A Tale of Valour: Major Somnath Sharma

Before you read a single note on this chapter, get one thing clear: this is non-fiction. It is not a short story, it is not a poem and it is not a play. It is a true account of a real officer of the Indian Army, written to honour him. You could describe it as a tribute with history built into it, because it does two jobs at the same time. It records exactly what happened on one cold November day in 1947, and it explains why the country still keeps that day in its memory.

The textbook prints this piece without a writer's name, so we cannot tell you who wrote it, and it would be wrong to invent one. What we can describe is how it is told. The whole account is in the third person. A narrator stands outside the events and reports them, using words like he, his men and D Company. Only one person in the chapter ever speaks in his own voice, and that is Major Somnath Sharma. He speaks just twice. Keeping that separation clear in your head, the narrator's words on one side and the Major's own words on the other, is the single most useful habit you can build for this chapter, because questions often turn on exactly that difference.

The opening is unusual and worth noticing. Before any date or fact appears, the writer sets down three lines of Hindi patriotic verse. Those lines are not spoken by Major Somnath Sharma. They are chosen by the writer and set there rather like music playing before a film begins, so that you reach the facts already carrying a feeling. Near the close, the writer does the same thing again, this time with lines from Vande Mataram, followed by Jai Hind. The account therefore sits inside a frame of song at both ends, with the history held between them.

The second thing to notice is the order, because it is not the order you would expect. A life story normally starts at birth and moves forward. This one does not. It gives you the tribute first, then the background of 1947, then the battle itself, then the honours that followed. Only after all of that does the writer turn back to tell you where Somnath Sharma was born, who his father was and where he trained. The battle has been deliberately placed before the boyhood. You meet the soldier first and the schoolboy afterwards, and that choice shapes how the whole piece feels.

Finally, look at the margins of the printed page. The book supplies meanings for words such as etched, valour, infiltrators, resolute, tenacity, conspicuous and posthumously. Those glossary words are a clue to the tone the writer is aiming at: formal, dignified, closer to the language of an official citation than of everyday conversation. When you write your own answers on this chapter, matching a little of that register will make them sound right for the subject.

The chapter does not drop you straight into the fighting. It first explains why ninety Indian soldiers were standing in a Kashmiri village at all, and that background begins in August 1947, when India was only weeks old as an independent country.

According to the chapter, Pakistan launched an operation called Operation Gulmarg to annex the Kashmir Valley. The text says this went against an existing agreement involving Hari Singh, the Maharaja of Jammu and Kashmir, under which the state was not to be attacked. Instead of honouring that commitment, the Pakistani Army trained and equipped around a thousand invaders. These were not ordinary raiders, and the chapter is careful to tell you why: they had deep knowledge of the mountain passes and the local terrain. That one detail explains a great deal about the fighting that follows. The attackers knew the ground; the defenders had only just arrived on it.

What did the invaders actually want? The chapter is specific. The plan was to enter Kashmir, take control of strategic locations including the Srinagar airport, stir up a revolt, overthrow the government and capture the territory. Had it worked, it would have handed them control of important mountain passes, peaks and rivers, and it would have struck a blow at a country that had only just become independent.

The dates then move quickly. On 22 October the operation was launched and the infiltrators invaded Kashmir. That invasion led to the princely state joining India on 26 October 1947. On 27 October the Government of India sent its troops to defend the people of Kashmir and India's borders. Notice the practical problem the chapter mentions here, because everything depends on it: the land route through Pathankot was not in good condition, so a contingent of troops had to be airlifted into Srinagar. Once you know that soldiers and supplies could only come by air, you understand instantly why an airfield becomes the thing worth dying for.

On 31 October, D Company of the 4th Battalion of the Kumaon Regiment was flown into Srinagar too, with Major Somnath Sharma commanding it. At this point the chapter gives one of its most telling details: his left hand was in plaster. He had a perfectly good reason to stay behind, and nobody would have blamed him for taking it. He did not. He told his senior officers that he knew his men better than anyone else, and that if they were going into action, they were not going in without him. That is the first time he speaks in the chapter, and it sets up everything he does afterwards.

Finally, the chapter explains why one small village mattered so much. Badgam lay less than five kilometres from the Srinagar airport, it stood at a higher altitude than the airfield, and access ran through the village. Holding it protected the troops already there and kept air supplies flowing. There had been rumours of tribal movement towards Badgam, and those rumours had been treated as unfounded. In reality, the enemy had begun arriving in the village in small groups, precisely so that nobody would notice them gathering.

On 3 November 1947, several companies, D Company among them, were sent to patrol Badgam and assess the threats building in and around it. The chapter describes that day with one carefully chosen word: the valley was eerily silent. Hour after hour, nothing happened. That emptiness was not peace. It was the enemy staying out of sight.

Around the afternoon the companies were called back one at a time. D Company, ninety soldiers strong, was the last, and was expected back by two o'clock. It was exactly then, when only a small group of Indian soldiers was still in Badgam, that the attack came. The timing is not an accident in the telling. The writer wants you to see that the enemy waited patiently until the odds were at their very best.

The first attack was met with stiff resistance. But here the chapter records something more interesting than plain toughness. Major Somnath Sharma judged, correctly, that the first attack was only a distraction. Shortly afterwards, the real attack came from another side. He had read the enemy's plan before it fully unfolded. Ninety men were now facing roughly five hundred invaders.

What followed was a series of decisions rather than one dramatic gesture. He saw clearly that defending Srinagar town, the airfield and the wider valley would be difficult until reinforcements arrived, so he requested air strikes. Then he did something that took real nerve: he laid out ground panels to guide the aircraft towards their target. Laying markers on the ground means standing in the open, in daylight, while people are shooting at you. The aerial attacks did hit the invaders, but even afterwards the enemy outnumbered D Company by almost seven to one, and the attack on their positions continued.

The chapter now shifts from planning to endurance. Vastly outnumbered and facing devastating fire, the company stood resolute. The writer describes gunfire and the cries of battle filling the air, and says the Major's voice cut through that chaos as he urged his men to fight with tenacity and valour. Notice how his leadership is described. He is not shouting orders from somewhere safe. He is heard from inside the noise.

Despite heavy casualties and his own injuries, he kept moving fearlessly across the battlefield. The chapter lists precisely what he did. He directed the fire. He filled magazines for the gunners. He kept encouraging his men to hold their ground. Two of those three tasks are things any soldier could do. That is the point. A commander who stops to fill magazines has decided that no job is beneath him while his men are dying around him.

Then the ammunition began to run out. He informed Brigade headquarters, and headquarters told him to pull back. His reply is the most famous moment in the chapter. He reported that the enemy was only fifty yards from them, that they were heavily outnumbered and under devastating fire, and then he refused, saying he would not withdraw an inch but would fight to the last man and the last round. Read the order of that message carefully. He does not deny the danger or talk it down. He states it plainly, in three short facts, and then refuses anyway. That order is what turns it into a decision rather than bravado.

Just a few minutes later, he was crouched in a trench next to a machine gun operator, helping him load the gun, when his position was hit by a mortar shell and he was killed instantly. He was doing a helper's job when he died, which is entirely in keeping with everything the chapter has shown of him.

It would be easy to assume that a story told with this much admiration must end in victory on the field. It does not, and the chapter is honest about that. After Major Somnath Sharma was killed, his men held that position for over six more hours before the enemy finally overran them. The ground was eventually lost.

So what did they win? Time. Those extra hours gave reinforcements the chance to arrive, including soldiers of the Punjab regiment who were flown in to Srinagar. The invaders were thoroughly demotivated by the resistance and suffered more than three hundred casualties, and their leader was among the injured. The chapter then states the outcome plainly: in many significant ways, D Company's sacrifice and Major Somnath Sharma's leadership saved Srinagar for India.

This is worth pausing on, because it changes what the word success means here. If you measure only by who was standing in the village at nightfall, D Company lost. If you measure by what the fight was actually for, which was keeping the airfield and the valley out of enemy hands, they achieved exactly what mattered. A delay can be a victory when the thing you are waiting for is help. That idea is more grown-up than a simple win-or-lose story, and it is one of the reasons this piece sits among writing about values.

The honours followed. The 4 KUMAON battalion was awarded the Battle Honour, Srinagar. Note who receives that: the unit, not one man. It quietly credits the ninety. Major Somnath Sharma himself was twenty-four years old when he laid down his life. For this act of conspicuous bravery he was awarded the Param Vir Chakra, and he was its first recipient, awarded posthumously, which means after his death. The chapter mentions that his citation reflects his heroism, patriotism and courage.

The piece closes by returning to the idea it opened with, which is memory. It says the echoes of that battle in the Kashmir Valley have long since faded, but the story remains, and the Honour Wall of the National War Memorial now has his name etched on it. Earlier the writer had already listed the everyday ways a country remembers: memorials, stirring patriotic songs, books and stories recounting acts of valour, and national celebrations. Taken together, the suggestion is that remembering is not a decoration added afterwards. It is part of what the sacrifice was for.

Only after the battle, the death and the medal does the chapter turn back and ask who this man was before November 1947. The writer even says so on the page, noting that having gone through how the events of that day played out, it is also worth knowing more about his early life.

Somnath Sharma was born on 31 January 1923, in the town of Dadh in Kangra, Himachal Pradesh, which the chapter calls picturesque. His family had a rich military legacy. His father was Major General Amar Nath Sharma, an officer the chapter describes as having served the nation with distinction. His grandfather told him the valorous tales of the Mahabharata, and the boy was deeply inspired by them.

Notice what that combination gives you, because the textbook asks about it. One influence is a living example inside the house: a father whose career showed, day after day, what service looked like. The other is inherited story: heroism from the epics, passed down by a grandfather. The honest inference is that it was neither the father alone nor the Mahabharata alone. It was his family and his heritage together that shaped his bravery and his sense of duty. He grew up with a real person to follow and an older idea of heroism to measure himself against.

His education followed a demanding path. He studied at Sherwood College, Nainital, and then trained at the Royal Military College, Sandhurst. In 1942 he was commissioned into the 8th Battalion, 19th Hyderabad Regiment. During the Second World War he served with distinction in the Arakan Campaign in Burma, and earned mentions in despatches, which are official reports on military affairs, for his bravery. So Badgam was not the first time he had been under fire. He was young, but he was not untested.

The chapter says his legacy was truly forged during the Indo-Pakistan War of 1947 to 1948, and particularly in the battle at Badgam. The word is well chosen and worth a moment. To forge something is to shape metal with heat and hammering. That is exactly the image the writer wants: a character shaped by hardship rather than handed over ready-made.

Placing all of this at the end is a deliberate choice. If the early life had come first, you would have arrived at the battle already expecting him to be brave, and the refusal to withdraw would have felt like something the story had promised in advance. Placed afterwards, the biography works as an answer to a question you are already asking: where did that steadiness come from? You have watched him refuse to withdraw, and only then do you learn about the father, the grandfather's stories, Sandhurst and Burma. The information does more work at the end than it ever could have done at the beginning.

This chapter is short, but the writing is doing more work than it looks. Here is what to watch for, and each of these is something you can point to in an answer.

One word, repeated across the whole piece. The verb etched turns up three times, and each time it is attached to a different kind of memory. His name is etched in the annals of history at the start, etched in the golden pages of India's military history near the close, and finally etched on the Honour Wall of the National War Memorial. To etch is to cut a mark into a hard surface so that it cannot be rubbed away. By using the same verb for a book, for history and for a wall of stone, the writer makes remembering sound permanent rather than merely sentimental.

Repetition inside a sentence. The words “forever alive, forever alive” are repeated, with a trailing pause after them. Repeating a phrase like that makes it sound like an echo or a chant rather than an ordinary statement, and it stretches the moment so the reader stays inside it a little longer. Remember that this is the writer's phrasing in the tribute, not something Major Somnath Sharma said.

Numbers used as a device. Count them as you read: ninety men, about five hundred invaders, odds of almost seven to one, an enemy fifty yards away, over six more hours, more than three hundred enemy casualties, an officer aged twenty-four. The writer very rarely stops to say that the situation was terrible. The numbers say it instead. In good non-fiction, facts are allowed to carry the emotion, and that is exactly why it persuades.

Silence set against sound. All through the day the valley is described as eerily silent. Then it fills with gunfire and the cries of battle. The chapter swings from one extreme to the other, and that contrast is what makes the ambush feel sudden on the page even though you already knew it was coming.

Big courage shown through small tasks. The most heroic things in this chapter are oddly ordinary: laying panels out on the ground, filling magazines, crouching down to help another man load a gun. The writer could easily have reached for grand adjectives. Instead you get verbs and jobs. Showing courage through small practical actions is far more convincing than announcing that someone was brave, and it is a technique worth borrowing in your own writing.

A formal, honouring register. Look at the vocabulary the book glosses in the margins: valour, resolute, tenacity, unparalleled, conspicuous, posthumously. That is the language of an official citation. It keeps the tone respectful and slightly ceremonial, which suits a tribute and would suit almost nothing else.

Quotation used sparingly. The Major speaks only twice in the entire chapter, and on both occasions what he says is a decision rather than a description. Because his voice is rationed so carefully, it lands hard when it finally arrives. If he had been quoted on every page, the last message would have been just one more line.

Duty placed above personal safety. This is the spine of the chapter, and it appears twice in the same shape. Once when a man with his hand in plaster insists on flying in with his company, and once when a commander who has been ordered to pull back refuses to give up the ground. Both times he had a legitimate way out that nobody would have questioned. Both times he did not take it. When you are asked what this chapter is about, that repeated shape is the strongest evidence you can give.

Leadership by presence. The chapter never once shows him commanding from safety. He is out in the open laying panels, moving through fire, filling magazines, crouching beside a gunner. His own explanation of himself, given before any of it happened, was that he knew his men better than anyone and would not let them go into action without him. Leadership here means sharing the risk you are asking other people to take, which is a much harder standard than simply giving good orders.

Courage joined to judgement. It is tempting to reduce this chapter to the single sentence that he was very brave, but that misses half of it. He read the first attack as a distraction. He assessed that the valley could not be held until reinforcements arrived. He called for air strikes and then made them effective by marking the target. Bravery without thinking would have thrown away ninety lives for nothing. Bravery with thinking bought Srinagar the hours it needed.

Teamwork, not a one-man story. Be careful with this one, because it is easy to get wrong. The company held its position for over six more hours after their commander was already dead. The Battle Honour went to the battalion. The chapter itself ends by widening out to the countless men and women who have defended the country. Major Somnath Sharma is the focus, certainly, but he is presented as an example of many rather than as a lone exception.

Sacrifice and the price of freedom. The writer states directly that this story is a reminder of the ultimate price paid for our freedom, and of the sacrifices made by countless others. That is the emotional argument of the whole piece, and it is why the tribute is placed at both ends of the history rather than only at the start.

Remembrance as an active duty. Memorials, patriotic songs, books, stories and an honour wall appear again and again. The chapter treats remembering as something the living owe the dead, not as a formality to be got through on a fixed date each year.

Bringing this into ordinary life. Nobody is going to hand you a trench, and the chapter does not pretend otherwise. What actually transfers is smaller and, in its own way, harder. Staying with your group when a task turns unpleasant, instead of quietly slipping away. Finishing what you agreed to do when no one is checking. Staying steady when something goes wrong rather than panicking and making it worse. Taking on the boring share of a job so that somebody else can do the difficult share, exactly as an officer filled magazines for his gunners. Looking after your surroundings, helping people who need it and dealing honestly with others are all ways of serving a country that require no uniform at all. In daily life, courage usually looks like doing the unglamorous thing you said you would do.