Colonel Wangchuk’s life demonstrates that identity and national service are not competing categories

Ladakh’s farewell to Colonel Sonam Wangchuk was solemn and dignified, marked by grief and collective pride. The occasion underscored service and sacrifice amidst the continuing political discourse around the Sixth Schedule. Colonel Wangchuk was a patriot, embodying courage and commitment to India’s sovereignty. Commissioned into the Ladakh Scouts, Wangchuk carried both local expertise and military skill, key to India’s high-altitude defence. His leadership in the 1999 Kargil War, for which he received the Maha Vir Chakra, was evident in the Batalik sector, where he led early successful operations at extreme altitudes. Tasked with securing the Chorbat-la ridgeline, his unit advanced through glaciated terrain and was ambushed. Wangchuk’s decisive leadership organised a counter-ambush, neutralising the enemy, securing the route, and stabilising a critical axis, boosting morale during a tough campaign. Focusing solely on this episode overlooks the broader significance of Wangchuk’s life, which is intertwined with Ladakh’s identity. Ladakh is a space where geography shapes life, and enduring the extreme climate and terrain is essential. This is precisely why units like the Ladakh Scouts are more than military formations. They represent a unique bond between land and people. These soldiers are not outsiders defending an unfamiliar frontier; they are sons of the soil, carrying forward a legacy of service shaped by generations of lived experience. Colonel Wangchuk embodied this connection. In recent months, Ladakh has found itself at the centre of national attention for reasons that sit uneasily alongside this legacy. Protests in Leh, demands for constitutional safeguards, and concerns over governance have generated a discourse that sometimes slips into simplistic generalisations about loyalty and intent. It is in this context that Wangchuk’s life acquires renewed relevance. It underscores a basic truth: Ladakh’s commitment to India is neither conditional nor transactional. For decades, the region has stood at the frontline of India’s most sensitive borders — from Siachen to the contested expanses of Eastern Ladakh. These are not self-defending landscapes. Their security rests on the vigilance and resilience of those who inhabit them. Even after retirement, Colonel Wangchuk remained engaged with questions of national security. During the 2020 standoff in Eastern Ladakh, he spoke candidly about the situation on the ground, cautioning against complacency and pointing to gaps between official narratives and operational realities. Such interventions reflected a professional commitment to clarity in matters where ambiguity can carry strategic costs. There is a broader lesson here. It concerns the relationship between the Indian state and its frontier regions. Ladakh’s strategic importance is widely acknowledged, but its voice is not always proportionately represented in national discourse. Too often, conversations about the region oscillate between romanticisation and securitisation, leaving little room for a nuanced understanding of its people and their aspirations. Wangchuk’s life offers a corrective. It demonstrates that identity and national service are not competing categories. His rootedness in the land made him a more effective soldier, just as his service enriched the meaning of citizenship in a frontier region. The image of Wangchuk’s final journey captures something essential about the idea of India. It reminds us that the nation is held together not just by institutions and policies, but by bonds of trust forged in moments of shared sacrifice. The writer is a former ambassador