Veerappan: Chasing the Brigand

by K. Vijay Kumar

  18

  Hostage Crisis

  August 2000

  Veerappan’s first list of ten demands post the Rajkumar abduction—or ‘Ten Commandments’, as the media labelled it—surfaced on 4 August. As the crisis group listened to the cassette, eyebrows shot up. The illiterate outlaw was talking like a seasoned politician.

  Among other things, Veerappan sought the implementation of the interim award of the Cauvery Water Disputes Tribunal and the release of 205,000 million cubic feet of river water to Tamil Nadu. (Ironically, during the tenth anniversary of Veerappan’s death, posters in some places hailed him and blamed his absence for Karnataka’s alleged intransigence on the Cauvery water issue.) Other demands included compensation to Tamilian victims of the 1991 Cauvery riots in Karnataka, declaration of Tamil as the second administrative language in Karnataka, installation of a statue of Tamil saint-poet Thiruvalluvar in Bangalore, immediate release of compensation to the families of nine Scheduled Caste and Scheduled Tribe persons allegedly killed by the STF and increase of the procurement price of tea leaves to solve the financial crisis of the Tamil Nadu tea industry.

  Veerappan also asked for the lifting of the High Court’s ban on the functioning of the Sadashiva Commission, which had been set up to enquire into alleged atrocities on villagers by the STF, and the release of fifty-one people imprisoned in Mysore jail under the Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act (TADA). He also demanded the release of another five members of the TNLA being held in Chennai jail.

  As the tape came to an end, one of the persons in the room said, ‘The devil is quoting scripture.’

  ‘How has he become so politically aware sitting in the jungle?’ wondered another.

  ‘We heard that he had come in contact with radical Tamil groups. It must be their influence,’ said the first person.

  That assessment was not far off the mark, the obvious proof being the demand to release the five TNLA men. Veerappan is believed to have associated with militant groups fighting for Tamil Eelam in the 1980s during their training in forest camps, not very far from his gang’s area of operation. The friendships he forged proved beneficial later, when they apparently provided him money and materials to help rebuild his shattered gang.

  The five prisoners that Veerappan wanted released included three men accused of attacking a police station in Tamil Nadu along with Veerappan in 1998. The other two men were Ponnivalavan and ‘Radio’ Venkatesan, who had acquired his nickname due to his supposed expertise at making transistor bombs. Photographs that showed Veerappan hoisting a Tamil Desam flag emerged somewhere between 1998 and 2000. Though some STF personnel were distressed by these images, others keeled over with laughter at the pictures of Veerappan sporting a Che Guevara Cuban military beret.

  On 9 August, a fresh audio tape arrived, which proved that Rajkumar was alive and well. In the recording, he insisted that he was being looked after well and that there was no need to worry about him. He appealed for peace and harmony. The atmosphere of the forest was so enchanting that he had forgotten food and sleep. He also added, ‘Veerappan wants to lead a normal life. He wants both governments to facilitate the same. We’ve become good friends.’

  Interestingly, on all his tapes, Veerappan referred to Rajkumar as ‘periyavar’ or venerable elderly man. Rajkumar, in turn, described Veerappan as a good man. It seemed to be a classic case of Stockholm syndrome—a well-known psychological phenomenon in which hostages express empathy and sympathy towards their captors. Studies reveal that the longer negotiations drag on, the greater are the chances of a strong bond developing between the hostage and the abductor. Evolutionary psychologists explain this as an unconscious strategy by the captive to maximize goodwill in order to increase the chances of his or her survival.

  But Veerappan was not going to let this goodwill come in the way of negotiations. On 11 August, Gopal returned to Chennai with four new demands. This time, the two governments were given an eight-day deadline to respond. Gopal also noticed a change in Veerappan’s behaviour. There was now a distinct aloofness and inflexibility about him.

  Most demands were reiterations of the Ten Commandments, with minor changes. This time, Veerappan pressed for the Cauvery water dispute to be referred to the International Court of Justice at The Hague, the immediate release of the five TNLA men and introduction of Tamil as the medium of instruction up to the tenth grade in Karnataka schools. However, there was a new demand—that the government provide shelter to the ‘rape victims of the Vaachatti and Chinnampathi villages, where the STF went on a rampage’.

  In 1992, it was alleged that STF personnel entered these two villages on the pretext of searching for smuggled sandalwood and Veerappan, and assaulted and raped some of the locals. The involvement of the STF in the Chinnampathi case was never proved. Investigations into the allegations began in 1997 with an identification parade of STF men in Coimbatore. Instead of probing the undergrowth to ferret out the bandit, several STF personnel were engaged in the preparation of lengthy affidavits. Even after reams of paperwork, there was no assurance that a witness would not wrongly identify one of them as the culprit. Ultimately, not a single STF person was held guilty. But the force’s morale took a hit.

  To avoid such charges we turned proactive later. During my stint at the STF, we ourselves asked for a magisterial probe when an allegation was levelled against Inspector Rajarajan. A senior SP, Mr Chinnaswamy, communicated with the Hill Tribals’ Association and other groups. They initially suspected an ulterior motive on our part, but were ultimately reassured about our intentions. We never faced any problems thereafter.

  After frantic talks between the two state governments, it was decided that the five TNLA men would be released immediately. The Karnataka government heeded the bandit’s demands and released ₹2 crore as compensation for the 1991 Cauvery riot victims. The plight of the two state governments bowing meekly to Veerappan’s demands was too much for some sections of the media.

  Shekhar Gupta, then editor of The Indian Express, lamented the lack of people like K.P.S. Gill—the officer credited with crushing extremism in Punjab—in the ranks of the Karnataka and Tamil Nadu police forces. His article caused me a great deal of anguish, even though I was many miles away from the scene. I had served with many of the officers and men in the STF, who had regularly risked their lives in a bid to bring Veerappan to book. Several had died. To me, such an article was an insult to their sacrifices. I could only imagine the frustration and humiliation their fellow officers must have felt.

  I promptly wrote a rejoinder highlighting the efforts of many brave policemen, and added that many others, including me, were willing to take up the challenge. My letter was published, rather prominently, in the same newspaper. But it was poor consolation for a man who longed to head back to Tamil Nadu and rejoin the efforts to nab Veerappan.

  While I could do little more than dash off a letter to the editor, one of the relatives of a brave martyr approached the Court of the District and Sessions judge, Rajendra Prasad, in Mysore and challenged the Karnataka government’s move to free the fifty-one men held under TADA. The petitioner, Abdul Kareem, was a seventy-six-year-old retired DSP, whose son SI Shakeel Ahmed, along with SP Harikrishna, had been ambushed and killed by Veerappan as described earlier in the book.

  ‘It’s a shame that the state kowtows before a criminal, like a banana republic,’ he lamented. These sentiments resonated in the Independence Day address of the President of India, in which he alluded to the ‘nexus between crime and politics’, ‘glorification of banditry’ and ‘media’s craze for sensation’. Two days later, this address was quoted in a Mysore court.

  On 19 August, Justice Prasad upheld the prosecutor’s plea to drop TADA charges against the accused. Undaunted, Kareem moved the Supreme Court of India. The court asked for Joint STF Head Walter Davaram’s opinion. The man, true to his blunt style, told the court that allowing the men to go free would encourage a lethal combination of crime and politics.
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  The court wasted no time, and stayed the release of the fifty-one detainees indefinitely. When the Karnataka government pleaded that this could endanger the lives of the people if riots broke out, the court responded sternly, ‘We make it amply clear that it is the Karnataka government’s responsibility to maintain law and order and if you can’t do it, then quit and make way for someone else who can do it.’* The new twist did not go down well with Veerappan. Having spent most of his life in the forest, he found the intricacies of the Indian legal system baffling and frustrating. His favourite emissary Gopal emerged from yet another meeting in the forest, warning that Veerappan was adamant that Rajkumar would be freed only after his men were released.

  September 2000

  Rajkumar’s fans threatened to storm the forests. Rajinikanth offered to go into the jungle, if need be. Anti-Tamil and anti-Kannada poster wars raged. Tamil Nadu claimed that it had shared a threat report with Karnataka. Pulled up by the Supreme Court for laxity, Karnataka clarified that Rajkumar had not informed the state police of this specific visit. The higher echelons of both the states were on tenterhooks.

  Meanwhile, Rajkumar’s wife Parvathamma complained of chest pain and was rushed to hospital on 20 September. Rumours began circulating in the state that she was gravely ill and at death’s door. However, that was not the case. Stress and anxiety had taken a toll on her health but she was showing signs of recovery the very same evening.

  Rajkumar’s family and fans were the most vocal in favour of negotiating with Veerappan. ‘If the government could negotiate during the Kandahar hijack, then why not for my husband?’ Parvathamma demanded. Further, in its affidavit, Tamil Nadu cited the precedent of the release of terrorists in exchange for Rubaiya Sayeed in 1989, daughter of late Mufti Mohammad Sayeed, the then home minister of India. Such rhetoric only complicated matters.

  The debate and dilemma about negotiations for hostages encouraging abductions is a global one. Even Israel, which officially follows a strict no-negotiations policy, released 1,027 prisoners for its soldier, Gilad Shalit, in 2011. In 2006, India formally declared that it would not yield in case of any abduction. Fortunately, the policy has not yet been tested, and one can only hope that it never will.

  Meanwhile, back in the forest, Veerappan realized that an immediate exchange would not be forthcoming and settled down for the long haul. He claimed to his inner circle that CM Krishna had personally spoken to him over a mobile phone. He later repeated the claim in a tape, stating that Krishna had asked him not to harm Dr Rajkumar, to which he had replied, ‘That’s entirely in your hands.’

  As negotiations wore on, Veerappan appeared to have been lulled into a sense of complacence. He relaxed his guard to the extent that one day there were only four men—Veerappan, Rajkumar, Gopal and Rajkumar’s assistant Nagappa—in the camp.

  As Nagappa tossed and turned, he realized that Veerappan was snoring only a couple of yards away. Gopal was engrossed in a book.

  Nagappa’s heart raced. He broke out in a cold sweat. He craned his neck the other way. Rajkumar was also asleep. It was a golden opportunity. Should he seize it? Could he use anything as a weapon?

  He looked around, careful not to make any sudden movements. A couple of metres to his left was an aruval, a sort of long sickle that can be used both as a tool and weapon.

  He debated frantically for a few seconds, which, to him, seemed like eternity.

  Then, he sprang to his feet and grabbed the aruval in one fluid, gravity-defying move, totally out of sync with his physical build.

  He prepared to bring the weapon crashing down on Veerappan’s neck. But the bivouac, which served as their shelter, had a low ceiling and prevented him from generating too much force. Before he could complete his swing, Gopal leapt up and grabbed Nagappa’s arm.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ hissed Gopal.

  ‘It’s our best chance. Let me,’ Nagappa whispered.

  ‘Fine, finish him. And then? His men must be nearby. Do you think they’ll just let us walk away? You’ll get us all killed,’ said Gopal.

  Nagappa’s shoulders slumped, but his mind was racing. ‘I can’t stay here. Veerappan will punish me once he finds out,’ he thought. Abandoning caution, he ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.

  He blundered through the forest all night. A couple of times, he tripped on tree trunks and tumbled to the ground, bruising himself. Each time, he dragged himself back to his feet. ‘Don’t stop. Keep going,’ he commanded his exhausted, battered body.

  As the first light of the morning appeared, Nagappa found a dirt road, which he continued to follow with determination. A few hours later, he came upon a tarred road that led him to Bannari. Instead of approaching the police for help, he begged for some money from a villager and took a bus to the village from where Rajkumar had been abducted.

  For a while, Nagappa was hailed as a hero who had escaped from the villain. But soon, some started regarding him as a coward who had deserted their hero.

  Back at the camp, a thunderous Veerappan paced up and down before the three remaining hostages.

  ‘So this is how it will end,’ thought Rajkumar.

  Strangely, now that the moment of reckoning had arrived, he felt no fear for himself, only anxiety for the others. ‘I have lived a full life. Shoot me, but let the others go,’ he pleaded with Veerappan.

  The bandit glowered at Rajkumar for a long moment. Then, he shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, Periyavar, nothing will happen to you. I care for your well-being, even if nobody else does.’

  ______________________

  * Source: http://www.rediff.com/news/2000/sep/01fakir.htm

  19

  A Hero’s Welcome

  October 2000

  Nagappa’s escape added urgency to the negotiations. In his tapes, the bandit maintained a discreet silence on the matter. But once Gopal conveyed that Veerappan still grudged the incident, the governments feared drastic retaliatory action. Following an emotional appeal by Dr Rajkumar, a bandh on the eve of Dussehra passed off peacefully.

  In the midst of this entire hubbub, a cassette arrived in which Rajkumar was heard saying that Veerappan now wanted Nedumaran, president of the Tamil Nationalist Movement, to be added as another negotiator. Nedumaran was spotted entering the jungles with human rights activist Professor Kalyani.

  For some reason, Veerappan seemed to have lost faith in Gopal. It is rumoured that the bandit suspected his once-trusted negotiator of trying to double-cross him. And while there was never any evidence against Gopal, the relationship between the two men soured to such an extent that Veerappan later spoke bitterly to his confidants about wanting to teach the man a lesson.

  The next time Gopal left for the forest, he was accompanied by Nedumaran, Professor Kalyani and G. Sukumaran, another proponent of the Tamil cause. At one stage though, upset by a barrage of criticism, Nedumaran threatened to withdraw. The crisis handlers somehow prevailed over him.

  On 16 October, Veerappan released Rajkumar’s son-in-law Govindraj, a diabetic and heart patient. The ordeal in the forest had taken a heavy toll on his health, which may have convinced Veerappan to let him go. But there was no question of Rajkumar’s release. He would be freed only after the release of Veerappan’s men.

  The standoff continued. Rajkumar completed one hundred days in Veerappan’s custody on 6 November. A day later, the Supreme Court announced that none of the TADA detainees would be released. It also quashed a Tamil Nadu court order dropping charges against ‘Radio’ Venkatesh and overruled the Karunanidhi government’s decision to revoke detention orders against TNLA’s Satyamurthy, Manikandan and Muthukumar. The court also questioned the states on the likely impact (of yielding to the bandit) on the morale of law-enforcing agencies and witnesses.

  The possibility of swapping prisoners for Rajkumar no longer existed. This meant that the emissaries had to appeal to Veerappan’s finer sensibilities and hope for the best.

  On 9 November, Nedumaran returned t
o the forest with Kalyani and Sukumaran. They were accompanied by a Bangalore-based businessman and a Tamil lady, Bhanu, who posed as a doctor.

  The moment the party reached Veerappan’s camp Bhanu made a beeline for Rajkumar and put up an elaborate show of examining him. She shook her head, and looked concerned.

  A worried Veerappan rushed to her. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Bhanu held up a palm, indicating that he should wait, and went back to the show of examining Rajkumar. After a few minutes, she gestured Veerappan to follow her some distance away.

  ‘I can’t believe he’s still alive. All the medical parameters are very negative. You could end up with a dead man on your hands at any time,’ she said in a low, urgent voice.

  The scowl on Veerappan’s face deepened. ‘Rajkumar dies in Veerappan’s custody’—not the best headline, from his point of view. Riots were virtually certain to break out thereafter. If Rajkumar died in his captivity, Veerappan knew that his image would be irretrievably tarnished.

  So far, the authorities had treated him with kid gloves because he held Rajkumar alive. But if that precious bargaining chip was lost, the police and army would probably descend on him in full fury.

  More suspense followed after 9 November. There was speculation that the hostages would be released any time. But no such thing happened. Later, without much ado, Rajkumar and Nagesh were finally released on 15 November, after 108 days in captivity. In his trademark theatrical style, Veerappan presented both his hostages with shawls before releasing them, as a mark of respect.

  The two emerged close to Bannari. But the emerging point was officially shown as Ammapet, about 90 km away. When Rajkumar arrived in a helicopter arranged especially for him, thousands turned up for his welcome.