The 1971 war hero can barely drag himself, crippled by shrapnel which cut through his stomach and liver in the Longewala sector. He sits in a muddy corner, scrubbing tea vessels, while his wife tends the stall. The Army sent him home with a pension of Rs 75 per month.

The country might have won the war, but Singh was defeated the moment an injury incapacitated him. ``With three daughters to feed, an illiterate wife, and no property in my village in Kumaon, I literally came to starvation,'' he mumbles. Putting aside his pride, he begged of senior officers to save his family and, after a long struggle, managed to get a `Jai Jawan' stall on rent.

Whilepatriotism is whipped to a frenzy in the backdrop of the Kargil conflict that has once again taken its toll on the young, veterans who have seen it all before, are not moved. The country has a short memory and an even smaller conscience, they say.

Tank transporter Ranjitsinh Mehrubha Jala, of the 653 company, ASC, says he tries to hide the disability he should have been proud of. ``Amputated legs are an ugly sight. They turn customers off,'' says the retired soldier, a piece of cloth covering his thighs, as he sells cigarettes and supari on the busy Relief Road.

This is the same man who drove on, with Centurion tank parts in the Sialkot sector, despite his legs being on fire from a Pakistani shell blast. The brave soldier was sent home with artificial legs and a pension of Rs 750 per month. No compensation.

``For maybe five years, I was a hero; and then people forgot. Life has been a continuous struggle. Today, I am a half-man, trying to make ends meet. My 23-year-old son hasn't even been able toget a job,'' he says, laughing at assurances that a disabled or dead soldier's children become the country's responsibility.

``For two years I stayed in the village, lying on my bed all the time, completely useless. Then I decided I wouldn't spend life feeling sorry for myself. So I got myself this shop,'' he says.

Azhra Begum, wife of Major Mohammad Ali, Vir Chakra, a hero of the 1965 war, has bitter memories of the hardships she faced in trying to bring up her two daughters alone. The young and promising major was leading a squadron of the 16 Light Cavalry in the Sialkot sector when the Pakistanis dropped napalm bombs that melted the tanks. Azhra Begum was in her early 20s, hiding in trenches at Kapurthala with her two infant daughters, along with other families of her regiment, when her husband died in a Pathankot hospital.

``I was forced to take up a job at Delhi's Ashoka Hotel because my monthly pension of Rs 250 was not enough. Politicians told me that my husband's death had cleared the suspicionagainst Muslims. The Gujarat Government made tall promises of land, of paid education for my daughters. But all I got was Rs 4,000 for the Vir Chakra award,'' she says. She has still not received the land. The government stopped paying for the children's education too. She was advised to send her daughters to a government school because education was free for girls there.

Nandubhai Morjibhai Vaghadia was one of the brave sailors on the ill-fated INS Khukri which sank in 1971. He died at 22, the only earning member in his family of six. In his house, there is a file of correspondence from dignitaries, including Indira Gandhi, the then Prime Minister, promising help.

His parents died paupers, his brother was forced to leave school and work as a labourer for daily wages. ``The 16-acre land that was promised to us in Mandal at Viramgam turned out to be saline and useless. I had no option but to start working. The monthly pension of Rs 140 was not enough for our large family,'' says the martyr's brother,Kantibhai.

Lalitaben, the dead soldier's fiancee, who was 17 at the time, was married to his younger brother. It was a decision in which she did not have a say. ``Our parents had been postponing our wedding for two years. When he came home for the last time, he told me that in his next leave we would run away from home and get married,'' says the tired-looking woman, now in her 40s.

``He never returned. Kati Patang was the last movie we saw together,'' she recounts. Two years later, she was married to Kantibhai. ``We have never had any money. Look at the pitiable condition in which we stay. Things would have been different if Nandubhai had lived,'' she says.

If a soldier goes to war with the assurance that his family will be looked after as well as respected, he won't think twice before boldly facing enemy fire, says an officer. Those who fought in 1965 and 1971 are a generation of soldiers let down.

Even as Diwan Singh lovingly wipes the dust off a framed photograph of late General K Sundarjihaving tea at his stall, he hopes history won't be repeated.