Thirumala Temples of Alleppey 

(Discovering Alleppey on a bicycle)  

Two temples, one stolen deity, and a town shaped by faith

Coordinates: -

Old Thirumala Temple: 9.4876820° N, 76.3401378° E

Anantha Narayana Puram Temple: 9.4963684° N, 76.3461788°

A Cyclist's Discovery

Some discoveries happen in distant lands; others await us on familiar streets, often unnoticed for several years. All it takes is a bicycle, a curious mind, and the willingness to look beyond the road.

It was on one such ride that I first noticed the New Thirumala Temple at Anantha Narayana Puram. What caught my attention were two imposing murals at the entrance, depicting Lord Narasimha Moorthy with Lakshmi Devi and Lord Venkatachalapathy. Their commanding presence was difficult to miss, even from the saddle of a passing bicycle.

I learnt that Lord Narasimha, the fierce incarnation of Lord Vishnu, is revered as an Ugra Moorthy. Thereafter, my daily cycling route acquired a small but meaningful ritual: whenever I passed the temple, I would slow down and pay my obeisance.

Curiosity soon led me to the Old Thirumala Temple, nestled in the traditional Konkani settlement of Thirumala. What began as an ordinary cycling excursion gradually became a daily journey of devotion and discovery. My bicycle was no longer merely a means of exercise. It had become my passport to Alleppey's history, heritage and spiritual landscape.

The more I learnt about these two temples, the more I realised that they were not merely places of worship. Their stories were intimately intertwined with the growth of Alleppey and Cochin as a flourishing commercial town, the migration of the Konkani community, the intrigues of princely states and an extraordinary episode involving the clandestine removal of a sacred idol.

Here, then, is the fascinating story behind these two landmarks of our town.

The Konkanis: A Community Shaped by Migration

The Thirumala temples are closely associated with the Gowda Saraswat Brahmins (GSBs), popularly known as Konkanis, a community distinguished by its dialect, traditions, religious practices and remarkable entrepreneurial spirit. Their history is one of migration, resilience and adaptation. Over the centuries, they established themselves in trade, commerce, education and other professions, making significant contributions to the social and economic life of Kerala.

 

Wanderings of Gowda Saraswat Brhmins

Traditional accounts trace them as originally living on the banks of ancient River Saraswathi during the Vedic times. The Konkanis migrated to the south after the river dried up, and settled near the present-day Orissa/Bihar area (Thrihothrapura). Sage Parasurama invited 96 families of GSBs to "purify" or "sanctify" the new land that was reclaimed from the sea (Konkan-Goa region).

Whatever the variations in these early accounts, the better-known historical chapter of the Konkani migration is associated with Goa and the arrival of Portuguese rule.

 

The Great Exodus from Goa

The Portuguese conquest of Goa and the subsequent religious persecution, forced conversions and desecration of Hindu places of worship drove many Konkani families to seek refuge further south, particularly during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

Travelling by sea along the Western coast on boats, 12000 families moved into the coastal regions of Karnataka and Kerala. Calicut was among their destinations, where the Zamorin initially extended them a welcome. As more families arrived, however, some moved further south to Cochin.

At Kochi  (Cochin) the (a Dutch controlled territory), they were welcomed by the Raja HH Veera Kerala Varma Thampuran and the Dutch, and were allotted large tracts of land for their settlements, business and also for constructing their Temples. Many taxes were exempted for them and were privileged. The GSB community also flourished and prospered financially and socially and as a measure of their contribution to society they were honoured with key political posts both at the Raja’s court as well as with the Dutch Governor. They established themselves as a prosperous mercantile community

They built homes, places of worship, warehouses and trading establishments. Their commercial networks expanded, and members of the community acquired considerable influence in the affairs of the kingdom.

Their relationship with the ruling establishment was not always harmonious, however. The prosperity they had painstakingly built would soon be tested by a bitter confrontation with the Cochin crown.

 

The Cochin conflict: When Faith and Power Collided

In 1791, the new Raja of Cochin, Sakthan Thampuran, demanded certain forms of Tax from Konkani settlers. This led to serious frictions between the Crown and certain leading merchants of the community. The Dutch intervened as the move was violative of the agreement made by Dutch in 1772. On refusal, the Raja arrested a number of Konkani merchants and ordered them to pay customs to the king thereby violating the earlier Dutch agreement.

The Dutch Governor even ordered Dutch Forces deployments. The relations of affected Konkanis with the Raja continued non-cordial. And the Raja initiated severe punitive actions against the erring.  This led to open war of the Crown and the Dutch. The Dutch Army which attacked the Mattanchery Palace of the King was repulsed. These all added to only severe persecution of some sections of Konkanis by the Raja. The dispute escalated. Merchants were subjected to punitive measures, and community traditions preserve accounts of severe persecution, including the execution of a prominent merchant named Kini, on non supply of jaggery (Solid dark unrefined sugar) to royal house hold.

The conflict was not merely about taxation or commercial privileges. It struck at the heart of the community's religious and social security. Their temple was attacked by the Kings soldiers and plundered. This ignominy of the Hindu King ravaging a temple was a blot on the otherwise serene and tranquil history and saga of the temple. The devotees desired to safe guard their precious idols- the Venkatachalapati idol (Thirumala Devar) along with the idols of Lakshmi Devi from Cochin Gosripuram temple, which were initially transported to the Dutch for safety and later smuggled out to the GSB temple at Thuravoor , which was under Travancore Kingdom, through a lot of planning and adventure through the coastal route.

Thus began one of the most extraordinary chapters in the history of the Thirumala temples.

 

A Sacred Journey to Alleppey

In 1792, according to the traditional account, persecuted Konkani families fled Cochin and sought refuge in the Travancore kingdom, including at Thuravoor and Alleppey.

They placed their grievances before the Travancore authorities through the influential Dewan, Raja Kesavadas, who is closely associated with the development of Alleppey as a planned commercial port.

The Travancore administration permitted the refugees to settle in Alleppey while the political situation in Cochin remained unsettled.

With them came their religious traditions, commercial skills and determination to rebuild their lives. They too had brought along with them the holy idols of Venkitachalapathy along with that of Lakshmi Devi from Cochin Gosripuram temple, which were installed for prayers at Old Thirumala Temple. 

Another version states the Venkatachalapathy idol along with the idols of Lakshmi Devi from Cochin Gosripuram temple and Narasimha Moorthi from Thuravoor temple were shiftedby Temple authorities  to Alapuzha Venkatachalapathy Temple (Old Tirumala Temple) and kept in the North Agrasala.

The fact is that these idols remained there for more than 60 years. Accounts differ on the precise movement of individual idols, particularly the image of Narasimha Moorthy, with some traditions associating it with Thuravoor and others as retrieved from ruins of a temple at Purakkad subsequent to the theft of Venkatachalapati idol, after a Deva Prasna.

The sacred idol of Lord Venkatachalapati, together with other images associated with the community's temples, became central to the story of their settlement.

The Old Thirumala Temple of Venkatachalapathy, Alleppey, became an important centre of worship for the Konkani settlers. For the displaced community, the temple represented far more than a religious sanctuary. It was a symbol of continuity, collective identity and the hope of beginning anew.

The Rise in Trade and Enterprise

It is difficult to tell the story of the Thirumala temples without recalling the remarkable transformation of Alleppey during this period. Under the vision of Raja Kesavadas, Alleppey developed into an important centre of maritime trade. Its waterways, canals and access to the coast offered considerable commercial advantages.

The arrival and settlement of the Konkani merchants added another dimension to this growth. They established pandikasalas - warehouses and trading establishments - and engaged in extensive commercial activity. The community's entrepreneurial energy contributed to the expansion of trade and the growth of the town.

A fascinating tradition connects the presence of the sacred Venkatachalapati idol with Alleppey's prosperity. The deity was believed to have brought divine blessings to the settlement, and the town's flourishing fortunes became inseparable, in the popular imagination, from the presence of the Lord.

Temples  and the Rise of Alleppey

The story of Thirumala temples unfolds against the remarkable transformation of Alleppey into a major commercial port. Under Raja Kesavadas, the Dewan, the town developed around its waterways and maritime connections. Konkani merchants contributed to this growth by establishing and building commercial networks. Their enterprise helped strengthen Alleppey’s position as a centre of trade.

Powerful local belief emerged that the presence of Lord Venkatachalapati brought prosperity to the town. To the faithful, Alleppey’s growing fortunes were a manifestation of divine grace; historically, the towns rise also reflected strategic planning, maritime trade and the initiative of its merchant communities like Jains, Marwaris, Kuchis, Konkanis etc. Faith and commerce became inter-twined in the collective memory of Alleppey.

For a cyclist exploring Alleppey today, it is a reminder that the history of a town is often hidden in the stories of its temples.

 

Anantha Narayana Puram: A New Home for the Lord

As the sacred idol acquired increasing significance in Alleppey, the Cochin rulers sought its restoration. The accounts of the period describe repeated efforts by Cochin to recover the deity, while the Travancore authorities were reluctant to part with an image believed to be closely associated with the prosperity of Alleppey's port.

The Travancore administration wished to provide the deity with a more suitable and secure place of worship.

According to the temple's traditional history, Dewan Krishna Rao acquired land and provided timber and financial assistance for the construction of a new temple, approximately two kilometres south of the Old Thirumala Temple.The new temple came to be associated with Anantha Narayana Puram, a name bestowed upon the locality in connection with the Travancore royal establishment.

The construction of this temple was an important milestone for the Konkani community of Alleppey. It provided a new centre for worship and reinforced the community's enduring presence in the town.

But the story was far from over. What followed reads almost like a historical thriller.

The Midnight Disappearance of Venkateshwara - Thirumala Devar

Sakthan Thampuran made vain attempts to bring back Tirumala Deity from Alleppey to Cochin. He also made attempts to get back the Tirumala Deity through the Dutch Government functioning at Cochin. After the death of Sakthan Thampuran, Raja Rama Varma who succeeded him took keen interest in the deity and wished to get it back to Cochin. The Raja therefore requested Col. Munro, the Resident of Cochin and Travancore to use his good offices for restoration of the image in question to Cochin; But the request was turned down by as a result of urgent representation of Travancore officers that the presence of the image was considered to be intimately connected with the prosperity of the Port of Alleppey.

The dispute remained unresolved for decades.

Then, on the night of 7 February 1853, came the episode that would forever mark the history of the Anantha Narayana Puram Temple.

The desperate Cochin Konkanies who returned to Cochin planned the recovery of the deity by hook or crook. Ultimately the idol of Venkatachalapati was clandestinely brought back to Cochin on the midnight of 7th Feb 1853 (just 10 months after it was installed in the new temple). It was taken out of the Alleppey Ananthanarayana Puram Temple at night in a basket covered by Naivedyam (Mooleepu) - food offered to deity and carried to Cochin by country boat via Aroor, beyond which was the Cochin State.

The people of Alleppey came to know about this only in the next morning by the time the idol was beyond the Travancore State boundary and could not do anything.

Imagine the shock and consternation of the devotees when they learnt that their beloved deity had vanished overnight! For the people of Alleppey, this was no ordinary theft. It was the loss of a sacred presence around which faith, community   identity and local tradition had grown over generations.

The Legal Battle between Two Kingdoms

The disappearance of the idol led to a prolonged dispute between Travancore and Cochin.

Since it was found that the Raja of Cochin had his hand in the Robbery, the Maharaja of Travancore supplicated with the governor of Madras, through the Resident of Travancore for the restitution of the idol in question, and the whole matter was referred to the Hon. Court of Madras, and a long drawn-out suit ensued between the two states, Cochin and Tranvancore. The Konkanies of Cochin got through all ordeals and finally the Idol was duly reinstated in the Cochin Temple itself.

The episode illustrates the extraordinary extent to which a temple deity could become entangled in the affairs of princely states, political authority and public sentiment.

 

The Present Deity

The present deity of Sri Lakshmi Narasimha Swamy has been consecrated there after Deva Prasanams and as per the Will of the God.

The original idols of Laksmi Devi and Narasimha Murthi of Thuravoor are still at the Temple. A new idol of Venkatachalapathy was installed in this temple  by Srimad Varadendra Tirtha in 1933 A.D.

Thus, despite the upheavals of the past, the temple continued to serve its devotees. The loss of one sacred image did not extinguish the faith of the community. Indeed, perhaps that is the most enduring lesson of the entire episode: a deity may be carried away, a temple may suffer adversity, and political boundaries may change, but faith can survive the passage of centuries.

 

The Legend of the Miraculous Idol

The story of Lord Venkatachalapathy stretches back much further than the migration of the Konkani community to Kerala.

Legend has it that Saluva Barasiharya the Emperor of the kingdom of Vijayanagar was an ardent and faithful devotee and a frequent pilgrim of the hallowed Lord Venkatachalapathy of Tirupathi. On account of infirmities consequent upon his old age and despite his insatiable desire to offer worship but being physically unable to do so, it is believed that the Lord Himself appeared to him in a celestial dream.

Thereafter a sculptor promptly came to the place and miraculously materials and ingredients for a panchaloha (made of five metals) idol along with a work site appeared. The next morning the emperor opened the door of the work place and lo and behold an exquisite and effulgent idol of Lord Venkatachalapthi had adorned the temple spreading His splendour and radiance.

No one was left with any doubt that the Divine sculptor was none other than Shri Srinivasa (Lord Vishnu) the Lord of the Seven Hills who incarnated Himself for the benefit of mankind. The idol became the personal Deity of Saluva Narasimharaya for the rest of his life and was bequeathed to the great emperor Krishnadevaraya who ascended the throne in 1509.

 

How the Holy Idol became GSB Property

After the decline and fall of Vijayanagar city as a result of the battle of Talikota in 1565 the idol was in interests of safety abandoned in a well by a priest from which spot the renowned seer of Kumbakonam Math Swami Vijayendra Theertha discovered the precious idol. During the course of his peregrinations and travel from place to place he camped for some time in Kochi as a revered guest of the GSB community in 1589. The idol was gifted to the community by him. Later on the prathista (installation) was done by Swami Vijayendra Theertha. The distinctive feature of this temple is that the yearly seven-day Akhanta Sapthaham (non-stop prayers and rituals) is performed here.

For the devotees, the idol is not simply a work of sacred art. It is the embodiment of a long spiritual journey - from Vijayanagar to Cochin, and from the world of royal patrons to the daily prayers of generations of ordinary worshippers.

 

The Halo of Venkatachalapathy

With Kochi becoming the new abode of the Lord, the city thrived and grew in stature as a premier hub of international trade especially with the European countries.

The chequered history of the temple is also fused with the history of the Alapuzha town and its remarkable progress earned it the sobriquet of “Venice of the East”. The halo and the aura of the idol was so manifest and obvious

The Konkani community was among the many groups whose enterprise and perseverance helped shape this transformation.

          The halo of the deity, as it were, extended beyond the sanctum sanctorum and into the history of the town itself.

 

The Konkani Contribution to Modern Kerala

The contribution of the Konkani community to Kerala's educational, medical, cultural and commercial development deserves wider recognition.

In and around Alleppey, the community's educational initiatives include institutions associated with the T.D. educational network, the S.V.D. U.P. School at Purakkad and the development of medical education in the region. T.D. Medical College, established in the 1960s, became a significant landmark in Kerala's medical education.

These institutions reflect a tradition of community investment that extended beyond business and religious life into the advancement of education and public welfare.

The temples, schools, trading establishments and charitable initiatives together tell the story of a community that endured displacement, rebuilt its fortunes and made a lasting contribution to its adopted home.

 

Back on the Bicycle

And so, my cycling journeys around Alleppey have taken me far beyond the pleasure of a morning ride.

A pair of imposing temple murals led me to discover a story of migration, persecution, royal intervention, maritime trade, a miraculous idol and a midnight disappearance that reads like something out of a historical novel.

The Old Thirumala Temple, tucked away amid the traditional Konkani settlement, and the New Thirumala Temple at Anantha Narayana Puram are much more than two points on my cycling map. They are living repositories of Alleppey's collective memory.

Perhaps this is the true joy of discovering one's own town on a bicycle. You begin by exploring its roads and end by exploring its soul. Alleppey has many stories to tell. Some lie in its canals and backwaters; others in its old warehouses, merchant houses and forgotten lanes. And some, like the story of Thirumala Devar, reside quietly within the walls of its ancient temples, waiting for a curious traveller to pause and listen.

Towards the evening of life, the bicycle has become more than a means of keeping fit. It is a time machine on two wheels - carrying me through the living history of the town I call home.

And whenever I pass the Thirumala Temple, I slow down, offer my obeisance and pedal on, a little richer in knowledge and a little more connected to the heritage of Alleppey.

Discovering Alleppey, one pedal stroke at a time.

Jai Venkatachalapathy!🙏

                                                                                                            -Ravi Nair-

(Acknowledgement: Based on material attributed to Quora and temple histories, with historical details retained as traditional accounts where independent verification is required)

 

 

 

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Amarnath Trek

🪖🤔 Ponderings of a Pongo 🤔🪖

A Pilgrimage, a Test of Fitness, and a Young Pongo’s Brush with Enlightenment!

As the evening of life settles in, one occasionally feels the urge to declutter - to separate the essential from the trivial and preserve what truly matters. During one such exercise, I was sorting through old, fungus-ridden photographs when a few black-and-white negatives caught my eye. Taken with my trusty Agfa Super-Isolette bellows camera, they had lain forgotten for decades. Once developed, they brought back memories of my Amarnath Yatra, more than half a century ago.

Some memories live in photographs; others remain etched in the soul. And a few - especially those involving high mountains, holy men and youthful indiscretion - remain gloriously unforgettable!

Suddenly, I was young again. The cold returned, snow crunched beneath my boots, and the Himalayas rose before me. My knees were younger, my boots tougher, and conquering a mountain seemed infinitely more attractive than it does today!

But this was no ordinary pilgrimage. It was a military test, a spiritual experience and, as events unfolded, an adventure involving a mysterious substance, hospitable holy men and an unexpectedly entertaining descent.

Before joining the trail, a little about our sacred destination.

The Abode Of Mahadeva 🙏

        Nestled at approximately 3,888 metres (12,756 feet) in the Himalayas of Jammu and Kashmir, the Amarnath Cave is one of the most revered pilgrimage destinations dedicated to Lord Shiva. Surrounded by glaciers, snowfields and towering mountains, it remains inaccessible for much of the year. The Amarnath mountain itself has a peak of 5186 meters (17014 feet)

Unlike a conventional temple, the shrine is a natural cave of limestone and gypsum, celebrated for its Swayambhu - self-manifested - ice Shivlinga (an aniconic representation of Shiva). Water trickling from the roof freezes into a naturally formed stalagmite (column of ice), traditionally believed to wax and wane with the lunar cycle. Smaller formations are associated by devotees with Devi Parvati and Lord Ganesha. The ShivLinga is at its peak during Hindu calendar Shravan Masa which roughly falls in August.

Though not counted among the twelve Jyotirlingas, Amarnath occupies a special place in the spiritual imagination of Shiva devotees.

Its legend is equally captivating.

When Devi Parvati asked Lord Shiva about immortality and the mystery of birth and rebirth, He agreed to reveal the Amar Katha, the secret of immortality, on the condition that no living creature overheard it.

According to tradition, Shiva left Nandi at Pahalgam, the moon at Chandanwari, the serpents at Sheshnag, Lord Ganesha at Mahagunas Parvat and the Five Elements (Air, water, fire, earth and sky) at Panjtarni before entering the cave with Parvati. He then created Kalagni to destroy all life nearby, ensuring secrecy. Yet a pair of pigeons concealed in the cave are believed to have overheard the discourse and attained immortality. Devotees still cherish the possibility of seeing them.

Whether approached through faith, folklore or sheer wonder, there is something extraordinary about a natural cave amid Himalayan snows, where nature itself appears to have fashioned a shrine.

That was our destination.

The Pilgrimage That Was Also A Military Test 🪖

We were young officers and soldiers undergoing Mountain Warfare Course Serial 23 at the High Altitude Warfare School (HAWS), Sonamarg, from 10 August to 12 October 1972. Eleven officers from my batch were among the course participants. Most of us looked forward to a mountain adventure, although a few, as usual, appeared to have left their morale somewhere back at the unit!

The Amarnath Yatra was a qualifying test of endurance, resilience and survival in an unforgiving environment. Those who fell out risked being RTU (Returned to Unit) - without completing the course.

Our mission sounded simple: reach the cave, install a heavy bell using a piton and carabiner, and return safely to base. Simple enough on paper, particularly when read in a warm office at sea level! The mountains, however, had other ideas.

The Trail That Separated The Soldiers From The Public!

Our approach was from the Sonamarg - Kargil side, through the Drass - Minamarg / Mushkoh Valley region, involving roughly seven to eight kilometres of arduous mountain movement.

Seven kilometres on a level road is a stroll. Across steep, snowbound slopes, glaciers, crevasses and icy streams, it becomes an entirely different proposition. Every step demanded concentration; every load reminded us that gravity respects neither rank nor enthusiasm. There were no porters or helicopters to lighten our burden. We were soldiers, and if the mission required a bell, the bell would go!

Fat Himalayan marmots scurried among the rocks, while a troop of baboons foraged higher up. The wildlife added a touch of animation to an otherwise austere landscape.

Then curiosity got the better of me.

A Discovery Not On The Training Sylabus!

I stepped away from the column towards a rocky outcrop where a baboon was foraging. There, I noticed a dark, viscous substance oozing from cracks in the rock face. One glance, and my mind raced. Shilajit!

At least, that was what I believed I had discovered - a substance associated with Himalayan rocks and valued in traditional Ayurvedic practice - and well accredited as an aphrodisiac !

While the rest of the column hauled the bell, I acquired a side assignment in natural history. I collected a small lump, tasted it and found it distinctly bitter.😖

There was no laboratory, no expert consultation and certainly no time for investigation. A soldier who lingers too long soon finds himself having a private conversation with the mountains! I rejoined the column. Before long, I began to feel unusually warm despite the cold. The going seemed easier, my enthusiasm soared, and I even volunteered to help carry the bell. Was it physical exertion, the excitement of the climb - or had my mysterious discovery begun to work its magic?😰

With no medical expert around to spoil the fun with a scientific explanation, I favoured the most exciting possibility. Perhaps I had discovered the Himalayan equivalent of rocket fuel!

The Moment of Darshan 🙏

Eventually, after negotiating icy obstacles and climbing through the frozen landscape, we reached the sacred cave.

There stood the natural ice Shivlinga, with smaller formations traditionally associated with Devi Parvati and Lord Ganesha. Outside, snow-covered mountains stood in solemn majesty; within the cave, an extraordinary stillness prevailed.

It was August, during the Hindu month of Shravan, and we had arrived at an auspicious time for Darshan when the Shiv lingam is in Its full posture !

For a Moment, the Soldier in Me Gave Way to the Pilgrim.🪖😇

The aching limbs, biting wind, thin air and treacherous terrain seemed a small price to pay for that glimpse of the sacred formation. What had begun as a military objective now felt like a privilege granted by Mahadeva Himself.

Har Har Mahadev! Sambho Maha Deva !

But devotion did not excuse us from completing the task. We had not hauled that bell up the mountain merely to admire the scenery!

The Bell Must Ring 🔔 

We got down to work. Using  pitons and carabiners, we secured the heavy bell in position. Its clang joined those of countless bells installed by successive HAWS courses, echoing through the cold air and rocky walls.

Mission accomplished! We offered our prayers, sought Mahadeva’s blessings and savoured what every exhausted soldier cherishes after a demanding exercise: permission to rest.

I also remembered the legendary pigeons. Having travelled so far to the abode of the immortal, I naturally looked for the immortal birds. Unfortunately, they remained elusive.

Little did I know that the day’s most memorable encounter was still ahead.

Enter the Naga Sadhus

Among the sights that remain etched in my memory are the Naga Sadhus. Bare-bodied and covered in sacred ash, they sat in the snow as though it were a comfortable drawing room. They puffed away at their traditional chillums, apparently communing with the cosmos - or simply enjoying their smoke! Their smiles were warm and welcoming. Their teeth, however, were heavily stained, encrusted, though apparently equal to the occasion.

Before long, the chillums were being passed around. How does one politely refuse a Naga Sadhu’s hospitality in his own sacred domain? What would one tell the battalion - that we had negotiated glaciers and crevasses successfully, only to be defeated by a holy man’s invitation? I accepted the chillum. So, the others. Initially out of curiosity and later with intent. One cautious puff. Then another. And, as the conversation continued, perhaps a few more than prudence would have recommended!

In retrospect, this was not among the more scientifically sound decisions of my military career. But hindsight, like good intelligence, often arrives too late.

When the Mountains began to Float! 🥴

The transformation was subtle at first.

The cold seemed to lose its authority. The snow looked less like a hostile surface and more like a giant mattress. My feet appeared to be reconsidering their responsibilities. The mountains swayed gently before my eyes, and a broad, foolish smile settled on my face. Was it altitude, fatigue, exertion or the Sadhus’ hospitality?😜

For a brief spell, there was no enemy to locate, no map to consult and no bell to carry - only snow, mountains, sky and the sensation of floating through a benevolent dream.

Sublime bliss!😇

Eventually, we had to leave.

I would like to claim that I descended like an Alpine skier. A more accurate description would be a mildly disoriented snowman attempting to remember the finer points of locomotion! Yet somehow, we progressed.

A Miracle of Military Mobility!

Our orders were clear: reach base camp before last light. Nightfall in such terrain was no laughing matter.

I was not alone in my altered state. Several companions appeared to be enjoying their own versions of spiritual elevation. The column presented an unusual spectacle: aspiring mountain-warfare soldiers moving through the snow with beatific expressions! There was little complaining and, to my astonishment, no stragglers.

We reached base camp before last light - in record time, or so it seemed. Whether this was military conditioning, determination, divine intervention or distorted perception, I leave to posterity.

The important thing was that we all returned safely. The episode never became the subject of formal charges! because there was hardly anyone who were left out.

That night, most of us retired wearing the same peculiar smiles.

The course had tested our endurance, the sacred cave had inspired devotion, and the Naga Sadhus had introduced us to an unconventional form of relaxation. The mission was complete. The bell had been installed, and Mahadeva had received His offering.

The Course: Endurance, Camaraderie and Sacrifice

The Mountain Warfare Course pushed us towards the limits of human endurance. Its challenges extended far beyond snowbound climbs and negotiating glaciers like Kolahoi glazier and mock mountaineering expeditions.

During rock-craft training, which included rappelling near the Sindh River, tragedy struck. While crossing its icy waters, a sudden flash flood claimed the lives of five of our comrades, including an officer, The mountains can change from benign to merciless in moments. Courage, training and skill cannot always overcome the forces of nature.

Those comrades shared our hardships, aspirations and journey through the course. Their loss remains a solemn reminder of the risks inherent in a soldier’s calling.

May the Almighty grant their souls a peaceful and exalted passage to their eternal abode.

Om Shanti. Sadgatir Bhooyath. 🙏

Their memory lends poignancy to this otherwise light-hearted recollection. The mountains gave us adventure and camaraderie, but they also reminded us of the price that can accompany our profession.

Bring Back My Bonnie! 🎶

Today, those old photographs transport me across more than half a century.

I can almost feel the biting cold, hear boots crunching on snow, see the ice Shivlinga and recall the young soldiers who carried the bell to its destination. I remember the elusive pigeons, the mysterious substance I discovered as Shilajit, the hospitable Sadhus and that extraordinary descent when the snow seemed softer and the world kinder than it had any right to be!

The photographs may be fading, the negatives may have gathered fungus, and the knees may now demand considerable persuasion before agreeing to a climb. But the memories remain remarkably well preserved.

As I gaze at those images, a familiar tune begins to play:

“O bring back, O bring back,

Bring back my Bonnie to me…”

Only this time, it is not Bonnie I wish to bring back. It is that young Pongo - the one who could cross glaciers, undertake mountaineering expeditions, climb to Mahadeva’s abode, haul a bell up a mountain and return with a foolish smile and an everlasting story!

We cannot turn back the clock, but we can revisit those moments, laugh at our youthful follies and give thanks for the experiences that shaped us.

Perhaps, as Mahadeva looks down upon an old soldier reminiscing about his Himalayan adventures, He smiles indulgently and says:

“This one certainly took the scenic route to enlightenment!”

🙏 Sambho Mahadeva! 🙏

🙏 Har Har Mahadeva! 🙏

 -Col Ravi Nair-

 

MOUQUE DA COMMANDER

THE CIRCUMSTANTIAL COMMANDER

(🪖🤔 Ponderings of a Pongo 🤔🪖)

A Sri Lankan Diary - Operation PAWAN

“In the final reckoning, it is not success or failure that defines a soldier, but the values he chooses to uphold.”

In the life of a soldier, there are battles fought with weapons and battles fought with convictions. The former test courage under fire; the latter test the character of a commander when the smoke has cleared, the reports have been written, and the uncomfortable questions begin.

For, in the final analysis, command is not merely about winning engagements, enforcing discipline or satisfying the expectations of higher headquarters. It is equally about navigating the moral battlefield - that difficult terrain where operational necessity, military law, regimental honour and one's responsibility towards the men under command often collide.

It is there, away from the din of gunfire and the excitement of victory, that a commander's mettle is truly tested.

Every regiment has its own folklore, its peculiar expressions and its share of unforgettable characters. In ours, there was an expression that invariably surfaced whenever trouble was brewing and somebody had to inherit the consequences: ‘Mouque da Commander’. !

“Mouque da Commander!”

Loosely translated, it referred to the commander who arrived at the critical moment - usually when the balloons had already gone up, the situation had deteriorated, and the proverbial buck had nowhere else to go!

Mouque da commander was not quite the appointment, designation or title one volunteered for. Yet, in the peculiar arithmetic of military life, somebody invariably received the honour.

This is the story of one such occasion in my life, more than three and a half decades ago, during Operation Pawan in Sri Lanka, where Indian Army was deployed at the height of the LTTE (Liberation Tamils of Tamil Ealam) insurgency. It was a war like situation.  

It is a story of a commando raid, lost weapons, four soldiers under accusation, two court-martial proceedings, and a commander's determination that regimental honour must never become an excuse for injustice.

Above all, it is a story about the spirit of a paltan - and the price one may sometimes have to pay for standing by one's convictions.

A Rather Unusual Welcome

I was then the Second-in-Command of our battalion, deployed in Sri Lanka as part of the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF). Having completed the Senior Command Course and enjoyed about a month's precious leave with my family, I was returning to take over Officiating command.

The  CO (Commanding Officer) was away on leave. The officer designated to officiate in his absence was himself proceeding on leave, conveniently timed to coincide with my return. By the arrangement of the stars, I was the man in line.

It appeared straightforward enough. But the military gods, as I was soon to discover, had a rather different programme in store.

I landed at Palali Airport, Jaffna, aboard an AN-32 transport aircraft. There was no ceremonial reception, no garland, and certainly no band. The aircraft was carrying fowls and other rations, packed in net-covered crates and securely anchored for the flight. The unmistakable stench of poultry and provisions greeted me even before my boots touched the ground!

A memorable welcome, indeed. Little did I realise how perfectly it foreshadowed the reception awaiting me at the battalion.

The CO's Protection Party and Quick Reaction Team (QRT) were waiting. I joined them, and we proceeded towards Battalion Headquarters along a route opened and secured by Army units.

Nearly an hour later, I reached my destination.

But the place I had left before attending the course was no longer the place to which I had returned. The four main roads surrounding our headquarters, once teeming with local activity, were eerily deserted. Earlier, fish-laden trucks, Honda minibikes, cyclists, schoolchildren on cycles chattering on their way to school, pedestrians and the occasional temple ‘kurukkal’ - priests on their identical Honda mopeds - had been familiar features of the daily landscape.

Now, there was nothing. Just silence.!

The Civil Liaison Cell, known to us as ‘Civil Nirvaga Pirivu’, which I had once handled as Officer-in-Charge, had been a veritable beehive of activity. Locals would throng the place with grievances, requests for vehicle passes and an assortment of problems, each of which seemed to demand immediate attention.

Now it stood forlorn and desolate, gathering dust - and memories.

I particularly missed my little ritual of sharing ‘thamboolam’: a generous parcel of betel leaves, liberally blessed with jappanam (Jaffna) tobacco, which elderly ladies seeking redress would offer with great reverence.

Somewhere along the way, Ravi Aiya (respectful term) had apparently become one of their own!

A little fraternisation, a little diplomacy, and perhaps a little nicotine-induced sense of belonging. One never knows which particular tool of statecraft will prove useful in counter-insurgency operations!

But those were different days. The atmosphere had changed dramatically. A place that had once been alive with people, problems, conversations and the occasional nugget of useful intelligence had fallen strangely silent.

The LTTE's new incumbent in the area, known locally as Kadal Puli - the Sea Tiger - was a feared leader. He had replaced his predecessor, who had been eliminated during our battalion's operations. The names used here are pseudonyms, consistent with the operational sensitivities of those days, hence not mentioned.

I had returned expecting to settle into command. Instead, I found myself entering an atmosphere thick with foreboding.

And then, as if to ensure that there would be no misunderstanding about the state of affairs, all hell broke loose.

The Welcome Committee Arrives

I had barely settled into my office and begun reviewing the operational situation when a familiar sound shattered the silence.

BOOM! … BOOM!          

The unmistakable double report of a rocket launcher - the projectile leaving the tube, followed by the backblast. Then came the explosions of grenades. The engagement was about four kilometres away. I could distinctly make out the answering chatter of our LMGs (Light Machine Gun) and small arms. Within moments, firing erupted from other posts as well.

I tried the landlines. Dead. The LTTE had apparently taken care of that little inconvenience. I contacted the Company Commanders over the wireless. We were operating under strict radio silence, but circumstances had overtaken routine. I ordered the restrictions lifted and reverted to our standard operating procedures, using coded communications and our peculiar Khattar Gurmukhi terminology.

The CO's Protection Party and QRT were already standing by, as prescribed by our SOP (Standard Operating Procedure).

I now faced the first decision of the day. I could remain at Headquarters and direct the operation from there, or I could go forward to where my men were fighting. There was really no contest.

A commander must sometimes direct a battle from his headquarters. But there are moments when his presence among his men matters more than the comfort or convenience of remaining behind. I climbed into the CO's open Jonga, which had been fortified against small-arms fire by fixing palm-tree trunks along its sides. It resembled less a staff car than an improvised, rustic armoured vehicle!

We moved out.

Almost immediately, automatic fire and tracer rounds began striking the area around Battalion Headquarters and our convoy. The LTTE appeared to have anticipated our movements and was determined to prevent reinforcements from leaving. Whether the attackers had climbed the palm trees unnoticed or disguised themselves as toddy tappers to observe our movements was a possibility we considered at the time.

The day erupted into the full-throated cacophony of war. The distinctive cackle of AK-47s (Kalashnikova 47) competed with the thud-thud of our LMGs, the sharper crack of SLRs (Self Loading Rifle) and the unmistakable chatter of SMCs (Sten Machine Carbine). Grenades exploded intermittently. Rocket and missile bursts added to the confusion. The heaviest engagement centred around the company post projecting towards the sea, near an old port and fishing harbour that had once served the area. It was chaos.!

Despite coming under a heavy, coordinated ambush near the Thambachetty petrol pump, our convoy fought its way through the hail of fire and reached the company location.

The officiating Company Commander met me with a report that was brief, blunt and devastating. “Sir, behan …@#%*  [expletives] ne ek LMG aur ek SLR uthake le gaya!” Translated into more decorous military English: the LTTE had made off with one LMG and one SLR. Patrols and QRTs had already been dispatched in hot pursuit.

So much for the welcome committee!

The LMG Post

I proceeded to inspect the LMG post near an abandoned Pillaiyar Kovil - a Ganesh temple.

The approach to it from front was marked by barbed wire, indicating old minefields laid during the occupation by Sri Lankan Army units of the Gajaba Regiment. The minefield extended to a depth of approximately thirty metres. The raiding party had burrowed through the line of buildings closing in with the LMG Post and had been observing the pattern of activities in the post and at the opportune moment they had  apparently charged straight through the mine fields with the accompaniment of Rocket launchers and heavy volumes of fire.

What I saw at the post told a grim story. There were tell-tale marks of RPG (Rocket Propelled Grenades) rounds. Scores of grenades had been hurled into the position. Hundreds of rounds had punched holes through the superstructure. Shattered remnants of haversacks, apparently used by the raiders to throw grenades, in bunches lay scattered about.

This had not been a chance encounter or a haphazard attack. It bore all the signs of a well-coordinated, ruthless commando raid leading to the position. The place had been subjected to a devastating assault.

I directed the Company Commander to take a QRT and comb the beach area. I subsequently took my own protection and QRT to join the search. I also spoke to some of the locals in Tamil, hoping to establish the raiders' movements.

Eventually, I learnt that the 'Thampies' - literally younger brothers, an affectionate local term often used for LTTE boys - had already sailed away towards Mullaitivu!

Later, I learnt that the raid had been carried out by the Black Tigers, the LTTE's elite commando suicide wing.  It was a sobering reminder that the enemy was capable of meticulous planning, audacious execution and a ruthless exploitation of our vulnerabilities.

The immediate operational problem was clear: two weapons had been lost, a post had been overrun, and four soldiers had survived an attack whose full circumstances were yet to be established.

The operational consequences would have to be addressed. But an even more difficult battle was about to begin.

The Commander's Dilemma

Instructions began pouring in from higher headquarters.

No Reprisals! Permission to open mortar fire not granted.

The orders were unambiguous. Yet, in the aftermath of a ferocious attack, with weapons in enemy hands and tempers running high, restraint was easier prescribed than practised. I had to rein in my anger, hold my horses and accept the discipline of command. Whatever our feelings, the situation had to be dealt with within the bounds of operational necessity and the orders received.

That, too, is soldiering: not merely the ability to act decisively under fire, but the discipline to refrain from acting when restraint is required.

The battalion continued to dominate the area and sanitise our area of responsibility from the overt presence of militants. Subsequent operations were highly creditable. Yet the loss of the weapons, and the manner in which the LMG post had been overrun, remained a blemish.

And there I was - the officer officiating as Commanding Officer when the incident occurred.

Mouque da Commander!

In the military ledger, the commander on the spot is often the first to inherit the consequences, regardless of who planned the original deployment or who might eventually have to answer for the outcome.

But this was only the beginning.

When the Real Battle Began

Senior commanders were recalled from leave. Their concern was understandable. A post had been overrun, and weapons had fallen into enemy hands. Questions had to be answered. The soldiers who had manned the LMG post now faced perhaps the gravest accusation a fighting soldier could confront:

“Cowardice in the Face of the Enemy.” – which may invite even death penalty!!

This was no ordinary disciplinary matter. Such an accusation went to the very heart of a soldier's honour. In a regiment, a man's reputation is not merely his own possession. It is woven into the collective fabric of the paltan - its traditions, its pride, its faith in the men who stand beside one another when the firing begins.

I was waiting at the helipad, anticipating the inevitable dressing-down from the senior command. The four soldiers were paraded before the senior commanders. The atmosphere was grim, as one might expect.

I was asked what I intended to do with the persons alleged for gross deriliction of duty.

My reply, delivered with a touch of Pongo irreverence, was: “Sir, I will court-martial these fellows summarily and send them to civil jail for one year each within 72 hours. That should have the desired effect on the environment!” There was a pause. Then came the obvious question “. On what charge?”

I replied: “Army Act Section 63 - an omission prejudicial to good order and military discipline.”

That answer did not go down particularly well.

“Bloody nonsense! What about cowardice in the face of the enemy?”

I explained that I could not try them by Summary Court Martial on that charge. Such a serious allegation warranted a General Court Martial, and proving cowardice conclusively in the circumstances of a coordinated enemy commando raid would be no easy task.

The response was unequivocal.

“ Cowardice seems obvious. Haven't we made ourselves clear?”

Then came the suggestion: “ Then try them by Summary General Court Martial (SGCM).”

I remember thinking to myself that I had studied the SGCM in my law classes, but had never actually witnessed one being conducted. The confidence with which the suggestion was made was considerably more reassuring than my own familiarity with the procedure!

Behind the exchange lay a much larger question. Was the loss of weapons, by itself, sufficient proof of cowardice? Could a soldier be condemned for the outcome of an engagement without first establishing what had actually transpired?

Military discipline demands accountability. A weapon entrusted to a soldier is not a casual possession; it is a responsibility to the man, his section and his regiment. Its loss in combat is a matter of the utmost seriousness.

But military justice demands evidence.

And command demands the moral courage to distinguish between an adverse outcome and a proven offence. These principles are not mutually exclusive. They are the very foundations upon which a disciplined fighting force must rest.

What Had Changed?

What puzzled me most was the apparent change in the attitude of the senior command. Until then, our battalion had received repeated accolade for its operational performance. We had eliminated and captured scores of militants and their leaders, recovered weapons and ammunition caches, and gathered valuable intelligence.

I, with my knowledge of Tamil, had also played my part as an interpreter during difficult discussions with the political representatives of the militants. The paltan had worked hard, fought hard and delivered results under demanding conditions.

So, what had changed?

Had one setback suddenly erased all that had gone before? Surely, war cannot be measured only by victories. It has its share of losses, reverses and moments when even the best-laid plans unravel under the pressure of an enemy who is determined, capable and fighting on familiar ground.

I understood the need to investigate the loss. I understood the responsibility of a commander to ensure that weapons were not lost through negligence or dereliction of duty. But I could not accept that four soldiers should be condemned simply because the outcome was embarrassing.

The enemy had mounted a coordinated commando raid. The position had been subjected to intense fire and repeated grenade attacks. The precise conduct of each soldier, and the circumstances in which the weapons were lost, had to be established.

The honour of a regiment cannot rest upon the convenient conviction of four men. It must rest upon the truth. That conviction began to take hold of me. I knew it might not be the most comfortable position to adopt. I also knew that it was the only position I could live with.

The Case Becomes Mine

A few days later, the Commanding Officer returned, and I handed over the situation. The Summary of Evidence, which I had ordered, was progressing. I assumed that my role in the matter was over.

I was mistaken.

In due course, I took over command of the battalion, and the case returned to my desk. My first instinct was to approach the senior command and earnestly request that the case be handed back to me, so that I could deal with the accused under my own disciplinary powers through a Summary Court Martial, if legally permissible. It was not to be. I became increasingly concerned about the consequences of the course being pursued.

A conviction for cowardice in the face of the enemy carried potentially devastating consequences, including the severest punishments under military law. Beyond the fate of the accused, there was the question of what such a proceeding would mean for the morale of the paltan.

A regiment survives adversity because its men believe that their comrades will not abandon them when the going gets tough - and that their commander will not abandon them when the consequences become uncomfortable.

This does not mean shielding a wrongdoer. Nor does esprit de corps demand blind loyalty at the expense of discipline. True regimental spirit is more exacting than that. It requires the courage to hold a man accountable when the evidence establishes his guilt, and the equal courage to defend him when the evidence does not.

There was also a practical difficulty. Everyone advised me to place the four accused under arrest. But where? We had no Quarter Guard. No prison cells. And manpower was already at a premium for operational duties. Assigning additional soldiers to guard four of their own comrades was hardly an attractive proposition in an active counter-insurgency environment!

I therefore took a calculated risk. I retained the four men with me as part of the CO's Protection Party. And I told them: “This is your opportunity to prove your worth.” I also made them a personal commitment: I would do my best to ensure that justice was done. I was not promising them acquittal. That was neither mine to promise nor my place to determine. I was promising something more fundamental - that I would not prejudge their guilt, and that I would do what lay within my power to ensure a fair trial.

For me, there were two responsibilities: to safeguard the honour of the battalion and to ensure that the men under my command were not unjustly condemned.

I could not separate one from the other.

The Paltan’s honour was not protected by sacrificing four soldiers to appease an uncomfortable situation. It was protected by ensuring that the truth was established, that the law was followed, and that the verdict - whatever it might be - rested upon evidence.

That was my understanding of esprit de corps. Not a shield against accountability, but a bond of mutual trust. Not an excuse to overlook a failing, but a solemn assurance that no man would be abandoned merely because defending him was inconvenient.

The Long Road to Justice

Eventually, higher headquarters ordered a General Court Martial. It became my responsibility to assist the Divisional Headquarters in conducting the proceedings.

By then, our battalion had been de-inducted from Sri Lanka and had reached a much-needed peace station. The relief, however, was short-lived. Soon after unpacking, we were on the move again - this time to Punjab, to deal with another insurgency.

The lingering case at our previous formation location concerning the loss of weapons remained high on my agenda. I was determined to see the proceedings through, not to secure an easy acquittal, but to ensure that the accused received a fair trial.

I facilitated the best defence counsel available. I personally appeared and deposed several times as a prosecution witness. The trial continued for more than two months.

Then came the verdict.

All four soldiers were acquitted of the charge of cowardice in the face of the enemy. The prosecution had failed to prove the charge. Since no alternative charges had been framed, the accused were set free.

I thought that was the end of the matter. It was not.! The confirming authority did not agree with the verdict and ordered a retrial.

Once again, the proceedings dragged on. Once again, the men faced the ordeal of defending themselves against the same grave accusation. And once again, all four were acquitted.

This time, the matter was final. Waheguru is great!

There are victories that are announced with bugles and celebrated with medals. And there are victories that arrive quietly, after months of anxiety, when a court pronounces its verdict and four men are finally relieved of an accusation that could have destroyed their lives.

There was no battlefield captured, no enemy position overrun and no flag raised.

Yet, for me, this was a victory of a different kind.

The system had been allowed to run its course. The charge had been tested. The evidence had been examined. And the men had been acquitted. The acquittal did not erase the fact that weapons had been lost in a serious enemy raid. Nor did it diminish the need for commanders to examine what had gone wrong. But it established an essential distinction: the loss of weapons did not, in itself, prove cowardice.

That distinction mattered.

It mattered to those four soldiers, whose honour had been at stake. It mattered to their families, who had every reason to fear the consequences. And it mattered to the paltan, whose faith in its own system of justice could not be taken for granted.

I could not have asked for more.

The Price of Command

There was, however, a possible price to be paid. Higher headquarters apparently wanted to initiate a Special Report on me. Fortunately, the proposal was eventually dissuaded on technical grounds, and the report was not initiated. Sometimes, looking back, one cannot help wondering how differently events might have unfolded. Perhaps an operational war report would have served me better. Perhaps a more accommodating approach might have spared me the displeasure of some senior officers. Perhaps, by choosing the path of least resistance, I might have made life easier for myself.

Perhaps I might have missed my next pip. Who knows? But God was kind. The next pip came in due course of command. Maybe I would have missed that too!

A soldier's career is measured in appointments, reports, courses, promotions and the opportunities that come his way. These matter. They are the recognised milestones of professional service. But there comes a moment when a man must decide what matters more: the obligation to do what he believes is right.

I do not suggest that every disagreement with a superior is a test of moral courage, or that a commander's convictions must invariably prevail over the chain of command. Military life depends upon obedience, discipline and respect for lawful authority.

Nor do I claim that my decisions were beyond criticism. Others may reasonably have seen the situation differently, and the operational and disciplinary concerns were real. 

What the Paltan Taught Me

Looking back after all these years, I realise that the episode was never merely about a lost LMG and an SLR, nor about four soldiers who stood accused of cowardice.

It was about the compact that binds a regiment together. A paltan is not simply a collection of soldiers wearing the same uniform, carrying the same weapons and answering to the same chain of command. It is a living institution, held together by shared hardship, collective pride, inherited traditions and the unspoken assurance that, in the hour of need, each man will stand by the other. It is strengthened when a soldier knows that his comrades will not abandon him under fire.

         It is deepened when a junior knows that his senior will listen before judging. 

This is the true meaning of esprit de corps. It is not a conspiracy of silence. It is not a licence for indiscipline. It is certainly not an arrangement in which the regiment closes rank to conceal wrongdoing.

On the contrary, genuine regimental spirit demands the highest standards of conduct because every individual's actions reflect upon the whole. But it also demands fairness. A regiment that insists upon accountability must be equally steadfast in insisting upon evidence. 

Regimental honour is not preserved by ensuring that nobody is ever blamed. It is preserved by ensuring that blame falls only where it is justified. In that sense, justice is not the enemy of discipline. It is one of its strongest foundations.

A soldier may accept hardship, danger, discomfort and even sacrifice his life for the paltan. But he must also be able to trust that, if accused of a grave offence, he will not be condemned merely to satisfy the expectations of others. That trust is precious!

Three and a Half Decades Later

At the twilight of one's life, memories return in curious ways. Some arrive as flashes of colour - the green of a jungle, the glint of a weapon, the insignia on a uniform. Others return as sounds: the double report of a rocket launcher, the cackle of AK 47, rattle of an LMG, the crackle of wireless traffic, or the unmistakable urgency in a Company Commander's voice. And some return not as images or sounds, but as questions.

Did I do the right thing? Could I have handled it differently? Was the price worth paying? Well, looking back I have no qualms of conscience !

Three and a half decades later, I can still see that afternoon in Sri Lanka: the abandoned post, the shattered structures, the frantic search for the raiders, the four soldiers standing before their seniors, and the long, exhausting proceedings that followed.

I remember the uncomfortable conversations, the conflicting expectations, and the uncertainty over what the eventual consequences might be.

The years have taught me that the true test of a commander is not merely how he leads his men into battle, but also how he stands by them when the battle is over and the consequences begin.

It is easy to share the glory of victory. It is harder to share the burden of defeat.

The Last Word - Mouque da Commander!

So, what became of the Mouque da Commander?

I returned to inherit a raid, a loss of weapons, an accusation of cowardice, a court-martial and the possibility of professional repercussions. Not quite the commander's welcome package one would have ordered! Yet, somewhere in that tangled episode lay a lesson I have carried with me ever since. 

The circumstantial commander may arrive at the moment when everybody else's troubles converge upon his desk. He may have to answer awkward questions, absorb criticism, defend uncomfortable decisions and face consequences that were never part of his original plans.

I am grateful that, in this instance, the four soldiers were acquitted after two trials. But above all, I am grateful for the opportunity to have faced that test and emerged with my convictions intact.

Whatever the explanation, I look back without bitterness.

The battles have long since ended. The men have moved on. The places that once echoed with gunfire have their own stories to tell.

But the lessons remain.

I did not set out to save four soldiers from accountability. I set out to ensure that they were not condemned without proof. I did not seek to challenge authority for its own sake. I sought to discharge my responsibility within the bounds of military law and my conscience. And I did not place the interests of four men above the honour of the paltan. I believed then, and continue to believe, that the honour of the paltan and justice for its men are not opposing causes. Properly understood, they are inseparable.

That is the lesson I carry from Sri Lanka. That is the spirit in which I remember the episode.

And that is what, to me, esprit de corps truly means.

“In the final reckoning, it is not success or failure that defines a soldier, but the values he chooses to uphold.”

 Waheguru Mehar Karen. 🙏

- Col Ravi Nair -