Part IV: Across Borders
The Collapse
Both sides bear onus for the 1962 war, China for misconstruing India’s Tibetan policies, and India for pursuing a confrontationist policy on the border.1John Garver, ‘China’s Decision for War with India in 1962,’ in Robert S. Ross and Alastair Iain Johnston, ed., New Approaches to the Study of Chinese Foreign Policy (Stanford University Press, 2005), p. 3.
– JOHN GARVER
COLLAPSE OF SELA
The Namka Chu debacle, collapse of Tawang and disintegration of all the forward posts in Ladakh sent the Indian political leadership into a state of shock – the situation was akin to trying to prop up a pack of falling cards. V.K. Krishna Menon was relieved of the charge of the Ministry of Defence, and Army HQ took complete charge of operations, using the lull in the battle to rush troops and new commanders to reinforce and direct the battles at Sela, Bomdila and Dirang garrisons. Approximately three battalions of infantry and some supporting artillery had managed to retreat from Tawang, and despite being demoralized and exhausted, were placed at vital areas ahead of the Sela defences. Under the command of Brigadier Hoshiar Singh, a war hero from the 1947–48 conflict, 62 Brigade was at the vanguard of the defensive battle, supported by 65, 48 and 67 Infantry Brigades, which were spread out between Sela, Dirang Dzong, Bomdila and Rupa.2Jaidev Singh Datta, Recollections of the Sela Bodila Debacle 1962 (New Delhi: KW Publishers, 2013), p. 30–33. A hastily put together artillery brigade and a squadron of tanks were rushed in to support the Bomdila garrison. All these forces were under a reorganized and beefed up 4 Division under the command of Major General A.S. Pathania, who had replaced Niranjan Prashad even though Niranjan was hardly responsible for what had happened till then. In the absence of Corps Commander B.M. Kaul, who was recovering from the ill effects of high-altitude sickness and stress in Delhi, Lieutenant General Harbaksh Singh assumed temporary command of 33 Corps at Tezpur. Squadron Leader Gulati clearly remembers having flown Kaul to Delhi as 7 Brigade was facing the heat at Namka Chu and recalls that he displayed no signs of high-altitude sickness or urgency to get to Delhi as he stopped at Dum Dum airport at Calcutta to meet a senior officer from Eastern Command HQ before heading for Delhi. Gulati reminisces, ‘Kaul had seen the writing on the wall and had bolted the stables before it got too late.’ He was right too as Kaul is said to have remarked when he witnessed the firefight between 9 Punjab and the Chinese on 10 October, ‘Oh my God, you are right, they mean business.’3Major General P.J.S. Sandhu (retd), ‘1962 – The Battle of Namka Chu and the Fall of Tawang (A View from the Other Side of the Hill)’, USI Journal, New Delhi (April–June 2013): p. 277. Kaul could have gone into the history books as a courageous general had he taken the decision to ask 7 Brigade to withdraw to Tawang instead of ordering them to hold fast along the south bank of the Namka Chu while he himself fled the battlefield. Gulati adds cynically, ‘Kaul was met at Palam by his wife and daughter and whisked away, not to the hospital, but to his residence at Akbar Road, where he spent the entire period of convalescence4Interview with Squadron Leader Gulati, 17 October 2014. before returning to Tezpur for the second phase of the battle despite Harbaksh Singh having done a fair job as his replacement.’
Having built up its forces to three divisions,5Jaidev Singh Datta, Recollections of the Sela Bodila Debacle 1962 (New Delhi: KW Publishers, 2013), Order of Battle – Chinese Army, p. 127–32. the PLA realized that there was immense potential to outflank the defences at Sela and go for the jugular in terms of attacking the divisional headquarters at Dirang Zong and the rear objective of Bomdila to threaten Tezpur at the earliest. It employed two divisions for these outflanking manoeuvres and kept one division in reserve should the Sela garrison regroup. This was not to be and the division remained largely unused. Brigadier Hoshiar Singh fought the tactical battle at Sela well with his covering battalions causing significant attrition and repeatedly beating back Chinese attacks on 17 November, the day when the second phase of the battle commenced. One of the three battalions that had withdrawn from Tawang, namely, 4 Garhwal Rifles, covered itself with glory during the defence of Sela under the inspirational leadership of Lieutenant Colonel B.M. Bhattacharjea. That the officers led from the front is reflected by the fact that the CO and two second lieutenants were decorated with the Maha Vir Chakra (MVC) and Vir Chakra (VrC) along with Rifleman Jaswant Singh who was posthumously decorated with a MVC and five others with the VrC.6Ibid., p. 149–65. Also see Lieutenant Colonel Gautam Sharma, Valour and Sacrifice: Famous Regiments of the Indian Army (New Delhi: Allied Publishers, 1990), p. 255. However, on the night of 17 November, even while his forces were offering stiff resistance to stall the Chinese advance, 62 Brigade was ordered by the divisional commander, Major General Pathania, to fall back to Dirang and Bomdila, where it was hoped that the final battle order would be given. Hoshiar had no intention of withdrawing from Sela and had motivated his troops to fight to the last man and last bullet, but with only less than a brigade left after the initial battle, he had little choice but to follow orders.
In hindsight, the Chinese had thought out their tactics well and even if the Sela garrison had held out, it would have been bypassed from both the east and west and isolated. As it happened, the Sela garrison withdrew right into Chinese forces and suffered heavy attrition with hundreds killed during the retreat, including Brigade Commander Hoshiar Singh, who died in a fierce firefight. He was the senior-most Indian officer to lay down his life during the India–China conflict. After the collapse of Sela, the bruised Indian Army only offered token resistance at Dirang Zong and Bomdila as 11 Division of the PLA comprising 32 and 33 Regiments of the PLA advanced by 19 November to Chakoo, barely 120 km from the strategically important town of Tezpur in the plains of north Assam. According to authentic Chinese reports analysed by Major General Datta, the PLA was surprised at the lack of resistance at Dirang Zong and Bomdila by what turned out to be reasonably strong Indian Army formations including artillery and tanks.7Ibid. Taken from the chapter ‘Chinese Offensive’. The main source for this material, according to the author, was from an official Chinese book China’s War of Self Defence Counter Attack on India published by the Academy of Military Sciences, Beijing, 1994. Brigadier Gurbux Singh, the brigade commander of 48 Brigade, which was tasked with the defence of Bomdila, attributes its collapse to the pulling out of forces by the divisional commander to occupy company-sized defensive positions at dispersed locations around the fortress instead of holding it in strength. While one or two positions managed to catch the Chinese by surprise and cause heavy casualties, the rest of the positions were either overwhelmed or bypassed. This marked the end of the sad saga of the disintegration of a well-stocked and well-prepared garrison at Bomdila.
The IAF’s transport fleet played a very significant role in the airlift of troops at short notice from the western theatre to the east as Super Constellations and An-12s of 44 Squadron and 12 USAF C-130s8Air Marshal Bharat Kumar, Unknown and Unsung: Indian Air Force in Sino-Indian War of 1962 (New Delhi: KW Publishers, 2013), p. 249. swung into action during 28 October to 16 November. The C-130s were sent to India along with ammunition on 2 November in response to a panicky request from the Government of India for all kinds of military assistance that included supersonic fighter aircraft. Airdropping now shifted southwards around Sela Pass during the build-up phase, but the sheer ferocity and speed of the Chinese advance surprised the IAF too because on 17 and 18 November, when pre-planned dropping missions got airborne for Sela and Bomdila, the aircrew found the route full of retreating Indian troops and vehicles converging on to Bomdila from both Sela and Walong. By the afternoon of 20 November the Sela-Bomdila rout was complete, the battle was over and the Chinese declared a ceasefire the same night. Tezpur, the largest town in the area, wore a deserted look as it was believed that the Chinese would have to merely roll down the hills to occupy it. The late B.G. Verghese, one of India’s most accomplished journalists and newspaper editors, was one of the two Indian correspondents who stayed on at Tezpur. He recollects with some humour and eloquence:
The Indian Press had ingloriously departed the previous day, preferring safety to real news coverage. Only two Indians remained in Tezpur, Prem Prakash of Visnews and Reuters, and I, together with nine American and British correspondents. Along with us, wandering around like lost souls, were some 10–15 patients who had been released from the local mental hospital. That was the most eerie night I have ever spent. Tezpur was a ghost town. We patrolled it by moonlight on the alert for any tell-tale sounds. Some stray dogs and alley cats were our only other companions. Around midnight, a transistor with one of our colleagues crackled to life as Peking Radio announced a unilateral ceasefire. Relieved and weary we repaired to our billet at the abandoned Planter’s Club whose canned provisions of baked beans, tuna fish and beer (all on the house) had sustained us.9B.G. Verghese, ‘50 Years After 1962: A Personal Memoir,’ from a presentation delivered at the India International Centre, Subbu Forum, SPS Round Table on ‘50 Years after 1962: Recall and Review’ on 6 September 2012, available at southasiamonitor.org/detail.php?type=yearsafter&nid=3844 (accessed 28 November 2014).
STUBBORN RESISTANCE IN WALONG
After utter confusion regarding which brigade would reinforce Walong sector and where the main fight must be offered,10Harbaksh Singh felt that offering resistance at Walong was a sure recipe for disaster and tried to convince his superiors to develop Hayuliang as the main defence, but he was overruled by Delhi. See Lieutenant General Harbaksh Singh, In the Line of Duty (New Delhi: Lancer, 2000), p. 312. 11 Independent Infantry Brigade under Brigadier N.C. Rawlley finally took charge of the area by early November with three-and-a-half battalions including a fresh one (3/3 Gorkhas). One more battalion (4 Dogra Regiment) would be inducted on 14 November, way too late to have any impact on the battle.11L.N. Subramaniam, ‘Battle of Walong: 18 October–16 November 1962,’
6th Kumaon at Tri-junction fought and fought and fought till there was nothing left. After this there was eerie silence.12Ibid.
One of the few battalions along with 4 Garhwal which fought unflaggingly through both phases of the conflict, 6 Kumaon won five Vir Chakras for their determined resistance in the Walong sector. Not enough credit has been given to the DH-3C Otter Fleet from 59 Squadron, which operated from Chabua airfield and the ALG at Teju. Had it not been for these aircraft, capable of operating from short strips like those available at Walong, Machuka and Teju, 11 Brigade could not have been inducted so speedily;13Air Marshal Bharat Kumar, Unknown and Unsung: Indian Air Force in Sino-Indian War of 1962 (New Delhi: KW Publishers, 2013), p. 237. nor would 6 Kumaon and 4 Sikh been able to retain their fighting potential at forward locations for as long as they did. Not only did the squadron bring in troops, ammunition and supplies into forward ALGs for further supply forward, they also dropped stores around Kibithoo and the trijunction. The aircrew of 59 Squadron were the unsung heroes of Walong.
RESISTANCE AT CHUSHUL AND VALOUR AT REZANGLA
While the main focus of the PLA in Phase I of their Ladakh battle was in the north around Daulat Beg Oldi, Chip Chap and Galwan valleys and the areas around Pangang Tso lake and the Spangur gap, Chushul was the main objective in Phase II. This was so because it offered the greatest potential to be able to threaten Leh, the capital of Ladakh, primarily because of the existing road connectivity between Chushul and Leh. India recognized this threat and frenetic attempts were made to reinforce the defences at Chushul and Leh in the last week of October and early November. Apart from reinforcing 114 Brigade at Chushul, a divisional headquarter (3 Himalayan Division) was raised at Leh and two additional brigades were rushed in to man defences at Leh and Dungti, some 78 km south of Chushul towards Demchok. Thus, the approaches to Leh from the east and south-east were well covered and with the kind of total forces of approximately two divisions that the PLA was intending to bring in, there is no way that Leh appeared to be a military objective considering the preponderance of forces that would be required for the long haul into Leh (Chushul to Leh is about 200 km and Dungti to Chushul is about 70 km). Leh, Chushul and Thoise airfields witnessed hectic activity as An-12s, Packets and Dakotas of the IAF flew tirelessly to supplement the motor companies that plied along the Srinagar–Leh Highway bringing in troops that were positioned along the India–Pakistan Line of Control.
Major General S.V. Thapliyal, who has written the most exhaustive account of the battles in Ladakh and himself commanded a division in Ladakh in the 1980s, knows too well the importance of air transport and air logistics operations in that area. He writes:
The IAF transport fleet rose to the occasion and flew much beyond its normal capability. The IAF achieved a major feat when An-12s lifted a troop of AMX-13 Tanks to Chushul on 25 October.14Major General S.V. Thapliyal (retd), ‘Battle for Eastern Ladakh: 1962 Sino-Indian Conflict,’ [http://www.usiofindia.org/Article/?pubno=5608&ano=482#](http://www.usiofindia.org/Article/?pubno=5608&ano=482) (accessed on 10 August 2013). Also see Air Marshal Bharat Kumar, Unknown and Unsung: Indian Air Force in Sino-Indian War of 1962 (New Delhi: KW Publishers, 2013), p. 264–66.
On 18 November began the decisive battle for Chushul, and before the heroics of 13 Kumaon are narrated it is only appropriate to spare a thought for 5 Jat Regiment which had, barely two weeks before the battle of Chushul, completed a gruelling withdrawal from the Daulat Beg Oldi sector across the frozen Shyok river to Chushul. This depleted battalion would once again bear the brunt of the Chinese offensive as it was spread over a distance of 30 km without any mutual cover between the company locations. The Gorkhas too fought bravely in this sector. Deployment of 1/8 Gorkha was primarily in two areas – north of Pangang Tso lake in what was called the Sirijap complex, and in the Spangur gap at two locations, prominent among them being an imposing hill feature that would be called Gurung Hill.15Conversation with Lieutenant General Rustam Nanavatty on 10 November 2013. While the Sirijap complex was overrun in no time despite the heroic resistance led by the company commander of 1/8 Gorkha Rifles, Major Dhan Singh Thapa, with the entire company killed or taken prisoner, the other two companies fought well against a numerically superior enemy with excellent artillery support from 13 Field Regiment. They managed to withdraw to Chushul despite being outflanked by the Chinese, but suffering heavy casualties.
The battle for Chushul followed a predictable pattern of forward locations and covering positions being overrun by a numerically superior force with preponderance of firepower in the form of artillery support. However, the presence of adequate artillery and tanks at the main defences around Chushul covered retreating Indian troops and made the PLA reflect on whether it would be a worthwhile proposition to fight a battle of attrition at Chushul or declare a ceasefire having achieved most of their strategic objectives on both fronts. Having occupied all the critical heights overlooking Chushul airfield, a traditional and conservative Mao wisely chose the latter, declaring a unilateral ceasefire on 20 November.
The Indian Army acquitted itself well in Ladakh and nothing embodies that better than the epic defence of Rezangla, a hill feature overlooking the initial approaches to Chushul, which was defended by a company of 124 men of 13 Kumaon Regiment under Major Shaitan Singh.16Lieutenant Colonel Gautam Sharma, Valour and Sacrifice: Famous Regiments of the Indian Army (New Delhi: Allied Publishers, 1990), p. 279–80. Also see Major General S.V. Thapliyal (retd), ‘Battle for Eastern Ladakh: 1962 Sino-Indian Conflict,’ [http:// www.usiofindia.org/Article/?pubno=5608&ano=482#](http://www.usiofindia.org/Article/?pubno=5608&ano=482) (accessed on 10 August 2013). Numerous accounts are available on this epic battle. Also see Battle Honours section at the Kumaon Regimental Centre, Ranikhet. Beating off repeated infantry assaults, which were preceded by withering rocket and artillery fire, the Kumaonis literally fought to the last man and last bullet with only ten survivors. Cut off completely from the battalion and brigade headquarters as the hastily laid overland field telephone lines were cut during the initial mortar and artillery assault, Shaitan Singh fought on despite being grievously wounded in his arm till he was mowed down by blistering machine gun fire. For his leadership, bravery and raw courage in the face of insurmountable odds, he was awarded the Param Vir Chakra (posthumous), while eight others were awarded Vir Chakras. It remains till today among the most decorated units in battle. On a sombre note, Colonel N.N. Bhatia (retd), who was commissioned into the same regiment, writes about the battles in Ladakh:
The hardy Chinese troops deployed for action in the high altitudes were from the Tibetan Autonomous Region. Our men from the plains had hardly any high altitude acclimatisation. 13 Kumaon reached Chushul two weeks before the war. Construction of defences in rocky frozen terrain without proper mechanised digging tools was indeed a herculean task.17Colonel N.N. Bhatia (retd), ‘1962 – War in the Western Sector (Ladakh),’ USI Journal (January–March 2014): p. 134–37.
Standing on the harsh windswept Chushul plains and laying a wreath at the Rezangla memorial in late October 2015 was a surreal, poignant and humbling experience for me. Turning around from the memorial, one is confronted by the three massive hill features of Rezangla, Maggar Hill and Gurung Hill and a huge stretch of black alluvial-like soil that made up the erstwhile improvised landing strip of Chushul. Fully clothed in high-altitude gear, I wondered what superhuman spirit drove the Kumaonis, the Jats and the Gorkhas to resist in the manner they did. What was it that inspired Chandan Singh and the other An-12 pilots to land on a landing strip that was within range of Chinese artillery, albeit during the ceasefire period? Finally, I did spare a thought for the Chinese soldiers, who despite their numerical superiority, had to cope with an equally daunting situation wherein they faced a ferocious enemy who was willing to fight to the very end. The opaqueness of contemporary Chinese military history has prevented us from learning more about what the Chinese thought of their adversaries in eastern Ladakh. I am certain the story of the battle for Chushul inspires India’s young soldiers and transport pilots even today.
A less known fact is that soon after the battle of Rezangla and other battles around Chushul were over, 7 Squadron of the IAF was alerted on 26 November 1962 to launch a four-aircraft armed reconnaissance mission in the Chushul area with its latest Hunter fighter aircraft. Commanded by Wing Commander Katre, who was the first IAF pilot to land a Hunter at Leh and later went on to become a highly respected chief of air staff, the mission was directed to investigate reports that the Chinese had violated the LAC in the Chushul area. They were however asked to exercise restraint and not resort to any firing. For Flying Officer Murdeshwar, however, the sortie was an exhilarating experience as he streaked across the icy Shyok river at over 400 knots in a fully loaded Hunter jet. Naturally, the Chinese lodged a complaint!18Interview with Group Captain M. Murdeshwar on 15 March 2015 at Pune. The author cross-checked the reference to the sortie in his well-preserved logbook.
STRATEGIC AND MILITARY LESSONS
In his brilliant book The Causes of War, Geoffrey Blainey, the renowned Australian military historian, highlights the little nuances of fact and fiction associated with the conflict. He writes scathingly:
In 1962 the most populous nations on the globe, India and China, fought a border war which illustrated the sheer fantasy that so often preceded and accelerated the outbreak of war. In the west it was widely believed that India was the target of Chinese aggression and therefore India’s leaders were unlikely to have entered with confidence in a war in which they so soon had to concede defeat. So irrational was their confidence that they decided on the eve of the war to evict Chinese troops from a stretch of border where the Indians were outnumbered by more than five to one, where the Indian guns were inferior, where the Indian supply route was a tortuous pack trail and where the height of the mountains made the breathing difficult and the cold intense for the reinforcements who marched in cotton uniform.19Geoffrey Blainey, The Causes of War (New York: The Free Press, 1988), p. 50.
Enough has been written about the inability of India’s higher political leadership to orchestrate diplomacy and military power in the face of a rigid and powerful adversary who displayed the deftness to cloak his military strategy with ambiguity and diplomatic dexterity. While Nehru- and Krishna Menon-bashing became fashionable amongst a certain constituency of commentators, including military officers who served during the crisis and held them directly responsible for the military defeat, the quasi-official history of the conflict clearly attempts to shield them to the extent possible and deflect the blame on both tactical and operational lapses on the part of the military. I have been sceptical about both these analyses, as well as the memoirs of generals like B.M. Kaul, Niranjan Prasad or Brigadier J.P. Dalvi. The truth, however, was that the politico-diplomatic and military-intelligence structures failed to pull their weight together when the country needed them most. That would be the focus of my analysis of the conflict with a stress on matters military. It has also been widely felt within the strategic community in India that the lessons learned from the defeat in 1962 will never be meaningful unless the Henderson-Brooks Report is declassified.20The Henderson Brooks Report is a still a ‘Top Secret’ report on operational aspects of the 1962 war. It has not been declassified, supposedly because its contents may have a detrimental effect on the morale of India’s armed forces. More importantly, it may also reveal the complete absence of apportioning any blame for the debacle elsewhere. This too is an argument that does not hold ground in the light of the reality that even when all the lessons of high-altitude warfare from 1947–48 were readily available, they were not implemented in the years preceding the 1962 war. In reality, however, all the lessons from 1962 have come out in some form or the other and the Henderson-Brooks report will have nothing much to offer other than a stinging criticism of tactical and operational military leadership in isolation as that was the extent of its mandate.
The Broad Picture
Notwithstanding what commentators have written about the success of Indian foreign policy in the 1950s, particularly in orchestrating the growth of the non-aligned movement and attempting to take on the role of the leadership of the developing world, India’s China policy was delusionary and condescending. Despite cautionary notes from Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel as early as 1950, the Government of India misread China’s regional ambitions, expecting that altruistic, mutually respectful and idealistic agreements like the Panchsheel would drive India–China relations. China, on the other hand, embraced a foreign policy aimed at recovering its lost glory during the colonial era through realism, restoration of historical boundaries and legacies, and development of comprehensive national power. The primary tools it used to achieve these objectives against India were ambiguity and decisive military force under an overarching nationalist plank.
Stagnation of the Indian Military
The 1950s were a period of all-round stagnation for the Indian armed forces, brought on by over a decade of relative peace and the blunting of much of the operational expertise gathered during WW II and the Indo-Pak war of 1947–48. There was stagnation in capability build-up, slumber in the development of broad military strategy and doctrine, and uncertainty regarding alliances and partnerships. Parliament too played its part by constantly questioning the defence budget and the need for strong-standing armed forces. Pakistan remained an obsession with Krishna Menon and Indian commanders and except for stray cautionary notes about China’s build-up in Aksai Chin, the focus even in Ladakh lay centred on the Leh–Kargil–Dras sector as these were the areas that had to be defended against any likely Pakistani aggression. In essence, the military was not seen as a critical tool of statecraft; it was not seen as a vital element of national power; it was merely seen by a fiercely anti-colonial political leadership as a necessity of the modern times that needed to be tolerated. Much national effort was frittered away in developing paramilitary forces under the Ministry of Home Affairs – not so much for internal security as advertised, but more as a hedge against the armed forces. A disconnect between the armed forces, the political establishment, and society at large meant that lingering fears of a military coup under a strong military leader remained a troubling thought in the minds of political leaders. The situation in Pakistan, where General Ayub Khan grabbed power in 1958 after an earlier attempt in 1949 led by Major General Akbar Khan of Kashmir notoriety was foiled, did create some sense of insecurity within the Government of India about the possibility of a misadventure by the Indian military. This insecurity accentuated the distance between civil structures and the military, particularly when a charismatic Thimayya took over as COAS in 1957. His acrimonious departure gave Nehru and Menon the opportunity to appoint an army chief of their choice who would not ‘rock the boat’.
Though institutions like the National Defence Academy and Defence Services Staff College (DSSC) were opened with much fanfare, these institutions were slow in moulding themselves to the requirements of modern warfare. The DSSC, for instance, was stuck in the British mould of producing officers and gentleman; it functioned more like a finishing school for mid-career officers, rather than a place to study military history, strategy or statecraft. Discussion during the period hardly revolved around China – model discussions concentrated on Pakistan – and there was little academic seriousness or intellectual debate. On the other hand, some of the more enduring legacies left behind by the British were either ignored or forgotten. Most senior commanders from brigade commanders upwards, and even a few senior battalion commanders, had seen action in WW II and the 1947–48 conflict with Pakistan and it is amazing how they forgot some of the basic tenets of warfare like ‘Hardening of Troops for War’. I laid my hands on a small pamphlet of 1944 vintage bearing the same title and marvelled at the simple medico-mental flavour of the booklet.21‘Hardening of Troops for War – February 1944,’ distributed by the manager of publications, Government of India, with a caption: This document must not fall into the hands of the enemy. Hardening of the body to resist exposure, hardening of the body to resist fatigue and staleness, and advanced training for long-distance pack marching were among the issues in the pamphlet.22Ibid. Many of these basic principles were abandoned in the panic-stricken methodologies adopted for induction of India’s military into high-altitude theatres of battle.
Strategic Leadership
Volumes have been written on the relationship of the Nehru–Krishna Menon duo with their military commanders. Nehru did display some decent military situational awareness under extreme pressure in 1947: he had to take a call on whether to allow his advancing forces to continue westwards to the India–Pakistan border, or rush to protect Poonch. He rightly chose the latter despite some objection from his military commanders. However, his socialist background and liberal leanings, and inherent dislike for matters military ensured that the military remained at the periphery of Indian strategic discourse till it was too late. Generals like Thimayya and S.P.P. Thorat attempted to infuse some military urgency into the system, particularly with respect to countering the emerging Chinese threat, but failed in the face of a disinterested political executive and an increasingly powerful civilian bureaucracy, which was entrusted with the mandate of acting as an interface between the military and political executive. This power play introduced a third player into the system – the pliant general who understood what it would take to climb the steep pyramid of senior military leadership. The unfolding of the Forward Policy was a result of this hackneyed relationship. Much has been written about this too and my take on it is very simple: A seemingly bold, but operationally untenable and unsustainable policy; orchestrated by an ill-informed and overconfident political leadership based on poor intelligence regarding the adversary and his intentions; supported by a weak military leadership that had forgotten about national interests and how to say ‘No’.
I have often wondered why the senior IAF leadership too never put its foot down when asked to sustain and support the forward deployments by air beyond a point, leave alone in war. Everyone just said, ‘Ours is not to question why.’
Operational Leadership
Notwithstanding the lack of actionable military intelligence before the raiders struck Kashmir, every success in the 1947–48 conflict resulted not only from inspirational leadership and individual or collective acts of gallantry but also from following them up with boots on ground and firepower. Many tactical victories could also be attributed to limited but effective employment of the limited air power resources. Whether it was Zojila, or the Srinagar battle, or the battles around Poonch, the progressive numerical superiority and firepower of the Indian Army with good offensive air support from the IAF allowed Indian field commanders like Thimayya, Usman, Atma Singh and Harbaksh Singh to be aggressive and innovative. This ensured that India had started gaining an upper hand in most of the sectors by the time the ceasefire was negotiated. The Indian Army had no such luxury in 1962 and field commanders in the thick of action like Hoshiar Singh, Dalvi, Raina or Rawlley could hardly afford to be innovative in the face of overwhelming superiority of numbers and firepower with the PLA. A complete absence of any offensive air support only made matters worse.
Much is written about the spectacular manner in which two Chinese divisions overran the vanguard of the Sela defences and then bypassed the garrison itself, going straight for the divisional headquarters at Dirang and the last anticipated line of resistance at Bomdila. This they did with most of their reserve division unemployed in battle till the end. Numbers held the key and except for the Chushul garrison, which was suitably reinforced and tactically well defended, most other sectors except for the Walong sector folded up because of poor divisional leadership. To blame the leadership at the brigade and battalion levels, as the Henderson-Brooks Report is said to have done, is largely unfair and harsh as units like 1 Sikh, 4 Garhwal and 6 Kumaon covered themselves with glory in NEFA.
But yes! The higher army leadership is certainly to blame for not being gutsy enough to dictate operational plans and decide on where battle was to be given to a superior enemy, if at all battle was unavoidable. Umrao Singh wanted to have his first defensive line at Tawang and Harbaksh wanted to fight his Walong sector battle at Hayuliang. They were overruled by Delhi which wanted the forward battle to be fought on the McMahon Line even if it meant committing fratricide, as it turned out to be. Even if right-wing politicians in parliament were pressurizing Nehru to stand up to the Chinese by evicting them from Indian territory, the COAS should have been asked to testify about our unpreparedness to take on the PLA. Maybe that would have precipitated a negotiated settlement, albeit with some concessions – an unthinkable proposition in those days. Constant rotation and change of corps commanders, divisional commanders and brigade commanders, particularly in NEFA, was detrimental to morale, and severely affected the army’s fighting potential. Barely weeks before the conflict, Lieutenant General Umrao Singh, GOC of 33 Corps, was divested of the responsibility of the NEFA sector, seemingly because of differing with the execution of the Forward Policy. A new corps (IV Corps) under Kaul was entrusted with the initial battle in NEFA. Kaul himself displayed unnecessary bravado by trekking for days at the front line at altitudes of above 10,000 feet without proper acclimatization. Not surprisingly, he was supposedly taken ill with pulmonary oedema on 18 October before the main battle began and evacuated to Delhi, from where he insisted on directing the defensive battle.
Realizing the grave situation, Harbaksh Singh was flown in to take command of IV Corps as an interim measure and infuse some order into the chaotic defensive battle. Instead of continuing with this arrangement, Kaul insisted on returning to command the corps in November 1962 and did very little to prevent the rout that followed. Continuity in Ladakh, however, despite initial reverses, had a salutary effect on the morale of the troops, who displayed great grit in Phase II of the battle in the Chushul sector under the command of Brigadier Raina.
Speculating about leadership is a dicey proposition, but I will risk it nevertheless. Had Harbaksh Singh or Manekshaw, two plain-talking veterans from WW II, been assigned to command IV Corps in Tezpur instead of Kaul, it is highly probable that as late as early October, they would have realized the futility of attempting to string together a defensive line along the Namka Chu and right along the McMahon Line. In all likelihood Tawang and Walong would have been defended in strength and the Indian Army may have been in a position to fight a better defensive battle, particularly if the IAF had entered the fray with clear bomb lines and FLOTS available as the PLA advanced towards Tawang and Walong.
Dalvi’s Dilemma
Moving back to the Tawang sector, it is totally unfair to single out Brigadier Dalvi, as many commentators have done over the years, for the disintegration of India’s forward defences around Namka Chu. In an emotionally charged piece written in 2013 by his son Michael Dalvi, an accomplished first-class cricketer in the 1960s and 1970s, and forwarded to me on email, a loyal son defended his father:
They told me, briefly, that the Army had lost contact with my father, and his forward HQ, sometime around noon on the 20th of October. That was the day the Chinese had attacked, and what was to come to be known as the beginning of the ‘Battle of the Namka Chu’. Chu, in the local language, means River. Apparently, his HQ had been overrun & that he, along with some troops, and certainly some of his immediate staff officers were trying to link-up with another of his Battalions. Alas, that was in the pre-GPS era!!
They explained that the last visual sighting of the Brigade Commander had been in the early afternoon of the 20th. The terrain was mountainous, deeply forested & hostile. Rations and provisions were scarce, if not non-existent. Most ominously, it was confirmed that the Chinese troops had reached positions, way behind his last known location! In short the message was ‘lost, presumed killed in action’. That is Army parlance for a battlefield death. To establish our territorial claims along the McMahon Line, Prime Minister Nehru had embarked on an ill-advised policy fraught with danger – the ‘forward policy’ which entailed the establishment of forward posts, & a demarcation & unilateral interpretation of the McMahon line. But, if this was the eventual goal, why had we deployed an understaffed brigade? The planning was warped and Intelligence Agencies had no clue. The Army was shouting from the rooftops that they were facing 2 or more heavily trained Mountain Divisions. And why did we not upgrade the WWI rifles? Did the mandarins in Delhi really believe that the WWI vintage Lee Enfield .303, (10 shot bolt – action rifles) could rival the semi-automatic – AK 47? What about big guns? Ammunitions? Infrastructure? Roads? Accommodation? Front line fortifications? Supply routes. ‘An army marches on its stomach’!! Rations food?? The mandarins in Delhi failed to even provide basic tools to dig trenches with!! Our soldiers were literally using their bare hands to dig themselves in? Somebody should have paid for this unforgiveable neglect with their jobs rather than our brave soldiers with their lives.23Assorted email correspondence from friends who wanted to help and contribute to the chapter.
Nearly fifty-one years later, writing in the United Service Institution of India journal, Major General Sandhu puts the issue of leadership and the fighting abilities of the Indian Army’s Namka Chu and Tawang forces in the correct perspective. He writes:
If one was to ascribe a single reason for the debacle on the Namka Chu and fall of Tawang, it would be – a faulty battle plan with poor generalship, made worse by political interference. The troops fought valiantly against overwhelming odds. The casualties suffered by 7 Infantry Brigade are testimony to that. Let no one fault the Indian soldier for gallantry, even in hindsight.24Major General P.J.S. Sandhu (retd), ‘1962 – The Battle of Namka Chu and the Fall of Tawang (A View from the Other Side of the Hill),’ USI Journal, New Delhi (April–June 2013): p. 289. According to Sandhu, 832 Indian soldiers of all ranks were killed in the battles of Namka Chu and Tawang against just 115 killed on the Chinese side.
Where Was Offensive Air Power?
One of the biggest blunders of the 1962 war was the reluctance of India’s strategic establishment to use its superior aerial reconnaissance and offensive air power assets to blunt the spectacular forward run of the PLA in both NEFA and Ladakh. While Marshal of the Air Force Arjan Singh has clearly indicated in his book that he was not entirely privy to the reasons why air power was not used in the 1962 war and that the squadrons were ready to go into action, it is quite clear that both Air HQ and the Government of India were fuzzy about what the IAF could or could not do. The Indian Air Force had a dedicated reconnaissance squadron in the form of 106 Squadron equipped with fairly new British-built Canberra bomber-cum-reconnaissance aircraft. Tasked with a few sporadic missions in both the eastern sector and in Ladakh, the squadron could have done much more and acted as the eyes of the Indian government and complemented the IB’s scanty intelligence inputs. It could also have assisted with building an intelligence picture and mosaic of the disposition and gradual build-up of PLA forces in Tibet and tracked their move forward in both sectors. Not only would it have provided military commanders with what they were likely to come up against, but it also could have provided Nehru with a reality check of whether he needed to temper his bravado of ‘wanting to throw the Chinese out of Indian territory’, sensitize the raucous opposition of what India was up against and accept China’s proposal for a composite dialogue based on post-colonial realities.
Air Headquarters did not also contest the exaggerated capability of the PLAAF as conveyed to Prime Minister Nehru by the US ambassador, John Kenneth Galbraith, and chose to go along with the typically restrained political interpretation of the time that air power would be unnecessarily escalatory. With joint army–air force structures in place at the corps level, and forward air controllers with the brigades, it is clear that the IAF brass was timid and diffident about forcefully articulating to both the army and the political leadership that in an asymmetric situation on the ground, offensive air power could play a stabilizing role, if not a decisive one. If offensive air power had been used in the east, particularly on the Chinese side of the McMahon Line across the Thagla Ridge while the PLA was concentrating its forces, significant attrition could have been caused. Similarly, if the Indian Army had maintained its fortress strategy at Sela and Bomdila without retreating chaotically, Indian fighter-bomber aircraft could have caused significant attrition on PLA forces as they attempted to either lay siege to these positions or bypass them. It would be foolish to surmise that air power would have been a game changer; however, it would certainly have been a face-saver and India’s armed forces may have possibly come out of the conflict in both sectors bruised, but not beaten and humiliated.
Chinese Operational Art
The most comprehensive analysis of Chinese operational art in the 1962 conflict emerged out of the US Army War College in 2003 as part of a monograph titled The Lessons of History: The Chinese People’s Liberation Army at 75.25Laurie Burkitt, Andrew Scobell and Larry M. Wortzel, ed., The Lessons of History: The Chinese People’s Liberation Army at 75 (US Army War College, 2003), available at
The Chinese were also ruthless in their treatment of prisoners, not in terms of physical abuse, but in their attempt to brainwash and indoctrinate them with anti-Indian and communist ideology. One of the many Indian prisoners who held their heads high during the period of captivity and withstood Chinese interrogation was Major J.S. Rathore (retd) was then a lance naik. He recollects that though he was not tortured, he was frequently spoken to on how Britain and the US were responsible for the war. He also recollects Chinese attempts to orchestrate social gatherings like a Barakhana (a semi-formal feast in the Indian armed forces) on 26 January (India’s Republic Day), a move which was resisted by him and earned him the ire of his captors.28Major J.S. Rathore (retd), ‘Memoirs of a Prisoner of War: Sino-Indian War of 1962,’ USI Journal (January-March 2014): p. 132–33. Squadron Leader Gulati (retd), a veteran navigator of the IAF, flew many of the prisoners from Tezpur to Panagarh airfield near Calcutta in April 1963, where they were kept in isolation and interrogated for nearly seventeen days. He poignantly recollects that almost 1,600 of the 3,000-odd POWs were branded as ‘affected’ and quietly eased out of the mainstream armed forces,29Interview with Squadron Leader Gulati. while others like Rathore were found to have been ‘outstanding’ during their period of incarceration and sent back to their units with honour.30Major J.S. Rathore (retd), ‘Memoirs of a Prisoner of War: Sino-Indian War of 1962,’ USI Journal (January-March 2014): p. 133.
In the final analysis, the 1962 war with China was a chastening experience for both India’s political and military establishments. The psychological impact of the defeat on India far exceeded the physical losses if one looks at the actual casualties as per the claims of both India and China.31While the Ministry of Defence, Government of India, puts Indian losses at 1,383 soldiers killed, 1,696 missing, 1,047 wounded and 3,968 captured, PLA archives put the number of killed as much higher at 4,897 as against Chinese losses of only 722 killed and 1,047 wounded. However, Chinese casualties are likely to have been much higher considering the number of battles wherein there was stiff resistance from entrenched Indian troops. See Laurie Burkitt, Andrew Scobell and Larry M. Wortzel, ed., The Lessons of History: The Chinese People’s Liberation Army at 75 (US Army War College, 2003), p. 343, available at
AUTHOR’S NOTE
In a laudable attempt at moving ahead and leaving behind the painful memories of a defeat, there are constituencies within India’s current nationalistic political establishment that seek to highlight to a young nation the many heroic tactical battles fought by the Indian Army, rather than stick to a beaten discourse of only the failure of higher leadership. Almost two years after this chapter was completed, an article in The Economic Times, a respected Indian newspaper, reported:
To ensure that the bravery of the Indian Army during the war is not undermined, the RSS wants those battles to be highlighted where the soldiers showed exemplary courage in the face of extreme odds. The India-China war need not be just a shameful episode for India. We can tell the children about one of the most embarrassing episodes of our history by highlighting the gallantry of our troops. The war could be used to instil pride and also serve as a crucial lesson in diplomacy.32Bhavna Vij Arora, ‘RSS Wants Students to Learn More about India-China War,’ The Economic Times, New Delhi, 2 June 2015, p. 2.
[The Second Round:
India–Pakistan Conflict of 1965](part0002.html#IN_Part4-2)