When the PM’s plane went missing

It had been raining pretty heavily, not unusual for the weather in the North-east. Our air observation flight, manned by Army pilots, was under the command of the air force station, Tezpur. My officers and their wives were spending a relaxed evening at our home when the phone rang. “Sir, the air force station commander wants to talk to you.”

“Pat, how many of your aircraft are serviceable and air crew?” “Sir, we have three airworthy choppers with crew.” “Splendid, then be prepared to launch them, at first light.” “Sure sir, we will be airborne at first light. But sir, what’s the mission?” “Oh, don’t you know, the prime minister’s aircraft is missing. You have to launch search and rescue (SAR) missions.”

My mind was whirring. Did I actually hear what I did? That kind of thing is the stuff of novels or movies (I had seen a film called The President’s plane is missing)! A hush descended as my pilots were also listening to the conversation.

In the next few minutes, I briefed everyone about the mission assigned. As the adjutant got busy sending out instructions to the ground staff, technicians and air traffic controllers, the rest of us began planning for the mission.

Everyone seemed excited and eager to go. Just then, the phone rang again. It was the staff officer of the station commander. “Stand down, sir. They found the PM and he is safe. We don’t have more details but the SAR mission is off.” Though we were happy that the prime minister was safe, there was a sense of disappointment at missing out on a possibly historic mission!

I had some work with the station commander, so I flew out to Tezpur at dawn the next day. As I made my way towards the station commander’s office, I was stopped by the staff officer.

“Sir, he is with the Chief of Air Staff. He is here to personally fly the Prime Minister back to Delhi. The PM is about to arrive from Jorhat in a short while.”

I was at the air traffic control tower when I saw a Mi-8 helicopter coming in to land. The air chief and the station commander were already there. The first to disembark was the Prime Minister, Morarji Desai. He looked sharp and almost radiant. One could scarcely believe that just a few hours earlier, he had come out of a life-threatening air crash. Brushing aside the question about his well-being, he insisted that he was perfectly well, but there were others in the aircraft, including his son, who were injured and needed to be taken care of!

In a matter of less than 12 hours, I had gone through dramatic moments and a stirring display of sterling character and leadership in adversity. It was the 4th of November, 1977.