discussing some finer aspects of the SLV-3 integration.
The vehicle was kept on the launcher in a horizontal
position. When we were moving around and examining the
readiness of the integrated hardware, I noticed the
presence of big water-ports for extinguishing fire in case of
an accident. For some reason, I felt uncomfortable at the
sight of the ports facing the SLV-3 on the launcher. I
suggested to Madhavan Nair that we could rotate the port
so that they were apart by a full 180o. This would prevent
the freak possibility of water gushing out and damaging the
rocket. To our surprise, within minutes of Madhavan Nair
getting the ports reversed, powerful water jets gushed out
of the ports. The Vehicle Safety Officer had ensured the
functioning of the fire-fighting system without realising that it
could have wrecked the entire rocket. This was a lesson in
foresight. Or did we have divine protection?
On 17 July 1980, 30 hours before the launch of the
second SLV-3, the newspapers were filled with all kinds of
predictions. One of the newspapers reported, “The Project
Director is missing and could not be contacted.” Many
reports preferred to trace the history of the first SLV3 flight,
and recalled how the third stage had failed to ignite
because of lack of fuel and the rocket had nosedived into
the ocean. Some highlighted SLV-3’s possible military
implications in terms of acquiring the capability for building
IRBMs. Some were a general prognosis of all that ailed our
country and related it to the SLV-3. I knew that the next
day’s launch was going to decide the future of the Indian
space programme. In fact, to put it simply, the eyes of the
whole nation were on us.
In the early hours of the next day, 18 July 1980—at 0803
hrs to be precise, India’s first Satellite Launch Vehicle,
SLV-3 lifted off from SHAR. At 600 seconds before take-
off, I saw the computer displaying data about stage IV
giving the required velocity to the R ohini Satellite (carried
as payload) to enter its orbit. Within the next two minutes,
Rohini was set into motion in a low earth orbit. I spoke, in
the midst of screeching decibels, the most important words
I had ever uttered in my life, “Mission Director calling all
stations. Stand by for an important announcement. All
stages performed to mission requirements. The fourth
stage apogee motor has given the required velocity to put
Rohini Satellite into orbit”. There were happy cries
everywhere. When I came out of the Block House, I was
lifted onto the shoulders of my jubilant colleagues and
carried in a procession.
The whole nation was excited. India had made its entry
into the small group of nations which possessed satellite
launch capability. Newspapers carried news of the event in
their headlines. Radio and television stations aired special
programmes. Parliament greeted the achievement with the
thumping of desks. It was both the culmination of a national
dream, and the beginning of a very important phase in our
nation’s history. Prof. Satish Dhawan, Chairman ISRO,
threw his customary guardedness to the winds and
announced that it was now well within our ability to explore
space. Prime Minister Indira Gandhi cabled her
congratulations. But the most important reaction was that of
the Indian scientific community—everybody was proud of
this hundred per cent indigenous effort.
I experienced mixed feelings. I was happy to achieve
the success which had been evading me for the past two
decades, but I was sad because the people who had
inspired me were no longer there to share my joy—my
father, my brother-in-law Jallaluddin, and Prof. Sarabhai.
The credit for the successful SLV-3 flight goes, first, to