A Son’s Tribute to His Soldier Father: In Memory of Brigadier John Dalvi (1920 — 1974)

Samved Iyer
7 min readJun 18, 2023

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Lest We Forget: The Life and Times of my Father Brig. John Dalvi (missionvictoryindia.com)

(Alternate Link for the Obituary):

India of My Dreams: HIMALAYAN BLUNDER: (indiamydreamland.blogspot.com)

Brigadier John Parashuram Dalvi (1920–1974)

A word of apology must form the preamble for this post, for it has become longer than I had expected. The focus ought ideally to have been on the obituary of Brigadier John Dalvi by his son, the cricketer Michael Dalvi; but I felt impelled to write at some length on the good Brigadier himself. The obituary itself is trenchant, and I implore in utmost earnest that it be read, even if my own post should be ignored.

Every Indian, who alike follows current affairs and knows the rudiments of English, is likely to be familiar with the term “Himalayan Blunder”; a popular term to boot. The man to be credited with this term is Brigadier John Parashuram Dalvi (1920–1974), a consummate British-trained soldier and a fine patriot. He served as Brigadier in the 1962 Sino-Indian war, which India experienced in a humiliating culmination; and which seems to have sealed a permanent enmity between China and India, the volume of bilateral trade notwithstanding. Dashed were the hopes of these two civilizations, generally on cordial terms since ancient times, of renewing their past warmth anytime soon. Since then the two civilizations seem to have pursued radically different paths: one seeking nourishment from its past memory and marching inexorably to ever greater glory; and the other intent on axing its own legs, pursuing anti-meritocratic policies, devoid of national ambition, precariously managing its diversity, finding refuge in cantillations of democratic virtue when corruption derails policy, straying further from civilization, dreaming vainly of being a guru to the world.

The defeat in 1962 was owed to a panoply of reasons; not merely military but also political. The good Brigadier decided to write it all in his insightful book “Himalayan Blunder: The Curtain-Raiser to the Sino-Indian War”. The war experience left him an embittered man, for he lost many a good men under his command; and when he sought recognition for the bravery of his men, he was rudely told, “Brigadier, you should know, losing armies don’t get medals!” The political leadership treated in an unflattering fashion, him and many others who were captured by the Chinese but eventually released, suspecting them of indoctrination. Eventually, Brigadier Dalvi was restored to the position of a command, and he served in the 1965 war against Pakistan also.

The ways of politics seemed to have vexed him; the political patronage of inexperience seemed to rankle in him. But he did not, in the sentences of his book, let rancour or anger supersede his gentlemanly sensibilities. He was candid, his disapproval was unmistakable, but it was not acrimonious. He has been critical of sundry characters, but he took pains to write well of their good traits. As was perhaps the convention of the times, he gave many characters the benefit of doubt. Of Mr. Nehru’s reliance on General B.M. Kaul, for instance, he wrote:

…I sincerely believe that had Mr. Nehru not chosen to be misled as to General Kaul’s military record and ability, he might not have placed such implicit faith in his military advice, in preference to more experienced Generals…

…Mr. Nehru made many unfortunate choices and took many questionable decisions, but none more disastrous than the championship of Kaul and his appointment as Commander of the so-called task force to evict the Chinese from NEFA in October 1962.

He was conscious of Mr. Nehru’s stature:

Mr. Nehru was no mere prime minister; to the peasantry of India he was a demi-god and infallible. No one could question his action. Few men in history had been given such voluntary, plenipotentiary powers. Anyone who had his ear and confidence wielded immense power.

He hastened to clarify:

It is extremely distressing to write in this vein about Mr. Nehru. To Indians of my generation, he has been both hero and idol since childhood. In the Independence struggle, he was the epitome of the Indian who could tilt lances with the British on equal terms. He was the aristocrat who had voluntarily given up wealth and position to fight for the downtrodden, and spent over 10 years in British jails to give us self-respect and freedom. It was said that he refused British honours and privileges. Mr. Nehru was a man whom no Indian could criticize lightly. I have often regretted the fact that I became involved in a situation that revealed his shortcomings.

Nehru had become indispensable to the Indian people. His personal and emotional appeal held the people together. He had often proclaimed that he drew immense strength from the Indian people’s love and affection, but it is true that, given his aristocratic background, wealth, Harrow and Cambridge educational and cultural background, he had nothing in common with the Indian peasant or his Congress colleagues. He found it impossible to communicate with most of his Cabinet, State Party bosses, and the average Indian. He gradually withdrew into a shell and reserved all major policy decisions for himself. This trend became more noticeable after the death of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel (in 1950) who was of equal stature and wielded the same power and influence in the country and Party. Gradually Nehru dwarfed or subdued everyone. He had been described by a colleague as “the banyan tree under whose shade not a blade of grass grows”. He became and was meekly accepted as die [sic] “benevolent moghul” who took the final decision on all major and even trivial matters, till he became convinced of his own omniscience and infallibility. Nehru was a mortal and he could not but succumb to the adulation of the people and the sycophancy of the Congress and Government officials. The people are equally to blame for placing him on an unnatural pedestal. To oppose him was political suicide; to express contrary views was the termination of even the most brilliant official career. In the circumstances the Indian China Policy was his and his alone.

Even of General Kaul, he wrote:

I bear Gen. Kaul no malice or ill-will. Indeed I bemoan the cruel downfall of a man of abundant talents and dynamism. He was destined for the highest honours. I was witness to inexplicable decisions which I knew would end his career. He needlessly gambled away his inheritance. He was a victim of a capricious fate which held out the promise of immortality and yet, in one bewildering stroke, broke him. Gen. Kaul’s career, so painstakingly built over 15 years (1947 to 1962) was ruined in 15 days (3rd to 18th October 1962). It was given to me to watch him commit professional Hara-kiri, step by step. It was not an edifying sight.

It is no alien practice for the state, even in a democracy, to honour its commitment to freedoms and liberties plentifully in the breach. And so, it comes as no surprise that Brigadier Dalvi’s book should be banned upon publication in 1969; though thankfully the ban no longer operates.

But while his book and his clinical assessment of the causes of India’s failure in the 1962 war has made popular John Dalvi the soldier, there lies in the shade of obscurity John Dalvi the man independent of his service. The obituary to him by his son, the cricketer Michael Dalvi, gives us a luminous though abbreviated insight into the man.

Michael Dalvi (born 1945)

Although Michael Dalvi has done his best to emulate his father and not let acrimony tinge his obituary, the pain of a son, who had to see his father sink into embitterment, certainly reflects in his writing. Of armchair analysts of the 1962 war, he writes:

The story of the debacle and public humiliation of 1962 has been the subject of several books, by all manner of authors, many who had never ever donned the Olive Green. Several of the Army authors had never lifted their posteriors off their cushioned chairs in their air-conditioned offices in far away New Delhi. Several Indian Army Officers have opined on the subject and on individuals. I was amused to read on the Net, where some ex-Army Officers, enjoying what must have been a post-golf drink at the NOIDA Golf Club, calling my father a “Plastic Soldier”!!

And what John Dalvi went through as a prisoner of war in China:

Captivity was not easy. For a gregarious human being, solitary confinement was hell. He became reticent and brooded deeply for hours on end. He hovered perilously close to becoming depressed. Then there was that terrible feeling that, perhaps, he could have done more to prevail on his Div. Cdr and, above all, Gen Kaul, to save his troops, from certain annihilation.

Writing the book was, perhaps, still not therapeutic for the good Brigadier. Michael Dalvi insists that his father stayed disillusioned to the end after the experience.

The obituary is, in the final assessment, a tribute not only to a particular soldier in the form of Brigadier John Dalvi, but also to every soldier in general. The travails of the soldier posted at either border, a formidable enemy facing him, can only be imagined by us who dwell at a safe distance. We must not be so ingenuous as to believe that the politicians in Delhi, driven mostly by considerations of power, feel anything upon hearing news of the loss of our soldiers. India has the deep misfortune of losing soldiers in peacetime; and it is little short of marvellous to see young Indians desirous, nevertheless, of service. Let genuine gratitude to our soldiers imbue the Indian masses; let not a coldly analytical temper prompt the view that they signed up fully aware of the possibility of death, and that therefore respect is superfluous. It is not cloying respect which I here propose, but a solemn sense of solidarity; it is no mean feat to pledge oneself to service with full awareness of the fact that the executive may fall short in its duty to ensure the safety of the soldier. Regard for the soldier is one of the sentiments keeping alive a precarious nationalism. We must let it endure.

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Samved Iyer
Samved Iyer

Written by Samved Iyer

Write as I do for contentment alone, it is made more worthwhile still by the patience of readers, and for that virtue, herewith, my sincere appreciation.

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