When the phone rings at 2 am, you know its not good news. Rather, for journalists it is always big news. On Wednesday night, this was a false alarm. A gun shot was heard somewhere in the dark, accidentally fired by a village defence committee member on the outskirts of Jammu.

The alarm settled, it was still an edgy night. A day before infiltration had taken place on the Kanachak International border and an attack was being apprehended. At times, terror too has a pattern.

Four-and-half hours later, it had struck. Militants had traveled in an auto rickshaw and four people had already been shot. Sketchy reports came in that men in khaki uniform had entered a residential area.

An Army jawan positioned outside the house where the gunbattle took place

As per the laws of television journalism, the rush had set in. When we reached Chinnore-the residential area-signs of a gun battle were all over. Security vehicles were buzzing past us and wires had been laid all over.

It was around 7:30 am and gun shots were being fired from a yellow two-storey house. There were hostages inside-women and children. Until then we had no clue how many, how young, and how old.

A few hours later, their father hurriedly walked past us and said the children were young, aged between 3- 9 years. The crises had deepened. At around 10 am, the youngest child, three-year-old Vipin had started crying from inside the house. It had been four hours for the children inside till then.

My phone kept buzzing as the action unfolded on the ground

Watching the entire story unfold on TV, my phone was buzzing. "Wear a helmet", said friends and family. "Update" said the office.

Even random callers, "How are the children doing". The local residents too had started pouring in- carrying food and water.

A langar had started in a school building, a few meters away from the yellow house.

At around 2 pm worried tones set in again. No sound had been heard from inside the house. The children had been quiet. The firing had stopped. The calm was uneasy and continued till 6:30 pm.

Security forces walked in and out. A policeman told us either the kids are too traumatized, or had fainted or even worse could be expected. Gas pumps, JCB machines, generators were frantically moved to the spot.

Army officers get set for the encounter

Either the security forces could smoke the area or they could JCB machines to barge in from the backside of the house. Divert attention of militants and then open assault from the front side. The story was unfolding like a thriller. It had been almost 12 hours now. The sun was setting in.

A fresh round of heavy gun fire broke the calm again. In the faint light, we could see a body fall at the door of the yellow house. It was the second militant shot and third had been injured.

It was 10:30 pm. The army men had taken control of the house now. Over 10 men were seen on the rooftop. But the fate of the children was still unknown. The crises had been on since over 16 hours now. All three militants had died. But then the dilemma was why aren't the hostages stepping out? No voices were still being heard?

At this point, I was equally nervous and uneasy. The story could not have ended on a tragic note. The final word was oscillating between hope and disappointed. In hushed whispers, rum ours floated in.

The chances of survival were bleak. The crowd hustled. Security men looked on grimly. Again, if hostages were alive, why weren't they stepping out? It was 12:45 am, Thursday night. A senior Army officer called me and screamed "There is hope of life... children are safe". "Children are all safe", I shouted, partly with relief and with excitement. Unfortunately, three hostages had been killed- all three young men between 20-35 years old.

But the four children and their mother were safe. The story had unfolded now...

The family was found inside a room, bolted from inside-and that's what had saved them. Their mother had fainted after a gunshot wound.

And the terrified children were huddled in a corner... at the end of 20 hours - shocked but safe!