The Day I Was Reborn

'We had been deceived by the clouds, taken to the brink of death, but saved by the Almighty.'

4

Horn blaring, my car got to a screeching halt behind the kaali-peeli taxi, just kissing its rear.

The sound of crushed plastic meant that I had broken its tail-light.

The driver, angered and muttering what obviously were not kind words, quietened up as he saw the military number plate and me dressed in flying overalls.

I was in a tearing hurry to get to the airport; after all, a life was to be saved. I put on the siren and the yellow revolving light to get a move on through the lazy traffic.

Just a few minutes ago, I had finished for the day at the air force station and had sat down for a quick lunch before leaving for a round of golf, when my mobile had buzzed.

A fighter aircraft on its way from the north to the repair depot at Nasik had disappeared from the radar screens.

It was long beyond its endurance now, and would have surely crashed.

However, we were optimistic that the pilot would have pulled the ejection handle to parachute himself to safety.

Our job now was to get airborne in our chopper to first locate the crash site, hoping to find the young pilot somewhere near, and rescue him to safety.

Giving the bewildered taxi driver a 100 rupee note for the necessary replacement of his broken light, I inched out into the traffic.

Pointing towards the name tab on my overalls, I told him, "If there are any more dues, please come to the Air Force HQ and meet me".

A police car suddenly appeared, its siren downing the sound of my siren, and drove alongside, the havildar raising his eyebrows, maybe asking me how and why I was using the beacon and siren which was only allowed for him and the VIPs.

I explained why I was in a hurry, and requested him to pave the way for my car till the airport.

Thanks to the cops, we were soon near our aircraft, removing its covers and getting it ready for a quick take off.

The busy Air Traffic Control gave us the highest priority to get airborne for this life saving mission, and soon, we found ourselves weaving through puffs of clouds towards Goa, to the point where the aircraft was last seen on radar.

Monsoons in the Western Ghats leads to increased clouding as the day progresses, and this often leads to heavy showers by evening.

That was what seemed to be happening.

My copilot, who was at the controls, looked at me and stated questioningly, "The weather seems to be deteriorating, sir?"

I looked to my right to see if we could penetrate the low hills towards Goa. Blocked.

The clouds seemed to be adorning the tops of the hills much alike icing on a cake.

"Let us go further south and try to enter Goa from the east," I took the decision.

In normal circumstances, we would have diverted to the nearest base and waited for the weather to clear.

But this was a life saving mission. We had to stretch to our limits.

I realised that my copilot looked stressed, and took over.

"I got controls", I announced on the intercom, steering the bulky helicopter keeping my eyes peeled.

Goa weather on the other side of the hills seemed to be flyable.

We just needed a little hole in the clouds to get across.

If we had been flying a sophisticated machine or a modern airliner, this clouding would have been easily negotiable.

The vintage systems in our machine meant that we flew only with ground in visual contact.

"Ahh! There! Can you see the small hole in the cloud on the right? I think we should be able to get across!" I said excitedly.

I turned sharply to the right, descending rapidly.

"Keep a check on all parameters and be on instruments as we negotiate this patch", I briefed the crew.

As the ground came closer, the clouds around seemed to grow in size; and we seemed to be tunneling through a darkened corridor.

The opening that I had seen seemed brighter now, straight ahead a mile and a half away.

My hands gripped the controls a little tighter as the radio altimeter warning came on, cautioning us of the proximity of the ground below.

The flight engineer dutifully warned us that we were dangerously low. I told him to keep the instruments under check and look ahead.

"Sir, 50 metres...", the engineer stammered, his panic evident.

We were barely a few hundred metres from the hole that we had to get through. And then I realised where we were headed.

OH! Oh!!... Sh..!!!

I yanked back on the controls and put the helicopter into a sharp turn to the right, away from the hill, using the rudders to help us out.

The poor old machine groaned, the rotors made funny noises in protest and the engineer almost stood in his seat shouting, "Sir! RPM sir! 89-87..."

The ground suddenly appeared very close on our left, the rotors barely clear of the trees below. I straightened the machine and climbed to safety away from the hill.

"Bloody Hell! That was close! Thank God we are safe!" I exclaimed as the tension came down a notch.

My crew supported me with a wry smile which conveyed more relief than agreement.

"You got controls! Let us divert to Belgaum!" I ordered the copilot, removing my gloves and wiping the sweat from my brows on my sleeves.

I needed a breather and needed to de-stress fast.

We had been deceived by the clouds, taken to the brink of death, but saved by the Almighty.

The 'hole' in the cloud, in fact, had been a white puff of cloud embedded in the dark clouds that camouflaged the hill-top.

Had it been a few seconds later, we would have crashed into the hill and not been there to tell this tale.

What had started with a small accident on the road that afternoon could have ended in a catastrophe ending everything.

Flying has been embedded into my DNA after having been in the business for more than three- and-a-half decades.

It is but natural that I still live in the euphoria of the good and bad times that have taught me so much.

Twenty-two years after this incident, I still get up with sweaty brows when the ground appears close during the sorties that I undertake in my dreams.

That day was truly the day I was reborn.

Feature Presentation: Aslam Hunani/Rediff.com