The National Defence Academy (NDA) located at Khadakvasla, Pune, has been recognised the world over as the ‘cradle for leadership’ of the Armed Forces of India. The lore around the NDA’s history, leadership qualities, courage under fire and the abiding sense of duty, honour and country embedded in its alumni are legendary. They remain a constant source of inspiration to the armed forces of India and to the country at large.
For many of us proud alumni of the NDA, it is also a place where we spent the formative years of our lives as teenagers, before we were tempered into steel in its fiery cauldrons to become the best of the best and the best that we could be. The reality is that the NDA represents a constant conflict between the adrenalin driven natural rebellion found in all teenagers on the cusp of adulthood on the one hand, and the need for these same cadets to develop ‘officer like’ character traits and qualities on the other. It is this metamorphosis from ‘boy to man’ that is embedded into the DNA of a typical NDA trained officer. In the near future, female cadets will evolve the same attributes.
Not surprisingly, this conflict and transformation has always played out in unusual ways with sometimes comical, tragic and often, unexpected results. There are stories galore told and retold over the years, of pranks played across the board, of being caught and of getting away with it, and then being caught again, of owning up, taking responsibility for one’s actions, or stupidity, and more often than not, having a good laugh at the end of it all. In my particular case I had the misfortune of being a ‘card carrying member’ of a select group of late bloomers who were referred to as ‘generals’ in academy-speak. I stayed on for two extra terms at the Academy for various failures that I do hope I have managed to overcome, although I still count myself as a work in progress.
In this treasure trove of deeds and misdeeds there are stories told of cadets (36th Course) who undertook the daunting task of climbing the precarious dome of the Sudan Block in the dead of night to place a pith hat on the very top of the lightning conductor. It took the NDA four weeks and a scaffolding to take it down. It also drove the Colonel (Administration) around the bend trying to find out, not so much who the perpetrators were, but rather on how they did it, which he never did.
Another example that I suspect happens to this day, is that of the infamous ‘Ganna’ (sugar cane) raids by successive generations of cadets, who typically marched and ran for the better part of the night all the way to the sugarcane fields well beyond Pashan village, to bring back a few scraggly stalks of sugarcane. The farmers themselves did not seem to mind the loss, as the cadets on night raids, invariably took the outermost stalks in the field that were prone to sun, rain and road damage. This fact was confirmed to me by an old sarpanch I met whilst I was a Divisional Officer in the NDA in 1977.
The farmers themselves clearly seemed to understand their role in this comedy and dutifully came out shouting and screaming at the cadets, probably because of the sheer entertainment value of the exercise, rather than as a deterrent to further raids. For the cadets, the thrill of the deed and the bragging rights that came with it, was a greater attraction than the few stalks they brought back, which would probably been thrown away by the farmers in any case.
Some of the pranks however, were a bit more insidious. Whilst they were rare, most cadets understood them to be less than ‘officer like.’ Unfortunately, they did take place, making the case that teenagers are often unable to distinguish between actions that would qualify as ‘good fun’ and those actions that would be seen as harmful to the reputation of both, the institution and the perpetrators. The story that follows actually captures one such incident that happened whilst I was a cadet. It has taken me all of fifty-one years to bring myself to write about it. In doing so, I have kept the names of the perpetrators to myself. Like me, they too would have long since matured and returned to the ‘straight and narrow,’ as the vast majority of us are wont to do in the fullness of time.
It was well known in the NDA that every once in a while, a group of cadets would smuggle in beer (or even country liquor) usually on a weekend, presumably to enhance their reputations as ‘daredevils.’ More often than not, unused to consuming alcohol, some cadets would be violently sick, learning salutary lessons on the downside of binge drinking instead of the bragging rights they assumed they would earn from the escapade. The lesson would presumably have been learnt, at least until the next lot of unfortunates decided to test this theory.
It so happened that in the Spring of 1970, the 38th course was in its sixth term and due to pass out a month later. It must be said here that this same 38th course would represent the pointy end of the sword in the 1971 war and would be nick-named the NDA course ‘born to battle’ in time to come. This story however, is about their salad days and on the happenings in Foxtrot Sqn and No. 2 battalion. I was a third termer in Bravo Sqn in No. 1 Battalion at the time.
The NDA has always been about honour, loyalty and ‘josh.’ As in any other institution of learning, cadets tend to form lifelong friendships that begin with their original school mates (senior and junior) to start with, and later with their course mates and squadron mates. It is not uncommon for these groups to meet socially, reminisce about the old days and even join together in scrapes and pranks as typical teenagers do. Many of these bonds grow into lifelong friendships that cross inter-service boundaries. On rare occasions, they sometimes are the cause of less than stellar behaviour, making the case that teenagers being teenagers tend to misstep every once in a while.
As it happens, there were at that time a group of senior term cadets including a few appointments in various squadrons who were typically part of this old boy network. They often met for a drink, as the buzz went, on holidays or movie nights every once in a while. Alcohol consumption as a dare was par for the course in the NDA. As the story goes, some of these get-togethers organised by senior sixth termers also involved juniors from their old school network. In some cases they were also used to ferry/ smuggle in the alcohol.
The Squadron Cadet Captain (SCC) of Foxtrot Squadron (Sqn), where the action took place in this particular incident, took exception to this practice. He decided to warn off his sixth term course mates to stop this practice immediately. He was particularly concerned that the younger cadets would be forced to break the rules and fall into harm’s way in the process.
Unfortunately, his recalcitrant course mates led by a very senior academy cadet appointment, chose to ignore his warnings. When the incident was repeated nearer to the end of the term, this SCC rang up his Squadron Commander and reported the incident. At that time in the NDA, it was unthinkable for a cadet to ‘tell’ or ‘sneak’ on another cadet, and certainly not on his course mates. In the event, the “Squaddy” immediately took punitive action. The punishments were severe and applied across the board with a relegation and de-tabbing of a senior cadet appointment and a raft of restrictions and warnings to the rest. A few of these cadets caught in the act, or in the fall out, were sixth termers, due to pass out a few days later.
The actions of the SCC in reporting the incident shocked and incensed his course mates as well as the entire academy. There was the inevitable backlash as passions were unleashed and ‘positions’ and ‘sides’ taken. The incident took place at the end of term. There is a long-standing tradition at the NDA of hosting a ‘squadron social’ in which, the course passing out is first feted, and then mildly beaten on their backs by their junior cadets with ‘towels.’ This ‘towelling’ is an old public-school tradition and a sort of good humoured ‘payback’ to the passing out course by their juniors for having lorded over them, and to ensure there were no hard feelings when they met later in life.
Care is taken by the fifth termers to ensure that the ‘comeuppance’ given to the out-going sixth termers does not get out of hand and that there are no injuries. The ‘squadron social’ has always been a private affair for their own passing out sixth termers. However, during the incident there were quite a few cadets from other squadrons who came across to Foxtrot that night and from time to time across the last few days of the term, to express their disappointment and anger with the actions taken by its SCC. To my eternal shame I was one of this band, angry at what we saw as a betrayal of ‘course spirit’ and a slap in the face of the camaraderie that was part of the NDA culture.
By May 1970, there was trouble brewing in what was then East Pakistan and war was a vague possibility. I remember now, with regret, how many of us cadets in the academy, took the view that any NDA cadet, untethered to one’s course and one’s friends, would let down the side if the balloon went up. There was name calling and some argy-bargy of sorts. Eventually, better sense prevailed. The anger felt by many cadets cooled down and in due course 38th Course, along with the now unpopular SCC passed out of the academy in early June 1970 and went on to their service academies and ships. For the rest of us, life returned to normal. We went home on term leave without giving much thought to the whole saga that had erupted the previous term.
There remained, though, at the back of my mind this little voice telling me that the way we behaved with the SCC of Foxtrot was unforgiveable. It was clear to me that this incident did not reflect a lack of ‘course spirit’ or camaraderie on his part. Even then, I knew enough to know that loyalty to one’s comrades must be anchored to a compass and a belief system that is always pointed to the ‘True North,’ something all of us forgot in the heat of the moment. The fact is that this SCC swore an oath enshrined in the NDA prayer recited each morning by every cadet to be ‘morally straight’ and to defend the NDA motto, “Service before Self,” at all times. He was doing just that, by defending his junior cadets from being placed in harm’s way. In doing so, he clearly understood something that we had not: ‘that course spirit and camaraderie should never be used as a cloak of silence to cover up a wrong.’
That SCC stood his ground and wore his actions as a badge of honour for the remaining few days at the NDA before passing out. He refused to forsake the most vulnerable of his troops, his junior cadets. I suspect that he would have known that reporting his course mates to his Squadron Commander would be misunderstood by the rest of the academy. But he stood tall and alone, with his back to the wall, and faced down the rest of the academy who were easily inflamed at the time, with little or no understanding of the responsibilities of command.
In the event, the 38th Course including many of the ‘dramatis personae’ in this article went on to distinguish themselves with honour in the 1971 war. They were at the spearhead of many infantry and armoured battles. They fought on the ground in both fronts of the war, they fought at sea; they were torpedoed and sunk; they fought in the skies above; and operated behind enemy lines when they had to. They were the best representation of the forlorn hope, traditionally the first soldiers to lead troops into battle and the last to cover a retreat. Along with the 39th Course who came after them, they had the highest casualties in the 1971 war. They are the only course to have in their ranks a Param Vir Chakra and an Ashoka Chakra, India’s highest awards for gallantry in war and peace respectively. They represented the ideals of the academy throughout the fighting and in doing so brought honour to themselves, to their alma mater and to the nation.
But this story is primarily about that courageous SCC. It is his conduct in combat that is particularly instructive to all of us. A year after passing out of the Indian Military Academy, he was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant (2/Lt) in the 17 Poona Horse. Six months later, as a 22-year-old tank troop commander, on 09 December 1971 at the Battle of Basanter, he stopped a Pakistani armoured spearhead and denied them a breakthrough at the Shakargarh Bulge. He held the line throughout the battle continuously firing and destroying ten tanks until his tank was repeatedly hit, set ablaze and he was ultimately killed in action. His tank driver died with him. The rest of his crew were grievously wounded, but they held a Pakistani armoured regiment at bay that fateful day.
The name of that SCC was Arun Khetarpal. For his supreme sacrifice at the Battle of Basanter, he was posthumously awarded the Param Vir Chakra (PVC), the nation’s highest award for gallantry by the President of India, on behalf of a grateful nation.
It has taken me fifty-one years to pen this story and finally come to terms with my own behaviour in front of Foxtrot Squadron that night. Each December, I am forced to re-live my part in an incident that should have never happened and that I remember to this day in shame.
However, there are a few lessons that I do take away from that incident. First I do not believe that 2/Lt Khetarpal decided to be extraordinarily brave on the spur of the moment, in the middle of a tank battle when he met his moment of truth and destiny. I believe his PVC moment was pre-destined. To my mind, it came from a deep well of moral courage that makes a few extraordinary men of character stand their ground whilst lesser men around them have fled or given up. I believe 2/Lt Khetarpal met his PVC moment when he chose to defend the junior cadets under his charge in spite of the opprobrium of the rest of the academy because it was the ethical, moral and the right thing to do. His actions at the Battle of Basanter were but an extension of his ‘forever compass’ always pointing to his own ‘True North.’ There is another lesson that is also not easily discernible. Somewhere along the way, it occurred to me that the moral courage and ‘forever compass’ of 2/Lt Khetarpal had provided us with a brilliantly lit pathway and a straight line that connected the dots between his conduct as the SCC Foxtrot to his extraordinary actions at the Battle of Basanter and from there by extension, directly to the many of us who came after him, and who were privileged to command men in the wake of his example. The insight that I believe drives this umbilical link between him and us is this: Loyalty is a two-way street. It must work both ways, upwards and downwards and not just sideways with one’s course mates alone. This is a powerful lesson that unfortunately is often lost in the hurly burly of running a largely peace time armed force, and where war is an infrequent experience.
Young officers, and young cadets in particular, trying to find their mettle tend to measure marginal differences in seniority as the absolute and only measures of authority. But whether we operate in peace or in war, there is one other unspoken dictum that must power our own compasses to a ‘True North’ and it must be of our own making. And it is this first loyalty we have is to the country and the service, the second is to the mission that we have been assigned, but the third must always be to the men we command. Whatever the circumstance, or however hopeless the situation: You never forsake your troops; You never forsake a fallen or injured comrade; You never leave a man under your command behind.
Loyalty of this calibre requires an officer to speak up and be counted, even if it means striking a blow in the teeth of a wrong and in the face of the opprobrium of one’s course mates. That is the true price of leadership under duress.
As a matter of fact, as one grows in the Service, it is not uncommon, especially amongst the less than ethically inclined, for these ‘arms clasped in eternal friendship’ across the shoulders of one’s course mates, to change to a series of sharp elbow jostles on a steep promotion pyramid that takes no prisoners.
A number of officers of all ranks forget this unspoken bond forged between fighting men of all ranks and between different seniorities. Many of us tend to see the achievement of higher rank as a hard fought battle that earns us the perks and privileges of great rank and seniority. That is actually right and proper in context, but it should never be at the expense of the men we command. This is a lesson that applies at all levels, whether one is a senior term cadet at the NDA, a company commander or the senior officer of a fighting formation.
There are moments in time that come to us in each of our lives when we are called to arms and where the situation and circumstances require us to stand tall and be counted as men and women of honour. Some of us rise to the occasion. Many of us fail a few times before finally succeeding, and a few never actually recognise the moment when it comes their way. Then again, there are others who are born to leadership and sacrifice. They have always existed, and history is replete with instances of them popping up again and again when they are most needed, as I do believe in that famous dictum “cometh the hour; cometh the man” (or woman).
For a coda, I am reminded of the famous march of the Etruscan Army led by King Lars Porsena in his attack on the fledging republic of Rome in 500 BC. The Consul of Rome on seeing the Etruscan hordes heading for the bridge on the Tiber, and with little time until reinforcements could arrive, or the bridge could be destroyed, called out for someone bold and brave enough to hold the bridge at all costs. His call was answered by Horatius Cocles, the ‘man of the hour,’ eloquently described by Lord Macaulay in his epic poem the “Lays of Ancient Rome” at verses XXVI and XXVII that I quote below. I hope the reader is as convinced as I, that Arun Khetrapal was also our very own Horatius, who held the bridge at least twice, once as the SCC in the NDA and yet again, whilst leading his tanks into battle at the Battle of Basanter.
“… But the Consul's brow was sad, And the Consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge, What hope to save the town?"
Then out ‘spake’ brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate:
"To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods…”
