As Hindu chaplain to the British Army since 2005, one of Acharya Krishan Kant Attri’s most crucial tools is the Bhagavad Gita.

“I use it all the time,” says the 45-year-old pandit, or Hindu priest. When Hindu recruits bound for Iraq or Afghanistan come to him, worried about going to a war zone and the risks of not returning home, he turns to the Sanskrit text, the portion of the Mahabharata epic in which the god Krishna counsels the hero Arjuna just before battle. It is the famous second chapter that is most trenchant for young British Hindu soldiers, says Attri: “Arjuna is concerned about going to fight, and Krishna tells him ‘You are not a killing machine. You are just doing your duty, and should leave the rest to almighty God’.”

In whichever of his eight languages Attri uses to counsel the soldier, the message is the same: “I tell them, ‘God has given you an opportunity to protect your country and maintain peace in the world’. They need to know they are not killing anybody but just performing a duty.”

When Attri was interviewed at the Ministry of Defence for the job of Britain’s first Hindu chaplain, he was asked what he would say if a soldier did not want to go to war.

Hindu teachings, he responded, offer good guidance: “Duty is our priority. It’s our karma, and we have to face it.” Hindu teachings have armed most of the soldiers he counsels with resolve. “They know they’ve undertaken a contract to look after the boundary walls of the country.”

For Attri himself, the chance to be in charge of the spiritual guidance of the 470 Hindus in the Armed Forces, is “a dream come true”. He performs army weddings, supports soldiers and their families, and acts as a liaison between Hindu troops and their commanding officers, explaining small but symbolically charged issues: why Hindu soldiers want to wear rakhi, or symbolic red strings, around their wrists, or why strict vegetarians do not want to use spoons that have touched meat at meals. He has also gone to Nepal to select chaplains for the Gurkhas, and this spring will visit troops in Afghanistan. “I want to see what the soldiers go through, to help me advise them and support the families left behind.”

The son of a Brahmin sweet-shop owner in Kasauli, in the north Indian state of Himachal Pradesh, Attri came to Britain as a 22-year old priest to serve at the Hindu temple in Newcastle upon Tyne. He arrived in Britain with no English, no Britain-based relatives or friends, flying into Heathrow on a dull February day in 1986, armed with a small suitcase full of his student awards, the Vedas, and a few books on rituals. He spent nearly two decades at the temple, teaching not just Hindu texts, but music and Indian languages.

Twenty-two years after his arrival, both the Hindu community and Attri have found success. A third of Britain’s 550,000-odd Hindus are in professional or senior management positions, British rich lists are peppered with Hindu names; Hindu organisations have created a community remarkable in its self-sufficiency and Hindus have a presence in British institutions: Lord Krishna’s birthday has been celebrated in the Members’ Dining Room at the House of Commons. “Religions are to unite, not to divide,” Attri says. “Our tradition says ‘intermingle with other communities, don’t create problems, and don’t try to impose your own belief on others’.”

Some would argue that Britain’s Hindus have been victims of their own success. The spotlight on the Muslim communities during the post-9/11 era has meant that mainstream Britain has tended to overlook Hindu communities. At a conference organised by Hindu organisations and the Metropolitan Police last year, Sir Ian Blair conceded to “a feeling in the Hindu community that we have not given them as much attention as other groups”. A 2006 Runnymede Trust report on Britain’s Hindus opened thus: “British Hindus form the third-largest faith-based community in Britain yet we know remarkably little about them, their needs or experiences.”

“We adapt,” shrugs Attri. He wears a neat blue suit, reserving his pandit’s robes for ceremonies — “You can’t survive in these costumes here, due to the weather. And when you’re out shopping, you’ll look different”.

The few Hindus he has seen tempted by Hindu extremism, he says, have been dealt with at “a grass roots-level, through community and temple leaders”. India’s multi-faith history has served them well: “We don’t expect society to change for us. You adapt to the environment around you, and respect your neighbours.”

Attri’s own life has seen a move from an intensely Hindu environment to multifaith Britain. Aged 8 he was sent off to a “gurukool”, or Hindu monastery, where he was banned from bringing belongings from home, and forbidden to eat with his family or visit them much. He spent his time learning the Hindu scriptures by heart, and studying the tabla and harmonium.

“It was a tough experience,” he concedes. “But now I can see the sweetness of it.” In the dog-eared album he has brought to the interview are grainy black-and-white photographs of Attri as a young boy, onstage with elders playing tabla, then as a youth at the University of the Punjab, sporting the requisite 1970s David Cassidy hairstyle, hoisting trophies and making speeches.

The self-discipline he honed at the gurukool persists. To prepare for his MoD interview, he took up running. Now a keen marathon runner, he raises money for Barnardo’s and other charities, and proudly displays photographs of himself crossing finish lines at the London, New York and Boston marathons. “We are part of this British community and we want to be recognised,” he says, flipping through his album. “We’re a hard-working society, and we want to prove it.”