A FLIGHT TO REMEMBER
Former Army Aviation pilot, Col (Retd) MASOOD ANWAR remembers his first flying foray into the beautiful northern areas of Pakistan
Nostalgia is overwhelming. Often, in a state of emotional sincerity I, too, have been overwhelmed by nostalgia. I am reminded of the wonderful days of helicopter flying back in 1972. I had recently returned from Rangoon and had not even settled to a routine, when a new assignment was given to me. I was to join the Alloutte-III helicopter flight at Gilgit. The news was not a very pleasing one, yet I had mixed feelings about the assignment for two reasons. The reason, I did not want to go to Gilgit because Gilgit was hard area, flying was stressful and exceedingly demanding. The reason I wanted to go to Gilgit was to fly in the most challenging environments for helicopter flying anywhere in the world, pile up experience much faster than my colleagues and be among elite pilots of the Air OP (now Aviation Corps). Here I must mention that Alloutte-III helicopter, in my opinion, is the prettiest helicopter in its category - the king of mountain flying. Thus piloting Alloutte-III helicopter especially in the Northern Areas, beyond any doubt, was unique, exhilarating, adventurous, thrilling and spiritually stimulating experience. Each mission was a test of the presence of mind, of responsibility, of perseverance and of judgement.
It was month of November 1972, winters were setting in. Life was beginning to lose humour and complexion. Activities were dying down. Weather was becoming hostile. Trees, plants, vegetation began wearing gloomy look. Nullahs were narrowing. Water was flowing now with less ferocity as though Nature had tamed it. Generally speaking, indeed, winters brought hardships for the people but for us winters were a welcome change. Helicopter performance improved, flying became less stressful due to colder temperature and stable weather conditions.
To continue with the story, I must say the mission I carried out on November 20, 1972 was an unforgettable experience of an extraordinary nature. I find it hard to express, however, as to why I should term this mission exceptional and extraordinary. May be, never before in my flying career did I struggle between uneasiness and composure, between uncertainty and conviction, between phobia and rationality. Never before in my flying career was I so much intimidated by the stunning silence of death. Never before in my flying career did I find life so ordinary and insignificant yet so complete as to withstand enormity of death. Perhaps the unexplainable distinction between existence and non-existence was what made this flight so mysterious and extraordinary.
While at Gilgit we took frequent trips to Skardu. Sometimes duty extended to a few days sometimes we returned to Gilgit the same day. During this particular mission, I was to stay for a few days at Skardu to fly missions in the Kargil sector. Skardu is an important town in the Northern Areas. It is strategically located and provides entry to the magnificent K-2. It is approximately 8000 feet above mean sea level, and located in a plateau, which appears, like it was once bed of a huge lake. History confirms that. Centuries ago the Indus river got blocked by massive landslide. Water rose and turned the plateau into a huge lake. For years it remained so, until water pressure cleared the blockade and the river found its natural course. A brief mention about K-2 before I proceed with the story. K-2 is one of the magnificent mountains I have ever seen. Its grandeur and awesomeness is inseparable. Its glory is in its modesty observed from the way it stands in silent praise of its Creator. The sight is stunningly beautiful, one cannot resist singing in praise of its beauty and purity. I must admit I was fortunate to have flown close to it, so close as though I was into the mighty out-stretched hands of the mountain. I felt like a small frightened child so tiny and helpless, yet I felt comfortable and confident. I felt triumphant and elated with an irresistible force within me to continue my escapade because I knew the mountain stood in humility to serve the desires of man.
It was 2 p.m. I sat cuddled in front of the burning fire listening to music. I was beginning to drift into the world of solitude when I heard knock at the door, 'yes come in,' I said aloud without looking towards the door. 'Sir there is a mission,' I heard the crew chief. I did not like the intrusion, yet I had to since that was reality while the world I was drifting into was not real. I had to break my relationship with the comforting warmth of the burning fire and with the mystic melody of the music playing on the radio. I took deep breath and stretched to recollect myself. The mission was to proceed to Marol top, a small post in the Kargil sector and evacuate eight dead bodies killed in an accident. Quickly I went over the details, gave necessary instructions to the crew chief, informed concerned people and started towards the airfield 'Is everything alright, are we set to go.'
I was addressing the crew chief while I strapped myself into the pilot seat. 'Yes Sir, we have two hours of fuel,' replied the crew chief. Fuel is of vital importance that is why without my asking the crew chief informed me about the quantity of fuel in the helicopter. As per calculations, it was to take me 35 minutes to Marol top with the available fuel, therefore, I could make two trips and evacuate eight dead bodies quite easily.
Once airborne, I levelled the helicopter at 1000 feet above ground level and set course for the destination. En route, occasionally, I checked warning lights for proper function. Everything looked fine, the weather, the flight. I felt relaxed as I flew over places I had flown many times over. Everything lay where it was. It must have been there for centuries I thought to myself. Even time had not found it easy to change them. How long more will these silent mountains withstand the process of change. I let my imagination wander while I enjoyed the surroundings. The next moment I was approaching Marol top. I passed over the helipad to announce my arrival, went ahead made the final turn for landing. The helipad was located at the edge of a narrow spur jutting into Kargil Nullah. The difficult location, therefore, made landing quite tricky.
As I came close to the helipad, I adjusted myself, made last minute checks and settled the helicopter on a gradual descent towards the helipad. I landed safely turned off the rotors without switching off the engine. Once rotors stopped, four men approached the helicopter with dead bodies wrapped in white cloth tied at both ends with strings. The crew chief had already made arrangements for the bodies to be stored. Four dead bodies were placed one on top of the other in the rear of the cabin. When I calculated, the weight was 200 lbs more than the permissible limits. I decided to leave the crew chief behind. He was to wait till I returned for the second trip. I realised I was doing a wrong thing by leaving the crew chief behind, this was to avoid the third trip. Often, either in the heat of emotions or in order to meet another commitment, pilots tend to make wrong decision, sometimes which end in regrettable tragedy.
Sooner I was ready, I took off and within minutes, I was on my way to Skardu. I felt relieved but not relaxed. It was not long before I realised I was alone flying over most unfriendly terrain, with four dead bodies lying one on top of the other immediately behind where I sat. Guess what; I felt a tremble in my body. Fear gripped me. I was choking in the throat, it was becoming uncomfortable, I was shifting in my seat from left to right and right to left. I could not pick up courage to look behind. I wished, for heavens sake, the helicopter would fly faster. I was surrounded with horrible thoughts. I felt silence penetrating through my body, I knew I had to gather myself. I tried whistling but my mouth would not assume the shape to whistle. I tried calling aloud in order to break the hold of silence. I felt silly and absurd, admonishing myself. I tried to remind the male in me by taunting the frightened self.
I don't think there could be more testing time for a person engaged in battle with self. For many years after and even today, I have been asking myself, why are dead bodies feared. Is it dreadfulness of the endless silence associated with them. Is it the absence of any form of expression or is it that dead bodies have no identity, counted neither as persons nor as memory. Does it mean relationships with people cease when they die, later it is their memory with which a spiritual relationship is established. Are dead bodies non-spiritual disposable matter ready to be returned to dust. There are disturbing questions. But to simplify matter, life is differentiated, such that life represents activity, clamour and commotion, while death represents endless silence absence of any form of expression.
After 35 minutes of battling with horrible thoughts and feelings I won the battle in the end. Silence was broken, below me was life clamouring with activity. I arrived safely, had the dead bodies unloaded and without wasting any more time took off for the second trip. Finally by sunset I landed back with the remaining four bodies along with the crew chief.
All that is history now, but I will always remember this episode particularly for one reason - my encounter with the sensation of death, and the question, what will be my feelings when I encounter death in its real form.
