THE ROPE

Pre-read to the Leadership at 26000 feet

What makes an ordinary man do extraordinary things? How can

experiences and traumas shape someone? Where can you draw the courage,
the resolve, strength and determination to face challenges and more
importantly start thinking in challenging terms?

And just what is Leadership? Do you think you have it in you to be a good
leader? Is leadership a trait that one is born with or can it be learnt?

These are some of the elements that will be dealt with in the Workshop for
which this narrative is a required pre-read.

Raghu Raman
www.leadershipat26000feet.com

No part of this document may be reproduced or used without permission.

THE ROPE
Pre-read to the Leadership at 26000 feet

To say that this story is pure fiction, is an insult to those who lost their lives. But to
be any more accurate, will endanger those who are still battling for theirs.

Chandigarh. The last link between madness and sanity.

I arrived in the late hours of the night. It was bitterly cold. Usually is, this time of
the year. Clear sky though. They told me there was a confirmed flight next morning
and my name was on the manifest.

There was nothing to do except to kill the night. The bar at 204 transit mess is a
purely functional one. Meant for serious drinking – that’s it. Then again, it’s
probably one where most men go to seek comfort in the proverbial chalice.

I knew it was a mistake the moment I entered. The only other occupant of the bar
was the old man. Clutching his thick glass. Late forties, I guessed. That would make
him a Colonel, unless of course he had been shafted somewhere along the way.

The barman looked at me, not very pleased that another customer had wandered in.
Understandable considering the late hour. I was in two minds, but then what the
hell, those who are about to die and that kind of stuff.

There was no alternative but to sit next to the old man. There were just two stools.
The light was too dim to see him clearly. Nodding the obligatory ‘good evening sir’, I
slid into the stool beside him.

He tried to lift his head, but somewhere in between decided that the effort was not
worth it and muttered a reply.

The barman shuffled to me, disrelish very evident on his face.

‘Drink sahib?’ he asked. Perhaps still hoping that I had come to use the telephone or
something.

Large whisky, soda’ I said dashing his hopes.

After I took a swig, I turned to the old man. He might have been made of stone for
all the movement he made so far. Of course, there was no doubt that he was stoned.

‘Coming back from leave sir? I ventured.

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I got a grunt for a reply.

Come to think of it, that was a pretty stupid question. A man coming down the
glacier would hardly hang around the transit camp would he? But then I had to
sound polite and if he wanted to be left alone, well mud in his eye I guess.

I finished my drink and motioned to the barman for a refill. Belligerently he poured
another and stood back.

‘Cigarette, Navy Cut’ I asked the barman.

‘Sorry Sahib, only Charms’ he replied, happy that he had managed to pique me in
his own small way.

‘Not even a packet’ I persisted.

‘No sahib, only Charms’ was the delighted reply.

At this, the old man slid something across the bar. It was the packet of the brand I
had asked for. I mumbled my thanks and thought if I should mouth the perfunctory
denial before I pinched his fags, but then on second thoughts, he did not look the
sort of person who would insist.

As I lit the cigarette, he spoke.

‘I am coming back from a funeral’

Oh hell, now the chap has started and he is going to tell me his whole story, I
thought. Last thing

I wanted to hear about in this place was a funeral. Not the sort of thing to get
cheered up on the way to the glacier.

But then I had asked for it, so here goes. ‘Someone in the family sir?’

He looked up sharply, ‘You could say that”

It wasn’t a very pleasant beginning. Two months ago, they told me about the option
of volunteering for a stint in the glacier. Like many officers, I had no idea about
what it involved except that it was frightfully cold. Back then, I had been going
through some problems and I thought that it would be a change if nothing else.

I suppose I should have been suspicious at the alacrity with which my posting was
effected, but of course, now it was too late. Here I was on my way up. Taking a last
drink at a decent altitude. I was keen on knowing more about this supposed hellhole.
After all, I was going to spend the next year up there; and hoping to come back in
one piece. I was inquisitive purely for this reason.

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‘An accident perhaps?’ I continued.

‘ Yes. At the glacier’

‘How?’ I persisted.

The old man took a long breath and shifted his frame. I could see his face in better
light now.

Definitely a commanding officer or thereabouts, I decided. They get this gleam in

their eyes when they become one I suppose.

‘You going up first time?’

‘Yes’

‘Ah’ he responded as if my naiveté was the reason for my persistence. ‘Sure you want
to hear about this?’ he continued.

‘Of course sir, anything I could find out about the glacier is welcome’

The old man began the story. No doubt, he was either drunk or simply pulling my
leg. I mean things don’t happen that way, do they?

If there was a place on earth that could pass off as hell, this would be it. Siachen. A
stony dead freezing wasteland, blanketed with ice through eternity. The only sign of
life is the glacier itself. Like some prehistoric monster, twisting and slithering
sinuously. Pulverizing and sweeping away everything in its path.

Winds like swords swoop from the mountains surrounding the glacier, buffeting and
crashing into the sheer cliffs. The unimaginable cold chills the very marrow of the
bones, like millions of tiny needles. Slicing through clothing, skin and gristle. And
the icy chill, that numbs the body and deadens the mind. Degenerating and finally
sapping the very will to survive. It is a place where even the sun surrenders, and
shines impotently.

The locals dread the place. Not that there are very many of them. The site of death,
they call it.

Just like evil is sometimes beautiful, so is the glacier. Overpowering in its awesome
grandeur.

And yet, in the most beautiful of its moments, death lurks just a footstep away.

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Many killers stalk the glacier. The most lethal of them are the avalanche and the
crevasse.

Between the two, the latter is more feared and for good reasons.

The avalanche usually predicts itself. It behaves in an understandable pattern.

There are identifiable avalanche prone areas. Cliff walls whose sheer gradient
cannot sustain the tons of load that is brought to bear on it during the night’s snow
fall. Places, which receive sun’s rays through a longer period of the day causing the
ice to behave like viscous layers. Or even spots where because of a quirk of nature,
the mountains behave like the prongs of a fork. A faint reverberation between them,
amplifies a million times, waking the sleeping giants from their slumber.

Despite its destructive potential, the avalanche can be avoided through simple
precautions or pre-emption. With experience, it is possible to choose routes that
avoid the avalanche’s footprint. If that was not practical, an avalanche can be set off
using explosives, before it strikes. But the best method, and the simplest, was to
restrict all movements to the early hours of the morning, when the cold binds the ice
mass onto the slopes.

They demand respect, but if given that, the avalanches usually spared their victims.

Not the crevasse.

As the glacier convulses in its serpentine motion, it creates deep cracks or crevasses.
These bottomless chasms seem to run to the bowels of earth. A rock thrown into
some of these crevasses clatter for a long time before they fade out of hearing and
yet not reach the bottom.

Crevasses seem to have lives of their own. Almost as if each one had a distinct
character. Which- perhaps they do. The Glacier’s torque and twisting shapes them,
giving them a form. This sometimes remains unchanged for years. At other times, it
is mercurial like a snowflake. Some crevasses are narrow and straight, almost
parallel, in their slice to the core of the earth. Other’s twist and turn on their way to
the depths. Some have broad gaping mouths, at times as wide as a mile. Others a
slit, just enough for a knife’s blade.

Crevasses are more like treacherous assassins, lying in lurk for its quarry. Almost
as if the glacier was a beast which evolved its own ways to trap and kill its prey.

Falling snowflakes land on the lips of the crevasses. When the width of the mouth is
just right, those that freeze there, become a receptacle for other flakes and an
intricate lattice of ice forms across the mouth of the crevasse. This sort of ‘ice bridge’
has been known to sustain the weight of several tons. Indeed, who knows how many
such crevasses exist beneath the thick layer of ice.

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But at other times, this crust breaks, swallowing the unfortunate soul crossing it.
And once the crevasse struck, escape was rare.

The only defense against a crevasse was the ‘Rope’.

When men moved across such terrain, they tied themselves to each other using a
long rope.

Between each man, there is generally a slack of eight to ten feet. That way if ever
one or more were unfortunate enough to discover the existence of a crevasse the
hard way, they still stood a chance of staying alive. A group of men traveling in this
manner is called a ‘rope’.

And so it was in the early hours of the morning that the ‘rope’ set out on its journey
across the twelve kilometers that would bring them to the forward post. This
particular one consisted of eight men, a usual number.

The load each carried though, was more than usually heavy. The summers were fast
approaching. (About four months of the year are euphemistically called ‘summer’
because the temperatures are slightly higher them). It was imperative to stock all
the posts with provisions, before the campaigning season began, especially the liquid
gold of glacier - kerosene.

In addition to the equipment, each man was carrying a jerry can of the oil, pushing
the all told weight to almost 30 Kilos each. The loads were carried on backs using a
frame of aluminum harness, thereby keeping the hands free. The going was
especially strenuous that day. It had snowed heavily through the night and the
surface had still not hardened completely.

Each footstep went down ankle deep. There was a strong crosswind with the gusts
abruptly changing directions, staggering the men off balance. The men were very
tired. Yet it was better to keep moving than to stop. To halt would mean to let the
thin film of sweat freeze in an instant, sapping yet more of the precious body heat.
And the thought of the warmth and rest just three kilometers away spurred them
on.

It was then that, without warning, that the crevasse struck.

In retrospect it was quite simple to reason why it happened to the last person on the
rope. The crust, which had formed over the crevasse, had in all probability, been
weakened by the passage of seven men across it. Each man’s footstep, boring just a
little more into the layer.

And the crust broke below the feet of the last man. Before he had the time to release
a scream of terror, he was plunged into the crevasse. The seven feet of slack

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accelerated his body weight and the full force of the pull transmitted to the men
ahead. It was a very wrong place to be caught.

Most of the men were on an uphill slope and the ground afforded little purchase.
Four of the men were immediately jerked off their feet. Those who had the presence
of mind went flat on the ground and struck in their ice picks. But the picks ploughed
uselessly through the powdery snow and the whole rope was being pulled slowly,
towards the crevasse.

Each man in the rope realized the danger that was lurking just a few feet away. The
panicked struggles of the man inside the crevasse were causing the entire rope to be
dragged gradually but surely into the crevasse. His screams of terror and thrashing
only reminded each man of the fate that awaited them. The Patrol Leader shouted
at the man inside to stay still, and after what appeared to be an eternity, he seemed
to be able to control his panic and stopped moving.

Each man froze in his place. The worst nightmare of any soldier doing the “link” was
unfolding in front of them. They knew that they were caught in a trap. Any motion
they made slid them closer to the crevasse and towards certain doom.

Despite the jerk of the fall, the patrol leader thankfully realized that his radio was
still near him.

He inched towards it. And his movement caused a fresh drag toward the lip of the
crevasse. The situation was obvious. Any attempt to move was to invite disaster. It
was a stalemate. The crevasse had played its hand. The next move was left to the
men.

The patrol leader had no choice.

‘Cut the rope’ He shouted at the penultimate man who was closest to the lip of the
crevasse.

There was a wave of shock amongst the men. To cut the rope was to abandon all
chance of saving their comrade dangling between life and death. Almost all chances
at least. Yet the more experienced among them realized that the command though
brutal, was the only course of action left to be taken. It was clear that the pull
caused by the man inside the crevasse was threatening all of them. Their attempts
to move had proved just that. And to wait endlessly expecting the situation to
change was suicidal. If anything, it would only get worse. The winds would soon
freeze them and the last vestiges of energy would be drained battling the cold.

They were caught in an impasse and they realized that. Besides, while they lay
pinned, they were powerless to help the man inside. He would dangle there until

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incredibly low temperature of the interior of the crevasse reduced him to a lump of
ice.

Despite the logic it is hard to be the one to cut a man’s lifeline. The soldier drew the
knife in his hand but hesitated.

‘Cut it Damn you’ the patrol leader shouted with fresh venom.

The lash of the order moved the man involuntarily and the blade sliced through the
rope.

They could hear the fresh scream of terror as the man inside felt his lifeline give
way. But abruptly it stopped. The men gathered themselves and rushed to the lip of
the crevasse. They peered in and what they saw was another miracle of the glacier.
The men heaved a sigh of relief.

If they could get help in time, maybe there was a chance after all. The patrol leader
ran back to his radio and began shouting into it.

Ten minutes later, the news of the accident was relayed to the Base camp. The Base
camp is located at the tail of the glacier. Here the glacier decreases altitude and
loses solidity. Melting into a trickle, it meanders into the river Shoyk towards the
west into Pakistan. The base camp is also the point where the glacier technically
starts. It is a logistic and rescue base rolled into one.

The specially trained rescue team at the base camp has an unenviable job. They are
called upon to carry out rescue missions to virtually all crisis’s that occur in the
glacier. And there are enough of these to keep them busy.

As soon as the code word for an accident was blared on the loud speaker at the base
camp, the rotors of two helicopters began their beat. They would require about 10
minutes of warming up before the blades could painfully gather enough purchase in
the thin atmosphere.

And even then, they would be able to transport just one man; at the most, to the
altitude they had to operate at. The rescue team itself was in the control room
finding out what information they could gather. Which, at this stage was not much.

‘Man down in crevasse’ said the base commander.

This particular rescue team was being led by a much younger man.

‘How long?’ he asked as he looked at the map in front of them. He was not
particularly bothered about the location. That was the job of the pilots; who were
charting a flight plan towards the rescue point. But he had to know the vital

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information about which area the crevasse was in, simply because each area had it’s
own peculiarities.

‘Could be anywhere upto 45 minutes, maybe more. Add the flying time and maybe it
would be closer to an hour before you get there.’ said the base commander quite
pessimistically.

‘Lousy timing’ said the senior pilot as he looked out of the window.

They all understood what he meant. It was another of the glacier’s peculiarities. The
main valley that contained the glacier averaged the breadth of a kilometer. The
glacier itself was fed from the countless smaller and very narrow valleys, many of
which hardly ever saw the light of the day because of their narrow mouths and
winding structure. As the sun rose during the day, it warmed the air on the main
glacier. The white snow acted as a powerful reflector and the air mass was quickly
heated.

As the hot air started rising - the colder air from the feeder valleys rushed in to fill
the vacuum. This incoming gust created a phenomenon akin to high-speed gales that
treacherously shifted its direction and speed. That made flying over the glacier more
difficult, as noon approached. And a virtual impossibility after noon.

The pilot glanced at his watch. ‘Three hours max. Do your stuff in that time and we
can get back home’ he told the rescue team commander. ‘We are ready when you
are.’

The team consisting of four, was taken in two lifts. While the helicopter was flying
towards the accident site, another rescue team had started from the parent unit at
the glacier. This team also consisting of four, was being transported in snow
scooters. In addition to the standard rescue gear, they were carrying hot beverages
for the stranded men. Both the teams arrived almost simultaneously at the site.

The helicopter marked the site of the accident and then deliberately veered away to
find the drop point which would spare the men below the blast of the rotor’s down
wash. The patrol leader received the rescue team and they started towards the
crevasse. The helicopters started on their way back to ferry the second lift.

‘It’s incredible’ said the Rescue Team Commander, looking down the crevasse, as he
shook his head in disbelief.

This crevasse plunged straight down for about 30 feet before it narrowed and
sharply twisted at an angle. It was this twist that had saved the man inside. While
he dropped, his body had got stuck into the wedge made by the twist and he lay
there jammed between the two walls of the crevasse.

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The Team commander swung the powerful beam of his flash light beyond the man
but could see nothing but darkness. He moved the beam back towards the victim.
That was another surprise. The fall itself did not seem to have hurt him much. He
was still conscious and coherent. They could only see his upper body but there were
no signs of blood. Also he could move his arms weakly, another good sign. But there
was no telling- below his waist.

Preliminary examination over, the rescue team started their work. First, they would
anchor the man to a rope to prevent him from slipping further down. They started
clearing the snow on a spot near the edge of the crevasse to find the hard ice surface
beneath. Firm enough to hold the piton, which would take the load of the team going
in and the victim, when he was brought out.

While the Team Commander worked, he was thinking out his strategy. Crevasse
rescue is a complicated task. More often than not, crevasses have overhangs. That
usually means icicles growing downward, which ruled out a straight pull. The victim
would simply be impaled on the icicles. The work around was to slither down, level
to the victim, and anchor him to one’s own body. Then heave the victim away from
the crevasse wall using both legs and hands. Each heave had to be timed perfectly
with rhythmic pull of the rope above, lest they be dragged across the wall. In this
case, mercifully, there were no icicles but still the victim was stuck for some time.
That meant he would be dead weight.

In any case, his legs are a goner, he thought. Forty minutes in the deep freeze and
the doctors have no option but to chop them off. Still that was not his to worry. That
would come later. His preparations finished, he straightened and turned around.
They could hear the drone of the approaching helicopters, getting the second set of
men.

One last bit remained. They had to know how deep the crevasse was. This was a
tricky part. The rescue team has to know the score. They need to know whether the
crevasse is very deep or relatively shallow.

Makes world of a difference to the way they work.

If it is reasonably shallow, they can at times take risks, secure in the knowledge that
a mistake will not plunge them into the depths. It was against rules, but the team
sometimes would take off their own safety harness to work unencumbered. However
determining the depth is left until the very end. Usually just before the rescue team
is going in. There is good reason for that too.

The reactions of a crevasse victim follow a predictable cycle. The initial moments
when he falls in, are of sheer terror. Nobody obviously knows what happens to those
who don’t make it, but those who are eventually rescued, gain a fair control of their
nerves after a little while. And when they see and sense that efforts are on to rescue

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them, some even become confident enough to appear positive. They do know that it
is not going to be for free. But losing a few digits or maybe even a limb to frostbite is
relatively a small price to pay to stay alive.

That is when the victim realizes that it is not so horrible after all.

But there are occasions when the victim discovers that the situation he is in is
actually worse than what it appeared. This newfound knowledge can be the trigger
that sparks off a wave of fresh panic. In instances like this one.

By this time, the victim would have certainly lost all sensation of his body. Might
even be fooling himself that his legs are resting on the bottom of the crevasse. If at
this juncture he were to discover that he’s stuck in a bottomless chasm, it would be
like a weak swimmer realizing that he’s at the deep end of the pool. But it had to be
done. As unobtrusively as possible, the Team Commander dropped the chunk of solid
ice into the crevasse.

‘Shit’ mouthed the commander involuntarily. The continual clatter of the stone
confirmed their worst fear. The crevasse was very deep.

The Team Commander adjusted his harness and started down into the crevasse, his
mate playing out the anchor rope while he descended. The rest of the rescue team
had reached. They began harnessing themselves to follow.

‘Mike One to base. We are in’ one of them spoke into the radio.

Fifteen kilometers and twelve thousand feet below, the voice crackled out of the
speaker, telling the base that the attempt had commenced. As always the base
control room was occupied by the members who advised the team at the rescue site.
Most of the men in the room had a lot more experience to draw upon. The doctor was
there too, to counsel about on site resuscitation. Their main purpose was to
coordinate other resources that might be demanded by the team up there.

And they had another task.

To veto any idea that might be endanger the lives of more men. The last job was the
toughest one. Over the years, the control room has had its own share of casualties.
The men looked at the clock on the wall. Most eyes turned automatically towards the
doctor. He had been waiting for their unspoken query.

‘Slim, very slim’ was all he said.

‘Base, we are coming back’ the voice of the helicopter crew came through.

The first part of the chopper crew’s job was over. The second part was to get the
team and the victim back.

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Something that they did not always achieve. On many occasions their return
manifest comprised the same number as their inbound one, and in especially
unfortunate instances - less.

It was decided that the close confines of the crevasse permitted only two men to
work at a time. The remaining two stood ready to relieve those inside or to effect a
secondary rescue. It was not unknown for a member of the rescue team himself to be
trapped inside, necessitating another rescue in the bargain.

The rescue team commander reached down level with the victim. The relief on the
face of the victim was obvious. The commander drew his arms around the victim as
the second man of the team slid a looped harness around the upper body of the
victim. If nothing else, he was not going to plunge any deeper into the crevasse.

On closer scrutiny the situation became apparent to the rescuers. Their man was
stuck between the walls of the crevasse. There was no option but to pull him free.
Tough job, but not something they had not done before.

The team commander tugged twice on the rope securing the victim, signal to the
men above to start pulling. The entire team heaved the rope. Nothing happened.

Puzzled, both the team inside and those waiting at the lip of the crevasse, moved the
rope to check if it was snagged somewhere. It wasn’t. The team commander repeated
his signal and added a shout.

‘Pull harder’, he said as he grasped the rope in his hand.

The men strained with their complete strength, the effort breaking a thin film of
sweat on them. The harness around the victim crunched as it crushed the powdery
snow and bunched around his body. But the man did not budge an inch.

The Team Commander first felt it in his hand. It was then that the true horror of
the predicament struck. First to the team commander, then to the team members
and finally to the victim.

Until this time, the victim had been surprisingly calm. The arrival of the rescue
team and the reassurances he got, had given him hope. That was the drill. Always
give hope. It is an inborn survival instinct. Hope. But now he realized that
something was dreadfully wrong. From the time of his fall he had been told and
instinctively known, not to move. He felt like an insect that had fallen in a spider’s
web. Keep still, don’t move. Don’t cause any tremors that may break the fragile grip
of the walls and plunge you down, they had told him.

Only the grip wasn’t fragile. It was awesomely powerful.

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There were of course, several explanations of what could have happened. The
victim’s body had been in close contact with the icy walls of the crevasse. His body
heat caused a thin film of ice on the wall to melt probably for a fraction of second
and then immediately re-freeze. Clutching him there like an ice tray stuck to the
floor of the freezer.

And of course, the Glacier moves all the time. So perhaps from the time he fell in, it
had been twisting, murderously clenching him in a death grip. Who knows? But at
that moment inside that crevasse, the commander knew one thing for certain. That
the combined strength of nine men could not pull the victim up.

He tugged his own rope twice urgently. He needed to talk to base. They would know
what to do. They always knew. He was alarmed. This was like nothing that he had
faced before. In his panic he even forgot what his sudden departure would signal to
the victim. That would come later. Right now he had to find a way to get him out.

The men above noticed the repetitive jerking of the rope. They let go of the one they
were holding and hauled the team commander out. He snatched the handset from
the operator and spoke.

‘He’s stuck. We can’t pull him out.’

The control room at the base camp was galvanized by the latest transmission. The
Base Commander was not sure he heard this correctly.

‘Mike One, come again’ he said.

‘He’s stuck, Damn it. He is frozen there like an ice cube. We tried pulling him, he is
not budging.’

If the circumstances had been otherwise the Base Commander would have felt small
sense of satisfaction. The rescue team was asking for his guidance. Only he did not
have any to give.

‘You need more men up?’ he asked.

‘No use. The rope is stretching’

The purport of this statement struck all men in the control room.

The rope used in the glacier, if it had a mind of its own, would probably be offended
by the generalized nomenclature it is referred to. This is a specially constructed
piece of equipment. Designed using a complex combination of fibers, its slender
proportions belie the fact, that it is one of the strongest materials created by man,
And yet when the heft on it exceeds a limit it begins to stretch, seeming to admit
that the strain on it was beyond what it could handle.

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The control room was perplexed. The faith of the team commander on the ability of
the control room to find a solution to his problem was painfully evident. The control
room had to respond.

‘You got scooters there? Use them.’ Said the Base Commander, referring to the snow
scooters he knew to be in location.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ it was the doctor. ‘If he’s pulled by the scooter it will
break his bones.’

‘You have a better idea?’ snapped the Base Commander. The doctor looked away.

Up above the team commander kicked himself for not thinking about it. He gave
instructions for the snow scooter to be positioned. They hooked the rope to the rear
of the scooter. The driver glanced at the team commander. Seeing him nod, he gave
the machine its full throttle. The rope bit into the lip of the crevasse digging in a
furrow and stretching. Without orders, the men seized the taunt rope and stated
pulling at it. It was no use of course, but then in these moments of madness, logic
does not work.

The victim did not move.

‘Nothing, no movement’ the team commander spoke to the control room.

‘Try again’ came the reply from the control room. What else could they say?

‘It’s time’ the pilot spoke in the control room.

The control room was jerked back to another cruel reality. The wind was already
playing up. The choppers had to go in immediately to get the rescue team back. It
was an irony. They all knew that too. The rescue team for all their skills could not be
left stranded up there. It was simply a question of human anatomy. They were
stationed in the base camp at much lower altitudes. Centrally located. To be able to
respond to any sector of the glacier. Unfortunately, that also meant that they were
un-acclimatized for the higher altitudes. For them to remain at high altitudes
beyond what was absolutely essential was to court disaster. And if the chopper did
not go fetch them back now, they would have to be left through the night.
Unacceptable risk.

The Base Commander looked at the clock on the wall.

‘Ten minutes?’ he asked the pilot.

‘No more’

The Base commander turned towards the radio.

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‘Mike One, you’ve got about twenty minutes before first lift comes. Do your best.’

Up above, the Team Commander looked incredulously at his own watch. Twenty
minutes. Damn! What could they do in that much time? The situation inside the
crevasse was turning nasty. The victim had begun to understand that there was
something drastically wrong. That he might not be rescued after all. He began to
panic all over again. In a desperate voice then commander instructed the team.

‘We all go in’

The Team Commander and his partner pitched in two fresh ropes using the same
anchor and slithered down. They carried their ice axes, and started to hack at the
edge of the ice wall. It was useless. The close confines of the crevasses prevented the
full swing of the axe. The walls were so hardened that the picks just bounced off
them, hardly making a scratch. As they swung furiously, one of the picks slipped
and dug into the victim’s arms. The man cried out in misery as this fresh pain flailed
him.

Finally, realization struck them all. There was no way this man could be pried free
from the crevasse.

They could now begin to hear the faint thump of the approaching choppers. Time
was up. The team commander motioned to his men to start moving up. Very
reluctantly they tugged at their anchor ropes and started being pulled up.

The victim had broken down completely. He was sobbing uncontrollably. Pleading
not be left there. The team commander fought back to control his own tears. There
was nothing, absolutely nothing that he could do. He heard the first sortie land and
moments later, take off. They had another twenty minutes or so before the choppers
came back for him.

‘Don’t leave me Sahib’ implored the victim.

The team commander couldn’t take it any more. All his training, his skills had never
prepared him for a situation where he would have to watch helplessly as a man died
painfully, slowly, being able to do nothing about it. There were no words to say, no
hope, no consolation to offer. Somehow the victim seemed to find a new strength.
Perhaps he finally got the courage to accept his fate.

His voice was much steadier when he spoke again.

‘My family, Sahib, I have three small children. And my parents, they are old.’

‘They will be looked after, don’t worry’ replied the team commander.

‘They should not know that I died like this.’

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‘No they won’t. They will be told that you died immediately on falling.’

‘Tell them. Tell them that…’

‘Yes. What do you want us to tell them?’

‘Tell them that I am sorry. You know, for leaving them like this.’ Fresh tears started
streaming down his eyes.

‘Don’t be. They will be looked after.’ The team commander found his own voice
choking.

It was uncanny, talking so matter of factly to a man who was about to be left to his
death. Like an unbelievable nightmare. It could not be happening, and yet it was.

‘How much longer?’ asked the victim.

At first, the team commander misunderstood. He started to say that the choppers
should be coming back any time now, but then he realized what he was being asked.

‘Not long’ he lied.

‘It’s not painful, I cannot feel anything’

‘Yes and soon you feel drowsy and that will be it.’

‘I am frightened Sahib’.

‘Think of god’ the Team Commanded touched his arm. ‘And don’t worry about
anything.’ His words sounded empty, even to himself.

‘Can you.. can you stay till I go Sahib?’ he asked hesitatingly.

As if to answer his question, the feeble drone of the choppers filtered down the
crevasse. They were back for him. Suddenly the crevasse seemed a lonely and a
terrible place to leave a man to wait for a lingering death. The team commander
freed one of his hands and gripped his anchor rope. His other hand held the palm of
the victim. To tell what was passing through his mind is not something that words
can accomplish.

‘I have to go’ he muttered shamefully.

The victim did not let go of his hand. The team commander jerked his rope twice.

And then the screaming began. The victim’s shrieks of terror followed the team
commander all the way to the top. He felt he could hear them even above the din of
the rotors. As he pulled out of the crevasse he could feel that the winds had picked

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up speed. He saw the pilot motioning at him urgently, to board the chopper. His
partner was already beginning to pull out the equipment.

The team commander stood motionless at the lip of the crevasse. Time seemed to
stop for him. The downwash of the choppers threw snow and debris all around. He
could see the pilots motioning for him to hurry. But he heard nothing. Nothing -
except the screams of the man inside the crevasse.

‘Wait’ he said abruptly to his mate. ‘I’m going down for a minute.’

‘But Sahib, there is no time’ argued his partner. ‘Even if you have left something it is
not worth going back.’

The team commander did not reply. Instead, he started to slide down the crevasse
again. His partner seemed to read his mind and reached out to hold him.

‘Don’t do it Sahib’ he implored. ‘It’s not correct.’

‘There is nothing else I can do for him’ the team commander jerked his arm free and
started down.

‘I am coming with you Sahib’

‘NO’ he shouted. ‘I will do this myself.’

‘What the hell is he doing?’ Hundred paces away, the one of the puzzled pilots asked
his co-pilot worriedly.

The gusts were already jostling the helicopter on their skids. The pilot was fighting
hard to keep the chopper under control.

‘Victor one to base, what the hell is your boy upto? We can’t hang around here any
longer’ the pilot radioed the base camp.

“I have no idea’ came back the voice of the Base Commander. ‘He knows he has to
pull out of there.’

After what seemed an eternity, the team commander came out of the crevasse. His
partner pulled him out and they began running towards the waiting choppers.

Twenty minutes later, they were back in the base camp. As per the norm, the entire
rescue team and the air crew moved to the control room for debriefing. The team
commander was not amongst them. Everybody thought that it was because he was
disturbed. No one mentioned his absence.

That evening he was at the bar, well on to a drunken stupor when the Base
Commander joined him.

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‘Finally it’s always the bar’ he said to the younger man. ‘Whether we get the man
out or not.’

The team commander did not move.

‘It is a part of the game.’ continued the Base Commander. ‘Sometimes we win, other
times the glacier. No reason to feel too bad.’

The team commander turned slowly to face him.

‘It’s not that’ he said. ‘That’s not why I am sad’.

And as they looked at each other, the Base Commander understood.

For a long moment they did not speak. Finally, the Base Commander broke the
silence.

‘If that’s what you did, it was brave.’

‘I don’t feel very proud.’

‘Nevertheless it was courageous. Not many would have thought about it, and fewer
could have done it.’

The team commander did not reply.

‘How?’ asked the Base Commander.

The team commander took a long breath and turned away before answering.

‘I used a rope’

‘Did he…?’

‘No…. I guess he knew it was the best way out.’

The Base Commander heaved a sigh and began walking away.

‘There are two more things’ said the team commander.

‘What?.’

‘His family has to be told’.

“Obviously, someone will be going to do that, might have already done so, you know’.

‘No. You have to do it’

‘Why?, I mean why me.’

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‘Because’

‘Alright, and the other thing?’

‘I want a transfer. I can’t do this job any longer’.

‘Sorry about the second part. No way. You can’t apportion problems without
accepting to handle some yourself’. The Base Commander did not wait for a reply as
he left the bar.

___________________________________________________

The cigarette burned my finger and I was jerked back to reality.

I mean what I was hearing so far was a fantasy wasn’t it? I looked at my watch. It
was very late. The old man had almost finished.

‘So you see I am coming back from a funeral, figuratively. Because the body is up
there inside a crevasse and will be there, from here to eternity.’

‘You are…’ I began.

‘Yes. I am the Base Commander at the base camp.’

We finished our drinks, rose and left for our rooms. Of course, I did not believe a
word of what he said.

Things just don’t happen that way do they?

The author was posted in the Siachen Glacier for a year. He wrote several stories of
his experiences in the Glacier. This one was first published in 1995 in the Infantry
Journal. You can reach him at captraman@yahoo.com

This narrative is the pre-read for the workshop on “Leadership at 26000

feet”

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