"The first shell shook everyone, the second landed near us"

ZERO POINT, KHARBU (KARGIL), September 8: "Put off the lights," screamed 14 voices in unison as the bus in which we mere travel...

ZERO POINT, KHARBU (KARGIL), September 8: "Put off the lights," screamed 14 voices in unison as the bus in which we mere travelling was suddenly flooded with light. Someone had accidentally pressed the switch even as the bus was being shelled from across the border.

On our way from Srinagar to Kargil on the night of September 1, our vehicle was negotiating the seven-kilometre-stretch which has been identified as the danger zone. Our group, consisting of journalists from national dailies and periodicals, escaped from the jaws of death by the proverbial whisker.

Earlier, the Army which maintains one-way traffic along the zone, had detained our vehicle for over two hours. The Army outposts at the two ends of the deadly stretch make sure that all vehicles switch off their lights before traversing the route. While we were waiting and watching the movement of trucks in the opposite direction, not a single shell was fired.

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This bolstered our courage and we set out to negotiate the mountain road in absolutedarkness. “Even if there is shelling, don’t stop the vehicle, keep moving,” instructed the security forces. It was 11.30 pm. The minute we entered the danger zone, all hopes of our safety was shattered as we become sitting ducks to the shelling from across the border. The first shell shook everyone and the bus grounded to a halt. Immediately, some of us shouted, “Don’t stop, keep moving”. The second shell was truly a close shave — coming from the front and landing to our right, its splinters were felt on the window panes. At this, a couple of scribes left their seats and crouched in the aisle between the two rows of seats. It was ironical. The bus couldn’t move fast because of the darkness, coupled with the fact that the narrow road was surrounded by a rocky mountain on one side and a 200-300 feet deep gorge on the other. But we cursed our luck when the moon came out, fearing that we would make easier targets. And as one of us tried to shout instructions to the driver, the rest trained our eyes on thehills, warning him of approaching shells.

Having never done this before, our attempts at helping him were amateurish and desperate. In the beginning, we didn’t even know which hill to look out for. After travelling at snail’s pace for about 2-3 km, we came across a relatively safer half-a-km stretch. My palms were sweating and my eyes ached as I look out for the light of an Army outpost that would signify the end of our ordeal. And all this while, the shelling continued. I counted over 12 shells, others counted as many as 18 to 24. We finally reached the outpost at the other end. It had taken us an hour to cover the seven kilometers. As the security forces asked us to switch on the headlights, there was jubilation in the bus and we hugged and congratulated each other on our “second lives”. As expected, the conversation revolved around the shelling for the rest of the journey. Conspiracy theories were floated and how we targeted to make international headlines. And while the theory may sound far-fetched,there were many who believed it.

The next day, I once again realised what a narrow escape it had been when I saw the holes in the bus caused by the splinters. I thought about the truck drivers who traverse the route almost daily. Also about those living in the nearby villages. Hats off to them!