Bihar Diaries
AMIT LODHA
BIHAR DIARIES
The True Story of How Bihar's Most Dangerous Criminal Was Caught
Foreword by Twinkle Khanna
PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
Ranks in the Indian Police
Foreword
Introduction
1. The Jailbreak
2. ‘What Is the Score, Uncle?’
3. The ‘Shunting’
4. The Fall
5. The Massacres
6. ‘Kursi Sab Sikha Deti Hai’
7. Copulating Lizards
8. Back to Work
9. The Making of a Butcher
10. ‘Loha Hi Lohe Ko Kaat Sakta Hai’
11. ‘Aap Suspend Ho Gaye Hain’
12. ‘You Are Eunuchs!’
13. The Cable TV Connection
14. ‘Krazy Kiya Re’
15. ‘Dekhte Hain’
16. The Traitor
17. Nature’s Call
18. Bhujia
19. ‘Bol Bam’
20. ‘Bagal Mein Hai, Huzoor’
21. The Headbutt
22. Beauty Kumari
23. ‘Aloo Le Lo’
24. ‘Suttal Hai’
25. ‘My Husband Is the “Famous” Criminal of Bihar’
26. ‘Sahib Gusal Mein Hai’
27. The Interrogation
28. ‘My Son Will Become a Police Officer’
29. ‘Shekhpura Police Zindabad!’
30. ‘Mard Hai to Aaja!’
31. ‘Jai Chamundi Maa’
32. ‘Phone Kyon Nahin Baj Raha Hai?’
33. The ‘Encounter’
34. ‘Network Nahin Aa Raha Hai’
35. ‘How Do I Turn Off the Gas?’
36. ‘You Have Won a Nokia Mobile Phone’
37. ‘Ringa Ringa Rojej’
38. ‘Jagah Mil Gayi’
39. ‘Aa Gaya Hoon Chhatt Par’
40. ‘Sir, Pakad Liya’
41. ‘Put On Your Uniform’
42. ‘Saregama’
43. The Attack on Avi
44. An Attack on the MLA
45. ‘Woh Hi Laddu Hain’
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PENGUIN BOOKS
BIHAR DIARIES
Amit Lodha is an Indian Police Service (IPS) officer presently holding the rank of inspector general of police. Over the course of his career, he has been part of a number of successful operations, including the arrest of gangsters and rescue of kidnap victims. He has been awarded the prestigious President’s Police Medal for Meritorious Service, the Police Medal for Gallantry and the Internal Security Medal for his work.
Amit enjoys playing tennis and squash, and is an ardent fan of Kishore Kumar. He regularly writes for the Times of India blog. He can be reached on Facebook and Twitter (@Ipsamitlodha7).
Advance Praise for the Book
‘India has had very few tales of valour and heroism that are both real and inspirational. Bihar Diaries is one such tale about a top cop who takes his work seriously and the cause of national service even more so. The book is anecdotal to the point of being refreshing and leaves the reader with insights that only someone at the front lines can capture. Amit’s style of writing and the way he weaves the storyline reminds one of those fine thriller writers who can leave you at the edge of your bed whilst you savour their tales.’––Suhel Seth
‘It’s more than just a thrilling cop story as it’s real and contextual. Best read at one go as it’s unputdownable.’––Ronnie Screwvala
To all the unsung heroes of our police and paramilitary forces,
the bharatkeveer.
Let us make ourselves worthy of their sacrifices.
Ranks in the Indian Police
DIRECTOR GENERAL (DG)
ADDITIONAL DIRECTOR GENERAL (ADG)
INSPECTOR GENERAL (IG)
DEPUTY INSPECTOR GENERAL (DIG)
SUPERINTENDENT OF POLICE (SP)
ASSISTANT SUPERINTENDENT OF POLICE (ASP)
DEPUTY SUPERINTENDENT OF POLICE (DSP)
INSPECTOR
SUB-INSPECTOR (SI)
ASSISTANT SUB-INSPECTOR (ASI)
SENIOR CONSTABLE/HAVALDAR
CONSTABLE
Foreword
What makes a tale truly gripping? It is a quandary that every storyteller has grappled with from time immemorial. Kurt Vonnegut, in fact, went on to graph the world’s most celebrated stories in order to understand this conundrum. One of the most popular themes, he stipulated, was ‘Man in Hole’, wherein the protagonist gets into trouble, then out of it and is thus better off for the experience. Bihar Diaries, Amit Lodha’s engrossing thriller, is an impeccable example of this particular genre with the graph zigzagging magnificently all over the paper.
The author is an IPS officer and has been the recipient of various awards and commendations, including the Police Medal for Gallantry and the Internal Security Medal. He also happens to be a family friend, and I must add, an engaging conversationalist with innumerable intriguing anecdotes.
Amit pursued a career in civil services, but he has always been a writer at heart, from being the editor of his school magazine to writing for IIT publications and, recently, the Times of India.
‘Why didn’t you write about your days in university? Then you would have also been a bestselling writer like Chetan Bhagat,’ I recall saying to him, knowing that they were both batchmates in IIT Delhi in the early nineties.
While Sameer Gehlaut, another batchmate, founded Indiabulls and Chetan penned Five Point Someone, Amit felt that his calling was to protect his fellow citizens and he joined the police force.
This journey eventually led him to moving to a dank guest house in Patna in the midst of massacres and mayhem. In the book, he calls it a very distressing experience. And he spent a large portion of his time disheartened and bemoaning the vagaries of fate. But luck, like Seneca said, is a matter of preparation meeting opportunity, and it was his time in Shekhpura that turned out to be a stroke of fortune, both in his chosen career and his vocation as it led him to this intricately detailed book.
When you read the story, you will find that it is vivid and atmospheric because the author has lived each moment, unlike the rest of us who have to often rely on second-hand research and our imaginations while writing from the safety of our armchairs.
This story following the ‘Man in Hole’ model is as much about the author finding himself at the bottom of a chasm and climbing out, as it is about catching criminals. What I also found very interesting in the book was the role his wife played in hoisting him out of various situations with her astute advice. Well, though most will not admit it, alongside every successful man there is often a woman lending him parts of her multi-tasking brain.
Amit Lodha’s absorbing account is soon going to be adapted into a motion picture, truly a triumph for any debut writer. The book does bring to mind another popular movie about a police officer based in Bihar. It starred a rather familiar gentleman and was called Rowdy Rathore. I would suggest that someone get hold of that tall actor and get him to do this chor–police tale from the same region. Let’s call the movie ‘Lucky Lodha’, and I have a feeling that we may just have another blockbuster on our hands.
Mumbai
Twinkle Khanna
June 2018
Introduction
I am fortunate to be an officer of the Indian Police Service for I find the work of a policeman the most challenging yet immensely satisfying. It is one of those rare jobs where you can see your hard work bear fruit instantly. The feeling when you help unite a mother with her kidnapped child is indescribable. Most people associate glamour with a policeman’s job, b
ut in reality, there is a lot of blood, sweat and some tears too. Losing a colleague or having your family in danger is a professional hazard we face almost every day.
As a policeman, I am expected to be someone people look up to. However, I am not perfect. I have my weaknesses and human fallibilities. I do my best to repay the trust that so many people have in me. I am not a hero who kicks open doors and beats the hell out of goons, but I stand by my principles and ethics. I do what is just and right.
In my long career, I have had a number of thrilling encounters, almost all them etched firmly in my memory. I have been very lucky to have worked in Bihar. I received a lot of love from the people of the state and my seniors during my tenure there. It was here that I came into my own.
This book deals with one particular mission, an absolutely determined chase of one of the most dreaded dons of Bihar––Vijay Samrat. Unfortunately, as the book is about to go for printing, Horlicks Samrat, his accomplice, has come out on bail. In view of the clear and present danger to my family and others involved in this mission, the names and characteristics of quite a few individuals, particularly the criminals, have been changed.
During 2006, Bihar was on the cusp of revival. The establishment believed in sushaasan, or good governance, and the results are for everyone to see. I was transferred to Shekhpura, a posting I was not exactly looking forward to. It was quite a backward district then where time seemed to stand still. For quite long. I was going through a minor professional crisis and was in no mood to serve in a mofussil town when my friends were doing exceptionally well in life.
Vijay Samrat, ably supported by Horlicks, ruled Shekhpura and the adjoining areas with an iron fist. His writ ran large; he was the ‘Gabbar Singh’ of Shekhpura. For him, a murder was just an addition to his resume, which included killing a former MP, a block development officer (BDO) and a few policemen. After experiencing the pain that Vijay had brought upon so many innocent people, I got over my trivial issues and became a man possessed with a sole aim––to bring Vijay and his gang to justice. I was lucky to have colleagues who supported me in this dangerous, high-stakes case and helped pursue these brigands relentlessly. And, of course, my wife stood beside me like a rock through this roller-coaster ride––even under grave threat to the children and herself from Vijay.
I have been as truthful as possible in narrating this story. No mission, however challenging and dangerous it is, can be without its share of funny anecdotes. There is a liberal dose of humour in this otherwise absolutely serious story about catching dreaded criminals. The book also has a lot of references to movies and sports because I enjoy both of them. I have also recounted some of my experiences from my IIT days that show my metamorphosis from a shy, meek teenager to an overconfident cop.
I would like to remind readers that this book is a work of non-fiction. The views and opinions expressed in the book are only mine and do not reflect or represent the views and opinions held by the Government of India. It is based on actual events that took place in my life and drawn from a variety of sources, including published material. It reflects my present recollection of experiences over time as truthfully as memory permits and can be verified by research. All persons within the book are actual individuals, and the names and characteristics of some individuals have been changed to respect their privacy. The objective of this book is not to hurt any sentiments or be biased in favour of or against any particular person, society, gender, creed, nation or religion.
Through this book, I aim to show readers how much hard work, patience and strength of character is required to pursue a criminal like Vijay Samrat, who not only had a large posse of men to do his bidding but also well-wishers in high places. It is also with pride that I am able to talk of the work I do as an IPS officer, which brings me so much satisfaction and makes me believe that I can make a positive impact on the society I serve.
1
The Jailbreak
Nawada, 23 December 2001
A Tata 407 slowly moved towards Nawada Jail. Raushan looked at his mobile phone. It was 9.38 a.m. He had to cover another three kilometres in the next twenty minutes. He was a little ahead of schedule. He motioned for the driver to take it easy and looked back.
‘Sab bandookein dekh lena (Check all your weapons),’ he commanded the motley group of men sitting behind him in the Tata 407. All the men could have easily passed off as labourers.
Raushan picked up his AK-47 and inspected it. Shorter and lighter than traditional rifles, the Kalashnikov automatic is very easy to use because of its few moving parts. This also makes it quite durable and reliable. It can fire approximately 100 rounds per minute in bursts. The 7.62 mm cartridges do not fragment after striking the target, but remain intact even after making contact with bones. They can cause significant damage to tissues. That is why the AK-47 is favoured by most terrorists.
However, even such sophisticated guns sometimes develop technical snags during firing. There was no room for any error today. The bullets had to hit the targets in one go.
A jail is supposed to be the most secure place in a district. It is usually also the most horrifying. Nawada Jail was no different. It was a veritable purgatory where all the scoundrels of the district were lodged. The compound was overcrowded; the almost 1100 inmates far outnumbered the jail’s capacity. The cells were dingy, squalid and had very poor ventilation. The kitchen was right next to the common toilets. A nauseating smell would emanate from the often overflowing toilet waste. It seemed as if some depraved architect did not want the inmates to even eat without escaping that terrible stench. Yet, life went on. One can only marvel at the great adaptability of the human body and mind in such situations.
Contrary to popular belief, the district police do not usually guard the jail. There is a separate jail guard for that purpose. The people who make up this jail guard are the poor cousins of the district police in terms of training and equipment.
In 2001, the Nawada Jail administration was terribly understaffed. There were just four or five unarmed administrative staff––including the warder, jamadar and bada jamadar––and about four or five jail guards. The jail superintendent would inspect the jail every day after 11 a.m. At that time, the jailer and assistant jailer would make sure the prisoners under trial appeared in court. Some of the jail staff also allowed inmates to meet their relatives––at a price, of course. Some prisoners who were in the good books of the jail administration were often given the task of ‘monitoring’ the visits or mulaaqats. It was a win-win situation for everyone. The money was distributed almost equally among the conniving jail staff. The prisoners who acted as ‘monitors’ also got some money sometimes. And there was no one to check them.
Twenty-third December 2001 was another cold and depressing morning in Nawada Jail. A lone jail guard was sitting on top of the observation tower, which was about 30 feet high. With deft movements of his palms, he prepared his khaini, the local tobacco, and packed it around the gums, exposing his dirty yellow teeth. There was nothing better to do.
In the courtyard below, a warder was moving towards the jailer’s chamber. His daily responsibility of lining up all the inmates for a headcount was quite monotonous, but had its benefits. He could make a decent collection every day from all the visitors and the prisoners for various favours. These ranged from allowing pornographic magazines inside to letting home-cooked food be delivered to an inmate. Different rates were fixed for different things. The rates were always quite high, but negotiable if the prisoner belonged to the same community as the conniving jail staff. The jail staff somehow always managed to fulfil all the eclectic demands of the inmates. Some ‘bahubalis’, or strongmen, even had desert coolers in their cells. The VIPs were obviously the most privileged lot. With just one medical report, they could be in hospital, enjoying all manner of luxuries for months on end in their air-conditioned wards.
Vijay Samrat stretched his arms and yawned. He heard rumbling sounds from the nearby hills. Illegal mining was a routine act
ivity in those hills, literally a stone’s throw away from the jail premises. He surveyed the jail compound, the huge courtyard and the crumbling ramparts. He liked the place. After all, the jail administration treated him like a king. He believed he had earned it.
All the inmates roamed around the compound, mingling freely with each other. The next headcount would be at 2 p.m. Vijay’s eyes sought out his best buddy, Horlicks Samrat. Horlicks was a small, frail man, a first-time resident of the Nawada Jail. But à la Satya of the eponymous, iconic movie, he had greatly impressed Vijay Samrat.
‘You are destined for bigger things, my brother,’ Vijay had proclaimed in many conversations. The two criminals had got extremely close to each other during the time spent together being locked up. Even Vijay’s aides in jail realized that he couldn’t stop raving about Horlicks Samrat. It seemed that Horlicks too could lay down his life for Vijay without batting an eyelid. Horlicks became very loyal to him as no one else had treated him with so much respect in his life.
It was obvious to those who knew Vijay that once out of jail, Horlicks would join the gang as one of his top aides––a straight promotion to the rank of CEO for a fresh MBA graduate.
As the jail warder went through the parcels, he yelled out, ‘Horlicks Samrat, your tiffin has come from home. It seems your wife has made some delicious hilsa. Enjoy,’ handing over a tiffin box. Horlicks looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to 10 a.m. His wife had been punctual. Timing was very important for their plan.
As a concerned wife, Shanti Devi did not let her husband eat the almost inedible prison food. She would prepare the choicest of Bihari delicacies every day and deliver them for her husband and his friend, the legendary Vijay Samrat. Horlicks was not surprised by Shanti’s fascination for Vijay. She always liked powerful people, be it the SP of a district or a local don.