This is the scene of the 1965 conflict between India and Pakistan. We, the wives of the three Services had got together for the common cause. I remember that sunny morning when we had gathered at the house of Aruna Choudhari, wife of General Choudhari, Chief of Army Staff to speedily get our uniform made with the badges if W.W.S. (Womens' Welfare Services) attached on the left shoulder.

We gave our names, addressed formed batches and got organised quickly. The idea was not to waste any time but to start working straightway for the welfare of the wounded jawans. We didn't wait even for the transport to be arranged. We decided to take turns and utilise our own cars. Some drove their own cars and some, whose husbands were in the station and not on the front offered to drop us at the hospital.

Those who were qualified doctors started helping the medical staff. Some undertook clerical duties, others chose ward duties and so on according to one's experience, skills, training etc. Those with the knowledge of nursing helped the Military nurses in sponging the patients, making the beds and feeding them.

As our voluntary group worked we also talked to the wounded jawans, giving a word of sympathy, encouragement and that seemed to cheer them up a bit more. Some went around to find out what the wounded jawans needed. I remember running to the red Cross room and fetching items which they had asked for. I walked the corridors, visited different wards and distributed toilet soaps, books, magazines, inland letters and so on. The jawans liked picture magazines and papers and were happy to have them.

Some jawans had an arm or leg injured, some had fractures, some suffered from gun shot wounds, some had an eye damaged, while a few had their face and head bandaged could hardly speak or eat. Still what they were worried about was a letter of their near and dear ones at home. That little piece of paper carries the gallant man's heart to the dear ones, his message of love to his father, mother, wife and child. Some of us offered to write for them. Having been fond of writing letters since childhood I too joined in, and wrote several letters for these gallant men.

What I learned from this insignificant small gesture was the realisation of their greatness, their big hearts. They never grumbled, there was no self-pity. Their undaunted courage had not failed them. They were enthusiastic despite their injuries to go back to the battlefield for the motherland. Matrabhoomi ke liye phir ladenge was their motto. ``Why were we stopped? We were ready to go forward and finish the job,'' they said. One thing they never wanted to do was to cause anxiety and worry to their parents and wives. They always asked me to convey that they were as fit as a fiddle and only suffered slight bruises. Main raji khushi hoon (I am fine) was their slogan.A young jawan was lying, looking very worried and despondent. I asked him what the problem was. Was he having pain? Did he need anything? ``No mataji, there is nobody who will write me letters. I can't write with my arm bandaged,'' he said.

``Why one of us will write,'' I said cheerfully.

``Mataji, in my village no one reads or writes in Hindi or English. It has to be written in Marathi,'' he said sorrowfully. Then I wrote a letter in chaste, traditional Marathi starting with ``Tirthroop... Sashtanga Namaskar.... Vinanti.'' His face brightened up and he looked so very happy. That satisfaction and contentment on his face echoed in me as well and has carried me forward in life. Our voluntary group also stitched clothes for the jawans like pyjama suits, sponge clothes, towels, handmade bandages and knitted pullovers.

At the Army House under the guidance of Mrs Choudhari and Mrs Kumaramangalam the work of making parcels was also going on. Sorting out the articles, piling them, packing them in polythene bags, stapling, labelling and so on. The items included cashew nuts, books, biscuits, toilet articles, shirts, shoes, matches and such other items. These gift parcels were being sent to the troops in forward areas and some to PoWs in Pakistan. These were gifts from home and family - small tokens that brought cheer to the men fighting far away from home. Such a small gesture it was, and one that brought joy to the giver as well as to the receiver.