Remembering India’s WWI Soldiers: The Brave Who Rest in Jerusalem

In December 1917, British General Edmund Allenby entered Jerusalem on foot through the Jaffa Gate—a symbolic gesture of humility before the holy city. Behind this moment stood the sacrifice of thousands of Indian soldiers who fought and fell in the desert campaigns of Sinai and Palestine.

They were part of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force, a vast army drawn from across the British Empire. Among them, more than 60,000 were Indians—lancers, cavalrymen, sappers, and infantry—who had already endured the blood-soaked trenches of Gallipoli and Mesopotamia.

Their contribution was crucial to the campaign. Indian cavalry regiments formed the backbone of several decisive advances that paved the way for the liberation of Jerusalem. They charged across arid plains under Turkish fire, pushing through exhaustion and loss. Their determination became the driving force behind one of the few unambiguous victories of the Great War.

The desert tested every measure of endurance. The heat, the scarcity of water, and the long marches through dust and stone pushed even the hardiest soldiers to their limits. Yet they pressed on. Letters sent home speak not of glory, but of resilience and longing.

A soldier wrote of the desert’s endless sand, of yearning for the rains back home, and of hope for reunion. They fought not merely because they were ordered to, but because they believed in izzat—honour—and in the comrades beside them. Their courage transcended imperial allegiance; it was born of human conviction and faith.

For many, marching toward Jerusalem held spiritual meaning. Among the Indian troops were Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, and Christians—men of different faiths united by a shared ordeal. The city they entered was sacred to them all in different ways.

British officers recorded moments when Indian Muslim soldiers paused to pray upon seeing the Dome of the Rock, their eyes reflecting awe and reverence. For them, this was not just another campaign—it was a journey through the lands of prophets and saints. In that moment, the boundaries of empire dissolved into something more enduring: faith and humanity.

After the war, their story faded into the background of European remembrance. The global conflict became a narrative of the Western Front, where trenches and gas masks dominated memory. Yet the campaign in the Middle East, where Indian divisions played a decisive role, was every bit as vital.

Over 75,000 Indian soldiers died in World War I. Many were buried far from home, their graves scattered across continents. In Jerusalem, the Indian Cemetery and the memorials at Mount Scopus stand as quiet guardians of their sacrifice.

Each headstone, identical in size and shape, bears symbols of many faiths—crescent moons, crosses, Khanda swords. On some, no name appears at all—only the inscription: A Soldier of the Indian Army—Known Unto God. These words capture both anonymity and universality, the silent testimony of men who gave their lives in a foreign land.

In recent years, efforts have grown to restore the memory of these soldiers. Ceremonies in Jerusalem and Haifa have seen Indian diplomats, Israeli officials, and descendants of veterans gather to pay tribute. Prayers are recited in Hindi, Urdu, and Hebrew; wreaths are laid beneath olive trees; silence descends once again on the hillside.

These acts of remembrance are not just about military history—they are gestures of gratitude across time. They recognise that the story of the Great War is incomplete without the voices of those who came from distant, colonised lands to fight in it.

The centenary commemorations of the campaign have helped bridge historical divides, linking India and Israel through shared remembrance. The legacy of these soldiers now lives on, not just in stone, but in stories that continue to travel—like the desert wind, whispering through generations.

The story of India’s soldiers in Jerusalem reminds us that World War I was not solely Europe’s war. It was a human conflict of unprecedented scale, fought by millions from every corner of the world. These men had no personal stake in imperial ambitions, yet their courage shaped the very world that emerged from the ruins of war.

As one walks through the cemeteries of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, the stillness feels almost sacred. Beneath every headstone lies a story of endurance and belief—a soldier who crossed oceans and deserts for a cause larger than himself.

In remembering them, we reclaim a shared past. Their graves in Jerusalem are not just relics of empire; they are symbols of courage that belong to all humanity. The olive trees that shade them today stand as living witnesses to their endurance, their faith, and their forgotten glory.

One imagines that the winds sweeping over the hills of Jerusalem carry whispers in many tongues—the echoes of marching feet, of prayers said for distant homes, of songs once sung in barracks and camps. They belong to a time when men from faraway lands fought under strange flags, yet carried in their hearts the unshakable belief in honour, duty, and home.

As the world today continues to grapple with division and war, the memory of these Indian soldiers offers a quiet lesson: courage knows no borders, and remembrance has no nation. Beneath the stone and silence of Mount Scopus, the message endures—like the olive tree that bends but never breaks.

Also read: A Journey Through India’s War Memorials: History, Architecture & Legacy