Veerappan: Chasing the Brigand

by K. Vijay Kumar

  Staging a successful ambush requires long hours of waiting in silence. But in the back of beyond, it can start to get on your nerves.

  Ananjeya sighed softly and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

  He winced as his stomach rumbled again. He squinted in the direction of the bivouac. Everyone seemed to be sleeping soundly. ‘It’ll take just a few minutes,’ he thought. ‘No point waking up anyone.’ He grabbed a bottle of water and moved 10 metres away.

  A few minutes later, Constable Suresh woke up with a start. He had been on sentry duty before Ananjeya, and had happily relinquished charge to him. But he slept fitfully.

  Groggily, he looked for Ananjeya. Nobody there!

  A lone owl’s hoot and the croaking of frogs only disoriented him further.

  A jolt of panic ran through him. What had happened? Why wasn’t Ananjeya at his post? Had he been attacked and taken out silently? Could an enemy be surreptitiously creeping up on them even as they lay there?

  As these fevered thoughts ran through Suresh’s mind, he heard two vague sounds—something splashing to the ground, followed by steps. ‘Something or someone?’ he wondered.

  Suresh remembered the way they would ensure that no one would creep in through the sentry’s blind spot. They would carefully lay some flat stones, tiles and flakes, and make a carpet of dry leaves and barks over it. Even a mouse couldn’t enter the zone unchallenged. That was where the sound was coming from.

  Then there was silence, followed once again by the sound of footsteps.

  Suresh knew by now that he was not imagining things. This was for real. Something or someone was moving close by.

  Pushing his sheet noiselessly aside, Suresh grabbed his AK-47 and stood up. He focused his vision on the ambient light, a little off the banyan tree. Again, he heard a rustle. Then a silhouette appeared.

  Suresh tensed. Not just his life but those of the other two men sleeping beside him were potentially in danger. He eased his gun’s slide from the safety position.

  ‘Yaar nee (Who are you)?’ he shouted, his voice barely recognizable even to himself.

  Having relieved himself, Ananjeya was feeling slightly better. Unaware that the days of vigil for Veerappan and the time of the night had frayed Suresh’s nerves, he chose to ignore the question and moved forward.

  ‘Enemy,’ thought Suresh. ‘He’s coming for us.’

  Even as his mind was completing the thought, his finger pressed the trigger. Seventeen bullets ripped through Ananjeya’s torso from a distance of barely 5 metres. He collapsed to the ground, blood pouring out from his multiple wounds.

  His mouth stuffed with betel leaves and areca nuts, he replied with difficulty through the haze of pain, ‘Dei suttuteiyada (You’ve shot me).’

  Suresh froze.

  The horror of his action hit him with sickening force. He threw down his weapon and ran towards Ananjeya, weeping inconsolably. The other two men, who had woken up at the sound of fire, were shocked by the sight. They rushed up to Ananjeya, who was, ironically, consoling Suresh. ‘Parava illay (Don’t worry),’ he said, as he lay cradled in his buddy’s arms. Then he muttered his sister’s name twice, and added, ‘Take care of her.’

  Those were Ananjeya’s last words.

  Hussain said that the policemen with Suresh reported that even as Ananjeya’s body stilled, Suresh lunged for his gun and tried to place it in his mouth. The two of them grabbed him and wrested the weapon away.

  ‘Give me the gun. I can’t live with myself,’ Suresh had pleaded, they said. His comrades held him close as sobs racked his body. Finally, when he was completely drained, they released him. Between the two of them, they carried four guns on their grim journey back. Their own, as well as those of Ananjeya and Suresh. They also made sure that Suresh walked in front of them at all times, well within their line of sight.

  Hussain said that Suresh’s peers and senior officers had counselled him extensively. ‘It’s not your fault,’ they said. ‘It could have happened to anybody. Stay on and redeem yourself,’ they advised. But there were just too many memories that tormented Suresh. The STF camouflage, the haversack, the green sheets, the camps—everything reminded him of Ananjeya Kumar and that ghastly night. Finally, unable to take it any more, he quit the STF.

  Hussain said that Veerappan’s man confessed that three days later, Veerappan and his gang crossed the site. Veerappan remarked as he glanced back, ‘Dei avangalukkullei ingeydan suttukittangalam. Nallududaan (It seems they shot at each other here. Good for us).’

  14

  Hillside Ambush

  August 2001

  ‘Easy, boys, I have something for all of you,’ Mohan Nawaz laughed, as the four stray dogs gathered excitedly around him, their tails wagging furiously, at the Asanur STF camp. Then, he turned to me. ‘Sir, may I present Tiger, Kaiser, Rocky and Rambo,’ he said, pointing out each one.

  ‘You seem to be very fond of them.’ I smiled.

  ‘I’ve named them after the ones who saved my life,’ he said, turning serious. ‘My best guards ever. We only found out later that they had helped thwart a well-planned attack by Veerappan. We would not have stood a chance had it not been for my four.’

  His eyes misted as he recalled the way the four had bravely fought a leopard that had strayed near the present camp and met with a tragic end soon after. ‘They were all badly wounded. Tiger, the natural leader, died a few days later. Kaiser was the next to go. Rocky outlived them all,’ he said.

  He paused and then added that Rambo’s loss was harder to accept. ‘He started behaving erratically and was shifted to Dhimbam camp, where he began to attack Sambar deer many times his size and other smaller animals. The forest guys complained. A written order was issued by the DG’s office that Rambo be removed at once, probably one of the few times a DG had issued an order specifically naming a dog for removal. I was worried he might be put down, so I quietly shifted him to another camp, which was quieter than Dhimbam. But he passed away there after some time,’ recalled Nawaz.

  Sensing the change in the mood of their favourite human, the four strays started whining and pawed at him, trying to cheer him up. Nawaz sighed, ‘Too bad the original four weren’t around the day Veerappan ambushed me and Tamil Sir.’

  ‘Isn’t that where we are going today?’ I asked. ‘Will you accompany me?’

  Nawaz finished feeding his dogs and joined me in my vehicle. As the jeep began the circuitous hill journey, he narrated his remarkable story.

  February 1996

  Veerappan was holed up below the western slopes of Dhimbam Hills, trying to rebuild his shattered gang. He had recruited a tribal named ‘Tupaki’ Siddan and his wife, Kumbhi. Tupaki means gun in Tamil and Siddan had acquired the nickname because he was a superb gunsmith, which proved to be advantageous to the gang.

  With Tupaki’s aid, more tribals joined his gang, rebuilding it into a force of a decent size. Emboldened, Veerappan planned another audacious attack.

  On 10 February, four stray dogs near the Asanur STF camp, where Mohan Nawaz usually stayed, began barking loudly. The sentry tensed and peered into the dark, ready to spring into action.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he called out.

  The dogs redoubled their barking. Other policemen inside the camp woke up, grabbed their guns and took up positions, but nothing was visible.

  The four dogs ran towards the trees near the camp and continued to bark frantically. Hidden in the vegetation, Veerappan grunted in frustration.

  Members of his gang said that he was furious about the element of surprise being lost. He weighed his options about still going ahead with the attack, but the risk involved had now risen dramatically. There would be no attack today. He signalled his men and they quietly filed back towards their hideout.

  ‘Wretched dogs,’ said one of them as they returned.

  The dogs in question, though not completely domesticated, had saved the lives of several policemen. The men in the camp used to toss them food every now
and then, and a bond had developed between the humans and animals. That day, the generosity shown by the men had been repaid many times over.

  But Veerappan was determined to get even with Nawaz. Over the years, he had developed a visceral hatred for Nawaz, owing to all the damage—real and imagined—the officer had inflicted upon him by his relentless raids. In some ways, Nawaz had become a symbol of all the slights and pitfalls that Veerappan had faced in his long years evading the law.

  To that effect, he decided to use the local populace and human greed to his advantage. Veerappan began to spread rumours that a single-tusked elephant had been spotted near a village called Balapadugai.

  Lured by the prospect of procuring ivory, several villagers went to the area. They were accosted by Veerappan’s gang and forced to join him. Most of the men were used for sentry duty or to perform menial jobs, but a few of them had muzzle-loaders—and were ready and willing to use them.

  Manpower in place, Veerappan then staked out a spot on the Dhimbam–Germalam road, which is narrow and winds uphill. He stationed men on either side to trap anyone driving through right in the middle. He was so anxious to ensure a favourable outcome that he even visited a local astrologer who gave him a copper plate with triangles, squares and half-circles etched on it. It resembled a CD. Veerappan was instructed to sit on it as he waited for his prey.

  It was a long wait, his surrendered gang members told the police later. Six days went by. On the seventh, Veerappan had almost decided to pack up and try another ambush site when one of his lookouts wolf-whistled. A chorus followed. Nawaz’s vehicle was on its way. Its distinct green colour could be made out from miles away.

  On most days, Mohan Nawaz would have been seated in the front, next to the driver. But that day, he was giving a ride to Tamil Selvan, then SP, STF. Driver Elangovan, Constable Raghupaty, Head Constable Selvaraj and Sub-Inspector Loyola Ignatius also accompanied them.

  As per service protocol, the senior officer is given the front seat. Therefore, Nawaz sat behind the driver. Tamil Selvan and Nawaz were catching up on various ops when the vehicle started climbing uphill. The engine struggled up the gradient, wheezing so much that Nawaz was unable to hear Tamil Selvan. He gestured to Selvaraj and they exchanged positions. Now Nawaz was right behind Tamil Selvan.

  Within an instant, shots rang out from above as well as from the right of the road. Selvaraj was killed instantly.

  But the occupants of the jeep were well trained to respond to such an ambush, thanks to constant harangues by Nawaz, who had always felt uneasy every time he crossed that spot. Despite being wounded, Elangovan immediately halted the jeep next to the mountain.

  The men waiting to ambush them swore. Their view was now obstructed by overhanging rocks. They were denied a clear line of fire by the driver’s sudden manoeuvre. Meanwhile, the jeep itself provided some cover to Nawaz and the others, who were now crouched between the vehicle and the mountain.

  Still, the situation was dire. A bullet had pierced SI Loyola Ignatius’s skull and knocked him unconscious. Owing to its delicate position, the bullet has never been surgically removed. It remains in his skull even today, though it has shifted position over the years.

  Tamil Selvan was hit on the left hand, but rolled under the jeep and began firing with his AK that he had kept cocked and ready, as usual. Raghupaty also opened fire.

  Hit by shrapnel on the right side of his head, left shoulder and the left of his nose, Nawaz saw some men running downhill. He rolled under the jeep, came out on the other side and started following them. But the incline was steeper than he had expected and he slipped, rolling over and over till he slammed into a rock. The shock jarred his AK-47 out of his hand. Desperately, he fumbled for it. A wave of relief flooded through him as his hand closed around the familiar grip.

  With effort, Nawaz got up. He found himself staring straight at a startled Veerappan and a few of his men. Veerappan was holding his SLR and a muzzle-loader. Nawaz, who by now had no strength left to hold the AK-47, propped it up against the rock. Blood and sweat pouring down his face, yelling at the top of his lungs and looking like a demon straight out of a nightmare, he opened fire.

  The bullets went haywire. An unnerved Veerappan and his men scrambled away hastily. It is entirely possible that Veerappan didn’t recognize Nawaz, otherwise he would have almost certainly tried to finish him off that day.

  Nawaz slumped back to the ground, completely drained. He could feel his consciousness flickering. ‘Losing too much blood,’ he thought grimly. He cupped some of the blood streaming down his face and drank it, even though he knew that it was rather desperate.

  ‘The gang might circle around and come back. They like to loot ambushed vehicles,’ Nawaz thought. ‘I don’t even know what’s happened up there. They might all be dead. I should go uphill to the other side. I’ll be able to keep an eye on the vehicle from there.’ He began crawling uphill, slowly and painfully. About halfway, his battered body gave up and refused to move.

  ‘I’m done,’ thought Nawaz. ‘But I can’t let myself be taken prisoner by Veerappan. He’ll kill me in the most agonizing, humiliating way possible when he finds out who I am.’

  Drawing on all his willpower, Nawaz forced himself into a sitting position and propped himself up against a tree. Then, he took his AK-47 and put it under his chin, with the finger on the trigger. He waited, falling in and out of consciousness.

  The sound of footsteps nearby jolted him awake. ‘I must have passed out,’ he thought. The footsteps came closer.

  ‘Mohan Nawaz. SI Mohan Nawaz,’ called out an unfamiliar voice.

  Nawaz shut his eyes, said a quick prayer and readied himself to press the trigger.

  ‘Alpha 3! Are you there, Alpha 3?’ called out another voice. Nawaz froze. Alpha 3 was his call sign. Only a fellow STF member would know that. Or was it a trick? There was only one way to find out.

  ‘I’m here,’ he croaked, keeping his finger ready on the trigger.

  Familiar STF faces burst into view. Nawaz hung on to his battered senses just long enough to ensure that he was not imagining it, then gratefully passed out.

  Later, it emerged that the unfamiliar voices belonged to members of the Karnataka STF, who had also been searching for Nawaz. Karnataka STF Inspector Jayamaruthi and his team were in the vicinity when the ambush had occurred. As soon as Jayamaruthi heard the shots, he rushed with his team to the spot. The sudden arrival of reinforcements had led Veerappan to abandon the ambush—just one of the many remarkable coincidences that day.

  I remember rushing to the hospital in Mysore where Tamil Selvan was first taken. Once stable, he was shifted to Malar Hospital in Chennai where CM Jayalalithaa met him and Nawaz. Tamil had damaged three fingers of his left hand, but made it a point to rejoin the STF as soon as he was declared fit to report for duty—a move that further raised the already high esteem in which he was held by his colleagues and men.

  As if cocking a snook at his injury, Tamil Selvan resumed wielding guns again. He even managed to improve his shooting scores.

  Veerappan, meanwhile, toned down his criminal activities. He went hyperactive releasing video tapes, which got a lot of mileage on television. He actively canvassed against Jayalalithaa in these tapes. The state elections were just three months away, and Veerappan was hell-bent on seeing the person he considered a thorn in his flesh ousted from power.

  Nawaz, however, remained on Veerappan’s trail. Skipping the home rest advised by doctors, he rebounded straight from the hospital bed to his office and was soon able to nurture a valuable informer—who would later cause Veerappan much grief.

  15

  Execution of an Informer

  August 2001

  One morning, as I scanned through the files on Veerappan and our confidential informants with Mohan Nawaz, I came across a series of photographs of a badly decomposed body.

  It appeared to have been left out in the open for a few days before the pictures were taken. The scavengers of nature�
��larvae, flies and beetles—had already done a thorough job. Even so, the man’s hip-length hair was a dead giveaway.

  ‘Baby Veerappan?’ I said. ‘Quite a sticky end, isn’t it?’

  Nawaz nodded. ‘Yes. We weren’t really surprised. Baby was always a bit of a womanizer. His death saved us all a lot of trouble. He would have turned out to be even worse than Veerappan himself.’

  April 1997

  When DSP Chidambaranathan was kidnapped in 1994, Baby Veerappan had acted as the negotiator. Temperamental, ruthless and arrogant, Baby was particularly vain about his hair. It had turned into a brand in its own right, like Veerappan’s infamous handlebar moustache. Baby liked to keep his hair open, and every now and then would dramatically shake it off his face with a jerk of his head. He fancied himself a ladies’ man, and didn’t let things like someone’s matrimonial status bother him.

  In April 1998, Baby unfortunately picked the wrong woman to hassle—Kumbhi, ‘Tupaki’ Siddan’s wife. Siddan was influential with the local tribals, the Sholigas, and, as a result, he had emerged as Veerappan’s key ally.

  One day Siddan arrived at his camp and stood in front of him. The former wanted to say something, but was clearly reluctant.

  ‘Speak up. What’s troubling you?’ asked Veerappan impatiently.

  Siddan scratched his head, shuffled his feet, and then began weeping as he blurted out, ‘What I’m going to say will upset you, Ayya, but it’s God’s own truth.’

  ‘What?’ asked Veerappan, waving the others away.

  ‘Ayya, Baby is bothering my wife.’ The words came out in a rush.

  ‘Kumbhi?’ Veerappan asked, thunderstruck.

  Siddan nodded and wept some more, covering his face with his hands.

  With a furious expression on his face, Veerappan raised his left palm, gesturing Siddan to keep quiet. Siddan complied hastily, not sure who Veerappan was annoyed with more—him or Baby.