It takes a brave man to write such a letter.
HASANABDAL: This April 10 was my 57th birthday, the saddest birthday of my life. My son, Maj Zaka ul Haq, is trapped under an 80-foot block of ice at Siachen. Like many others I was hoping and praying for a miracle. And if anyone could make his way out of the white granite, it was Zaka, my mischievous son. The hope has faded. Several times on my birthday I was accosted by many, Saggu Saheb tabiat theek hai? And I say, haan yaar, April hai na, lagta he zara allergy ho gai hai. Zaka, you have made me realise that I am old and people can see through the excessive sniffing to the thin film of tears in my eyes.
Be sure Zaka, if you have by now crossed to the other Kingdom, through the magical power of the wishes of Abdalians we shall transport your CCH to where you have gone. There again the adjutant will give you front rolls and rounds of the sport grounds. The housemaster will reach for his cane when he suspects smoking and smells cardamom and I shall recommend you for an appointment this time. You might even become the cadet captain on the strength of your debating and sporting skills. Listen up, smoking is bad for health!
From the swirling turbulence of hope and despair, I can only babble out these few words, for my Zaka. Farewell my son, Pak
A Q Saggu
Deputy Vice Principal (Coordination)
Cadet College, Hasanabdal