India, Sept. 5 -- "A soldier's drop of blood shed on the borders...is a vermillion tilak on the forehead of Mother India!"

While we sleep peacefully in the warmth of our blankets at the midnight hour, a soldier stands guard without blinking an eye in the pitch-black darkness. Out there, on the freezing, oxygen-deprived peaks of Siachen where temperatures plunge to sub-zero levels, or across the scorching, soul-crushing dunes of distant deserts, he remains unyielding. Driven by the singular, pure hope that the children back home can laugh and play safely, he hugs his rifle tight to his chest, looking death straight in the eye every single moment.

The truth is, a soldier is not merely a human being draped in a uniform-he is a living, brea...