A nice read By Lt Gen Syed Ata Hasnain in Indian Express.

A nice read By Lt Gen Syed Ata Hasnain in Indian Express. The Supreme Court judgment in the case of Lieutenant Samuel Kamalesan has stirred a sensitive and essential debate about the relationship between personal faith and professional duty in the Armed Forces. The officer, a Christian, was dismissed from service after allegedly repeatedly refusing to participate in religious parades or enter regimental places of worship — temples and gurdwaras — because doing so conflicted with his monotheistic beliefs. His refusal, the Court held, was not simply a religious stance, but a breakdown in leadership and regimental cohesion. The Court upheld his dismissal in strong terms, concluding that his actions constituted “the grossest form of indiscipline”. This judgment should not be construed as a critique of any individual faith or faiths, but rather as an affirmation of a foundational military truth: In uniform, personal belief cannot be allowed to overshadow institutional duty. The Indian Army, perhaps more than any other institution, is built on a unique model of secularism — one that is not of indifference, but of inclusion. Regimental mandirs, gurdwaras, sarv dharm sthals, and unit churches are not places for religious conversion or compulsion. They are symbols of regimental identity, tradition, morale, and shared purpose. They nurture a sense of belonging, not just worship. More than faith, they represent fraternity. I write this not as a legal analyst, but as someone shaped by similar crossroads of faith and profession. I was educated in Roman Catholic and then Protestant institutions, while my father — also an Army officer — and my mother moved in and out of regimental mandirs, gurdwaras, and unit churches with equal ease. I was raised in Islam, while also absorbing from an early age how every other faith in the Army becomes a unifying rather than dividing force. I practised this for 40 years of my career. However, most importantly, as a young company commander and a Commanding Officer (CO), I would ensure every operation began and ended with a short gathering at a small makeshift temple constructed by the troops. Not because it was my ritual — but because it was ours. This is the essence of military ethos: One does not abandon one’s faith, but one learns to wear it differently. It becomes internal, private, resilient, and dignified — never used to separate, always used to strengthen. The officer’s role is not to pass judgment on his troops’ rituals, but to stand alongside them in solidarity. His mere presence, not prayer, not participation in specific rituals, is often what sustains morale. At that moment, he is not Christian, Sikh, Muslim, Hindu, Parsi, or Jain — he is the leader that soldiers pine for and rally around. The Court rightly observed that while the Constitution protects religious freedom, that freedom does not extend to the refusal of a lawful command that is central to military culture and discipline. Article 25, the Court held, protects faith, but not individual preferences. In the Armed Forces, especially, discipline and cohesion are not merely desirable; they are existential necessities. An officer cannot afford to be selectively present — absent during what the troops consider sacred, or detached during times that shape collective identity. There is deep historical precedent for this ethos. Brigadier Desmond Hayde, a Christian CO of 3 Jat, led his Jat troops into the fierce Battle of Dograi in 1965, earning both the Maha Vir Chakra and his men’s eternal devotion. He could sing their bhajans better than any of them. Lt Col Ardeshir Tarapore, PVC, a Parsi officer of The Poona Horse, is remembered not for his religious identity but as a legend of the Armoured Corps. The Sikh Regiment has seen Christian and Muslim officers lead with distinction. The Garhwal Rifles, my regiment, has been commanded by officers from every faith under the Indian sun. Some of our finest military leaders did not merely accommodate the religious practices of their troops — they embraced them as part of their leadership creed. This is not about religion—it is about trust. A soldier does not follow an officer because of his rank alone. He follows because he believes the officer stands with him — in danger, in uncertainty, and yes, even in prayer. Presence is leadership, and leadership is presence. That is why the Supreme Court’s ruling matters. It is not a rejection of faith, but a reaffirmation of military integrity. It reminds us that the Indian Army’s way of secularism is not that of abstraction or avoidance — it is one of lived, shared symbolism. It is not about private belief — it is about public cohesion. Yet, the broader point goes beyond the courtroom. This judgment could serve as an opportunity to educate the public about why soldiers go to mandirs or stand in sarv dharm sthals, not as religious followers, but as members of one fraternity. It could help India understand why a soldier is ready to walk deliberately towards danger — and sometimes to death — not because of a singular faith, but because of a faith in each other. Military service is perhaps the only profession where the individual does not just work for the institution; he becomes the institution. Faith, identity, ego, and preference all become subordinate to one collective purpose. That is why, in uniform, one’s faith is never lost. It is transformed. It is not abandoned, it is honoured. In the end, the Court’s decision is legally correct and institutionally vital. It preserves not only discipline but the integrity of the officer-soldier relationship. It reminds us that in the Armed Forces, faith is respected, but duty commands, and duty always leads. Because when one wears the uniform of India’s Armed Forces, the question is no longer “what is my faith?” The question becomes: What is my duty and whom do I lead?