Chandigarh: The departure, by the end of November, of the Indian Army and Indian Navy Chiefs of Staff from their grand, historic offices in South Block will not only end the armed forces’ nearly 80-year association with one of Lutyens’ Delhi’s most imposing colonial buildings, but also bring to an end the long-running battle of attrition between the country’s military high command and a remarkably resilient adversary: marauding monkeys.General Dhiraj Seth is relocating to the newly built Shaurya Bhavan in Delhi Cantonment and Admiral Krishna Swaminathan is temporarily falling back to nearby Sena Bhavan, leaving the army of rhesus macaques, which has occupied South Block far longer than either, firmly in possession of the battlefield after decades of neutralising every attempt by the military and civic authorities to dislodge it.In this bizarre, at times highly amusing, century-long contest of wills, the offices of the Army and Navy’s senior-most officers have endured repeated raids, ambushes and incursions by hordes of rhesus macaques. This face-off dates back at least to 1926, when the secretariat buildings became operational, five years before they were formally inaugurated in 1931 along with the new imperial capital.Over this extended period, the macaques have decisively shifted the strategic and tactical advantage. Time and again, they have regrouped, exploited gaps and weak points in local defences, and reclaimed lost territory. They have also successfully foiled repeated efforts by civic officials and others, backed by the military, to dislodge and/or repatriate them.By every conceivable measure of battle damage assessment, these monkeys descended from those that traditionally inhabited the Raisina Hill forest, which was acquired by the British administration from 1894 onwards to build the Viceroy’s residence – later Rashtrapati Bhawan – and adjoining buildings of New Delhi.And, as the Army and IN chiefs ready themselves to leave South Block over the next fortnight, the monkeys can look forward to an undisturbed existence in its corridors, courtyards and colonnades they have occupied for generations.The hostilities, however, are expected to resume imminently, not only in South Block but across the road in North Block too, as both buildings are transformed into the Yuge Yugeen Bharat National Museum, billed as the world’s largest, to house rare artefacts transferred from the nearby National Museum and other cultural institutions across the country.Chief of the Naval Staff (CNS) Admiral Krishna Swaminathan, left, and Chief of the Belgian Navy Rear Admiral Tanguy Botman, at South Block Lawns, in New Delhi, November 14, 2026. Photo: PTI/Arun Sharma.But the macaques remain the undisputed victors, having outlasted the British, successive Indian governments, generations of Army and Navy chiefs, municipal eviction drives and even judicial interventions.So much so that the imposing office complex of the Army Chief, commander of the world’s third-largest military force, has long been protected by heavy steel mesh across its windows to keep the marauding animals at bay.Even generations of senior Army and naval commanders, accustomed to planning two-front operations against the collusive military partnership of China and Pakistan across some of the world’s most heavily militarised land frontiers and increasingly contested maritime theatres, have had to exercise considerable caution and ingenuity in navigating South Block’s cavernous corridors, wary of an ambush by these remarkably resourceful four-legged long-tailed occupants.Also read: Special: Modi Govt’s Plan for the ‘World’s Largest Museum’ Raises Many Red FlagsThese officers walk warily, almost tiptoeing through South Block’s imposing arches, never quite certain when a fearless macaque might emerge from the buildings’ dark recesses or sandstone façades to launch an ambush. Against such seasoned, cunning and plucky adversaries, unafraid of humans, army and naval ranks, medals and operational experience on battlefields, count for remarkably little.These animals have also been known to interrupt the solemn business of government and diplomacy, providing, on occasion, a spectacle significantly more entertaining than the prevailing matters of state.Veteran journalists, including this reporter, recall a particularly hilarious episode during a press conference held in the courtyard behind South Block in June 2002 by then US Defence Secretary, Donald Rumsfeld. The venue had been shifted to the rear of the building to accommodate the scrum of reporters covering this visit at a critical juncture in world affairs, and as Rumsfeld rumbled on about Washington’s military campaign in Afghanistan, two amorous monkeys perched on a nearby parapet embarked on some rather more pressing business and began mating, noisily.Then Minister of Defence George Fernandes (left) and Secretary of Defence Donald H. Rumsfeld conduct a joint press conference outside South Block in New Delhi on June 12, 2002. Credit: US Department of War.Almost to a person, the reporters’ assemblage pivoted around to watch the spectacle unfolding high up on South Block’s parapet, giggling and snickering among themselves and leaving the somewhat bewildered US Defence Secretary, also distracted by the sight, utterly confused on one of his first visits to India. Rumsfeld soon found himself addressing the reporters’ backs, but continued speaking unfazed in his normal laconic manner, pretending that the monkey business overhead was simply not happening.The mating monkeys, for their part, were entirely indifferent to the ongoing US-led Afghan war, and continued with their energetic activity before eventually leaping away, once done, and snarling contentedly at their thoroughly entertained human audience below.But the monkeys were not merely occasional performers for visiting dignitaries. Their antics extended well beyond such spectacles to dominate the corridors of power in South and North Blocks, turning the seat of India’s government into their playground, where no human, office, file, cupboard, or lunch box was safe.Senior officials arriving at their offices in the morning have been known to discover, to their horror, that the monkeys had been there the night before, rifling indiscriminately through important files and leaving behind a trail of torn documents and general disorder, as if they had conducted their special overnight audit of government business.Also read: In Defence of the Humble BicycleSuch a reign of monkey terror was by no means confined to the two secretariat buildings. It extended to nearby Rashtrapati Bhavan and vast swathes of adjoining Lutyens’ Delhi, where public buildings and countless official residences, including those of the Prime Minister, other Cabinet ministers and senior civilian and military officials, all had to contend with the marauding animals.Women were particularly vulnerable, with monkeys snatching food from them as they walked through North and South Blocks, rummaging through their handbags and chasing them, seemingly relishing the panic and commotion they caused.Furthermore, the monkeys made no distinction between the three armed services, having established themselves, equally dominatingly, at the nearby Indian Air Force (IAF) headquarters at Vayu Bhawan. The monkey menace became so troublesome some years ago that officials deployed a langur, rather grandly named Rambo, to patrol the premises and scare off the smaller macaques, which instinctively fear their larger cousins.The tactic worked, but only briefly, as once Rambo left, the macaques returned, turning the operation into merely a temporary reprieve.Meanwhile, a wide cross-section of officials from the New Delhi Municipal Council (NDMC), forest and wildlife personnel, in-house security staff and an assortment of hired monkey-catchers have, from time to time, been pressed into service, resorting to a bewildering variety of strategies to keep the simians at bay, but without finding a lasting answer.Trapping them has proved difficult, if not impossible, while killing them is simply unthinkable, given Hindu religious sentiments associating monkeys with Hanuman. Langurs, firecrackers and even catapults have intermittently been pressed into service to drive them out, but the macaques merely fall back temporarily, reorganise and launch fresh incursions as soon as the threat has receded.The judicial route, involving the capture and relocation of macaques to designated forest sanctuaries, has proven equally unsuccessful. A 2007 Delhi high court order directing their transfer to the Asola-Bhatti Wildlife Sanctuary, on Delhi’s outskirts, with 15-foot boundary walls to prevent their return, too achieved little or nothing.A subsequent proposal to move some 300 captured monkeys to Madhya Pradesh collapsed amid inter-governmental wrangling, while a corresponding centrally-funded sterilisation programme remained still-born.Another, decidedly whacky anti-monkey initiative was launched in 2014, soon after the BJP-led government took office. Unable to deploy live langurs because of wildlife protection provisions, the NDMC turned to human substitutes, recruiting 40-odd young men to impersonate the animals and frighten away marauding macaques from Lutyens’ Delhi’s VVIP zone. This measure was prompted in part by complaints from newly elected MPs who were unable to move into their allotted government houses because of the monkey problem.The original parliamentary announcement of this scheme by then Urban Development Minister M. Venkaiah Naidu suggested that the men would disguise themselves as langurs, but the reality was less elaborate: they were trained to mimic the langurs’ distinctive calls, emit loud screeches and make threatening gestures, sometimes brandishing slingshots as a force multiplier to their efforts.Understandably, such a comic experiment had its limitations. The monkeys they were meant to deter would retreat temporarily when confronted by these ‘human langurs’ and their blood-curdling impersonations, only to return once they had moved on.So, with the Army and Navy chiefs gone, the resident monkeys can look forward to an undisturbed existence in the corridors and courtyards they have occupied since the Secretariat buildings became operational. They have seen off every conceivable countermeasure to dislodge them and secured permanent tenure, confirming the old adage that in India’s corridors of power, monkeys are impossible to dislodge.