by Anil Jaggia
The 15 passengers would be selected from among the sick, children and the women passengers.
After the passengers had been identified they were asked to move from their seats in the economy class and made to sit in the executive class. Later, 20 more people were added to the would-be-released category. The bus was due anytime.
Among the passengers to be released was Dr Anita Joshi. I took the opportunity to speak to her. I gave her a message for my wife that everything was all right. But more important, she must inform the Indian negotiators or other officials that the hijackers most likely had a time bomb in a bag in the hold and could easily blow up the aircraft if they so chose. I hadn’t told her this earlier to prevent panic in the cabin.
But the joy proved short-lived. The afternoon was followed by evening and then night with no airport bus in sight. The passengers were not released, and remained in their seats. I asked Red Cap what had held up their release, and he said the talks hadn’t progressed quite as he had expected.
“But the Indians are talking to you and the talks will show results. Why don’t you go ahead and release a few passengers?” I asked him.
He kept quiet.
At night, I had to go out to check the stalling of the APU again. It was very cold and I was looking for something warm to wear. A passenger, whose name I unfortunately forget, removed his sweater and gave it to me. I thanked him and went out wearing it. It was such a warm and comfortable sweater that I kept it on throughout the remainder of our enforced stay in Kandahar. In fact, on our last day of captivity, when I sought out the passenger to return the sweater to him, he wouldn’t take it back and said I must keep it. Knowing it was a very expensive sweater, I persuaded him to take it back. He agreed, saying that he would keep it as a mark of affection for me. It was a very touching gesture.
For now though, I was upset. The brighter things looked, the worse they seemed to get. I thought of my family. My 80 year old mother was not keeping well: what would happen to her? What must be going on in her mind? My wife and daughters must be worrying themselves sick. I thought of my relatives and friends and wondered if I would ever see them again. How many of us would survive this trauma? Our situation seemed hopeless. And with the deadline of the 31st drawing close, I couldn’t help feeling that the end was near.
It was not the thought of death that scared me, but the prospect of a gruesome death that made me sick with fear.
There will always be some people who will wonder why we did not try to overpower the hijackers during our confinement. The answer is “hope.” In spite of our miserable condition, there was always a small ray of hope. We were constantly hopeful of a breakthrough in the talks.
At night, I asked for permission to go to the toilet. While in the smelly toilet at the front of the aircraft, I overheard part of the conversation between the hijackers and the Indian negotiators on the radio telephone. The radio reception was pretty clear and I could hear the negotiator saying: Look, we can t release all of them so soon; they are all booked under different cases under different courts and the Indian government can’t influence the courts. The government will request the courts to release them and that will take some time. Besides, the Jammu and Kashmir state government has to be persuaded to release your men jailed in its prisons. So please give us time. We can’t do it overnight.”
The radio was then either switched off or the volume lowered because Red Cap realised that someone was in the toilet. I came back to my seat and saw that Sharan and Rajinder were asleep. I quiedy sat down in my seat so that they wouldn’t be disturbed.
I looked towards the back of the cabin and saw that it was a lot less stuffy with 35 passengers being moved to the executive class. But it was a sad sight still as they sat or slept, their faces covered with handkerchiefs as the stench from the overflowing toilets made breathing difficult. Excited by my eavesdropping of the radio conversation between the Indian negotiators and the hijackers, I wanted to share it with Sharan and Rajinder, but as I was about to nudge Sharan, a hijacker saw my move and asked me to stay away from my Captain. This was around .1.30 a.m.
I did not know when I nodded off to sleep.
* * *
8
December 30, 1999
WAR OF NERVES
The hijackers opened the door that led to the cabin . . . Their religion forbade killing anyone within a closed room because the spirit had to escape. The women were asked to cover their heads, and the hijackers then recited a prayer in Urdu or Arabic over the PA system. This was followed by a lecture on Islam. The hijackers then gave us a half-hour to make our peace with our lives and our gods. Thereafter, they would proceed to start killing the passengers, one by one, they said.
On board IC 814
I was on board the Titanic and an old friend of mine was singing the song, My heart will go on . . . As the song came to an end, the ship’s lights went out and it began to sink. Everywhere, there were passengers falling into the sea, drowning. But they resembled people who I knew, people from somewhere else. Then it hit me. The faces on board the sinking ship were the same as those on board the hijacked IC 814 . . .
I woke up sweating, scared by the dream, but was relieved that it was nothing more. I was wet with perspiration. When I opened my eyes, I saw standing before me an even scarier sight—Shankar, the nastiest and fiercest of the hijackers. He was staring at me. That frightened me even more.
“Chief saheb wants you,” he said.
Inside the cockpit, Red Cap was in a pensive mood. He looked at me: “The negotiations have been a waste. The Indian government is not cooperating. We have to go from here.”
“Go where?” I asked.
It was cold outside. From the co-pilot’s seat, I could see Taliban personnel bending over bonfires to keep themselves warm. The night was waiting for the day to break.
“I’ll tell you that after we are airborne from here. You get the aircraft ready and refuel it.”
I told him that the aircraft required major maintenance and was not in a position to fly.
“No. You do what you like, we are flying out of here,” he insisted.
After some amount of bickering and argument, he said in a tone of finality: “You are the chief engineer. They must have made you that because of your ability—now just use it.” Then he added: “You take the aircraft to Amritsar, we’ll die in our own country.”
Although I knew it was an uninspired line, I thought it best to tackle him directly.
“Look, the question of dying here or dying there does not arise. The crux of the matter is that the aircraft cannot take off in this condition. I can’t refuel it.”
“There’s another engineer on the ground. You take his help and get the aircraft repaired,” the chief said.
“But where exactly do you want to go?” I asked him.
“We want to go on a five-hour flight,” he replied.
“Where can you go in five hours?”
“We’ll take you around the world,” Red Cap said helpfully. “We’ll move along in five-hour hops and show you the world. And on the new millennium day, we’ll release you. On that day, we’ll also be free and you’ll also be free and the Indian government will also get a gift— of your freedom.”
“But how can we fly this aircraft without any fuel in it?” I asked.
“Look, if you don’t fly this aircraft, we’ll start behaving like hijackers.”
“But you have hijacked the flight.”
“No. So far we have behaved like gentlemen. We have not misbehaved with anybody, we have not been rude, we have not misbehaved with any ladies,” said Burger. “You also must cooperate.”
Cooperate to die?
The hijackers were getting angry. It was at this point that the thought of overpowering them crossed my mind. Sharan, Rajinder, the cabin crew and I could try and evacuate the aircraft. Unseen by the hijackers, we had systematically advised some of the passengers on how to open the doors and escape from the plane.
Captain Sharan re
quested Red Cap to allow him to speak to the Indian negotiators but was denied permission. “The Indians are sons of bitches,” Red Cap screamed at him.
The hijackers asked the cabin crew to serve water to the sick passengers. They opened the door that led to the cabin. They had said earlier that they had to open the door before killing someone. Their religion forbade killing anyone within a closed room because the spirit had to escape. The women were asked to cover their heads, and the hijackers then recited a prayer in Urdu or Arabic over the PA system. This was followed by a lecture on Islam. The hijackers then gave us a half-hour to make our peace with our lives and our gods. Thereafter, they would proceed to start killing the passengers, one by one, they said. Some of the passengers began to cry.
Burger came and stood near me. I folded my hands before him and begged him not to take any extreme step. “Please do not kill innocent passengers.”
Burger was not in a mood to listen.
“If you want to kill anybody, then kill me first,” I offered.
Burger just went away.
At that point, airhostess Kobita Mukherji came and offered me a cup of tea. “But I didn’t ask for tea,” I said.
“Yes. But I have been asked to give you this,” she said.
“Who told you?”
“The hijackers,” said Kobita.
“Why?”
“I don’t know; they just asked me to give it to you."
“Who else has been given this?”
“Captain Sharan and co-pilot Rajinder.”
“Take it away,” I said.
“No, I have orders to give it to you.”
I took the tea and gave it to Mrs Sharma who was sitting next to me and told her: “If the hijackers ask you, I shall tell them I gave it to you.”
A few minutes before the lapse of the half hour Red Cap came out and said: “The President of Afghanistan has personally intervened and requested me to resume dialogue with the Indian delegation. Till the dialogue is going on, there will be no food for you.”
Sharan, Rajinder and I requested him to be a little more reasonable. He said he would be considerate.
The conditions inside the aircraft were deteriorating alarmingly. The stench from the toilets was unimaginably disgusting and urine was overflowing into the aisles. We had kept blankets near the toilet doors to absorb the run-off. For the ladies, it was a living hell. There were no sanitary napkins on board, and this lack must have been intolerable for them.
The hijackers had talked at length about the human rights violations in Kashmir. It was ironic that they did not think of the abuse they were subjecting us to. Infrequent meals at irregular intervals, the sunshades over the cabin windows which did not permit us to adapt to any specific biorhythms, the unhygienic conditions and foul air: these were as bad a form of torture as could be.
* * *
Kandahar
Jaswant Singh spoke to Muttawakil on the morning of December 30, and thanked him for the cooperation the Taliban had given. He requested him to initiate the negotiations once more. Muttawakil impressed upon the hijackers that they had to start negotiations again. He told them the standoff could not continue but assured them of a good deal besides a safe passage. The hijackers agreed to talk.
Jaswant Singh spoke to the Prime Minister and apprised him of the situation. He presented a brief from Kandahar that painted a murky picture, and told him that they would have to do some hard bargaining and that though the Taliban was willing to cooperate, it had indicated that India would have to relent from its stand of the difficulty it was facing in the release of the militants. Vajpayee heard him out and asked him to strike whatever deal was most suitable. This was communicated to Katju.
Muttawakil now sat in the same room along with the Indians and communicated with the chief hijacker. The Afghan Foreign Minister said the Taliban wanted a peaceful end to the crisis. The Indian negotiators began by telling them that the government was looking at their demand favourably and also wanted an end to the crisis. “There is a lot of legal complication with releasing all of them, and a lot of time will be required . . . but we can look at the release of some of them,” the negotiators placated the hijacker. “We have told you our position, that we want the release of all of them, or else we will blow up the plane,” the hijacker responded. It was then that Muttawakil intervened and told him that they could not harm the lives of people and would have to climb down to a reasonable number. “You will have to be reasonable and agree to a peaceful solution,” he said. The hijackers continued to play hide and seek but relented around noon: “We want 15 of our men released and we will give you the names once you agree,” they said. The Indians told Muttawakil that there would be a problem with the release of such a large number of militants, and there would be a strong public reaction: the list would need to be pruned further. Muttawakil said that though it was difficult, he would try again. He spoke to the hijackers, said he would negotiate on their behalf with the Indians, and assured them a safe passage, but they would have to be still more reasonable. He came back and told the negotiators that the hijackers may relent further, but that a solution was now imperative. Muttawakil told the negotiators that he had now convinced the hijackers to accept the release of five militants and their safe passage. The Indian negotiators were taken by surprise and told him that the Taliban should try the hijackers, or at least hand them over to India. “You can’t have everything,” Muttawakil said. “Besides, we want the hijacking to end soon . . . or else we will force them to go.”
Katju spoke to New Delhi and explained the situation and was, finally, given the go-ahead. The negotiators reconvened in the late afternoon: a deal was stuck at five names and safe passage. “We would want these five names to be of our choice,” Doval said. “No, enough is enough, we will decide on the names,” the hijacker came back. He now told the negotiators: “We will not indulge in any more bargaining and we will start killing the passengers if you don’t agree.”
Muttawakil intervened and forced the Indians to agree to the name of Maulana Masood Azhar among the five. The Indians finally agreed, and a breakthrough seemed imminent. Katju informed New Delhi that they were insisting on the release of Maulana Masood Azhar. After consultations with the Prime Minister, Singh gave the go-ahead for the release of five militants including Azhar, and a deal was clinched. However, the hijackers told the Indians that they needed to consult their colleagues and would work out the modalities later.
* * *
On board IC 814
At 3.30 p.m. Red Cap announced that the Indian government had agreed to the release of three terrorists in exchange for the hostages. A Red Cross aircraft had gone to fetch them, and they were expected to arrive in Kandahar in eight-ten hours. The news was received with jubilation, and there was a lot of hugging and smiling. We also got lucky in the food department. Though lunch was served as late as 6.30 in the evening, it was delicious. We were also given apples.
The hijackers then suggested we might like to collect some money to buy a token gift for the Afghan government. A collection was immediately taken up and yielded Rs. 71,000, including US$ 500. The money was retained by a Mumbai-based passenger, and we have found subsequendy that it has been used for purposes of charity.
The hijackers heaped profuse praise on Osama bin Laden. They accused the US, Russia and India of forming a grand alliance against Islam. India, they felt, was a pawn of the two superpowers. Were they connected with bin Laden? For the sake of the passengers and crew, I hoped they were not.
That night, Sharan and I talked for a long time. We had nothing to read except the inflight Swagat magazine. We decided that if and when we were released, we would each buy a new car, the Ford Ikon as advertised in the magazine. It was a night when we made promises to the future.
The night passed off peacefully.
* * *
9
December 31, 1999
THE FINAL DEAL
At about 3.00 p.m. Burger came out of the cockpi
t and addressed the passengers. He apologised for the hijack and the agony they had been forced to bear. He bid them goodbye. He even asked them to pray for his safe journey.
As he walked down the aisle exchanging pleasantries with the passengers, he came up beside me in seat 25B. “I’m sorry for causing you any trauma,” he said sincerely.
Kandahar
Katju was on the phone with Lalit Mansingh when the walkie-talkies of the hijackers came to life late on the night of 30th-31st. “We want to talk to you . . . I have spoken to my brothers. Tell your government that we don’t want their deal . . .You release ail of them or we will start killing the passengers,” the chief hijacker said.
The perplexed negotiators tried to come to terms with the sudden change. The hijackers had turned hostile. It appeared that the sinister plot was being controlled from outside. Katju spoke to the hijackers, “But you had agreed to the deal. We have even communicated to Delhi that you have agreed, and how you have turned around.” However, the hijacker remained firm. “We want all—or the passengers will die and the blame will come to you.”
The talks were once again poised at a crucial juncture. Vivek Katju stayed in constant touch with Jaswant Singh and told him that they would try to get them to agree to a more reasonable limit. Both Katju and Singh knew that they now had very little option and may need to release more militants. Besides, time was ticking away, and there was considerable pressure from the Taliban as well as at home to resolve the crisis. Ominously, the intelligence agencies had warned that the hijackers could have plans to blow up the aircraft on New Year’s day.
* * *
New Delhi
Soon after, there was a call from Kandahar. Katju was on the line. The hijackers had sealed the deal, agreeing to the release of the passengers in exchange for three militants but were adamant that all three had to be of their own choice. They threatened that they would not budge from their demand, and would blow up the plane in case of any further delay in reaching the decision. Katju also told his Minister about the pressure the Taliban was mounting.