Bihar Diaries

by Amit Lodha

  Unable to bear the prolonged and fruitless questioning of the man, I requested Shivender Sir to let me have a chat with the driver. Sir himself was exhausted.

  ‘Who are you? What is your role in the kidnapping?’ I asked the driver, increasingly believing my gut feeling that he was not a kidnapper per se.

  ‘Sahib, I’m a poor driver. My boss gives cars for hire. Two people came to our office yesterday and told us that they had to take their nephew from Patna to their ancestral village in Nalanda. They specifically asked for a Maruti van. This morning, they asked me to wait in the van at the Boring Road Chauraha. After some time, the men came with a semi-conscious boy, dressed in a school uniform. They told me that their nephew was not well; he was under some kind of a spell. They had taken special permission from the school authorities to take him to Nalanda for a puja to ward off the evil influence on the boy. I was a little suspicious, but then, as a driver, I ferry all kinds of passengers. Also, we often go to tantriks, ojhas or quacks in rural areas. I didn’t bother much and kept driving towards Nalanda. When we were about to reach Nagarnausa, the two men asked me to stop the vehicle on the pretext of meeting a relative. They told me that they would be using my car again in the evening. I drove a little farther before I was detained by the police here.’

  I had very little doubt that the man was telling the truth.

  ‘Do you have the numbers of those guys?’

  I deliberately did not ask for the names. I knew that even a novice in the world of crime would not reveal his actual name.

  ‘No, sir, who remembers numbers nowadays?’ said the driver. He was still shielding his face with his hands.

  ‘Dar mat, nahin maaroonga (Don’t be afraid, I won’t beat you).’

  The driver was right. I too did not remember any numbers except those of my home and my boss, the DIG of Patna. Mobile phones had increasingly reduced our ability to memorize numbers. I asked for the mobile phone of the driver. I checked the logs and showed all the numbers to the driver.

  ‘Which one is it?’

  The driver pointed at one number on the screen.

  ‘Sir, I received a call from this number in the morning today. The guy asked me to reach Boring Road Chauraha by 6.40 a.m.’

  I requested Shivender Sir to let me help with the case, although the kidnapping happened in Patna.

  ‘Sir, I will work in my own way. Let me make use of technology. Meanwhile, police teams can raid the hideouts of all suspects.’

  Being an IITian, it was natural for me to use the latest technologies and gadgets to solve cases. Shivender Bhagat had no hesitation in letting me work independently as I had successfully handled quite a few kidnapping cases earlier.

  We were racing against time as Ayushman’s father had already started arranging for the money. Ayushman was the only child of Nilesh and Madhu Gupta, a reputed couple from Patna. I instinctively knew that the kidnapper would not let the boy live even after getting the ransom.

  I rushed to my residential office and immediately called the general manager of Reliance Telecom in Kolkata. I had called Ghosh many times in connection with different cases and had developed a personal rapport with him.

  ‘Ghosh Babu, please send me the call details of 94****3654. It’s urgent.’ By that time, my wife, Tanu, had entered the office and sat down to have her tea with me, her standard ritual every day on my arrival.

  She could sense that I was disturbed about work. ‘Aapko Ayushman mil jaayega (You will find Ayushman),’ she said, her eyes expressing confidence in me.

  Ghosh called me again and told me that the number had not been used at all except for that one call to the van’s driver that morning. The call records were blank otherwise. Obviously, the criminal had procured this SIM card specifically for making calls to the victim’s family. And of course, the SIM card had been obtained under a fake name. The kidnapper had some basic knowledge about mobiles, but he was probably not as sharp as he thought.

  ‘Ghosh Babu, could you please tell me the IMEI number?’

  ‘In a minute, sir,’ replied Ghosh.

  IMEI, or International Mobile Equipment Identity, is a unique fifteen-digit serial number given to every mobile phone. A service provider like Reliance or Airtel can run the SIM card number through its database and find the IMEI number being used by that SIM card. Once the IMEI number is known, the details of any other SIM card used on that particular phone can be found out. The reverse is also true. I requested Ghosh to immediately run the IMEI number of the mobile phone of the criminal and see if any other SIM had been used on the phone.

  ‘The person used another SIM on his handset earlier! That SIM card, 94****6381, is of our company too,’ said an excited Ghosh in his sweet Bengali accent.

  ‘Can you check if that number is still in use?’ I asked, equally excited.

  ‘Yes, of course. I checked it. That number is functional right now.’

  It meant the kidnapper had another SIM card that he was using for other conversations.

  ‘Then send me the call details of that number. Just for the last forty-eight hours.’

  I wanted to focus on the last few calls only. Obviously, those calls were going to provide the most crucial clues to solve the case.

  Ghosh had been of tremendous help. Within a few minutes, the printout of the call details was on my desk. I circled the numbers that appeared a little more frequently in the incoming and outgoing calls list. In fact, a particular number had been contacted a few times just a few hours ago, almost immediately after the van was detained by the police. That number could be the key to our case.

  To take a short break, I went into the house to play with my three-year-old son, Aditya. I came back soon and saw one of my finest officers, Sanjay, looking at the printout lying on my table.

  ‘Sir, this number you have circled, it is the number of Shyam, my spy!’ exclaimed Sanjay. I was surprised by this unexpected information.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I talk to Shyam practically every day to gather information about any suspicious activity in my area.’

  I could not believe my good luck. I sent Sanjay to immediately fetch the man. After an hour, he came back, but without his informant.

  ‘Sir, I did not find Shyam. I will try again tomorrow morning,’ a disappointed Sanjay said. He then saluted and left.

  I pondered for some minutes. There was nothing more I could do at that moment about the kidnapping case. I dispensed some office work and decided to catch up on sleep. It had been a long day. I lay down, but my mind refused to switch off. A voice in my head kept saying, ‘A young boy has been kidnapped. And you’re going off to sleep!’

  I tried to pacify myself by thinking I had done the best I could, and would try something else tomorrow, but I couldn’t simply switch off and go to sleep. I knew every hour was crucial for the safety of that boy.

  I got out of bed, a little irritated, but realizing what needed to be done. I called SI Sanjay.

  ‘Sanjay, Shyam ko utha ke lao (Sanjay, get Shyam here). Raid all his hideouts.’

  Shyam was our best chance. If the kidnapper had contacted him, there must be a strong reason for that. Sanjay realized that I wanted Shyam at any cost.

  I waited anxiously in my residential office and soon heard a jeep rumble outside. Sanjay marched in triumphantly. This time, he had been lucky.

  ‘Sir, mil gaya,’ said Sanjay. Tariq, my operator, pushed a lanky, thin man towards my table. The fellow was clearly intoxicated.

  Shyam was a nashedi, a liquor addict, a typical police ‘spy’ who would provide information about criminal activities to the police for small favours. These informers often commit petty offences, which are sometimes deliberately overlooked by the police, for obvious reasons.

  ‘Whose number is this?’ I pointed at the highlighted number in the printout.

  ‘Sir, I don’t know––what are you talking about?’

  Sanjay shoved him. Shyam fell to the floor. The effect of th
e liquor diminished considerably with that one push.

  ‘You have talked to this person four times in the last ten hours. The call logs on your mobile screen are clearly showing this. Don’t try to play games with us. Baap hain hum tumhare,’ said Sanjay, pointing at the screen of Shyam’s mobile phone.

  Realizing that his bluff had been called, Shyam told us that Sukhu Sao had called him. Sukhu was a dreaded kidnapper in Patna, infamous for killing his victims after getting the ransom money.

  Sukhu had asked Shyam to arrange a Maruti van for him. The Maruti van was the preferred vehicle of kidnappers those days. The van’s sliding doors made it quite convenient to push the helpless victim inside. I am sure this is one endorsement that Maruti did not covet. Shyam was totally unaware that Sukhu had kidnapped a child and the vehicle was to be used for ferrying Ayushman to a hideout.

  ‘Where will you deliver the vehicle to him? Will Sukhu come on his own? Or will you call him? Do you know him well? What does he look like?’ I bombarded Shyam with a number of questions.

  ‘Sahib, I met Sukhu when both of us were in Beur Jail, Patna, two years ago. I have talked to him only on the phone a few times since then, but I will still surely recognize him. He’s quite tall and burly, and absolutely bald. He told me to come with the van to the booth near the bus stand tomorrow at 8 a.m.’

  I checked the clock in my office immediately. It was 1.40 a.m. Sanjay and I went to the proposed rendezvous and surveyed the area.

  ‘Sanjay, keep your men at different vantage points around this area. Take your positions by 7 a.m. Shyam, the moment you are sure that it’s Sukhu Sao, just start caressing your hair. Sanjay, this will be a signal for you and your men to catch Sukhu. It won’t be very crowded early in the morning, so it will not be difficult for you to arrest him.’

  Satisfied with my briefing to Sanjay, I waited anxiously for dawn to break. It was impossible to sleep now. I went home and sat on the rocking chair in my drawing room. I did not enter my bedroom as I did not want to disturb Tanu and Aditya.

  At 6.30 a.m., I got a call from Sanjay, who was shouting frantically on the phone.

  ‘Sir, pakad liya (Sir, I have caught him).’

  It so happened that Sukhu had called Shyam early in the morning and asked him to meet at 6 a.m., two hours before the time fixed earlier. A worried Shyam immediately called Sanjay for instructions. Sanjay, the ever brilliant officer, decided at that instant that Shyam had to meet Sukhu at the stipulated time, otherwise Sukhu would become suspicious. Sanjay left for the bus stand with just two newly recruited constables who were available at the police station at that time. He briefed them on the way. They nodded nervously. Sanjay did not have much time. He frantically tried to call me, but out of sheer bad luck, the call would not connect. He cursed the unreliable mobile phone network. Praying to God, he asked the two constables to take their positions and hoped that everything went according to the plan.

  Sanjay waited in a corner with bated breath, every second feeling like an eternity. Shyam paced anxiously in the alley near the booth, his heart beating hard. Then, all of a sudden, a huge six-foot-plus man appeared. It had to be Sukhu. Shyam froze the instant he recognized Sukhu. The expressions on Shyam’s face clearly aroused some suspicion in Sukhu’s mind and made him turn around quickly. He started moving towards the alley.

  ‘Sir, pakdo!’ shouted Shyam at the top of his voice. Sanjay ran like a sprinter after Sukhu. He shouted and waved at the two constables, ‘What the hell are you two doing? Boodbak, you fools, stop him!’

  It happens many times in a crisis––the mind goes blank, the body freezes. This is exactly what happened with the two constables. Sanjay just couldn’t let Sukhu escape. With all his might, he jumped on Sukhu and knocked him down with his elbow. Sukhu was too strong for Sanjay. He kicked Sanjay in the shin and almost broke free. But the two constables chose that moment to regain their senses and pounced on Sukhu. After restraining Sukhu, Sanjay called me. This time his call connected.

  My excitement knew no bounds. I ran out of my house wearing my slippers and hailed my driver and bodyguard. As my beacon-fitted official vehicle could alert any criminal to our arrival, I deliberately decided to travel in a private vehicle.

  A Toyota Qualis had been seized just the previous night by the SHO of the Sarmera police station. It belonged to another notorious kidnapper in Nalanda, Chhota Santosh. Santosh was quite short, hence the name, but he was a big pain for the Patna and Nalanda police. The SHO had also seized a horse from Santosh’s house. Naturally, it was the Qualis that I chose.

  I reached the bus stand in no time. There I saw Sanjay, totally mired in sweat and mud, panting heavily. We put Sukhu in the back of the car, flanked by Ajit, my bodyguard, Shyam and Sanjay. My driver, Chhotu Singh, drove as fast as he could. There was no time to lose at all. I was worried about Ayushman’s safety. What if there was someone else with Sukhu Sao? What if the other kidnappers had come to know that we had caught Sukhu?

  ‘Where have you kept the boy?’ I slapped Sukhu hard. It hurt my hand, but I didn’t show any pain.

  We interrogated him in the moving vehicle but he didn’t open his mouth. We were losing precious time. ‘Sahib, I think he has kept the boy in Saraunja village. He had made a passing reference to Saraunja yesterday while talking to me. I’ll take you there,’ Shyam finally intervened.

  ‘Let us give it a try,’ I said desperately.

  I asked Adil Zafar, the DSP of that area, to join us at Saraunja. I also called C.A. Shankar, the IG.

  ‘Sir, I’ve got the kidnapper. I’m going to get Ayushman.’

  The IG was happy to finally hear some good news. He started for Nalanda, along with Shivender Bhagat, the DIG. The IG immediately told Ayushman’s parents about the imminent recovery of the boy. Unfortunately, this news was also somehow leaked to the media. Soon, vehicles of the media, particularly news channels, were parked outside my house. Tanu was shocked to see so many OB vans prowling around. The circus-like atmosphere confused our son, Aditya.

  We reached Saraunja village after two hours. We checked every house, but did not find anything suspicious. Now we were losing hope. It was getting gloomy outside too.

  ‘Bastard, where have you kept the boy? You will die a horrible death,’ snarled Adil.

  ‘Kill me, sir. I’m dead anyway,’ a nonchalant Sukhu murmured. He knew that we couldn’t do anything to him till we recovered Ayushman.

  ‘Abe, yahaan kyon lekar aaya (Why did you get us here, you rascal)?’ Ajit was furious. He grabbed Shyam’s collar.

  ‘Sir, galti ho gayi (Sir, I made a mistake). I thought he spoke about Saraunja yesterday. I am not sure now. Maybe I misheard. I should stop drinking so much tharra.’

  ‘Mat pee itna, bewade (Don’t drink so much, you drunkard)! This intoxication will get you killed some day,’ Sanjay said as he stared at him hard.

  ‘Amit, any good news?’ asked Shivender Sir on the mobile phone.

  I took a moment to compose myself before saying, ‘Sir, there’s no one here. I don’t know what to do right now. But I assure you I won’t return without Ayushman.’

  ‘That’s my boy!’

  C.A. Shankar, a chain-smoker, sat in my residential office, enjoying Tanu’s hospitality. As he was about to take a sip of his umpteenth cup of tea, Shivender Sir told him of the latest development. The cup almost slipped out of his hands, spilling some tea on his trousers. What if something went wrong now? Ayushman’s family was about to reach and media persons were waiting outside like salivating dogs. Yet, somehow, he had a feeling that today was our day, and that everything would end well.

  Adil and Sanjay interrogated Sukhu again, but he didn’t utter a word about Ayushman’s whereabouts. He knew his silence was his passport to safety. If we didn’t recover Ayushman, we couldn’t take any strong legal action against him. He would be out on bail very soon. I was staring blankly into space; I could not think of any plan.

  Then, out of the blue, Ajit handed his mobile to me, saying,
‘Sir, the SHO of Deepnagar, Vinod Babu, wants to speak to you urgently.’

  ‘Sir, I have come to know that you have arrested the veteran criminal Sukhu Sao. Ajit told me that you could not find the kidnapped boy in Saraunja. I would strongly suggest that you raid Tripolia village. It’s close to Saraunja and has been a traditional hideout of Sukhu and his gang members. I had arrested Sukhu a few years ago from the same village,’ Vinod said quickly.

  By a stroke of luck, Vinod Yadav had called my residence for an official matter. As soon as he was apprised of the developments in the kidnapping case by Tariq, he had called me. I was glad for Vinod’s knowledge of criminals and his loyalty towards me and the department. This is generally true for many policemen. That is the reason for the success of the police all over the country. When we put on our uniforms, we work as a team.

  I had been feeling hopeless a while ago. Vinod’s call reinvigorated all of us and we decided to follow his advice. We started walking towards Tripolia––it was about two kilometres away. Our vehicles could not go there as the roads were terrible. My hip joint started hurting all of a sudden. It was clearly an attack of ankylosing spondylitis, an arthritic condition I had had since my training days. I had no option but to ignore it. It started raining heavily. We rolled up our trousers and covered our weapons. I fervently prayed to God and hoped for a miracle.

  As we neared the village, we saw a small one-storeyed house on the outskirts. I saw a man on the terrace and the unmistakable shape of a pistol in his hand. I gestured to all my men to take their positions. Before we could even move, a bullet whizzed past Ajit’s ear. He was clearly shaken but, the brave man that he was, he immediately fired back. We didn’t have any cover to give us protection. Instinctively, we all lay down on the ground and crawled towards the house. My hip and back started hurting like hell. Ajit and Adil somehow managed to pull me away from the volley of fire. Luckily, the man with the gun was not a professional like us. Soon, he had emptied the magazine of his pistol. Too much of an adrenaline rush is bad in such instances. This was a chance good enough for Rajesh, one of Adil’s bodyguards. He took a deep breath, held his pistol still and fired at the criminal’s chest. One shot was all it took to make the body fall to the ground. Without wasting a moment or caring for our safety, we barged into the house. In the ensuing melee, we forgot about Sukhu. Things had happened in such a rush since the morning that it simply had not occurred to any of us to handcuff him! He tried to pounce on Ajit and take his revolver. But Ajit was an equally tall and strong person. He grappled with Sukhu and had no choice but to fire at him from point-blank range. Sukhu collapsed in a heap instantly. The 9 mm bullet had punctured his lung. Both the criminals would have been alive if they had not attacked us first.