The stranger appeared at exactly six o'clock.
I knew the time because I had just checked my watch, a nervous habit from my army days. Twenty-five years since retirement, and still the military precision clung to me like a second skin.
The evening news droned in the background as I prepared my solitary dinner. Another border skirmish. Another political debate that would resolve nothing. I turned the volume down.
That's when I heard the knock. Three sharp raps against wood, official, measured, deliberate.
I wasn't expecting anyone. My daughter Priya called on Sundays, not Thursdays. My neighbors kept to themselves. The delivery man always rang the bell. This was something else.
The neighbor's boy blasted music again, bass thumping through our shared wall. On the television, a panel of experts debated fruit exports while somewhere in Siachen, soldiers stood frozen in vigilance.
When I opened the door, the stranger's uniform spoke before he did.
Young. Maybe twenty-five. Captain's insignia gleaming on his shoulders. His posture ram-rod straight, face impassive. The evening light caught the beret tucked under his arm, the maroon of the paratroopers. My old regiment.
"Colonel Sharma?" he asked, though he clearly knew the answer.
I nodded, feeling my spine instinctively straighten. "Yes, Captain."
"Captain Vikram Singh, sir. Twenty-First Para Special Forces." He paused, something flickering behind his professional demeanor. "May I come in? I've come about Kargil."
Kargil. The word landed like a grenade in my quiet home.
Twenty-six years since those mountains had nearly claimed my life. Twenty-six years of nightmares, of phantom pains in my leg, of faces I couldn't forget.
"Come in, Captain," I said, stepping aside.
He entered with measured steps, refusing my offer of tea with a polite shake of his head. I noticed then what he carried, a weathered leather satchel, the kind officers used for important documents.
"Sir, I apologize for arriving unannounced," he began, standing at parade rest in my modest living room. "But this matter is... sensitive."
The walls of my home were lined with photographs, my younger self in uniform, my late wife smiling beside me, my daughter on her graduation day. And tucked in the corner, a framed picture of five young men on a mountainside, snow-capped peaks behind them. Point 5140. Before the assault.
The captain's eyes found the photograph, lingered there.
"You were at Tiger Hill," he said. Not a question.
"I was." My voice had turned to gravel. "Operation Vijay. We lost three of my men taking that position."
The captain nodded solemnly. "That's why I'm here, sir. About one of those men."
He opened the satchel and withdrew a folder marked "CLASSIFIED" in bold red letters.
"Major Rajesh Yadav," he said.
The name hit me like a physical blow. Rajesh. My second-in-command. My friend. The man who had carried me down that mountain when a Pakistani sniper's bullet shattered my femur. The man whose body we'd never recovered after he went back up to save the others.
"What about him?" I asked, sinking into my armchair as the old wound in my leg began to throb.
"Sir, I'm part of a special historical reconnaissance unit. We identify and recover remains of fallen soldiers from difficult terrain." The captain's voice remained steady, but his eyes betrayed his emotion. "Three months ago, melting ice revealed several bodies near Tiger Hill. We've been working to identify them."
My heart pounded against my ribs. "And Rajesh?"
The captain placed a small box on my coffee table. "We found these with remains that match Major Yadav's description and DNA from his family samples."
I opened the box with trembling fingers. Inside lay Rajesh's dog tags, tarnished but intact. Beside them, a small silver pendant, a Hanuman medallion I had seen him touch before each mission for luck.
"There's more, sir." The captain hesitated. "We found a waterproof field notebook in his pocket. Most pages were damaged beyond recovery, but..."
He handed me several laminated sheets, photocopies of water-warped pages with faded handwriting I recognized immediately.
***
July 4, 1999
The colonel got hit bad today. I got him down to the medical post, but I have to go back for Sharma and Malik. They're pinned down near the peak. The artillery has stopped, but the snipers are still active.
They raised a white flag at dusk. We lowered three bodies by dawn. This isn't war anymore. It's betrayal.
If my body is found, tell them not to wash the enemy blood off my boots. I'm not dying for nothing. I'm dying so others won't have to.
If something happens, tell Colonel Sharma it wasn't his fault. We all knew what we signed up for. The flag will fly on that peak tomorrow. That's what matters.
Jai Hind.
***
The last words Rajesh ever wrote. Words meant for me, preserved in ice for twenty-six years.
"How did you find me?" I asked, not looking up from the pages.
"You were mentioned in his notebook, sir. When we identified the remains, I requested permission to deliver his effects personally." The captain paused. "My father served under you as well. Lieutenant Ajay Singh. He always spoke of you with great respect."
I looked up sharply. "Ajay? You're Ajay's son?"
"Yes, sir." A small smile softened his formal demeanor. "He passed away five years ago. Cancer. But he told me all the stories. How you led from the front. How you wouldn't leave until every living man was accounted for."
The weight of memory pressed down on me. Ajay had been young, barely twenty-two during Kargil. Always joking, even under fire. I'd lost track of him after my medical discharge.
"Your father was a brave man," I said. "One of the best officers I served with."
The captain nodded. "There's one more thing, sir."
He reached into the satchel again and withdrew something wrapped in cloth. As he unfolded it, I recognized the faded fabric of our regimental colors.
"We found this clutched in Major Yadav's hand. He was sheltered under an overhang, which preserved some items better than expected." The captain's voice softened. "The flag was wrapped around his chest, sir. Tight, as if he was shielding it from the cold and the enemy. His body was found still warm, despite the freezing temperature. As if something inside him was still burning."
The small triangular piece of fabric, torn from a larger flag, bore the marks of both blood and frost. I took it with reverent hands, remembering how Rajesh had carried our regimental standard in his pack, determined to place it at the summit.
"I thought you should know, sir," the captain continued. "He made it back to our men. Naik Verma and Lance Naik Malik survived because of him. He got them to shelter before he succumbed to his wounds."
The room blurred as my eyes filled. All these years, I'd believed Rajesh had died trying to reach our stranded men. I'd carried that guilt through decades of nightmares. To learn he'd succeeded, that his sacrifice had saved them...
"They're planning a proper memorial service next month," Captain Singh said. "With full military honors. His brother asked if you would speak."
I nodded, unable to trust my voice.
"There's one more thing." The captain hesitated. "The recovery operation is still classified. Technically, I shouldn't be here. But my commanding officer, he served in Kargil too. He understood the importance of closure."
I looked up at this young man, standing so straight in my living room. The son of my former lieutenant, now wearing the same uniform, carrying forward the same duty.
"Thank you, Captain," I finally managed. "For bringing him home."
He came to attention and offered a crisp salute. "It's my honor, Colonel. Men like you and Major Yadav, you showed us what it means to serve."
After the captain left, I sat alone with Rajesh's effects spread before me. The dog tags. The pendant. The fragment of flag. The last words of a man who had saved my life.
I picked up the phone and dialed my daughter's number.
"Papa?" Priya answered, surprised to hear from me mid-week. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes, beta," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "But I need to tell you a story. About an old friend who finally came home."
Outside my window, the sun was setting, painting the sky in the colors of our flag. Somewhere in the distance, I imagined I could hear the strains of the national anthem. And for the first time in twenty-six years, the mountains in my nightmares began to recede.
The stranger's knock didn't just bring peace. It brought the weight of a folded flag and the sound of a soldier's oath, echoing long after the bugle fades.
JAI HIND!
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