Lt Gen Ajai Singh who passed away on 18 April 2023, had an illustrious career, having fought both the 1965 and 1971 India- Pakistan wars. Post retirement, he served as the Governor of Assam from 2003 to 2008. While his Passing Away is mourned, we also celebrate his life and his great contribution to the Armed Forces as well as to the nation. Placed below is his account of the Battle of Phillora in 1965, which I published in my edited book, Honour Redeemed.

Destined to Triumph: The Capture of Phillora:Lt Gen Ajai Singh, PVSM, AVSM

Having had extensive combat experience, I have come to a few indisputable realities. The first of these is that everyone entering the battlefield is gripped with fear. Next, the first casualty in battle is the plan, closely followed by the truth. Finally, after the war is over, everyone who survives pretends to be a hero by fibbing anecdotes or events to justify his heroic act. In my considered opinion, for a professional with forty years of service experience to state that ‘most post-independence war reports are a bundle of lies’ is very painful indeed. But ask any true professional, and he will fully endorse this inference.

It is against this background that I felt that an account of the capture of the most important objective of 1 Corps, Phillora (which now is so much lauded, celebrated and has been adorned as a Battle Honour), must also be viewed through an eyewitness account, as it may promote reporting honestly to learn the right combat lessons that all battles throw up. Without any fear of contradiction, I am writing this account, as the first one to enter Phillora was none other than me, and there is enough evidence available to prove that fact.

To get the correct perspective, a word about the one and only prestigious 1 Armoured Division of those days located at the famous cantonments of Jhansi-Babina complex may not be out of place. In 1964, the Black Elephant Division was recognised and known as the ‘Brahmastra’ of the country, to be launched in battle only when a decisive result was to be achieved. The division had on its orbat I Armoured Brigade which was composed of three famous armoured regiments; 4 Horse (Hodson’s Horse), 17 Horse (Poona Horse) and 16 Cavalry. 9 Dogra was the infantry component of the brigade. The other brigade on the orbat of I Armoured Division was 43 Lorried Brigade, located at Mathura, with its three infantry battalions. Those were the good old days, when war was never on the horizon. During summer, we would carry out intensive collective training. Winters were more relaxing and peaceful, filled with social activities.

At that time, Poona Horse was commanded by Lt Col AB Tarapore. The Second in Command was Maj. K. Girdhar Singh, who was the elder brother of Mr Natwar Singh, an Indian Foreign Service officer who later joined the Congress party and became a minister in the central government. Capt. Surrinder Singh was the adjutant and Maj. N.S. Cheema, Maj. Verinder Singh and I were the B, C and A Squadron commanders respectively. In the summer of 1965, we carried out intensive collective training in the area around Bhaunti village, which terminated by mid April. The divisional commander, Maj. Gen. Rajinder Singh Sparrow, as well as our brigade commander, Brig. K.K. Singh, were completely satisfied with the performance of I Armoured Brigade and had special praise for Poona Horse.
As was customary in those days, after every collective training season, there would be a get-together at the brigade institute to wash off the dust and fatigue, and have a sort of reunion with the families which had lived separated for almost two months or so. When the function was in full swing, we received the call for war. That moment is imprinted in my mind, for just as I was taking my wife to the dance floor, I was asked to proceed forthwith to meet the commandant. I then observed that something was amiss, for some commotion was palpably visible in the ongoing party, which neither my wife nor I could grasp at that time. I proceeded to meet the commandant and there I received orders to mobilise my squadron for war.

When I returned from the briefing, the ladies had come to know that the regiment was being mobilised for war. My wife Krishna appeared serene but there was a level of unease visible in some of the other ladies. Krishna remained calm and started making an earnest effort to cheer up the other ladies and allay their imagined fears. Seeing this, my mind raced back to those historic anecdotes in Rajput history, when women sent their husbands to battle after performing aarti and applying tilak on their foreheads, followed by prayers for their display of valour in battle and for victory over the enemy. The incident moved me deeply and left an indelible mark on my mind, and has remained with me till this day, especially because at that time, this brave lady was carrying our child to be born!

I realised then that my wife was no ordinary human being and her sterling qualities would keep surfacing whenever the need arose. Time has borne out that assessment. For me, fear and apprehension receded from my mind and I gained the confidence that with determination, I can get over such feelings at will. This too has been borne out over the years. I decided then that to be worthy of a wife of Krishna’s calibre, I must live up to her image in the performance of my duty. I have tried to do that ever since.

The call to mobilisation of 1 Armoured Division, the Indian Army’s main strategic reserve, was a consequence of some initial threatening moves by Pakistan in the Chad Bet sector in Gujarat. A forward posture was adopted by the army to send a message to Pakistan that India will not accept such war-like moves. The armoured division was moved as part of such a posture to Sanewal, a location in Punjab close to the international border (IB).

Thereafter, a sudden calm descended, leaving the entire army in a state of disturbing uncertainty. The passage of time brought no further clarity to our role and soon we all went into peacetime psychological mode. While still deployed in our operational areas, all peacetime activity, such as detailing officers and men on courses, sending personnel on leave and so on started. In August, I too was detailed to attend the Tank Commanders Course at Ahmednagar. I took a spot of leave while going to Nagar to spend a few days with my wife at Ajmer. She was expecting and we anxiously awaited the birth of our firstborn.
August had been a month full of tension in the state of Jammu and Kashmir. In the first week of the month, Pakistan launched Operation Gibraltar. A large number of irregular and regular troops of the Pakistan Army were infiltrated into the Kashmir Valley with the ostensible purpose of creating an uprising to incite the people to revolt against the state. By the end of the month, the infiltrators had been all but destroyed and the Pakistani plan had been defeated.

Under such stirring happenings in the country, my wife delivered our first child. Coincidentally, while the delivery was underway, on 27 August 1965, my father-in-law, who was an ardent listener of daily news on All India Radio (AIR), called me to listen to an address made to the nation by the Prime Minister. In stirring fashion, Mr Lal Bahadur Shastri informed the country of Pakistan’s aggression, and affirmed that the use of force will be met with force. While listening to the Prime Minister over AIR, we got the news that my son had been born, and we named him Sajai, (after the famous hero of the Battle of Bayana-Khanuwa, where Rana Sanga fought Babar to save India from Mughal invasion).

On 1 September, after the failure of Operation Gibraltar, Pakistan launched an attack in the Chhamb sector, in yet another bid to wrest Kashmir from India. This attack was codenamed ‘Grand Slam’. War had yet not been declared but the situation appeared to be getting grimmer by the day. Though no recall orders had been issued, I decided, on 3 September, to move back to my unit. I caught the night train from Ajmer and landed up at Old Delhi railway station the next morning. The scenes at the platform were chaotic. I could not get information about my unit’s whereabouts till I met an officer who had some vague idea about the various operational moves that had taken place. He informed me that possibly the Armoured Division had moved to Pathankot, but he was not very sure of this fact. I decided to go there anyway, and fortuitously, I found the Pathankot Express shunting at one of the platforms. I got on the train which was bustling with soldiers, all of whom were returning to join their respective units.

The train moved in fits and starts, which only helped to strengthen the war psychosis in the minds of the passengers. I was eager to rejoin my unit before they moved into battle, but I had to first find out where they were located. The train arrived at Pathankot in the wee hours of 5 September, but just as it steamed into the station, we were subjected to an aerial attack by Pakistani planes. That was my first battle inoculation! Oblivious to the chaotic scenes all around me, where people were running to seek shelter, I stood gazing skywards, trying to identify the enemy aircraft and assessing their accuracy of fire. At that moment, I realised that I had overcome the fear of war. Perhaps it was this mindset that finally propelled me forward for the capture of Phillora.

The air attack over, the railway station soon assumed an air of normalcy. I came to know that a lot of tanks had been unloaded at Pathankot and had moved on towards Samba. Outside the platform, a swirling mass of soldiers, all anxious to join their units, mingled about, but no one was too sure of where they had to go. I managed to get a lift in a vehicle going to Samba and reached there by nightfall. By 10 p.m., I finally reached the regimental concentration area and soon thereafter, reported to the adjutant. Surrinder was delighted to see me and took me straight to meet the CO, Col Tarapore.

Col Tarapore greeted me with a warm hug. ‘My dear boy, welcome back,’ he said. Then he quickly switched to commandant mode and gave me the following orders:

As you know, we are short of officers and will shortly be launched into battle. Since I have already posted Maj. Daulat Ghorpade to your parent A Squadron, you take over C Squadron as Maj. Verinder has still not joined. Surrinder will brief you about the rest of the operational plan. Good luck and good hunting! Now you can go and get yourself organised for the impending operation.

I went back to Surrinder who, in his typical frank and forthright manner, minced no words. His briefing was crisp, short and to the point. ‘Look Ajai’, he said, ‘what you and I have learnt and imagined over the years about warfare is not the reality. In these few days when you were away on leave, what I have seen is a mass of confusion, chaos and disorientation. We were suddenly moved from Punjab to J&K and deployed at this forward concentration area near Samba. For the riposte being launched by I Corps, 2 Lancers and 62 Cavalry from 14 Infantry Division and 6 Mountain Division respectively have been placed under the command of I Armoured Division for the ensuing operation. Our orders are to cross the IB at first light on 8 September, through the bridgeheads made across the IB by 6 Mountain Division and 26 Infantry Division. The Armoured Division has been given the objective of capturing Phillora and then exploiting to Chawinda. 1 Armoured Brigade is to move along Ramgarh-Kangre-Phillora axis and 43 Lorried Brigade on the Deoli Pagowal axis. Our Brigade Plan is to advance two up with our regiment on the left and 16 Cavalry on the right. Our objective is Tharoa crossroads and the objective of 16 Cavalry is the village of Saraj Chak. Hodson’s Horse is to follow up as reserve and be prepared for an outflanking manoeuvre, if the advance gets held up.’

He paused to gather his thoughts, then continued. ‘As if these vague orders were not enough, the major problem facing us is that we have no maps, we are very short of officers, and our men on leave have still not fully joined us. You already know, that with Maj. Verinder still away, you have been asked to take over C Squadron, while Maj. Daulat, who has been away from the regiment for so many years, has been given your parent A Squadron to command. All this to my mind is nothing but makeshift arrangement, that too before such a serious matter as real war. You know how confident, simple and self-assured our commandant is, but as far as I am concerned, I am not very happy with this confusion and lack of professional approach to combat. I Corps has never trained as a complete formation, and most of its units have been introduced to each other in the concentration area only. That is why I started the briefing on such a dismal note.’
‘What is the codename given to the operation?’ I asked.
‘Nepal’, he said. ‘Operation Nepal.’

I left the adjutant in a pensive mood to join my squadron in the concentration area. We had Sikh troops and I knew them all intimately. They were overjoyed with my arrival and warmly welcomed me. We had a young troop leader, 2 Lt V.K. Kapoor, who was a greenhorn not only to war but training as well. But he was a dynamic, brave and enthusiastic youngster and I was most happy to see him there. We quickly exchanged notes about the orders that had been so far passed to the squadron, and thereafter, I took over command of C squadron.

My first act was to see the faces of my men closely with a torch, to confirm their confidence and lack of fear. I followed this drill every night, throughout the war. As expected, the true Sikh spirit of valour and aggressiveness oozed out of each one of them and this reinvigorated my own energy and enthusiasm. I was now convinced that there was no task which was beyond our grasp and this was proved as events unfolded during the course of the war.

The attacks to establish the bridgeheads began on the night of 7-8 September by troops of 6 Mountain Division and 26 Infantry Division, and we awaited orders to advance to the IB. 1 Corps was advancing on a vast frontage extending from Degh Nadi to Suchetgarh. I could hear firing taking place all along the IB, which was probably our own fire in support of the bridgehead operations. Towards the latter half of the night, we received the codeword for commencing our move and began our advance to the IB in pitch darkness. The artillery fire lifted at the first glow of dawn, which was an indicator that the bridgeheads had been secured.

The regiment moved in a two-up formation with B Squadron on the left, A Squadron on the right and my squadron as reserve. Without any maps, orientation became a natural hazard, but as I was the reserve squadron, all that I had to do was to follow the leading squadrons, which I did. Since it was pitch dark, I had to make sure that the squadron moved in a cohesive manner and did not steer away from the tracks of the leading squadrons. We crossed the IB at the crack of dawn and soon encountered the first Pakistani village. To our surprise, we found in the village an utter absence of the atmosphere of war. Village women were filling pitchers of water, children were playing about, and old people were sitting and gossiping without a care in the world. To our astonishment, some people even waved to us in welcome, much as if we were doing collective training in Jhansi and Babina!

Soon, however, a flight of Pakistani Sabre aircraft attacked our leading tanks and we had our first battle casualty in A Squadron. L.D. Guman Singh (our ace boxer) was hit, and died on the spot. This introduced the necessary sense of vigilance and caution, and we started moving from cover to cover. The area being open, flat and extensively cultivated, it was important to make use of the limited cover available, mainly in the form of crops and tree lines. The regiment displayed amazing adaptability in switching quickly into the operational mode, within the hour. I realised then why Poona Horse held such an unmatched record of valour and distinction in World War history.

After this first taste of battle, though, what followed was a messy confusion which, to this day, defies explanation. Why did a crack formation, as reputed as the famous Black Elephant division, perform the way it did? I would not delve into detail about everything that happened over the next three days. A short recapitulation would suffice for the purpose of this narrative.

The I Armoured Brigade breakout began on the morning of 8 September with its characteristic flair and élan, and we were all justifiably satisfied, proud and happy. The first air attack did give us a short pause, more out of surprise than anything else, but thereafter the advance was swift. Just before mid-day, when the leading elements of Hodson’s Horse and 16 Cavalry had hit the Gadgore area and the Sialkot-Chawinda- Zaffarwal road, they confronted enemy tanks already deployed there. As a result, heavy tank versus tank battle ensued. Both sides suffered casualties, which I saw later, but even though I was in the rear, we got an indication of the combat that was going on ahead of us through tank noises and the sound of artillery fire from the frontline. I was eagerly awaiting orders to move forward for an outflanking manoeuvre from an open flank, and in anticipation of such an order, I started moving my squadron with speed for the outflanking move, without waiting for the commandant’s orders. The commandant observed this movement, and in a swift admonishment, ordered me to stop and revert to my order of march. I was very disappointed, but responded to his orders with speed.

At that time, two incidents happened simultaneously, and totally confused me. On one side, I saw a large number of our own Centurion and Sherman tanks withdrawing in panic with speed and on the other side, our B Squadron was being engaged by the enemy tanks. My first reaction was to block the withdrawing tanks of 16 Cavalry and 62 Cavalry. I stopped the first tank which was Maj. Sheikh’s tank (16 Cavalry). He was seriously wounded, so I arranged for his immediate evacuation. On my enquiries with his crew, I got a very dismal picture of the situation on the frontline, which in their panic and excitement, was perhaps exaggerated. The crew told me that they had confronted a large number of enemy tanks which were very well concealed and these enemy tanks had destroyed a number of their regiment’s tanks as well as the tanks of Hodson’s Horse. It was then that I saw the tank of the Commanding Officer of 62 Cavalry.

As he approached me, he shouted, ‘Young man! What are you doing here, don’t you know that the heavy enemy concentration has mauled us and orders have been issued by the headquarters to withdraw!’

I was dumbstruck. While gathering my wits, I heard the now famous and ambiguous order on the regimental net – ‘Pindi Bhago’. In the absence of maps and without any knowledge of the area, we could only understand the meaning of the word ‘Bhago’, and without waiting for any further instructions, I ordered the squadron to turn round and withdraw to the IB. It is only later that we learnt that Pindi Bhago was a village where the brigade had to concentrate for further orders.

No better example can be given of the term ‘the fog of war’ than this. We experienced this on the very first day of battle and the consequences were disastrous. There was crossfire among our own troops. My own squadron shot at the tank of the CO of 2 Lancer, killing their Intelligence Officer, Capt. Seth and wounding their Commandant. That apart, 62 Cavalry destroyed our medium guns in a case of mistaken identity. Many such unfortunate incidents occurred, which brought the famous 1 Indian Armoured Division to a grinding halt and a state of mental paralysis from 8 September to 10 September 1965. This, perhaps, was the biggest strategic blunder of the 1965 war. For this duration, the entire Armoured Division tucked itself into a ‘Defensive Box’. This sounded good on paper, but I could not help but feel that it was but an exercise in self deception, to cover the division’s state of mental paralysis, lack of capability to read the battle indications, and poor leadership.

While we were in the ‘Defensive Box’, Maj. Verinder Singh rejoined the unit and took over command of C Squadron from me. Since he was a distant relative of our GOC, he visited the divisional headquarters, before coming to the regiment and obtained some information about the divisional plan, something that I was totally ignorant of. He informed me of the plan with such confidence and professionalism that I felt greatly enthused. This perhaps was the most important factor which motivated me to capture Phillora.

‘I have got the briefing from the horse’s mouth (Maj. Gen. Sparrow), himself,’ Verinder said. ‘He is very unhappy with the manner KK (the armoured brigade commander) has handled the brigade, so he has decided to handle the entire operation himself.’

Having been part of the operations, this did not come as a surprise to me. Verinder went on to give out the broad contours of the plan.

‘The main features of the divisional plan’, he said, ‘are to capture Phillora, Chawinda, and Zaffarwal in that order of priority. In that process, we will draw Pakistan’s 6 Armoured Division into battle and destroy it. The present Box deployment is for regrouping only and we are likely to be launched for advance very soon. Most likely, our brigade will be launched two up with Hodson’s on the left and our regiment to the right, with the task to capture the enemy strongholds at Khakhanwali and Libbe villages, respectively. The seriously mauled and dispirited 16 Cavalry is likely to be given the task of flank protection of the right flank. The operations will begin on 11 September.’

This briefing took place just between the two of us as Maj. Verinder felt that it was too ‘confidential’ to be disseminated. Based on our very intimate and close relationship from our academy days, when we were together in D squadron (JSW) and Cassino Company (IMA) respectively, I accepted this briefing of his as gospel truth, and my young enthusiastic mind focussed on capturing these objectives for the division, to hand them over as a gift from Poona Horse.

Our commandant’s orders for further operations soon followed, and being now reduced to just second in command of the squadron, I had to wait for Veeru to return from the commandant’s briefing and give his orders to the squadron. I still recall, it was 10 September when Veeru returned and started briefing the squadron. The briefing was no different from what he had already shared with me earlier on his joining us. In my mind, the resolve to go for Phillora was growing stronger, though in the absence of maps, the resolve was perhaps more emotional than tactically conceived. Nevertheless, that motivation was good enough for me to enhance my aggressive fighting spirit, so vital in combat. On 11 September, at the crack of dawn, when we were all geared to launch, my mind focussed completely on capturing Phillora.

As per the plan of I Armoured Brigade, we were to move two up, with Hodson’s Horse outflanking Phillora from the left and Poona Horse outflanking it from the right. 16 Cavalry was to give us flank protection from the west. The orders given to Poona Horse by the commandant were to move two squadrons up, with A squadron on the left, with Libbe village as the objective and B Squadron on the right, with Khakhanwali village as the objective. C Squadron was to move in the rear as reserve. Based on this broad regimental plan, Veeru decided to move our reserve squadron in a box formation, himself leading with two troops (half squadron) ahead and my following him with two troops.

Within a few hours of the brigade advance after first light, our forward troops established contact and we could hear noise of intense firing all over the frontline. I could also see spools of smoke rising at various spots as if some places had caught fire. Veeru was by nature very spirited and enthusiastic and had a good grasp of mobile warfare. Without awaiting orders from the commandant, he swung the squadron forward from the open left flank of Libbe where our A Squadron was engaged in a major tank versus tank battle with the enemy. When we got closer to the scene of the battle, a very prominent tree line along a well-aligned road came into view. A number of enemy Patton tanks were well sighted behind this tree line and were firing at us. A Squadron had destroyed a number of Patton tanks but there were still many well- positioned enemy tanks that were engaging us. ‘A’ Squadron had also lost some tanks, but the enemy had lost far more. We moved up in line with A Squadron to support them and became fully engaged in that battle. While this intense tank battle was in progress and I felt we were getting the better of the enemy, my mind immediately switched to the capture of Phillora. I had a gut feeling that this was an opportune moment to capture it as the enemy was totally focussed on the present tank battle and not on securing Phillora.

My reaction was instinctive. It was perhaps no more than an innocent brain wave, which perhaps in hindsight could be considered tactically foolish if not downright childish, but that is what war is all about. Sometimes, it is these unconventional and flashy decisions which pay handsome dividends.

With the idea of immediate capture of Phillora, I ordered my half squadron to follow me and speedily headed eastwards, in the direction that I thought this township was likely to be. In the absence of maps, the move was based on instinct, rather than on any process of logical reasoning. While on the move, I noticed a big village which was partially burning and was the source of some tank fire, but not in my direction. I thought that this was perhaps Hodson’s Horse engaged in battle with the enemy, and mistaking the village to be Phillora, I decided to join battle alongside Hodson’s.

As I approached the village, I saw some movement in the sugarcane fields. Seeing the entire area of action was in a state of chaos, I grew alarmed and levelled my guns in that direction. To my amazement, I saw the commandant of Hodson’s Horse, Col Madan Bakshi and his Intelligence Officer, Capt. Ravi Malhotra emerge from the field. Their tank had been destroyed and lay some distance away. I immediately went forward to assist them. At this time, fortuitously, Maj. K. Girdhar Singh, having lost his moorings in the chaos of battle, also landed at that very spot. He took both of them with him to rejoin their regiment, which freed me once again to pursue my self-imposed mission of capturing Phillora. However, this time I was better prepared. From Ravi I learnt that the big village which I had assumed to be Phillora was actually Khakhanwali, and Phillora lay towards its east. Armed with this new orientation, without waiting a minute longer, I made a dash towards Phillora.

Moving eastwards, I was pleasantly surprised to see a high ground in the flat terrain of Pakistan Punjab. To a tank man, a high ground is a dream, as it offers the much sought-after ‘hull down position’, Immediately, I rushed to occupy it before anyone else could. As I climbed up that mound, looking out from the cupola of my tank, I saw an unimaginable scene. There in front of me, parked under the trees, were four Patton tanks. Their crew were sitting outside, relaxing and enjoying a cup of tea. Seeing a Centurion suddenly appearing on the horizon, they were taken completely by surprise. The crew panicked and fled, leaving not just their tanks but all their belongings behind.

I stood and beheld Phillora, lying defenceless in front of me. The feeling was indescribable. In school, I had read a sonnet written by the British romantic poet John Keats, On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer, which seemed to describe what I felt that day. The last six lines are stirring:

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star’d at the Pacific —and all his men
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

For that moment I was Cortez, looking down at Phillora which lay at my feet. Evidently, the town had been abandoned, and left to the Pakistan Army’s custody, to fight a battle from. For a brief moment in time, sitting on the turret of my tank, I was a conquering king, capturing a territory that I had ambitiously aspired to rule over. Then duty called, and I passed the most stunning and unbelievable transmission to my commandant:

Phillora has been captured.

The response was as expected. The first call came from my squadron commander, asking me where I was. This was soon followed by a very excited commandant who wanted to know whether my claim of having captured Phillora was real or a case of mistaken identity. Then the wireless net was completely jammed, possibly with more messages to me making similar enquiries.

I reacted fast to resolve all confusion and establish the truth of my claim. I left my half squadron to guard Phillora and moved to where I thought the commandant was located. I took with me the signboard of the Phillora police station and one of the abandoned Patton tanks, driven by my crew. By now, a perceptible calm was discernible on the battlefield, which made my move to marry up with the commandant that much easier. As I approached my regimental headquarters, I saw a number of our own tanks swing their guns towards me. I realised that the Patton tank which was moving with me would have been a cause for alarm to my regiment. They could have thought that this was a riposte from the Pakistani forces. I quickly stood on my turret and waved a white flag. Fortunately, a crew member observed the flag and a major disaster was averted.

When I reached the commandant’s tank, I was surprised to see Col Tarapore’s arm in a sling. Both the brigade and the divisional commander were with him, and they were all having a discussion. As I got down from the tank to meet them, all three were overjoyed and expressed their appreciation by enveloping me in warm hearty hugs. The GOC, Gen. Sparrow, did not leave it at that, he ordered the commandant to send an express citation for the award of immediate PVC in battle (which is very much in vogue). However, when Surrinder (our adjutant) asked me to write a citation giving out the sequence of the fight before capture of Phillora, in front of all the bigwigs standing there, I flatly refused, saying that I had done nothing exceptional except carrying out my duty, and the act was within its confines and not beyond what could be rated as an ‘exceptional act of valour, beyond the call of duty’.
It is rightly said that ‘battles are won and lost’ in the minds of commanders. I have experienced this in both wars – 1965 and 1971. I did not find a single combat force leader at the higher echelons of command who could assess the battle with foresight and vision and understand the developing stages of the battle to take timely decisions to win the war. The result was battle fatigue of troops and craving for an anticipated ceasefire, which has been the characteristic of Indo-Pak wars. After all, both the Indian Army as well as the Pakistan Army are very similar in nature, and hence, both talk aggressively, but when it comes to sustained war, they both buckle down. In the 1965 war, the early capture of Phillora and encirclement of Chawinda, broke the morale of the Pakistan Army and they pleaded for a ceasefire. What amazed me was that when we were on the winning streak, we readily agreed to this request. A similar situation had occurred in the 1971 war after the humiliating defeat of the Pakistan Army in the western sector at the now famous Battle of Basantar River. We must remember that warfare is a serious business. The earlier a nation’s leadership, both civil and military, understand it, so much the better for that nation to survive in this very competitive global environment.