An Indian Army Doctor Recounts Her Travels In The Kashmir Valley And What She Learnt During Her Time There

Imagine you’re deep in Kashmir’s hinterland working as a medical doctor who treats soldiers and civilians alike. You start your day at dawn and heat water by melting snow in empty milk powder containers. After breakfast at the communal kitchen, you begin a long trek that takes you into the villages and towns of the Kashmir Valley, carrying medicines and other essentials in packs. At night, the silence of the darkness is shattered by the rattle of rifles and machine guns; your sleep cycle now dictated by military operations. How would this experience change you? Who would you become?

Ask Major (Dr) Madhu Mishra, a retired medical professional now running her own institute in Uttar Pradesh. Growing up in a family where her uncles served as officers in the Armoured Corps of the Indian Army and Navy, she found inspiration close to home. Behind every brave girl, they say, is a brave and encouraging father, and in Major Mishra’s case, this support propelled her to follow in her family's footsteps. She went on to serve as an army doctor, dedicating her career to Jammu and Kashmir.

Working In A 'Serene Heaven'

Her first posting was as a young officer in a conflict-ridden area at the Line of Control (LOC) in the Kupwara district. As a rookie, the journey to her forward position—which refers to a military base that is close to the front line—was conducted in stages. This introduction into army life left an indelible mark on Dr Mishra.

“The journey from Jammu to Srinagar was like traversing through the gateway to heaven. It was marked by the pristine view of saffron plantations in Pampore to cricket bats being sold in Qazigund. The apple orchards were omnipresent, and so were the maize plantations,” she says. “The journey used to take the whole day, starting much before sunrise. Warm tea and crispy onion pakodas used to invariably wait [for us] at Srinagar. There was a civilian employee there who used to treat all of us just like his family members. His uncanny remembrance about people and incidents was famous amongst army personnel.”

In fact, Srinagar soon became a stand-in as a home away from home. The city had a public call office (PCO) where people could contact family members in time-restricted slots. It was the age before the smartphone, so queues would form quickly. People would start knocking at the PCO door to remind the caller that they were violating the unwritten convention of time spent talking. “I remember one occasion in Kupwara when I waited for my turn to make a call. When my turn came, the convoy whistle was blown. It was only a couple of months later that I got an opportunity to speak to my parents and tell them that I was fine. Letters would, however, plug the gaps and were a stable mode of communication. In fact, my father had installed two landline phones, presuming that if either of the phones went out of order, I would still be able to speak to him,” Dr Mishra says.

From Srinagar, the next destination used to be one's headquarters. Dr Mishra encountered breathtaking landscapes on the way and noticed how small grocery stalls started appearing like malls as she moved further north. The long military convoys stirred up more dust than seasonal storms so one's face and hands were where the dust would eventually lodge itself. Army rookies had a single rucksack with a sleeping bag tied to it, containing two pairs of uniforms, a photo album and a couple of souvenirs. A Kalashnikov would be slung on the shoulder while on the move and would be propped up next to the bed at night. All medical officers learnt how to handle a weapon, and Kalashnikovs were the weapon of choice as they had a higher fire rate, which meant supremacy and an advantageous retaliatory capability in case of use.

Taking It All In Her Stride

Dr Mishra’s day-to-day life had its own cycles and routines, though it was not uncommon for them to change at a moment’s notice due to the shifting nature of military operations. Electricity came from generators and was available for a few hours in the night. At the unit headquarters, she was in charge of the medical stores, the unit-run canteen, the officers' mess, the medical inspection room and the on-duty medical officer. She would conduct training workshops for nursing assistants who worked in the battlefield, too. But her duties in the forward zone were unique, involving a great deal of adventure.

For instance, in order to establish a medical camp for civilians deep in the rural interior of Kashmir, her team joined up with a foot patrol to walk to their destination after an early dinner. Her pack carried two packets of sweets for the children as a goodwill gesture. When she started the walk, it was a starlit night, and the snow looked like a sprawling white bed sheet down the slopes. Since the use of battery-operated torches was prohibited as it would give away their location, the group walked in darkness. The snow was waist-deep, but the company moved like a silent serpent.

“Nobody spoke. There were no sounds of a group of people moving together whatsoever. Even the radio communications couldn't be heard within the group. By dawn, we drifted towards the route through the chinar trees that gave us some cover and stealth. We had carried shakarparas (wheat flour nuggets soaked in sugar syrup) and water bottles. By the time the sun started climbing, these refreshments started getting worthier than their weight in gold. Around noon, we reached short of the village where the medical camp was to be established. We halted for a while, verified that the village was safe, moved into the village with a cordon, had a quick bite of our refreshments, washed our faces, restored our grins and were ready,” she says. “Women gradually started gathering around me, and I witnessed a spree of health-based confessions. I also went to a couple of houses to look up some old people who were unable to walk to the camp location. My packs were lighter now. The refreshments and the sweets meant for the children had finished. I spent the night at the closest base and started for my post the next morning by first light. When I went home for Diwali, my mother asked me which sweets I wanted. Without any hesitation, I said shakarparas. I had graduated in my choice of sweets as far as soldiering was concerned.”

During her tenure in the Valley, an incident remains deeply etched in Dr Mishra's memory: "It was Raksha Bandhan, and I was organising a party at the officers’ mess. Clad in a suit and sandals, I received an urgent message about a patient being brought in. Rushing to the scene, I found a group of jawans in combat gear standing silently. As I stepped out to assess the situation, I noticed a truck nearby. Climbing up to investigate, I discovered a braveheart who had made the ultimate sacrifice. In his pocket, I found a Rakhi and a heartfelt letter. The poignancy of that moment—amid celebrations elsewhere—was a powerful reminder of the sacrifices that protect us all."

Furthermore, treating the wounded changed Dr Mishra. Once the protocols after a soldier’s death were finished, she would speak to eyewitnesses and carry out a mental reconstruction of the combat zone. Hearing the events recounted made the act of bravery appear superhuman to her. “Conspicuous acts of gallantry are contagious. They erode the fear of death from those who get associated with the heroes performing them. One learns to muster up one’s instruments of courage more readily, viz religious beliefs, esprit-de-corps and family values. The significance of material belongings stood diminished. My quotient of empathy was enhanced. My sensitivity for the requirements of those in need was also rejuvenated. I became an animal lover, in particular that of cats. I started feeding cats and also made some shelters for them, although they remained free and were never tied in leashes.”

An Enduring Love Of Karate

All the while, Dr Mishra also pursued a passion she had nurtured since her school days: karate. She was awarded the 3^rd Dan black belt in traditional Shōtōkan Karate in May 2024, and just a few months later, was recognised as the first female doctor to have achieved the rank at the National Karate Championship in New Delhi. For Dr Mishra, the martial art helps her connect with her soul. “Karate instils patience, self-discipline and presence of mind. It promotes learning through one’s mistakes and mindfulness. It also promotes mental flexibility and is like music for the soul. It is a magnificent tool for brain-body coordination and it takes fitness to the next level. Karate stops me from going towards certain dangers and threats, but at the same time, it teaches me how to repel it should it come my way. Some people do yoga, and some do meditation to connect with their inner self. I do it with karate,” she says.

Today, Dr Mishra teaches women and children an unarmed combat style that fuses karate and psychological techniques for their protection. For her, there is no better way to give back than by passing on the torch to younger generations and keeping on with the selflessness, dedication, energy and courage that have marked her life.