On several occasions, the STF teams came within striking distance of his hideout, but years of living in the forest enabled Veerappan to evade contact. He was well aware that he was living dangerously and that the STF was closing in. It was just a matter of time.
We also reached out to boatmen, as we feared that Veerappan might try to cross the Cauvery back into Tamil Nadu.
Based on this hunch, the STF laid a series of ambushes on likely crossing points along the Cauvery’s bank on the Tamil Nadu side. Sometimes, there were unforeseen consequences. Once, one of the boys lying in an ambush suddenly got up screaming after being bitten by a snake. Fortunately, he survived, though the ambush had to be aborted.
While Operation Inundation was in full swing, I was called in for a meeting to New Delhi. There, I requested helicopter support to supplement our efforts to flush out Veerappan. Though they agreed to make a helicopter available the very next day, nothing materialized. The STF chugged along in infantry mode.
But I wasn’t dejected for very long. Mirji, the head of the Karnataka STF, called to tell me that his boys had managed to find a den that Veerappan seemed to have left just days ago.
‘Want to have a look?’ he asked.
The den was not far from the epicentre of Operation Inundation. It was extremely well concealed and offered a formidable defensive position. It lay 50 feet below a sheer rock at the peak of Mylamalai, one of the MM Hills. On the other side was a precipice dropping almost 2,000 feet, directly to a huge flat rock.
All this while, we must have been visible to the gang! A barrack joke came to my mind, ‘If the enemy is in range, so are you.’
To reach the den, one had to climb to the peak and then go down 50 feet. The descent had to be on all fours. With strong winds greedily trying to pry away one’s precarious finger holds, it was not a place for the faint-hearted. As I gingerly made my way down, I thanked the police academy for teaching me the rudiments of rock climbing.
After the ordeal, I reached what looked like a natural cave. There was a small, shallow pool of sweet cool water. With enough rations, a small team could survive here for weeks. There were plenty of eggshells under stones, but no signs of regular cooking. The gang seemed to have been living on an enforced high-protein diet. I had seen some pretty impregnable hideouts in Kashmir, but this one would rank among the most sinister.
Why did Veerappan abandon this stronghold? The only conclusion was that he must have become either very restive or desperate, or both. This was heartening but also threw up a fresh worry. Would he stage another high-value kidnapping for leverage?
The STF’s intel branch promptly listed five places in Veerappan’s turf, all of which attracted several potential abductees.
In the east, Garibore near Sangam on the Cauvery topped the list. It was a famous fishing spot, known to offer the occasional 200-pound mahseer—providing excellent photo ops for avid anglers who often left the local fishermen guides richer with tips of at least ₹1,000. Thankfully, the gaming season was from November to March, so there would be no tourists there, as it was only August.
In the west was the Bandipur Sanctuary, home to the bison and the royal Bengal tiger, and hence, a big draw for foreigners. Just next door were the forest resorts of Masinagudi, nestled in the heart of the Mudumalai Forest. Popular Bollywood star Mithun Chakraborty owned a hotel and some land in the area and often visited it. Further west, close to our old beat, was the Isha Yoga Centre, which drew flocks of visitors. And lying cheek by jowl along the same foothills was the Salim Ali Centre—a magnet for avid ornithologists from across the globe. Snatching someone from any of these places would be a cakewalk for Veerappan.
We debated about warning potential targets. But we were unable to narrow them down, considering their number. Finally, we decided against it, as we didn’t want to spark panic. As a precautionary measure, though, we hand-picked some boys to watch each spot. But I constantly worried that a sudden strike by Veerappan could catch us flat-footed.
It was a nerve-racking time.
Fortunately for us, Veerappan himself was too exhausted to mount a counter-attack. His wishful thinking circled around a mutt leader near Mysore, but Mirji had subtly kidnap-proofed that target. With poor vision and low spirits, the bandit’s first priority was to somehow get out of the STF’s suffocating cordon.
On a quiet, starry night, he boarded a coracle and crossed the Cauvery into Tamil Nadu near Hogenakkal Falls. As he stepped out of his coracle into Tamil Nadu, Veerappan gazed at the grandeur of the Cauvery. Then he sighed and turned away. He would never again enjoy such a glorious view of the river.
In the early 1970s, communist revolutionary Charu Mazumdar had held a secret conclave near Hogenakkal Falls. According to murmurs in our secret service, Mazumdar, along with Kanu Sanyal, planned to take the Naxalbari movement across West Bengal and other parts of the country. As regards South India, two tri-junctions—Tamilnadu-Karnataka-Andhra Pradesh in the east and Tamil Nadu-Karnataka-Kerala in the west—were identified as the areas for the potential development of this movement. Ironically, Veerappan too thrived between these two tri-junctions.
But we were unsure of the gang’s landing spot or eventual destination—the sparse jungle along the dry Chinnar River. Across the river, our boys scoured the piece of turf that he had just vacated, checking every bush and rock, seeking a foe who had fled the scene just hours ago. Unknown to all, except a handful in the STF, we were running another operation in parallel. It featured a man code-named Trader.
And it was about to yield a handsome reward.
29
Planting a Mole
The phone buzzed once, and then stopped ringing.
‘A missed call’, wondered SP Shanmughavel, peering at the screen.
Tall, lean, slightly dark, a little shy and extremely focused, Shanmughavel held the fort at Mettur, the STF’s original headquarters before it was moved to Sathy. An STF veteran, his call sign was SP-2 (Kannan being SP-1). Popular with his subordinates because of his habit of deflecting credit for his good ideas, he had learned not to get too excited or depressed by the constant twists and turns of the Veerappan saga.
Still, when SP-2 saw the caller’s identity, he felt a jolt of excitement. A few minutes later, he reached the pre-fixed rendezvous point.
Two men waited there. One was a mason, who had been working on a school building in MM Hills for some months. It was hard work and the food, mostly gruel, wasn’t appetizing. But he never complained. An industrious man, he was well liked by his fellow workers, none of whom were aware that he was an undercover STF constable.
‘Pandikannan,’ said SP-2. Then, he turned to the second man. ‘And this is …?’
The stranger was burly, with thick curly hair. After he was introduced, SP-2 gave him the code name Trader, since he had once aspired to be a businessman. That nom de guerre would be used throughout Operation Cocoon.
He listened to Trader intently, and then gave me a call.
‘Sir, I need to see you with a friend,’ he said, deliberately keeping the conversation vague. ‘Alone,’ he added, with a slight emphasis on the word.
Shanmughavel was normally an unflappable character. But that day, there was a note of excitement in his voice, even though he tried his best to sound businesslike.
‘The den, after dark,’ I replied. Over phone, it’s best not to be too specific.
That night, at 10 p.m., there was a knock on the door of my house in Sathy. SP-2, Pandikannan and Trader hurried in.
‘Did anyone see you?’ I asked.
SP-2 shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I kept checking. But I’ll do one more check before we leave.’
I nodded and turned to Trader. ‘You have information?’
‘I have met Veerappan and his gang in Kombutukki (near MM Hills),’ he replied. ‘It’s the truth, promissa’. That expression meant that he swore on his life.
‘How did you find them when the STF hasn’t?’ I asked, appearing sceptical.
‘I didn’t, sir, they found me,’ he replied. ‘I was riding my mobike along the (MM Hills) Ghat Road when Govindan stopped me. I feared he would attack and steal whatever I had, but the gang knew me because I am from the same clan as Veerappan. But promissa, I have never had dealings with him till now. However, Govindan knew all about me and my family—he enquired about my uncle and wife. Then he ordered me to follow him. What could I do? I obeyed.’
‘So you saw Veerappan?’ I prodded.
‘I could only make out his silhouette,’ replied Trader. ‘It was dark. He was seated above me on a rock. But it was him. There’s no mistaking that moustache.’
I spent the next two hours talking to Trader, using all sorts of tactics to test his information. Trader was an interesting character. He had studied till Class 12 and used a smattering of English words while speaking.
Finally, I concluded that his information conformed to our own intelligence.
‘So where are they now?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure of the current location, but they asked me to expect their call. Our next meeting would be across the river,’ he said.
A mole either amongst cops or robbers is not unusual. But a mole inside the gang, that was a first. Trader, I hoped, would soon trade some inside information.
‘I’m going to give you ₹1 lakh from our funds. I want you to help us,’ I told him.
It was a princely sum for the man. Though it was six times the salary of Constable Pandikannan, it was an investment that would pay off if things worked out.
After a long show of protest, Trader finally accepted the money. He had an asthmatic wife and small children and the cash would come in handy. As he left flush with funds, his parting words were, ‘Sir, I’m scared. My wife doesn’t know. I’m risking my life because of Pandikannan.’
Shanmughavel and I attempted to understand the reasons that prompted Trader to spy on such a dangerous man. It was definitely not MICE—money, ideology, coercion and excitement-revenge. Shanmughavel insisted that it was ‘just friendship’.
‘Then why was he sweating so profusely?’ I enquired.
‘Sir, he was excited to meet you.’
‘Well, that’s exactly the same thing he said about his interaction with our friend. I hope he won’t piss his pants at the crucial time,’ I said.
I prayed fervently for him to keep his nerve during the decisive encounter with Veerappan. I was concerned about Trader’s safety, though from my long bitter experience, I knew I could not guarantee it. But I was determined to try my best to protect him.
However, I was more anxious about my men’s safety, considering that Veerappan had the ability to turn our source into a double agent. I had confronted a similar reality in Kashmir. Security forces were often deceived by the enticing baits provided by a ‘sole source’, many times with fatal consequences.
Over the next few weeks, the operation reached a critical stage. I asked Trader to report exclusively to Kannan. SP-2, who had brought him to me, was no longer part of this operation. A lesser man might have resented this, but he displayed true professionalism by accepting my decision without any fuss. He was aware that a puppeteer needed to ensure that the strings did not tangle. Pandikannan was also cut out of the dealings with Trader. But he too accepted it with tremendous grace, despite the hard work put into the operation.
A few days later, Kannan called, ‘Sir, we have contact. Trader has been summoned.’
Trader was escorted to the gang’s new den by a fellow villager, nicknamed Red, the same Red who had access to Veerappan’s camp. After taking Trader on a bus ride, Red got off at the next stop and handed him over to another guide.
Trader switched several more buses and guides before he was finally escorted to his destination by a short, hirsute fellow, unusually muscular for a man of the hills. Trader realized that he was near Hogenakkal Falls, barely 20 km from his starting point. But he was made to go through such a convoluted route that he had travelled over 200 km. The intention was clear—to shake off any pursuers.
Upon arrival, Trader mustered up the courage to take a close look at the gangsters’ faces. He was shocked to see Veerappan looking utterly dehydrated and listless.
Govindan, almost a decade younger than the brigand, looked in far better shape. Though medium-built, he had strong shoulders and his eyes were constantly roving. There were only two others—Chandra Gowda and Sethukuli. The latter stood at a slight distance from the group. Quite clearly, he was treated as a sort of general handyman by the others. Even if he resented it, he kept it well concealed.
Trader’s sly eyes swept the jungle palace of the famous bandit. He noticed a few plastic sheets, bed sheets and blankets and some aluminium and stainless steel vessels. They were mostly brewing tea. The aroma of dals or masalas from the open kitchen was conspicuous by its absence. The smell of some incense sticks wafted through the air. He saw some flowers, portraits and small idols of gods under a rock.
There were some fringe members and villagers who provided logistical support, but Veerappan now stayed in close proximity of these three, who had been with him for years. Even these four men never slept in the same spot. They would typically split up into two pairs and sleep at some distance from each other.
Trader greeted Veerappan respectfully.
Veerappan grunted, and then asked, ‘Ean STF naiynga numma usiyerai edukarangoe? (Why are the STF dogs making our lives hell?)’
Trader’s heart almost stopped. He struggled to look calm, but his mind was racing. ‘Does he know? Anything I say could backfire.’
He decided not to say anything unless he was forced. It proved to be a wise decision.
Veerappan did not suspect Trader. He just felt bitter and launched into a long tirade, concluding, ‘MGR’s nephew is coming here too often!’
He was referring to me. When I had served as SP in Salem district from 1983–85, a rumour had spread that I was related to the then chief minister M.G. Ramachandran. The closest link we shared was that my paternal grandfather and the CM’s father hailed from neighbouring villages in Kerala, with no known record of any interaction. But the rumour refused to die down, despite my constant denials.
But it also revealed that Veerappan had done his homework on his enemies. It seemed that while I was tracking him, he was engaged in pretty much the same task.
Trader kept silent throughout the monologue, wondering when he would be given his instructions. But Veerappan dismissed him with a flick of his hand. ‘Go. I’ll call you again.’
Puzzled, Trader returned home. After waiting for a discreet period, he sent word to Kannan and briefed him.
‘What do you make of it?’ I asked Kannan.
‘I guess they’re trying to see if they can trust him,’ said Kannan. ‘But one thought is worrying me. Only a handful of us are aware of Trader’s exact role. The STF is very active in that area. What if Trader is captured by one of our own?’
With Boston still fresh in my mind, I knew secrecy was paramount in this situation. ‘We can’t let too many people know about Trader.’
After much fretting, Kannan and I decided that whenever Trader visited Veerappan, we would direct the STF to conduct patrols at other locations.
But I felt a little concerned about Trader’s safety whenever he went into the jungle. After all the risks he took, it would have been truly ironic—not to mention tragic—if he ended up on the wrong side of an STF gun. Fortunately, that never happened.
After a few days, Trader was summoned for a second meeting. Again, he went through a circuitous route. The short muscular man was again present to guide him to the den, which was in the same vicinity, but at a different location. After a while, we began referring to the man who took Trader over the last part of the journey as Guide.
Trader and Guide stopped at a tea shop and picked up supplies before visiting the gang. Again, it was a short visit.
Govindan, who spent most of the time twiddling a needle, asked Trader if he could a
rrange for some new clothes for him, as his old outfit was rather threadbare. Veerappan handed an audio tape, full of misleading information, and asked him to make sure that it reached the authorities. On the tape, Veerappan claimed that he had long since left the MM Hills area and was now in Andhra Pradesh. Two years back, his tape had a reference to the PWG or the People’s War Group—the Maoists of Andhra Pradesh.
Kannan and I glanced at each other when we heard the tape. ‘At least he has admitted he was in the MM Hills area till recently,’ I remarked.
But Trader confirmed that he was still around MM Hills, only across the river in Tamil Nadu.
Kannan and I briefly debated the prospect of staging a raid, based on Trader’s inputs. But Veerappan never met Trader twice in the same location. He shifted camp constantly. After studying all the near-misses of the past, we decided not to proceed on intelligence that was not foolproof.
‘We’re still not getting any actionable intel from Trader. But the gang seems to be warming up to him. Let’s give it some time,’ Kannan nodded.
In any case, Trader seemed to be making headway, so we decided to be patient.
Sure enough, the third meeting provided a breakthrough. Trader spent a whole day and night with the gang and was able to observe them in some detail.
He noticed that Veerappan’s eye problem was more acute and he often stumbled around. He was able to get close enough to overhear snatches of a conversation between Veerappan and Govindan. Though he couldn’t get much, he did register words like ‘eye problem’, ‘doctor’ and ‘guns’.
Then the two men noticed him and fell silent. Unsure of his next actions, Trader began to walk away, when Veerappan beckoned him. Trader walked up to the duo, his heart pounding painfully.
Veerappan looked him in the eye. ‘You’re of my own clan. Will you help me?’
Veerappan: Chasing the Brigand Page 21