“Even in the grave, an Indian politician finds followers — not out of respect, but out of habit.”
The above is not a cynical statement by me; it is a reflection of reality. When former associates of the late Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi publicly accuse the Indian Army of “letting the government down” in Sri Lanka, it exposes not just ignorance but a habitual evasion of accountability.
In a recent national daily, a former IFS officer-turned-politician blamed the Indian Army and intelligence agencies for the “failure” of Operation Pawan. Let us be clear: these accusations are unfounded and dishonest.
They malign a professional force that carried out a politically undefined and strategically confused mission with honour, discipline, and success.
The Genesis of a Crisis
The Tamil question in Sri Lanka had been worsening since independence. Systematic marginalisation, denial of rights, and ethnic discrimination drove Sri Lankan Tamils to rebellion. When Colombo’s forces started their brutal suppression—starving populations, bombing villages, and blockading supplies—India could not stay a silent observer.
After Sri Lanka’s Coast Guard blocked Indian humanitarian aid in 1986, the Indian Air Force launched Operation Poomalai, dropping food and medicine over Jaffna. The following year, Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and President J.R. Jayawardene signed the Indo–Sri Lanka Accord (ISLA) on 29 July 1987, paving the way for the deployment of the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF) under Operation Pawan.
A Politico-Military Tightrope
Operation Pawan was not a conventional war. It was a political experiment, born of diplomatic haste and executed by soldiers who had no role in its conception. Within three months, the mission shifted from peacekeeping to peace enforcement as the LTTE reneged on its commitment to disarm.
The ISLA itself was flawed from the start. Neither the Sri Lankan government nor the LTTE fully supported it. In India, there was no consensus either. The military was deployed to enforce a political agreement whose signatories did not trust each other—and whose architects in New Delhi did not consider the consequences.
The Dual Role of R&AW: A Self-Inflicted Wound
Amid this policy confusion, a more troubling contradiction persisted: the dual role of India’s own intelligence agency. Even as the Research & Analysis Wing (R&AW) coordinated with the Indian Defence Forces during the intervention, it continued to arm, fund, and support the LTTE, the very group our soldiers were ordered to disarm.
R&AW operatives maintained supply channels of arms and ammunition to the LTTE through covert Routes in Tamil Nadu. Injured LTTE cadres were evacuated under official facilitation to premier hospitals. In Chennai and surrounding areas, for treatment, all the while the IPKF was losing men in firefights against the same militants.
This schizophrenic policy, with one arm of the Indian state fighting the LTTE and the other nurturing it, crippled the coherence of India’s mission. It demoralised troops, strengthened the enemy, and gave the LTTE both tactical depth and moral legitimacy among local populations. It was a betrayal not just of strategy, but of the soldiers on the ground.
Mission Accomplished, But Ignored
Despite these contradictions, by March 1988, the IPKF had achieved its military objectives. It re-established control over population centres, reopened supply routes, restored civic infrastructure, and confined the LTTE to the jungles of Vavuniya. By November, democratic elections were successfully conducted for the North–East Provincial Council, and the civilian administration was restored.
On 10 December 1988, the GOC IPKF famously signalled Army Headquarters: “Mission accomplished, awaiting further orders.”
That was the moment to withdraw with honour. Instead, the Indian government hesitated. Political winds shifted in both Colombo and New Delhi. President Premadasa’s rise in Sri Lanka in 1989, along with domestic pressure in Tamil Nadu, led to the premature withdrawal of the IPKF.
Political Cowardice, Not Military Failure
The IPKF delivered results. It was the Indian political and bureaucratic establishment that initially failed by sending the Army into an undefined mission and later abandoning it midway to protect electoral interests.
The evidence is undeniable: –
- 1171 soldiers killed, over 3,500 wounded
- 1 Param Vir Chakra, 6 Maha Vir Chakras, 98 Vir Chakras
- Nearly 100,000 troops deployed over 32 months
- Rehabilitation of thousands of Tamil civilians
- $350 million in Indian aid for housing, schools, and hospitals
A “minor operation”? Hardly. It was one of the most complex, large-scale, and humane military interventions in India’s post-independence history, involving not just military tactics but also strategic challenges that tested the mettle of our forces.
Foreign Interference and the Hidden War
Captured LTTE militants later revealed that the group received arms, training, and funding from foreign intelligence agencies, including the CIA, Pakistan’s ISI, Israel, and networks from South Africa. Their shared goal was simple: to keep Sri Lanka unstable and limit India’s regional influence.
The IPKF fought not only an insurgency but also a proxy war fuelled by conflicting international interests. That this truth remains underrecognized speaks volumes about our strategic amnesia.
A War Memorial Abroad, Silence at Home
The irony is evident. Sri Lanka has built a war memorial in Colombo to honour the 1,171 IPKF soldiers who made the ultimate sacrifice. Indian leaders, including the Prime Minister, Defence Minister, and Service Chiefs, have paid respects there. However, there is no national recognition for Operation Pawan at the National War Memorial in New Delhi.
Political expediency continues to overshadow historical truth.
The Real Legacy
Operation Pawan was more than just a military deployment; it also involved large-scale humanitarian and reconstruction efforts. The IPKF resettled displaced families, rebuilt schools, restored electricity and transportation, cleared mines, and reopened markets. For many Tamil civilians, the Indian soldier became not an invader but a protector of order amid chaos.
The real tragedy is not losing lives but being denied honour.
Time for Institutional Honour
The Indian Army did its duty. It fulfilled the mandate handed to it, despite being confused, shifting, and contradictory.
The failure was political rather than military.
It is time for the nation to set the record straight. Operation Pawan must be recognised for what it truly was—a hard-won military success and a moral mission, betrayed only by the indecision of those who sent the Army to fight with one hand tied behind its back.
If Sri Lanka can honour our fallen soldiers, why can’t we?