Bihar Diaries Page 13

  It started drizzling on the way.

  After an hour and a half, our convoy reached Pipariya police station. The head constable and the ASI on duty were quite surprised to see so many policemen in the police station.

  ‘How far is Simri village? How are the roads?’ asked Kumar Sir. The ASI was in his lungi and vest. The poor guy must have just gone to sleep after a tiring day. He was about to run off to change his clothes but I stopped him.

  ‘Don’t waste our time. Quickly, give us a guide to take us to Simri.’

  The ASI knew that some big operation was being launched against an important criminal. Otherwise, a DIG-rank officer wouldn’t be standing in his police station so late at night, with so many armed jawans.

  The ASI called the chowkidar and directed him to escort us to Simri village. The chowkidar is a typical low-wage employee of the government. He is supposed to be the eyes and ears of the police. During the Raj, it was quite an important post, despite being low in the hierarchy. But over time, the authority of the chowkidar has dwindled to almost nothing. Nobody bothered about him here, neither the villagers nor the policemen. He was reduced to doing menial work in the police station.

  Our chowkidar was an emaciated, gaunt, middle-aged man, which made his eyes protrude even more. It was obvious that he was having a bad time financially. Often, chowkidars would get their salaries quite late in those days, sometimes even three months after the due date. Things are much better now as the government has ensured online disbursement of salaries.

  ‘So you know Simri village? We have to get there in the shortest possible time.’

  The chowkidar looked at Kumar Sir with a blank expression, unable to muster any excitement for the late-night adventure.

  ‘Arre, sir, I will take you there by boat. We will reach in half an hour. We just have to cross the Kiul river. Us paar hi toh jaana hai (We just have to go to the other bank).’

  ‘Okay, then I think we will require two boats for our men.’

  I started to feel excited. I always yearn for adventure. The thought of crossing a river by boat, that too at night, was quite an interesting proposition!

  The banks of the Kiul, a tributary of the Ganges, were quite close to the police station. The ASI hailed two mallahs or boatmen. Rudely woken from their sleep, the mallahs showed little interest in taking us across.

  ‘Bhaiyya, kitna loge (Bhaiyya, how much will you charge)? Don’t worry, we will pay you handsomely,’ said Kumar Sir.

  The mallahs were pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Huzoor, we’ll take you for free. You do so much for the public. Can’t we do even this much for you?’

  All of us smiled, humbled by the lovely gesture.

  The boatmen readied the boats and removed the anchors. Now Kumar Sir assembled all the jawans and briefed them about the operation. He could not risk waiting. Simri was right across the river.

  ‘We are going after Vijay Samrat. Be very careful. You all know how dangerous he is. Also, be cautious––there should be no casualties in the crossfire. The villagers should not be harmed.’

  The police party was taken aback. Vijay Samrat! That name was enough to instil fear in anyone. After all, he had escaped from Nawada Jail after killing a policeman, killed an ex-MP in his house and was known to have murdered scores of other people. But our demeanour and steely resolve soothed the nerves of the jawans. Their body language changed.

  ‘Are you all ready? Check your weapons,’ commanded Kumar Bharat.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the banks of the Kiul reverberated with the collective shouts of the policemen. Such is the effect of inspiring leadership.

  The men quickly checked their weapons, the British vintage .303 rifle. Only our personal bodyguards had carbines. The much vilified Enfield .303 rifle is an excellent weapon for the police. Its single-action bolt mechanism ensures controlled firing, suitable for facing mobs. You don’t use an assault rifle like the AK-47 to spray bullets on a rampaging crowd. It would leave scores of people dead, something the police never wants.

  But that night, we were not facing a bunch of rioters. We were supposed to fight one of Bihar’s most feared and lethal gangs. If Vijay actually was in Simri. I still had strong doubts.

  All my excitement soon fizzled out. The Kiul was in spate, the waves striking the boats menacingly. I feared that the boats would capsize. I was a good swimmer, but swimming leisurely in the pool is entirely different from swimming in a gushing river. To top it all, it started raining heavily. I looked at Kumar Sir.

  Even if he was worried, he did not show it. He ordered all of us to get on to the boats. I also got in hesitantly, next to the keel. The mallah pushed the boat into the water. It started swaying in a dizzying way. I felt my gut clenching. All the jawans seemed frightened. We were so close to the shore, yet the boat was rocking violently. What would happen when we rowed deeper into the river?

  I got my answer the very next instant. A sudden jerk capsized the boat. I was tossed up, suspended mid-air, weightless for a fleeting moment, and then thrown into the water. Almost all the jawans lost their balance and fell into the ice-cold river. Luckily, the water was only waist-deep, or else many of us would have met our watery graves. We quickly scrambled out.

  Kumar Sir was in a state of shock. He was about to get into the other boat when he saw all of us tumble into the water. He immediately stopped the men from getting into the other boat and signalled for them to pull us out. Our uniforms and weapons were drenched. The operation was over before it could start.

  But Kumar Sir was not one to give up. He asked all of us to gather around and check our weapons.

  ‘We can’t go by boat now. Is there any other way of reaching Simri village? By road?’ he asked the chowkidar.

  I could not believe my ears. We could have died if we had been in the middle of the river. The weather was not cooperating and we were not even sure if Vijay and his gang were in Simri. Silently, I questioned Kumar Sir’s judgement. He looked at me, understanding what was going on in my mind.

  ‘Amit, we have come so close to the village. What if Vijay is actually in Simri? Will we be able to forgive ourselves if we miss him? Without even trying?’

  I did not want to argue with him, that too in front of so many jawans. The very foundation of the success of the police is following the command of your senior officer. A strict hierarchy is maintained to instil discipline. This is true for all uniformed forces. After all, if a soldier does not obey the orders of his general, how will wars be won?

  ‘Sir, ek toh aur raasta hai (Sir, there’s one more route). We will have to walk down. The road has been damaged in a number of places because of the rain,’ said the chowkidar.

  I cursed him. Could he not have kept quiet?

  Most of the jawans tied their boots together and hung them around their necks and shoulders. We folded our trousers up till our knees. All of us removed the magazines from the weapons and shook the water out of the barrels. The rifles were in working condition. On Kumar Sir’s command, we started following the chowkidar.

  The entire area was pitch-dark. It had started raining heavily. The jawans switched on their torches. Many of us slipped on the muddy tracks.

  ‘Ouch, holy shit!’ I muttered as I fell on the muddy sludge. My uniform was soaked with grime. I got to my feet. The sole of my ‘imported’ sneakers had come off. So much for an expensive brand.

  ‘How far is the village?’ asked Kumar Sir after what felt like a lifetime.

  ‘Sahib, it is close by. Bagal mein hai (It’s right here),’ replied the chowkidar. He had been repeating this one line for the last one and half hours. For a villager like the chowkidar, walking long distances on foot did not matter much, and the distance wasn’t measured in kilometres.

  Day was about to break. It had stopped raining now.

  ‘Sir, Simri village is right in front of you,’ he finally said.

  Kumar Sir and I waved at the police party. Everyone halted. We gestured to the jawans to load their
rifles. We all cocked our weapons as silently as possible. We separated into three parties to surround the village.

  We had taken just a few steps in a crouching position when we saw a few villagers walking towards us. They were carrying lotas and cans. They were going for their ablutions. We relaxed our poses. Obviously, people can’t go about doing their morning business so casually if a ganglord of Vijay’s repute is hiding in the village. The villagers were also quite shocked to see so many policemen swarming their village.

  Our adrenaline levels, which had risen, suddenly dropped. My intuition, honed by years of experience, clearly told me that there was not even one criminal in the village, let alone Vijay and his entire gang.

  Nevertheless, Kumar Sir still asked the police team to cordon off the village. He and I personally led the search party inside the village. The men and women were doing their morning chores. Some were milking the cows, while others were filling up water at the tube well. They all stopped momentarily, amused and surprised to see so many men in khaki. Our men started checking the houses, much to the indignation of the residents.

  ‘We are looking for some criminals. Please cooperate with the police,’ I said sternly.

  ‘Huzoor, nobody has come here. Ours is a sharifon ka gaon (a village of respectable people). This is the first time the police has come to our village,’ an old man told Kumar Sir. He had a look of disappointment on his face. He knew the villager was telling the truth. Life was going on as normal in the village. That would have been impossible in Vijay’s presence.

  After a while, we assembled our teams and did a headcount. The jawans checked their weapons and ammunition. We were tired now. I saw a few tractors parked outside some houses. We asked the tractor owners to drop us to the police station. Our legs did not have the energy to walk 19 kilometres, which is how far we had travelled through the night. Strange are the ways of the human body and spirit. If Vijay and gang had been in the village, we could have fought for hours and easily walked back after the encounter. The euphoria of a successful operation subdues most physical discomfort.

  On our way back, we were shocked to see scores of dead snakes on the track! The poor reptiles must have been trampled under our boots.

  We reached the police station by 10 a.m. Kumar Sir’s sombre mood clearly indicated the result of our mission. The SHO dared not ask us if we wanted chai–paani.

  Suddenly, my personal mobile phone rang. The screen flashed my friend Vipul’s name.

  ‘Amit, my friend, how are you?’

  This call was the last thing I needed at this time.

  ‘Vipul, I’m busy with an operation right now. I will call you later.’

  ‘Okay, we are at the airport. I just wanted to tell you that Pondi is going to Frankfurt to work with McKinsey. Achcha sun, we are planning to have a party before Pondi leaves India.’

  It was one of those days when I was in no mood to entertain anybody. I disconnected the phone. So Rohit Pandey was joining McKinsey. And I was out in the badlands of Bihar chasing a fugitive.

  Once again, the image of Ram Dular’s nephew flashed in front of me. Why the hell was I thinking about other people’s lives, their successes? I had chosen the IPS over an MBA or business. I reprimanded myself for thinking about such petty issues. My resolve to arrest Vijay strengthened further.

  In the car on the way home, I dozed off. Kumar Sir sat in a pensive mood.

  At home, I scrubbed my body for almost an hour. The sludge and grime seemed to have stuck to all parts of my body. But I was glad that my arthritic condition had not troubled me last night. I had some brunch and went off to sleep again. I don’t know how long I slept. I woke up to some pain in my ankle. When I half-opened my eyes, I saw the cook massaging my ankle. I immediately sprang up and moved away.

  ‘Huzoor, you must be exhausted. Thoda aapka deh dabaa dete (I just thought I must massage your body),’ Girish, my cook, said earnestly.

  I was already least impressed with his culinary expertise. He could hardly make an omelette properly, and now he was trying to twist my body into seemingly impossible angles. Getting my body massaged by my pot-bellied cook was surely a recipe for disaster.

  I called on Kumar Sir in the evening.

  ‘Amit, I also had my doubts about last night’s operation. But we must keep trying. Vijay will definitely get news of the raid. It will keep him on edge. We must not let him relax.’

  In a way, he was right. Old-fashioned policing was still relevant in the time of mobile phones and computers. Moreover, by leading the operation himself, Kumar Sir had shown the seriousness of his resolve. He had shown exemplary leadership. The top leadership of the police, particularly officers who lay down their lives fighting Naxalites and terrorists, often remain unsung. We must always remember the bravery of officers like Hemant Karkare, Ashok Kamte and Pradeep Sharma, who died fighting for our country.

  ‘Sir, I have to teach that rogue Manish a lesson. He took us for a ride, literally,’ I said.

  Finally, Kumar Sir smiled.

  ‘Forget him, Amit. He just wanted some easy money. We are cheated by so many people. It’s part and parcel of our profession.’

  I was not as large-hearted as Kumar Sir, however. I made a note of his name and offence in a corner of my mind. Right next to Rajesh Charan.

  21

  The Headbutt

  9 July 2006

  It was the final of the World Cup. Italy was facing France.

  The cable transmission would often stop during the very frequent power cuts in Shekhpura. I did not want to miss the match, so I specially sent a few litres of diesel to the cable-wallah.

  ‘Come what may, don’t disrupt the cable connection today. Switch on the generator. There is an important match,’ I commanded him.

  There was frenzy in the Berlin stadium. We could feel the excitement as we watched the live telecast on our TV. Kumar Sir had also joined us.

  ‘Jaldi aao, Zinedine Zidane has headbutted the Italian defender. There is total chaos on the football field!’ shouted Tanu, banging on the door.

  That was the infamous headbutt that is engraved in the memory of all football fans. Marco Materazzi, the Italian player, had said some nasty things about Zidane’s sister. Unable to control his anger, Zinedine Zidane had hit Marco hard. Not only did Zidane, the most celebrated player of that time, lose his head, he lost the World Cup too. He was shown the red card. France lost the match to Italy 5–3 in the penalty shoot-out. While this pandemonium was happening in Berlin, I was in the bathroom and one of my mobile phones was ringing.

  I rushed out and instinctively picked up the phone, ignoring the madness happening on TV. It was Shanti Devi calling someone.

  ‘Haan, note kar liye address?’ said Shanti.

  She had just given her address to someone. I had been listening to thousands of useless calls for the last thirty-five days, my ears ringing constantly from doing so for hours. I had been waiting for this one important conversation that would give me Horlicks’s or Vijay’s location. And now I had missed that vital clue by a few seconds. Since the call recording started only after I received a call, the initial part of the conversation could not be recorded either.

  ‘Oh God, please don’t be so cruel,’ I prayed.

  My prayers were answered immediately. The person who had called Shanti spoke again.

  ‘Bhabhi, I have noted the house number but missed the colony’s name. Can you repeat it?’

  ‘Satsang Nagar Colony. Kar liya note?’ said Shanti.

  ‘Haan. Theek hai, Bhabhi. Pranaam.’

  I jumped with delight, as if I had won some lottery and all my stock market losses had turned to profits. I controlled my urge to detain the person with whom Shanti had spoken. That would have certainly alerted her. Anyway, I had to wait till Horlicks himself reached the house. I immediately called Ranjan to my house. I asked him to get Raju and Krishna too. Tanu and Kumar Sir wondered what was making me so happy.

  Ajit came in and told me of Ranjan’s
arrival. I hurried out to the veranda.

  ‘Ranjan, Shanti Devi is living in Satsang Nagar Colony, Deoghar. You have to go there to find her. Raju and Krishna, you have to go along with Ranjan.’

  ‘Sir, how will we find her?’ asked Ranjan.

  ‘See, Satsang Nagar Colony must be a small area. Ranjan, Raju and Krishna, all of you know Shanti Devi by face. Every colony has a subzi mandi. She will definitely come to buy vegetables. The moment you see her, follow her. Don’t arrest her. I repeat, don’t arrest her. Remember, our target is Horlicks.’

  ‘But, sir, how will we find her in the subzi mandi? We cannot keep sitting in a vegetable market all day,’ interjected Krishna.

  ‘Good question. That is exactly what you will do. All of you will pose as vegetable sellers and sit in the subzi mandi. Your disguise will also prevent Shanti Devi from recognizing you, if at all she knows you by face.’

  All three of them had shock written all over their faces.

  ‘Sir, you can’t be serious,’ they said in unison.

  They knew their protest would have no effect on me. A resigned Ranjan asked me, ‘Sir, aaj ka din thoda ashubh hai (Sir, today is not an auspicious day). Can we not go on Tuesday?’

  I just looked at him and arched my eyebrows. I thought I would have the same effect as Aamir Khan had on his subordinate police officer when he asks a similar question in the super-hit movie Sarfarosh. Alas, I was no Aamir Khan. They just looked back at me expectantly.

  ‘No, every day is good for the police. Don’t believe in these faaltu (useless) superstitions. You will leave right now,’ I said angrily.

  Ranjan flirted with the idea of staying in a hotel overnight on the way to Deoghar so that he could move on a more auspicious day, but remembering my anger, decided against it.

  22

  Beauty Kumari

  ‘Sir, a girl called today while you were in the office. In fact, she has been calling for the past one week,’ my telephone operator told me on my arrival from the police lines, where all the constables reside and all the resources, such as vehicles, are kept.