Veerappan: Chasing the Brigand Read online

  VEERAPPAN

  Simply written, the author easily manages to take you along on his journey … how it began, the struggles and finally accomplishment. An honest account with the right amount of detailing makes Veerappan: Chasing the Brigand a gripping read.

  —Akshay Kumar

  True stories have rarely been this exciting. This book is a scintillating read!

  —Amish Tripathi

  A meticulously researched non-fiction that hooks you like a compelling thriller.

  —Ashwin Sanghi

  A fascinating, absorbing account of how one extraordinary man could challenge the might of two states, and another even more inspirational man could oppose and bring about his end by employing matching but superior leadership and tactical skills. [On] Reading his book, we come to understand why Vijay Kumar, a legend in his own right, opted to stay on in the police when he had been selected for the Indian Administrative Service.

  —J.F. Ribeiro, Former DG, Punjab, and the author of Bullet for Bullet

  A gripping tale, amazingly well-told. While being racy and riveting, the narrative is of immense interest to the professional as well, chronicling as it does aspects of operational planning, intelligence generation, focused training and excellent teamwork capped by leadership of the highest order, that led to success in a historic encounter of epic significance.

  —P.K. Hormis Tharakan,

  former chief of Research & Analysis Wing (RAW), 2005-2007

  VEERAPPAN

  CHASING THE BRIGAND

  K. VIJAY KUMAR

  Published by

  Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd 2017

  7/16, Ansari Road, Daryaganj

  New Delhi 110002

  Copyright © K. Vijay Kumar 2017

  The views and opinions expressed in this book are the author’s own and the facts are as reported by him which have been verified to the extent possible, and the publishers are not in any way liable for the same.

  While every effort has been made to trace copyright holders and obtain permission, this has not been possible in all cases. A bibliography of the works consulted by the author has been provided, but it is possible that it may contain unintentional omissions. Any errors or omissions brought to our attention will be remedied in future editions.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-81-291-4530-7

  First impression 2017

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

  Dedicated to late Selvi J. Jayalalithaa and to all search teams

  Contents

  Introduction

  Prologue: Springing the Trap

  Part 1: The Making of a Cop

  1. Life as a Rookie

  2. The Call that Started It All

  Part 2: The Veerappan Files

  3. Rise of a Brigand

  4. Death of a Newborn

  5. A Blow to Veerappan

  6. The Good Friday Massacre

  7. Three Hit, Not Out

  8. The Fort without a King

  9. Ambush in MM Hills

  10. The Biggest Raid on Veerappan’s Camp

  11. The STF’s First Casualty—Senthil

  12. The ₹1,000-crore Ransom Demand

  13. Unfriendly Fire

  14. Hillside Ambush

  15. Execution of an Informer

  16. One Day, Two Escapes

  Part 3: The Rajkumar Saga and its Fallout

  17. An Audacious Abduction

  18. Hostage Crisis

  19. A Hero’s Welcome

  20. Close Encounters in Semmandhi

  21. A Mother’s Wrath

  22. The Marina Beach Encounter

  23. Inside Veerappan’s Lair

  24. The Last Victim

  Part 4: Operation Cocoon

  25. Back with the STF

  26. Getting Down to Brass Tacks

  27. Operation Boston

  28. Operation Inundation

  29. Planting a Mole

  30. Enter Hitman

  31. Contact, at Last

  32. The Longest Day

  33. The Longest Night

  34. Shootout at Padi

  Epilogue

  Appendix 1

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction

  ‘Nine out of ten times between hiding and searching teams, the hiding teams succeed.’

  —RICHARD CLARKE

  Finding and bringing Veerappan to justice was an onerous task that took many years and claimed several lives in the process. It was a combination of experience, stratagem, meticulous planning and, to an extent, luck that finally helped us succeed.

  Many brave policemen, officers and courageous civilians took enormous risks and made huge personal sacrifices in an attempt to bring Veerappan to justice. I am entirely to blame for this book’s bias towards the Tamil Nadu Special Task Force (STF). Further, space constraints have led to the omission of and, at times, mere reference to several heroic episodes. But that should in no way detract from their contribution.

  I have made all efforts to present the events to the best of my knowledge and as truthfully as possible. But several episodes described in this book are based on secondary reports gained from a multiplicity of sources. As such, I often had to deal with wildly contradictory versions of the same event.

  Wherever I encountered differing versions of the same event, I tried to reconcile them and provide the most logical, coherent and accurate account. But it is difficult to state with certainty that all events took place exactly the way they have been described in this book.

  As in all such operations, we witnessed courage and nobility as well as the seamier side of individuals and organizations. Wherever I have pointed out the latter, my intent was not to defame anyone, but to recreate the events as truthfully as possible.

  In some cases, I have deliberately blurred sequences, obscured details and scrambled timelines in order to preserve operational secrecy and protect the identities of people who were involved in sensitive missions. Some of them continue to put their lives on the line for the nation even today.

  To sum up the experience, I will quote my colleague K.N. Mirji, ‘It’s like a football team. All eleven play, but one scores the goal.’

  Prologue

  Springing the Trap

  18 October 2004. Around 10 p.m.

  No matter how often you set a trap, the last few minutes of waiting are excruciating. Time slows down and your thoughts speed up. Invariably, you start thinking of everything that can go wrong. Especially when you are engaged in a deadly game of double bluff with a quarry who has repeatedly proved to be dangerous and unpredictable, changing his plans in the blink of an eye.

  ‘What if he does so again?’ I wondered. However, along with the apprehension, I felt a rising sense of anticipation. This could be the night when we would finally capture our target, after months of planning and hard work. All that remained was to spring the trap. Would we succeed in doing something that had not been achieved in over two decades?

  ‘It has to work. Please let it work,’ I prayed.

  As I walked around ensuring that everybody was primed and ready, I paused briefly to take stock of my body’s reaction to the high stress levels. My pulse was normal, as was my
heartbeat. No sweat either. The cool winter night probably helped. I hadn’t got much sleep the previous night, often waking from a fitful slumber and forcing myself to stay in bed to get some rest. But I wasn’t drowsy or tired. If anything, my senses seemed hyper-alert. Every little sound seemed magnified in the uncannily silent night. There wasn’t even a stray dog barking.

  My worries resurfaced. Only four people, apart from me, knew who the person was in the vehicle we were waiting to intercept—Koose Muniswamy Veerappan, dreaded forest brigand who had virtually held two states to ransom for many years. One of them, Superintendent of Police N.K. Senthamaraikannan—affectionately called ‘Kannan’—was standing next to me. A methodical planner and logistics wizard, Kannan had played a critical role in the operation thus far. The other was Kumaresan, an undercover Special Task Force (STF) constable, waiting midway to keep watch and alert us.

  The remaining two men were in the vehicle itself, which had been disguised to look like an ambulance belonging to a hospital in Salem, Tamil Nadu. One of them, Saravanan, was driving the vehicle. He was a member of the elite STF that I was leading. The other undercover cop was Sub-Inspector Velladurai, known as Durai, a brave, devil-may-care Tamil Nadu Police officer. Durai’s participation had been concealed even from other STF members. Only Kannan and I knew his exact role. Pretending to be a sympathizer of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), he had promised to help smuggle the target out of the country into the LTTE-held parts of Sri Lanka.

  I had had my misgivings about Saravanan’s ability to hold his nerve under pressure. In fact, I had ordered his removal from the mission. But he had persuaded me to change my mind, insisting that it was a matter of honour for him. I had relented. Had I made the right call?

  Our target believed that he would use the ambulance to break out of the police cordon that encircled his old hunting grounds. What he didn’t know was that it was a specially modified police vehicle. Unfortunately, our team had been working in a hurry, and while painting the words ‘SKS Hospital Salem’ on the side of the ambulance, they had misspelled Salem as Selam. We could only hope that the target and his trusted companions wouldn’t notice this error.

  The target had a sixth sense when it came to spotting danger. After all, he had managed to elude the police of three states over the years. What if it came to his rescue again?

  Many policemen had already perished at the target’s hands. What if our plan failed and two more names were added to the list? Yes, they had volunteered for the task. I had told them that they were free to act as they saw fit if they felt their lives were at risk, as long as no innocents were harmed. But somehow, I doubted that such rationalization would be any consolation if I was confronted with the cold, stark reality of their deaths.

  I shook my head and tried to get rid of the negative thoughts. ‘I believe in God. He will not let us fail,’ I muttered.

  I was reminded of the words of the astrologer Rethinam, who lived near Pollachi. Normally, I don’t set much store by soothsayers and prophecies. But a few months ago, he had confidently told me that 18 October would be a special day.

  Part 1

  The Making of a Cop

  1

  Life as a Rookie

  I took over as the head of the STF barely ten months before that fateful night in 2004, though I had served two short stints with it previously. A lifetime of experiences and influences have gone into shaping me and my decisions, leading to the successful manhunt of the bandit who had been a thorn in the sides of the Tamil Nadu and Karnataka STFs. This story would not be complete without a brief mention of them.

  I’m often asked about when I first decided to join the police. Honestly, there was never a time when I thought of doing anything else. Though I was inspired by F.V. Arul and Rustomji, I didn’t have to look too far for role models. My father, V. Krishnan Nair, was a police inspector. Like most young boys, I looked up to my father and was fascinated by the uniform. It was a lethal combination that pretty much sealed my fate. Besides, in those days, cops were still the heroes in movies!

  When I appeared for the Civil Services examination, I was selected for the 1975 Indian Police Service (IPS) batch, but I narrowly missed out on the Indian Administrative Service (IAS). I had always wanted to be in the IPS, but an innate competitive streak in me didn’t like the idea of having failed to achieve something. So I gave the exam again, even as I proceeded to the National Police Academy, Hyderabad.

  Like every batch, we believed we were the best. I was having a great time at the academy. In fact, I was in Kolkata as part of our Bharat Darshan (all-India tour) watching Bruce Lee in Enter the Dragon along with some batchmates, when I learned that I had cleared the IAS examination, along with some ten others. The director of the academy, S.M. Diaz, congratulated us warmly but then said, ‘I don’t want the lot of you to hang around here and spoil the discipline of the other trainees. Proceed on leave immediately.’

  By then, the time I had spent at the academy had deepened my conviction that I was meant to be a police officer. Still, a spot of leave was always welcome. Besides, I was still recovering from a bout of chicken pox that I had contracted a few days before the results were declared, so I decided to take a much-needed break.

  After a fortnight, I wrote to the director that I wished to continue in the police and requested his permission to return. He not only welcomed me back, but took great delight in showing me off to other trainees as someone who had opted for the IPS despite getting into the IAS. Besides enjoying my brief leave, I also got to bask in his approval.

  The first few years of service went by in a blur as I learned the ropes. It was during this stint that I first served under the legendary Walter Davaram, who later became the first head of the Tamil Nadu STF.

  Walter was a tough, adventurous officer who believed in leading from the front—the more dangerous the situation, the better. He was an interesting combination of brains and brawn. As a student, he had spent most of his time playing various sports. He also had a photographic memory that had helped him top the history course at Madras Christian College and Annamalai University. Walter was an ace shooter, and is the person responsible for triggering a passion for shooting in me. My scores in shooting at the academy were nothing much to write home about, but Walter inspired me to practise relentlessly. It soon turned into a virtuous cycle. The more I shot, the better I got, and the better I got, the more enthusiastically I practised.

  My preferred firearm was the Browning 9mm handgun. It would never leave my side—it would either be in my drawer or under my pillow. I got good enough with it to compete in the fiercely contested Inter Police Championship in Jodhpur in 1984. At one of the events, I was tied with a constable from the Indo-Tibetan Border Police for the gold. His team raised a protest on technical grounds, but I immediately said, ‘Give him the gold.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked some of my teammates.

  I nodded. ‘It will mean a promotion for him. Besides, I’m an SP. It seems petty for a senior officer to squabble with a constable over a medal.’

  My competitive shooting days didn’t last long after that, but I did become an instructor. I continued target practice whenever I got an opportunity, though I found out the hard way that there’s a huge difference between firing at a stationary target at a practice range and trying to hit a live person in a combat situation.

  While I was still at the academy, when I went home on a break, I was told by my parents that it was time to get married. My sister Dr Uma Malini and brother-in-law Dr Gangadharan acted as matchmakers and brought a proposal for a doctor’s daughter.

  ‘We would like you and the girl to see each other,’ my father told me. I nodded meekly, feeling a bit like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

  The meeting took place on 14 July 1976. A tiny girl with big eyes entered the room. She was dressed simply and kept blinking. I learned later that she had had a huge row with her mother because she flatly refused to get decked up to meet us. Thankfully, she
didn’t sulk about it during our brief interaction. I also found out that Meena had been terrified by the rather luxuriant moustache I used to sport those days—which would have rivalled Veerappan’s.

  We were served a fabulous lunch of ghee-rice and mutton curry, followed by the famed palada kheer of Kerala for dessert. Conscious of all the eyes scrutinizing my every move, I didn’t think I would have had much of an appetite, but the food was so delicious that I found myself tucking in. ‘Well, she can certainly cook,’ I thought.

  As it turned out, the meal had actually been prepared by the other ladies of the family—which I found out much later. Fortunately for me, Meena was—and continues to be—a wonderful cook. One of her passions is preparing homemade chocolates, which get distributed among friends and relatives who eagerly look forward to these treats. She has often been urged to sell her creations, but is happy to make them as an act of love without any monetary returns.

  The wedding at Guruvayur on 22 April 1977 had a full horde from her Vattekad taravaad and my Kumaranchat taravaad (joint families) in noisy attendance.

  I didn’t really have to make much of an adjustment to married life. Meena went about setting up our house, stoically putting up with my irregular hours and frequent transfers. On our first Diwali as a couple, I was out all night raiding illegal gambling and hooch dens. I returned home the next morning to find her waiting patiently in the balcony. She served me breakfast and went about her activities without any fuss.

  Meena’s father was a prosperous doctor. Suddenly, she had to run a household on a government officer’s salary. The arrival of our son Arjun in 1978 and daughter Ashwini in 1982 stretched the already thin budget. But she always seemed to manage. Many years later, I learned that she had once quietly exchanged some jewellery to help meet the needs of our family.

  I had hardly ever bought her gifts. So once, while posted in Kashmir with the Border Security Force (BSF), I purchased a pendant. I arranged for a shikara ride and as she gazed upon the beauty of the Dal Lake, I pulled out the gift rather dramatically and handed it over to her.