An air of festivity pervaded all over the city of Bangalore. Delighted fans celebrated Rajkumar’s safe return enthusiastically with crackers and sweets. He waved to his adoring supporters as he was taken in a convoy to the Vidhan Soudha, the majestic building of the Karnataka Legislative Assembly.
Later, at a press conference, he recounted his ordeal without any bitterness. In fact, there was even a touch of sympathy for Veerappan. Years later, after the bandit’s death in Operation Cocoon, Rajkumar went on record to say that an evil force had been removed.
Police reports following the incident as well as debriefing with Rajkumar and Nagesh revealed that throughout the entire episode, Veerappan took great care to project himself as some sort of ‘Tamilian Robin Hood’. In his audio cassettes, he repeatedly proclaimed that he was simply fighting for the rights of the poor victims of atrocities, and was taking the best possible care of Rajkumar. He repeatedly accused both state governments of being manipulative and insincere.
After Rajkumar’s release, there were several rumours regarding the payment of a hefty ransom to Veerappan. It was speculated that the money, which ranged between ₹20 crore and ₹50 crore, was paid ostensibly in instalments. The final payment was handed over on the day of the release. According to unconfirmed reports, the money was raised from multiple sources, including granite-quarry owners, liquor contractors and even the Karnataka film industry, which had suffered heavy losses due to its voluntary shutdown.
The Karnataka government always officially denied the payment of any ransom to Veerappan to secure Rajkumar’s release. But conspiracy theorists expressed scepticism about Veerappan permitting Rajkumar to walk free, after more than a hundred days in captivity, without receiving anything in return.
Their arguments are supported by some strange coincidences. Shortly after Rajkumar’s release, there was a sudden suffusion of ₹500 notes at hamlets frequented by Veerappan’s gang members and among the people known to have links with them.
Later, the STF and Salem Police seized a considerable stash that was carefully concealed in the forest. There were probably many such caches. ‘Around the same time, the chatter over Palk Straits was peppered with the word “four”. It was unclear if this meant that money had exchanged hands, as nothing was heard thereafter,’ revealed the late Jose Tarayil, the Chennai head of the Intelligence Bureau (IB).
Also, STF intelligence revealed that in the years leading up to Rajkumar’s abduction, Veerappan had fallen upon hard times. On one occasion, he had even resorted to looting a jeep carrying liquor sale collections and had been forced to mortgage his gold chain to raise some much-needed capital. So if his gang was spending ₹500 notes with wild abandon, how had he become so flush with funds soon after the actor’s release?
Rajkumar’s abduction undoubtedly marked the pinnacle of Veerappan’s infamous career. But he had overplayed his cards and crossed a line. Furious and humiliated, both state governments unleashed a massive hunt for him that extended beyond the borders of Karnataka and Tamil Nadu into Kerala.
I too was set to play a role, although not exactly the one that I desired.
20
Close Encounters in Semmandhi
Though I was still posted in New Delhi at the time of Rajkumar’s release, I took keen interest and followed up regularly with my fellow officers in the STF about the operations to nab Veerappan. An even more determined STF, livid at being told to stand down during the Rajkumar negotiations, was out in full force.
As IG (Ops) of the BSF, I was asked to take 117 Battalion BSF to Tamil Nadu in January 2001 and hand them over to the authorities to join the hunt for Veerappan. The battalion was airlifted from the Burma border and landed at Coimbatore.
Though such a task was usually assigned to a junior officer, I was delighted to visit my old hunting grounds. Once again, I met many old comrades who said they wished for me to be part of the ops. The feeling was mutual, I assured them.
I secretly hoped that the BSF would ask me to continue in Tamil Nadu. When I called on CM Karunanidhi, he confirmed the thoughts communicated by my colleagues. Soon after the Rajkumar episode, the CM had, in fact, expressed the desire to get me back into the STF fold. For some reason, that did not happen. My friend Jose, after this detailed update, fumed, ‘Vijay, how I wish you were here!’ After a couple of days, I returned to Delhi reluctantly and continued to monitor the situation. Little did I know that in a few months’ time, I would be heading the Tamil Nadu STF.
Jose Tarayil (he later passed away after a cardiac attack) and others recounted Veerappan’s close shave at Semmandhi Hills to me.
November 2000
The night before Rajkumar’s release, a few figures had emerged from the jungles. They quietly boarded a car and a van and sped away to an unknown location. The STF was either caught unawares or told to keep to the barracks.
It was an ill-at-ease Veerappan who was on the move in a Matador, accompanied by seven men, including Govindan. Three others were in an Ambassador. The vehicles were probably provided as part of a safe passage deal.
Veerappan wasn’t particularly fond of vehicles—he believed in a prediction that they were unlucky for him. But at that point, he didn’t have a choice. He expected retaliation from the authorities for the audacious abduction the moment they were certain that Rajkumar was safe. He needed to get far away from the spot where he was last seen, as fast as possible.
Disguised as pilgrims to Sabarimala, the shrine of Lord Ayyappa in Kerala, about 300 km to the west, some of his men were clad in black, others in blue. They sported stubbles and beards and had smeared their foreheads with ash. Their guns were at their feet, concealed in clothes or tucked under the mat. At that time of the year, the roads to Sabarimala were packed with pilgrims. Veerappan and his men would have blended right in had the journey been uneventful. His men later told the police that Veerappan kept asking, ‘Dei enda ivvaluvu chandalanga? (Why are there so many demons on the road?)’ He wasn’t referring to the crowds, but to the many police patrols and checkposts that the mini-motorcade encountered throughout the journey. One by one, the fugitives managed to bypass all of them.
The gang maintained wireless contact between the car and the Matador and stayed within visual range. But as they turned a corner near a small town, they lost contact.
‘Try the wireless,’ ordered Veerappan.
No response. Govindan tried again. No result. ‘Yenda, Govindan, engey vandi (Where is the car)?’ asked Veerappan, as he tried to control his rising panic. Unknown to Veerappan, the battery in the walkie-talkie with the car passengers was dead. He spent the next 45 km of the journey in a state of dread, wondering if his comrades had been captured by the cops and had divulged vital information.
The trip finally ended at the foothills of the Velliangiri Hills, close to the Kerala border. The hills form a major range in the Western Ghats in the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve. The terrain is steep and makes for difficult climbing. In winter, the hills also tend to be chilly, with gusty winds and lots of mist.
It was pitch dark as the vehicles stopped. All the gangsters dismounted; their leader was last. Without a word or sign, they picked up their bags and began to climb quickly and silently. Ayyappa’s name had brought them to apparent safety, but little did they know that a man of the same name would almost cause their downfall nearly a month later.
January 2001
The head constable of Madukarai Police Station removed his spectacles, rubbed his nose and put them on again slowly as he gazed incredulously at the short, nondescript tribal standing in front of him.
‘What did you say?’ he asked.
‘My name is Ayyappan. Some men with weapons came to me a few hours ago and asked me to arrange rations for them. They were strangers. They seemed to be outlaws. I’ve heard that lots of policemen are searching the hills. I thought these might be the men they’re looking for,’ Ayyappan repeated.
The head constable nodded, his insides churning with excitement.
&
nbsp; ‘Wait here,’ he said, and began working the phone.
The news burned the line all the way to Coimbatore, where senior STF officers were camping. Two DSPs—Ashok Kumar and Periaiah—rushed immediately to the police station.
After questioning Ayyappan, they were satisfied that he had indeed been contacted by Veerappan and quickly came up with a plan.
‘We’ll encircle the village, but we can’t be too close, otherwise the bandits may get suspicious. Keep Veerappan inside your hut on some pretext and then come to the rendezvous spot and alert us. We’ll surround the place and take matters from there,’ he was told. A few hundred rupees changed hands.
He had also received a sizeable advance from the gang. Ayyappan had never seen so much money in his life. As he left the police station, the tribal’s mind was reeling.
‘What have I got myself into?’ he muttered, clutching his head. Just then, he noticed a liquor shop. ‘I’ll have a quick drink to calm my nerves,’ he thought. ‘Just a small one, and I’ll be on my way.’
It was Govindan who arrived for the rations, not Veerappan. By then, Ayyappan had guzzled down several drinks. Govindan collected the food, then threatened Ayyappan, ‘If you try to contact the police, I’ll remove your intestines.’
The shaken tribal promptly bolted down a few more drinks to soothe his nerves. The next thing he knew was a rough jerk felt on his shoulder.
‘Whassamatter?’ he slurred, his tongue thick and swollen in his dry mouth. He yawned heavily a couple of times, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and found an STF man glowering at him.
Several empty bottles of liquor were strewn on the floor of his hut. The smell from his mouth left no doubt about the disposal of their contents.
‘We’ve been waiting for hours. It’s 4.30 in the morning. Why the hell didn’t you come? We thought the bandits had killed you, so we came to check on you. Where’s the gang?’
‘Oh, them? They came and went hours ago,’ said Ayyappan and rolled back into a contented sleep.
As the policemen left the village, one of Veerappan’s gang members, who had kept a watch, signalled his leader. Veerappan observed the area from the hills.
‘It’s a good thing we kept an eye on that son of a bitch,’ remarked Govindan.
Veerappan grunted irritably. It had been a close shave and their rations were running low. He slapped a leech that was burrowing into his forearm.
‘Time to switch locations,’ he said sourly. ‘How much longer will we have to stay in this hellhole?’
Even as Veerappan tried to figure out his next move, the police had already raced ahead with a new plan. The bandit had no clue that things were about to get a whole lot worse for him.
The hunt for Veerappan had turned hi-tech due to the joint efforts of Ramanujam, Tamil Nadu’s intelligence chief and Jose Tarayil, joint director, Intelligence Bureau.
Ramanujam was a quiet, self-effacing man who teamed well with the big-built, effusive Jose Tarayil.
Tarayil’s untiring efforts at Chennai, New Delhi and other places led to the procurement of a special surveillance aircraft, capable of hovering at above 20,000 feet. It landed at the Sulur Air Force base, about 30 km from Coimbatore. Some sixty-odd STF men were also simultaneously trained to slither down from a helicopter into hostile terrain. Once the plane pinpointed Veerappan’s location, a helicopter would carry the STF team there, ensuring the operation’s success within a limited time frame.
Veerappan, who previously always treated gadgets as abominations, made a blunder after the year 2000. Technology sneaked into his camp and turned him into a wired nomad.
As a result, intelligence agencies were able to intercept a call Veerappan made from a cell phone. The call confirmed that he was within a vicinity of 5–6 km, but could not get more specific.
Jose Tarayil made a few calls. Within twenty-four hours, a new cell phone tower emerged along the lower slopes of the hills. It must have been the first time a tower was installed for just three customers—Tarayil, Ramanujam and Veerappan.
Within days, the location reading shortened to 2 km.
Then Tarayil made the long-awaited call to Ramanujam. ‘The bird is chirping,’ he said. His message to the Sulur Air Force base was: ‘Fly in.’
But Veerappan’s luck hadn’t run out yet.
Thick clouds had settled atop the Velliangiri Hills. The sensors located in the aircraft’s underbelly were incapable of penetrating the cloud cover. Without them, the plane was rendered useless and unable to help pinpoint Veerappan’s exact location. The STF pondered over a plan B—a helidrop without the surveillance plane. But the helicopter would effectively be flying blind. The pilots ruled this out.
‘Can’t you get a plane with more powerful sensors?’ Jose asked.
It would take at least a week, he was told.
The STF’s best-laid plan had gone awry. It brought back memories of Operation Desert Eagle in which a desert storm brought down the helicopter of a special team that was tasked with the rescue of American hostages in Iran.
By the time the clouds finally lifted off Velliangiri Hills, the bandit had moved away and the signal was lost.
An inconsolable Tarayil was convinced that a huge window of opportunity had been lost. But he wasn’t ready to abandon his plans just yet.
Veerappan swore as the Russian MI-8 helicopter hovered overhead. A shudder passed through his thin frame.
‘It’s the third straight day that this wretched bird has been hounding us,’ he said.
Diaries seized later indicated that it had been a hellish week for the gang. The hills were teeming with STF personnel and leeches. A battalion of the BSF had laid siege, cordoning off all exits. And to make matters worse, Veerappan and his men had to deal with constant, energy-sapping hunger.
During his earlier camps at Nachiboli and other leech-infested areas, Veerappan had used bags of salt to make 3-inch-high walls around his bivouac to keep the invading hordes at bay. Now, there wasn’t even salt for his meals. The gang’s rations were scattered across several spots and constant STF patrols made it impossible to retrieve them.
And now this bird.
On his way to the hills, Veerappan noticed an ashram run by the Isha Foundation. He was also informed that the area often got foreign visitors who indulged in birdwatching. He promptly identified both as potential kidnapping targets. But the constant pressure of the STF meant that he was unable to carry out his plans.
The noise of the hovering helicopter engine brought Veerappan back to the present. The top of the big trees swayed. The thinner trees seemed to dance to the rotor wash. Veerappan hunched low. His spine tingled, as if expecting bullets to slam into it any second. He slithered to a tree and slid his back up against it, muttering, ‘Govinda, Govinda.’
He had never seen a chopper up so close. It was like a vulture.
They have seen me, he thought. He heard the thump of the helicopter as it swung back thunderously. Perhaps not. But it could come back again; it always did.
In truth, the poor visibility made it virtually impossible for the occupants of the helicopter to see anything on ground. But the gang was unaware of this fact. The presence of the chopper had a tremendous psychological impact on their already dented morale.
The moment it moved away, Veerappan began to run blindly. Suddenly, he felt Govindan tugging his arm. ‘Careful, you are only going to get shot by blundering around like this.’
Veerappan glared at him, but had to acknowledge that he was right.
The previous day, they had nearly run into a waiting BSF ambush. Only the alertness of the scout had prevented a disaster. He nodded shortly at Govindan, ‘Looks like we’ll be sleeping hungry again tonight.’
A team led by DIG Sylendra Babu had been practising the slither-down action from the helicopter for over a month. The surveillance plane had left. The STF was ready, awaiting a call.
Then a tip-off arrived. Veerappan was in Koothadikal—a place mainly known for an abandoned stone s
tructure that lay in ruins and a chill that cut through the bones.
‘Time for the helicopter-borne ops,’ thought an excited Sylendra Babu. ‘It is just a question of a day or two now.’
But that was easier said than done. Getting the helicopter airborne for training purposes was easy, but for operations there emerged the need to take a long, circuitous route of approvals that started from the IG (intelligence) and went through the DG, the state home secretary, the chief secretary, the union home secretary in New Delhi, the defence secretary, the Air Force HQ and the Southern Air Command before the request finally reached the Sulur airbase. This, despite the best efforts of the then Union Home Secretary Dhirendra Singh to cut through the red tape.
The helicopter did take off, finally, from the airbase some 30 km away. But the STF men ran into a fresh set of problems.
The informer who had tipped them off feared he had been spotted by Veerappan’s gang and left the area, leaving the team without a guide. They searched the area thoroughly, but were unable to locate the gang.
The entire cost of this unsuccessful helicopter operation, including training and waiting charges, was a whopping ₹70 lakh. The bill was finally settled in 2007, three years after Veerappan’s death.
The failure of the heliborne ops yielded one certain result: Veerappan was still holed up in the area. It gave the STF teams momentum to stay and continue to apply pressure on the beleaguered bandit.
February 2001
The STF constable coughed quietly into his shirt sleeve. Even though the sound was muffled, SI Vincent turned and scowled at the man, barely visible through the heavy mist shrouding the forest. It would be dawn soon.
The team, led by Inspector Ramalingam, had split into smaller groups. This group was led by Vincent.
A few feet ahead, the scout slowed down. He couldn’t see anything, but his instincts, honed carefully over many years, were on high alert. As the dawn of the second day of February broke, he strained his ears and sniffed the air gently for any possible leads. Nothing. But he could feel his heart throbbing. His subconscious picked up signs that his brain was unable to decipher.
Veerappan: Chasing the Brigand Page 15