In a state that prides itself on having a soldier’s family in almost every village lane, the central advisory is a reminder that for a sizeable section of the youth who had joined the forces under the Agnipath scheme, the dream of a military career comes with a four-year expiry date.


When the Union government rolled out the Agnipath recruitment scheme in 2022, the visuals were carefully curated — lean young men in combat fatigues, the Tricolour rippling behind them, a promise that India’s villages would send a new generation of warriors to the frontlines. In large parts of Haryana, where soldiering is both livelihood and identity, it looked like a modern route to an...

When the Union government rolled out the Agnipath recruitment scheme in 2022, the visuals were carefully curated — lean young men in combat fatigues, the Tricolour rippling behind them, a promise that India’s villages would send a new generation of warriors to the frontlines. In large parts of Haryana, where soldiering is both livelihood and identity, it looked like a modern route to an old aspiration: a permanent government job in uniform and the “izzat” — social respect — that comes with it.

Nineteen-year-old Dinesh (name changed on request) still remembers the day he cleared his physical and written tests for Agnipath, to be recruited as an Agniveer. A farmer’s son, his family is from Jhajjar district, a region which traces its association with the Army to the First World War — Dhakla village, now a part of Jhajjar, was home to Risaldar Badlu Singh, who was posthumously honoured with the prestigious Victoria Cross, awarded for gallantry to members of the British armed forces, for leading a charge against and capturing an enemy position in Palestine during World War I. He was fatally wounded in the attempt.

Speaking at a conference in 2018, then Haryana chief minister Manohar Lal Khattar, had reportedly said that the state’s contribution to India’s armed forces at the time was more than nine per cent, but attempts were being made to take it beyond the ten per cent mark. According to information shared in the Lok Sabha in 2022, Haryana then had the sixth-highest number of junior commissioned officers and other ranks (JCOs and ORs) in the Army. Approximately 7,000 Agniveers have reportedly joined the military since the scheme was introduced.

Recalling his selection as an Agniveer, Dinesh said, “Ghar mein dhol baja tha... Sab ne bola, ab pakki naukri wali izzat mil gayi (there were drums playing at home, everyone said, now you have the respect that comes with a permanent job).” Sweets were distributed, relatives called to congratulate.

Three years later, the mood has shifted. Now 22, and home on a two-week break for a family function, Dinesh is counting down to 2026, when his four-year stint as an Agniveer will end. The Agnipath scheme, under which Agniveers are recruited, was purportedly introduced to bring down the age profile of the armed forces by recruiting youth aged between 17.5 and 21 years. Under the regulations announced ahead of recruitments in 2022, Agniveers are recruited in below-officer-level ranks for a period of four years, with a provision to retain 25 per cent of Agniveers for an additional 15 years.

If Dinesh’s name figures in the 25 per cent who are retained, he will sign on for another 15 years and merge into the familiar arc of a regular soldier’s life. If not, he will return to Jhajjar with a one-time financial package, a set of certificates — and the question that now shadows every conversation at home: what then? “What next after 2026 is the daily conversation among all Agniveers,” he said.

His elder brother, Ashwani Kumar, says the uncertainty is already taking a quiet toll on the family.

“It’s been three years since my brother joined the Army. Not a single suitable marriage proposal has come for him yet,” he said. “As soon as people hear that he might ‘retire’ in 2026, they back off. Imagine, he’ll carry the tag of ‘retired’ at 22, with no guarantee of what comes next. Who will risk marrying their daughter to such a man?” he asked.

Ashwani points to two other boys from the same village who joined as Agniveers in the first batch. All three, he says, could be back in the village together if they don’t make it to the list of those who are retained.

“When the three families meet at the village square or in the fields, the tension is much higher now,” he added. “Earlier, we worried about whether they would get selected. Now we worry about what happens after four years.”

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This week, in a move to support ‘retired’ Agniveers, the Haryana government reportedly announced a three-to-five-year relaxation in the age limit for retired Agniveers in recruitment for Group C and Group D posts in government jobs. The state had earlier reportedly also announced reservations for Agniveers in police recruitments, hirings for forest guards and jail wardens and Group C and Group D posts that match their skill sets. The state has also approved a Haryana Agniveer Policy, 2024, to provide employment and entrepreneurship opportunities to Agniveers after the completion of their four-year stint in the armed forces.

The Central Industrial Security Force (CISF) and the Border Security Force (BSF) have also announced a 10 per cent reservation for former Agniveers in constable rank jobs.

And last month, with the approaching end of tenure for the first batch of Agniveers raising concerns about their future, the Centre wrote to state governments and private security agencies, urging that ex-Agniveers be given preference in recruitment for security jobs, citing their “disciplined military training” as a key advantage.

On paper, it adds another post-service option to the list; in practice, it has sharpened the fear that the journey from olive green to a private security uniform may be shorter than expected.

Representational image of armed forces training. File photo

Representational image of armed forces training. File photo

For a scheme that was sold as a gateway to “desh ki seva in uniform” (service to the nation in uniform), the idea that many Agniveers may end up guarding shopping malls, gated colonies or ATM kiosks has triggered unease in Haryana, a state that prides itself on having a “fauji parivar” (soldier’s family) in almost every village lane.

Colonel Virender Pal Malik (retd), who now runs a security agency in Delhi, is blunt about what the advisory means for his industry.

“The ministry’s letter is a win-win for us,” he said. “Right now, we have retired ex-servicemen on our rolls and around 10 per cent quota for civilians. Once Agniveers start coming, we can [he believed] phase out the civilian quota and take them instead. In training, discipline and demand, they will be ahead,” he said.

According to Malik, agencies that service PSUs, banks and big corporates can even match the salary expectations of former soldiers.

“Where ex-servicemen get a good package, Agniveers can be placed on the same scale,” he mused. “Clients will also feel reassured that there is a trained, soldier-type young man at the gate.”

From a purely market perspective, his reasoning is sound. Yet the very ease with which Agniveers seem to slide into the private security template is what unsettles many families. If four years in the Army culminate in a guard’s cap at a mall gate, what distinguishes the “Agniveer experiment” from an elaborate pipeline for contract security labour?

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In a village near Rohtak, 22-year-old Ritik (name changed on request), another Agniveer, is also home on a short leave. His phone pings with forwards about promised reservations in state police, possible lateral entry into Central Armed Police Forces (CAPFs) — and screenshots of the home ministry’s advisory to security agencies.

“We dreamt of becoming soldiers, not nightclub bouncers or guards,” he murmured. “But if my name doesn’t appear on the list of those being retained, I’ll have to consider whatever options are left.”

For Ritik, the worry is not just about image and status. Over the past three years, his Agniveer salary and allowances have helped his family clear part of an old loan and pay his younger sister’s college fees. In comparison, he expects most private security jobs to bring in less money, fewer benefits and far more uncertainty.

His father, a small farmer, frames it in the language of everyday trade-offs.

“We sent our son into the Army thinking the family’s status would rise,” he says. “If he had to end up in private security anyway, he could have taken a guard’s job here only. Why take so much risk?”

The lane in Rohtak where the Defence Mission Academy is located. Photo by Sat Singh

The lane in Rohtak where the Defence Mission Academy is located. Photo by Sat Singh

If the end point is the same — standing at a gate, saluting visitors — what, he asks, separates a soldier from a security guard? It is a rhetorical question, but it cuts to the heart of the discomfort many families feel with the scheme’s short-service architecture. For generations, the Army offered not just a salary but a narrative: service, sacrifice, a lifelong identity. Agnipath compresses that into four intense years and leaves the rest to the market.

Ramesh Dubey, director of Rohtak’s Mission Defence Academy, says the ripple effects of Agnipath are visible far beyond Army barracks.

“I fail to understand who has actually profited from the Agnipath scheme,” he said. “The youngsters will lose their jobs after four years. The already short-staffed Army will have fewer experienced soldiers than before. And we, coaching academies, have lost our business [because of purported dip in admissions following the introduction of the Agnipath scheme].”

According to Dubey, Rohtak once had nearly 300 Army training academies and hostels preparing youth for long-service recruitment. “Post-Agnipath, only three or four are left,” he claimed. “Even there, the number of aspirants has thinned.”

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Colonel (retd) Yogendra Singh, a longtime critic of the scheme who also hails from Jhajjar district, is even more scathing. Schemes like Agnipath, he argues, emerge from an environment “bereft of strategic thought”.

Instead of treating military manpower as a long-term national asset, he says, the government is trying to save money by creating a short-term, “use-and-throw” category of soldiers. While most democracies invest heavily in training and retaining troops, Agnipath is designed to half-train young men and then release them, weakening what he calls the covenant between soldier and state.

The result, he warns, is a downgrade of the soldier’s status and a transactional, potentially toxic, military culture — one where young men give their prime years to the forces with no guarantee of sustained institutional backing.

Addressing the media in October, Colonel (retd) Rohit Chaudhary, chairman of the All India Congress Committee’s ex-servicemen department, went further, arguing that 75 per cent of Agniveers will be pushed into low-paid roles in private security agencies once their tenure ends.

Warning that a “big disaster” was waiting in 2026 for the government, when it will have to deal with thousands of young men who have been trained with dignity and respect in the defence services, but offered little beyond a guard’s job on exit, he added, “If the government was truly committed to absorbing Agniveers into government sector jobs, it would never have written to private security agencies asking them to create space for them.”

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