the moment we halted, the
local people ploughing the fields gathered around the
convoy, and I could discern the slogans, ‘Welcome United
Nations’, that gave us new vigour. After the quick breakfast,
I ensured that shakar paras were distributed to the locals
before we proceeded further.
As we progressed, I could see a distinct change in the
landscape. From the coastal area, we had entered a vast
and perfectly level stretch, with lots of undergrowth and
trees and distinct regions cleared for paddy cultivation.
Throughout the voyage, the radio sets were a great asset,
as Captain Sunil in the leading vehicle was able to tip
everyone off about impending stumbling blocks, like
culverts, bottlenecks and built-up areas during the journey.
I was happy that despite top-notch roads, the youngster in
the front vehicle wasn’t moving beyond 50 km/hr, and so all
were moving together as a convoy. Also, I was satisfied that
Captain Sudesh hadn’t reported any breakdown. Lucky for
us, since we were getting deployed into a new mission, we
were in possession of brand-new vehicles.
Things were moving as planned. However, my intuition
kept warning me of some untoward incident that might take
place, so I ensured rigorous ‘convoy discipline’. Major Yadav,
the PRO, who had shifted to my vehicle after breakfast, was
also in an agreement that the RUF would not permit us to
move into their heartland so smoothly. I was driving with
Major Yadav in the front seat when I contemplated possible
reactions from us in case the RUF stopped our convoy. Both
of us agreed that it would be too premature to get into any
confrontation with the RUF since it was the beginning of the
mission, and our priority should be to complete our
deployment on ground.
I was looking for an appropriate location for our lunch
stoppage. Finally, we decided to halt before Kenema, since
stretching to Kenema would have been too late for lunch.
The arduous stretch of our journey was ahead of Kenema,
both in terms of the quality of the road as well as the fact
that we had set foot in the RUF heartland.
The lunch halt was similar to the one we had had for
breakfast, with the locals surrounding us. This time, a small
delegation insisted on meeting me, and Subedar Fateh
brought them over. They reported RUF atrocities, which was
evident looking at the number of amputees accompanying
this delegation. I was appalled to see children with their
hands cut off. It was very unsettling to hear their life stories
full of monstrosities inflicted by the RUF. However, they
were delighted to see the UN force, and the senior person in
the group wanted to honour me with a garland. The honour
bestowed by them in the middle of nowhere further
strengthened my conviction to bring stability and normality
for the people of the region. Yet again, we distributed food
to each of them, and they were elated and shouted slogans
against the RUF.
Post lunch, the convoy ventured into Kenema, the capital
of the Eastern Province and the second-largest city of Sierra
Leone. At first glance, one could make out that it was the
trade centre of the country, with shops and markets all
around. Kenema had a sizeable Portuguese population. Our
convoy was welcomed with a standing ovation—people
stood on both sides of the road. We could see ‘Diamond
Merchant’ written on several signboards outside shops in
Kenema, which was part of Kono District, the region with the
maximum number of diamond mines in the country. The
town was an amalgam of prosperity and poverty, with a vast
monetary chasm between its rich and poor residents.
Our convoy steered through the entire city, with lots of
cheering and beating of drums by the locals. The loud
chants of ‘Welcome, Welcome’ were pleasing to the ear. We
replied by waving at the crowd. Since we passed through
the city with the convoy moving at a languid speed, the
locals came forward to shake hands with us.
We decided against halting in Kenema as we had already
taken about half an hour to pass through the city. Finally, we
were on the road to Daru. The condition of the road ahead
of Kenema was enough to indicate that we were soon going
to enter the RUF heartland. The landscape changed from
winsome plains to rugged and desolate mountains, tangled
forest with thick undergrowth on both sides of the narrow,
broken gravel road. We anticipated 2–3 hours’ drive through
the jungle before we could reach Daru; luckily for us, around
the same time was left before sunset, and I wanted to reach
Daru before nightfall.
But suddenly, the convoy halted, and Captain Sunil
informed me of some sort of barrier ahead. I quickly
dismounted and came forward to see a thread attached to
two poles, blocking the road, and a gritty, fierce-looking
soldier standing with his gun. I asked the soldier who he was
and what he was doing there. To date, his words amuse me,
‘My name is last order, and the last order for me is you NO,
GO.’
I asked Captain Sunil to remove the thread and continue
moving forward. Hearing which the soldier made some
noise, as if it were a code. Almost instantaneously, we could
hear lots of movement from the surrounding trees in the
thick jungle. Suddenly, there appeared a section of RUF
soldiers. Their commander told Captain Sunil that he could
‘No, Go’.
By now, Major Yadav had also reached the leading vehicle.
He immediately sensed the situation, took me to one side
and reminded me of our discussion about avoiding any sort
of skirmish with the RUF until we completed our
deployment. I wanted to see their reaction, so I asked
Captain Sunil to let the first vehicle move forward, but the
RUF soldiers pranced in front of the vehicle. Their
commander was very firm in saying that he had no
instructions about our movement, so we couldn’t go ahead.
I asked my radio operator to make me speak with the
Commanding Officer. In no time, I was talking to Colonel
Satish, who asked for my assessment of the situation and
the options available on the ground. In the army, the
analysis of the ‘man on the ground’ is always honoured. I
said we had three options: first, to fight our way through;
second, to halt in the jungle for the night since it was
getting close to last light; and third, to retreat to Kenema for
the night halt and try moving the next day. After taking
cognizance of the situation, I recommended the third option.
No immediate decision came from Colonel Satish till he
could speak to the Force Commander, who initially was in
favour of the first option. Ultimately, I think Colonel Satish
could convince him about the third option, and here we
were facing the mammoth challenge of turning the convoy
back on a narrow track in the middle of a thick jungle.
It wasn’t easy, but we somehow managed to get back to
Kenema much after last light. I decided to camp for the
night in an open stretch. Limited tents were pitched, since
Subedar Fateh preferred that most soldiers should sleep in
the vehicles. Major Yadav pulled my leg saying it seemed
that I liked the beauty of Kenema and that was why I
immediately recommended option three, of getting back to
Kenema. I smiled and said that I now know the rationale
behind Major Yadav’s recommendation to me!
The following day’s newspaper was full of articles about
the RUF not allowing movement of the United Nations
Peacekeeping contingent into their stronghold of the
Kailahun District. The headlines highlighted the fact that the
RUF had turned their back on the Lomé Peace Agreement
and was creating obstacles in the overall peace process.
One odd newspaper had also appreciated the peacekeepers’
restraint in not forcing their way into Daru. Overall, we were
satisfied with what had been flashed in the paper, and the
Battalion Headquarters indicated that I should organize the
company into a temporary camp at Kenema, as any further
movement could happen only once the orders were received
from the Force Headquarters, which might take some time.
I could reasonably apprehend the strategy of not
displaying urgency for our movement since now the RUF
was on the back foot. I further realized that our initial plan
of being self-contained for a week would act like a lifesaver
for us in the current scenario.
I decided to look for a suitable location for our camp.
Fortunately for me, the Mayor of Kenema visited us and was
forthcoming in offering us a local school building with a
huge ground for our camp, since the schools were closed for
holidays. Our immediate priority was to organize ourselves
into a proper camp and establish the langar, so that food
could be made available for all. In no time, the tasks were
underway.
I decided to visit the city and personally thank the heads
of government of the Eastern Provinces through the Mayor.
Upon meeting the Mayor, I was informed that the President
of Sierra Leone, Ahmad Tejan Kabbah, was in town. The
Mayor suggested that he would arrange my meeting with
the President that evening, which I agreed to and
accordingly, the meeting was fixed. Since the Mayor didn’t
have access to any form of direct communication with me,
he passed the message through the team of military
observers of the United Nations who were located in
Kenema. The observer team of the UN passed on the
message to me through the UN Force Headquarters located
in Freetown. As a result, the Force Headquarters started
questioning the Battalion Headquarters in Lungi about my
agenda behind meeting the President. After a full spiral, the
news reached me through the radio channel when a visibly
distressed radio operator came running to me with the
message that ‘CO Saab’* would like to speak to me urgently.
For the first time, I heard Colonel Satish in a black mood
because of my intent to meet the President without
informing the Battalion Headquarters.
I immediately understood the entire confusion. But
despite my explanation, I failed to convince Colonel Satish,
who was upset with me for a long time after that. The
protocol demanded that I go for the meeting once it had
been fixed. So I went for this typical courtesy meeting,
where the President appreciated our restraint action and
assured me that he would take up the matter with the RUF
hierarchy. He promised to find a way so that the United
Nations peacekeepers could access all areas within the
national boundaries of Sierra Leone, including the RUF
stronghold.
I was delighted to learn that the President belonged to the
Kailahun district; he was from Pendembu, a town between
Daru and Kailahun. He wished me luck, and I sincerely
thanked him for taking out time from his busy schedule. It
was indeed a memorable meeting, an experience that I
would cherish for a lifetime, as it was my first interaction
with the head of a nation. However, it came at the cost of
annoying my Commanding Officer, which I regret to date.
After the meeting with the President, I started getting lots
of visitors, including senior government officials and political
leaders of different parties in Kenema. I thought of inviting
the top dignitaries over as a gesture of goodwill for our
comfortable stay at Kenema, and that was when the idea of
inviting them for an Indian dinner at our camp crossed my
mind.
We made it a point to offer them Old Monk rum as an
Indian specialty before dinner. The dinner was a typical
Indian curry, butter chicken, vegetables, tandoori roti and
kheer as a dessert. I cannot describe how ecstatic our
guests were that evening, and so was I, as I had achieved
my aim of extracting pivotal information about the RUF
through the informal interactions. I learnt about the RUF
guerrilla tactics and how they used terror as a tool of
warfare. I further learnt about their areas of deployment and
the weapons they used in Sierra Leone. In my opinion, the
background work lays the ground for a victorious feat.
Besides our interactions with senior dignitaries of Kenema,
Major Yadav and I used to continually venture into the town
to feel the local pulse. As part of these reciprocities, we
came across a local diamond merchant who explained to us
how diamonds had been the root cause of the misery faced
by the people of Sierra Leone. We learnt that the RUF, which
was initially formed with the noble motive to fight
corruption, was lured into diamond smuggling by Liberia.
Diamonds were supplied to most developed and prosperous
countries around the world through Liberia. As a quid pro
quo, the RUF started receiving the most sophisticated
weapons and also drugs from nations that were associated
with the smuggling of raw diamonds.
The diamond merchant also went on to explain the
Nigerian interest in diamonds and how the ECOMOG, a force
primarily headed by Nigeria, tried to forcefully control the
diamond areas but eventually lost to the RUF since all the
mines in Sierra Leone were under RUF control. He was
confident that despite the Lomé Peace Agreement, the RUF
would not give anyone access to the diamond areas, not
even to the United Nations forces. The Government of Sierra
Leone tried their best to control the mines over the last
decade but with no success.
Diamond was the root cause for the bloodiest civil war
that was fought for over a decade in Sierra Leone, where
thousands of people had lost their lives, with an equal
number of survivors who had lost their limbs. I was shocked
to learn how the luminous shine of the diamonds of Africa
had diluted the red stains that painted the nation with the
brush of barbarity. He further narrated some horrifying
stories, which became increasingly tough to swallow, but
stated factual nonetheless—he was reiterating the same
things shared with us by a delegation which had met us en
route to Kenema.
To further utilize my time in Kenema, I decided to visit the
United Nations military observers’ office in Kenema with an
intent to gather maximum information about Kailahun and
the RUF. I must explain here that the UN military observers’
primary role is to report about the incidents and activities
taking place in their area to the UN headquarters. The UN
observers do not have weapons and are not geared up to
fight. Before the induction of the military contingent, the
observer mission gets deployed in the country. Even the
Kenema observer group of the UN had been there for almost
twelve months now. So, I wanted to harness their expertise
and domain knowledge.
Upon arriving, I was received by the head of the observer
mission, a Colonel, and after the initial introduction, he took
me around their office and living areas. All the observer
missions of the UN are self-contained, as there is no
administrative support for their cooking or other necessities,
and most of the officers of these missions cook on their
own. They also lack military assistance to facilitate easy
access to the local people into these missions. Each
observer mission team is a group of 8–10 officers, from
different countries and diverse backgrounds, who work as a
cohesive group for one whole year before the turnover could
occur. A course-mate of mine, Major R.P. Kalita, was also
part of the Kenema observer team, and I was thrilled to
meet my brother officer miles away from home.
Thereafter, I was briefed in detail about Kailahun town,
where, as I learnt, the first brigade of the RUF, commanded
by Colonel Martin, was responsible for the entire Kailahun
District. I was told that Colonel Martin was a young lad,
thirty years old, and belonged to Liberia. The RUF brigade
was further divided into specific areas under various
companies, and the RUF company commanders were
accountable for their respective areas of responsibility.
Also, since the Sierra Leone military had no presence in
those areas, border management with Guinea and Liberia
was handled by the RUF. The RUF basked in the comfort of
tremendous local support extended to them in Kailahun, and
that was how it became their heartland. With easy access to
Liberia from Kailahun, it was a region conducive for the
rebels, as their illegal supply line from Liberia could run
without any intervention from the state or the military. The
then President of Liberia, Charles Taylor, and the RUF
founder, Foday Sankoh, had worked together as soldiers and
shared an intrinsic bond.
Overall, my visit to the observer base was productive. I
noted down the crucial information that was provided.
During the lunch that followed, I witnessed their outstanding
culinary skills. Major Kalita also told me that on that
particular day, his duty was to clean the utensils—that was
how they divided chores at their base. The day, with the
scrumptious lunch, was pretty satisfying. I thanked all the
members for their hospitality and left for our camp.
Upon reaching the camp, I finally received the much-
awaited message from our Battalion Headquarters to
commence our move to Daru the next day. The previous
four days we had spent in Kenema were like a blessing in
disguise, since I had managed to gather a plethora of
valuable intelligence that would assist me in my task ahead.
I immediately passed instructions for our move and could
witness the smiling faces of our soldiers who had been
wondering for the last four days about the future course of
action. Again, the winding up of the camp started, with the
loading of non-essentials first and the balance of the camp
loaded post-dinner. As per ritual, packed breakfast and
lunch for the following day were prepared in the morning
before the commencement of the move. I must share that
the night before any movement, the langar hardly sleeps, as
after winding up the dinner preparations, it starts preparing
for the next day’s breakfast and lunch.
On our final evening in Kenema, Major Yadav and I
decided to meet the Mayor. Despite our best efforts to
refuse, we had to stay back for dinner on his insistence. The
Mayor, Christopher Loko, a man of roughly forty-five years,
had three wives and was a Christian by faith. He took us
through the journey of his life. He told us that he was born
in a poor fisherman family in Freetown and went on to
narrate how his lust for diamonds brought him to Kenema, a
place that played a significant role in shaping his life.
In Kenema, he went on to join the Civil Defence Force
when the clash between the government forces and the RUF
began. The Civil Defence Force was constituted by the
government to defend Kenema, and he mentioned how their
force could push back the RUF for over two years.
Ultimately, the RUF, which was a force to be reckoned with,
made them surrender in their territory of combat. As a
result, he was made a hostage by the RUF and later
released as part of the peace initiative of President Ahmad
Tejan Kabbah, who had a mass appeal even in the RUF
camps. This incident brought Christopher close to Ahmad
Tejan Kabbah. When Dr Kabbah became the President, he
nominated Christopher as the Mayor of Kenema.
Our respect for the Mayor increased manifold on learning
that he had fought the most deadly civil war against the
RUF rebels. That evening, we bore witness to a very
emotional side of the Mayor’s personality. But due to time
constraints, we soon bid him farewell. The final word of
advice by the valiant soldier who had fought the RUF to me
was that the RUF respects a soldier who stands his ground
under adverse conditions.
We were quite late by the time we reached the camp, but
I was relieved to get a ‘ready to move’ report from Subedar
Fateh. Upon inquiring about the company’s morale, Subedar
Fateh replied, ‘High hai, saab (It’s high, sir).’
 #5

From the Plains of Kenema to the Tangled

Forests of Daru

At first light, after the customary prayer and a war cry of

‘Bharat Mata Ki Jai’, which was a tradition before any move,
we commenced our journey. There was grit in the eyes of
the soldiers, and the wheels started rolling with a very firm
grip. This time, I had placed my vehicle in the lead, with the
strong conviction that, come hell or high water, the convoy
would not turn back.
I remember the RUF soldier still being there, and the
thread still stretched—this was the RUF’s bullheadedness.
But this time, it wasn’t the ‘last order’ but an unfamiliar
face, who, seeing our convoy approaching, removed the
thread and followed the act with an unexpected smart
salute. The soldier’s salute to the UN Commander was
testimony to a turnaround in the prevailing ground situation.
Though the wilderness was becoming dense as we moved
ahead and the trail in the wild was in bad shape, we kept
rolling forward. I was lost in deep thought about what had
transpired in terms of our stay at Kenema, which was
undoubtedly a godsend. Being a firm believer in destiny, I
thanked the Almighty for putting it in my share of fortune.
 The journey from Kenema to Daru took around three
hours, and I decided to stop for breakfast midway. At the
halt location, I instructed the company for a strict harbour
drill, wherein the soldier is in a tactical position to counter
enemy action. So, the breakfast halt was a unique one, right
in the middle of the matted jungle with sentries guarding all
corners. Post breakfast, the convoy moved again, this time
only to halt in Daru.
From the time we learnt that our Battalion Headquarters
would be located in ‘Daru’, the name thrilled us, for the
word’s literal meaning in Hindi is ‘country liquor’. We all
were looking forward to ‘Daru’, both kinds. Despite the
name, Daru was a very sleepy town, with fewer than 1000
people. The vast majority of people in the town were from
the Mende ethnic group. The town was formerly the
terminus of a now-closed railway line that used to
commence from Freetown.
The only positive thing that we discovered immediately on
our arrival was that Daru was home to one of the most
extensive military barracks in Sierra Leone. During the
British colonial rule, Daru was the forward-most cantonment
in the Eastern Province, where a complete battalion used to
be deployed. So, the first thing which struck us was that
there was no requirement of tents as the accommodation
was adequate for everyone, including the stores. The British
used to control the areas right up to the Liberian border,
including Kailahun, by patrolling.
Moreover, the barracks were massive in size, with high-
quality construction. The barracks at Daru were referred to
as ‘Moa barracks’, since they were located on the banks of
Moa River. Originating from Liberia, the Moa connects
Kailahun with Daru and flows along the border with Guinea
for a fair distance. It is a perennial river that terminates in
the Atlantic Ocean and had probably been a means of inland
waterways in the past.
Daru assumed importance as a result of its proximity to
Kenema, the provincial capital. Back in the day, it used to be
the final destination towards the east for all government
agencies. It would be correct to say that the actual RUF
territory started ahead of Daru. Despite the Lomé Peace
Agreement, there was zero presence of any government
institution ahead of the Daru jurisdiction.
Nevertheless, Daru did have several NGOs that were
operational, and our task was to establish a ‘Disarmament,
Demobilization and Reintegration’ (DDR) camp in Daru. This
was the fundamental task of 5/8 Gorkha Rifles, with two
companies to safeguard Daru and establish a DDR camp.
There were four companies in the battalion, of which my
company, along with Major Nair’s, were to move forward to
Kailahun. The balance two companies were to be deployed
at Daru. Hence, it would be imperative to understand that
the real challenge lay beyond Daru, towards Kailahun,
where the ‘jungle raj’* of the RUF was still prevalent as there
wasn’t any government agency in that region. We could
figure out now why the Kenyans had refused to be deployed
at Kailahun. However, we were to progress towards Kailahun
only once the DDR camps had been set up at Daru.
Subsequently, the surrendered RUF soldiers from Kailahun
were to be directed towards the DDR camp at Daru, and
hence DDR was the primary requirement even for the
Kailahun force.
The DDR camps were imperative as all the surrendered
rebels of the RUF were to be accommodated in these camps
for as long as the entire process of their reintegration and
rehabilitation was completed. Rehabilitation of these rebels
involved vocational training post laying down weapons to
make them fit for a profession like carpentry, masonry, etc.
Such training needed time, and the skills had to be imparted
as that would be their means of livelihood after bidding
goodbye to the bush life. For an RUF soldier, an incentive for
laying down weapons was money—somewhere around
US$300, which was to be given to them in two instalments
of US$150 each. The first instalment of US$150 had to be
given immediately on surrender, and the balance was to be
given post completion of the rehabilitation training. US$300
was an enormous amount, as it was equal to one million
leones, quite enough to entice the rebels. So, a rebel could
become a millionaire overnight after laying down arms. This
was the RUF’s most significant concern, since the money
attached was so high that it became increasingly
challenging for them to prevent their cadres from defecting.
Furthermore, the government was urging the UN forces to
establish DDR camps in order to commence the process of
disarmament in the shortest possible time. Setting up a DDR
camp was a tough row to hoe. Many government agencies
and NGOs had to be involved in the administration process,
since both the stay and meals of the surrendered rebels had
to be arranged in the camp, along with their training in
selected professions. Hence, after the arrival of our
Commanding Officer, Colonel Satish, the first conference
was convened with matters pertaining to the establishment
of the DDR camp.
We had to ensure easy access to the RUF rebels coming
from the bush. Therefore, the camp location couldn’t be in
our garrison and had to be towards the eastern periphery of
Daru, as the bush, or the territory of the RUF, commenced
from that side. That being the case, an area was earmarked,
and subsequent work for the setting up of shelters began on
a war footing.
 Here, I must state that the pace at which the UN could
mobilize resources through the aerial route was
commendable. Helicopters brought in not only construction
material for the shelters that had to be erected but also
carried our infantry combat vehicles, BMPs,* in an under-
slung mode. In the twinkling of an eye, the DDR camp was
visible on the ground, which had been entirely barren a few
days back. Also, we pitched our tents to further reinforce
the shortage of shelters, and in a fortnight, the DDR camp
was set up. Simultaneously, we were also working on the
management aspect of this camp, especially concerning
documentation and other administrative requirements.
Daru was like a fence between the DDR camp and the
Moa barracks, as we were on the western front of the town,
and hence, the management of the DDR camp being
stationed on the opposite end of Daru was not feasible.
Therefore, around a platoon’s strength of boys were to
reside in the DDR camp for its routine management.
The health management of the surrendered rebels was
another cause for concern for which doctors from the World
Health Organization were included in the DDR
establishment. In addition to this, the representatives of
various NGOs stationed at Daru were on board to manage
the administration of the camp, including food for the rebels
and subsequently, their training for rehabilitation.
Once all the arrangements were in place, the DDR camp
was visited by the Special Representative of the Secretary-
General (SRSG) of the United Nations, who was the head of
the entire mission. While the Force Commander looked after
the military contingent of the UN, other agencies working on
the ground, including the WHO and local NGOs, came
directly under the ambit of the SRSG. The SRSG was pleased
with the overall arrangements in the DDR camp; more so,
with the project’s pace.
Other DDR camps were coming up in different parts of
Sierra Leone; however, the only DDR camp which was ready
to be operational was at Daru. This first camp was also more
critical than the others, since it was closest to the RUF
heartland, and that was why the SRSG decided to personally
visit and oversee the project’s progress. The SRSG, while
shaking hands with me, remarked, ‘Are you the officer who
met the President in Kenema?’ I promptly replied, ‘Yes, sir, it
was a courtesy call.’ The SRSG smiled, said that he was
mighty pleased with the camp set-up and immediately gave
the green signal to the camp since the administrative
structure was in place. However, our boys, who were an
integral part of the management residing in the DDR camp,
didn’t seem very optimistic about the surrender by the RUF
rebels. Some of them told me, ‘Saab, UN has invested so
much of money in creating this white elephant; however, it
is unlikely that the RUF will come on their own to surrender.’
I smiled and said in a lighter vein, ‘If the RUF soldiers are
ready to lose limbs with no yield, they hardly have to walk a
few kilometres for a million bucks.’
Patience was the key for us as we had to await their
arrival. But I also warned our soldiers to be alert at night. So
now, what started was the waiting period for the RUF
soldiers to venture out from the bush and lay down weapons
at the DDR camp. All means of publicity, including print
media and radio, which was a popular means of
communication among the RUF cadres, were utilized to
announce that Daru’s DDR camp was operational.
The wait was unbearable, but in our case, the waiting
period was utilized for further improvement of services in
the camp. With every passing day, additional refinements,
like the DDR camp being fenced with security concertina
wires all around, were put in place. One grey area that
existed was the mode of payment to the RUF rebels, for
which regular reminders were sent to the Force
Headquarters. Finally, an official of the government did turn
up but only to do the necessary documentation, based on
which the government would ‘soon’ release the funds.
The payment of money, though initiated by the United
Nations, had to be coordinated on ground by the
Government of Sierra Leone. We were anticipating a severe
commotion in case the rebels were not paid immediately
after the surrender. But despite the bureaucratic hassles
surrounding the camp, we were confident of handling any
turbulence resulting due to delay in payment to the rebels.
We waited for a long time. Finally, one silent, gloomy
night, the sentry heard some movement in the bush and
challenged as per procedure. To his utter surprise, a group
of eight soldiers, who had raised their weapons in the air,
came out of the dense thicket shouting the words
‘surrender, surrender’. The sentry then ordered them to put
their weapons on the ground and immediately called for
Lieutenant Ankur Banga, the Platoon Commander, on the
radio set.
This was the moment that the entire platoon had been
eagerly waiting for. All soldiers were quickly on ‘stand-to’
when the rebels were asked to move inside the camp,
leaving their weapons behind. Luckily, both the RUF rebels
and the Indian soldiers were on the same proficiency level in
English as a language of communication. Each side would
speak incomplete sentences at a slow pace.
The RUF soldiers seemed exhausted and famished, and
the first thing they asked for was ‘chop-chop’, a slang used
among RUF cadres denoting food. So, first up, they were
provided with food. This was followed by a thorough medical
check-up, and a stamp was impressed on their hand
indicating the date of surrender. Subsequently, the
documentation began. It brought a sense of
accomplishment and delight among the platoon soldiers in
the DDR camp, and on my next visit, I could catch smiling
faces exuberant with wild abandon over this feat.
The task of disarmament had commenced, and we were
overjoyed since the exercise had started with the Indian
contingent being the trailblazers in the process of
demilitarizing the rebel forces. However, this posed the
colossal challenge of managing the surrendered rebels,
which we didn’t anticipate would be such a grave concern.
These rebels had been fighting for over a decade in the
bush. As a result, severe psychological issues started
surfacing immediately post their surrender. The situation
was aggravated by their violent streak, which one could
sense as they hadn’t received the money right after
entering the camp.
They were accommodated in barracks. It was a herculean
task to manage their internal fights over trivial issues. Even
their hygiene was a cause for concern for all of us. They
were used to the rustic lifestyle that invited several life-
threatening diseases, which could also affect our soldiers.
This newfangled lifestyle of the barracks was also contested
by them, and consequently, they would pick fights with our
soldiers on duty for no apparent reason.
I remember Lt Ankur Banga telling me that the most
significant challenge was to make them follow a routine, as
their lifestyle choices were not really disciplined, by virtue of
their stay in the bush. Gradually, the number of RUF soldiers
who came to the camp to surrender began to rise;
nonetheless, the pace was slow compared to what we had
predicted. Some odd RUF soldier would come in every night
to the DDR camp, citing the same reason, that they were
disgruntled with the RUF as it was entirely antagonistic to
what they had anticipated. The frustration of the rebels
within the RUF was soaring like a volcano on the brink of
eruption. All the rebels wanted money as soon as they
surrendered their weapons, but this wasn’t forthcoming
from the Government of Sierra Leone, and as a result, the
rebels were at daggers drawn.
Overall, one realized that managing the inmates of the
DDR camp was a ceaseless challenge, and each day was
unique, with different sets of issues at hand. I appreciated
the incredible work being done by the youngest officer of
our battalion, Lieutenant Ankur Banga, with hardly six
months of service. As a consequence of his ground task, he
had suddenly matured much beyond his service.
Every RUF soldier in the DDR camp had faced such terrible
experiences as part of the RUF that merely hearing about
those incidents was enough to send shivers down our spine.
One face among hundreds that stood out was of a young
boy named Moomba, who was barely fifteen years of age.
He had been forcefully picked up by the RUF from his home
in Pendembu almost five years back, and as part of the
‘Uniform Presentation’ drill, he was forced to shoot a man at
a tender age of ten. He was sodomized by RUF soldiers time
and again and compelled to do menial jobs in their camps.
The child had no option but to accept barbarism as the only
way of life. I was told that there were hundreds of child
soldiers with the RUF in the Kailahun Brigade alone. Imagine
how many children had been deprived of their childhood in
the RUF cadres.
There was a corporal of the RUF at our DDR camp named
Sese Moba. He had faced the RUF’s wrath over some minor
administrative glitch and, as a result, was subjected to the
‘half-sleeve’ punishment by his Company Commander. This
was when I learnt about the RUF’s strange yet vicious
system of ‘long-sleeve’ and ‘half-sleeve’ punishment only
for minor lapses (for any major failure, there was the death
penalty, a punishment universally applicable at all their
camps). Half-sleeve punishment meant cutting the left arm
in half, and long-sleeve meant chopping off the wrist.
As an organization, the RUF was run by clever heads, who,
while inflicting such brutality, didn’t compromise on their
strength of troops. Hence, both half-sleeve and long-sleeve
punishments were only inflicted on the left arm, since the
RUF soldiers required their right arm for firing and defending
their grounds. Such cruelty was hard to fathom, but once I
reached Kailahun, I saw a fair number of RUF soldiers who
had their left arms chopped. There were innumerable
bloodcurdling tales of barbarity wreaked by the RUF that
were known to us, courtesy of the soldiers who had
disarmed at the DDR camp in Daru.
Learning about the commencement of disarmament, the
RUF was put on the back foot, and false propaganda, about
the Indian contingent vehemently disarming the rebels, was
initiated by their cadres. Disarmament was a voluntary
process as per the Lomé Peace Agreement, and so far, all
the soldiers who had surrendered or taken shelter at the
DDR camp in Daru had done so of their own accord. To
counter the RUF’s malicious campaign, we started audio-
recording the statements of surrendered RUF soldiers, and
this was broadcast on the national radio. As a result, the
public opinion was with us. People understood that the UN
peacekeepers had no vested interest in forceful
disarmament.
 The neutrality of a peacekeeper is the backbone of all
peacekeeping operations across the world, and there is no
question of compromising this basic principle of United
Nations Peacekeeping. In any mission of the UN, in any
corner of the world, the day neutrality is compromised, I can
say with certainty, that would be the beginning of the end of
that mission.
Years later, in 2014, while I was attending the Senior
Mission Leaders’ Course in Tokyo, Japan, this idea of
protecting the neutrality of a mission at all costs was
reinforced loud and clear. Our instructors advised us that
‘appearing neutral’ was as important as ‘being neutral’
when deployed in a United Nations Peacekeeping mission,
as the local community would be witness to our actions, and
our actions had to express neutrality as strongly as our
ethos.
During the establishment of the DDR camp, we were also
busy preparing for our next task—a rather pertinent one
which, by all means, was full of trials and tribulations. The
task analysis suggested that the initial deployment at
Kailahun was imperative. After that, we would commence
the disarmament of hardcore cadres of the RUF located in
Kailahun.
The Kailahun town was sixty kilometres east of Daru. It
had a predominantly Muslim population and was one of the
country’s poorest districts. It was filled mainly with graded
hills, but the fundamental issue was the thick, dense forest,
with only one jungle track that passed through Pendembu,
which was halfway between Daru and Kailahun. The district
of Kailahun was subdivided into fourteen chiefdoms, and
each chiefdom had a ‘Papa Giema’ as its head, whose
directions were revered by every person residing in his
chiefdom.
 Post our interaction with the surrendered RUF soldiers at
the DDR camp, I learnt that the RUF structure comprised
two wings, i.e., the ‘political wing’ and the ‘military wing’.
The political wing was headed by RUF founder Foday
Sankoh, and the military wing was under the command of
Brigadier General Issa Sesay. The political wing had the
larger design of contesting elections in the future, post the
restoration of peace in Sierra Leone. All chiefs, or Papa
Giemas, of various chiefdoms of Kailahun were under the
ambit of the political wing of the RUF. Even the military head
was accountable to the head of the political wing, which
means that Foday Sankoh was the supreme leader of the
RUF forces.
The Papa Giemas of all chiefdoms were also very
powerful; they controlled the entire population of their
chiefdoms, and they had the last word in local matters
within their area of authority. Under the Field Commander,
there were brigades, and each brigade was assigned a
specific area of operation, of which the first RUF brigade
controlled the Kailahun district.
Divine intervention was at play since my arrival in Lungi.
During my brief stay in Kenema and subsequently in Daru, I
had received substantial information, which armed me well
for my next assignment. While I was busy analysing the
gamut of information that I had garnered, courtesy of the
surrendered soldiers, I heard a frantic call from Major Anil
Raman, the Adjutant of 5/8 Gorkha Rifles, who usually was
as cool as a cucumber. He asked me to reach the
Commanding Officer’s office at the earliest. On reaching
there, I saw Major Nair already seated. Colonel Satish
congratulated me as the orders for our move to Kailahun
had been received from the Force Headquarters. In this
regard, he suggested that we move at the double. ‘What
about our BMPs?’ was my prompt question. The
Commanding Officer told me to initially deploy without our
BMPs, and said that as and when the air effort was
available, they would integrate with the company. Without
undue delay, I reached my company and announced the
glad tidings, news that everyone had been waiting for. They
immediately got on with the last bit of the preparations,
since we were to move in two days’ time.
On the eve of the big day, while I was busy studying the
route charts and chalking out plans to counter the RUF hold
peacefully and implement our ultimate aim of disarmament,
the words of my wife crossed my mind. She would always
tell me that the biggest glory in life is winning hearts as that
was equal to conquering territories. That was when I knew
that this idea was going to be the foundation for my further
actions in Kailahun.
With this in mind, I decided to call my wife through the
only satellite phone available at our Battalion Headquarters
to share with her the news about my move. But to my utter
dismay, I only got a silent response from her. I could discern
in her silence a resonating concern and prayers for my
safety. Upon my inquiring further, she said that her ‘intuition
was sensing difficult times ahead’, hearing which I
comforted her and raised her morale by telling her that my
route to reach my beloved in the prevailing state of affairs
was through Kailahun, so it was a step forward. Giving
myself the reassurance that time flies and that I would soon
be in the company of my wife, I composed myself to focus
on the tasks ahead. Little did I know at that moment that
her intuition was right and that would be my final call before
undergoing an ‘experience of a lifetime’.
 #6

Bonjour: At Guinea Border

5 March 2000

It was the day when we were to commence our move to

Kailahun, a day that all of us had been waiting for since we
first landed in Lungi. The anticipation and enthusiasm were
so high that I don’t think anyone in the company had slept
the previous night. The last barrier, referred to as the ‘bush
barrier’ by locals, was just 100 metres ahead of our DDR
camp. The danger threshold beyond this barrier loomed
high, as from here the RUF territory started. Despite having
been in the for around a month, none of us ventured beyond
the barrier.
On the eve of our move, I picked up my vehicle,
accompanied by my buddy, Sepoy Onkar, and started from
the Moa barracks, where we were staying. We crossed
through Daru town and reached the eastern periphery of the
town, where our camp sentry greeted me.
Usually, all United Nations vehicles would halt upon
reaching the camp, because the territory beyond was the
RUF-controlled zone, which, if entered without orders, might
prove lethal. But that night was different. Tranquillity
enveloped the town, and only the sound of our car’s
grumbling could be heard far and wide. I drove past the
camp, ahead of the bush barrier by about 200 metres, and
eventually stopped to have a feel of the RUF territory. All
this while, my buddy was all agog, as he had no clue what
my intention was.
Subedar Fateh was informed that I had crossed the bush
barrier, and he followed me in no time. I was fortunate that
my men trusted me blindly. Hence, none of them questioned
my decision. Upon arrival, I informed Subedar Fateh that the
prayer planned in the morning, before the move of the
convoy at Moa barracks, would take place at the site where
we were standing that night.
The barbarity of the rebels had somewhat shaken the
spirit of my soldiers, and this was the perfect way to boost
our morale and conviction. Furthermore, the route was long,
with a few human roadblocks anticipated on our way, which
could only be tackled if the zeal was high. The prayer was
more like a supplication to the earth, to relieve it of the pain
it had had to withstand for the last decade. It would also
serve as a symbol of the beginning of lasting peace and the
end of violence in the country. At least that was what we
intended. In the morning, our convoy was lined up ahead of
the bush barrier.
The prayer was performed as per my instructions, and I
could see the confidence on everyone’s face. The usually
serious Subedar Fateh was also smiling as he understood
the intent behind the entire exercise. The trees in the forest
were fluttering in sync with the chanting of the mantras,* as
though paving the way for our move. We hollered ‘Bharat
Mata Ki Jai’, and the convoy began to move. I was quite
happy that the ‘Bharat Mata Ki Jai’ chants went on for quite
a distance.
 The first RUF barrier was encountered after around ten
kilometres, in Kuiva. I met the RUF Company Commander,
Major Tom Sandy, who was rather fluent in English as he
welcomed us into the RUF territory. Major Tom Sandy was a
Christian by faith and was considered a liberal commander
by the RUF cadres. The RUF’s design to organize our first
reception by Major Sandy, to showcase the group’s liberal
face, was well understood by me. I extended thanks to the
Company Commander, and our convoy moved further.
As the route progressed, I realized that the forest was
getting denser, because of which visibility was restricted
even in daylight. Today, when I look back, I feel that the
gloomy forest had symbolized the grave times ahead of us,
a time filled with turmoil and challenges. Back then, our
focus was to reach Kailahun before sundown, as traversing
on the narrow, unpaved track was an arduous task even in
broad daylight.
The next RUF barrier that we encountered was in
Pendembu, the native village of the then President of Sierra
Leone, where we halted for breakfast. Pendembu was a
relatively large village, with around 100 hutments. It was
one of the chiefdoms of Kailahun. The locals gathered to
welcome us, but what struck my attention was the fair
number of ‘long sleeves’ and ‘half sleeves’ in the village.
Even the Papa Giema of the village was present there to
greet us. To better understand the ground situation, I tried
probing a little, to learn about the RUF presence in
Pendembu. My querying was not encouraged by Papa
Giema, and his reflex reaction made me sense the local
strength behind the RUF.
Pendembu, as a village, was like a beggar’s battered tin
cup, a place submerged in dire poverty, with people dying of
starvation and plague, due to lack of resources and
inadequate medical facilities. I mentioned to the locals that
though the woods around the town were pretty dense, there
was no trace of wildlife en route. The prompt reply was
‘chop-chop’, two words that were sufficient to indicate that
the fauna was found on their meal plates and not in the
thickets. The upside was that I could discern a glimmer of
hope in the eyes of the locals. For them, our arrival was
linked to ‘development’.
After thanking Papa Giema and his people, the convoy
moved towards Kailahun. As we waded through the rugged
roads of Sierra Leone, my thoughts kept turning towards
Havildar Krishan Kumar and my other boys whom I had to
leave behind in Daru, much against my wish, since our
primary weapon system, the infantry combat vehicles
(BMPs), had to be left in Daru, to be fetched up later, once
we had settled down in Kailahun. Their watery eyes, while I
departed from Daru, had completely gripped my mind all
through the journey up to Kailahun, as I was feeling the
weight of responsibility towards the families of my soldiers. I
prayed to God to give me strength to help reunite them with
their families after the completion of our mandate.
Thinking of their families, I remembered my last
conversation with my wife, and the mere thought of not
being able to hear her voice say my name for the next
couple of months broke my heart. From my wallet, I took out
her photograph, which I had wrapped with love and carried
along with me. I gazed at her face for a long time; her
dreamy brown eyes pierced through my soul, captivating
me in a manner that no hypnotist ever could. Looking at
her, I harvested the strength to withstand any danger
approaching my men and to safely bring back my company
home. At that moment, I could feel my wife hold my hand,
transmitting all her positivity. Then, I saw a built-up area at
a distance, with a lot of concrete houses, guessing that we
were approaching our destination, Kailahun.
The first glance at Kailahun was sufficient to give you an
impression of a town lacerated by the most brutal war the
country bore witness to. It was a town that was once the
jewel in the crown for Sierra Leone, due to the enormous
number of diamond mines surrounding it. But the diamonds
turned into blood-stained weapons and became a symbol of
barbarism and vandalism, causing the slaughter of
innumerable innocent people. When we first set foot in
Kailahun, there was a weird stench in the air that engulfed
the whole town like a repulsive blanket. There was a sense
of decay in the surroundings, with crumbled buildings
marked with bullet holes, craters and cracks. Young children
stood on one side of the road shouting ‘Pumai’, which we
were later told meant ‘the white man’, and this particular
term stayed with us. One wondered what they would call an
actual white man.
A hundred metres into the town, we reached the Kailahun
Square, a crossroads graced by a landmark-sized concrete
building, their town hall. Kailahun had around 200–300
houses, and the ruins of the town narrated the tales of a
once-flourishing trade centre that became a hub for
smuggling. The Kailahun Square had a vast open ground on
one side, where we could see a bunch of people. I stopped
the convoy to learn that they had gathered to
ceremoniously welcome us, the harbingers of peace for
them. The people were all spruced up in their dazzling
traditional attire, men in long, flowing robes and women
carrying dramatic headgear with such grace and pomp that
it looked like a festivity. Amid this spectacle, one gentleman
stood out for us. He was a well-dressed man in a green robe,
authoritative-looking, maybe in his mid-forties. He was
introduced by a tall, flabby lady as the Papa Giema of
Kailahun. I paid my respects to him, and he, in turn,
welcomed us graciously.
He indicated a massive building at one end of the town,
which was earmarked for our stay. I was told that it was an
abandoned government hospital around 500 metres east
from where we were standing. There was no immediate
concern regarding our meals, since we were carrying
enough packed food to last us till dinner. But the locals did
warn me about the acute drinking-water problem, as most
of the local water resources were contaminated. I
appreciated their concern for my troops and made the
announcement immediately to ensure the establishment of
a water point at the earliest, which would take care of the
requirements of my troops as well as of the residents. I was
fortunate enough to be able to provide that kind of
commitment to the people, since I was well equipped to
establish a water point, and in any case, water was a vital
necessity for setting up a camp.
To my surprise, there were deafening cheers by the locals
when I made that promise; the intensity of the acclaim was
an indicator of the difficult lives they were leading, without
basic amenities like water and electricity. I felt a sense of
achievement as we had commenced in the right direction,
and all my apprehensions about the attitude of the locals
vanished. I took it upon me to provide them with this breath
of life, water. After thanking Papa Giema and the locals for
their warm welcome, we left for the hospital building.
It was a relatively new two-storey building. However, as a
result of being in a state of disuse for the last 3–4 years, it
required a lot of maintenance work, which had already
commenced under the supervision of Subedar Fateh. I
instantly called for all the officers and assigned dedicated
responsibilities to everyone to begin our ground tasks, with
safe drinking water being our priority. I started the security
audit of that building. It was a haven because it was away
from the town, but it still needed concertina wire fencing all
around. Also, proper sentry posts had to be created for
safeguarding my men.
Being a concrete structure, the building had its drawbacks
as compared to the high ground, which was a raised piece
of ground on the other end of Kailahun town, tactically more
suited for deployment. However, the administrative
requirement weighed heavily in favour of the hospital
building for the initial settling-down period. Therefore, we
decided to establish the first camp in the hospital building
and subsequently shift to the high ground. I instructed
Subedar Fateh to ensure double sentries, with loaded
machine guns, and set up dual concertina coil spanning a
50-metre radius around the building. The work commenced
on a war footing, and all security arrangements were in
place before last light.
The detachment of military engineers, which was tasked
to examine the feasibility of a water point in Kailahun,
returned with the positive news that the old water point
near the high ground stood good chances of revival, and
they would get on with the work the following day. However,
our generator packed up immediately after it was started,
and a particular part had to be replaced. I asked Captain
Sunil to get in touch with the Adjutant of 5/8 Gorkha Rifles
to have the generator spare part sent at the earliest through
our fresh ration vehicle from Daru, since our supplies were
to be catered from our base at Daru.
So overall, good news regarding the water supply but not
so good concerning the power supply, and for that reason, it
was a dark and silent night, with only the buzzing of
mosquitoes providing some level of entertainment. We
realized that the most significant nuisance in Kailahun were
the mosquitoes and jungle flies; they came out to play post
sundown and were stubborn enough to stay close to us even
after our endless attempts to get rid of them. Still, our
mosquito nets were a blessing that ensured we had a sound
sleep. Kailahun was infested with the worst diseases
prevalent in the world. Even years later, the maximum
casualties in the world due to the Ebola virus took place in
Kailahun.
Before hitting the sack, I went around to check if the
security system was in place and asked the sentries to
switch on their heavy-duty torches to review their range of
visibility. My thoughts overpowered my sleep that night as I
wondered what Kailahun had in store for us in the near
future. That was when the afternoon scene of clapping and
cheering by the locals started replaying in my mind like a
broken record. It made me wonder how the issues that
seemed so trivial to us—things that we take for granted,
things that are a necessity for us but a luxury for them—
could generate tremendous happiness for these locals.
These people had faced nothing but adversities caused by
the civil war for over a decade. There were children born
during those trying times who had witnessed nothing except
fighting as a normal way of life. They had considered
barbarity and atrocity as part and parcel of having been
born in this land, which tarnished their blissful, carefree
childhood. It made me marvel as to how fortunate our
children were to be born in a nation where they witnessed
love, belongingness and, above all, where they had the
freedom to be just children and nothing else.
That was when I made up my mind to start with an
aggressive agenda to win the hearts and minds of the locals
before I got on with the RUF disarmament. I felt confident
about this place, as in my head, the RUF lifeline in Kailahun
was heavily dependent on local support. So, to curtail the
RUF cruelty, we first had to unplug this support system.
With these thoughts in my mind, I surrendered to a deep
slumber.
The next morning, I got up later than usual and remained
in bed for some more time. I tried to evolve a final strategy
and give structure to my action plan for the first phase of
my operation: ‘Win the hearts of the locals.’ I was well
aware that the RUF needed support from the local
population in Kailahun. Hence, I decided to target that
support base first. I once read somewhere that, ‘You can
fight a war alone, but you need an army to win it.’ So,
curbing that army of supporters with emotional diplomacy
was of paramount importance.
I got ready quickly, instructed all the officers to settle the
camp and headed towards town to meet Papa Giema. He
was the right person to approach as he was happy with my
focus on making potable drinking water available to the
people of Kailahun. I asked him about the other areas we
could look at and assured him of my assistance to the
locals. He requested medical help, for which I had luckily
chalked out a plan in my mind. I promised Papa Giema that
our doctor, Major Murali, would spend two hours every day
in the town to attend to all the sick cases, hearing which
Papa Giema literally jumped off his seat and thanked me
most profoundly.
I wanted to replicate Lungi’s successful ‘volleyball model’
at the Kailahun town square and informed Papa Giema
about it. To my astonishment, he was a volleyball enthusiast
and had been a splendid player in his youth.
 So, in a nutshell, everything was advancing on the right
path. After that, Papa Giema took me around Kailahun town
and talked about how what was once a thriving trade centre
was now kneeling in shambles. Sensing the opportune
moment, I advocated that peace and normality would be in
everyone’s best interests, and I was stunned to hear Papa
Giema singing the same tune. This was indeed the
beginning of a worthy personal equation. Through numerous
interactions with the locals while traversing the town, I
realized that most of them favoured lasting peace, but none
of them was ready to blow the whistle on the RUF.
Papa Giema proudly told everyone that after resolving the
drinking-water issue, I was going to send the military doctor
to attend to the sick in the town, which helped me achieve
my motive to win over the people. We finalized the town
square as the venue for the medical camp. We also visited
the water point next to the high ground, where our
engineers were already on the job, which further deepened
Papa Giema’s belief in our intentions.
I drove with Papa Giema in the front seat and my driver
sitting behind. Papa Giema took me to that flabby lady’s
house. I was quite amused to know that her name was
‘Sister’. She was a warm and friendly person who always
wore a smile on her face, a smile that very aptly concealed
all her misery. I was shaken when I learnt that she had lost
her husband and three children in the civil war, and that
now she had nobody in this world that she could call her
own. I told her that she should never feel lonesome, as
hereafter she would be my sister. She hugged me with tears
in her eyes.
To be honest, I was not expecting things to move at such a
fast pace in terms of winning hearts and minds. However, I
realized that simplicity was ingrained in every person there.
It didn’t take a lot to win them over, as minor gestures could
fill their hearts with love in no time, and their hearts and
minds were one. So, if we could manage to win their hearts,
we would win over their minds as well, and therefore, the
phrase used in the Indian Army, ‘to win hearts and minds’,
was just ‘win hearts’ so far as Kailahun and the Mende
people were concerned.
If I had to win the hearts of the people, I had to think from
my heart. Hence, I rephrased my morning action plan from
‘Win the hearts of the locals’ to ‘heart to heart’ or ‘H to H’. It
was a great learning experience for me despite it being just
my second day at Kailahun. I bid adieu to Papa Giema, who
shook my hand with both his hands and, with a massive grin
on his face, referred to me as God’s angel sent to Kailahun.
After a very satisfying round of the town, I got back and
decided to spend the rest of the day sorting out routine
administrative issues in our camp.
The next day, at the crack of dawn, I was informed that a
lady had come to meet me. I quickly went out to see Sister
standing next to our sentry post. She told me that Papa
Giema had sent her and that he wanted me to come down
to the town hall, if feasible. To which I replied in the
affirmative. My mind started racing, trying to decipher the
agenda behind the meeting, since even Sister was clueless
about the purpose of Papa Giema’s invitation.
I immediately got ready and asked Captain Sunil to
accompany me to this meeting. At the town hall, I saw Papa
Giema, seated with a couple of smartly dressed individuals,
engrossed in some serious deliberation. Papa Giema
exclaimed that he was elated at my arrival in Kailahun and
wanted me to meet Colonel Martin, the RUF Brigade
Commander, and Major Kupoi, the RUF Company
Commander, responsible for Kailahun town.
 I was caught off guard but collected myself and shook
hands with them. Colonel Martin stated that Papa Giema
was full of praise for me and that it was on his request that
he had come to meet me. I was still trying to regain my
composure, as it had all happened pretty fast, and sincerely
thanked Colonel Martin for his wonderful gesture. Colonel
Martin was a young fellow, of medium height and with short
hair, who spoke English quite proficiently. I promptly
cautioned myself to talk about everything barring
disarmament, as it was crucial to develop a personal rapport
before calling out the elephant in the room.
We spent the next half hour discussing topics like the
condition of roads leading to Kailahun, about our stay in
Lungi, about India and everything under the sun but the
main agenda. I learnt that Colonel Martin belonged to
Liberia and, despite being young, had tremendous
experience of fighting in the bush. There was a particular
gentleman with Colonel Martin who was well dressed and
appeared to be very astute and intelligent; I later got to
know his name was Jonathan. Jonathan was the RUF master
strategist in Kailahun, as the RUF had a system of having an
intellectual with every Brigade Commander. He appeared to
be highly educated, and I later learnt that he had earned a
master’s degree from a college in Liberia. It was a very
sanguine and warm meeting with Colonel Martin, who,
before departing, thanked me for my initiative of providing
drinking water and medical cover for the people of Kailahun
town.
After Colonel Martin left, I thanked Papa Giema for
organizing the meeting. He told me that the RUF men were
visiting town for routine work, and he thought it would be
appropriate to have them see me. Upon inquiring about the
Battalion Commander, I was informed by Papa Giema that
several companies were placed directly under the Brigade
Commander in the RUF structure, and there was no concept
of a Battalion Commander. I discovered this to be a great
system—in guerrilla warfare, smaller entities with fewer
vertical layers turn out to be a better-managed system.
On my request, Papa Giema agreed to accompany me to
our camp, where he was impressed to see how we had
transformed the hospital building in no time. We deliberated
on several issues over tea. I expressed my desire to start
patrolling the area but was not sure how to begin. That was
when Papa Giema advised me to take a local guide provided
by him. We shared lunch that day, and he was flattered with
the Indian hospitality as well as the food, although, before
our rendezvous, he had never known that a nation named
India existed. When it was time for him to leave, I told him
that we had decided to start playing volleyball in the town
square that evening onwards, and he was pleased to hear
that.
After having set up our agenda points for Kailahun, it was
time to reach out to the remote villages surrounding
Kailahun town. As part of this exercise, we identified
Gelehun, a village of Jawei chiefdom, the last village
bordering Liberia. The name Gelehun, in Mende language,
means ‘where the village stopped’. And rightly so, for there
was no other village beyond Gelehun.
We started early as the road leading to Gelehun was
appallingly rutted, as though transporting us to an ancient
era. At first blush, Gelehun seemed to be pretty backward;
even the canvas erected at the village entrance, with
Gelehun written on it in faded ink, had sunbeams peeping
through the apertures of the ragged fabric—it all yelled
destitution. It was as though the people there were living in
the Stone Age, with hardly any basic amenities. Famished
children looked towards us with hopeful eyes, expecting a
grain to satiate their hunger or a drop of water to quench
their thirst.
In Gelehun, life expectancy was not beyond forty.
Malnutrition and epidemics struck people down frequently,
causing grave damage, as most lacked any source of
income or medical facility. They paid no heed to the civil war
ravaging their country, as they had greater chances of
surviving that war compared to the everyday war they
fought in their village: a war for basics, a war for a dignified
life, a war not for diamonds or jewels but just for surviving
another day and watching another sunrise.
The entire sight was so disturbing that Major Nair and I
looked at each other and decided to return to the village the
next day with humanitarian assistance, which wasn’t our
mandate as UN peacekeepers but as fellow human beings.
After returning to our camp, both of us spoke with our
respective companies and explained what we had witnessed
to our soldiers. We deliberated upon humanitarian
assistance, which was not our charter and had to be
undertaken by NGOs and other agencies who could only be
deployed once normality in Kailahun was restored.
Unfortunately, some of the people of Gelehun wouldn’t be
able to witness this as it would be too late for them.
I sought my company’s opinion regarding the disposal of
surplus dry ration, which had accumulated since the time
we landed in Lungi, and we were tagging it along with us.
Honestly, the ration supply of a military contingent in the
United Nations is always more than what they can consume,
as they plan for bad-weather days. Fortunately, we had not
yet faced such a crisis, because of which the stock kept
piling. I wanted my boys to reiterate my thoughts, since it
was their ration. I was so proud when every soldier of my
company got up and stated that it would be the ultimate
service to God Almighty and that there wasn’t a better way
to utilize our surplus supplies. So ultimately, we decided
that both Major Nair and I, along with the doctor and
sufficient food supply, would revisit Gelehun the following
day.
The villagers, in all probability, were not anticipating that
we would keep our word, but when we said we would visit
them, we meant business. The moment the villagers saw
the truck full of ration hurtling towards them, I saw an
expression on their faces that I can’t explain; it was as if the
sight of the truck had given them a new lease of life. The
truck was their oxygen cylinder in a world with no air to
breathe; it would be the reason some of them would live to
see another day, and this thought made us feel content.
The truck halted right in the middle of the village. Before
the locals could charge on to the truck, we made them sit in
a row to smoothly distribute the ration to everyone and
followed it with a thorough medical check-up by our doctor,
who was well equipped with medicines. This was by far the
most gratifying day since our arrival in Kailahun, and we
wanted to further reinforce the humanitarian assistance
activities, spreading them far and wide.
After returning to base, I contacted various NGOs in Daru
through our radio set and requested them to push forward
rations and medicines to Kailahun. Thereafter, we replicated
the Gelehun model of distributing supplies to every border
village. Here I must reiterate that humanitarian assistance is
not the charter of the military contingent of the United
Nations; it happens much later, once peace has been re-
established in a distressed area by the military stationed
there. After that, in a rather placid environment, NGOs and
other agencies step up to provide humanitarian aid.
 The real issue on the ground is that the ‘five-star
accommodation’ that NGO reps feel is ‘extremely vital’ for
their job cannot be put together in remote areas cloaked in
mayhem, areas which genuinely need philanthropic backing
to rise from the ruins. Somehow there exists a discrepancy
between the needs of the common people and the
requirements of agencies delivering urgent supplies. We,
the military contingent, simply bridged this chasm between
those who already had all the comforts and those for whom
just one meal a day meant comfort. Consequently, the
humanitarian aid started reaching the impoverished people
in the most peripheral corners of the district. The real
goodwill that started pouring in as a result of this revolution
initiated from Gelehun is indescribable. Post the Gelehun
revolution, the locals started worshipping the Blue Beret.
The news about the humanitarian assistance started
reaching every nook and cranny of Kailahun District. Even
Papa Giema personally visited to compliment the UN
contingent after we got back from the fieldwork of
dispensing supplies and medicines.
At times, God shows you the path. To be honest, all this
was never part of my plan till I reached Gelehun, the sight of
which drove me to take up this agenda to provide to the
penniless. Overall, I felt there wasn’t a better way to win
people’s hearts than by doing what we had been doing
there for a month, and we couldn’t have been in a better
position then, compared to where we were just thirty days
back, when we had first set foot in Kailahun. Things were
moving in an orderly manner, with top-notch security
arrangements in place and distribution drives moving in full
swing.
One fine evening, I was informed that an RUF soldier had
approached our sentry post looking for me. I received the
message while I was having an informal chat with Major
Nair, and both of us immediately stepped out to find a group
of soldiers standing 100 metres away from our post. We
walked up to them, with our minds racing faster than our
steps, only to realize that Colonel Martin had come to see
me. My God! He was a big man in the RUF rebel group, and
seeing him stand at our doorstep was a signal that we were
indeed on the correct path.
Colonel Martin congratulated us on the excellent work of
supplying humanitarian aid that our company was involved
in. Still, I knew that Colonel Martin wouldn’t come for this
one-point agenda. So, I requested him to come to our
company location; he was initially hesitant but did agree to
join in on my insistence. He looked disturbed that evening,
and I guessed that maybe things were not going well at his
end. So as a friendly gesture, I inquired about the state of
affairs in his organization. That was when Colonel Martin
shared the news about the Guinean Army transgressing into
the territory of their country, and since that incident had
taken place in Kailahun District, he was accountable for it.
I asked Colonel Martin if the news was authentic. He told
me that it was a tip by a reliable RUF source, but he was yet
to confirm it on the ground. I then asked about his course of
action, and he mentioned that he would be going the
following day, and post verifying the incursion, he would
report the matter to his Field Commander, General Issa
Sesay. I appreciated the gravity of the situation and
considered it to be the appropriate opportunity to win over
Colonel Martin, as that might give me a gateway to delve
deeper into the RUF cluster. Something immediately came
to my mind and brought an instant smile on Colonel Martin’s
otherwise dreary face: I asked him to embark on a joint field
reconnaissance with us. This was probably the main motive
behind Colonel Martin’s visit; he wouldn’t have travelled all
that distance just to provide me with the news of the
infiltration.
Today, when I look back, I cannot reckon as to how I ended
up making that commitment without taking any clearance
from my headquarters. At times, your subconscious or
intuition guides you and shows you the light. It was the light
I had been waiting for. Colonel Martin thanked me profusely,
and I asked him to stay back for dinner that evening. After
initial reluctance, Colonel Martin agreed, and Major Nair
suggested Old Monk as the pre-dinner drink for everyone.
I was delighted to finally see Colonel Martin in high spirits
after a stressful evening, and as the hours advanced, there
was happiness in the air. What particularly surprised Colonel
Martin was that all the Indian soldiers would be staying
away from their respective women for the next one year. I
asked him how life had been for him so far. That was when
he narrated his life story, and we were spellbound to learn
of the tormenting situations he had had to face in his life.
He lost his father when he was six and grew up in an
orphanage in Monrovia, the capital of Liberia, as his mother
had dumped him to marry another man. Life in the
orphanage was not a bed of roses; the kids were treated
worse than animals. And hence, to escape the torture, he
ran away at the age of ten. Thereafter, the next 3–4 years
were extremely arduous. He had to plan the source of his
next meal while having the current one. He would stay on
the streets, trying every occupation from a domestic servant
to a factory labourer. But destiny had other plans chalked
out for him. He finally came in touch with Charles Taylor,
who back then was recruiting soldiers in Liberia to
overthrow the government and spread anarchy.
 The rebellion in Liberia commenced in 1989, and the
following six years, Colonel Martin was constantly fighting in
the bush, mastering the art of guerrilla warfare. As a result,
he was promoted to the rank of Company Commander. In
1995, a peace deal was signed in Liberia, but there was
havoc in his personal life: his wife left him for another
soldier. So, he volunteered to shift his base to Sierra Leone,
where, after three years of bush fighting as a Company
Commander, he was promoted to the rank of Brigade
Commander. He was given the responsibility of looking after
Kailahun, the district bordering Liberia, on the
recommendation of Charles Taylor, who had become the
President of Liberia.
Gazing at the sky, Colonel Martin said, ‘I hate women.’
One could understand his sentiment, considering the life he
had lived, the love he had longed for from both his mother
and wife, the love that vanished in thin air. In a lighter vein,
he said, ‘You Indian soldiers are lucky to be staying away
from women for the next one year, as women do more harm
than good.’
I could grasp the logic behind appointing Colonel Martin as
the Brigade Commander of Kailahun since the route to
Liberia from Kono District, the hub of diamond mines,
passed through Kailahun.
Coming back to the evening, it was a wonderful time.
Colonel Martin and I developed a deep personal rapport and
could feel an everlasting friendship taking shape. Finally,
after dinner, Colonel Martin left with a promise to meet the
next day at dawn for our patrolling to the Guinean border.
The morning patrol, for which both Major Nair and I were
going, was referred to as ‘routine patrolling’ in our sitrep to
our headquarters, as we didn’t have sanction to visit the
Guinean border. We intended to strike a balance between
the ground necessities and the official restrictions imposed
by higher authorities. So we decided to follow the middle
path of planning it out as ‘routine patrolling’. Colonel Martin
reached our company base at sharp six in the morning, and
we moved in two vehicles with adequate administrative
supplies for the day.
We were to drive up to Lorlu village, which was around 10
km away and the local Company Commander of that area
was to receive us. Thereafter, we were to move on foot
through dense thicket for another 5 km to reach Keredu
village, where the alleged incursion was reported. I drove
the leading vehicle, with Colonel Martin in the front seat,
guiding me through the twisted roads. En route, we
discussed how the Moa River was a natural demarcation
between Guinea and Sierra Leone, thereby diminishing the
chance of any border-related ambiguity. Colonel Martin
pointed out the fact that at several junctions, the Moa
stretched out into a number of channels and kept shifting its
course. However, he did mention the border pillars, which
were placed at every kilometre, and the verification of the
border pillar in the disputed area would aid in indicating the
actual position of the border.
In an hour, after having discussed the variegated
topography of Sierra Leone, we reached Lorlu village, where
the Company Commander received us as planned and was
mighty delighted to see several soldiers in the Blue Beret.
We started through the bush, which was quite dense. All of
us put together were around twenty in number, a minuscule
size, in case the Guinean Army decided to attack. This made
me wonder how we would justify our position to the
headquarters if we faced an attack, as for them we were on
a ‘routine patrol’ around the town. And here we were, with
the rebel commanders, approaching an international border.
We were exactly where we were not supposed to be.
While walking towards Keredu village, I started discussing
the further plan of action with Colonel Martin. I convinced
him that a much smaller patrol of primarily United Nations
soldiers must approach the Guinean border ahead of
Keredu. We decided to take along one RUF soldier—Socrates
—as our interpreter, to help us communicate with the
Guinean soldiers manning the border. Understanding the
criticality of the situation, Colonel Martin reluctantly agreed.
He decided to stay back in Keredu, which made me realize
the faith this man had bestowed upon me in such a short
time.
Keredu would hardly qualify as a village. It had around 2–3
huts, where we halted for breakfast, which was in sufficient
quantity to take care of everyone. Socrates, our interpreter,
could understand English and speak intermediate-level
French, the official language of Guinea. At first, Socrates
seemed quite agitated over the incursion by the Guinean
soldiers, but I calmed him down and asked him to only do
the job of an interpreter, nothing less and nothing more.
After breakfast, Major Nair and I, accompanied by four
escorts of our company and, not to forget, Socrates, started
for the Guinean post. As we drew near, we could make out
their post. The moment we were 500 metres away from the
periphery, we raised our blue berets in the air. Our hearts
were pounding like a train down the track, as this was our
first experience of moving into an international boundary
without prior notice. We were chanting our prayers and
hoping that the bunker ahead of us wouldn’t open fire. To
make our intentions clear, we started yelling ‘UN, UN’. But
our attempts were bearing no results.
 As we came close to the bunker, we could only see the
muzzles of their guns pointing towards us. Their deep-set
eyes glared at us through the lens of binoculars. The one-
word order ‘fire’ would have ended our journey of
peacekeeping in the depths of the interminable tropical
forests of Sierra Leone. If they shoot us, I thought, would we
be called infiltrators by the Guinean Army? ‘Stop!’ I told my
mind. I had no time to indulge the pandemonium swirling in
my head. I had to get my men out of this muddle at all
costs.
In my academy days, my ustaad (instructor) once told me,
‘All this ragda (hardships) and padhai (studies) might seem
pointless to you now. Still, you never know at what juncture
this learning of the academy might save your life.’ The
words didn’t make sense to me then, but on that day at the
Guinean border, I realized how true they were. How could I
forget my alma mater, the National Defence Academy,
Khadakwasla, Pune, where I studied French? On that day, all
my French expertise began to resurface in my mind. I
started yelling ‘Bonjour’* in a high pitch, and seeing me,
Major Nair as well as the other soldiers leaped on the
bandwagon with screams of ‘Bonjour’ echoing through the
jungle.
I feel the bonjours did the trick for us, as the Guinean
soldier 100 metres ahead of us replied with ‘Bonjour’,
hearing which we heaved a sigh of relief. The reply from the
Guinean soldier was like a blessing which immediately
released our stress. The Guinean soldier smiled and said
something in French which was beyond my comprehension.
I guess they were cracking jokes on us, as we looked like a
bunch of maniacs howling ‘Bonjour’ in unison, as if it was
some sort of battle cry to invoke patriotic sentiment.
 Nevertheless, we were alive! And that was when I asked
my interpreter, who hadn’t been of much use till then, to
inform the Guinean soldier that we were a United Nations
Peacekeeping patrol on a routine reconnaissance task. I
introduced myself and Major Nair while still holding the Blue
Beret in the air, to which the soldier smiled and said,
‘Welcome.’
The Post Commander was a young officer who saluted us,
offered us a glass of water and inquired about our agenda. I
informed him that I was a Company Commander of the
United Nations Peacekeeping Mission at Kailahun and had
approached the Guinean post to verify the border pillar on
the ground. The Post Commander was a positive soul, and
he started explaining the history of the border along the
Moa River before showing us the border pillar on the
ground. Sure enough, Socrates started confronting the Post
Commander on some issue; seeing his aggressive body
language, I literally had to press his hand to stay quiet.
After briefing us, the Post Commander took us to the
border pillar, which appeared intact and untouched, with the
Guinean post aligned with the pillar. What had actually
transpired was that the Moa River in that stretch had
changed course that year. As a result, the border post
appeared much ahead of the Moa. However, it was in line
with the border pillar.
Having satisfied ourselves, we thanked the young Post
Commander and started heading back with a great sense of
achievement. I still recollect what I mentioned to Major Nair
at that moment: ‘Fortune favours the brave.’ We were
fortunate enough to have exchanged greetings in French
with the Guinean soldiers using our presence of mind,
otherwise we would have been killed.
 After getting back to Keredu, I explained everything to
Colonel Martin, and I could see that broad smile appearing
on his face again. This was the ultimate milestone for our
chemistry. Hereafter, a friendship blossomed between
Colonel Martin and me. I vividly remember committing to
Colonel Martin that in case of any threat, I would be the first
to take up arms and fight alongside the RUF to protect the
integrity of Kailahun, my place of duty. I remember that day
Colonel Martin hugged me, a hug that was warm,
affectionate and a symbol of respect from one soldier to
another.
 #7

Hostages

After leading a patrol to the Guinean border and facing a

near-death encounter, the mutual respect and friendship
between Colonel Martin and me was on a new high. We met
each other more frequently after that day and openly
discussed our issues without inhibitions of any sort. We tried
to see each other every few days, and each meeting
brought us closer. Colonel Martin allowed our ration convoys
to move from Daru to Kailahun without any undue
interference, and even the frequency of such convoys was
not an issue.
The biggest morale-booster in these convoys used to be
the mail from India. These letters were our lifeline, our only
link with our families. I was overjoyed to receive my
birthday greetings from my wife and children. Glaring at my
little angel’s birthday card, drawn in crayons by her tiny
hands, my eyes welled up with tears. It felt like ages since I
last saw them, held them, felt them. I missed the moments
my son would come running to me with his homework, or
my daughter would request me to help her comb her
Barbie’s hair. I missed submerging my day’s stress into the
ocean of my wife’s lap. I felt motionless even though each
day in Kailahun was filled with unexpected turns, but I knew
that I wouldn’t see her standing at any crossroads. That void
was gnawing at me, gradually lowering a veil of gloom over
my eyes. Some days, I wished I had the wings of a bird so I
could fly to her for evening tea, hold her hand, feel the
breeze singing the tunes of our love and fly back for my
next day’s task. But alas, it wasn’t to be. So, the letters
were my wings, and each time I received one, it felt like
home.
In my next meeting with Colonel Martin, I even showed
him the birthday card that my daughter had made for me.
Colonel Martin was pleased to learn that my birthday was
approaching, and I took a commitment from him to ensure
his availability on 16 April. Moreover, he was delighted to
hear that the evening volleyball ritual in the town square
was crystallizing into a fiesta attended by everyone.
Eventually, even the officers from the United Nations
observer group in Kailahun started playing with us, besides
the locals and the RUF soldiers.
Papa Giema, being an ardent volleyball enthusiast,
attended all our evening matches as a spectator, cheering
for the team I represented. He particularly appreciated my
technique of gameplay at the net—my body language would
make it seem I was aiming for a smash, but I would
eventually drop the ball down slowly to confuse the
opponent. Even Colonel Martin occasionally graced us with
his presence at our evening ritual.
Evenings used to be rejuvenating, with an aura of festivity
gripping the entire town canopied in the palpable air of
enthusiasm. The best times were the post-match hours,
when everybody would enjoy Indian tea and snacks like one
big family. A few fortunate evenings extended well beyond
tea, with all of us dancing to local tunes. To my surprise,
Sister used to be the most active on such occasions.
We had managed to establish a harmonious relationship
with the people of Kailahun within a brief period. I decided
that it was finally time to discuss the elephant in the room,
the much-anticipated disarmament, with Colonel Martin at
our next meeting as the clock was ticking. At my next
meeting with him, I asked Colonel Martin about his views on
RUF soldiers’ disarmament in Kailahun. He reluctantly
remarked, ‘Within the ambit of the RUF, not a single leaf
flutters without orders from the top.’ And I guessed that he
was referring to the Field Commander. He also mentioned
that he wasn’t appreciative of the forced disarmament
carried out by the United Nations peacekeepers in certain
parts of Sierra Leone, as it wasn’t in keeping with the spirit
of the Lomé Peace Agreement. However, he did add in a
lighter vein that, ‘If I ever disarm—I feel it is unlikely—but if
it happens, I will hand over my personal weapon to you and
nobody else.’
At this point, he inquired about Major Nair, considering he
was nowhere to be seen since the last few days. I informed
him that as per instructions from our headquarters, he was
busy shifting to the high ground in Kailahun, as would I in a
few days’ time. Colonel Martin was puzzled as he couldn’t
comprehend the logic behind abandoning a comfortable
accommodation like the hospital and moving to the high
ground. To which I responded, ‘Those are orders from the
top.’
Major Kupoi, the Company Commander of the RUF
mandated for ensuring the safety of Kailahun town, was for
some reason not comfortable with the camaraderie brewing
between Colonel Martin and me. Kupoi was a lofty fellow,
with features sharper than Colonel Martin’s but not as
friendly. He was supremely competitive, and despite his best
efforts he could never defeat my team in the volleyball
matches that he played almost every evening—something
that might have deflated his bloated self-esteem.
Kupoi was a local and regarded Colonel Martin with covert
animosity, considering the latter was originally from Liberia.
Colonel Martin was an astute man who had reached a level
that Major Kupoi couldn’t climb to. Still, as Colonel Martin
had the backing of the then President of Liberia, there
wasn’t much that Kupoi could do to him.
By virtue of my solidarity with the locals and Papa Giema,
who stood like a rock in my support, Major Kupoi could do
nothing to me as well, except dwell in the well of envy. As
comic relief, I would occasionally say to him, ‘Kupoi, your
boss is my friend and Papa Giema, my elder brother. So,
don’t you mess with me, or else my family would rise in
revolt.’ Kupoi was well aware of the humanitarian assistance
extended by our company in Kailahun and of the wave of
loyalty extended by the locals, who literally worshipped the
Blue Beret. So, we actually didn’t have anything to fret
about, as we were standing on a strong foundation that we
had built brick by brick since our arrival. Consequently, with
the blessings of God, things in Kailahun were moving as
smoothly as candy floss.
While the situation in Kailahun was as peaceful as an
ocean without ripples—due to the enhanced affinity among
the United Nations peacekeepers, the RUF and the local
population—the situation in other parts of the country was
not very encouraging. Daily reports of clashes between the
RUF and UN troops, in places like Makeni, were spreading a
feeling of discomfort. We had amicably dismissed any
revolutionary sentiment that might prove hazardous. It was
anticipated that there would be clashes between the RUF
and UN Forces in Kailahun District as it was the RUF
heartland, and that the rest of the country would have
smooth sailing for the UN troops. However, the current
scenario was the antithesis of the presumption. While we at
Kailahun did not push for disarmament right from the
moment we first set foot there and thought that winning the
hearts of the locals was of paramount importance, the
peacekeepers in other parts of the country started pushing
hard for disarmament from day one, which resulted in
hostilities with the RUF.
The disarmament, as per the Lomé Peace Agreement, was
to be voluntary, and by pushing it in the face of RUF troops,
the peacekeepers were compromising their neutrality. In my
judgement, setting the stage by winning over the local
population and putting pressure on the RUF through locals
would have been the best approach. In any case, this would
not have been difficult in areas, other than Kailahun, where
the local people were already against the RUF. This policy
was exceedingly difficult to implement in Kailahun, it being
the RUF heartland. However, we were successful, and there
was an overwhelming sentiment among the locals that the
RUF should come forward to respect the Lomé Peace
Agreement.
The chief architect of the Lomé Agreement was President
Kabbah, and he was from Kailahun. Hence, we started
playing this psychological card on the local people.
Gradually, it appeared that disarmament in Kailahun would
soon be a reality, and even Papa Giema, in his conversation
with me, was positive that it would happen. By now, we had
generated tremendous goodwill among locals and the RUF,
because of our humanitarian approach. It was almost six
weeks since we first arrived in Kailahun. We were sitting
over phase one’s colossal success and did not want to rush
things, since any wrong action could have wasted all our
hard work. Everyone in Sierra Leone was talking about the
success story of the peacekeepers in Kailahun, and it was
turning out to be a case study for other peacekeepers.
After this preliminary accomplishment of the initial six
weeks of successful deployment in Kailahun, while
maintaining peace and harmony along with winning the
hearts of the locals and the RUF alike, the pressure was now
building up from higher headquarters to commence the
process of disarmament. Tales of my bonding with Papa
Giema and Colonel Martin were doing the rounds in the
corridors of the headquarters. The entire Eastern Province
knew about it as well. A couple of articles regarding the
exemplary handling of the ground situation by the
peacekeepers at Kailahun appeared in the newspapers. A
local paper of Eastern Province carried the headline
‘Growing camaraderie between RUF Commander and United
Nations Commander in the RUF heartland: Kailahun’.
I was in constant touch with Colonel Satish over the radio
set. In my last conversation with him, he insisted that I
should pressure the RUF leadership to make disarmament a
reality in Kailahun. He was well aware of my personal
equation with Colonel Martin and motivated me to utilize the
bond to turn things our way. I could sense the pressure
building on me to facilitate disarmament. Even I was in
favour of the RUF commencing at least token disarmament
at the earliest.
I discussed the issue with Colonel Martin, who smiled and
reassured me that it was only a matter of time and would
happen soon. He also shared the news that since the
payment of dollars to the surrendered rebels had
commenced in the DDR camps, some of his soldiers were
more than keen to lay down weapons and start their lives
afresh. It was a positive indicator, and it seemed certain
that disarmament was just around the corner. We
deliberated more openly on several issues, and Colonel
Martin informed me that his Field Commander, General Issa
Sesay, was very pleased with the situation prevailing in
Kailahun. General Issa was particularly appreciative of my
initiative of maintaining harmony and providing
humanitarian assistance in Kailahun. I told Colonel Martin,
‘Any time your Field Commander decides to come towards
Kailahun, I would like to meet him as a courtesy call.’
I remember Colonel Martin criticizing our Force
Commander, General Jetley, since, in his opinion, it was on
the orders of the Force Commander that disarmament was
being forced upon RUF soldiers in areas of Makeni and
Magburaka by Kenyan peacekeepers. This meeting with
Colonel Martin had taken place after a gap of almost a
week, and it was already the end of April. Little did I realize
that this would be our final meeting as friends, and that the
next time we would meet under totally different
circumstances. That evening, Colonel Martin stayed for a
long time, and we exchanged views on a lot of topics,
including his future plans.
He spoke about his experiences of fighting in the bush
since he was a child and how he wanted to eventually lead a
peaceful life, probably in America. He was still not
convinced whether he should get married. As always, he
stood his ground and said, ‘I hate women.’ He asked me a
hypothetical question, ‘Major Punia, what if some day you
have to choose between duty and friendship, what would
you choose?’ I understood that he was referring to our
friendship. I told him that in India, we were brought up in a
manner that led us to believe that even between duty and
family, duty comes first. That was why I was in Kailahun. I
told him about my last four years of commitment and how I
had sacrificed my family life.
I returned the same question to Colonel Martin, who, like
always, first smiled and then talked about the stringent
protocol in the RUF to follow instructions. The punishment
for not following instructions was very severe, which also
included the death penalty. I asked him, ‘Colonel, how
justified are the half- and long-sleeve punishments?’ He
smiled and asked, ‘Don’t you have a system of field
punishments, even death penalty, for disobeying orders in
the field?’ He further said that they were fighting a war for
the last ten years in Sierra Leone, and there had been many
occasions when field punishment was the only option. I was
impressed with his knowledge—the death penalty as field
punishment existed in most armies the world over. While
leaving, Colonel Martin was very sentimental and thanked
me most profoundly for whatever I had done since our
arrival in Kailahun. He hugged me and wished me good luck
and godspeed.
On 2 May 2000, I woke up to a message from Colonel
Martin, who communicated to me through Sister that the
RUF wanted to discuss modalities for the commencement of
disarmament at the town hall at 0900 hours. I immediately
spoke to Major Nair, who was at the high ground, and he too
confirmed getting the message. This definitely was a piece
of good news under prevailing circumstances, since
pressure for disarmament in Kailahun was building on us.
With a lot of questions in my mind, I got ready and started
for the town hall. While leaving, I asked Captain Sunil to
accompany me. I usually sought Maa Durga’s blessings at
our company temple whenever I ventured into town. On that
day, however, I was in a hurry and missed out on it.
 At the town hall, I was received by Major Kupoi of the RUF,
who informed me that Colonel Martin was on his way. In the
meantime, Major Nair too had arrived, and Major Kupoi
requested us to be seated in the town hall. We had barely
managed to sit on the velvety couch when we heard a bolt
from nowhere: both the massive iron gates of the town hall
were shut with a big bang. We were startled to see Major
Kupoi along with 10–12 unfamiliar faces. They took out
differently sized guns, which they had tucked behind their
backs, and swiftly pointed them at us.
Major Kupoi’s face beamed with a sense of
accomplishment, as though he was the cop who had nabbed
an absconding criminal. There was a deafening silence in
the dome-shaped conference room of the town hall. Then,
unexpectedly, Major Kupoi started vociferously charging at
me with his words, which had a cascading effect. In a flash,
we had a group of armed men yelling at us at the same
time. What I could discern from this godforsaken moment
was that Major Kupoi was levelling allegations against us,
for the killings of their innocent brethren. Kupoi, in
particular, also mentioned that our Force Commander,
General Jetley, had sent a helicopter gunship to shoot down
innocent RUF members in Makeni and Magburaka.
Hearing this, I instantly sensed that there was more to it
than met the eye, and hence I tried to pacify Kupoi, but to
no avail. He got further enraged, pointing towards ‘India’
written on our shoulders. One soldier, who was
accompanying Kupoi, pointed his gun at me and shouted
that their demand was ‘Blood for Blood’. I saw the fury of
vendetta in his narrow eyes and marks of wrath on his
reddening face. Suddenly, the iron door clanged and several
RUF soldiers came running, as if the world was collapsing,
shouting ‘Revenge’, with their weapons pointed towards the
ceiling. In no time, we were like tricksters at a fair and they,
the furious spectators, cordoning us off. Then, breaking the
sunbeams, a distorted shadow entered the town hall.
When I looked up, all my distress evaporated as it was a
familiar face. The person was embellished with a rather
bizarre ornament. It was Sister, with a rocket launcher
strapped on her back, marching towards us. Every step she
took made our blood run cold. That moment I told myself,
‘Major, you were playing with fire when you made Sister
“your sister” without realizing that she was the sister of the
RUF!’ I shifted my focus from Sister’s face to Major Kupoi’s
irate face, who ordered us to hand over our weapons. I
sharply replied that we were peacekeepers and hence did
not carry our weapons; I said that the weapons were kept in
the camp.
Kupoi then asked one of his soldiers to frisk us, and that
was when they recovered a pocket radio set from Captain
Sunil, who gave me a perplexed look. ‘Captain Sunil, hand
over the radio,’ I said. I asked Kupoi to hear me out, but he
abruptly started shouting, and sensing the gravity of the
situation, I kept quiet. I then asked Kupoi the reason for the
remand. He narrated the entire incident that had transpired
the previous day. The RUF soldiers who were peacefully
protesting forceful disarmament by the DDR camp at Makeni
were fired upon by Kenyan peacekeepers. Around the same
time, a helicopter gunship of the UN had pulled the triggers
at the RUF soldiers who had gathered at Magburaka.
In that woeful incident, the RUF had lost twenty soldiers,
and as a fallout, they had laid siege to all areas around
Sierra Leone where peacekeepers were present, except the
capital, Freetown. I inquired about Colonel Martin and was
told that we would be taken to him as per orders. I glared at
Sister with questioning eyes as she gaped at the tiles on the
floor, as though trying to mentally solve a mathematical
puzzle—she just couldn’t look me in the eyes. She only said
that she had no option but to join the RUF after her
husband’s death. I was oblivious to the fact that she was an
RUF rebel. I don’t really know the reason for it. Was it that
Sister had expertly concealed this fact? Or was it that her
innocent face never gave me an inkling about her
affiliation?
I had barely processed this bombshell when Major Kupoi
and his men took us out of the town hall, where soldiers
surrounded each one of us. I was asked by Major Kupoi to sit
in the rear of my vehicle, since I was a hostage. I can’t
explain the expression of my driver, Om Prakash, who was
baffled seeing me get into the rear seat of my own vehicle,
and almost instantaneously, he was shoved into the driver’s
seat by an RUF soldier. I was wedged between armed RUF
soldiers. The other soldiers hung on to the vehicle from the
outside, in a manner that made it increasingly difficult to
breathe inside.
The vehicle moved through the jungle track. Major Kupoi,
seated in the front, was continually communicating through
his radio set in his language. It was a jolting journey, with
our heads hitting the roof of the vehicle due to the broken
track we were driving on. The soldiers hanging on the sides
of the vehicle were continuously shouting, and I was
wondering what next. I was particularly worried about my
company and tried asking Kupoi about my men’s status. He
replied, ‘The orders for the disarmament of all peacekeepers
have been received by us, and no damage to any soldier will
happen.’
I told Kupoi instantly, ‘However much you try, Indians will
not lay down weapons. Every soldier of my company would
choose death over surrender.’
 He laughed and told me to wait and watch.
After driving for about half an hour through the
wilderness, I could see some sort of habitation, which looked
like an RUF camp. I got off the vehicle as two RUF soldiers
continued pointing their guns at me. Major Nair’s vehicle,
too, arrived, and he was in a similar state. I saw Jonathan,
the RUF intellectual, who came forward to welcome Major
Nair and me. Seeing him, I remarked, ‘The RUF is playing
with fire, the consequences of which will be hazardous.
Jonathan, I thought you were smarter than that. I’m amazed
to witness how the RUF is on a road of self-destruction.’
He explained that these were the orders from the Field
Commander but assured us of ensuring that they would
follow protocol. He then said something in the local
language to the soldiers who had their guns pointed at us.
As a result, they moved a few steps back and put down their
weapons. Even Major Kupoi’s behaviour changed slightly
after Jonathan’s arrival. Jonathan explained that it was part
of RUF tactics to separate Commanders from their
companies and that their next step would be to disarm all
peacekeepers as per instructions. I asked Jonathan about
Colonel Martin, and he informed me that currently Colonel
Martin was in the field and would meet me once he got
back. Jonathan also told us that what was happening was a
response to the previous day’s unfortunate incident in which
many RUF soldiers were killed by United Nations
peacekeepers.
I wondered why we were not informed of the incident by
our own headquarters. Had we known, we probably would
not have landed into the RUF trap. After an hour, eleven
military observers hailing from different countries were
brought in vehicles from Kailahun to the RUF camp, and now
Jonathan’s major worry was to provide food to everyone. He
put forth his concern that the RUF would not be able to offer
food to our taste, so he was going to send one of our
vehicles to our camp to get food for everyone.
The military observers were petrified; most of them had
been manhandled by the RUF. Major Andrew Harrison of
England was scared out of his wits. Sierra Leone was an
erstwhile British colony, and he anticipated that he would be
the first casualty in case the RUF started eliminating us one
by one.
The first exercise the RUF carried out was to physically
frisk each of us by taking everyone individually into a dark
room. All the money the observers had was taken away, and
during the frisking, most of them were roughed up.
Thereafter, all of us were asked to stay in ‘barracks’ that
had no roof and no walls. Primarily, it was only a stretch of
coarse floor in the name of barracks. I instructed my driver
to get groundsheets for everyone when he would go to
procure our dinner, since it was already well past lunch. The
so-called barracks had four armed RUF soldiers on four
corners, while the rest went into their living areas.
Major Nair and I wondered what must be transpiring back
in our companies. But one good thing that happened was
that the food vehicle going to camp eventually got back
with all the information about the developments taking
place in our camp. Overall, I was feeling miserable, having
been separated from my command in a crisis, which is the
worst thing that can happen to a soldier. My boys, my men,
were my responsibility. But here I was stuck as a hostage
without any offence and with barely any knowledge of what
my soldiers were going through in Kailahun. I just kept
praying for their safety.
Om Prakash, my driver, accompanied by four RUF soldiers,
brought our dinner from the camp. He also brought in the
situation report of our company being surrounded by the
RUF in large numbers. Since morning, they had been trying
to coerce and threaten the company to lay down weapons,
failing which, they would attack the company. That sight of
dead bodies of innocent soldiers piled up wouldn’t have
been a pleasant one. They also used Captain Sunil as a
human shield for terrorizing the company to surrender,
threatening to shoot him. I was told Captain Sunil displayed
undaunted courage and valour by shouting back at our
soldiers, ‘Koi bhi hathiyaar nahi daalega chahe yeh mujhe
goli hi kyun na maar de. Humare tirange ki izzat kam nahi
honi chahiye kisi bhi haal mein (Even if they shoot me,
nobody will surrender, nobody would diminish the honour of
our tricolour).’ I was so proud of the young officer and
wondered where he went right after the town hall incident in
the morning.
My driver further shared that almost all peacekeepers of
the United Nations deployed in areas other than Kailahun
had surrendered to the RUF, and the soldiers who
accompanied him were wondering why the Indian
peacekeepers were not laying down weapons despite being
in the RUF heartland of Kailahun. My driver also informed
me that the RUF had captured a United Nations helicopter
that was on a routine sortie.
I anticipated more pressure on our camp to surrender
since it was a matter of prestige for the RUF. Therefore, I
quickly wrote strict directions on a piece of paper: ‘No
surrender come what may. Vacate the building and dig down
into trenches as a company defended locality.’ I was
particularly apprehensive of my company being in the
hospital building since the RUF could bring down the
building by fire, thereby causing grave casualties. I gave the
note to my driver and asked him to hand it over to Captain
Sudesh, who was to officiate as Company Commander in my
absence.
That night we lay on our groundsheets, gazing at the
twinkling sky, with the RUF soldiers standing over our
heads. I don’t think anyone slept that night. With eyes fixed
to the moon, I wondered how unpredictable life was, where
one day we shared dinner with Colonel Martin, the RUF
Commander, and the next day we were captured as
hostages with our lives at stake. That moment, the hut
without the roof was not my concern; the rough land
piercing my back through the groundsheet didn’t pester me;
the angry faces occasionally blocking my view of the
moonlit sky was not a worry—all I thought of was my men,
whose families were waiting with expectant eyes back in
India. I had to take each one of them home safely, but with
dignity.
My heart skipped a beat when the faces of my wife and
children flashed in front of me. How would my wife lead the
rest of her life without me? How different would my kids’
lives be without a father? What if I bite the dust here
without getting to see them; without hearing my son tell me
that he would one day grow up to be like me; without
hearing my wife say that she loves me? And my daughter—I
was her hero and she, my princess. How would our fairytale
progress?
I looked around to see every hostage deep in thought,
with uncertainty looming on their faces. There was anxiety
in the air, and we decided to discuss the options available to
us, as getting disheartened wouldn’t help us reach home. All
the military observers were confident that things would
settle once I met Colonel Martin the following day, as they
were well aware of the camaraderie we shared. I distinctly
remember Major Suresh Karki of Nepal, who could speak
Hindi, requesting me to get him released since he was a
patient of hypertension and would die without his
medicines. Two more officers could speak Hindi; one was
Major Gabri, a military observer from India, and the other,
Major Rafique from Pakistan. I was gathering my thoughts as
to how best I could argue our case with Colonel Martin the
following day.
The next morning, the biggest challenge was the morning
ritual. The RUF had created a trench commode in the open
for everyone, which began to overflow in no time. So, I
decided to go into the thicket but not without my so-called
bodyguards, two RUF soldiers keeping an eye on me. You
can understand the challenge of easing oneself with two
gunmen aiming at you.
Jonathan came in the morning with soap, specially
brought from Liberia the night before, and apologized for
the hardships that we were facing. I asked him about my
meeting with Colonel Martin. He assured me that he would
organize it but added that Colonel Martin was not pleased
with the Indian peacekeepers not following instructions to
surrender. He also informed me that all other peacekeepers
had already surrendered and would be released today.
Jonathan further mentioned that the RUF eats only once a
day, and so our vehicle would only make one trip to our
camp.
He warned everyone that the RUF soldiers were instructed
to open fire if anyone tried to flee. Then, he reassured the
military observers that their belongings and money that was
taken away from them during the frisking the previous day
would be returned at an appropriate time. Finally, Jonathan
left, and during the day, we could see many United Nations
load-carrying vehicles, with soldiers crammed together in
their undergarments, heading towards Liberia. On inquiring
from the RUF soldiers on duty, they mentioned that these
were surrendered United Nations peacekeepers being taken
to Liberia for their release. The RUF had not only stripped
them of their weapons but also their uniforms, which was
unacceptable to us Indians. There was a reason that our
camouflage had the Indian tricolour and ‘India’ pinned to it.
We represented a nation of over a billion people, and one
surrender would bring down billions of heads in shame. In
the Indian Army, even the last breath of a fallen soldier
blows towards the tricolour so that it flutters with grace and
dignity. Hence, surrender was not an option.
By evening, Jonathan came to call me for a meeting with
Colonel Martin, and I instantly left with him. We walked
through the RUF camp for around 200 metres to reach the
other end. There was a nicely done hut with an RUF flag on
top, conspicuous as a result of its stateliness. Jonathan
made me sit on a wooden bench and then went inside to
call Colonel Martin.
Seeing Colonel Martin, I wished him ‘Kai goa ma’, a way of
greeting in the Mende language, to which he replied, ‘Good
evening.’ He inquired about my well-being and said, ‘Hope
our boys were looking after you!’ I didn’t want to complain
about the events that had unfolded over the last two days
and instead asked him, ‘What next, Colonel Martin?’ I knew
that had I complained, he would have referred to orders
from the top as an answer. I also understood that whatever
was happening was a fallout of incidents in Makeni and
Magburaka.
As always, he smiled and said, ‘My friend, I never thought
even in my dreams that one day we would be meeting in a
situation like today . . . My sentiments and emotions are
absolutely intact, like a good friend. But I am part of a
military force fighting for the last ten years for the
independence of Sierra Leone from corrupt forces. My
organization had great expectations from the United
Nations. However, what happened in Makeni and Magburaka
was a clear indicator that even the United Nations played
into the hands of the same vice-ridden force that we had
been fighting.’
I intervened to say, ‘Colonel Martin, you bore witness to
our work on the ground in Kailahun. Would you hold us
accountable for what happened in Makeni and Magburaka?’
I further amplified the humanistic approach that I believe in
and reminded him of the Guinean border patrol, which I
executed at my risk, without my headquarters being aware
of it, for the greater RUF cause. Colonel Martin was full of
appreciation for our work in Kailahun and attributed our
meeting underway to the excellent work carried out by the
peacekeepers. Realizing that our discussion was not heading
in a direction which could lead to a positive outcome, I
repeated my original question, ‘What next?’
Colonel Martin said, ‘Major, I am not pleased by your
company’s actions over the last two days.’ He spoke about
how the peacekeepers of other nations had surrendered to
the RUF across the entire country, except for the two Indian
companies. He was surprised to see our boys digging
trenches and constructing bunkers instead of agreeing to a
peaceful surrender.
I explained to Colonel Martin, ‘Bud, we Indians worship our
guns like God and would rather sacrifice our lives instead of
laying down weapons.’
He interrupted me to say, ‘But here you are on
peacekeeping duty. So how can you compare it to what you
do in your own country?’
I tried to clarify, ‘I believe that a soldier is a soldier
irrespective of his place of duty. Soldiering is our religion,
irrespective of our faith, and the weapons are our God.
There is no question of us laying down our God.’ I requested
him not to compare our soldiers with other peacekeepers
since we were a regular army that was responsible for the
security of our nation, and most other countries in the world
send troops that were especially enrolled and equipped only
for peacekeeping missions.
Despite all that I had said, he concluded with a warning,
‘Brave yourself to face the consequences, Major, as you’re
challenging the RUF, the most ruthless military force in the
world, and that too on our own turf.’
Sensing his style of dissension, I immediately understood
the kind of pressure Colonel Martin would be under from his
Field Commander, for failing to disarm the United Nations
peacekeepers in the RUF heartland of Kailahun. I also
sensed an opportunity that might arise out of this pressure
on Colonel Martin, and that was the opportunity to meet
Papa Giema in Kailahun on the pretext of visiting my
company location. So, I instantly put across an offer to
Colonel Martin, that I would try and speak to my boys to
explore the possibility of reconciliation and sort out the
stand-off between the RUF and the Indian peacekeepers.
Colonel Martin, with all the confidence he had vested in me
over the last two months, immediately directed Jonathan,
who had been listening all this while, to allow me to meet
my company the next day.
The news of me visiting Kailahun was a source of
jubilation for every United Nations representative who was
an RUF hostage in Geima. Filled with enthusiasm, Major Nair
and other United Nations observers asked me to narrate
every detail of my meeting with Colonel Martin and later
advised me concerning my future course of action once I
reached Kailahun. All this while, my mind was stuck on Papa
Giema. He was the only silver lining, for the tremendous
respect he commanded among the locals and the RUF.
Jonathan passed the necessary instructions regarding my
movement to Kailahun to Major Kupoi, and I prayed to God
Almighty that Kupoi should not accompany me in the
morning. In a little while, our dinner arrived, courtesy of Om
Prakash, who also brought in the news that the RUF cordon
around our company had been further reinforced.
There was a deep-seated perception in the company that
the RUF might attack the hospital location to disarm our
company. But I was sure that such an attack would not take
place until at least that night, since Colonel Martin would
definitely wait for the outcome of my visit to the company,
considering how much he trusted me.
Major Nair and I relished the scrumptious dinner from our
langar. However, we wondered how difficult it might be for
the military observers to adjust to spicy Indian food. Giving
rest to my curiosity, I asked the British officer, Major Andrew
Harrison, about the food. To my amazement, he replied,
‘Dude, in London, I would have to pay at least twenty
pounds for Indian curry, which I am enjoying on the house
here.’
After dinner, as I lay on the groundsheet, I literally started
counting the stars since there was no question of sleep.
That was when I remembered my wife’s parting words
during my last telephone call to her from Daru. She had
sensed difficult times ahead, and I marvelled as to how
accurate her intuition was. Now, I wondered if the news of
my captivity had reached India and how she would take it. I
prayed to God to keep this news under wraps, at least for
my family.
Another question doing the rounds in my mind was about
meeting Papa Giema, as he was my sole beacon of hope
under the prevailing circumstances. I did not even realize
the time since I was so deeply engrossed in all these
thoughts. Soon, I started hearing the routine morning
activity in the RUF camp. My thoughts had driven me from
the gloomy moonlight to the hopeful sunbeam in a flicker,
and I left my groundsheet with optimism running through
my veins.
That day, I was the first to commence the morning rituals
while all the military observers were still fast asleep. I wore
my uniform, and while putting the Indian tricolour on my
chest, I remembered Preet, who had catered for individual
UN kits for our soldiers back in Delhi. His words to me, that I
should keep the Indian flag flying high, stayed with me
throughout. That day was a real test, I knew it. Then I
recalled the famous quote from my commando course in
Belgaum, Karnataka:
‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going.’

It inspired me immensely, so much so that I felt a rush of

energy inside me. The RUF soldier on duty joked with me,
‘Major, I hope you are going to come back. If not, it was
lovely meeting you.’
I asked him who was escorting me and learnt that
‘Commander’ (which was also his name) was the escort
Commander. It was an excellent start to a wonderful day
since Kupoi was not accompanying me. Commander, who
was actually a Section Commander, was a real jovial person.
He, along with four RUF soldiers, arrived and shook hands
with me in typical RUF style. We boarded the Gypsy to start
our journey to Kailahun.
En route, I asked Commander about Kupoi and learnt that
he had been sent on a special mission the previous night. I
quietly thanked God, as Kupoi would have definitely been an
impediment. Commander then inquired, ‘Major, do you wish
to visit the high ground or the hospital?’ I confirmed the
hospital location.
In half an hour, we entered Kailahun, which looked
absolutely deserted, and Om Prakash drove us straight to
our company location. The RUF checkpost outside our
company stopped us, and there I saw Sister, who looked
relieved on seeing me. I once again thanked God since now I
had better chances of meeting Papa Giema through Sister,
who inquired about my health. I requested if I could look up
Papa Giema after meeting my company. She assured me of
her best efforts.
Commander cautioned me to come back, since I was to
walk down alone from that RUF checkpost. I started walking
towards my company, which was about 200 metres ahead.
Every step I took had the bounce of eagerness; I wanted to
be confident that my boys were unharmed. They had seen
me from a distance, and I heard a loud cheer, filled with
gaiety, of ‘Bharat Mata Ki Jai’.
In no time, everyone got together and embraced me in a
huddle, with Subedar Fateh checking my hands physically to
look for any traces of RUF torture. I can’t explain the
euphoria I felt at meeting my men. I overheard Sepoy Vinod
saying, ‘Saab, aap aa gaye hain, ab humein koi fikar nahin
hai (Sir, now that you have come, we have nothing to worry
about).’ That was when I shared the news with them that I
would have to go back, and the boys unanimously echoed
that they would not let me go.
I explained the entire situation to them and passed certain
necessary security instructions. My final command to the
company was, ‘No surrender come what may’. I spent
another twenty minutes checking the bunkers and trenches
prepared by the boys. I shared my observations and asked
them to improve the overhead protection of bunkers against
aerial attack; I also told the boys to lay some obstacles
ahead of the bunkers to deter the RUF’s move.
Finally, after wishing good luck to each of them, I returned
to the RUF checkpost, where Sister shared the news with me
that Papa Giema was home. She accompanied me to Papa
Giema’s residence. He met me with a lot of warmth and
asked me about my health. He said that he was sorry for
what the RUF was doing, and that was when I thought to
myself that reverse psychology was the only way out.
I told Papa Giema, ‘Brother, I’m sorry to inform you that
my boys have received orders to commence firing from our
headquarters. They are further enraged as their Company
Commander is held hostage in Geima.’ I also informed Papa
Giema that our company was equipped with heavy-duty
mortars and rocket launchers. I told him that personally, I
didn’t want war and bloodshed in Kailahun, but I couldn’t do
anything to stop it since I was returning to Geima.
Papa Giema instantly said, ‘You will not go to Geima, and I
would not let there be any war in my town. The people have
suffered enough in the last decade. You must stay back and
stop this.’
I said, ‘Papa Giema, I am under RUF orders and have to
retreat to their headquarters in Geima before last light.’
Papa Giema asked, ‘Do you know who made the RUF? We
made the RUF.’ He went on to pass instructions to the
Commander to send a message to Colonel Martin saying,
‘Major Punia is not returning and will be staying in Kailahun.’
 #8

Mini Khukri: Gateway Home

Things were advancing as planned, and they couldn’t have

been any better. On my way back from Papa Giema’s
residence, Sister informed me that Papa Giema was not
delighted with the RUF’s action of arresting us as hostages.
Furthermore, as a consequence of the humanitarian aid
provided by us over the last two months, even the local
people from nearby villages, who were a part of his
chiefdom, were exerting pressure on Papa Giema for our
release. I understood the entire issue in a flash as I
contemplated the reason behind this prompt decision taken
by Papa Giema. I was glad I had been able to feel the RUF’s
pulse since the day I first set foot in their heartland. It was
now quite evident that their lifeline, local support, was
drifting away from them.
This information acquired from Sister, regarding the locals
badgering Papa Giema and the RUF for the release of
officials taken as hostages in the RUF headquarters, was
encouraging. I could instantly sense a window of
opportunity for the release of the United Nations observers
and Major Nair. I requested Sister for a couple of minutes
with her in the town hall before we reached the hospital
location. Upon entering the town hall, I expressed my
gratitude to Sister and requested that she tie a band made
out of my handkerchief cloth on my wrist. I explained to her
the Indian tradition of sisters tying rakhis on the wrists of
their brothers; the rakhi meant a promise to the sister to
protect her forever. She was in tears when I held her hands
and assured her that hereafter her safety was my
responsibility.
I immediately came to the issue of vital importance,
regarding the release of military observers who belonged to
powerful countries like England, Russia, etc. I informed
Sister that in case they were not released, it would result in
disaster for everyone. I also explained to her how the RUF
did not understand that they were on a slippery slope, and
any retaliatory action from all these mighty nations may
spell doomsday for Kailahun. She immediately understood
my viewpoint and assured me that she would discuss this
with Papa Giema. She then escorted me to the RUF
barricade and passed the directions given by Papa Giema to
the local RUF post Commander.
And here I was, walking free into our company location.
My company could not believe their eyes and ears when I
told them that this time I had come for good. There was a
wave of celebration, and the company was filled with joy. In
the middle of this jubilation, I heard Captain Prashant telling
me, ‘Sir, now you will not go out.’ After the celebration
settled down, I explained the outside situation to my boys
and said that my moving out of the company was the need
of the hour to ensure the release of UN military observers
and Major Nair. Captain Prashant volunteered to move out in
case it was required. He further reinforced the current need
for me to take charge of the company. At that very moment,
I did not want to prolong the discussion as that would have
suppressed the euphoria of my successful return. So, I
agreed to their demand and, as a result, there was
happiness all around, with the boys literally carrying me to
my command post.
During the evening stand-to, I physically checked each
bunker for its range and arc of fire. After rectifying all
deficiencies, I realized at last light that all the electric bulbs
were concentrated towards the centre of our camp, giving
an easy target to the enemy. That was when I got all the
lights shifted to the periphery and had them point outwards,
to be able to better observe the enemy. Captain Prashant
immediately said, ‘Sir, this is the difference of experience,
and we need you here.’
As a routine, the company was in stand-to throughout the
night to drive back any enemy misadventure. The obstacles
prepared ahead of each bunker were so made that the
enemy—that is, anybody trying to harm our men and
material—wouldn’t get a free run on to the bunkers. I was
elated to see our boys highly motivated despite the
prevailing adverse circumstances.
By morning, I made a judgement call to reach out to Papa
Giema for the release of the military observers. If I had not
moved out, the previous day’s communication with Papa
Giema would have been understood by him as only a ploy
for my release. I could not compromise the confidence Papa
Giema had vested in me, and the existing circumstances
warranted that I maintain communication with Papa Giema.
So, despite the majority company opinion being against it, I
ordered Captain Sudesh to continue with our company’s
charge when I moved out.
After seeking the blessings of Maa Durga, I moved for my
mission and was greeted by Sister at the RUF checkpost.
Sister took me straight to Papa Giema, who was happy to
see me. He exclaimed, ‘Watching you stand in front of me
today, after your having gone through such tumultuous
adventures, my respect for you as a soldier has cut across
all limits. I was uncertain that you would return to town from
your company.’
I gave my word to Papa Giema that I would be coming to
town every day and doing my dual duty of looking after my
company and also every member of Kailahun town. I
assured him of peace in Kailahun and absolutely no warfare,
come what may. Thereafter, I explained the implication of
holding the military observers as hostage. They were only
observers, without any weapons on them. Hence, if this was
widely reported, world opinion would turn against the RUF.
Moreover, these observers were from mighty lands like
England, Russia, etc. The RUF might draw strong retaliation
from these countries. So, I added, in the interest of peace in
Kailahun, they should be released.
Papa Giema assured me of his best efforts in ensuring
their release, and in response, I thanked him profoundly. I
told Papa Giema that I was genuinely concerned for a truce
in Kailahun as every resident was like family to me. I said
that I would continue to strive for peace even at the cost of
my own life. Hearing these words from me, Papa Giema
turned emotional. He explained the miseries of warfighting
that he had personally faced in the last ten years, including
losing both his sons, besides the losses suffered by every
home in Kailahun, where howls of grief echoed through the
windows of ramshackle houses. Hearing this from Papa
Giema, I was speechless and could not hold back tears. I
wondered at the strength of this man, who had not shared
this with me for the last so many days.
The following day, we received the news that all the
military observers and Major Nair had been released. I got
to know about it when I came to the town. It was the most
terrific start to my day, as my brethren were free from the
clutches of the RUF, and I could empathize with them,
having lived in similar abhorrent conditions myself. As a
result of some miscommunication in the RUF hierarchy, the
military observers, who were supposed to fall back to their
accommodation in Kailahun town, also sneaked into the high
ground along with Major Nair. The military observers resided
with the Indian Army contingent at the high ground for the
rest of their time in Kailahun.
Learning about the excellent news, I decided to walk up to
the high ground, as by now I had access to all the places in
the periphery of Kailahun, courtesy of Papa Giema. Though I
had hitherto been unfamiliar to most RUF soldiers, they now
recognized me as I walked through the RUF cordon into the
high ground, where I met Major Nair. He thanked me with all
sincerity and complimented me for the successful release of
every single man.
I met all the military observers, who were very
appreciative of my actions. Pulling their leg, I said, ‘By the
way, gentlemen, the RUF wants you to stay in the town and
not at the high ground.’ It was fun to see their expressions,
their faces turning pale as they outrightly declined with a
big ‘No’.
Major Nair and I discussed the future strategy. We
concurred that it was imperative to maintain communication
with Papa Giema and to also remain in touch with the locals
in town. So, it was decided that while Major Nair continued
to stay in the high ground locality and maintain
communication with our headquarters, I would have to keep
moving out regularly to feel the pulse on the outside. By
now, I was anticipating a call from Colonel Martin, and as
expected, the moment I stepped out of the high ground, I
met Commander, who informed me that Colonel Martin was
in town and wanted to have a rendezvous with me.
With apprehensions in my mind, I reached the town hall to
meet the Colonel. He looked very disturbed and peeved with
me for the events that had transpired over the last seventy-
two hours. I explained to Colonel Martin that there was
absolutely no possibility of surrender by Indian
peacekeepers without a fight between the RUF and the
United Nations soldiers. The rest was his call. I also
explained once again how an Indian soldier worships his
weapon as his God. I assured him that I was his friend
yesterday and would continue to be his friend trying to
explore an amicable solution to the stand-off. Colonel Martin
was very upset about the military observers moving into the
high ground and asked me to deploy them outside the town.
Knowing fully well that they wouldn’t come out, I still said
that I would try my best.
Luckily for me, Papa Giema arrived at that very moment,
and there was an altercation between Colonel Martin and
Papa Giema. They argued with each other in their language
for quite some time. Eventually, Colonel Martin left in an
animated state without sharing a word with me.
Papa Giema then established that I would have his
unconditional support. He mentioned that he had made it
very clear to Colonel Martin that if the RUF caused any harm
to the Indian peacekeepers, the locals would withdraw their
support. I thanked Papa Giema with all my heart and told
him that peace would prevail in Kailahun come what may.
After that, I took Papa Giema’s permission to get back to
the hospital location with a promise to meet the following
day. While walking back to the hospital location, I knew that
I would have to live up to Papa Giema’s expectations and
find a solution to the stand-off without bloodshed. I was
released because of Papa Giema’s sustained efforts. Hence,
I owed my life to him, and it was because of him that there
was no fear in me whenever I walked outside our camp
location.
On all such occasions, I preferred walking rather than
using a vehicle, not wanting to risk my driver’s life. I didn’t
know what had happened to me since the time I was taken
hostage—I considered myself to be on a mission of my own
to restore peace and normality in Kailahun. I was aware that
this could happen only if I spoke from a position of strength
to Colonel Martin rather than from a position of weakness.
This could happen only if our defences were well prepared,
and we were absolutely ready to face any catastrophe
inflicted by the RUF.
Simultaneously, I would have to explore the feasibility of
peace without active warfare by moving out into the town to
interact with locals. I was juggling two hats: one of a soldier
and commander of a company; and the other of a crusader
of peace in Kailahun. It was as if my identity was torn. But to
be honest, I surprised myself as I stepped into both shoes
with the utmost ease, without making any compromises in
either role. I prayed to God to give me the strength to
discharge my duty towards both my obligations. Engrossed
deep in my thoughts, I did not realize when I reached the
camp.
Upon reaching the company location, I was informed that
my Commanding Officer, Colonel Satish, wanted to speak to
me. I headed for the radio room right away. The Colonel
initially complimented me for ensuring the release of all
peacekeepers, including the military observers. He then told
me about an unfortunate incident: our Second-in-Command,
Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma, and his patrol had been
taken hostage by the RUF at Kuiva, around 10 km from
Daru. He said that Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma had
started for Kailahun to resolve the crisis and was held
hostage along with his party en route. He also assured me
of prudent diplomacy at the highest level to find an
amicable solution to the prevailing situation as the issue
had been raised in the Indian parliament. Prime Minister Atal
Bihari Vajpayee had spoken to his Liberian counterpart,
Charles Taylor, asking him to direct the RUF for the release
of Indian peacekeepers in Kailahun.
The issue was being taken up by the Indian
representatives to the United Nations headquarters for a
prompt solution. Colonel Satish once again directed me not
to venture out of our company locality since everyone at
Kailahun had been released. I requested that I should be
allowed to use my discretion for such decisions, since I was
the man on the ground.
After the lengthy conversation with our Commanding
Officer, I called for all our Company Officers to brief them
regarding the current situation outside our four walls, and to
coordinate other operational and immediate administrative
issues. I told them that this was going to be a long battle.
We would have to keep our soldiers motivated. My
immediate concern was the stock of rations that needed to
be scaled to sustain for a while. Despite the best efforts to
resolve the impasse through diplomacy, both at the highest
and ground levels, we needed to be prepared for all
contingencies. I instructed Captain Prashant to select the
twenty finest boys of our company to form a ‘Ghatak
Platoon’, in case there arose a need for a special task as a
retaliatory measure to an assault by the RUF. The platoon
should be prepared to undertake special operations,
including commando tasks, and their training under him
must commence from the following day.
 The company continued to be in stand-to for the entire
night, with soldiers resting in shifts during the day. In the
end, I instructed Subedar Fateh to confirm by next morning
how long we could sustain with the current stock of ration.
The most disturbing news was shared by Captain Sudesh,
who had spoken to our Operations Officer at Daru. Captain
Sudesh learnt that, as a result of the ongoing crisis and the
likelihood of the RUF attacking Freetown, the Force
Headquarters was winding up to return home. I smiled and
told my officers that we had only two options—to either go
back with our honour and respect stripped off or fight to the
last man, last round.
The moment the conference was over, I was struck with
the thought that since the hostage issue had been raised in
the Indian parliament, my wife would be well aware of the
ill-fated developments. The mere thought gave me a sinking
feeling, as there was no way we could communicate home.
However, my duty and responsibility as Company
Commander brought me back into my element. During the
stand-to at night, I moved from bunker to bunker as this was
an opportunity to meet every boy of our company. I would
fail in my duty if I don’t share here that every soldier
seemed highly motivated and expressed to me that he was
ready to die rather than lay down his weapons. Such
prowess is among the reasons that the Indian Army is a cut
above the rest.
The stalemate in the ground situation continued, and I
kept discharging my duties as the Company Commander at
night. We were in a state of high alert, with ammunition
loaded into our weapons. The soldiers kept a vigilant eye
out for any sign of trouble all through the night. Nobody
slept at night in our area. I moved out to the town during
the day to sense the developments on the other side. There
was a sense of fear setting in among the locals. They were
getting more and more convinced that war was inevitable,
though I was optimistic that high-level diplomacy would
solve the ongoing stand-off.
Therefore, the best option under these circumstances was
to stand firm and show no visible sign of any weakness,
despite the limited stocks of ration which we had scaled. To
my surprise, even though one meal a day was available for
everyone, some of our boys were not eating at all. That’s
what stress can do to individuals. One fine morning, Major
Murali, our doctor, came to me with information about an
urgent surgery required to save the life of one of our boys.
Sepoy Jayjeet had not passed stool for the last ten days. His
stomach had swelled up like a balloon, and it was suspected
to be a case of intestine twist. The only remedy was an
urgent surgery. Major Murali explained that it probably
happened as a result of severe stress and that Sepoy Jayjeet
needed immediate air evacuation or he may not survive. He
was to be evacuated to Daru, where a field hospital had
been set up and a specialist surgeon was available. I was in
a dilemma as our entire company was under the RUF
cordon, with no possibility of an evacuation. So, I decided to
discuss the issue with Papa Giema.
Before moving out, I called for my officers to discuss the
broader issue of combating stress. All of us unanimously
agreed to follow a set routine during the day, including
training, physical activity and a friendly game of volleyball
in the evening to keep our men occupied. I passed executive
orders for it, and the earlier approach of allowing rest during
daytime was changed to routine activity throughout the day.
Papa Giema displayed tremendous concern for my soldier.
However, he conveyed his inability to facilitate the air
evacuation since it was within the military’s purview and
only Colonel Martin could take a call on it. Without any
further ado, I called for an immediate flag meeting with
Colonel Martin. The message was sent through the person in
charge of the RUF’s communications wing. Colonel Martin
immediately responded to my call, perhaps sensing a
possibility that he could make us lay down our weapons.
That evening, we met in the town hall, after almost a
fortnight. He looked exhausted, and from him I learnt that
the prevailing situation in other parts of the country was
likely to again escalate into a full-fledged civil war. This time
he appeared a little mellow and posed a question to me:
‘Major, how long will you continue in the present state
without any rations and food supply?’ I could sense a shift in
his strategy, from an earlier emphatic approach to force us
to lay down weapons immediately, even by coercion, to a
wait-and-watch policy.
I thought it to be the right opportunity and requested him
to help save the life of my soldier by allowing an air
evacuation on humanitarian grounds. Major Kupoi, who
accompanied him, immediately declined my request and
said, ‘No helicopter gunship.’ He warned me that they would
shoot down the helicopter if it entered their territory. I could
understand Kupoi’s reaction. The RUF had suffered multiple
casualties during the civil war from machine guns mounted
on helicopters. I again appealed to Colonel Martin and
explained the urgency of taking my soldier to Daru, where a
surgeon was available to handle the case.
Colonel Martin went quiet, and spoke after a minute. He
asked me to provide a vehicle so that the casualty could be
transported by road. This time, it was my turn to go quiet,
but my soldier’s life was more valuable than the cost of a
machine. Hence, I agreed to provide a vehicle but insisted
that it be driven by the RUF as I did not want to risk another
soldier’s life by sending him along. The RUF, being their
typical selves, never returned my vehicle, though we
recovered it during Operation Khukri on 15 July 2000.
I thanked Colonel Martin for the humanitarian gesture and
requested for more such flag meetings to ensure peace in
Kailahun. I once again assured him of my commitment to
peace in Kailahun in the true spirit of a peacekeeper. I was
also particularly delighted since he had not raised the issue
of our relinquishing our weapons to the RUF.
With each passing day, the graph of my confidence in a
diplomatic solution was going down, even as the stress level
on the ground, despite our best efforts, shot up. The
remaining ration at the hospital location could only ensure
our sustenance for another ten days. However, the situation
at the high ground was slightly better since the amount of
food there was more than our requirements, given that both
companies were to ultimately shift to the high ground as per
the earlier plan.
I was continually going through the night’s stand-to
routine and moving to town by day while also attending the
occasional flag meeting with Colonel Martin, whose smile
was intact since he now believed that it was only a matter
of time before we laid down our weapons. We had tried our
best but now the message from higher headquarters was
flickering. We were informed that ‘In case the commander
on the ground feels that by laying down weapons he can
save the lives of his soldiers, he can take his call.’ Few
words with profound implications.
I understood that high-level diplomacy had failed, and
hence action taken on the ground would determine our
future. However, the soldier in me was not ready to give up,
come rain or shine. The day we donned our revered uniform,
owing allegiance to our motherland, that nine-letter
contemptible word ‘SURRENDER’ was off-limits. For us,
death is not an outcome to be dreaded, but the idea of
surrender is appalling because of what dies inside us while
we are still alive. I was utterly grateful that my men felt the
same sentiment.
Right then, I could hear Major Nair on the radio set,
notifying that the military observers were creating a
shedload of inconvenience for him: they were insisting on
being allowed to venture out. I decided to personally visit
the high ground to meet the military observers the following
day.
While trudging through the town, I noticed the locals, their
faces marked with terror, reinforcing their houses with
earthwork to enhance the protection of the front walls. Upon
approaching the high ground, Major Nair told me about the
mercurial attitude of the military observers, who were
initially too petrified to move out but now desired to leave
the locality and get released through the RUF since they
didn’t have any weapons on them. He informed me how
Major Andrew Harrison of England and the Russian officer
had tried eloping one night and were caught by our sentry
on duty.
I spoke with all the military observers collectively. I
explained to them the criticality of the situation and the
strong possibility of the commencement of the civil war in
Sierra Leone post the forceful disarmament of UN
peacekeepers by the RUF. I further tried to convince them
that it was not safe for them to venture out. But they
insisted on being allowed to move out as they didn’t have
any weapons on them, and so the stand-off between the
Indian peacekeepers and the RUF, who wanted the
peacekeepers to lay down arms, did not apply to them. I
once again made it clear to them that they were responsible
for their safety until the time they were residing in the town,
but now that they had entered the high ground,
safeguarding their lives was our responsibility.
I requested Major Nair to put a guard as a measure of
protection and informed them that they were not going
anywhere. Major Andrew Harrison tried to threaten me; he
warned me that he would take up the issue with the UN
Headquarters as and when he was released.
Before setting out for my location, I explained to Major
Nair, confidentially, that if the military observers were
allowed to leave, the world would forget about us, and he
understood this from the right perspective. I also informed
Major Nair that I was looking for a window of opportunity to
join him in the high ground since administratively, I couldn’t
sustain at the hospital location beyond a week. Furthermore,
the hospital location was not very safe compared to the high
ground, and also, if both the companies integrated their
strengths on the ground, the impact would increase
manifold.
Every time I walked out of the company location to move
into town, our sentry on duty would wish me in a manner
that meant he was praying for my safe return. Similarly,
whenever I walked back into the company, the sentry’s eyes
seemed to chant prayers to thank God as he could see me
again. He would try to read my expression for some signs of
glad tidings which I might be bringing in from the town
regarding the resolution of this impasse. I had also made it a
routine to seek Maa Durga’s blessings at our company
temple while moving in or out, without fail.
The situation was getting tense by the day, with no signs
of an immediate solution to the stand-off. A month had
passed. I thought about the feasibility of shifting from the
hospital location to the high ground and drew up an optimal
plan.
I saw a glimmer of hope when Papa Giema informed me of
a crisis brewing up in Liberia. As a result, Colonel Martin
might direct some RUF troops from Kailahun to Liberia to
address the issue. After receiving this input, I asked my
platoons to be on the lookout for any change in the RUF
deployment around our company location.
One particular incident that confirmed the input of Papa
Giema was when, through the southern edge of the bush, a
couple of children managed to reach our forward post to
deliver papayas plucked from the jungle for our boys. We
were absolutely moved by this gesture since it was a
testament to the goodwill we had earned among the locals.
It was ironic how people in Kailahun were dying of hunger
when papayas—or po-po, as they would call them—grew in
abundance in the wild. The locals didn’t think of po-po as
food, but as we soldiers relished it, they would pluck some
for us.
I sent out a patrol under the command of Captain
Prashant at nightfall the following day, to verify the
presence of the RUF soldiers towards the southern side of
the jungle. Our boys could go right up to the high ground,
which was just around one kilometre away, through the
forest. They returned to share the positive news of no RUF
presence. This was the golden opportunity I had been
waiting for. The RUF had checkposts on all tracks leading
out of our locality, but the southern extremity of the bush
was not manned.
Most of our heavy vehicles had already been parked in the
high ground before the crisis and we only had two light
vehicles with us, of which we had given one to the RUF for
the evacuation of Sepoy Jayjeet. Basically, what was left was
my vehicle, which I decided to use while going to the town
and the high ground the next day. The following day, I
parked my vehicle in the high ground and reached my
company on foot. Then, we drafted a strategy to proceed in
a trickle method over two nights through the dense thicket
and carry the essential stores manually. I was taking an
enormous risk, but under prevailing circumstances, any
alternative would have led to serious problems: we could
either have died of starvation or chosen to fight it out.
According to the plan of action, the Ghatak Platoon and
Motorized Platoon were to leapfrog on the first night, that
too in the trickle method of not more than a section (ten
soldiers) at one time, and there had to be a gap of ten
minutes between two sections. The men moved as swiftly as
the wind; they were like ghosts traversing through the
triple-canopy jungle terrain that was as silent as the grave.
By the grace of God Almighty, everything went as
planned. The following morning, I ventured into town, as
was customary, to confirm that the RUF didn’t have the
foggiest idea about our movement the night before. On the
very next night, again, we started the move by trickle
method, but the rain played spoilsport as we got caught in
the downpour. It was a challenge to walk upright as the
breeze intensified into whirlwinds. Even the forest was hit by
an intense blow of lightning, creating a spectacular show,
amplifying the shadows in the dense woods. Halfway
through, the RUF soldier returning from his sentry duty
spotted us and immediately opened fire. Any casualty to the
RUF soldier would have definitely been the genesis of a full-
fledged war, and we didn’t want that. Hence, we took cover
behind tree trunks. The RUF rebel kept firing till his last
ammunition round, with lit up shots hissing under the dense
dark canopy of the trees. He then rushed to call for
reinforcements, which was a window for us to reach our
destination.
Just as we proceeded, we caught a glimpse of the grace of
heaven: the gales had blown apart the tree cover and
created an avenue for our advancement. With thunder
pounding from the sky, as though fired from a cannon, the
rain was getting vehement, thumping the ground like
gunshots, with massive drops hitting our bodies. Then, in
the dead of night, by the time our last platoon made
headway, the rebel reinforcements started rushing towards
us, and there was a hot pursuit by the RUF.
Fortunately, by the time the RUF got its orientation right,
our boys had entered the high ground. By first light, many
RUF soldiers, along with Major Kupoi, came to the high
ground. They shouted on our sentries and called for me.
However, I thought it was best to let the heat die down.
After reaching the high ground, I shared the positive
development with our Commanding Officer, who once again
was annoyed with me for not keeping him in the loop. I
replied, ‘Sir, bouquets are yours and bricks are mine.’ In
fact, it was a very successful tactical move carried out by
my company, executed without a bullet being fired by us.
This tactical move opened the gates for the execution of
Operation Khukri, and I always refer to this movement of my
company as the ‘Mini Khukri’.
Operation Mini Khukri was successfully executed due to
the complacency that had set in among the RUF cadres over
the last month. They had reconciled themselves to the idea
that the Indian peacekeepers would neither lay down
weapons in the near future nor would they go anywhere.
The second reason for this successful operation had to do
with the fact that the RUF was thin on the ground, as some
of the soldiers had been directed towards Liberia.
 As a fallout of Mini Khukri, the RUF had suddenly
increased the presence of soldiers around the high ground,
with more troops moving in every day. Yet we became more
robust in the high ground, with two Indian companies, and
reorganized ourselves to hold that area, to the extent of 200
by 200 metres, more strongly.
We constructed more bunkers to accommodate a higher
number of soldiers. Trees were felled to make room for the
bunkers. The logs of wood were used as roofs for the
bunkers, which were further reinforced by a two-foot-thick
layer of mud on the top. This was done primarily to provide
overhead protection, since the RUF had the mortar
capability to fire high-trajectory weapons. The high ground
was covered by six platoons, and each platoon with thirty
soldiers was holding a frontage of 100 metres; therefore, the
strength of the troops relative to the area, by any standards,
was very high.
We also rehearsed contingency plans of readjustments by
moving a section (ten soldiers) each from every platoon
(thirty soldiers) to reinforce the other platoon. To absorb this
reinforcement, every platoon had prepared extra bunkers.
We had eighteen rocket launchers, which were deployed
alternately with each platoon. Depending on whichever
direction the RUF attacked from, the rocket launchers could
be moved to take up the positions so created.
Though our infantry combat vehicles (BMPs) could not
reach, we had two BRDMs,* wheel-based combat vehicles,
that were mounted with heavy firepower. We created tracks
for every platoon so that the BRDMs could be moved
depending on the direction of the RUF attack. Therefore
overall, we were now solid on the ground to repulse any
kind of misadventure by the RUF. Furthermore,
administratively, we were slightly better than we had been
at the hospital location. But scaling by way of one meal a
day was still obligatory. Seeing our defences come up, with
fortified bunkers and logs of wood as obstacles ahead of the
bunkers, the RUF began to speculate about our intentions.
In the RUF way of fighting, holding the ground was never
an option since they only practised guerrilla warfare, which
is essentially based on hit-and-run tactics. A smaller unit
attacks the larger force by stealth and after the attack,
disappears in the jungle. Therefore, what was happening
right under their nose was something new for them.
I was advised by Major Nair and all my officers not to
venture out, since we had consolidated in the high ground,
which was the most strategically advantageous feature in
the entire area. It was also not safe to step out since my
execution of Mini Khukri in the RUF heartland was not
appreciated. I agreed with everyone’s advice, stopped
moving out any more and concentrated all my energy on
improving our defensive posture. We could see the overall
improvement in our bunkers, obstacles ahead and cutting
fire lanes ahead of our bunkers to bring down effective fire
on the advancing enemy. But as they say, the preparation of
defence is never complete—we continued with our efforts to
improve our fortifications and obstacles ahead of our
defences.
We were getting well fortified, and the mood in both the
companies was upbeat. But what was depressing was the
uncertainty ahead of us, with no clarity on the future course
of action.
The military observers were accommodated at the centre
of the high ground in small bivouacs. They continued to
create nuisance for us. However, ever since the guard had
been deployed, the message was clear to them. Despite the
indiscipline of the military observers, it was the need of the
hour to keep them with us. Their presence was an asset for
us, since some of them were from developed countries like
England and Russia. I knew that the mere fact of their being
here would at least draw the world’s attention towards us.
We also created two volleyball grounds within our
periphery, and the unit routine, including evening games,
was followed within the high ground area of 200 by 200
metres. Major Nair and I were in a much better state of mind
than before, despite the ambiguity regarding our future. The
morale of the soldiers was kept under check with regular
routine being followed. Though we made sure our men were
well motivated, deep down we were sceptical about what
the future would hold for us.

Sepoy Jayjeet survived as a result of immediate surgery, which was

performed upon his reaching Daru. The only impediment he faced was
that he had to walk down the last 500 metres.
 #9

Meeting with General Issa Sesay

Almost a week had passed since the execution of Mini

Khukri when one fine morning, the forward post of my
company informed me that a lady, along with two RUF
soldiers, had come to meet me.
I immediately reached the post and saw Sister standing
fifty metres ahead of our bunker. I walked up to her, along
with two armed sentries, to know the purpose of her visit.
She gave me a message from Colonel Martin, that the Field
Commander was in town, and since I had requested a
meeting with the Field Commander, I could meet him today.
I was in a dilemma. The timing of this meeting was
immediately after Mini Khukri, and that created a suspicion
in my mind. However, I did not want to say no straightaway.
So I told Sister that I would have to discuss the issue with
my headquarters. I asked Sister about her well-being and
checked for the situation prevailing in town. She said
everything was normal.
I called up my Commanding Officer on the radio set and
informed him about the development. His immediate
reaction was a big ‘No’. However, he mentioned that he
would further discuss the issue with the Force Commander.
In the meantime, all my officers got to know about Sister’s
message, and they requested me to not move out since it
clearly was an RUF trap. I assured them that I was not going
for the meeting under any circumstance. But as they say,
God has strange ways of doing things.
It was difficult for me to understand why our Commanding
Officer, who was initially against my moving out, called back
after having discussed the matter with the Force
Commander and said that I should go for the meeting with
the RUF Field Commander. He also shared the information
that, as per intelligence available in the Force Headquarters,
General Issa Sesay, the Field Commander, was in Kailahun
town on that particular day. Our Force Commander, General
Jetley, had been trying for a meeting with the Field
Commander of the RUF since the commencement of the
crisis, but the RUF Field Commander was not conceding to
the request.
The Force Headquarters suggested that if he was ready to
meet me, I must go for the meeting. Colonel Satish also
instructed me to raise the issue for the release of Lieutenant
Colonel Amit Sharma and the patrol party held by the RUF at
Kuiva. I was silent as my intuition warned me against
moving out of the safety of the high ground. I immediately
discussed the entire issue with Major Nair, who very
candidly told me that had he been in my place, he wouldn’t
have dared to venture out in this situation.
Before I could make up my mind, I got a call again from
our Commanding Officer. He instructed me not to move out
all by myself and take another officer along. I was
bewildered; my mind went absolutely blank. I could manage
to get myself together only once I reached our company’s
makeshift temple. I sought Maa Durga’s blessings and
prayed that I be shown the right path. Sepoy Vinod was in
the temple as always, and he assured me that whatever I
had done so far was as per the directions of Maa Durga.
With her blessings, I could not go wrong in my judgement. I
felt the inner strength and courage to go ahead with the
meeting in the larger interest of peace in Kailahun, which I
had promised to Papa Giema and every local resident of
Kailahun town. My officers were taken aback by the shift in
my thought process and again tried to persuade me against
going for the meeting.
After learning about my decision, Subedar Fateh quickly
walked up to me and held my hand for the first time to say,
‘Saab, main jaanta hoon ki main hadd paar kar raha hoon,
par main aapko jaane nahi doonga (Sir, I know I’m crossing
the line, but I will not let you leave the company).’
In that complex scenario, I raised a question to Fateh
Saab, ‘What about those twenty-one boys of 5/8 Gorkha
Rifles who are held by the RUF, along with Lieutenant
Colonel Amit Sharma? What crime have they committed?
How can we sit back when our brethren are tortured by the
rebels?’ With absolute clarity, I told my officers that I was
going ahead with the meeting and asked them if anyone
would be volunteering to accompany me since our
Commanding Officer had insisted that I take one more
officer along.
Captain Prashant and Captain Sunil immediately raised
their hands. I had to say no to Captain Prashant, him being
the Ghatak Commander, and said yes to Captain Sunil, since
he had spent a couple of days in the town and knew a fair
number of RUF soldiers. I handed over the charge of our
company to Captain Sudesh and advised him to take
guidance from Major Nair.
I must have walked in and out of our company-defended
locality many times. However, this time around, it was
different. There was a double-edged feeling. I was anxious
about being held hostage again, but I also realized that I
had an opportunity to find a solution to the ongoing stand-
off since I was to meet the highest military commander of
the RUF. I bid farewell to everybody in the camp, a farewell
that felt like forever. I looked at all the faces around me and
thought my chances of getting back were thin. A cloud of
gloom hung over our company as my soldiers gathered
around to wish me luck.
Captain Sunil and I moved ahead of our forward post and
did not turn back, as that would have weakened our
conviction. Instead, we walked straight to the first RUF
checkpost, where I informed the soldier about our meeting
with the Field Commander. We were stopped at the
checkpost till they got the clearance to allow us to move
ahead.
Two RUF soldiers accompanied us as we walked through
the once-bustling town. I was trying to gather my thoughts
regarding the issues I was going to take up with the Field
Commander. I was hoping that Papa Giema would be
present at the meeting. We reached the town square, but
instead of turning towards the town hall, we kept moving
straight, which was not a familiar practice. I then asked the
RUF soldier, ‘Where are we heading?’ In reply, he pointed
towards a house around 200 metres ahead.
Again, as we continued in silence, counting our steps, I
noticed around forty to fifty people seated outside the
house, and everyone remained in their position even when
we reached. I wanted to wish the Field Commander, but
since I had never met him, it was difficult to identify him.
Looking at a smartly dressed person seated next to Colonel
Martin, I wished ‘Kai goa ma’, and he, in turn, pointed
towards a dapper young gentleman, who looked younger
than me. The young man was wearing combat trousers,
white T-shirt and sunglasses. I again wished ‘Kai goa ma’.
There was no response from him—the deafening silence
appeared to have lasted far longer than it actually did.
‘Yes, Major, you wanted to meet?’ the man in the white T-
shirt finally remarked.
Thank God! The silence was broken. I was put in a spot,
with innumerable inquisitive eyes glaring at me. Once again,
all I could hear was the birds chirping as I couldn’t come up
with anything to break the ice. My mind became a blank
cartridge, and I stood there stiff as a rock. But with God’s
grace, I reoriented myself and exclaimed, ‘Certainly, sir. It’s
an honour to meet you. And if possible, I would request for a
one-to-one interaction with you.’
Yet again, silence, silence and silence. But in that quiet, I
could discern their gestural conversations when finally, the
Field Commander stood up and declared, ‘Okay!’
I was puzzled. What did he mean? Did he ask me to leave
or wait? What did ‘Okay’ actually mean to these Mende
people?
Thankfully, Jonathan signalled me to move into the house
along with the Field Commander and Colonel Martin. I
followed suit, with Captain Sunil waiting outside.
The scene inside was different. Everyone looked relaxed,
and that was when Jonathan explained to me that in public,
the Field Commander had to follow a protocol, by which he
meant a hard look in public was mandatory.
‘Major, today is the first time I have seen you this
petrified,’ Colonel Martin said and laughed. I replied with a
formal smile on my face.
Now I was at ease, and with the Field Commander’s
permission, I told him all about the work we had
accomplished in Kailahun out of goodwill, from the
humanitarian assistance to the Guinean border patrol. The
Field Commander acknowledged our work and said that he
had declined the offer of meeting even the UN Force
Commander, General Jetley, and agreed to meet me only
because of our humanitarian activities. I further spoke about
my commitment to peace and gave my word to the Field
Commander that till the time I was in command, there was
going to be no fighting in Kailahun.
The Field Commander asked me why we were not going
back the way all other peacekeepers had. I informed him
that if we were allowed to leave with our weapons and with
the dignity of a soldier, we would go today. He said that
there can be no double standards in the RUF. Moreover, if he
allowed special status to the Indian peacekeepers, then the
credit for it would go to General Jetley, the Force
Commander of the UN, who was an Indian Army officer. He
added that whatever happened on the ground was because
of the incidents at Makeni and Magburaka, which were
credited to General Jetley.
Sensing no headway on this front, I requested him for the
release of Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma and the twenty-
one innocent Indian soldiers held hostage at Kuiva. He
agreed to this and gave a commitment that they would be
released soon. He then asked me, ‘How long are you going
to stay like this?’
I replied, ‘We have faith in God, and he will definitely show
us the way. Moreover, if need be, we would prefer breathing
our last on alien soil than returning to our home soil as
cowards.’ I thanked the Field Commander for his time and
assured him again of total peace and harmony in Kailahun,
come what may. I saluted him before leaving.
While walking back, my steps were quick, and I was trying
to look back from the corner of my eye to make sure nobody
was following me. I thanked Maa Durga for her blessings,
without which we could not have been heading back. The
positive takeaway of my meeting with the Field Commander
was that our covert movement from the hospital location to
the high ground had somehow lost its relevance for the RUF,
since the issue was neither raised by Colonel Martin nor by
the Field Commander. I thanked my stars for that.
Both Captain Sunil and I were welcomed back at the high
ground with a lot of fervour and smiles. I was delighted to
be back and more ecstatic than ever, since Mini Khukri was
an operation that would be written in golden letters in
history, and luckily for us, it had become a non-issue for the
RUF. Now, my resolve to find a peaceful solution to the
stand-off became more intense, and to do so, we had to be
very strong on the ground. So once again, I got involved in
improving our overall defensive posture.
In the evening, Fateh Saab walked up to me and shared a
piece of news that was doing the rounds in both the
companies.* He said that some of the soldiers were
propagating the idea that since we were on a peacekeeping
assignment in a foreign land, it was fair to demand that we
return to our country the way peacekeepers of all other
nations had done. Basically, they were advocating for the
laying down of weapons and getting out of that stand-off
with the RUF. It wasn’t their fault. Forty-five days had passed
since we had spoken to our families or received a letter from
home. Therefore, I perceived it to be a normal reaction.
Also, it was not clear how long the logjam would last. To top
it all, there was uncertainty about how much longer each
one of us could survive. We couldn’t say with conviction that
we would be able to witness the next day’s sunrise, such
was the level of doubt looming in our minds.
 But Fateh Saab told me that the majority of soldiers were
highly motivated and convinced that under these
circumstances, whatever the Company Commander was
doing was in everyone’s best interest. Only a handful of
boys were spreading the idea that we should lay down our
weapons. I underplayed the feedback received from Fateh
Saab. However, it stayed in my mind as I wanted to arrest
the negative thoughts before they started demotivating our
soldiers.
It so happened that the very next day, Captain Sudesh
informed me that the signal operator had disobeyed my
order for moving to the most advanced post where his
platoon was stationed. I immediately called for the operator,
who replied, ‘Saab, mujhe mere apne Company Commander
se order chahiye, jo Daru mein hain (Sir, I need orders from
my own Company Commander, who is presently in Daru).’
As an instantaneous reaction to what he had said, I jumped
from my seat, opened his belt (a procedure of punishment in
the Indian Army) and ordered for him to be put under arrest
for disobeying my instructions.
Actually, what had happened was that there was a
communication issue from the forward-most post to the
company headquarters at the high ground due to there not
being a signal operator in the forward post. The signal
operators were part of Signal Company, whose Company
Commander was at Daru. However, at that moment, they
were under my command. The real issue was that he did not
want to move forward since, if hostilities broke out, the
forward bunker would have been the first to be under the
RUF attack.
I wanted to utilize this opportunity to send a strong
message to everyone: in a battle zone, there is absolutely
no scope whatsoever for disobeying orders. I was conscious
of the fact that everything was possible under these
circumstances, including the option of fighting our way back
as a last resort, and Fateh Saab’s feedback from a day prior
was a significant cause of worry for me.
I immediately put the signal operator on field punishment
as per military law’s erstwhile provisions, wherein the
individual could be shot by a firing squad in case he
disobeyed lawful commands in a battle zone. The arms of
the signal operator were tied to a beam (a long, sturdy
piece of squared timber), and I could see him pleading for
his life. However, I had decided on a plan in my mind and
accordingly asked for a muster fall-in of the entire company.
The firing squad was ready, and only my permission was
required to open fire.
This was when I addressed my company to tell them that
the individual had disobeyed my order, and as per military
law, I was awarding the field punishment to him. According
to this punishment, the individual could be shot down by a
firing squad. I asked for my company’s opinion on this. The
entire company unanimously requested me to give the
individual one more chance. I asked for a commitment from
my company that hereafter, my word would be the final
command, and not a soul would question my decision. There
was a unanimous ‘Yes’, and I could finally see Fateh Saab
looking at me with a lot of admiration in his eyes.
Ultimately, the entire company was back on track, and they
moved with full vigour on finding a dignified route to India. I
was glad, my plan had paid off.
The ordinary course of business was on at the high ground
location, with no update regarding events beyond the
camp’s periphery—a sign that the stalemate was still on. It
had been a long time since I last met Papa Giema as I had
not ventured into town after my meeting with the Field
Commander around a week back. But on that day, I
somehow decided to move out to get a grip on the latest
developments and pay a courtesy visit to Papa Giema. This
decision of mine sure caused some anxiety among my
officers, but it was vital for each of us that I did that. I asked
my men what was the worst thing the RUF could do to me. I
said I might be taken hostage, which in any case I was, on 2
May 2000.
I informed them that higher diplomacy had yielded no
result. We had survived this crisis for the last two months,
and if we stood a chance of a peaceful resolution, it could
only materialize with my moving out. For once, they were all
convinced. And here I was, heading for Papa Giema’s
residence.
It was a usual day, the soldiers stationed at the RUF
barrier saluted me, and I replied, ‘Kai goa ma.’ It seemed
like a long walk to Papa Giema’s casa, as unlike other days, I
didn’t encounter people to converse with en route. Papa
Giema’s residence, generally buzzing with locals, seemed as
deserted as the ancient ruins. He was seated in his carved
wooden chair in the front yard when I entered, and as I
walked up to him, his affectionate smile narrowed his
otherwise big eyes. He offered me the famous African
rooibos tea under the shade of the kapok tree and
complimented me for the successful meeting with the Field
Commander.
Over tea, I spoke to Papa Giema about our depleting
rations, a significant cause for concern. Still, he sounded
less than confident that there would be a peaceful
settlement to the stand-off. We agreed that a solution had
to be figured out in all haste as the RUF had taken a hard
stand on the entire issue. Papa Giema informed me that
prior to my meeting with the Field Commander, he had
called all the village heads to brief the Field Commander
regarding the humanitarian assistance provided by the UN
peacekeepers in Kailahun. Papa Giema’s aim was primarily
to resolve the issue peacefully. However, his attempts were
vitiated by the tough stand taken by the RUF to ensure the
disarmament of Indian peacekeepers in line with that of
peacekeepers from other nations.
Papa Giema shared the news that Lieutenant Colonel Amit
Sharma was seriously ill, as told to him by the head of the
village where the Indian soldiers were kept as hostages. I
was quite worried by this and requested him to explore the
possibility of my meeting Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma.
He told me that only Colonel Martin could facilitate this. I
once again assured Papa Giema of my commitment to
peace and said that I appreciated his efforts.
The moment I moved out of Papa Giema’s residence, I
barged into Sister, who met me with a lot of affection and
warmth. Sister shared with me that the RUF had planned to
arrest me the day I came to meet the Field Commander, and
everyone in the RUF wondered what made the Field
Commander change his mind after meeting me. She
complimented me for being lucky and credited my freedom
to the blessings of thousands of locals whom we had looked
after since our arrival. She also requested me not to share
this information with anyone. I inquired after her health and
asked her if a request for a flag meeting could be passed on
to Colonel Martin. She advised me that it would be more
appropriate if I left this message with the radio room on my
way to the high ground.
The RUF had a radio room with every company, and
through this grid system, any message could be relayed to
any part of the country. They communicated using
sophisticated radio sets with enhanced range. If required,
messages could be sent from company radio rooms directly
to platoons. They always communicated in their local
language to not give away their plans in case the lines were
tapped. On my way to the company, I left a message for
Colonel Martin at the radio room in Kailahun.
Meanwhile, our routine of night stand-to was further
refined by practising various contingencies, by physically
moving reinforcements from one platoon to another, and
also from one company to another company, to better
prepare the men to face any surprise attack in the near
future. The physical activity at night kept all of us occupied,
and the RUF posts opposite us would always make rather
mysterious sounds throughout the night.
The fatigue and pressure of uncertainty had begun to
show among our rank and file. To make the stand-to more
meaningful, Major Nair and I conducted situation-reaction
tests on the radio set, asking for the counteractions of
various platoons to hypothetical situations of enemy
attacks. My round at night to check the stand-to in every
bunker happened at different timings. The boys greeted me
with ‘Jai Hind’ (Long Live India) each time—the enthusiasm
and energy levels were high. The grit and determination of
an Indian soldier truly have no comparison. Despite not
having slept night after night for almost two months,
without an inkling of the number of nights we still had to
spend here, the boys stood like a rock to beat back any RUF
attack.
Here, I must also share the famous quote on page one of
the Indian Army’s ‘Defence Pamphlet’. It says that ‘defence
is the most difficult operation of war’, a statement that I
always challenged while doing my Young Officers Course.
Back then, my opinion was that attack, and not defence,
was the most difficult operation of war. But now, one
realized how correct the pamphlet was. The initiative lies
with the attacker, while the defender only waits—a wait that
can be frustrating. In our case, this was just the beginning,
but I could already see signs of weariness as a result of
stand-to orders every single night, with only the high morale
of the Indian Army pushing us through it. Besides the white
nights over the last two months, the primary cause for
alarm was the uncertainty that prevailed, troubling every
soldier.
At the break of dawn, the following day, I received a
message through the RUF post stationed opposite us that
Colonel Martin was in town and would like to meet me.
Unhesitatingly, I got ready and moved out with an agenda
to look up Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma, who was
seriously ill. I was supposed to meet Colonel Martin in the
same house where I’d met the Field Commander a couple of
days back.
On seeing me, Colonel Martin gave a half-smile and said,
‘Major, why don’t you go back to your own country?’
‘I love your country, Martin,’ I said, smiling back at him.
‘You’re my friend, and I wouldn’t want to leave my friend
and go.’
‘But Major, what about your food stocks? Don’t you think
it’s time for you to surrender? What’s more important than
life?’ Martin retorted with his forehead creased.
With lit-up eyes, I enunciated, ‘Martin, we are the soldiers
of the Indian Army, and we survive on our pride and honour,
not food. About what’s more important: always our dignity
over a gutless life.’
Martin always marvelled at the spirit of the Indian soldiers
and had immense respect for our soldiers. I requested him
to be allowed to meet our patrol party headed by Lieutenant
Colonel Amit Sharma, a request which surprised him to a
great degree. He assured me that they were safe and would
be released soon. Still, I insisted. Martin eventually relented
since I was going within his own territory. He provided me
with a guide. I decided to visit the same day and take our
doctor, Major Murali, along.
I quickly returned to our camp, collected some ration in
my vehicle and ventured out with our guide. It took us
around an hour through the dense wilderness to reach the
village where our patrol party was held hostage. I was
visiting this village for the first time, and it wasn’t Kuiva, as
was told to us earlier. It was a village without villagers,
nestled in the depths of a tangled forest, with several
rickety huts surrounded by the malevolent eyes of RUF
rebels. I stood outside a heavily guarded hut in which our
Second-in-Command was kept. The RUF guide explained the
directions of Colonel Martin to the soldiers on guard, after
which I was allowed to move in.
The ramshackle door creaked open to a horrific sight. The
crumbling brown wooden walls, covered with kaleidoscopic
stains, were illuminated by slivers of light caressing the
timber. Generations of spiders had laced intricate cobwebs
around the cracked windows. There, on a battered wooden
plank, we saw Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma, whose eyes
welled up with tears looking at me, but due to his medical
condition he couldn’t even sit upright. He was running a
high fever and could barely speak.
What I could gather was that they were all right till they
were in the custody of Major Tom Sandy of the RUF at Kuiva.
However, for the last one week, at their present location,
they had been treated mercilessly by RUF soldiers.
Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma informed me that the RUF
soldiers kept discussing my camaraderie with Colonel
Martin, and so he requested me for his release. I told him
that he would be free in a day or two. Then Major Murali
thoroughly examined him, providing the necessary
medicines as it was viral fever.
After bidding adieu to him, we moved out and requested
my guide to take us to the other Indian soldiers held
hostage. We were directed to the adjacent hut, where
Lieutenant Pendse, the youngest officer of 5/8 Gorkha Rifles,
was held, along with twenty-one Indian soldiers. The Gorkha
boys appeared to be spirited while dealing with the adverse
circumstances, but Pendse told us that RUF soldiers had
roughed them up and had snatched all their weapons and
belongings. I asked our doctor to medically examine all our
soldiers and found them to be doing fine. I assured Pendse
and the boys of their release and asked them to keep up
their morale.
Further to ensure high spirits, I gathered the boys around
me and screamed with pride on my face, ‘Jai Hind!’ Their
eyes burning with valour, the boys hollered, ‘Jai Hind! Jai
Hind!’ ‘How’s the josh, my boys?’ I hollered. ‘High, saab!
High, saab!’ The thunderous roar would’ve definitely scared
the life out of the RUF rebels on guard.
On our way back, I thought of how the Second-in-
Command had actually started from Daru to get us released
from the RUF, and here I was looking him up and trying for
his release. The moves of the Almighty are truly inscrutable!
I was supremely distressed upon getting back to our
camp, primarily because of the way the RUF had treated our
Second-in-Command and his party. They were roughed up,
and their weapons and belongings had been snatched by
the RUF. They were kept like prisoners of war—of a war that
had not yet started.
Ever since that visit, all sorts of thoughts swirled up in my
mind, coupled with Papa Giema’s not-so-optimistic
perspective concerning a white-flag settlement to the
ongoing impasse. To top it off, the rainy season was fast
approaching—another deterrent to the resolution. Every
year, between July and September, Sierra Leone is
inundated with heavy rains. It is a time when the roads are
swept away, the ancient green lanes are reduced to muddy
quagmires and the country comes to a halt.
To make matters worse for us, the stock of ration was
diminishing by the day. At best, we could sustain for another
10–15 days. With these thoughts in my mind, I walked
straight to our signal exchange at the high ground and
asked him to put me through to our Force Commander,
General Jetley, without any clarity about the next word that I
might utter.
Suddenly I heard General Jetley on the radio. The ebullient
tone of his voice conveyed to me that till a second before he
had not been aware of the feasibility of communication with
us stationed in Kailahun. While being on call, he admonished
his staff back at the headquarters, for not informing him
about radio connectivity with Kailahun. He then inquired
about our well-being and spoke of his efforts with the UN
Headquarters and the Indian government pressing for our
dignified release.
I was exasperated. Being in Kailahun, I couldn’t prevent
the capture of Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma and his
patrol party. I told General Jetley that nearly two months had
passed since the crisis commenced on 2 May. If diplomacy
was any use, it would have worked by now.
Furthermore, I conveyed very firmly that now it was no
longer a question of our release, since we could have been
released on the first day if we wanted to—we chose not to.
Now, the issue was the restoration of our pride, our izzat
(honour). I requested him to consider a ‘military option’. He
was highly impressed by what I had said and asked me
about our physical condition, to which I replied, ‘Fighting fit,
sir.’
He said that it was laudable how, being victims of such
testing times, we still hadn’t crumbled under adversity.
Instead, we were ready to fight our way to dignity. I told him
that we were never victims, that we were warriors who had
decided not to bow down, soldiers who decided not to
succumb under pressure, who chose death over
pusillanimity, who picked the nation over their kith and kin,
and who were, are and will always be ready to defend the
honour of our nation.
He now clarified to me how he was fed a totally different
picture of us in Kailahun, that we were not in a condition to
undertake a military option to resolve the crisis as a result
of our confinement for almost two months now.
All in all, he was delighted to get my radio call. He assured
me that he would crystallize a military solution to the
ongoing crisis. He informed me that hereafter, he would call
me every day to get the first-hand ground report without
any distortions. The radio call must have taken almost half
an hour, and I took a deep breath at the end of it.
If I look back today at the sequence of events, this radio
call deserves its rightful place in history as point zero for
Operation Khukri. Our Force Headquarters came up with the
term ‘Khukri’, which was synonymous with the Gorkhas,
who constituted half the soldiers at Kailahun. Historically,
‘Khukri’ denoted a strong character; it symbolized bravery
and valour and hence it aptly depicted every Indian soldier
in Kailahun.
I was also absolutely amazed at how a crusader of peace
like me transformed overnight and started talking about the
military option. I walked out of the signal room and went
straight to Major Nair to share details of the talk I had with
the Force Commander. Major Nair told me that Colonel
Satish might not like my direct call to the Force Commander.
I then pointed towards the boys, who were busy maintaining
their bunkers, and said, ‘These boys are our responsibility,
and we should be willing to move heaven and earth for their
pride and honour.’ He was quite convinced, and we shook
hands in the RUF style. He then greeted me with ‘Kai goa
ma’, which, of late, had become our style of greeting each
other. We decided to immediately commence serious
preparations for a possible ‘break-out’ from the high ground.
As far as I can recollect, my radio call with the Force
Commander happened towards the end of June, around two
months post the commencement of the crisis on 2 May
2000. And as a result, Operation Khukri became a reality on
15 July.
I requested Major Nair to conduct a joint brainstorming
session in the evening with officers of both the companies,
to discuss the choices available for a successful break-out
from the high ground. I then called for all the Officers and
Junior Commissioned Officers of my company to tell them
about this shift in my thought process, from a possible
peaceful resolution to a military option to resolve the crisis. I
smiled and complimented Captain Prashant, who was a
staunch proponent of the military option. ‘Captain Prashant,
you win, I lose.’
I further asked him to press the accelerator on the Ghatak
training as the probability of our success would increase
with an incredibly fit platoon leading from the front. Fateh
Saab requested that I not venture into town hereafter, a
request that I rejected almost in a heartbeat as I didn’t want
the RUF to get even the vaguest clue about any sort of
operation. So, I ordered no change in the routine activity in
our company.
I explained to my men how in warfare, unmediated
combat would invite confrontation, but a surprise attack
would ensure conquest. In view of this, ‘surprise’ would be
our most significant force multiplier in the actual operation,
which at no stage should be compromised. With that, I
further emphasized the importance of secrecy, regarding
whatever we had discussed about the operation. Hereafter,
what started was a carefully planned and systematic
preparation for the forthcoming military operation.
The same evening, we began our first brainstorming
session, to discuss the possible options to break out from
the high ground location. I requested Captain Sudesh to
moderate the discussion, and what commenced was the
initial round, wherein every officer put across his views. We
reached a general consensus for primarily three options that
were available to us. The geographical location of Kailahun
played a pivotal role in the chalking out of these options.
The first option was to break out towards the Guinean
border, which was just around 2 km away if we moved on
foot and crossed over the periphery of Sierra Leone, or
approximately 6 km away in case we moved on the track
leading towards the town of Koundou in Guinea.
The second alternative was to break out towards Liberia,
which was around 15 km away if we moved on foot, crossing
the international border, and about 20 km in case we drove
on the track via Buedu. The third option was to move on the
road to Daru via Pendembu, which was at a distance of
around 70 km.
There emerged a unanimous vote to keep the three
alternatives in the same order of preference as mentioned
above. The principal advantage of the Guinean option,
besides the proximity, was the stand taken by the Guinean
government against the RUF. The common point between all
three options was the necessity to break the RUF cordon in
phase one, which required very heavy firing on Kailahun
town since the only option for track movement from the
high ground, for each of the three possibilities, was to pass
through Kailahun town. This was something that made me
anxious, though I did not share my sentiments with my
officers.
I did put a term of reference to whichever plan we were to
finalize that our fully loaded vehicles had to move with us.
The implication of this was that we had to follow the track.
Another issue common to all three options was that the
Ghatak Platoon, under Captain Prashant, would lead the
advance, followed by other platoons.
I had integrated one of the BRDMs—combat vehicles with
very heavy firepower and armour protection—with the
Ghatak Platoon to lead the advance, and the second BRDM
with the rearguard I knew the exact location of the radio
room in Kailahun town. I wanted a detachment of the
Ghatak Platoon to blow it up just before our movement as a
special operation, so that the RUF’s communication grid
could be neutralized.
During our deliberation, several pertinent issues emerged,
and I asked Captain Sunil to minute all the points in writing,
since we had ample time to further refine the plan. A critical
point given by Major Nair was the paucity of mortars, or
indirect fire, which was essential to provide fire support to
an advancing column; and this fact was further
compounded by the lack of artillery. I appreciated Major
Nair’s point, and under those circumstances, the only option
we could fall back on was the rocket launcher. Therefore, we
integrated three rocket launchers, with adequate
ammunition, with the Ghatak Platoon, to be the vanguard of
the Ghatak Platoon, which was to advance by ‘fire-and-
move’, acting like a ‘mobile fire base’ ahead of the Ghataks.
Another major grey area was concerning the evacuation of
our casualties, and we decided to have serious deliberations
on this issue some other day. I wanted to further think about
the responsibility of the rearguard since the Ghataks were
dedicated to the front. After a successful break-out, I
predicted that the RUF, which practises guerrilla tactics,
would definitely strike from the rear. So it was equally
pertinent to delineate dedicated responsibility for the
rearguard action.
I was quite contented with the outcome of our first
brainstorming session. Our most significant achievement
was that we could set the dice rolling and see a new josh
(zeal) and vigour in all ranks so far as the preparation for
the military option was concerned. I once again instructed
everyone to continue with the same routine as earlier and
did my rounds of the town. On occasions when I stepped out
of the high ground, I ensured that the company’s charge
and further course of action were well understood by
Captain Sudesh.
A piece of terrific news greeted us the following day.
Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma and party were released in
Liberia, sans their weapons and belongings. The decision of
Colonel Satish to dispatch a small patrol party under
Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma on 3 May 2000, a day after
Major Nair and I were taken hostage, was most unfortunate
and irrational. Their arrest delayed the execution of
Operation Khukri, as any offensive action from our side
could have cost the lives of these twenty-one soldiers. To
date, I have not been able to understand the logic behind
this blunder.
 Anyway, for me, just the fact that they had been released
was enough as the sight of the peacekeepers in their
undergarments, crammed like cattle in a rust-bucket
vehicle, had hit me like a tonne of bricks. I had witnessed it
all as a hostage. How could the RUF treat my countrymen in
such a ruthless manner? And, on the other side, even in a
hand-to-mouth scenario, I was trying to find a peaceful
resolution so as not to inflict any harm on the RUF’s
countrymen . . . Thoughts like these stayed in the back of
my mind from this day on.
The situation at the high ground continued to become
more challenging and stressful with each passing day.
Despite our initial brainstorming about the military option,
there was no clarity on the way ahead. Nobody had slept for
the past two months, and due to severely limited ration, we
had been eating only once a day for the last so many days,
that too only rice and dal. We were clueless about what was
happening in India; nobody had spoken to their family or got
any letter since 2 May. There was no light visible at the end
of the tunnel.
The military observers kept us on our toes as they
continued being a hindrance and kept fighting with our
soldiers, who were doing guard duty on them. I was
constantly in touch with General Jetley. However, there
wasn’t any clarity on the future course of action. The only
good thing was that now he was getting first-hand
information from the ground, and I looked forward to his
radio call every day, in anticipation of some positive
development. I went through my ritual of the daily tour of
the town and decided to meet Papa Giema in search of
some glad tidings from him.
While walking through our company, I met Sepoy Vinod,
who informed me that the RUF soldiers in the cordon around
us were passing demoralizing messages to our soldiers,
instigating them to surrender and ‘go home’. Sepoy Vinod,
our panditji (priest), told the boys that whichever option our
Company Commander chooses, from the three available,
would be the right one. I had never thought in my wildest
dreams that whatever we had discussed in the
brainstorming session had moved like lightning to every
soldier in the company.
I asked for Sepoy Vinod’s views on the best possible
option under the current circumstances. He promised to
come back with an answer after the evening prayer at the
company temple, as only then would he be able to share the
path God would have chosen for us. I instructed him to
definitely come back to me and said that I would await his
feedback. I was mainly unaware of the strategic planning
and the cerebration happening at the Force Headquarters,
since operational issues could not be addressed on the radio
set, it being unsafe for communication.
Whatever we discussed on the radio was in Hindi, and
acutely confidential information was never discussed since
the RUF had mastered the art of jamming and intercepting
radio messages over the years. With no knowledge of the
plans being formulated at the highest level, I was confident
of one thing as a result of my daily communication with the
Force Commander: that a military option was in the pipeline,
and it was a matter of time. But only God knew how long it
would be before we started.
With these thoughts, I crossed our forward bunker and
stepped towards the RUF checkpost. I said to the RUF
soldier on duty, ‘Going to meet Papa Giema.’ On reaching
the town, I learnt that Colonel Martin was present at the
same house where I had met the Field Commander.
 I decided to see Colonel Martin, and when I reached the
house, I saw he was busy meeting 5–6 individuals I was
unfamiliar with. Colonel Martin raised his hand, indicating
that I should wait, and I kept standing around fifty metres
away. They talked in their language, so I could not
understand anything. However, I could sense that Colonel
Martin was quite agitated as his voice was more high-
pitched than on regular days.
After he finished with them, he waved for me to come. I
thanked him for the release of Lieutenant Colonel Amit
Sharma and the party.
‘Major, why don’t you all also go back to your country?’
Colonel Martin said, folding his arms. ‘I am cautioning you in
advance, there will be heavy rains in Kailahun for the next
three months.’
‘Whatever God will decide, we will accept,’ I said, looking
towards the sky.
Without grumbling, I told him about the rough handling of
Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma and party by the RUF
soldiers, which I had not expected from the RUF. He said
that the Indian soldiers had tried to escape and were caught
by the RUF soldiers, who, in turn, mistreated them. He
further shared that our soldiers were fortunate since the
RUF did not apply the punishment prevalent in their law,
otherwise a ‘long or half sleeve’ was definitely the minimum
punishment for such an act. He excused himself since he
had to leave for some urgent work, and I returned to the
high ground without meeting Papa Giema. I was left with
just a sliver of hope after my interaction with Colonel Martin.

Major Punia’s meeting with Field Commander General Issa Sesay

happened on 7 June 2000. It was the only meeting by any United Nations
official with the Field Commander in the entire crisis. This meeting is also
mentioned in the UN report that was prepared post the crisis.
Furthermore, as a result of this meeting, Major Punia managed to get
Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma and twenty-one Indian soldiers released
by the RUF through Liberia, as was committed to him by the
Field Commander.
 #10

Last Letter before the First Attack

The next day, during my routine call, Force Commander

General Jetley advised me to use the most complicated
words in Hindi during our communication since he was
about to divulge sensitive information to me. Thereafter,
what transpired between us was disturbing. For a moment, I
thought of refusing. However, General Jetley left me to take
the final call before making the ‘Operational Plan’ and asked
me to ponder over it.
Primarily he was inquiring about the feasibility of the
Kailahun team being in a position to break out and reach
Pendembu, which was thirty-five kilometres away. This was
mainly ‘Option Three’ of the plan we had discussed, which
all of us had agreed was a suicidal approach. He asked me
to confirm by dawn of the following day so that further plans
could be crystallized.
I did not have the heart to share this immediately with my
officers, since I knew that they would have outrightly
refused. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more the
soldier in me favoured this plan as it was the best option to
restore our pride and honour, especially after what
Lieutenant Colonel Amit Sharma and his men had to endure.
The other two options were to run away to either Guinea or
Liberia, but this particular option meant that we would have
to fight our way back, right through the RUF heartland. The
only issue was the number of casualties we might have due
to the robust RUF deployment on this route. I shared this
pertinent piece of information with Major Nair, who was
shocked to hear about it and said, ‘Are they mad?’ without
batting an eye.
I called for all the officers as I thought it prudent to
discuss the plan with them before giving my final response
to General Jetley. The moment I told them about the plan,
there was a massive surge of what I sensed as disbelief and
resentment in everyone—they advised me to put my foot
down. Captain Sudesh anticipated at least 30 per cent
casualties if we accepted this option. I requested my officers
not to share anything about the conversation with our
soldiers at that point and assured them that I would keep
their views in mind before making the final decision on the
issue. The next day, I walked up and down the radio room,
awaiting General Jetley’s call.
Upon connecting with him, I suggested the other two
options, of breaking out to Guinea or Liberia. He told me
that they could be standalone options and nothing much in
terms of support could be provided by the Force
Headquarters, due to the distance involved from Daru. He
further said—addressing the soldier in me—that he wanted
to teach the RUF a lesson. I asked him to give me an
additional twenty-four hours to confirm. He reiterated that
the final word had to be from the soldiers stationed at
Kailahun.
It was a tough call to make, but somewhere deep down I
was all for teaching a lesson to the RUF due to the
humiliation the Indian peacekeepers had to endure at their
hands. From Major Nair and me being kept as hostages to
stripping our brethren of their weapons to now cordoning
our company without any means to procure food and basics
for our soldiers, the RUF had crossed all limits in the last two
months. The mortifying experiences drove me towards
replying in the affirmative, with the only obstacle being the
number of fatalities estimated in case we went ahead with
that option. I could not make up my mind and decided to
take the final call the following morning.
The next morning I found Sepoy Vinod standing outside
my command post with a megawatt smile on his face. He
always greeted me with ‘Ram Ram, saab’ rather than the
customary ‘Jai Hind’. I still remember that on that particular
day, he saluted me with a loud ‘Jai Hind, saab’. He
immediately shared with me that Maa Durga had given her
blessings for our successful operation to Daru. I would not
have believed him under normal circumstances but did so
now, due to the strong intuition I had had for the last two
days. My conviction kept reiterating that we would not have
a single casualty.
However, I still wanted to speak to my company before
giving my final word to General Jetley. A quick Sainik
Sammelan was organized, where I explained the existing
situation to my company. I told them that the options
available were just two: either run away like wimps or fight
our way back like true military men. I further stated that our
rations would only sustain for another week, and so it would
be more appropriate to die fighting than to die of hunger.
We needed to break out from the high ground by all means.
I told them that they need not be afraid, as every bullet
carries the name of the person it would hit and nobody can
change their place and time of death as it is decreed by
God. Finally, I asked them if they were with me and in
support of teaching a lesson to the RUF by defeating them
in their own heartland and taking revenge for all the
humiliation we had undergone for the past two months. It
was a thumping ‘Yes’ from the company, and I swiftly
marched towards our signal exchange.
By now, we had clarity concerning the tactical plan for
Operation Khukri. As per the strategy, we were to break out
from Kailahun at first light on the day of the operation and
advance to Pendembu. At Pendembu, we were to establish
link-up with the force that was to move simultaneously from
Daru. The link-up was to be established at the earliest but
not later than last light on D-Day. Thereafter, we were to go
into a night harbour at Pendembu.
By first light of D+1 Day (16 July 2000), an airhead was to
be established at Pendembu, through which we were to be
extricated by air, with the ground force moving back to Daru
in the manner identical to their move at the commencement
of the operation. In advance of the first light on D-Day, two
British Chinook helicopters were to insert and pick up Major
Andrew Harrison of the British Royal Army. Our Force
Commander was to ensure that while they picked up Major
Andrew Harrison, all other military observers would also be
pushed out from Kailahun in the same helicopter. It was a bit
of good news for the military observers; however, I had kept
it under wraps until the last possible moment in order to
keep the details of the mission confidential.
The most significant challenge for us in this operation was
to effect a successful break-out from Kailahun town, and the
only way we could execute this was by bringing down heavy
fire on the town. This would cause innumerable casualties to
the locals, but there was no other way since our vehicles
could only traverse on the track, and the only track
available passed through the town. This was the part that
had troubled me constantly since the time I learnt of the
plan.
The second challenge I did not wish to suspend until the
eleventh hour was to clear the ground for a helipad so that
the Chinook helicopter could land. Though we had removed
some trees for the preparation of two volleyball grounds, a
few more trees had to be felled to achieve a clearing of the
exact dimensions required for landing a Chinook. I passed
executive orders for the clearance of green cover around
the area. As anticipated, the moment we commenced the
work, which involved felling a large number of trees, there
was stringent objection from the RUF post ahead of us. I had
to move out and bury the hatchet with the RUF’s local
commander, convincing him that the trees were being felled
for a handball ground. Hearing which the RUF soldiers
smiled and asked me, ‘Major, you no go to your country?’
My consistent reply to such questions was, ‘Brother, I love
your country, and I no go.’ I felt obliged to utilize the trees
that had been felled and hence asked my company to
further reinforce the obstacles ahead of our bunkers.
We had kept the news regarding the safe extrication of
the military observers confidential, and heaven only knows
how the British officer got to know of it and requested a
meeting with me. I went to the area where they lived.
‘Major, are the trees being cut to prepare for a helipad for
the British Chinook to land?’ Major Andrew Harrison asked.
I counterquestioned him, ‘Major Andrew, who told you
this?’ There was no reply from him.
I could only tell him that the plans were not concrete for
now, and we were getting prepared for all contingencies.
However, since the day we started felling the trees, there
was a marked improvement in the behaviour of the military
observers as they were far more optimistic about reaching
their respective homelands with their bodies intact—a rare
occurrence in a scenario when you are cloistered by the RUF
on their turf.
Our camp routine continued as was customary but with
the additional work of planning and preparation for the
forthcoming task. There was no slide in the overall stress
levels at our camp; in fact, the stress levels had spiked since
the time I had given the go-ahead for the so-called suicidal
approach. No one, except our company priest and me, was
convinced that we were not going to have casualties. In
fact, talk started doing the rounds in our company that our
headquarters was ready to accept casualty figures up to 30
per cent. This was a challenge that I had to address as, if
left untreated, it could have had a significant impact on the
preparatory work and also on the morale of the company. I
was resolved to counter this grapevine on priority and was
waiting for the ideal opportunity to convey a strong
message to everyone.
When your mind broods over an urgent matter that you
need to address expeditiously, the universe transpires to
present opportunities rather briskly. While I was busy
coordinating the core issues specific to Operation Khukri
along with my officers, one of them questioned the plan yet
again, and that was when I flew off the handle. Today, when
I look back, I feel I was a little too harsh; however, I did let
myself out with all guns blazing on that officer. I still
remember shouting at the top of my voice: ‘It’s brilliant! We
are five days away from the operation, and I still have my
officers questioning the plan rather than preparing for its
execution.’
I warned all my officers, ‘Hereafter, if I hear any one of
you doubting the plan, I will not hesitate to push that officer
out to surrender to the RUF rather than being a part of
Operation Khukri . . . There is deliberation at the discussion
stage, when we are evolving a plan. However, once a plan is
formulated, we simply hit the ground running to ensure
successful execution rather than questioning the plan itself.’
While planning a war, you need to address the various
contingencies that may spring up while executing the plan
rather than rejecting the plan as a whole and calling it a
recipe for disaster. And when officers question the plan, it
has a trickle-down effect on the boys, thereby adversely
affecting their morale. The message hereafter was
abundantly clear to each and every soldier.
Post the conference, I could impress upon everyone’s
heart the idea that we had to fight for our honour. The
officer whom I had admonished at the conference came to
see me in my command post to explain his viewpoint. He
informed me that he was giving his opinion for the safety of
our boys and not for his own life. I appreciated his spirit
while emphasizing that the life of every soldier was dearer
to me than my own. I had already given a commitment in an
open forum to take back every soldier alive from Kailahun,
and I stood by my commitment. I became a little
sentimental and further stated, ‘Officer, you are a bachelor,
but I have my wife and two little kids waiting for me back
home. I should be the one feeling the pressure, as one
wrong step can wash away the otherwise carefree childhood
of my kids and turn it bleak and traumatic. If my own
officers are not convinced and are not on board, how the
hell am I going to convince my soldiers to face the bullets
tomorrow?’
Today when I recollect this incident, I feel that this was
very important, otherwise we would have continued
discussing the best possible plan until the cows came home
and still without any definite clarity.
 I agreed that the apprehensions in our company were not
without reason. The actual plan executed during Operation
Khukri was not the best from a safety point of view, but it
was the best possible plan under the prevailing scenario and
the most effective way to teach a lesson to the RUF, who
had never been defeated by any military force in their
heartland of Kailahun until the Indian Army brought them to
their knees. This later turned out to be the principal cause
and facilitator for the RUF returning to the discussion table
to seriously explore an effective, long-lasting peace in the
war-ravaged country of Sierra Leone. If today Sierra Leone is
a peaceful country and is progressing in the right direction, I
can say with conviction and honesty that the Indians played
a significant role in this and paid a mammoth price to
ensure peace.
I bring all this up to say that if we had gone for the other
two options of running towards Guinea or Liberia, we might
have won the battle but would have definitely lost the war.
At times, God shows the way. And that was how we decided
to fight our way back, travelling over seventy kilometres to
Daru through dense thickets manned by RUF rebels, where
we were ambushed twice and were constantly chased by
the RUF.
In the end, Havildar Krishan Kumar attained martyrdom
while fighting the rebels as part of the link-up force that
moved from Daru. He fought like a gallant warrior till his last
breath, with his head held high. At times, I wonder how
destiny runs the show—Havildar Krishan Kumar was the only
soldier of my company residing in Daru’s safe haven, while
all our lives were hanging by a thread in Kailahun. But
ultimately, it was he who bid farewell to all of us. Till today, I
can’t lose sight of when he had walked up to me in New
Delhi to say, ‘Saab, mujhe nahi lagta main apne desh zinda
laut ke aaunga (Sir, I don’t think I will come back to my
country alive).’
As part of our action plan from Kailahun, we coordinated
the destruction of the RUF radio room by a detachment of
the Ghataks just before our break-out, to neutralize the
complete communications network of the RUF. As a result of
my frequent movement in Kailahun town, I had learnt about
the RUF system of putting all the heavy weapons, personal
weapons of soldiers not on duty and their complete
ammunition in one of the houses in the town. I realized that
if we found out the exact location of the house and
somehow neutralized it, it could assist our successful break-
out from Kailahun in a significant way.
Prompt and swift breaking out from Kailahun was essential
for our operation’s overall success. Therefore, I again
ventured into the town without a clue as to how I would
figure out the location of the house where the RUF weapons
were kept. Yet at times, when you move on a task without
any concrete plan in mind, God shows you the way. Upon
reaching the town, I tried my luck with Sister since I had not
met her for a long time. I went to her house to see if she
was home.
Luckily, she was at home. I shook hands with her and
wished her ‘Kai goa ma’. I said, ‘Sister, you didn’t even
come to look me up! Were you not concerned about me?’
Sister exclaimed with a forced smile, ‘Major, I was sent out
of town for some urgent work. You know Major Kupoi, my
local commander. He is such a compulsive worker.’ She
asked me to sit. I laughed, remembering the few
competitive encounters with Kupoi.
‘So, Sister, do you carry your weapons while away for
official work?’
‘Yes! Yes!’ Sister replied almost instantly.
 ‘Oh! Nice. Is it the same rocket launcher that was
strapped on your back the other day in the town hall?’ I
smirked.
She gave a lopsided grin. ‘No, I carry a pistol. Those heavy
weapons are kept in the basket.’
Almost instantly, my mind latched on to the word ‘basket’.
I considered it to be the right moment to probe further
about it. ‘Sister, basket? What is that?’
She said, ‘Major, all our heavy weapons are kept in a
house we call basket.’
I needed the exact location of the basket in order to
neutralize it. If I continued probing, she would become
doubtful of my intent. But I was ready to take the plunge as
I wouldn’t get another opportunity. ‘Sister, where is your
basket?’ I inquired with a poker face.
To my surprise, Sister immediately pointed towards a
white concrete building, a conspicuous structure amid a
garland of thatched huts around 200 metres from her
house.
I swiftly changed the topic. ‘How have you been, Sister?’
‘I’ve been good, thank you, Major,’ she replied. ‘Major, I
hope you are aware of the rains that are about to hit
Kailahun.’ Sister looked towards me. ‘I suggest you make
the final decision before the onset of monsoon.’
I got up from my seat. ‘Thank you for your concern,
Sister.’ I said that she should come to India some day, and
she was absolutely ready and positive that she would visit.
She told me that she had never even heard of India, but
after meeting me she was convinced that it must be a very
wonderful country, where people like me lived. She also
shared with me that she had no aim in life, but she wanted
to leave Kailahun since the town always reminded her of her
husband and children, whom she had lost in the civil war. I
consoled her with an affectionate hug and asked her not to
worry since her brother was there to take care of her. While
saying this, I felt a little guilty since I knew that in a few
days, this same brother was going to bring down very heavy
firing of rockets and machine guns on this town. I felt like
telling Sister that I didn’t deserve her love and affection.
With a heavy heart, I walked towards the high ground.
Getting to know the accurate location of the RUF
weaponry and ammunition dump was a remarkable
achievement for us. Hereafter, we only had to come up with
a concrete plan for its destruction, as, in my opinion, it was
imperative to destroy it at the right moment. I considered it
to be prudent to discuss the plan for its destruction with
Major Nair. I shared the positive feat with him, hearing which
Major Nair literally jumped in excitement to inquire about it.
He told me that it was an essential piece of information and
that we ought to come up with an absolutely infallible plan
for its destruction. So, we walked up to a vantage point from
where I indicated the target to him, referring to the basket
as the ‘quarter guard’, a term used in the Indian Army for
the building where weapons are stored. In this case, it was
more than the quarter guard since even their ammunition
was stocked in the same building.
Major Nair had this brilliant idea that the RUF quarter
guard must be targeted when their soldiers rushed towards
it to draw their weapons. It was an excellent idea, as this
would cause casualties among the RUF soldiers besides
destroying their guns and ammunition. We started thinking
of ways to trigger the RUF to rush towards their quarter
guard to draw their weapons.
‘Officers! Major Andrew Harrison’s helicopter!’ I
announced in one breath. Major Nair concurred, as the
arrival of the British Chinooks in the RUF territory would
serve as an effective trigger. The quarter guard was within
the firing range of our rocket launcher as well as the
machine guns from the forward edge of the high ground.
We decided to engage the RUF quarter guard from the
high ground itself, rather than sending out a special team
for its obliteration. Additionally, I did not want to give this
task to the Ghataks since they were already overburdened
with several tasks in hand. We agreed that this task should
be given to a firebase deployed at the high ground’s forward
edge. The base should open fire on orders and destroy the
quarter guard entirely as well as target the RUF soldiers who
would rush to draw weapons from the quarter guard upon
sighting the Chinook.
The plan for the destruction of the quarter guard was
drawn up, and I wanted to assign the mission to the most
capable hands possible. Therefore, I called for Subedar
Kewal of my company, who happened to be an incredible
basketball player and had played several tournaments with
me. I had a high degree of confidence in the fact that any
task assigned to Subedar Kewal was as good as the
completion report. So the moment he arrived, I explained
the entire assignment and its importance to him. He asked
for two rocket launchers and two machine guns with
adequate ammunition, including the rocket launcher’s
illumination rounds, to light the area at night for accurate
engagement. The weapons were given to Subedar Kewal.
Hereafter, I asked him to observe the target round the clock
with a pair of binoculars, to monitor the activities occurring
in the quarter guard. Subedar Kewal utilized the next few
days to further refine the plan and shifted the firebase
location slightly to ensure accurate engagement.
On the day of the operation, the moment the Chinooks
arrived, the RUF soldiers rushed to the quarter guard as
anticipated, and Subedar Kewal waited for the maximum
RUF soldiers to congregate at the objective. At the golden
moment, he opened such heavy and concentrated fire that
the RUF suffered maximum casualties in their own quarter
guard, with all their heavy weapons neutralized.
As per plan, the Gorkhas were to ride the deadly infantry
combat vehicle, the BMP, from Daru. On the other hand, the
experts of the BMP, the Mechanised Infantry soldiers, were
to break out on foot from Kailahun. What I wish to highlight
is the strange ways of destiny and the importance of
flexibility, taught to us in our schools of instruction, as the
most important guiding principle for all operations. The
Gorkhas are classic infantry soldiers trained to execute
operations on the ground, and my company was
Mechanised Infantry, trained to fight on the BMP. But now
the tables had turned.
The BMP is a very potent Russian equipment, with
tremendous firepower in terms of missiles, high-calibre
cannon and machine guns mounted on it. There’s adequate
armour protection to safeguard the soldiers seated inside.
One section of ten soldiers is mounted on each BMP, and it
can move with a maximum speed of 65 km/hr and can also
swim through any water obstacle despite its weight, which
happens to be 14 tonnes.
I engaged in friendly banter with Major Nair, who was from
the Gorkha Battalion about how the Gorkhas are really going
to enjoy the BMP ride even as the actual riders of the BMP
were going to slog it by way of fighting on foot while
breaking out from Kailahun. I really missed our BMPs—had
they reached us in Kailahun, breaking the siege of the RUF
would have been as easy as pie. Anyway, the break-out plan
we were evolving, despite being strewn with obstacles, was
the finest in light of the circumstances. We had to put the
BRDM, another combat vehicle, and the Ghataks in the
front, and provide fire support with the mobile firebase of
rocket launchers. A successful fighting break-out from
Kailahun was the most critical phase of our operation.
To ensure success, the Force Commander had provided
aerial support to the force at Kailahun through attack
helicopters, which were to take off from Daru. Again, God
has peculiar ways of testing us in precarious situations, and
sure enough, the British Chinooks could fly in as planned on
the day of the operation, but just prior to the take-off of the
attack helicopters, the weather turned inclement. As a
result, I was told to hold my horses. I remember asking the
Operations Officer on the radio set to put me through to the
Force Commander. General Jetley advised me to hold till the
weather cleared.
In contrast, I was for effecting immediate break-out, since
the surprise element had already been compromised by the
flying in of the Chinooks, and any delay would have given
the RUF time to reinforce the cordon around us. General
Jetley did clear my request for an immediate break-out but
with due warning, that in case we had too many casualties
in executing a fighting break-out without the support of the
attack helicopters, I was accountable for my decision as the
man on the ground. My reply was a crisp, ‘Yes, sir! It is my
duty, and I will bloody well bring every single boy stuck in
Kailahun home.’ And I shouted the war cry, ‘Bharat Mata Ki
Jai!’
The operation was to commence at first light on 15 July
2000. Though there were only two days left to hit the road, I
still had a glimmer of hope for a peaceful solution and
wished to speak with Colonel Martin one last time. I was in a
buoyant mood as my request for a meeting had been
promptly honoured by Colonel Martin every time. Besides
this being my last attempt at an honourable solution,
somewhere deep down, I also had this desire to wish
godspeed to Colonel Martin before facing him in the
battleground on 15 July 2000. My request for a flag meeting
got a prompt response, conveyed to me by the RUF
checkpost stationed right next to the high ground.
On my way to meet Colonel Martin, the RUF Post
Commander asked me to expect Colonel Martin at Papa
Giema’s residence. I reached Papa Giema’s home hoping
that Colonel Martin would be there shortly. However, an
hour had passed without any sign of Colonel Martin, though
I had utilized this time to prepare Papa Giema and have him
take a stand in front of Colonel Martin to help pave the way
for an amicable settlement to the stand-off. Alongside this, I
kept praying to God to show me the dignified way out of this
ordeal without any superfluous bloodshed.
Though all the arrangements were in place for the break-
out, I was still open to agreeing to a middle ground as a
solution to the stand-off, so as to not cause any harm to the
local people. I had mentally prepared myself to walk away
from the high ground with only our weapons and leave
behind all the tentage and other stores, in case Colonel
Martin agreed upon finding a middle ground to the impasse.
The preceding three months had taken a heavy toll on me,
and I had moved heaven and earth to sustain peace. I was
committed to all my assurances given to Papa Giema and all
residents of Kailahun. Therefore, I prayed to the Almighty to
throw light on the righteous path so that Colonel Martin
could make a decision that would be in everyone’s best
interest.
Finally, Colonel Martin arrived in the evening, and the first
thing he inquired after was my health and the well-being of
our soldiers at the high ground. I asked about his health too
and prayed for his long life. Then, I requested that Colonel
Martin channelize our collective efforts to find an amicable
solution to the ongoing stand-off between the RUF and the
peacekeepers in Kailahun. Colonel Martin took a few
lungfuls of breath and spoke of how he had taken the
ultimate step by organizing a meeting for me with the
senior-most decision-making authority of the RUF, the Field
Commander. He further stated that he had to go out of his
way to organize that meeting since I was his friend;
otherwise, the Field Commander did not meet anyone. He
informed me that he didn’t have the authority to alter the
decision taken by the Field Commander on this issue.
He abruptly switched the topic and informed me that he
was coming from Liberia, and that when he got to know
about my request for a meeting, he picked up a bottle of
Scotch for me. I sincerely thanked him for his wonderful
gesture and proposed that if he had the time, I would like to
share a drink with him rather than carry the bottle along. He
agreed, but with the rider that he would leave in an hour.
Papa Giema quickly arranged for the glasses, and I think this
was for the first time that even Papa Giema shared a drink
with me. We discussed general issues. But I realized that I
was getting a little emotional while talking about my
wonderful association with Colonel Martin. I even said that I
would cherish our bond of friendship forever.
Shortly after, Papa Giema raised the controversial issue
with Colonel Martin, initially in their local language and later
in English, urging him to let the Indian peacekeepers go with
their weapons, for the sake of their excellent work and
contribution. Colonel Martin did not respond to Papa
Giema’s statement. Instead, he continued with his drink
while telling me how the situation in Liberia was getting
beyond the control of President Charles Taylor.
 He also spoke about how he had never experienced a
situation like the one in Kailahun, wherein he had allowed
individuals surrounded by the RUF to go home, though sans
their weapons, and they had still refused to leave. However,
he did compliment me and said that he was impressed with
the bravery and professionalism displayed by the Indian
soldiers. I said that I had no option but to stand my ground
under current circumstances. I explained the disgrace that
befalls a Company Commander whose company lays down
weapons in an impasse. In such a scenario, my boys would
still have a way to save face, by saying that their Company
Commander had ordered them to lay down weapons. But
what would I say? My one decision could bring disgrace to
my nation—a nation that had gloriously fought for its
freedom.
He seemed to have understood my viewpoint. Hearing
what I said, he got up and shook my hand. He once again
complimented me and stated that since my meeting with
the Field Commander, even he held me in high regard. After
this, he asked for my permission to leave, and on the spur of
the moment I said, ‘Martin! I will miss you.’ This was
followed by an emotional hug.
This was my final meeting with Colonel Martin. To date, I
am unaware if he is alive or dead, but I respect him with all
sincerity for being the person that he was.
Operation Khukri was to commence at the crack of dawn
on 15 July, and my meeting with Colonel Martin, on 13 July,
was meant to confirm that the RUF had no leads about the
events that were to unfold in the next couple of days. Who
could even dream that the Commander of a breaking-out
force would enjoy a drink with the Commander of the enemy
camp barely thirty-two hours before the commencement of
the operation—an operation that was as secretive as the
Swiss Bank? The RUF didn’t have an inkling about such a
colossal operation, whose curtain-raiser would be held in the
RUF’s heartland. Such was the significance of the surprise
element in our operation that we continued with our routine
activities right until the end.
The loading of our vehicles commenced under the pitch-
black sky of Kailahun, where even the moon—camouflaged
under the overcast sky—couldn’t testify to the covert
actions taking place on 14 July, a few hours before our
break-out. My moving out into the town on 14 July was
equally important, in order to ensure that the RUF had no
hunch about our intent.
I went to the town on 14 July, just like on other days, and
met Papa Giema and the other local residents. During this
final visit, it was as though my conscience was smothering
my breathing passage. My heart kept pushing me to give
away a slight hint of what was going to happen the next day
to the innocent civilians, so that they could leave the town
before our launchers would bring down heavy fire on the
town. They didn’t have any role to play in the stand-off but
had pushed for our dignified release. And how would we pay
them back?
But what about the 233 Indian Army soldiers who had
lived a life of torment for over seventy-five days? One hint
would have cost 233 lives, and so I suppressed my inner
hankering. I still remember Papa Giema saying that I looked
more serious than on other days. I wished I could at least
share the plan with Papa Giema, so I could save the man
who had stood like a rock to ensure our safety. It was a
conflict between duty and conscience, and there are times
that I regret being in the uniform, which binds you so hard
to your duty that your conscience has to take a back seat.
 It’s all history now, but there are times that I question
myself and feel that I should have taken my conscience call
to indirectly caution Papa Giema. Anyway, on that day, I
thanked Papa Giema for whatever he had done for me
personally and for all my boys, promising to see him the
next day. In his wildest dreams, the fellow would not have
understood what I meant by the ‘next day’. On my way back
to the high ground, I could see the locals covering the roofs
of their huts with polythene sheets, gearing up for the
approaching rains. It broke my heart thinking that some of
these souls might not live beyond tomorrow to see another
sunrise, so rains were out of the question.
I had to compose myself and reach the high ground
location, where I kept pondering over the plight of the
innocent locals for quite some time before I could focus on
the tasks that lay ahead. The loading commenced when it
was dark, and I had given priority to the loading of the
ammunition and warlike stores. Sepoy Vinod came to me to
ask which vehicle should be honoured with Maa Durga since
there was no separate mandir vehicle. I instructed him that
we would have a proper aarti (prayer) in our mandir after
the loading was completed, and thereafter we would close
down the mandir. The vehicles were limited, and the stores
far too many; therefore, some non-warlike stores, like
tentage, Sintex water tanks and foldable beds, were to be
left behind. My officers had detailed two boys to burn all
non-essential stores the moment the break-out commenced,
a development that I learnt of only on reaching Daru.
A delicate issue had also come up: the number of personal
weapons was fewer than the number of soldiers. Therefore,
some of us were to go without guns. I looked towards
Captain Sunil and said, ‘If I hold a rifle, what would my boys
do?’ Captain Sunil asked me what I would carry, and I
pointed towards my black umbrella, my companion in all my
trips to the town, though not a preferred choice of weapon
in war. I had decided to put up my umbrella and march
towards the town the next day. The length of the unfurled
umbrella, added to my height, would surely paint a target
on me, but it would also clear all inhibitions in the minds of
my men, which was my real intention. I was later told by
Captain Sunil that seeing me walk with a huge black open
umbrella in my hand during the operation, the boys of my
company were pumped with josh (zeal), and that fear factor
was nowhere to be seen.
The military observers had a faint idea about the
operational plan. However, they were clueless about their
movement. I called for them after last light on 14 July. They
all turned up in very good time, unlike on regular days,
when they would take awfully long whenever summoned.
Before sharing the details of their move, I inquired if they
were aware of what was happening around them. They said
that they knew preparations for an operation were on, but
they did not know the details. I thought of addressing them
before sharing the bit of news they were searching for.
 The Umbrella of Resilience: Major Punia’s legendary black umbrella is still
preserved at the Battalion Officers’ Mess of 14 Mechanised Infantry, as a
souvenir of Operation Khukri.

I told them that they were witness to every event here,

starting from when the Indian peacekeepers first walked into
Kailahun. We had tried everything possible to maintain
peace and harmony in Kailahun in the true spirit of a
committed peacekeeper. With no other way out, we had to
go ahead with the fighting break-out from Kailahun to head
for our Battalion Headquarters in Daru. Given the series of
events that had unfolded over the past three months, we
had no option but to keep the military observers in the
safety of the high ground.
I reminded them of the circumstances under which they
had walked to the high ground and how we shared a couple
of nights as hostages at Geima, the RUF headquarters.
Before any of them could ask me to wait for a few more
days in search of peace, I informed them that I did not have
the rations to feed them the next day. While I was
addressing them, I could see each of them had the big
question in their eyes, as to where they fitted in the overall
operation. I did not have the time to continue any longer,
since over the next 4–6 hours we had to complete several
tasks and were literally racing against time. So I came to the
point straightaway. I asked each of them to be present with
their bags at the helipad by 0430 hours the following day
and said that a helicopter would reach at 0500 hours to fly
them initially to Daru and subsequently to Freetown.
When I went up to our Indian military observer, he told me
to still rethink the option of fighting our way to Daru. I could
only say to him that I would have been happier if he had
offered to move along with the Indian soldiers rather than
taking the aerial route. As a final word, I told them that they
should thank Major Andrew Harrison, since the Chinooks
were primarily coming to pick him up, and all the other
military observers were his guest on the flight. The Pakistani
officer hugged me and said that he owed his life to me. He
further stated that he would always respect the Indian Army
for its professionalism.
Having completed the preparations and coordinated every
detail, we had our mandir function that happened way past
midnight on 14 July. After explaining the arrival of the
Chinooks to the military observers, we still had a few hours
left for the birds to fly in. I decided to address all our boys
and warned them against making any sound or war cry to
ensure that the RUF did not get any hunch of our activity.
The first thing was to inquire if there were any loose ends
left. Thereafter, with all my conviction, I reassured them that
each of them would set foot in India. I thanked them for all
the support rendered over the last almost three months. I
was happy to see them in high morale. I did not consider it
appropriate to take too long, and finally, I shook hands with
each one of them and asked the boys to return to their
bunkers for the rest of the night.
In my bunker, while I was sitting on a chair under the
candle’s flickering light, I decided to pen down a letter to my
wife. I was certain that all my men would reach India, and if
that meant sacrificing my own life, I was ready for it. In the
Indian Army, we have a tradition of writing letters to our
loved ones before entering the battlefield. These letters are
then posted to our homes, in case we attain martyrdom.
With my conviction to have 232 souls reach India, I was
ready to sacrifice my own life for every soldier in Kailahun.
The flame of the candle guided my pen on the blank sheet
of paper.
After that, I met with Major Nair to discuss coordination
issues. Both of us got sentimental. I pulled his leg and said I
was going to attend his son’s marriage maybe twenty years
down the line. Fortunately, I did attend his son’s marriage in
Thiruvananthapuram, in December 2019, and both of us
relived our Kailahun days.
 #11

The D-Day: Operation Khukri

15 July 2000

Just before first light, the British Chinook landed as per plan,
despite it being pitch dark. Our soldiers were flashing their
heavy-duty torchlights, with the intent of showing the way
to the Chinooks. Today, as I look back, I realize how
unnecessary it was to show torchlights to a helicopter with
night-flying capability! The second Chinook kept hovering to
provide cover to the one that had landed at the area we had
cleared around our volleyball court. It was a matter of a few
minutes, and both the birds flew back towards the safe
haven of Daru, carrying the overjoyed military observers.
The moment the Chinooks were out of sight, Subedar
Kewal, as planned, took aim at the RUF ‘basket’, waiting for
the rebels to enter the building. By now the rebels were
charged up due to the presence of a helicopter in their area.
When a huge group had entered the basket to draw their
weapons, a single fire by our rocket launcher sent the
building flying in the air like confetti, and that was the first
blow of Operation Khukri.
 Thereafter, thunderous rounds of rocket launchers and
machine guns erupted from the high ground, blanketing
Kailahun town under a thick cloud of smoke and fire. After
every round of rocket-launcher fire, I had prayers on my lips,
hoping that we miss the residence of Papa Giema, whom I
had promised to meet that day. I had my fingers crossed,
wishing that Sister would have run into the bush the
moment our first round was fired; thoughts of killing my own
sister for the safety of my men crushed me. With waves of
self-loathing erupting in my mind, I heard a massive
explosion right under our nose: the Ghataks had blown the
RUF radio room and checkpost.
While our launchers kept firing without a breather, a
sprinkle of rain began, as though this was something to
wipe our conscience clean with. I looked towards heaven to
thank God and requested him to overpower the wildfire
ravaging Kailahun town. I had to stand firm and convince
the Force Commander on the radio set to allow the break-
out to commence despite the weather, which was coming in
the way of the take-off of our attack helicopters meant to
provide aerial support to us. The Indian attack helicopters
Mi-35s, popularly known as Akbar, were to provide fire
support to the break-out force in Kailahun. But we were out
of luck, as the helicopter did not have all-weather flying
capability, unlike the British Chinooks.
The Force Commander did relent, but only after shifting
the entire liability for casualties of the Kailahun force on my
shoulders, since, as per him, without the support of the
attack helicopters, we were likely to have far too many
fatalities. I agreed to pay the piper while advocating that
immediate break-out from Kailahun was the only option left
since any delay, now that the surprise element had been
lost, would give the RUF an opportunity to reinforce the
cordon around us. I was also baffled by the fact that nobody
held me responsible for the devastation I was inflicting on
Kailahun and its residents.
By now, the RUF had started firing from Kailahun town
towards the high ground. The initial stepping out from the
high ground, in the face of bullets flying from the opposite
side, required some courage on the part of everyone
involved, including the Ghataks. I was well aware of this
fact. The ‘first step’ in any operation needs deliberate
energy, and what follows thereafter is mechanical. God
knows what got into me at that moment. I simply shouted
our battalion war cry, ‘Bharat Mata Ki Jai’ and, with an open
umbrella in my hand, I marched towards Kailahun town in a
manner that had become a routine for me over the last so
many days. However, today there wasn’t any RUF soldier on
duty at their checkpost to salute me; there were bullets
racing forward to deter me.
The polythene roofs over the houses in Kailahun town, set
up to counter torrential rains, succumbed under the fire of
our launchers. The gravel road that was once made vibrant
by the contagious giggle of the children was now cloaked
under layers of sand. This, indeed, was a different day. The
weather itself had changed: the hopeful sunshine was
supplanted by a dark cloud cover, lightning and rain. The
black umbrella was spread over my head. Its colour aptly
depicted that it was a black day for me as a person, but it
eventually turned out to be a glorious one for me as a
soldier.
The eight iron spokes of my umbrella signified eight main
lines of thought in my mind on that day in Kailahun, which I
live with to date. The first and certainly primary one was the
regret that I didn’t apologize to Papa Giema for keeping him
in the dark as it was a question of my soldiers’ lives. The
second was of a brother who couldn’t save his sister, a
woman I gave hope to, a woman who had no other family in
this vast universe. The third regret was that I killed the
people who stood like a wall between us and the RUF. My
fourth cause of sorrow was that our bullets were crumbling
the houses that took years to be built with love and care. My
fifth cause of anguish had to be the fact that we as
‘peacekeepers’ were engulfed in a full-fledged war on alien
soil, ironic as it may sound, a soil that we had stepped on
with the hope of bringing lasting peace, but circumstances
demanded otherwise. The sixth reason for inner turmoil was
the fact that the lives of all 233 of my men were in peril, and
I had to make sure each of them stepped on Indian soil safe
and sound. The seventh cause of distress was linked to my
rushing towards town to locate familiar faces in the piles of
bodies scattered all around. My eighth thought was a desire:
to have an opportunity to speak to my wife, maybe for the
last time. What if I succumbed without hearing her voice?
But what was binding these eight divergent spokes was
the crooked handle that my hand had gripped, a grip that
spoke volumes about the determination and courage of our
Indian soldiers. I marched towards the town at a robust
pace, with bullets flying from the front but with no effect on
my stride, which was far brisker than usual, as I was in a
rush to verify the extent of damage caused in the town.
Captain Prashant shouted for me to halt a couple of times
and then, getting no response from me, followed suit. My
relentless steps, taking me towards the town, with bullets
hissing past my umbrella, stimulated the Ghataks into a
cavalry-like charge that set the stage for immediate capture
of the Kailahun town square, which was our first and most
important task before advancing towards Daru. The only
track on which our vehicles could move passed through the
Kailahun town square, and so we had to take the route
under charge to avoid any attacks on our convoy.
Standing at the town square, I distinctly remember the
Ghatak Satnam forcing his bulletproof jacket on me, and I
had to push him away with all my strength. The jacket
eventually saved him from being blown to pieces. In
actuality, the number of bulletproof jackets was quite low,
and I had made it mandatory for the Ghataks to wear them.
I was thunderstruck to see the ruined state of Kailahun.
Under the debris of collapsed houses, it was difficult to
count the bodies. I tried recognizing familiar faces, like that
of Papa Giema and Sister, praying that none of the mud-
caked faces lying lifeless on the ruined roads resembled
theirs. I was literally removing heaps of rubble to confirm if
there were some life symptoms underneath. Piles of bodies,
coated with gobs of dust and burnt polythene from the
roofs, were strewn all over the stretch that led to the town
square and ahead. At that moment, I looked towards the
sky, accusing God Almighty of pushing me to the brink and
making me witness all this. I was devastated and cursed
myself for opting to undertake the military option for our
freedom. I had never thought that this was the price I would
have to pay for freedom. My daily routine of strolling into
town and meeting the residents flashed before my eyes. I
imagined Papa Giema walking through the town’s narrow
lanes, in his monk-like demeanour.
With profound regret and remorse, I stood at the town
square while we kept drawing fire from the west, which
happened to be our direction of advance. I knew the exact
launch point of the fire: Major Kupoi’s temporary residence,
which was around 200 metres towards the periphery of the
town. I indicated the building to Satnam and asked him to
target it with his rocket launcher. He immediately loaded the
launcher and was about to fire, but in the process of
pressing the trigger he somehow sensed that I was standing
right behind him. I was so engrossed in trying to make sure
the target was adequately aimed at, that I didn’t realize I
was standing in the opposite line of fire of our own launcher.
With the launcher placed on his shoulder, Satnam yelled at
me to get to a side, as the rocket, once fired, completely
burns the area up to fifteen metres behind the launcher. I
felt this was heavenly intervention at the behest of Papa
Giema. He had guided Satnam not to press the trigger,
since, in almost 100 per cent cases, during the thick fog of
war, the man firing the rocket is always more focused
towards the front, on the target, rather than on the rear. I
was saved from being blown to bits, and we finally managed
to neutralize the fire from the narrow lane in the front. I then
asked Captain Prashant to advance by fire-and-move, that is
to precede their every step with a heavy round of fire.
While walking past Kupoi’s burnt-down residence, I could
see our partially damaged Gypsy, which I had bartered for
the evacuation of Sepoy Jayjeet. I instantly asked Captain
Sudesh on the radio to pick it up on the way. Kupoi’s
residence was on the periphery of Kailahun town, and now
we were on the track to Pendembu. Even though I had
stepped out of Kailahun, the sight of its dismal state kept
haunting me, and I considered myself culpable for it.
I once again thought to myself: Was this the best option,
or could I have been more critical in my judgement? Did I do
justice to the residents of Kailahun, who had stood like a
rock to ensure our safety? Could there have been a better
end to the Kailahun story? How will the locals trust anyone
in the future? All these questions kept scarring my mind
while I walked away from Kailahun with a significant
achievement under our belt, since the capture of Kailahun
town was the fulcrum on which the balance of the operation
rested. Even the weather started clearing up; the gleaming
light of the sun symbolizing our first climb to the base camp
on the steep mountain that Operation Khukri essentially
was.
We would have barely walked a kilometre from the town
when I discerned orange smoke against the benevolent blue
sky. The smoke was our signal for the link-up with the para
commandos of 2 Para (Special Force), who were air-dropped
by a helicopter. Though I had read about ‘link-up’ in the
many courses I had attended at various schools of
instruction, I had never realized its impact and energy until I
hugged Major Harinder Sood of 2 Para. The hug was like a
new lease of life.
I gave quick instructions to Major Harinder to lead the
advance hereafter and grouped the leading BRDM combat
vehicle under the special forces. Now, I faced the real
challenge to instruct Captain Prashant, who until then had
been leading the convoy with his Ghatak troops, to be the
rearguard hereafter and ensure the safety of the tail of our
advancing column. As anticipated, Captain Prashant
expressed discontent in a manner that almost crossed the
yellow line of disobedience. I had to be firm and harshly
ordered Captain Prashant to follow my operational
command and converse with me only after completing the
task.
The gist of Captain Prashant’s argument revolved around
the idea that he had undergone all that torture and the
toughest training possible for the last two months, but now,
when the actual time to perform was here, he was being
ordered to guard the rear. I knew that it would not go with
Captain Prashant’s personality. However, having interacted
with the RUF for the last three months, I was privy to their
tactics of hot pursuit in such situations. Therefore, I simply
ordered him, with no room for argument, and asked him to
speak to me after the operation.
Our link-up with the para commandos was a signal for the
main link-up force under our Commanding Officer, Colonel
Satish, to proceed from Daru. The two columns from
Kailahun and Daru were to finally link up at Pendembu,
which was halfway between both locations. The Daru
column was lucky as, unlike us, they were mounted on
infantry combat vehicles (BMPs) along with other mobility
vehicles, while our limited number of vehicles were loaded
with ammunition. Hence, we trod on foot through the
opaque thicket. Our vehicles moved on the narrow track
carved between the puzzle of gigantic trees looking like
skyscrapers on both sides, while we moved on either side of
our vehicles.
Destiny has its own plan. It became clear to me after the
operation that it was a last-minute decision to have Havildar
Krishan Kumar of my company, located at Daru, to drive a
heavy-duty vehicle loaded with artillery ammunition, which
was ultimately targeted by the RUF in an ambush. It seemed
like a foreordained unfortunate incident. The RUF rebels
fired their rocket towards Krishan Kumar’s vehicle. The
rocket crossed from the co-driver’s side and crashed into
Krishan Kumar. He kept fighting even after the rocket had hit
his abdomen. With blood oozing out of his lower body, this
valiant soldier continued unhindered. He sped away from
the ambush and parked the vehicle around 100 metres
ahead, where the RUF wasn’t present. Had Krishan Kumar
not displayed this exemplary courage, the heavy vehicle
filled with ammunition would have blown up, and its impact
would have pushed the entire Daru column on the wrong
side of the grass; there would have been innumerable
caskets to be taken home. But his valour saved them all.
The gallant soldier, Havildar Krishan Kumar, was martyred
with his boots on—a brave act indeed.
To date, it is a mystery how he could have predicted his
doom well before reaching Sierra Leone. It is also a mystery
how the soldiers from Kailahun, a total of 233, could break
out fighting through the siege of the RUF without a single
casualty. Only minor splinter injuries were sustained by
some of us. This was due to the surprise element of the
attack, as the RUF had no idea of our intention as late as the
arrival of the British Chinooks. This was further made
possible due to timely targeting of the RUF weaponry and
the radio room in Kailahun, which limited the RUF
counterstrike post the arrival of the Chinooks.
Having successfully achieved phase one—to break out
from Kailahun—it was now imperative to continue the same
momentum up to Pendembu, where I was to finally link up
with the mounted column of Colonel Satish. The next
immediate destination was Geihun, where a company of 18
Grenadiers was air-dropped by helicopters to converge with
our column. Geihun was twelve kilometres from Kailahun
and post the link-up with the para commandos, we
commenced our advance towards Geihun, with the para
commandos leading the kilometre-long convoy of soldiers.
We were moving through the bush, which seemed
impenetrable to us but was a means of obscure manoeuvres
for the RUF rebels. Owing to the thick foliage and rugged
terrain, the best option for us was speculative fire into the
dense wilderness. We drew heavy fire from the tangled
forest on our advancing column at several places, which
was neutralized by heavy fire from our end. Captain
Prashant had taken charge of the rearguard and was in
constant touch with me over the radio set. By then, the RUF
had reorganized after the preliminary shock of our fighting
break-out and started chasing our column from behind. I
had instructed Captain Prashant to follow fire-and-move in
the rear end to ensure that we broke contact with the
pursuing RUF soldiers.
The grave concern was that we were not able to break
free of the RUF rebels chasing us; their bullets kept whizzing
around us with a loud buzz. The head of the column was
moving like a pincer while clearing minor obstructions on
our way with ease, and the fire blazing from the BRDM in
the front was a force multiplier. Though the rear end of the
column had a BRDM, it was not able to exploit its absolute
mobility, as the Ghataks would stop and aim towards the
advancing RUF rebels before moving ahead and then repeat
the action. So, along with the soldiers, even the rear BRDM
would come to a halt every few steps. I was moving along
with the para commandos, and we were a little short of
Geihun when I received the fortunate news of the take-off of
our attack helicopters. It was around 0930 hours. From that
point on, the attack helicopters, flying on top of the
advancing columns, gave us enhanced support and ensured
better mobility of our column.
At around 1030 hours on 15 July, we reached Geihun,
where our Force Commander, General Jetley, was already
present, along with the company of 18 Grenadiers, to
welcome us. His presence was a motivation factor for the
boys and a pleasant surprise for each one of us. Before this
day, I had personally never seen an officer of his rank step
into the war zone without a care for his own life. Besides
boosting our motivation, he could also manage to give quick
operational instructions to me from ground zero. Before
take-off, the General informed me that he had arranged a
heli-lift for some of my soldiers from Geihun itself. The
advance to Pendembu had to resume after detaching at
least a platoon strength to halt at Geihun, to be airlifted by
the helicopters, which I was told were already airborne.
I had four officers in my company, where Lieutenant Nitin
Chauhan was doing a fantastic job in the leading BRDM.
Captain Prashant was indispensable as he held the fort in
the rear. Captain Sudesh was handling the company while I
had taken control of the complete advancing column.
Therefore, the only option left for me was to instruct Captain
Sunil and his platoon to stay put at Geihun. On the radio set,
Captain Sunil’s voice conveyed a thousand words, and I did
sense his resentment, which could have been expressed in
these words: ‘Why me?’
The column resumed its advance, but what Captain Sunil
and his platoon had to undergo in Geihun was nothing short
of the ‘Great Escape’. They had to literally jump into
airborne helicopters, rotors revolving in full throttle, as the
RUF bullets chased their shadows. Actually, the moment we
moved out of Geihun, the chasing RUF rebels had started
firing at them, and they retaliated to hold the rebels till the
helicopters arrived. Captain Sunil and his party were still
looking towards the sky for some sign of a flying bird, with
prayers on their lips, prayers which luckily were answered at
the eleventh hour. Captain Sunil and the soldiers jumped
into the helicopter hovering a couple of feet above the
ground. This was the sortie of helicopters heading towards
Daru, a colossal respite for Captain Sunil’s party as they
would land straight at the Battalion Headquarters in Daru.
The mighty column moving towards Pendembu resumed
its advance, with the vehicles moving on tracks and groups
of camouflaged armed soldiers prowling on either side while
being involved in continuous speculative fire into the bush.
At Geihun, I had tasked Major Baya, the Company
Commander of 18 Grenadiers, to take over the rearguard
from Captain Prashant, since they were fresh entrants into
the battle.
We had painted all our vehicles from white to red oxide to
ensure they were properly camouflaged. I know red oxide is
not the colour of military camouflage, but it was the only
colour available to us. On the contrary, Baya and his boys
had painted their helmets white, a colour that belonged
neither to the Indian Army nor to the United Nations uniform
code. They looked like snowballs floating in an emerald sea
of trees—easy targets for the RUF soldiers. 18 Grenadiers
was the Jangi Paltan (Battle Battalion). They had recently
returned from Kargil, where they achieved many accolades
but had to pay a hefty price in terms of casualties. So we
could immediately understand the intent behind the white-
painted helmets: they were signs of peace and truce.
Little did they realize the futility of this entire exercise,
since white made them a conspicuous target. Besides, the
RUF had no mercy for ‘white’ under prevailing
circumstances. In a little while, Captain Prashant informed
me that the white helmets were no longer in the rear, and
hence, he was back in his act of handling the chasing RUF.
All I could say was ‘well done’ to Captain Prashant. Over the
radio, I asked Major Baya the reason behind the sprint of his
company. Major Baya’s reply was the ultimate joke: he said
that his soldiers were moving faster than others as they
were physically more robust. The need of the hour in the
rear was to stand firm and hold the chasing RUF, while Baya
and his men were doing some route march.
Captain Prashant and his boys steadily held the RUF on
the back foot while resorting to their fire-and-move
approach, a task they carried out to near perfection despite
some of them, including Captain Prashant, sustaining minor
splinter injuries. The speed of the para commandos in the
front could easily beat any slow-moving vehicle. They
indulged in continuous speculative fire to the front and also
to the sides.
Captain Sudesh informed me that one of our vehicles had
developed a technical snag. As a result, my company
moving behind the para commandos had come to an abrupt
halt. I was clear that we had to touch Pendembu before last
light at all costs, as staying in the bush for the night would
give the RUF the upper hand and be catastrophic for us.
Over the years, the RUF had mastered the art of guerrilla
warfare and were familiar with every inch of the forest. I
inquired from Captain Sudesh if there were any warlike
stores in the vehicle, to which he replied in the negative. He
said that only tentage and personal stores were part of the
vehicle, and that was when I promptly asked him to push
the vehicle to the side and fire two rounds of rocket
launchers to set it ablaze.
In actual operations, every minute counts and
contingencies develop every second, which must be
addressed swiftly. Smaller losses are always more preferable
than losing your soldiers’ lives. While we were taking every
possible step to maintain the momentum and tempo of the
advance, the RUF was employing all measures to delay our
advance and somehow force our column to spend the night
in the bush. It was getting close to 1500 hours, and we were
still 5–6 kilometres short of Pendembu.
Soon after, the leading BRDM suddenly came to a
screeching halt. I was informed by Lieutenant Nitin Chauhan
of my company that the track in front had been dug out and
there was no way they could go over the broad ditch. Nitin
had barely completed his message when heavy fire from the
dense and thick elevated ground gripped our convoy. I
immediately knew it was an ambush of the RUF, wherein
they dig up the road and destroy the enemy with heavy fire.
I asked all the soldiers to take position, and we started
retaliatory fire towards the direction of the elevated ground.
The para commandos moving right behind the BRDM came
into action and started closing in on the elevated ground by
the fire-and-move tactic. This was the standard counter-
ambush drill undertaken by commandos charging towards a
hilltop.
Even the pilot of the attack helicopter above us was quite
vigilant. He immediately went into nosedive-attack mode
and targeted the elevated ground from the side where the
RUF soldiers were constantly firing at our column. The RUF
had always been psychologically scared of helicopter
gunships, and after this attack they were forced to flee deep
into the thicket. We were fortunate to not suffer any
casualties in the ambush, which the RUF had planned very
tactfully. However, the significant challenge ahead of us was
the twelve-foot ditch dug up by the RUF on the track, and
there was no way we could bypass it due to the dense forest
cover on either side. While the foot soldiers could still cross
over, our real issue was the vehicles. The situation was
getting critical with each passing moment as Captain
Prashant was reporting heavy RUF fire from behind and last
light was not very far. I instinctively looked up and found the
solution hovering in the sky!
I asked the engineer expert of my company, Subedar
Lakhinder, to advance towards the ditch and quickly work
out the engineering stores required to bridge the ditch. On
the radio set, I was fortunate to get through to the Force
Commander with a ‘save our souls’ (SOS) call, who, in turn,
assured me of an aerial drop of stores by the helicopter. I
asked the soldiers to take their positions and reinforced
Captain Prashant’s party with a team of para commandos to
handle the RUF soldiers’ fire.
The helicopter with engineering stores reached our
location in a jiffy. It was a spectacle to witness our soldiers
in Olive Green, camouflaged against the wilderness, blazing
at the RUF. Concurrently with the attack helicopter
showering fire on the rebels, the Mi-17 hovering twenty
metres above the ground began dropping wooden planks for
the bridgework. I witnessed the aerial drop of engineering
stores in actual operation for the first time, and my full
compliments to our pilots, who completed the task with the
utmost accuracy.
I wish to applaud Subedar Lakhinder and his boys as they
constructed the makeshift bridge in a snap. The entire
rescue operation from the death-dealing ambush took about
an hour. The precision with which Captain Prashant and his
boys had pinned down the RUF in the rear, with the support
of two attack helicopters, Mi-35s (Akbar), was
commendable. The mounted column from Daru had diverted
the RUF reaction, and as a result, before they could halt our
move, we were back on track, with only the last leg left for
us to reach Pendembu. Make hay while the sun shines, and
that was exactly what Captain Sudesh did. He repaired the
vehicle that was stuck while the column had halted in the
ambush. My absolute compliments to him. Despite the
gravity of the situation, his determination and technical
acumen came in handy.
I was informed on the radio set that the Daru column had
reached Pendembu and was in the process of clearing the
town before dispatching a link-up force ahead of Pendembu
to join in with us. This piece of news had a positive effect on
our zeal, and instantly our pace accelerated manifold.
Captain Prashant informed me on the radio that one of his
boys had got injured in the crossfire, and I immediately
asked Major Murali, our doctor, to attend to him. By God’s
grace, the boy was doing fine, and I was delighted with our
progress so far, with only a couple of kilometres between
Pendembu and us.
All this while, in the thick of the operation, the thoughts of
Kailahun were out of my head. The heroism displayed by
Captain Prashant and his boys was a matter of pride, and I
was content with my decision to put him in the rear. Besides
fighting our way through the RUF heartland, we had walked
a little over thirty kilometres, but nobody looked tired—the
hopeful smile of freedom, after an ordeal of over three
months, could be seen on our mud-glazed faces. There, over
the distance, we saw our men in Olive Green, swaying the
tricolour. The Blue Berets beamed with pride. Familiar faces
with wide smiles welcomed us. Captain Dipu Sirohi, with a
bandage strapped on his chin, was the first person I met on
entering Pendembu, and his warm hug was reassuring for
me: a hug that exuded the warmth of freedom.
Pendembu was like the ultimate objective for the Kailahun
party, since all of us were to be airlifted the following day.
We went into a night harbour at Pendembu, with incidents of
RUF firing at a couple of spots. However, our significant
advantage was our strength on the ground, aided with the
firepower of infantry combat vehicles, with their intense rate
of fire. The infantry combat vehicles were deployed in the
periphery, with softer elements tucked behind them. I had
met almost everyone in our company barring Captain
Prashant, who had gone to the medical room for minor
treatment. I longed to meet him, to personally congratulate
him on the most remarkable job executed by him.
While meeting every soldier at Pendembu, their moist
eyes were a compliment to my commitment of bringing
every soul to safety. Today, even after twenty years, I have
not forgotten that feeling of accomplishment I experienced
while meeting every soldier of mine at Pendembu. I felt like
a parent who has saved his child from the clutches of death.
I thanked God for ensuring the safety of my soldiers and
restoring our pride and honour. It was a historic moment, as
the Indian Army became the first force in the world to have
defeated the RUF and that too in their own heartland,
Kailahun. In fact, this defeat paved the way for getting the
RUF back on the negotiating table, and this time for a spell
of long-lasting peace in Sierra Leone.
If today, the people of Sierra Leone are breathing the
tranquil air of a progressing nation, it was made possible by
the Indian Army soldiers, who played a huge role in carving
out this peace. I, as a soldier, had to pay a very heavy price
for this. Furthermore, destiny had a prominent role to play in
all this. I had to undertake this mission against my wish. We
had to be deployed at Kailahun, where initially the Kenyans
were supposed to go. Above all, we had to conduct
Operation Khukri, despite my attempts to find a peaceful
resolution to the crisis in Kailahun. Most of all, my heart
sinks thinking of the people of Kailahun. Memories of Papa
Giema, Colonel Martin and my dear Sister torment me to
date. Life has not been the same ever since.
Nobody can understand the dilemma of a soldier—a
soldier who was ripped apart by the bipolar strings of duty
and emotions; a soldier who had to choose between the
commitment of peace in Kailahun and his pledge of taking
233 breathing souls back home; a soldier who had to choose
between the diverging paths of humanity and honour.
Finally, nobody can ever understand the emotional baggage
that I have been carrying for the last two decades. I have
not been able to lead a normal life since 15 July 2000, and
from one year to the other, my eyes swim in tears while my
battalion celebrates the victorious ‘Khukri Day’. I sink my
emotions under the beating drums and the loud cheers of
my colleagues, with a superficial smile plastered on my
face. The sight of Kailahun reduced to rubble, with human
carcasses crushed under the debris of dream homes, comes
alive every year; and I have been seeing this sight since 15
July 2000, a date to rejoice, to celebrate the triumph of the
Indian Army for its soldiers, as well as a date that makes me
despise myself and detest my actions.
I live with the dream that I will visit Kailahun one day, to
personally meet the children of the generation that
succumbed in Operation Khukri as collateral damage. I wish
I were less of a soldier and more of a brother, a friend, a
confidant, or just more of a human; I wish I had at least
weighed the lives of so many innocent civilians against the
RUF’s demand to lay down our weapons. My inner self was
torn between my duty and my conscience; between my
allegiance to the tricolour and my fidelity to the local people
of Kailahun. In the tug of war between the Company
Commander of the Indian Army and the peace crusader for
the local people, the soldier of the Indian Army emerged
victorious.
Whenever a soldier joins the Indian Army, he takes the
oath to keep the nation first, always and every time. An oath
that commits the soldier to fighting for his men, even at the
peril of his own life. That oath is the only force that makes
us pull the trigger, which is sometimes jammed by the
opposite force of remorse.
I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that suddenly,
under the flame of the candle, as if by a spell, I noticed
something unusual on my palms. My palms were bruised
with murky stains of crimson blood. Though the blood
symbolized the bravery of the Indian Army soldier
celebrating the glory of Bharat (India), something was not
right. To me, it was the red river of sorrow: blood that wasn’t
a symbol of celebration but of mourning.
Would the stains ever wash? This was a question that
stayed with me for years. The thought of Papa Giema, Sister
and also my friend Colonel Martin distressed me night after
night. While in Pendembu, I lived the entire journey of Sierra
Leone in my thoughts. Even after we reached Daru, our
Battalion Headquarters, I felt I had left something behind. I
even took a headcount of my soldiers just to pacify my
thoughts, but to no avail. My promise to uphold peace in
Kailahun had been left unfulfilled. I felt I had to forgo the
human in me and become a soldier in war for my boys, who
were invaluable. I had to take them to their folks, their
families, who were waiting with expectant eyes back home
in India.
The bond that I shared with my men during those tough
days was as strong as a rock, and hence, three years later,
when I was approved to the rank of Colonel in 2003, I chose
to wait for two long years, something unheard of in the
Indian Army. I did so to be able to command my own
battalion, my own men as a due for our shared history of
Kailahun—I didn’t want to part ways. Deep down, I knew
that the bond I shared with my extended family, my
battalion, was irreplaceable. Even while commanding my
own battalion, or later commanding a brigade along the Line
of Actual Control (LAC) opposite the Chinese in Arunachal
Pradesh, that stain remained in my memory, though it had
become pale with time, but I knew it was there.
It was only much later, in 2017, while I was on duty at
Sirsa, that the stain cleared substantially. My division at
Hisar was tasked to vacate the Dera of Sant Gurmeet Ram
Rahim post his arrest in Panchkula. As the General Officer
Commanding of the Hisar division, I was controlling the
entire operation, for the implementation of court directions
to vacate the Dera. Having cordoned off the Dera, I vividly
recollect, we were standing at a crossroads, with options of
either physical assault to clear the Dera or to give peace a
chance and let innocent civilians surrender. Luckily, the man
heading the army in Sirsa had the experience of being stuck
inside a cordon for seventy-five days and could think exactly
the way every human being inside the cordon in Sirsa was
thinking. I am contented that I did not allow the operation in
Sirsa to follow the precedent set by Operation Blue Star for
vacating the Golden Temple in 1984. In my opinion, the
collateral damage that transpired during and post Blue Star,
with India losing its Prime Minister, was something that was
uncalled for.
Hence, I took it upon myself to vacate it without a single
bullet being fired. And so it happened. I am forever grateful
to Kailahun, as it was because of my experiences there that
we could save hundreds of lives in Sirsa. That very moment,
a load was off my chest and I felt lighter. I believe that the
innocence of the people of Kailahun and the fact of their
demise left a permanent impression on my heart. Finally, I
could breathe out years of distress that had cloistered me
from within.
The people of the Dera in a way owe their lives to the
people of Kailahun, who became innocent victims in the
fight between the obstinacy of the RUF and the dignity of
the Indian Army soldiers. Kailahun is a story of valour, pride
and regret—a regret so deep that it didn’t let me sleep for
seventeen long years. It’s a story that will stay with me
forever. It was only on the soil of Kailahun that I understood
the real meaning of soldiering, and how at times life throws
a curveball and you get stuck in tricky situations with no
option except to fight the people you love, to uphold the
honour of the country you are devoted to. I have been in the
forces for close to forty years now, and yet the tenure in
Kailahun, despite being tough, will always be the jewel in
the crown for me, as it changed me as a person. It had a
deep impact on my heart, and I will remember it till my last
breath.
Writing what I have written has given me solace, and even
if the red stains on my hands have not disappeared, they
have cleared considerably. As I stand in the witness box
representing the soldier who performed his duty, leaving the
seat of judgement open to my readers, I assure you that I
shall most humbly accept your verdict, regardless of what it
is!

For his undaunted spirit and display of nerves of steel in the face of
enemy fire, Havildar Krishan Kumar was awarded the distinguished Sena
Medal (gallantry) posthumously by the President of India.
As part of Operation Khukri, Major Punia was awarded the prestigious
Yudh Seva Medal (YSM) by the President of India in 2002.
Even the Government of Rajasthan awarded him a piece of land on the
Indira Gandhi Canal, which his wife has developed into a ‘Kailahun Farm’.
In her opinion, every grain of that soil will tell the tales of bravery of our
soldiers to future generations.
Major Punia’s first phone call to his wife from Lungi International Airport.
Major Rajpal Punia with the locals of Lungi.

A meal halt between Lungi and Kenema.

Major Rajpal Punia interacting with the President of Sierra Leone, Ahmad Tejan
Kabbah.

Visit to the UN observer group in Kenema.

 Colonel Satish and Major Rajpal Punia taking cognizance of the ground
situation and atrocities inflicted by the RUF in Daru.

The Special Representative of the Secretary-General (SRSG) of the United

Nations visits the DDR camp.
A United Nations helicopter airlifting the Mechanised Infantry BMP in an under-
slung mode.

Major Punia with Foday Saybana Sankoh, founder of the RUF. This was the only
time the Indian contingent saw Sankoh. The man in a green robe on the left is
Ahmad Tejan Kabbah, the then President of Sierra Leone.
 Bonhomie between Major Punia and the local people of Kailahun. The kids
were especially fond of him as he would regularly distribute sweets
among them.

Evening volleyball session in the town square area in Kailahun. Even the locals
attended as spectators. In the picture, Major Punia is seen smashing the ball into
the opponents’ court.
Celebration of peace in Kailahun on the day Major Punia was released from the
hostage situation in Geima. In the picture: Sister (extreme right), Papa Giema
(second from right) and Major Punia (second from left).

Collection of surplus ration to be distributed to nearby towns and villages.

 Visit of Commanding Officer at Kailahun prior to the crisis. (L to R, seated):
Lt Nitin Chauhan, Capt. Thapa, Capt. Sudesh Razora, Major Rajpal Punia,
Col Satish, Major Nair, Major Ramesh Nair, Major Murali, Capt. Prashant Dahiya
and Capt. Sunil, along with the JCOs standing at the back.

The joyous Kailahun force, after they reached Pendembu on 15 July 2000.
An Indian Army truck, painted in red oxide, crossing the ambush of the RUF
during the operation.

Pooja conducted after the successful execution of Operation Khukri. Seen in

the photo: Major Rajpal Punia and Subedar Fateh.
Weapons of the RUF recovered during Operation Khukri.
 The Yudh Seva Medal, awarded to Major Rajpal Punia by the President of India.

As part of Operation Khukri, Major Rajpal Punia was awarded the prestigious
Yudh Seva Medal in 2002, for his bravery and unwavering courage in the face of
adversity.
 War memorial dedicated to Havildar Krishan Kumar, Sena Medal
(posthumous), constructed in Daru, Sierra Leone.

Appreciation letter by the Force Commander, Major General V.K. Jetley, as

received by Major Rajpal Punia after the successful execution of Operation
Khukri.
 *
A non-commissioned officer in the Indian Army
corresponding to a sergeant.
 *
Smashed.
*
Richamar was the name of the area where the battalion
was located and hence the name.
*
A company is a subset of a battalion, with three platoons
under every company. Each platoon comprises forty
soldiers.
*
Duty towards the uniform.
*
Olive Green: a term in the Indian Army used for those
who excessively abide by rules and protocols.
†
Rank in the Indian Army for a Junior Commissioned
Officer.
*
Sergeant Major.
*
A practice of addressing the soldiers collectively.
*
A social gathering of company personnel.
 *
Indian sweets.
†
Deep-fried bread and vegetables.
*
An Indo–Aryan language spoken in different parts of
north-western India.
†
Hindu religious ritual during which vermilion is applied to
the forehead.
 *
Adjutant is the principal staff officer of the Commanding
Officer who disseminates orders of the CO to the battalion
and ensures execution of all directives.
*
Saab: Sir.
 *
Lawlessness.
*
BMP (Boyevaya Mashina Pekhoty): a Soviet amphibious
tracked infantry fighting vehicle.
 *
A word or phrase that is often repeated to express a
strong belief.
*
French word for ‘hello’.
 *
BRDM stands for ‘Boyevaya Razvedyvatelnaya
Dozornaya Mashina’. It is a combat reconnaissance patrol
vehicle.
 *
Here I must explain that a company in the United Nations
is a blend of troops from all arms and services.
 Acknowledgements

I would fail in my duty if I do not thank Major Nair, since it

was he who was the nucleus of both companies in Kailahun.
He was the reason we stayed as one team despite facing
the most challenging environment. In normal circumstances,
a clash of opinions is bound to occur between two Company
Commanders. Yet, despite the most adverse situation, we fit
together like a hand in glove.
I also would like to thank my officers Sudesh, Prashant,
Sunil and Nitin, who not only stood by every erratic decision
of mine but were genuinely my pillars of strength without
whose support I could not have done what I did.
Finally, it was Subedar Fateh, my most significant source
of inspiration, who could bind everyone together as one
team. God bless his soul. The soldier in him could not accept
the idea of retirement, and so he went to heavenly abode on
the very first day after bidding goodbye to the uniform upon
his return to India.
Defying logic, Havildar Krishan Kumar could predict his
future on the day we started from India. He will always be
remembered for his undaunted courage, bravery and the
supreme sacrifice made by him while fighting the rebels in a
foreign land. For his gallant sacrifice and indomitable
courage, he was posthumously awarded the most
prestigious Sena Medal by the President of India.
I would fail in my duty if I do not thank General Jetley, our
Force Commander, for planning Operation Khukri, without
which we could not have restored our honour and the
dignity of a soldier of the Indian Army.
The Kailahun chapter would be incomplete without my
sincere gratitude towards Colonel Martin and Papa Giema.
Their belief in me was the driving force for the events that
unfolded since we first set foot in Kailahun. It’s tough to
trust a man from an unknown land, but they accepted me
with such warmth and affection that to date, I am utterly
indebted. I would forever be grateful to them for being such
wonderful human beings.
To my handsome son, Arjun. Thank you for being my
strength and taking over the responsibilities in my absence.
You always called me your hero, but to me, you are my
champ who supported his mother and looked after his sister
while I was away. You are my star.
No achievement in my life can ever be complete without a
mention of my wife, my best half who was the sole reason I
went on this mission: a mission that changed my life; a
mission that taught me what it meant to be a soldier; a
mission that gave me the honour of preserving the pride of
the tricolour on alien soil. Words are not enough to explain
what my wife means to me, and the way she has selflessly
contributed to my life is unparalleled. Even after thirty years
of togetherness, her spirit amazes me. My beautiful lady,
Thank you!
Finally, I am utterly grateful to Gurveen, Rachna, Gunjan,
Vineet and the entire family of Penguin Random House India
for accepting Operation Khukri and making it their own.
They are the sole reason that this book could reach millions
of homes in India. They made the operation come to life and
made every citizen proud of the Indian Army.

Major General Rajpal Punia, YSM

 THE BEGINNING

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This collection published 2021

Copyright © Major General Rajpal Punia and Damini Punia 2021
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Ahlawat Gunjan
This digital edition published in 2021.
e-ISBN: 978-9-354-92098-1
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