An extraordinary story of grit, courage, and humility of Lt Premindra Bhagat (later Lt Gen P S Bhagat, PVSM, VC) — North Africa, 1941
On 31 January 1941, a young Indian officer named Prem Bhagat – nick name of Lt Gen P S Bhagat, PVSM, VC began what would become one of the most remarkable feats of courage in the history of warfare. What awaited him was four days of hell — a journey through dust, mines, explosions, and near death — yet one that he faced with a calmness that defied imagination.
The Italians were retreating from Gallabat, leaving behind miles of booby-trapped land: anti-tank mines, improvised charges, devices hidden just an inch below the sand. Prem, leading a small Sapper detachment of the 21 Field Company, had one impossible mission — clear the road to Gondar, nearly 100 miles away, so that British forces could advance.
The first four miles alone held enough explosives to erase a battalion.
Each mine meant crawling on hands and knees, often under fire, feeling for devices with bare fingers. Mistakes meant death.
But Prem simply told his men, “We work fast. Others are depending on us.”
When death walked beside him
Prem led the advance riding in a thinly armoured Bren Carrier — a vehicle barely strong enough to withstand a bullet, let alone a mine.
It showed.
Explosions struck repeatedly. At one point, dust settled to reveal that the driver of his carrier had been killed instantly. Prem himself had been thrown out of the vehicle but somehow walked away with bruises.
Instead of stepping back, he simply ordered another carrier and pushed forward.
Another blast followed. Then another.
Each time, soldiers expected him to withdraw.
Each time, Prem stood up, wiped the dust, and said quietly, “Carry on.”
For 96 continuous hours, with no sleep and barely any food, Prem kept working — clearing mines, marking safe paths, guiding convoys, and dragging injured men to safety when needed. There was no pause, no complaint. Men later said they had never seen such sheer cold courage.
A body that broke, a spirit that didn’t
On the fourth day, while working under fire, Prem’s carrier was hit again. This time the blast perforated his eardrums, filled his boots with blood, and left him barely conscious.
Yet he refused evacuation.
When his Commanding Officer tried to relieve him, Prem replied, “Let me carry on, Sir. I am all right.”
He wasn’t. His clothes were stiff with dried blood. His hearing was gone in one ear. But the road to Gondar had to be opened — the entire advance depended on it.
And he finished the task.
By the time the road was declared usable and British forces moved forward, Prem had cleared more than 15 minefields.
No one had ever attempted something of this scale under such fire.
A hero who didn’t believe he was one
When finally taken to the hospital in Khartoum, Prem lay exhausted. His CO described his achievement as
“the longest, hardest sustained feat of cold courage I have ever seen.”
But Prem never claimed credit.
To his wife Mohini, he wrote with his usual humour:
“The last ten days have been a bit trying. The doctor says I may be permanently deaf in one ear.
This has its advantages. I need not hear what I don’t want to.”
Even in pain, he softened the truth.
He wrote about a wounded Italian whose girlfriend trekked into battle to care for him. He wrote about seeing comrades die and trying not to dwell on it. He wrote of fear — and overcoming it.
When a friend once asked him whether courage meant being fearless, Prem simply said, “No. It means knowing fear better than others — and still doing the job.”
Awarded the Victoria Cross
On 10 June 1941, Lt Prem Bhagat was awarded the Victoria Cross, the highest military honour for gallantry in the British Empire — the first Indian of WWII to receive it.
Newspapers called him a hero. Time Magazine featured him under the headline “96 Hours with Death.”
When he arrived in Bombay, crowds lined up to see the man whose actions had saved countless lives.
Prem remained unmoved. He disliked public attention, hated being praised, and spoke little about the award. When asked about his bravery, he would shrug: “I was just doing my job.”
To him, the medal belonged equally to the men who never returned.
Legacy
Prem Bhagat’s feat was not just a military achievement — it was a lesson for generations of soldiers in courage, duty, and humility. His actions showed that courage is not loud; sometimes it is a man, deafened, bleeding, exhausted, still clearing one more mine so that another can pass safely.
His story is a reminder that heroism often comes quietly — in perseverance, in sacrifice, in choosing duty when every part of you wants rest.
Prem never glorified war. But he served with honour. And in doing so, he became a legend.
Lt Prem Bhagat retired as Lt Gen P S Bhagat, PVSM, VC.
This story acknowledges its source – The Victoria Cross – A Love Story – A beautiful memoir authored by Gen Bhagat’s daughter Anshali Varma
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