An elegy in concrete

And there were two kinds of people who gathered to pay tribute to the martyrs – those in uniform and those in civvies. As the mass of olive green got up to salute their fallen comrade-in-arms, it was with a sense of duty and purpose… that the tradition of martyrs would continue. The battlefields remain and will remain as long as there are threats to the nation’s security.

As Prem Malhotra, mother of 2/Lt. Rishi Malhotra walked back with tears in her eyes, she tells the other side of the story. With every addition to the memorial plaques, there will be more parents, siblings, orphans and next of kin trying to come to terms with their tragedy.

As the balmy morning gave way to intermittent drizzle, the dedication proceeded with utmost solemnity. The wreaths were laid amidst the chanting of hymns from various faiths in the true tradition of the army; for the bullet or the landmine that fells these men knows no caste, creed or religion. As the strains of Rouse Reveille died, the Gorkhas presented the Shok Shastra (Reverse Arms) for their comrades who lent honour to the fatigues they went to battle in.

The school children assembled there marched up the steps to offer their tribute. Perhaps some of them will grow up to defend this nation when their call of duty comes.

For the old guard, seated in their civvies, chest full of medals won in distant battlefields, it was a sense of accomplishment tinged with sorrow. Sorrow for the generations they had to command, and sorrow for the posthumous citations they had to write. War, they say, is serious business and nobody hates it more than the man who fights it.

But then soldiers never die. With the memorial, a nation will not let them fade away either. For this is not a tribute to the unknown soldier. He has a name, a name that has been recorded on the granite walls for generations to come.