It is that time of the year, when almost every citizen of the country is found wearing patriotism on his or her sleeves, clamorously. Because, for some strange reasons, the feeling of patriotism has been reserved for the select few days of the year, especially, Republic Day and Independence Day. Not to forget the times of war. Be that as it may, on the brighter side, we have Jammu’s Vikas Manhas, aged 42, who walks the lofty patriotic talk throughout the year, without preaching high words about it.
Living in India, the land of the brave, very often we come to hear and think of the valor and contribution of the great martyrs who have laid down their lives for their beloved country in conflict as well as peaceful times. But rarely do we come across someone who has made it a mission of his/her life to do whatever little he/she could for the bereaved families. Vikas Manhas is that someone, or maybe one of those someones.
In the past two decades, Vikas has met and commiserated with families of over 200 Indian martyrs. I better put it like it this, he has built a personal relationship with all of the 200 plus families of Indian martyrs he has visited in the past two decades.
“I visit them to pay my respects to the brave soldier who has immortalized himself/herself, and also to the more brave families – the parents, siblings, wife/husband, and children. It adds meaning to their sacrifice,” he says.
How did this journey start?
In the summers of 1994, when I was in Bhaderwah to attend a family wedding, I witnessed, rather, experienced a heart-wrenching incident, which inadvertently gave me my life’s mission.
One fine evening at my maternal uncle’s place, we were about to have dinner, when all of a sudden, we heard a volley of gunshots. We were not sure what has happened. I was petrified, so to say.
The heated exchange of fire continued the whole night until dawn. That is when the locals gathered some courage to come out of their houses. Darkness had faded, but fear was still in the air. Those were the days when militants were active in Bhaderwah, and the town used to have dusk to dawn curfew.
It was learned that militants had ambushed an army picket in the town, where eight soldiers were deployed. Seven soldiers lost their lives, while the last surviving soldier fought till morning. He was able to prevent the picket from being looted at the hands of militants.
Back then, there existed no policy or protocol of bringing back the mortal remains of the soldiers to their native places. The last rites were performed by the fellow soldiers at their place of posting. The families received only ashes of their brave soldiers, wrapped in a handkerchief, along with their bistar bandh (folded bedding).
Accordingly, those seven soldiers, now martyrs, were to be cremated in Bhaderwah itself.
I saw the locals making arrangements for the cremation, and joined in. Together with few others, I lifted the mortal remains brought in a truck and started walking towards the cremation ground, quietly. On way, I felt something trickling down my shirt. I looked and realized that the soldier’s body was still oozing blood. It was unforeseen, and for a young lad that I was, it was terribly disturbing. Nevertheless, I tried to remain calm.
I was somehow reminded of cremations in my community, where we ensure everyone gets to see the person for one last time. Even if we had to wait for hours and days for the distant family members and relatives to arrive, we waited. On the contrary, here the martyrs were to be cremated without their kith and kin around. More upsetting was a single huge pyre for seven soldiers.
I was compelled to ask from an elderly person, “Why are the mortal remains not being sent to their homes? Their families must be waiting to see their faces.”
“Ask the army people,” he said.
I looked around for a soldier and approached him with the same question. He thought the cremation scene has stirred my emotions, so he tried to pacify me.
“Sending mortal remains to their homes would have been difficult,” he remarked, but I innocently suggested him to bring the families here instead. “As and when the families arrive, the martyrs can be cremated,” I said.
He looked at me disbelievingly and said, “I wish someone in Delhi thought on these lines.” I did not know then that ‘Delhi’ here meant the central government.
I saw the pyre being lit and couldn’t control myself anymore. Then I looked at the soldier, and understood how crying is a luxury denied to many.
On returning to Jammu a few days later, I checked all the newspapers I could in a hope to find ‘some information’ about those seven martyrs. Unfortunately, Google was not an option available to us then (pre-internet era, do not confuse it for internet restriction times), and the information that had made it to the newspapers was limited to‘Seven soldiers killed at so and so place, reinforcements sent to tackle the situation’.
Life rolled on like this, except that any news of soldier attaining martyrdom would refresh my memories and make me look for that ‘some information’.
In the summers of 1999, Kargil happened, resulting in over 500 casualties on the Indian side, while a thousand of others injured. We all have visual memories of the war since it was ‘live’ broadcast on our TV sets from the ground zero.
Notably, two things happened during this war. On one hand, the detailed media coverage helped me find that ‘some information’ about the martyrs, and on the other hand, I got a sense of relief when the then Prime Minister of India, Atal Bihari Vajpayee directed for the mortal remains of the martyrs be sent to their homes.
What is that ‘some information’ you were seeking about the martyrs?
I was uncertain what was I looking for, but something beyond the number of soldiers losing their lives in the line of duty. The media coverage of Kargil War provided me with the particulars of the soldiers – their names, units, native place and other information. If it hadn’t been for these particulars, I might have not walked this journey to their kins.
Which martyr’s family you visited at the very beginning?
I had acted on impulse.
Among the martyrs of Kargil War was 19-year-old Grenadier Udayman Singh, 18 GRENADIERS. A resident of Shamachak village of Jammu, Singh had immortalized himself in a fierce battle to capture the Tiger Hills.
I had the ‘name’, and his village was close by, but I was contemplating, “Why do I want to meet the family? What would I do when I meet them? How will they react?” My friends, whom I had asked to accompany me to his village, also had the same questions. I had no answer.
Months later, I got up the nerve and went alone. The villagers guided me to his house.
“I am here to meet Udayman Singh’s mother,” I had said when his sister opened the door.
I was led to a room, with walls full of Uday’s photographs. It seemed that I was in the most pious and sacred part of the house.
His mother came and sat in front of me, with her head bowed down. After two hours of complete comfortable silence, she got up and asked me for tea. I nodded.
I was about to take a sip of tea, she pointed to a photograph of Udayman sitting in her lap and said, ‘See how handsome he looks! It was clicked when he came home on leave, before Kargil. It is his last photograph with us.”
She spoke constantly for an hour. I could merely utter a yes or no, or nod my head.
Later, on her insistence, I had lunch and met other family members.
As I was set to leave, she inquired, “For how long you are on leave from the duty?”
I told her that I was no army man, but a civil resident of Jammu.
“Itthe kyun aaye phir?” she switched to Dogri language. “I came to meet you and pay my respects,” I said. She hadn’t anticipated this. “Dobara aayo,” she said though. I can’t recall how many times I have visited them since that day.
That is how it began.
What do you do for a living? How do you finance these visits?
After having completed my BSc from the University of Jammu, I went to the University of Mumbai for MMS (Marketing). I worked at Crosstream Consulting Pvt Ltd in Bengaluru for four years, whereby I would plan my visits to the families of martyrs along with my work related travels to different parts of the country. I returned to Jammu in 2011, and started my own travel business.
I bear my expenses for travel, etc myself, while the families I visit are kind enough to provide me with accommodation, if required.
The pursuit that started with Udayman in 1999 has entered its 21st year in 2020, with Vikas visiting more than 200 families of these many valiant soldiers irrespective of rank or unit, across the country. He is now a part of those families.
He shares a recent incident that describes his bond with the families, “On my birthday in 2019, parents of Martyr Major Akshay Girish gifted me a blue kurta and white pyjama. I felt hesitant to wear that kurta pyjama. It was bought for Akshay to wear to a wedding in December 2016, but destiny had other plans. Akshay lost his life while protecting unarmed fellow soldiers and their families during the Nagrota terror attack of 29 November 2016. His parents’ warm gesture got me emotional.”
Vikas, who himself has an appearance of soldier, is working to maintain a proper account of his visits to all the families. His Facebook profile tells the stories of martyrs, and of his interaction with their families. He ensures to post something on birthdays, anniversaries and other special occasions of martyrs or their families. Interestingly, he has a collection of some rare photos, which can be viewed on his Facebook.
“There’s a lot more to be done,” he says.
With his sincere efforts, Vikas is showing all of us what true patriotism is, besides scripting a success story for India, in his own unique way.
Also: Read my article at THE NEWS NOW
Vikas Manhas: Man on a mission to touch the souls of martyrs’ families
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