A couple of years back, an article was published in the TOI - 'A Soldier's Father' by one Mr. Venki Iyer. I am sharing the same with fellow rediffilanders.

The helicopter appeared over the late morning horizon. We were to receive Mr. Lachhmansingh Rathore who was visiting our fighter base to perform the last rites of his son, Flg. Offr. Vikramsingh. Only the day before, I had sent the telegram, “Deeply regret to inform that your son, Flg. Offr. Vikramsingh, lost his life in a flying accident early this morning. Death was instantaneous.” It was the first time for me, to meet and manage the bereaved next of kin.

While most wives and mothers insist on seeing the body, many a times there isn’t a body to show. Vikramsingh’s remains were only a few kilos – scrapped from what was left of the cockpit. We had to weigh the coffin with wood and earth.

The pilot brought the helicopter to a perfect touchdown. Soon Mr. Lachhmansingh was helped down the step ladder. A small man of 73 years, clad in an immaculate white dhoti. As I approached him, he asked in a near whisper, “Are you Venki, the Flight Commander?” “Yes Sir”. “Vikram had spoken to me about you. I would like to speak to you alone for a minute.” We walked to the edge of the concrete apron. “I’ve lost a son, and you have lost a friend. I’m sure you have taken great care in arranging the funeral. Please tell me when and where you want my presence and what you want me to do. I’ll be there for everything. Later, I would like to meet his friends, see his room and, if it is permitted, visit his workplace. I then would like to return home tomorrow morning.” A commander couldn’t have given clearer instructions.

The funeral, with full military honours, was concluded by late afternoon. After the final echoes of the ‘Last Post’ faded away, Lachhmansingh spent the evening talking to the squadron pilots. Vikram’s roommate took him to see Vikram’s room. Lachhmansingh desired to spend the night in his son’s room instead of the guest room we had reserved for him. Early next morning, after a tour of the squadron area, my boss took him to his office. A while later the staff car took Lachhmansingh to the civil airfield two hours away. As the car disappeared round the corner, I remarked to Boss, “A brave man he is. Spoke to me like a General when he told me exactly what he expected from us during his stay here. I admire him.”

“Yes, Lachhmansingh is a warrior in his own way. He sired three sons. His first born, Capt. Ghanshyamsingh of the Gurkha Rifles was killed in Ladakh in 1962. His second son Major Birisingh, died along the Icchogil Canal in 1965. His youngest, Vikramsingh, who had the courage to join the Air Force, is also gone. This simple farmer has contributed more to our country’s defence than any other I know. Yes, he is a brave Rajput.”