Veerappan: Chasing the Brigand

by K. Vijay Kumar

  ‘Hope it proves to be the winning number tonight,’ thought Durai, careful not to let his feelings show on his face.

  Durai and the stranger entered Cocoon. Saravanan revved it up and drove about 4 km. As the vehicle neared a water tank at the fringe of the village, the stranger motioned ‘stop’ and jumped out while the vehicle was still in motion.

  Durai and Saravanan stood by the van. ‘It’s up to us now,’ thought Durai. ‘Would the target come out tonight?’

  He had been given three possible dates: 18, 20 and 22 October.

  ‘Just come out now and get it over with,’ Durai prayed. The thought of possibly having to do this twice more was unbearable and also increased the risk of failure.

  As they waited, two figures emerged from the bushes nearby. First was Sethumani, followed by Chandra Gowda. Both peeped into Cocoon and inhaled deeply, savouring the rich aromas emanating from the vehicle. Durai observed them out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was focused on the bushes.

  Then Sethumani and Gowda signalled towards the bushes.

  Time seemed to stop for Saravanan and Durai as a tall, wiry figure emerged. His handlebar moustache had been trimmed, but there was no mistaking his identity. Saravanan felt the strength going out of his limbs. He glanced nervously at Durai, who studiously ignored him. Instead, Durai looked at Veerappan and joined his palms together in the traditional vanakkam (namaste).

  Checking his rising panic, Saravanan mimicked Durai. Then, he held the side of the van and literally dragged himself to his seat. Once in the seat, he gripped the wheel firmly and stared straight ahead. He felt some strength return to his limbs.

  A couple of minutes went by, but none of the passengers got on board. They seemed to be waiting for something.

  ‘Are they getting suspicious?’ wondered Saravanan, his blood pressure rising rapidly at the thought. Desperately trying to conceal his anxiety, he prayed for divine intervention.

  Luckily, the gangsters did not notice Saravanan’s state of mind. Even if they did, they would have perhaps attributed it to the understandable awe anyone would feel in Veerappan’s presence.

  Just then, Govindan emerged. He stayed behind to make sure nothing went wrong when the three men boarded the vehicle. He was followed by some other unarmed men. ‘Take Anna safely,’ said one of them.

  Durai’s right eyebrow arched ever so slightly. None of us had factored in a see-off team. While the core gang may have been reduced to four men, there were still sympathizers providing cover. ‘I hope there are no other surprises tonight,’ thought Durai sourly.

  It emerged later that our mole, Blanket, was also part of the group. Of course, neither he nor Durai knew of each other. Blanket asked if he could get a lift and be dropped off along the way.

  ‘No,’ said Durai. ‘I was told four men. I’m not making any changes.’

  Govindan nodded. ‘I agree,’ he said.

  Blanket didn’t know it then, but Durai’s decision may well have saved his life. What if he had been on the vehicle when we intercepted it? A ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ can often separate life from death.

  The four men scrambled on board and took their seats. There were two rows facing forward, and in the last row, one seat faced sideways. The seat opposite that had been removed, creating space for a stretcher and some food packets. Govindan sat in the seat facing sideways, AK-47 in position, while the others occupied the two rows in front. Sethumani and Chandra Gowda sat to the left and right in the middle row, while Veerappan sat alone in the front one.

  Durai closed the door firmly and turned on his heel concealing the excitement that suddenly flooded through him. It was an indulgence he seldom permitted himself.

  Then, with the sudden release of the clutch, Cocoon set off with a jerk.

  34

  Shootout at Padi

  18 October 2004, 10 p.m.

  T minus 60 minutes

  It was the fourth night after the new moon. Poor visibility was worsened by the four massive tamarind trees near the location. If this bothered the well-drilled commandos, they certainly didn’t show it. Waiting in the dark for long hours in the hope of getting a single shot to be taken within seconds was part of their expertise. In the past, they had lain in ambush in far worse conditions.

  I surveyed the trap zone one more time. God certainly seemed to be on our side. He had provided an almost perfect site. Kannan and I had identified it just the day before, after videographing the entire road incognito from a Maruti 800. But I chose to believe that divine forces were also at play. Somehow, everything seemed right.

  Kannan and I stood next to the one-room school in Padi, around 12 km from Dharmapuri. The school overlooked the road. Its roof provided a perfect field of fire.

  Six of my crack commandos were squeezed together on the school’s roof, weapons at the ready. ‘They look like a bunch of cards held together,’ I thought. The concept of selfies didn’t exist then, but the men were crammed so tightly together that it was almost like they were posing for one.

  Six Kalashnikovs pointed unflinchingly at the road, as if they had a mind of their own. The limbs of the men holding them were mere extensions of their weapons.

  An undercover police vehicle, masquerading as a sugarcane-laden lorry, was parked in the middle of the road. It was named ‘Sweet Box’, as it was full of sugarcane supposedly heading towards the sugar mill nearby. The lorry was actually meant to block the path of the oncoming Cocoon. It also housed three tech experts, who would receive signals from the surveillance camera concealed inside the ambulance. It was their job to confirm that the target was inside the vehicle before we intercepted it.

  Another lorry—code-named ‘Mobile Bunker’—packed with sandbags and armed STF commandos, was parked on the other side of the road, at an angle of about 45 degrees to the school, partially concealed by a tree.

  Inspector Charles—our logistics man, not unlike James Bond’s ‘Q’—had dug into his eclectic inventory, which included over 100 items like a loud hailer, inflatable lamp, etc. He first pulled out a selfie-stick-like contraption with a lamp at its end, which would be used to light up the spot. Next, he grabbed some luminously painted orange-coloured cones, the kind used by traffic cops. He stacked eight of these against a tree.

  A team led by DSP Tiru was on standby in a civilian vehicle some distance down the road. Once the ambulance was spotted, they would move behind it, cutting off any chance of reversing and making a getaway. This would also ensure that no other vehicle would come between the ambulance and the police.

  If all went off well, the ambulance would be trapped, hemmed in from all sides by the Sweet Box, Mobile Bunker, the school and Tiru’s team. Another DSP waited in the east towards Dharmapuri town. His job was to cut out all incoming traffic. We needed a sterile zone to ensure no collateral damage.

  Unusually for him, Veerappan was not very alert that day. In fact, his mind seemed preoccupied with memories and regrets. But his natural optimism seemed to resurface despite these dark thoughts.

  As his mind hatched plans, his gaze fell on the 7.62 mm SLR lying near his feet. Many of his comrades had moved on to the deadlier AK-47, but he still liked to carry the weapon, which he had personally taken from a policeman killed during the ambush with SP Gopal Hosur.

  Veerappan smiled at the memory and glanced out of the ambulance. He noticed the vehicle was passing by Papparapatti Police Station. The sight reminded him of his two daring raids on police stations. He wrinkled his brow as he tried to recall them. Ah, yes, one in Karnataka, and the other in Tamil Nadu.

  A few metres down the road, Kumaresan, a seemingly nondescript STF old-timer, sat in a shack. He half-heartedly picked at some food, trying to make sure he was well within the shadows. Except for the driver, Durai, Kannan and I, he was the only other person who was aware of the target’s identity.

  As the ambulance passed by, Durai nonchalantly stretched his arm out of the window, flattened his hand against the side of the vehicle and moved hi
s thumb very slightly. The target, lost in his reverie, didn’t notice.

  But Kumaresan did so instantly. He also spotted two other things—the blue revolving light of the ambulance was on, which meant that the entire gang was inside. So was the fog light, which meant that all the gang members were armed.

  T minus 10 minutes

  Kannan’s cell phone buzzed. He walked away a few steps and took the call.

  ‘Tapal anuppiyaachu (The mail has been sent),’ said Kumaresan tersely.

  Kannan glanced at me and gave a thumbs-up.

  Just then, we heard a slight clicking sound on our muffled wireless set. It was a signal from Tiru that our prey had come into view.

  Kannan uttered the words, ‘Cocoon in ten minutes.’

  But that was assuming he came this way. He still had other options. ‘What if he had turned to the right at the Papparapatti T junction? What if he had rolled some cowrie shells or heard a lizard’s call?’ I thought.

  ‘Kannan, that rules out the road where Nawaz is positioned. But let’s alert Shanmughavel on Hogenakkal Road; you never know,’ I said in a hushed tone.

  Kannan nodded. Like me, he knew that every minor detail could make the difference between celebration and censure.

  T minus 5 minutes

  I scanned the troops one last time. Each one knew his place. I had indicated their perches, chosen during my recce two days ago.

  I caught Chandramohan’s Cobras doing a quick dress rehearsal next to a tamarind tree northwest of the school. Prasanna’s Angels seemed smug in their bunker and Rajesh Khanna’s Rocky team had occupied the school terrace, in the selfie-like strategic cram.

  Every passing second felt like eternity. ‘Why was Cocoon taking so long to fetch up?’ I wondered.

  ‘Calm down, calm down,’ my mind sternly ordered my racing heart.

  We began signalling the men to get ready. Suddenly, we heard the sound of a rickety vehicle approaching.

  ‘How did they get here so fast?’ I wondered, bewildered.

  The teams reacted instantaneously, as if responding to an invisible signal. The Cobras—tactically the most exposed—were the fastest to seek cover. Some hugged the trees; others slithered behind bushes. The rest hit the road and lay there motionless.

  I strained my eyes and ears to spot the vehicle. It was too faint to be a four-wheeler. Gradually, an old motorcycle sputtered into view. A couple was sitting on it, apparently involved in a heated argument. In the still night, their voices carried clearly.

  The motorcycle moved at its own pace.

  ‘Come on,’ I muttered furiously under my breath. The last thing we needed was the couple to be around when the ambulance turned up. Thankfully, they gradually faded from sight.

  I heaved a sigh of relief.

  The Cobras had placed sandbags on the ground, hoping to erect a bastion. Under the eagle eye of their leader, Chandramohan, they had spent the last week practising relentlessly. They could raise 144 bags into a 5-foot-high U-shaped wall and take cover behind it, all within a span of three minutes. But the arrival of the motorcycle forced them to abandon their drill. Luckily for us, the couple were too immersed in their conversation to notice the sandbags lying on the road.

  Sweet Box too felt the impact of the interlopers. The sensitive gadgets inside the lorry were turned off, as their glow would have been a dead giveaway. Ultra stifled a pained sigh. Rebooting all the devices would take a while.

  As soon as the motorcycle moved out of sight, the teams swung back into action.

  Charles leapt out of the darkness and neatly placed the cones—four each on either side, marking out the final parking slot for Cocoon. With such measured gaps, the cones, in that dim light, looked like stiff sentries keeping a grim vigil for any unlucky intruder.

  My AK was dangling on its sling from my shoulder. With all the teams watching, I stretched both my arms, turned 360 degrees and chopped the air to mark the exact arcs of fire for all three teams. Every inch of space, fenced by the cones, would be swept by a bunch of guns, from every conceivable angle.

  Hussain would cover the entire northern flank and Rajarajan the southern, I gestured.

  T minus 120 seconds

  ‘Activate the tech guys,’ I whispered to Kannan.

  He nodded and headed over to the Sweet Box.

  A few seconds later, he came back sprinting. He looked alarmed.

  ‘The tech team has confirmed four people in the back of Cocoon. But the picture from the camera is blurred, can’t make out their faces. Sorry, sir,’ he blurted.

  I swore under my breath. ‘Should we still proceed with the ambush?’ I wondered. I would be held entirely responsible in the event of a misadventure. They say, ‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going.’ In my case, though, the tough got praying!

  The lights of the ambulance appeared to come closer and closer. I tried to consider all options frantically. I just had a few seconds left to make a decision. Then providence stepped in and took the decision out of my hands.

  The darkness was pierced by four powerful beams of light. Two were from Cocoon’s normal headlamps; the other two yellowish lights emerged from the fog lamps.

  I nodded. Kannan raised a hand, like the conductor of an orchestra. Hussain and Rajarajan mimicked him. The teams froze.

  Time seemed to have come to a standstill.

  The mild breeze had suddenly died out. There were no sounds—either from the jungle or from the nearby villages. Only the rumble of the fast-approaching Cocoon. The sound and light emanating from it provided an almost surreal contrast to the dark stillness that shrouded us.

  ‘Would they stop at the designated spot?’ I asked myself. It was crucial that they did, since a moving target is much harder to hit than a stationary one.

  Bullets fired from an AK-47 move at 2,500 kmph. In comparison, a van’s 60 kmph may seem very modest, but it can severely complicate matters for the ambush party. Of the 140 bullets fired, only seven hit French President De Gaulle’s Citroën car, a staggering 1 out of 20!

  T minus 60 seconds

  Saravanan’s heart fluttered as he spotted the glowing cones. He could barely locate the school. On their way in, Kumaresan had slowed down his two-wheeler and pointed it out to him.

  ‘Brake hard. Switch on the rear cabin lights. The passengers must not catch sight of anything, but must be seen,’ Saravanan recited the instructions to himself one more time.

  Then, with fumbling fingers, he flicked on a switch and Cocoon’s three cabin lights came on. He simultaneously stepped on the brakes with all the force his right leg could muster. Cocoon lurched hard and screeched to a dead stop right in the middle of the designated slot. The smell of burning tyres filled the air.

  Even as Cocoon shuddered to a halt, a vehicle came up rapidly from behind. Tiru had been trailing Cocoon discreetly, keeping out of sight to ensure he didn’t arouse any suspicion. But with Cocoon trapped, he moved quickly into position to block the exit. The lights from his vehicle beamed straight at the rear of Cocoon and illuminated it. Four guns were already trained on its exit doors—two from the school roof, and two from the Bunker.

  All eyes were on the halted ambulance. Thumbs eased the safety levers, index fingers twitched, slipping in beyond the trigger guards.

  T minus 5 seconds

  In the heat of the moment, Saravanan had forgotten to douse the headlamps and the revolving blue lamp on the roof. The burning lights engulfed Cocoon’s front in a soft halo. It stood there in the middle of the road in all its majesty, still rocking like a boat tossed by waves, its double beam of lights bobbing up and down.

  Two men shot out of Cocoon with the speed of discharged bullets—the captain and the navigator had abandoned their ship.

  Saravanan’s voice carried clearly, his left hand pointing backwards. ‘Gang yulla irukaangoe (The gangsters are inside).’

  Even in that moment, I could make out that he was eager to catch my eye, as if seeking approval for delivering the goods. I nod
ded appreciatively and hurriedly patted him as he brushed past me.

  Rajarajan grabbed Saravanan and shoved him behind a huge tree near my position. Meanwhile, Durai—identifiable from the shine of his shaven pate—turned back abruptly towards Cocoon. He had pulled the safety pin of his stun grenade and rolled it into the rear of Cocoon from the secret slot under his seat. ‘What had happened to the damn thing?’ he thought. It took him a moment to realize that the damned thing had a four-second fuse to blow up. It finally did.

  Cocoon rocked on its wheels. Durai had 4 metres to reach the relative safety of Hussain’s flank, just opposite my position. He headed for it like Usain Bolt taking off from the blocks. After all, the firefight could begin any time, and he had no intention of getting caught in the core battle zone. I raised my right palm.

  Kannan’s warning rang out over the megaphone, ‘Surrender. You’ve been surrounded.’

  A few moments went by.

  Then, the unmistakable sound of an AK-47 emerged from the rear of the vehicle.

  There was a sudden flutter of birds from the tamarind trees. Far away, a lone dog barked. Soon, many joined the chorus.

  Shattered glass flew out of the rear of Cocoon. With the others fumbling to retrieve their guns, Govindan must have been the first to react, we later concluded.

  If the four men had come out of the vehicle with their weapons raised, we would have accepted their surrender. But the moment they opened fire, they closed that window for themselves. I could not risk losing any of my men.

  A total of forty-four cops and foresters had already died at the hands of these men. At least eighty more civilians, known to the police, had been killed by them. There may have been more deaths that were never reported. Those people were probably killed in multiple brutal ways. It would end tonight, one way or the other.