How India (re)built its defence preparedness and war readiness  

For decades, India’s defence arsenal was a mosaic of foreign imports—French fighters, Russian tanks, Israeli drones, and American radars. But over the past decade, that dependence has begun to shift. Hindustan Aeronautics Limited’s (HAL) Tejas fighter jet, once the punchline of defence delays, is now flying in active squadrons, with the Indian Air Force ordering 83 Tejas Mk1A aircraft in 2021. The Akash surface-to-air missile system, developed by DRDO, has been upgraded and exported—most recently to Armenia—marking a rare but significant moment in India’s defence exports. Likewise, the Astra air-to-air missile and the Pinaka multi-barrel rocket launcher have moved from the test range to the battlefield, the latter also finding its way to foreign buyers. Even the long-delayed Kaveri engine project, beset with engineering challenges, continues to receive funding and attention, especially for potential use in India’s Ghatak UCAV and future Tejas variants. The Defence Acquisition Procedure of 2020 formalised this pivot, embedding “Atmanirbhar Bharat” into procurement policy. India, once the world’s largest arms importer, is learning—haltingly but unmistakably—how to build its own arsenal.

Along with indigenisation, India adapted key foreign jewels for its defence crown, especially the Russian-built S-400 Triumf missile system. Codenamed Sudarshan Chakra in Indian service, the system was activated during a coordinated barrage of drones and missiles aimed at critical urban and military infrastructure across the western front. It marked the first large-scale, combat-validated use of the S-400 since its induction. And as it intercepted incoming threats—over 80% of them, by preliminary counts—India wasn’t just defending airspace. It was making a declaration.

Within hours, a second barrage followed—not physical, but informational. Pakistani news outlets claimed that their air force had successfully destroyed an Indian S-400 battery using hypersonic munitions. The claim spread quickly on social media, fertilised by speculation and deepfake footage. But India’s Press Information Bureau issued a prompt denial, calling the story “fake news” and asserting that no Indian assets had been destroyed. In a single news cycle, the S-400 had been battle-tested, mythologised, and digitally targeted—a reminder that in 21st-century warfare, perception is often the second front.

The S-400 Triumf is a long-range surface-to-air missile system developed by Russia’s Almaz-Antey. With its radar tentacles capable of detecting threats 600 kilometres away and its missiles engaging at ranges of up to 400 km, the system has the capacity to intercept stealth aircraft, ballistic missiles, cruise missiles, and drones across altitudes and vectors. It can track 100 targets at once and destroy dozens simultaneously. In Indian hands, it was renamed Sudarshan Chakra, after the divine disc of Vishnu—an apt metaphor for a machine that spins, watches, and strikes with mythic precision.

India signed the $5.43 billion deal with Russia in October 2018 for five regiments of the system, despite explicit warnings from the United States about triggering sanctions under the Countering America’s Adversaries Through Sanctions Act (CAATSA). Washington urged India to cancel the order and offered THAAD and Patriot PAC-3 systems as alternatives. India demurred. The S-400 had been tested in Syria. It integrated better with India’s existing Russian-made radar and missile platforms. More importantly, it came without the strings—end-use monitoring clauses, inspections, or strategic hedging—that so often accompany American weapons.

At the time, critics in New Delhi and Washington viewed the purchase as a geopolitical risk. What India was risking, though, was more than diplomacy. It was betting that its strategic autonomy could endure friction. That its pursuit of Quad cooperation and its deep military ties with Russia were not mutually exclusive. The Biden administration, to its credit, chose pragmatism over punishment. CAATSA sanctions were never imposed. A precedent was set: India could pursue its own calculus, even when it wasn’t made in America.

But the gamble was never only about foreign policy. It was about confronting a decades-long reluctance within India’s own defence establishment to invest in modernisation at scale. Several governments in the past had taken a snail’s-pace approach to modernising India’s defence forces—tethered more to caution than to capability. On one occasion, former Defence Minister A.K. Antony even admitted in Parliament that the country lacked the funds to pursue urgently needed military upgrades, underlining just how deeply budgetary conservatism had shaped strategic hesitation. Under Antony, who served from 2006 to 2014, the Ministry of Defence was a monument to caution. Contracts were deferred, cancelled, or mired in allegations. Big-ticket acquisitions were slowed by internal fear: of corruption, of overreach, of press scandal.

By the time India faced the Doklam standoff in 2017, this caution had real costs. Air defence systems were outdated. The Army still relied on BMP-2 vehicles procured in the 1980s. The Indian Air Force’s sanctioned squadron strength of 42 had fallen below 30. Night-vision capabilities were thin. Ammunition reserves were low.

The S-400 ruptured that rhythm. It was not just a weapon, but a turning point—a leapfrog over paralysis. Unlike incremental upgrades or local stopgaps, the Triumf system altered India’s deterrence vocabulary. Placed strategically along the western and northern frontiers it now allowed India to construct a multi-layered air defence net. One that could track, prioritise, and intercept threats in real time, across atmospheric bands.

And the S-400 did not arrive alone. It plugged into an ecosystem that had been quietly diversifying. Over the last decade, India has acquired Rafale jets from France, Heron drones from Israel, Apache helicopters and P-8I reconnaissance aircraft from the US and Scorpène-class submarines from France. More significantly, DRDO’s Akash surface-to-air missile system, Astra beyond-visual-range air-to-air missiles, and the upcoming MR-SAM (a joint venture with Israel) are all part of a layered matrix that now looks far more Indian—and far more independent—than ever before.

That logic of pluralism—of no single supplier, no single doctrine—is now central to India’s security thinking. The war in Ukraine reinforced the risk of overreliance on a single military partner. Supply chains can falter. Political winds shift. What matters, increasingly, is agility—procurement that is fast, modular, and sovereign.

The S-400 fits this mindset, even if it is Russian in origin. It has forced adversaries to recalibrate. The People’s Liberation Army Air Force is said to have altered its aerial profiles near Arunachal to avoid detection zones. In diplomatic corridors, the system is now spoken of not just as hardware, but as posture—proof that India is willing to assert its priorities, regardless of who frowns.

As India moves further into the 21st century’s security thicket—with cyberwarfare, drone swarms, hypersonic missiles, and grey-zone conflicts—it will need more than the S-400. It will need more Tejas squadrons. More indigenous radar grids. More nerve. But Sudarshan marked a moment. A pivot away from procrastination. A wager on capability. And most of all, a rare alignment between intention and execution.

This strategic pivot has not gone unnoticed by markets. Amid heightened tensions with Pakistan and fresh reports of India signing additional Rafale deals, defence stocks have surged. On 9 May 2025, Hindustan Aeronautics Ltd (HAL) jumped over 5%, while Bharat Electronics Ltd (BEL) and Mazagon Dock Shipbuilders Ltd (MDL) gained 4% and 9% respectively—MDL hitting a 52-week high. Investors are betting not just on conflict, but on continuity: a long-term national commitment to indigenisation, procurement reform, and readiness.

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