The Budget Session of Parliament was always expected to be noisy. What it did not need was a manufactured storm around selective, unofficial excerpts from the yet-to-be-cleared memoirs of former Army Chief General M.M. Naravane, dragged into the House to score political points rather than to illuminate policy. On the second day of proceedings, instead of engaging with the Presidential Address—the constitutional framework meant to anchor debate on governance, economy, and national priorities—the Opposition, led by Rahul Gandhi, pivoted to what has now been dubbed the “Naravane row.” Papers were waved, claims were read out, and a narrative was constructed suggesting a crisis of leadership at the very top during the tense days of the Galwan confrontation with China. The source? Alleged excerpts from General Naravane’s unpublished memoirs, which, by rule, have not yet received clearance from the Ministry of Defence. These fragments, carried by a controversial magazine and amplified by wire reports, were presented on the floor of Parliament as if they were fact. This is where the debate must begin—not with who said what in a shouting match, but with how national security discourse is being handled in India’s highest democratic forum. According to the reports cited by the Leader of the Opposition, General Naravane supposedly wrote that as Chinese tanks advanced near the Line of Actual Control, he struggled to reach the political leadership for guidance. The implication was stark: confusion, hesitation, and a vacuum at the top. But this portrayal collides head-on with the General’s own public statements at the time of the Galwan crisis. In multiple televised interviews and official interactions, Naravane stated clearly that he had been given political backing and operational freedom. He acknowledged that Defence Minister Rajnath Singh had authorised him to take decisions as the situation on the ground demanded. He also went on record to say that Indian forces had delivered a firm response, demonstrating that China could not simply intimidate India into submission. These statements are part of the public archive. They were not whispered in backrooms or leaked in drafts. They were broadcast to the nation. So which version should Parliament rely on—on-record, official statements made during the crisis, or selectively quoted lines from an unpublished manuscript that has not even passed the formal clearance process?
The Speaker, Om Birla, repeatedly reminded the House that the discussion was on the Presidential Address, not on unrelated material. Parliamentary rules discourage members from citing books, newspapers, or placards during such debates, especially when the content is tangential to the motion under discussion. Defence Minister Rajnath Singh, Home Minister Amit Shah, and Parliamentary Affairs Minister Kiren Rijiju all urged restraint, warning that dragging the armed forces into political sparring—particularly through out-of-context claims—could undermine morale among soldiers deployed in unforgiving conditions along the borders. Yet the insistence continued, even after an adjournment meant to restore order. This is not a question of silencing dissent. It is a question of responsibility. National security is not a debating trick. It is a domain where words carry consequences far beyond the television studio. The deeper issue raised by the Naravane row is not just what was said in Parliament, but what it signals about the growing trend of retired senior military officers entering the public-political space through memoirs, columns, and commentary—sometimes while holding or seeking post-retirement appointments. India’s armed forces have long been respected for their institutional discipline and political neutrality. That credibility is a strategic asset. When former generals begin to publish controversial accounts, especially on sensitive operational and political matters, it risks blurring the line between professional military assessment and political positioning. This leads to a provocative but necessary question: why not summon General Naravane before both Houses of Parliament to clarify, on record, what he meant and what he stands by? Such a move would indeed be unprecedented. But so is the situation.
If Parliament is willing to use alleged excerpts from an unpublished memoir to question the conduct of an elected government and the nation’s security leadership, then it should also be willing to hear directly from the author under parliamentary privilege. A formal appearance would serve multiple purposes. It would allow lawmakers to separate fact from interpretation. It would place the General’s remarks within proper context. And it would send a clear message to all former senior officers: commentary on national security carries a responsibility that does not end with retirement. Rahul Gandhi framed his intervention as a response to being labelled “anti-national” by BJP MP Tejasvi Surya, turning the debate into a broader argument about who has the right to claim the mantle of nationalism. That philosophical clash is legitimate in a democracy. What is not legitimate is using ambiguous, unofficial material about a military standoff to score that point. Criticism of the government’s China policy is fair game. It should be rigorous, evidence-based, and rooted in official briefings, parliamentary committee reports, and verified data. It should not hinge on leaks from a manuscript still under government review. The tragedy of the Naravane row is what it eclipsed. A Budget Session is meant to scrutinise economic strategy, welfare delivery, fiscal priorities, and India’s global positioning. Instead, it was consumed by a controversy that thrived on uncertainty rather than clarity. If Parliament is to remain a serious institution rather than a stage for political spectacle, its leaders—on both sides—must draw a firm line between accountability and allegation, between debate and disruption. Summoning the former Army Chief, if done, would not be about intimidation. It would be about institutional integrity. It would reaffirm that in matters of national security, India’s democracy values transparency over theatrics, facts over fragments, and responsibility over rhetoric. Until then, the Naravane row will stand as a reminder of how easily the most serious of subjects can be reduced to the loudest of exchanges—and how much the nation loses when that happens.
