by Mike Edwards
Harjinder was in Delhi the very next day. It fell to him to carry out the mournful duty of receiving the Air Chief’s remains. The urgent summons to attend to these official duties was not the problem. It was the urgent message to report to Menon’s office that led to Harjinder’s legacy being shredded by a version of history being written that is still widely believed today.
At Kanpur, the young Mr Nanda heard the rumours that resounded throughout the community, as news of Harjinder’s departure to the Defence Minister’s office spread like wildfire.
‘Harjinder will be taking over the IAF.’
‘Our Harjinder is going to see Menon to be made the next Chief.’
There is no record of what was actually discussed between those two men, those two friends, but there is little doubt that the leadership of the IAF was discussed. Either Harjinder was offered the position there and then, or Menon expressed a wish to see Harjinder as Chief. The fact remained, that Harjinder was the youngest of the nine IAF Air Vice-Marshals.
Mukerjee’s remains were cremated at 11 am the next morning on 11th November 1960. Normally, a large flypast takes months of preparation – the timings need to be coordinated, to ensure safety, as well as a mighty spectacle. However, as the funeral pyre was lit, forty-nine aircraft of the Indian Air Force flew past with perfect precision and dipped in salute; one aircraft for each year of Subroto’s life. It was a day to reflect and reminisce. Mukerjee had been involved with almost all of the senior officers of the IAF, right from the beginning of their careers. This was an occasion to consider just how far they had all come.
However, each of the individuals attending this sad occasion would fit into the reshuffle of the IAF. If Harjinder had perhaps talked to his fellow Air Vice-Marshals about the conversation with Menon, things might have taken a different turn. There was no such discussion, and soon the rumours were rife, and not just within the military, about Menon’s favourite. The newspapers were happy to debate the contest for the Chair vacated by Mukerjee. They put three men in the ring together. Aspy Engineer and Nanda were the natural successors, based on seniority, and both were fighter pilots. Harjinder wore IAF wings, but was not a combat pilot, and his career had begun as a lowly Sepoy. The papers love an underdog – and Harjinder’s meteoric rise from Sepoy to the most junior of the nine Air Vice-Marshals in the IAF, was exactly what they needed to spark public interest in the story. They stoked the rumours floating throughout the country, and they were keen to offer an opinion for or against Harjinder’s appointment. Meanwhile, Harjinder found himself in a very dark place, the loss of Mukerjee, and the media frenzy swirling around, seemed to frustrate and suffocate him. The man who was quite happy to operate in the shadow, working hard for other people’s gain, suddenly found his name being plastered across newspapers, and his career being picked through with a fine toothed comb. In his diary, he expressed his wish to leave his Air Force immediately, to have no further part in this circus. He harked back to the conversations with Mukerjee, and how, when he was in reflective mood, he would say; ‘Harjinder, we joined the Air Force together as the pioneers. We will go out together, you and I, at the same time.’
Mukerjee had gone; therefore it must be time for him to go.
There can only be one way that Harjinder was so sure he wasn’t going to be offered the job of Air Force Chief, and that was if he had already removed himself from the equation in that meeting with Menon. Why didn’t Harjinder tell the others he was not interested in taking the job? Perhaps, as a military man, he felt that any private conversations with Menon were not for wider broadcast. Perhaps he did tell them, but they suspected it was a subtle political manoeuver. The other eight Air Vice-Marshals believed promotion went with seniority and that only a fighter pilot could fill the boots as Chief. All eight men offered their resignation to the Defence Minister, thinking he was preparing to anoint Harjinder as the next Chief. Harjinder wanted no part of this elaborate political drama, and the more he thought about Mukerjee’s words, the more confident he felt that it was indeed time for him to leave the IAF.
The other officers swiftly withdrew their resignations when it became clear that Harjinder was not in the running and, whatever happened, it would be a fighter pilot who would take over as Chief. The belief that the IAF Chief must be an ex-fighter pilot continued on into the next millennium. The first pilot to make the highest rank, who was not a fighter pilot, was Air Chief Marshal Fali Major, a helicopter pilot. It was he who occupied the Chief’s office in 2008 when Air Vice-Marshal ‘Tiny’ Kumaria introduced my proposal for the IAF Vintage Flight.
Rumours abound that there was bad blood between Aspy Engineer and Harjinder, and the letters of resignation further re-enforced this misconception; the press were having a field day. However, the press, as usual, had got it completely wrong. It is not the action of an enemy to repeatedly phone their alleged nemesis, three times in one day, asking them to withdraw their resignation. Aspy said he could not imagine the Air Force without Harjinder. It was his consistent badgering that persuaded Harjinder to re-consider his parting from the IAF. The agreement the two men reached was that if Aspy became Chief, Harjinder would withdraw his resignation to serve under him.
Since the choice of new Chief was still a complete mystery to all IAF members, Harjinder spent the next two or three days visiting Delhi to sort out his retirement papers. Then, on the 19th November 1960, Menon invited Harjinder to lunch. As they sat to a simple meal, Menon let Harjinder settle before taking the very unusual step of revealing the decisions of the Defence Department ahead of time. He watched Harjinder’s face as he informed him that Aspy Engineer would be appointed as the new Air Chief. As he watched relief spread over Harjinder’s face, Menon jumped in with his concerns about Aspy, citing the gossip about Aspy’s alleged underhand deal with the Daimler Company in France. Harjinder instantly came to Aspy’s defence, he told Menon that this sort of mud-slinging by jealous rivals should not be credited; there was no doubt over Aspy’s honesty. Furthermore, if Aspy were to become Chief, Harjinder wanted his resignation to be quietly turned down. Menon nodded his grey-haired head in satisfaction. Not only did he receive the reassurance about Aspy he needed, it also came with the extra benefit of keeping Harjinder.
On the 1st December, Harjinder flew to Delhi and walked the length of the 5th floor corridor in the new Headquarters building to get to the office of the newly appointed Chief. The man behind the desk looked so different from Subroto Mukerjee. Thick set, and a good deal shorter, it was easy to forget that this man had not only been a pilot in the war, but still strapped into the modern jet fighters to keep his pilot skills current. Harjinder saluted as he walked through the door, but it wasn’t long before smiles broke out on the faces of both men. It was time for Harjinder, and Aspy, to work together again, but things had changed since the joyous days they spent at Kohat.
The political turmoil in Delhi may have been a drain on Harjinder’s time, and energies, but back at Kanpur things were still striding forward. The first Avro 748 to be assembled in India was ready, just a few weeks after the second prototype made its maiden flight in the UK. On the 1st November 1961, the IAF made history with Kapil Bhargava at the controls of the aircraft. Harjinder had his wish granted, the first 748 carried the name Subroto in large letters down the side as a mark of respect for Mukerjee. As he watched Kapil take this new flagship aircraft into the air, Harjinder saw one of the last pieces of his life’s ambitions realised. Amrit Saigal, his Staff Officer, was with him, as always, and he had brought along his nephew, the young Master Nanda; totally enthralled, as always. It wasn’t just young Mr Nanda who stood in awe, the new aircraft wowed the throngs of people who had gathered to see this marvellous new technology. It marked the Air Force’s ability to make, if not design, its own complex aircraft. Menon was there to place the garland of flowers around Harjinder’s neck, and firmly shake his hand, when the aircraft landed and taxied up to the waiting dignitaries.
There is little doubt that Menon
saw great possibilities in this success story to help his own election campaign. He was keen to have a proper, full ceremonial inauguration into the IAF, with all the press coverage that would go with it. The aeroplane was dedicated to the nation on 26th November 1961, at Palam, with Nehru present, and ranks of IAF Airmen marching past. The significance of this milestone for India was not lost on anyone, and Harjinder even received a personal telegram of congratulations from the United Nations. In 2013, I met Kapil Bhargava, one of India’s foremost test pilots, who had test-flown the Avro 748, after the talk I gave at the Tata Institute in Bangalore. He spoke with great clarity of how he flew the demonstration routine for that inauguration. He decided he would show how safe the plane was by shutting one engine down just as he was about to leave the ground on the takeoff run. When his colleagues heard about these plans, they lined the taxiways, assuming they would see a spectacular end to Kapil’s life, and Harjinder’s dreams! Naturally, the aircraft climbed easily away, and Roy Dobson, Chairman of the Hawker Siddley Group, remarked to the Prime Minister that it was the best demo of the aircraft he had ever seen. After the troops had marched past, and the pictures were taken, Nehru came on board. Despite watching an engine stop on the demonstration, Nehru still asked to be taken up for a flight. Kapil pointed to test equipment in the cabin and politely turned his request down. To take this icon of Indian politics, in a three week-old aircraft seemed just a little rash.
Another of his goals realised, Harjinder thought it was time to take stock of his future. It had been 30 years since he had been a rebellious student at Maclaghan Engineering College, and had joined as one of the first IAF Hawai Sepoys. He was concerned that his health was not as it should be, and became obsessed with recording his daily health readings, writing them down in a separate diary. Harjinder had achieved more than he could really have believed possible when he had placed that pistol back on his Principal’s desk in Lahore. His considerations of retirement had been emotionally motivated, but now he started to take a more serious, view of his future. Harjinder, and his wife, lived modestly and frugally, so he was adamant that once he left the IAF, he would not accept another paid job, but instead, work towards achieving what he and Jumbo believed in; to promote the cause of flying, and the aircraft industry. The house at Kanpur had already lost one of its occupants after Harjinder’s son departed to make his own way in the world. From the moment the boy had entered Harjinder’s life, he had been exposed to military life, so it was no surprise that he should also become a military man. What is surprising is that he did not choose the IAF, but the Indian Army. Was it a small rebellious act against his parents?
Harjinder was happy to see Aspy as Mukerjee’s replacement but, as time passed, Harjinder became more critical of him. He found him indecisive, and too cautious, now that he held the top post. Aspy’s opinion of Harjinder was still coloured by his apparent closeness to Menon, the Defence Secretary. Harjinder and Menon may have been similar in many respects, but they differed in their respect shown to others. Harjinder was known to rip into someone if they were not pulling their weight, but he would always keep the utmost respect for the individual. That was not Menon’s way. He publically ridiculed Aspy, using his surname to make a childish pun, ‘He is neither an engineer, nor a pilot.’
Aspy’s stature was not of the dashing fighter pilot of comic books and films, but Menon seemed to forget that he flew the modern fighter aircraft with as much spirit as the young guns under his command. Harjinder and Aspy clashed frequently, often finding their way on to the front pages of newspapers.
Things came to a head over Harjinder’s pension. Since he was now actively planning his departure from the Air Force, understandably, he wanted an Air Vice-Marshal’s pension. He had calculated that this would be sufficient to cover their basic needs, and he would be able to carry out new work in an honorary role. The problem was that he had been an acting Air Vice-Marshal since the radio announcement of his promotion; his rank was not yet confirmed. Subroto Mukerjee had been dealing with the issue, but he was gone. Aspy was sympathetic to Harjinder’s situation, but told him that since he was Menon’s ‘favourite’, then the Defence Minister, should be the one to deal with the situation. Harjinder was saddened by Aspy’s reaction, but on no account would he ever approach Menon on a personal matter.
Shrewd and perceptive as he was, Krishna Menon didn’t handle this situation as well as he ought to have. He began by playing a cat-and-mouse game by offering a civilian job to Harjinder to top up the pension, but that had never been what Harjinder was about. The damage was done when Menon finally spoke directly with Aspy telling him, ‘If you can’t get Harjinder’s rank and pension sorted out, I shall have to do it myself, over your head.’
Naturally, this did not endear Harjinder to Aspy, and when Menon did start getting directly involved some of the other officers took offence at this perceived favouritism. In the end, the case was solved by Aspy, when he backdated Harjinder’s Air Commodore’s rank, so that he could pick up enough time as a full Air Vice-Marshal to qualify for the pension. It came with a warning from Aspy that this had stoked further resentment from their brother officers, in non-flying positions. It also left Krishna Menon and Aspy barely on speaking terms.
Aspy and Harjinder crossed swords over many subjects, adding to the hangover after Aspy’s posting to HAL in Harjinder’s place. The close-knit team at the top, from Mukerjee’s time, was gone, and Aspy started to cut a lonely figure at the top. The about turn for their relationship, and cracks in the Harjinder/Menon’s relationship, appeared during the purchase of the next generation supersonic fighter. Pakistan had been gifted the supersonic American F104 Starfighter, and India were forced into a situation where they had to play technological catch-up. The IAF were considering aircraft from the British, the French, and then Menon threw the Russian MiG 21 into the ring. The Russians had agreed to let India manufacture the fighters; they were not only cheaper, but they would buy them against rupee payments.
These were strong arguments in favour of the MiG 21, but there was one crucial one against it – it was not considered a particularly good aircraft! Krishna Menon had an altogether different approach to the problem. His enthusiasm for self-sufficiency, home manufacture, and technological advancement for India, made the MiG deal the obvious choice for him. Harjinder said he would not express any opinion about the MiG until he had an opportunity to assess the aircraft himself. On 31st July 1962, Harjinder returned to the USSR as part of a team led by Dr S. Bhagwantam, the Scientific Adviser to the Ministry of Defence, for the express purpose of finding out if the aircraft was fit for the IAF’s use. They had hardly stepped off their aircraft when, on 1st August, at a meeting with members of the Russian Committee of State, Bhagwantam made the unexpected statement that he was ready to sign the contract.
At an Embassy meeting later that day, Harjinder lost his temper, and Harjinder in full fury was impossible to ignore. He called Bhagwantam Menon’s stooge. The events of the visit had obviously been planned beforehand by Menon – Harjinder was not given clearance to visit all the equipment factories, but what little he saw hadn’t impressed him. Harjinder had recently visited Britain to study the brutish Lightning fighter aircraft on offer from English Electric, the same company which had provided the Canberra jet bomber to India. The MiG just didn’t match up. Moolgavkar was on hand to back Harjinder’s argument. He got his hands on one of these MiGs, but he was told not to use the afterburner, which produced an extra kick of power when the fuel sprayed into the jet exhaust ignited with a plume of fire. Naturally, as soon as the wheels were tucked up, he pushed the throttle all the way forward into full afterburner. Within two and a half minutes, the aircraft was at 36,000 feet, the normal cruise altitude for a modern airliner. It was impressive, but still not on par with what he had experienced in Britain. With the Lightning’s ability to go twice the speed of sound, and its superior build quality, it left the MiG physically, and metaphorically, in its wake.
Harjinder flew
back to India prematurely on the 4th August, went directly from the airport to the fifth floor at Vayu Bhawan, and burst into Aspy Engineer’s office. He didn’t bother with pleasantries beyond the formality of a salute, and told Aspy that the MiG was ‘unacceptable’ to the IAF. Harjinder didn’t have the reaction he expected from the cautious Aspy. When he paused, awaiting Aspy’s expected insistence to toe the line, he saw instead tears come into the Chief’s eyes. It had suddenly dawned on Aspy that Harjinder was not ‘Menon’s man’, and that he still acted according to his own judgment. He saw clearly that the man before him had not changed from the friend he had known all these years. The fog of mistrust lifted, and the atmosphere instantly changed. The two ageing soldiers had a far more pleasurable, and successful, relationship, in the final years of their service together. This didn’t imply that they saw eye to eye on every subject, like their time together at Kohat, the discussions could be heated, but mutual respect between the two men was restored.
As soon as the news of Harjinder’s return from the USSR reached Menon, he had men hunting all over Delhi for Harjinder. When his men finally tracked him down, he was ushered up to Minister’s office. Menon tried several ways to get Harjinder on to his side. Initially, he tried pleading with him, waving in his hand the approval notice that only required Harjinder’s signature. He then turned to Amrit Saigal, assuming that Saigal, once convinced, would help convince Harjinder in turn – but Amrit was having none of it. Eventually, Menon pinned his hopes on the handsome, and dashing, Erlic Pinto, who was still with the delegation in the USSR. Pinto had been Menon’s Air Attaché in London, during Menon’s time as Ambassador, so he thought he had some control over him through that earlier relationship. Pinto prospects were looking up, he was slated to be a future Chief; surely, he would want to ingratiate himself further with his Defence Minister. Menon eagerly awaited his return, so the contract could be signed. He didn’t get it; Pinto returned and also designated the MiG unsuitable, much to Menon’s disgust. However, Menon was unstoppable; he had no thought for how the aircraft was to operate, or how suitable it was for the country as a combat aircraft. He refused to consider any counterarguments as valid, and bulldozed the issue through Parliament. The MiG deal was signed and the long India/Russia relationship with fighter aircraft started. What’s more, in 2016 the MiG 21 was still in service with the IAF, far outliving the Lightening!