A Gripping Account by the Sole Army Surgeon at the Field Hospital in Kargil

Two things drew me to Dr Arup Ratan Basu’s book on his experiences as a war surgeon in Kargil. The fact that he is a doctor, like me; and that he grew up in the same part of the country that I did at around the same time. I was, of course, curious about his experiences as a surgeon on the frontline.

Basu trained in the Armed Forces Medical College, Pune and completed his training as a surgeon in the Indian Army Medical Corps in 1998. His first field posting was in Pattan in Kashmir, at a small outpost with no operation theater, and he was envious of his colleagues posted in large hospitals, as well as worried about forgetting his surgical skills without practice. In May 1999, he was moved to Kargil to the field hospital close to the line of control, relieving the surgeon there who was proceeding on leave for two months. The war with Pakistan had begun, and Basu’s anxiety at not getting to practice his surgical skills was now replaced by his anxiety about being on the frontline and being able to cope on his own. He stayed at the Kargil hospital till the last week of July 1999 when the regular surgeon posted there returned from leave, and returned to Pattan.

This book is a chronicle of Basu’s two months on the war front, where he writes about the sound of shells arcing through the air, and the boom and vibration when they landed nearby, often too close for comfort. Though initially excited by media attention and celebrity visits, he soon tires of it. He describes the wounded soldiers who were brought to the field hospital, the different kinds of injuries they suffered and how they were managed. Patients were either treated and discharged, or stabilised and sent on to the base hospital in Srinagar if they needed advanced care. His interest in the soldiers as people leads him to ask them about their work and he is moved by their stories of courage—fighting on even when ill-equipped or on starvation rations. He downplays his own role in saving lives and the hardship and danger he and others at the hospital endure under regular shelling from across the border, as he constantly compares his situation with the difficulties the wounded soldiers coming to the hospital have faced. He describes an instance at 3am when he is physically exhausted halfway through the list of casualties, but pushes on, “My mind took over. My movements became mechanical and I could no longer feel the pain. I slowly finished all the surgeries.” When two seriously ill patients arrive together at the hospital, he assesses them and operates on the more seriously injured one first while the other keeps pleading for help saying he is in pain. By the time the first patient’s surgery is over, the second one is dead and Basu is consumed with guilt at having failed him.

Basu’s book is much more than what the title suggests. His description of his journey to Pattan and to Kargil makes the valleys, mountains and the bleak terrain come alive. His writing about the river Suru is poetic. Through his writing, one can almost hear the whine and then the boom of shells bursting on the front. Here is a self-effacing surgeon who has bravely served on the war front, not merely as a surgeon, but as someone who the soldiers confided in—someone who was genuinely interested in the lives of his patients. A surgeon who steps up during a time of need and provides essential medical and surgical care to the war-wounded, but also someone who reflects about his work, about his successes and failures, and about the futility of war. A book not to be missed.

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