High in the mountains, a legend resides,
O.P. Baba, a mystery that abides.
A soldier's soul, pure and brave,
Protecting the nation, night and day.
Though his form is gone, his spirit remains,
A guardian angel, easing the pains.
He guides the soldiers, in their icy plight,
Warns of danger, with all his might.
At his shrine, a sacred place,
Where devotees gather, seeking grace.
O.P. Baba Mandir, a holy sight,
A testament to his enduring might.
With festivals held, a yearly affair,
His memory honored, beyond compare.
A beacon of hope, a guiding star,
A soldier's spirit, forever near.
At his shrine, they offer their prayers,
Seeking his blessings, dispelling their fears.
His room is kept clean, his shoes polished bright,
A mark of respect, a solemn sight.
A legend woven, of faith and hope,
A soldier's spirit, a sacred scope.
O.P. Baba, a name ever known,
A guardian angel, a hero's throne.

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