Sam Manekshaw

October 22, 1947

Muzaffarbad was attacked and burnt by the Pakistni raiders. Uri was captured in no quick time, and power station at Mahura was taken over. The whole city of Srinagar was plunged into darkness.

Sardar Patel’s trusted aide, V.P.Menon rushed to get signature of the Kashmir ruler Hari Singh on the Instrument of Accession, and rushed back to Delhi to attend the meeting. A very young Army officer was attending that meeting and this is what he had to say

As usual Nehru talked about the United Nations, Russia, Africa, God Almighty, everybody, until Sardar Patel lost his temper. He said, ‘Jawaharlal, do you want Kashmir, or do you want to give it away?’ He [Nehru] said, ‘Of course, I want Kashmir.’ Then he [Patel] said: ‘Please give your orders.’

The young officer attending the meet was none other than Sam Manekshaw, aka Sam Bahadur, first Indian army officer to become Field Marshal, who led the Army to it's greatest moment of triumph in 1971 as Chief of Army Staff.

Sam Manekshaw was born on April 3,1914 in Amritsar to Hormusji Manekshaw a doctor, and Hilsa. They hailed from Valsad in Gujarat, before moving to Mumbai and later to Amritsar.

He was the 5th of 6 children and their 3rd son. His father served in the British Indian Army as a doctor during WWI, 2 of his elder brothers were engineers, his sisters Cilla and Sheroo went on to become doctors, while another brother Jemi also joined the Armed forces as a medical officer.

Manekshaw belonged to the "Pioneers", the first branch of cadets at IMA, two of his batch mates Smith Dun and Md.Musa , would go on to command the armies of Burma and Pakistan later on. He was one of the first cadets to join the Gorkha Regiment and was posted with the Royal Scots in Lahore.

He was a polygot, fluent in Hindu, Urdu, Punjabi, English, Gujarati, and he also learnt Pashto. When WWII broke out he was posted in Burma, with the 4th Battalion, where he distinguished himself with his bravery.

He was especially noted for his valour in the Battle at Pagoda Hill, against a Japanese counter attack, where he was hit in the stomach badly. He was carried by his orderly Mehar Singh to the hospital, severely injured. Sam however recovered from his serious injury, in fact joking that he was just kicked in the stomach by a mule.

In fact he insisted that the surgeon attend to other patients in the hospital, more than him. On his recovery he later attended the staff college at Quetta, and on Oct 30,1944 he was promoted to Lt. Col. Manekshaw supervising the surrender of around 60000 Japanese POWs in Burma, handling the process really well.

Manekshaw’s assignment to the Punjab Regiment right after Independence placed him at the epicenter of not just administrative reform, but also communal turbulence and logistical chaos. And yet, he navigated that terrain with the same blend of efficiency and empathy that had become his hallmark.

His role during the Kashmir conflict in 1947, especially his swift posting as Director of Military Operations, is especially telling. That was a moment where the very sovereignty of the newly-formed Indian Union was at stake.

The urgency, the political hesitations, the raw terrain of the Valley—and amidst all this, Manekshaw helping steer the response with military precision. The capture of Srinagar wasn’t just a tactical victory—it was a symbolic lifeline that preserved the territorial integrity of the country.

His work at the Infantry School in Mhow is often underappreciated, but incredibly significant. By modernizing training manuals, he wasn’t just editing doctrine—he was reshaping how future leaders thought, fought, and led. The 8 Gorkha Rifles, his parent regiment, had already earned a formidable reputation, and Sam brought his usual rigor and charisma to elevate it further.

Krishna Menon’s frictions with General Thimayya were already sending shockwaves through the armed forces. Manekshaw, with his razor-sharp intellect and irreverent honesty, couldn’t be cajoled into anyone’s games—including Menon’s. Thimayya trusted him implicitly, and that made him a target in the Defence Minister’s eyes. It’s to Sam’s credit that he navigated that firestorm with his signature wit intact and his integrity unshaken, even as others fell out of favor.

Menon tried to browbeat Manekshaw, saying that if he wanted he could sack Thimayya. To which Manekshaw replied point blank -

"You can get rid of him. But then I will get another".

He didn’t mince words, especially when it came to protecting the institutional sanctity of the armed forces. His resistance to becoming a political accessory wasn’t just personal—it was principled. In a time when many were navigating the shifting sands of loyalty and ambition, he drew a clear line: the Army’s allegiance was to the Constitution, not to political personalities.

Thimayya’s resignation and the rise of officers perceived to be close to political power centers—like Pran Nath Thapar and Brij Mohan Kaul—sparked serious debates about civil-military relations in newly independent India.

And Manekshaw, true to form, chose not to whisper his concerns in drawing rooms but to speak them aloud, knowing well the risks involved.

This defiance cost him promotions and postings in the short term, but it built an aura that made him almost untouchable later. Leaders could sideline him, but they couldn’t replace him. Because men like Manekshaw didn’t just wear stars—they carried them.

Manekshaw's open opposition to Kaul, did not go down well with Nehru and Menon. He was spied upon, charged with sedition, and in the biggest irony of all charged as "anti national".

A man who had bled for the country—literally—on the front lines of Burma, who helped hold Kashmir in 1947, who reformed doctrine and dared to protect the institution of the Army from political compromise... to have him labeled “anti-national”? It's one of the most tragic, if revealing, chapters in India's post-Independence military history.

What happened to Manekshaw during this time wasn't just political scapegoating—it was a sobering commentary on how institutions wrestled with identity in a newly sovereign republic. His refusal to be co-opted, to rubber-stamp decisions or pander to sycophancy, threatened the fragile egos of a power bloc built on proximity rather than performance. And instead of being protected by the Army he sought to uphold, he found himself under surveillance, investigated, and nearly cast out.

The Court however exonerated Manekshaw of all the fake charges trumped up on him by the Menon-Kaul-Thapar trio. The rout in 1962, saw both Menon and Kaul being sacked, and later in Dec 1962 he was reinstated as GOC of IV Corps at Tezpur.

The exoneration wasn’t just a personal vindication for Sam Manekshaw; it was the Army reclaiming its moral compass. After being pushed to the margins, he returned not with bitterness, but with renewed purpose. His command of IV Corps in Tezpur—rebuilding morale post-1962—was like a surgeon carefully resetting broken bones. And then, as GOC-in-C Eastern Command, dealing with the Naga insurgency, he displayed that signature blend of firmness and farsightedness. No kneejerk brutality, no posturing—just measured action that earned both results and respect. The Padma Bhushan was richly deserved, but his true reward lay in how much trust he rebuilt within the rank and file.

And then, in 1969, as Chief of Army Staff, he was finally at the helm—not just of the Army’s operations, but its soul. His outright rejection of a proposal to introduce reservations within the Army wasn’t about dismissing social equity—it was about preserving cohesion, meritocracy, and the fighting fabric of a force that must, above all, remain unified and apolitical.

Manekshaw got his nickname of Sam Bahadur when he was COAS. It's believed he visited a Gorkha Regiment, and asked the orderly if he knew the name of his chief. The orderly replied as "Sam Bahadur" which became his popular nickname. When the crisis in East Bengal broke out in 1971, Indira Gandhi asked Manekshaw at April end if they were ready to go to war.

He refused saying that the Army was not yet battle ready, and with Himalayan passes flooding, it would be too difficult. Manekshaw made it to clear to Indira Gandhi that he would lead the Army on his own terms, else he was prepared to resign. Knowing his capability from long Indira agreed, and gave him a free hand to plan his strategies.

Manekshaw's role in India's victory in the 1971 War, would make a separate thread by itself. However his tactic of training and arming the local Mukti Bahini, ensured Indian Army could advance with ease in the Eastern front, and secure it faster.

A campaign that lasted just 13 days—the fastest large-scale military victory in modern history—culminating in the surrender of 93,000 Pakistani troops and the birth of Bangladesh.

Meanwhile, the Western Front saw prolonged and tenacious resistance, with intense battles at Longewala, Basantar, and Poonch. Indian troops fought valiantly, but the contrast in pace and complexity between the two fronts couldn’t be starker.

Manekshaw’s genius wasn’t just in battlefield tactics—it was in understanding timing, terrain, diplomacy, and above all, people. He didn't just fight a war—he crafted its architecture.

Indian forces have surrounded you. Your Air Force is destroyed. You have no hope of any help from them. Chittagong, Chalna and Mangla ports are blocked. Your fate is sealed.- Sam Manekshaw's radio message to Pakistan on Dec 9, 1971.

By sending Lt. Gen. Aurora to sign the Instrument of Surrender, Manekshaw wasn’t just delegating—it was a deliberate act of grace. He understood that victory wasn’t a personal crown; it belonged to every soldier, every officer, every unit that marched under the tricolor. In an age of chest-thumping nationalism, his quiet composure—never seeking the camera, never clamoring for titles—was the mark of timeless leadership.

His elevation to Field Marshal was more than a ceremonial gesture. It was India saluting not just a man, but a lifetime of unwavering service, moral courage, and clarity under fire. And the way he receded into the misty hills of Coonoor after retirement—eschewing politics, refusing to write memoirs for gain, offering no speeches of self-aggrandizement—sealed his legend. A soldier to the very end.

And that honor from the Nepalese Army? That’s perhaps the most intimate tribute. The Gorkhas don’t call someone one of their own lightly. But for Sam Bahadur, they didn’t need a second thought.

Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw passed away on June 27, 2008, at the age of 94, in Wellington, Tamil Nadu. Despite being accorded a state funeral, the absence of top political and military leadership—including the President, Prime Minister, Defence Minister, and Service Chiefs—was widely criticized. Only a junior minister, M.M. Pallam Raju, represented the government, and no national day of mourning was declared.

Even more disheartening was the decades-long delay in disbursing his rightful arrears as Field Marshal. It wasn’t until 2007, after a heartfelt and unscheduled visit by President A.P.J. Abdul Kalam to the ailing Manekshaw in Wellington, that the matter was resolved. Kalam, moved by both admiration and concern, ensured that the arrears—amounting to approximately ₹1.25 crore—were cleared and delivered via special dispatch. In a gesture that epitomized his character, Sam Bahadur donated the entire amount to the Army Relief Fund.

That he was subjected to whisper campaigns and bureaucratic neglect in his final years is a stark contrast to the reverence he commanded among soldiers and citizens alike. But perhaps the most enduring tribute is this: he never asked for glory, only dignity—and even when denied that, he gave back with grace.

Sam Manekshaw, along with Field Marshal K.M. Cariappa and General K.S. Thimayya, formed a triad of towering military leadership that shaped the Indian Army’s ethos in its most formative decades. Each brought something uniquely enduring:

Cariappa laid the foundation—India’s first Commander-in-Chief post-Independence, he ensured seamless transition from British to Indian command while upholding a strict apolitical stance for the armed forces.

Thimayya, the gallant strategist, brought distinction during the Korean conflict (as part of the UN command) and remained a steadfast voice for the Army’s autonomy, even when it cost him politically.

And Manekshaw—the charismatic tactician with razor wit and iron resolve—stood at the helm during India’s finest military hour in 1971.

That all three were men of such pronounced integrity, and yet so different in temperament, speaks volumes about the Army’s leadership culture at the time—firm, principled, and above all, unafraid to speak truth to power.