The Navigator was Palaniswamy a seasoned campaigner. We also had two more aircrew, a signaler and an engineer.

Our aircraft was one of the few non jets in the fleet. It was good aircraft, except that the Magnetic Compass was misbehaving. It indicated 30 degrees left or right, depending on its mood, something we mere mortals could not fathom and something which several compass swings had failed to correct. In any case this was a standby, the flux gate was the main. What is more important the aircraft was due for maintenance and was to be handed over to Hindustan Aeronautics Limited at Bangalore in a few days time for overhaul. No one really bothered about a compass that misbehaved!

We left Agra early in the morning for Pune. I had promised my wife I would be home in time for Dinner. We did the two shuttles on schedule and later on that crisp and cloudless October evening, we were on our way home flying sedately at 9000 feet, 2300 rpm, 33"; MAP, mixture lean. We couldn't go any higher, we had no Oxygen. There was no conversation in the cockpit. It was cold and the cockpit heaters were on. The signaler was on morse with Delhi, the engineer was noting the engine parameters, Palani was busy with the track plot, Ranga was reading the Dash 1 (the Packet family Bible - POH for the uninitiated - a thick 200 page A4 sized tome). He was appearing for a test the next week. I was busy maintaining straight and level as the auto pilot had decided to take the day off. He was angry that some relay or some such component had not been replaced.

Above us, the night sky was beginning to come alive with the first starts. Below us darkness had set in. We called Bhopal, our last reporting point on the way to Agra, but he did not bother to reply. He had closed shop and gone home, probably having decided to celebrate Deepavali a few days earlier than the others. The Pratt and Whitney radials were purring along and there was peace and quiet. Peace and Quiet? Here I must add that most of the C-119 Packet crew are deaf and the noise created by 36 cylinders running at high power in their close proximity, did not particularly bother them or, if and when they worked, particularly affect their efficiency.

But this peace and quiet did not last long. We still had one hour to reach Agra when we heard the first murmur of discontent. The tuneful rumble of the engines was disturbed by a beat, the sound that comes when the props are out of sync.

Left engine RPM was slowly creeping up, 2300-2350 and now 2400. Ranga instinctively reached for the port pitch lever and read-adjusted the RPM to 2300. Once more we were flying as before. But knowing the wayward nature of the prop we knew the situation could and probably would – become worse. To be on the safe side, Oxygen or no Oxygen, we asked for and climbed to 11000 feet.

Our happiness was short lived, after all of 5 minutes the port engine RPM started creeping up again. Now the checklist was perfectly clear on what was to be done. Failure to maintain RPM meant that the CSU oil was leaking out and the engine had to be feathered before the entire oil leaked out. The prop lever was to be put in the feather position and nothing was to be done after that. You of course had to complete the shut down drill. Ranga knew the history of the prop failures and more important he knew his emergency drills well. In a couple of smart moves he opened (boosters emergency, mixture rich) max continuous power on the starboard engine, 2600 RPM MAP 46" and feathered the left engine. We expectantly looked at the port engine RPM. Nothing happened, but after about a minute or so as the IAS reduced from 140 kts to 110 kts, the port engine RPM started reluctantly winding down 2200, 1800, 1500 and settled down at 1200. It just refused to reduce any further. We were now flying with full right rudder and control column well bent to the right. Even then the aircraft was slowly turning to the left. Not the best way to go from one place to another! A slight reduction of power on the right engine enabled us to fly straight, but not level. We were now descending at 100 feet per minute. We quickly calculated our drift down altitude. Not very encouraging, we expected to hit the ground 50 miles short of Agra! We hoped the ISA minus conditions would enable us to make the airfield! In any case we desperately needed a diversion close by. There was only one airfield in the vicinity, Gwalior - only 20 minutes away. But those days Gwalior was a sleepy repair depot, which occasionally woke up for an air test. That done, they quickly rolled up the runway and went back to sleep. They never answered anybody unless they had a couple of months notice. After all they required time to get one man up to the ATC and another to sit on the mock up crash tender!

We yelled our plight on every available VHF and HF frequency. Delhi heard us, Madras heard us. From the four walls of his restricted abode~Bhutto, an alert man, must have heard us. But Gwalior being made of sterner stuff, would not budge. And so we pressed on towards Agra still 70 miles away, slowly descending into the darkness of a moonless night. By this time, I am told, Agra ATC was abuzz with activity. Anyone who had seen a C-119 Packet, even from distance, and was consequently an expert at handling it, had come to the ATC to advise us on how to deal with the situation. We listened carefully and ignored the advice. After all we had to come back as safely as possible! we handled the situation as we thought best. All airfield lights had been put on, two sodium flares were lit on the runway so that we could see it from a distance.