Bihar Diaries Read online

  Horlicks came out and folded his hands.

  ‘Pranaam, sir,’ he said.

  That was the beauty of Bihari culture. Biharis always speak with great respect to everyone. They use ‘aap’ for everyone, even those much younger. Though Horlicks and I were almost the same age, I wondered how our paths had diverged so sharply. I wondered what goes on in the human mind to turn a regular family man into a notorious criminal.

  I got up, sized Horlicks up close and shoved him hard. He lost his balance. He started crying. It was my standard procedure when I met a hardened criminal. This was my way of showing them who the boss was.

  ‘Beta ko SP banaana hai (You dream of making your son an IPS officer). Does your son know who you are? He’ll be ashamed of you when he grows up.’

  Tears started flowing freely from Horlicks’s eyes now.

  ‘Now, tell me, where is Vijay?’

  ‘Sir, I really do not know. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t have told you.’

  Ajit picked up a lathi. I glared at Ajit. He realized his mistake.

  I had had a very bad experience once during my training days.

  Young, probationer IPS officers are posted as SHOs to understand how a police station, or thana, works. I too was posted to Bero, a remote police station in Ranchi. Just a few days after my joining, a house was looted by some criminals. I made it a matter of personal prestige to solve the case.

  ‘Sir, pakka Gaurav Sahu ne kiya hoga (Sir, it was definitely Gaurav Sahu)!’ said SI Harishankar, my trainer at the Bero police station.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Arre, sir, he has a history. Look at his crime record. He was seen loitering around the crime scene a few days ago,’ replied Harishankar.

  I tried my best to use the investigative techniques taught at the NPA, but to no avail. There was no fingerprint-lifting kit in the police lines, and even if I had picked up the fingerprints, there was no database to match them with. I did not find any other clues.

  In my desperation, I raided Gaurav Sahu’s house and found him sleeping peacefully. Naturally, he pleaded his innocence. I also had my doubts about whether he was actually involved in the loot. Sometimes, a person is branded a criminal even after one petty offence. Gaurav, a young boy, had a series of entries against his name in the police dossiers, none of them conclusive of his actual guilt.

  I interrogated him for hours, but he kept on pleading his innocence. I tried to break him mentally too. My frustration knew no bounds. But by then, Gaurav was totally exhausted and he soon fainted.

  Harishankar looked at me in horror.

  ‘Sir, yeh kya ho gaya (Sir, what has happened)?’

  ‘Sir, mar gaya kya (Sir, is he dead)?’ inquired a visibly worried Head Constable Munshi.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Harishankar.

  The entire staff of the police station vanished.

  I felt terrified as I knelt to check on Gaurav.

  ‘Oh God, don’t be so cruel,’ I pleaded fervently. I did not want my career to end even before it had started.

  I shouted for help, but none of the policemen responded.

  For some reason, Inspector Ram Singh still kept standing in front of me. He was probably too petrified to run away.

  ‘Inspector Sahib, help me. Come on,’ I commanded him.

  The inspector moved as if he was in a trance, but his help was enough for me to lift Gaurav and put him in the back of my ramshackle Gypsy.

  I drove the Gypsy as fast as I could, straight to Ranchi. On my way, I narrowly missed mowing down a child and colliding with a truck. My Gypsy bumped over the countless stupidly designed speed breakers or thokars all along the road. I didn’t care.

  ‘Paani pilao, Ram Singh (Give him water, Ram Singh)!’

  Ram Singh did not say a word. He was probably imagining himself facing serious consequences for this man collapsing on our watch.

  I kept praying throughout the one-and-a-half-hour drive to the Rajendra Medical College Hospital (RMCH), Ranchi’s best hospital. Ram Singh and I put Gaurav on a stretcher and rushed towards the emergency trauma centre.

  ‘Please, doctor, this is an emergency. This man is battling for his life. Please do something,’ I pleaded.

  The doctor, a young man, possibly an intern, was quite baffled.

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘This guy fainted when we were questioning him.’

  The doctor checked Gaurav’s vitals.

  ‘Doctor, I am an IPS officer. Please save his life. I will be grateful.’

  The young intern looked at me. I was not in my uniform. He just nodded and took Gaurav inside.

  After an hour, the doctor came out with his senior. The elderly doctor put his hand on my shoulder and spoke with great affection.

  ‘Beta, be careful in the future. You have a long career ahead.’

  I just nodded and shook his hand. I promised myself I would steer clear of even slightly intensive interrogation.

  Ajit looked threateningly at Horlicks and said, ‘Bata kahaan pe hai Vijay (Tell us where Vijay is). We will finish your entire gang.’

  The questioning continued for quite some time, but Horlicks did not give up any information. At the end of the day, I called off the interrogation.

  ‘Anuj, I am sending some more jawans from the police lines. Convert the police station into a fortress. Also keep a watch on Horlicks. He should not be allowed to cause any harm to anyone. Especially to himself.’

  28

  ‘My Son Will Become a Police Officer’

  Horlicks lay on the cold floor in the lock-up of the Chewara police station. He closed his eyes and remembered the day his life had changed forever.

  He had shut his shop early that afternoon. He had to meet the principal of Jawahar Navodaya Vidyalaya. He wanted to reach the principal’s office as early as possible, considering how difficult it had been to get an appointment.

  He was really excited that his son, Chintoo, might get admission to a good school. Being illiterate himself, he had worked hard to make sure his children didn’t lack for anything. He would often think to himself, ‘My son is so intelligent. He will fulfil all my dreams. He will become a big man, bada aadmi. He will become a policeman, an SP.’

  Born to a poor family, Horlicks was always ridiculed by others in his village because he was not educated and could barely write his name. The fact that he was slight and scrawny also meant that people did not give him a lot of respect. He was so skinny that people would say, ‘Isko Horlicks pilao (Give him some Horlicks)’. And so the name stuck. Horlicks harboured the dream of getting into the police as it was the ultimate symbol of machismo for him. He used to look at all policemen with awe, particularly the SP.

  Horlicks even appeared for the constable recruitment test for the Bihar Police.

  ‘Chalo, bhai, leave this ground. Don’t you know you have to be a matriculate at least to become a constable?’ asked the DSP in charge of recruitment.

  ‘And even if you had a PhD, we couldn’t have selected you. Your chest measurement and height do not conform to the physical requirements,’ said the sergeant major, sympathetically.

  Horlicks felt thoroughly dejected. ‘I’ll make my son a policeman, an IPS officer. He will be the boss of the district police,’ he vowed.

  The school in his village was not good enough. The Navodaya school would be a great stepping stone for Chintoo’s education.

  A little distance from the school, he heard someone say, ‘Chal, paise nikal (Come, take out your money)!’ It was Bhikhu Sharma. Two more burly guys surrounded Horlicks.

  ‘Bhikhu, please. This money is for my son’s education. Please let me go,’ pleaded Horlicks.

  Bhikhu was the village goonda. A tall, muscular guy, he towered over Horlicks.

  ‘Bhikhu Bhaiyya, I beg of you. I sold my buffalo to arrange this money. Please let me go.’

  Bhikhu slapped Horlicks hard and snatched the money bag from him. A dazed Horlicks tried to cling to the bag. He was too w
eak to offer any resistance.

  Bhikhu dragged him along. The other two goons rained punches and kicks on Horlicks.

  ‘You weakling, your son doesn’t deserve any education,’ Bhikhu said, kicking Horlicks hard in the stomach.

  All of a sudden, Horlicks shrieked and jumped on Bhikhu. Before anyone could realize what was happening, he bit down hard on Bhikhu’s ear, making him scream in pain.

  Horlicks did not stop till he had chewed off the entire earlobe. Bhikhu writhed in unbearable agony.

  The two goons could not believe that a thin, timid fellow like Horlicks could wreak such havoc. They managed to get Bhikhu up and fled.

  Horlicks picked up the bag and started moving towards the principal’s office.

  About half an hour later, Horlicks was accosted by two police constables.

  ‘Aaja, jeep mein baith ja (Come, sit in the jeep). You are under arrest for attempting to murder Bhikhu Sharma,’ said the policeman.

  ‘But, sir, I am innocent. Bhikhu was the one who attacked me,’ shouted Horlicks.

  They replied, ‘No one remains innocent after chewing off another person’s ear. We have to follow the law.’ His protests went unheeded, and he was soon put in Nawada Jail. And that is where he would meet Vijay Samrat, the terror of Nawada.

  Vijay treated Horlicks like his younger brother. Finally, there was someone who treated Horlicks with respect. It wasn’t long before he vowed to serve Vijay with absolute devotion and loyalty. After escaping from Nawada Jail, Horlicks quickly realized that he was really good with guns. He started enjoying his kills. It gave him a high.

  ‘Nobody will dare laugh at me. I am no longer weak,’ he proclaimed.

  Soon, he transformed from a meek, shy person to a dreaded killer and became Vijay’s most trusted man.

  But some questions never went away, ‘What have I done to myself? Will I be able to face my children when they learn the truth?’

  He had become an excellent sharpshooter, but failed as a father. And somewhere deep down, he desperately wanted to redeem himself.

  29

  ‘Shekhpura Police Zindabad!’

  16 July 2006

  I reached home partly happy, partly disappointed. While I had succeeded in breaking one half of the Vijay–Horlicks jodi, I was miffed that I still knew nothing about Vijay’s whereabouts. I knew Horlicks was telling the truth. He did not know Vijay’s location. We had been listening to his calls for almost forty days. Not once had he mentioned Vijay’s name.

  I switched on the TV. There was a Bollywood masala movie on one of the channels. The cop in the movie danced on screen and had a great time chasing and arresting criminals. I smirked and wished the lives of real cops could be so much fun.

  Kumar Sir reached the next day and called a press conference detailing Horlicks’s arrest. There was frenzy; my office was swarming with media persons.

  A very small place like Shekhpura had hardly any proper journalists. The press-wallahs got meagre salaries as there was nothing newsworthy in Shekhpura except the activities of Vijay’s gang. To make ends meet, most of the reporters had side businesses that ranged from running kirana shops to selling mobile phones. There were stringers too, who provided news and footage to the popular news channels for a certain price.

  The stringers had a field day at the press conference. They got their camcorders, obsolete cameras––anything that could help them record. It was not every day that news from Shekhpura made headlines all over Bihar. The stringers made good money for the news of Horlicks’s arrest.

  ‘The Shekhpura police have arrested Horlicks Samrat after a painstaking operation. Vijay’s arrest is inevitable and his gang will be annihilated. I congratulate Amit Lodha and his team on this success,’ Kumar Bharat announced to the media.

  The press wanted to ask a lot of questions. Naturally, like everyone else, they were also flummoxed. How had Horlicks been arrested? What exactly was the operation? Who all were involved in the arrest? Should the policemen not be felicitated for this stunning success?

  Kumar Sir left the office deliberately. He did not want to overshadow anyone. He knew it was our moment. More importantly, he knew that I was quite good with the press and could always use them to the advantage of the police.

  ‘Sir, who are the people involved in the arrest of Horlicks? How was the operation planned?’ were the questions thrown at me.

  ‘Sorry, I can’t reveal the names of the police personnel. It may jeopardize our mission. The operation was meticulously planned and brilliantly executed. Of course, with some inside help.’

  ‘Inside help? You mean, someone from Vijay’s gang has helped you?’ someone asked excitedly.

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that. It was just a slip of the tongue.’

  ‘Arre, nahin, sir, we will not tell anyone. Tell us the name of the person. Someone must have given you a tip-off. Otherwise the police could not have nabbed Horlicks so quickly. After all, Horlicks and Vijay have been wanted for more than five years now.’

  I had been quite sure the journalists would take the bait.

  ‘You know, it is somebody very important in the gang, someone very close to Vijay, who is helping us. We have promised him absolute clemency for his help. Please don’t publish this information. This news should not go out of this office. I know I can trust all of you.’

  ‘Yes, sir, absolutely. Hum pe bharosa rakhiye (Trust us).’

  ‘Of course, I trust you people,’ I said, smiling.

  I knew this was the first thing the journalists would tell everyone the moment they left my office. I wanted this rumour to spread quickly. The gang members would start suspecting each other. They would start looking for the mole in their group. Fear would creep into the ranks and, as a natural consequence, Vijay would become jittery. I wanted him to become paranoid.

  I knew I would succeed with my trick. Everything is fair in love and policing.

  ‘And one more announcement. Shekhpura will be liberated before 15 August. Vijay will be behind bars before Independence Day.’

  I spoke with the utmost confidence, bordering on arrogance. It was deliberate. There was pin-drop silence in the office for a moment, and then pandemonium broke out. Everyone had now been told that Vijay’s arrest was not just a possibility, it was imminent.

  After the press-wallahs left the office, there was absolute commotion outside the Shekhpura police station. People from all over the town had gathered to get a glimpse of the notorious criminal of Shekhpura, Horlicks Samrat. Everyone was gathered around in a hushed silence. When they saw him in the lock-up finally, someone had the courage to shout, ‘Shekhpura police zindabad!’

  Every policeman beamed with pride. Except Rajesh Charan. He was a worried man now.

  30

  ‘Mard Hai to Aaja!’

  Vijay’s mobile had been switched off for twenty days now. I wondered how I would get to him.

  My question was answered soon––by the man himself! My official number flashed Vijay’s name, but this time he was calling me directly.

  ‘SP saale! Tujhe ghar mein ghus ke maaroonga (I’ll enter your house and kill you)!’

  Vijay was seething with rage. He showered the choicest of abuses on me.

  ‘You bastard, Horlicks is my brother. How dare you interrogate him?’ he started yelling like a madman.

  ‘Tera baap hoon main. What will you do? Tell me your location. I will come and kill you right now. Darpok aadmi, you take pride in killing women and children. Come and fight like a man. You have met an asli mard, a real policeman,’ I replied.

  Whew! I was amazed at myself. I really enjoyed mouthing all these heavy-duty dialogues. Watching all those Bollywood potboilers had definitely rubbed off on me.

  Surprisingly, I heard Vijay sobbing. I was quite amazed that a heartless beast like him was showing emotion. It meant he was feeling vulnerable. I could not be happier.

  Vijay abused me some more and disconnected the phone. He had probably run out of expletives.

&n
bsp; I thought back to my first day in IIT Delhi. How much I had changed from a ‘fuddu’ to a fiery officer! I remembered standing outside the Nilgiri hostel with my suitcases and mattress. Two burly, uncouth-looking guys had gestured to me, ‘Abe o fachche, come here!’

  I had looked around, quite confused.

  ‘Oye fachche, we are talking to you,’ they said as they waved at me again.

  ‘Chal, intro de (Come on, introduce yourself),’ said one of them with a snide smile.

  ‘My name is Amit Lodha. I am from Jaipur. I have . . .’

  One of the guys slapped me hard on my cheek before I could complete the sentence.

  ‘Is this the way you speak to a senior? You will address us as sir. Give us your intro again.’

  ‘My name is Amit, sir.’

  I got slapped again.

  ‘So you are Amit Sir,’ shouted the seniors. This torture went on for a few minutes. I was on the verge of tears. It gave both of them a lot of sadistic pleasure.

  ‘Haven’t you met Sudhakar Sir?’ they pointed to a short, muscular bodybuilder smoking a bidi in a corner. He was absolutely naked except for a tiny red langot, a loincloth, around his groin.

  ‘Wish kar sir ko. Sudhakar Sir is the most senior student here. The course is for four years, but this is Sudhakar Sir’s sixth year. He is our guru!’

  I expected a few slaps from Sudhakar too, but he took pity on me. He just smiled and shooed me away. I found out that he had been failing continuously for the last two years. The other two rowdy seniors were brilliant students––one of them was JEE All India Rank 6!

  I really wondered if I had come to the right place. Was this what IIT was really like? The ragging for the next fifteen days was quite bad, but undoubtedly, it toughened me up.