Lt Gen Raj Kadyan (retd)

In January 1965, I was evacuated from Ladakh after being found suffering from pulmonary oedema. After being discharged from hospital, I was placed in a low medical category for a year and posted to our Regimental Centre in Delhi Cantonment. A few weeks later, the Army Headquarters asked me whether I would be willing to be posted as ADC to the Governor of Andhra Pradesh, Kerala, Maharashtra or Rajasthan. Apprehending that most Governors, who are highly learned and eminent, may not treat an Army officer in a befitting manner, I conveyed my unwillingness.

In May 1965, a new General took over the command of the Delhi and Rajasthan area and wanted an ADC temporarily. Out of the panel of several officers, I was picked. I consoled myself that being an ADC to a General is different because having himself gone through the ranks, he would give a Captain his due. Also, it was only for two months or so.

As ADC, I was expected to manage the General’s professional and social calendar. In Delhi, many sought appointments. The General was too polite to refuse a meeting, but I could read his reluctance. Therefore, on my own, some 10 minutes into the meeting, I would walk in to announce that his conference was waiting. This made the “unwanted” visitor scurry off.

Since the ADC has also to interact with the family, I started with trepidation. The General’s family carried all the finesse and polish. In contrast, hailing from a rural village further increased my anxiety.

His elder son, Uday, was around my age and a graduate. Raghu, a year younger, was still in college. Since Uday was not doing anything, he spent long hours with me. He would even accompany me to spend weekends in my village where he enthusiastically learned the Haryana way of living.

The General was a remarkable person. He became my role model in honesty and integrity. In a dinner he hosted, the then Army Chief was an invitee. As he alighted from his car, the Chief handed a pay-book to the General, saying: “He is a soldier from your command. Shoot him.” The General passed on the pay-book to me. I did all the checking. It turned out that the “accused” was an Army lorry driver, who had overtaken the Chief’s staff car at a roundabout. Infuriated, the Chief got him out of the vehicle slapped him and took his pay-book. I reported my findings.  “What?” the General said, “The Chief slapped a soldier? Very unbecoming of him. Tell the man to go home and relax.” To my young mind, the Army Chief had a larger-than-life persona and his directions could not be ignored. I assumed that the General would change his mind by morning. But I was wrong. The next morning, he asked me to inform the soldier’s commanding officer that the man had already been overly punished and nothing more would be done to him.

In September 1965, our headquarters moved to Jodhpur to handle the war. We stayed in the MES Inspection Bungalow. The General occupied the first floor and I stayed in one of the two rooms below. The proximity living increased our interaction.

Later, Uday and his mother too joined us. Uday shared my room. The four of us ate our meals together. She was very caring and would point out if she thought I had not eaten enough. While Uday naturally addressed her as ‘Maa’, I followed the Army protocol and referred to her as Mrs Rajwade. Doing so regularly left me feeling awkward. I asked Uday to check with her if I could also address her as ‘Maa’. She was delighted. Over the years we became one family. It was a deeply emotional moment when at the General’s funeral I was one of the pallbearers.