Media365
5 min readOct 5, 2026 07:16 AM IST
First published on: Oct 5, 2026 at 06:13 AM IST
A life in khaki is not for everyone. Even amongst those given the privilege to wear the uniform, a few stand out as the embodiment of virtues that make an ideal police officer. Trinath Mishra, a member of the 1965 batch of the Indian Police Service, who passed away on October 1, belonged to that rare category. For a generation of policemen, his name was spoken with a mixture of respect and wistfulness: Respect for what he did, wistfulness because the system he served with impeccable integrity and dedication seldom makes room for officers of his calibre.
I first met him not as an officer but as a young school boy. The introduction came through Kanhaiya Lal Gupta, his batchmate in the UP cadre, and my uncle by marriage, who passed away last year. In the company of these two men, I encountered, for the first time, policing as an idea rather than a job. They disagreed about almost everything except the one thing that mattered: Khaki is a trust, not a privilege. Mishra’s story began, in a sense, at Netarhat. He was among the first batch of a remarkable residential school there, an institution founded on the conviction that a holistic education need not be the monopoly of metropolitan elites. It instilled in him his love for austerity and a quiet sense of self-belief.
As a young SP, he served in some of the most challenging districts of UP and was an integral part of the team of officers who wiped out the scourge of dacoity in the state. In the early 1990s, he served as the director of the Special Protection Group. He was then selected to officiate as director of the CBI, and subsequently headed the Central Reserve Police Force (CRPF), holding concurrent charge of the CISF as well. Few officers of any generation have commanded so many of the institutions that hold the Indian state together. But what matters is what a man does when the coveted seat he occupies is on the line.
That test came in October 1998. As CBI director, he authorised searches on the premises of the country’s most powerful corporate house. Within weeks, he was out. Not for any impropriety, but, by every account of the time, for not having kept the political executive in the loop. There was then no fixed tenure for the CBI chief. He took this transfer as a badge of honour and moved on.
What struck me then, and strikes me more now, is that he did not nurse a grievance in public. He went on to lead the CRPF, and did that job with the same unfussy competence. Years later, as courts and governments argued over tenure protection for the CBI director, his removal was cited as Exhibit A for why it was needed. He had become, without ever seeking it, a case study in the vulnerability of honest institutions.
What did I learn from men like Trinath Mishra and Kanhaiya Lal Gupta? From Mishra, I learnt that the hardest decisions in policing are between the right thing and the safe thing, and the safe thing almost always comes with the better posting. From Gupta, I learnt that such choices must be made without self-righteousness, and their consequences borne without bitterness. Together, they taught me that institutional loyalty and personal integrity are not opposites, though many well-wishers will often try to persuade you otherwise.
The Indian police has not always been generous to its best and brightest. It rewards compliance and penalises professional integrity more often than it cares to admit. Mishra’s career is proof that one can pay the price, keep one’s dignity, and go on serving the institution that failed to protect you for doing the right thing.
He belonged to a generation who built many of the institutions we inherited, and always warned us how easily they could be hollowed out from within. Arguably, we have honoured the first half of their legacy far more faithfully than the second.
To his family, my deepest condolences. To the young officers who never knew him, I offer a small assignment: Read about the events of October 1998, and then, ask yourself honestly what you would have done in his place. That question is his parting gift to all of us who attempt to wear the uniform with pride and honour.
The writer is a serving IPS officer. Views are personal
