Monday, 23 September 2013

Fear and foreboding in sugarcane country


Fear & Foreboding in Sugarcane Country

Fear & Foreboding in Sugarcane Country: A vicious clash between two communities in western Uttar Pradesh puts the state on edge as it threatens to spiral into a wider communal conflagration
Sandeep Unnithan  Muzaffarnagar, September 13, 2013 | UPDATED 21:26 IST
Sumit Balyan, 30, sits in a crowded ward of Muzaffarnagar's general hospital, nursing a gunshot injury on his left ankle. The truck driver had just returned to his house in the city's Krishnapuri area on September 7 when an angry mob wielding swords and guns surged across the narrow road that divides homes of two communities. A bullet fired by the mob pierced his ankle. "They were shouting religious slogans," he recounts, still trembling in fear. "We fled to save our lives." Akram Malik, a wiry 23-year-old mason sitting a chair away from Balyan, a sword injury on his chest sutured by five stitches, tells a similar story of unsolicited horror. The resident of Haldi village, 50 km away, was on his way to attend a family wedding when a dozen stick-and sword-wielding youngsters stopped the tempo in which his six family members were travelling. His uncle, Karamdeen, 70, who sports a scraggy white beard and a skull cap, was riding in front. The group pulled them out, slashed them with swords and bludgeoned them. "I've lived among Jats for five years," he says tearfully, "I've built houses for them why would they do this to us?"

Police stop a car in Nagla Mandaud village near Muzaffarnagar
It all began with a case of sexual harassment on August 27, which led to three murders in this district of lush sugarcane fields of western Uttar Pradesh, 125 km north-east of Delhi. Sachin, 24, a farmer, and Gaurav, 18, from Malikpur village, allegedly murdered Shahnawaz Qureishi, 26, of Kawal village, 35 km away from the district headquarters. The youngsters were lynched by villagers as they tried to flee. The incident would have gone down as another statistic in a district with a history of land disputes, crime and revenge killings. Instead, it caused Uttar Pradesh's worst incident of communal violence in nearly two decades.

Over the next few days, tempers rose as Jats agitated for the arrest of the perpetrators from Kawal village. Rumours were fuelled by an alleged MMS clip of the deaths of the two youngsters, Sachin and Gaurav; the video was later proved to be fake. There were stone pelting, stray incidents of arson across the district, intelligence alerts that warned of a powder keg, and then, an inscrutable sign: Children stopped going to schools. "It was like a gas balloon slowly building up," says one Muslim leader. On September 3, fresh violence broke out after an argument between a sweeper and a Muslim house owner assumed communal overtones, leading to arson and the death of one person.

On September 7, the balloon burst into an explosive communal conflagration. Nearly 100,000 people from Haryana and neighbouring districts congregated at Nagla Mandaud village, 20 km away from the city. The gathering was illegal because Section 144 was still in force, but both sides had ignored prohibitory orders for over a week and the state government did nothing. At this provocative 'mahapanchayat', Hukum Singh, BJP's leader in the Uttar Pradesh Assembly, and Rajesh Tikait and Narendra Tikait of the Bhartiya Kisan Union delivered inflammatory speeches. The crowds returning from the mahapanchayat were fired upon, allegedly by Muslims. Hindus and Muslims fought pitched battles in villages, darting in and out of sugarcane fields and narrow village lanes to target each other.

The communal fire spread to the city. A state government which was a picture of proactive policing last month-it arrested nearly 2,000 people to disrupt the Vishva Hindu Parishad's (VHP) 'chaurasi kos parikrama'-did not even react. Houses burned, entire villages emptied out and villagers fled into police stations. A district known for a flourishing underground gun market-1,604 people were arrested in a drive against illegal weapons in 2008, third largest after Ghaziabad and Meerut-now unleashed its deadly arsenal. The official death toll has touched 40 in western Uttar Pradesh, 34 of them in Muzaffarnagar.

A new generation of youngsters who had only heard horror stories of communal violence after the Babri Masjid demolition in December 1992, saw it first hand, before Army columns trundled in to restore some semblance of normalcy at midnight on September 7. By then, the district had become a test case of political ineptitude and police laxity. The police imposed Section 144 on the district soon after the August 27 incident but this was brazenly flouted by a series of khap panchayats. "The police watched idly as these panchayats were held from August 31. Thousands of villagers entered the district on tractor trolleys brandishing weapons, making a mockery of law and order," says Mirajuddin Salmani, 48, who runs a hairdressing saloon in Muzaffarnagar.

There are fears Muzaffarnagar's communal virus could spread. The 70 other districts of Uttar Pradesh, particularly neighbouring Meerut, Bijnor and Moradabad, are on tenterhooks. Holidays have been cancelled, the police are on alert and inventories of riot control gear rushed to these places.

Communal violence was nearly unheard of in Muzaffarnagar, a 4,000-sq-km district with Uttar Pradesh's highest agricultural GDP. Many Muslims are converts and have identical language and customs to their Jat neighbours. Jat leaders like Ajit Singh, whose Rashtriya Lok Dal has five MPs and 11 MLAs, count Muslim-Jat unity as their political power base. That unity has cracked, police and administrative officials say, and the state is in danger because of the politics of polarisation being played out ahead of the 2014 Lok Sabha elections by both Samajwadi Party (SP) and BJP. SP is hypersensitive about its Muslim vote bank to the extent of punishing police officers who arrest Muslim youngsters, and bjp hopes to stage a comeback in Uttar Pradesh by riding on Hindu votes.

Police lodged an FIR against BJP MLA Sangeet Som for uploading a 2010 clip of two youngsters being lynched in Sialkot, Pakistan, on his Facebook page purportedly as Sachin and Gaurav's. A criminal charge was brought against Assembly leader Hukum Singh and Suresh Rana for provocative speeches at the mahapanchayat, charges the bjp leaders deny. But the damage has already been done. State government officials can now only rue the rapid turn of events. "We were so proactive when it came to the VHP yatra," a senior district official explains, "the chief secretary reviewed preparations, police local intelligence units knew the location of every mahant but when it came to Muzaffarnagar, they allowed it to fester until it was uncontrollable."

Senior Congress leader Digvijaya Singh, who defended Akhilesh Yadav in July last year over the government's law and order record, has now tweeted that 'Mayawati's record was better'. Azam Khan, the SP's most influential Muslim leader, boycotted the party national executive meet in Agra to protest against his government's failure to stop the riots. Police officials say the state government's vote-bank politics is only going to worsen things. "When the government unofficially says members of one community cannot be arrested, it encourages vigilantism and signals the failure of law and order," a senior police official says. Worse, a sense of hurt and victimhood continues to simmer as the Army holds flag marches in Muzaffarnagar city. "Nobody's happy," says Tariq Qurashi, 58, president of the city Congress committee. "Both Hindus and Muslims feel hurt and victimised by what happened," he says. A sentiment that could have ominous overtones for the state's fragile communal fault lines.

Wednesday, 11 September 2013

Muzaffarnagar aftermath


Muzaffarnagar aftermath: A locked house, a grieving family, police, paramilitary and army

Sandeep Unnithan  Muzaffarnagar, September 11, 2013 | UPDATED 23:55 IST
 
Police at the entrance of Kawal village, Muzaffarnagar district. The village has seen heavy police presence since the August 27 triple murders. Photo: Vikram Sharma/India Today
Muzaffarnagar'
s orgy of communal violence began with three murders in the village of Kawal on August 27.

Shahnawaz Qureishi, 25, a small-time cloth hawker from the village, was allegedly murdered by two youth -- Sachin, 24, and Gaurav, 18 -- for sexually harassing their sister.

Watch the slideshow of the village

The two youngsters, who lived in Malikpur barely two kilometres away, were lynched by Muslim villagers of Kawal.

The murders triggered off riots elsewhere in the district but the village of approximately 12,000 people has not known any disruption since August 27.

A peace committee, formed in the village a week ago, now meets every day; a small group of villagers walks behind a youngster dressed as Lord Hanuman, signals the start of Ramlila festivities.

The village, which is evenly divided among Hindus and Muslims, is calm. It is a calm enforced by personnel in khaki and olive green fatigues.

Hundreds of police personnel stand guard even as military flag marches that kick up dust clouds through the narrow village bylanes.

A Superintendent of Police from Ghaziabad sits in the control room that functions out of an abandoned house and engages the villagers in light banter over tea and biscuits.

Out of sight from the policemen, villagers whisper about anti-social elements in their midst who brutally murdered the boys.

Shahnawaz's family fled the village fearing retaliation around a week back. They haven't returned so far even to claim the Rs.10-lakh compensation being offered by the tehsildar.

The family home, a single-room brick dwelling in Hussainpura mohalla on the village outskirts, stands locked. Work has also stopped on the two-room concrete home the Qureishis were building for themselves on an adjacent plot. Shahnawaz was a small cloth trader who frequently plied his wares in Bangalore and Chennai.

Two kilometres down a narrow dirt path, the tiny village of  Malikpur silently mourns its dead sons. The incessant cawing of crows at sundown is the only sound.

Bishan Singh, 45, a sugarcane farmer, lost his son Sachin and his sister's son Gaurav, a student of 12th standard. He now sits with other male members of his family on charpoys outside the family home, greeting visitors who drop by to offer condolences. Two policemen sit on chairs, AK-47s on their laps, fanning themselves in the enervating heat. There is only one happy face there. Sachin's son Gagan, 2, gurgles, laughs and darts around the charpoys.

"He keeps asking for his father," says Bishan Singh. "I don't know what to tell the boy."

Friday, 6 September 2013

Meet the man behind the ISI's Karachi Project: Major Abdur Rehman Hashim alias Pasha


Meet the man behind the Karachi Project: Major Abdur Rehman Hashim alias Pasha

Sandeep Unnithan  September 6, 2013 | UPDATED 14:36 IST
 
A most wanted list of terrorists routinely given to Pakistan by India's home ministry since the November 26, 2008 attacks has the dim, grainy image of a bearded, middle-aged man sporting close cropped hair. Major Abdur Rehman Hashim alias 'Pasha' is India's Most Wanted number 3 on the list after Lashkar-e-Toiba chief Hafiz Saeed and Dawood Ibrahim for one very important reason. He heads the 'Karachi Project', a plan to carry out a series of bomb attacks using local Indian youngsters.

Yasin Bhatkal, 30, arrested by a joint IB-Bihar police team in Nepal's second largest city, Pokhra, on August 28, is part of this project. Now as Bhatkal spills the beans on this project, Indian investigators are revisiting Major Abdur Rehman.


Much of what they know of the shadowy former Pakistan army officer who retired from service in 2007, comes from David Coleman Headley, the 'American jehadi' who recced the targets in Mumbai for the LeT to carry out the November 26, 2008 terrorist strikes.

Also read: Yasin Bhatkal's war against India

In the summer of 2010, a relaxed and voluble David Coleman Headley, 53, recounted his fascinating journey down the rabbit hole of Pakistan's deep state, to Indian investigators who questioned him at a US federal prison in Chicago. The Inter Services Intelligence (ISI) and its twin strategic assets, the Lashkar-e-Toiba and the 'Karachi project', Headley revealed, were not only committed to waging a covert war of terrorist attacks within India, but were also linked with the ongoing war in Afghanistan.

There were several dramatis personae in the story Headley told NIA sleuths:  the pot-bellied and evasive LeT supreme commander Hafiz Saeed and Al Qaeda's number three in Pakistan, the one-eyed fanatic Ilyas Kashmiri. But none were as close as Major Abdur Rehman Hashim. The Pakistan army officer, who was 35 years old when Headley met him at the LeT's Qudisiya mosque in Lahore in 2002, was a constant companion to the older Pakistani-American.

Round-faced and of medium height, Abdur Rehman's ISI-run 'Karachi Project', he told Headley, comprised entirely of militants of Indian origin. (the ISI stayed in the shadows to 'plausibly deny' involvement). These Indian youngsters had been trained as bomb-makers and then infiltrated to plant IEDs inside India. Abdur Rehman's Karachi Project was separate from the LeT's similar setup to attack India, also based out of Karachi.

Abdur Rehman's project also had a base in eastern Nepal which had a sizeable Muslim population to allow his operatives to easily blend in. From here, terrorists were easily infiltrated into India via the porous Indo-Nepal border in Bihar. Abdur Rehman frequently visited this base in eastern Nepal.

What drew Headley, then 42, close to Abdur Rehman?

Perhaps Headley, a high school dropout and the product of a broken home , a drug pusher and rejected by the LeT as being  "too old to fight in Kashmir" aspired to be like the young officer. Major Abdur Rehman had graduated from Lahore's Government College and passed out of the Pakistan Military Academy, Kakul. Like his father Major Abdul Ghani, Abdur Rehman served in the sixth battalion of the Baloch Regiment.  His khaki fatigues, however, scarcely concealed the young officer's burning commitment to jehad. He was demoted to captain in 2002 while posted in a frontier town across Afghanistan. He claimed to have been demoted to the rank of captain for refusing to fight.
Delhi Police poster of wanted IM operatives, including the Bhatkals
Delhi Police poster of wanted IM operatives, including the Bhatkals.


Osama bin Laden's Al Qaeda fighters fleeing their mountain redoubt of Tora Bora in Eastern Afghanistan in December 2001, for save havens inside Pakistan. Unusual for a serving Pakistan army officer, Abdur Rehman was part of the LeT. When Headley trained to be an LeT footsoldier at the LeT's "daura-e-khas" (a special three-month course for militants) in Muzzafarabad, Pakistan Occupied Kashmir, Headley discovered the retired major was there, training LeT fighters to become 'fedayeen' or suicide attackers.

Abdur Rehman later accompanied the LeT's Sajid Mir in 2005 to visit India as a cricket fan. His real mission, however, was to recce targets. Abdur Rehman was no freelance jihadi. He had an ISI handler, Colonel Shah, a serving military officer who kept in constant touch, an association that Rehman chafed at.

In 2006, Headley was despatched to Mumbai at the behest of the ISI and the LeT to recce targets in India's economic capital. Headley, who had by then changed his name from Daood Gilani to the American David Headley and got himself an American passport to escape suspicion. He made as many as five trips to recce targets, shuttling between Mumbai and Lahore, always made it a point to contact Abdur Rehman. The retired officer mediated in Headley's family dispute which arose after Headley took on a second wife, the Morrocco-born Faiza Outalha. Headley frequented Abdur Rehman's home in Lahore because he had broad band connectivity.

The retired Major was Janus-faced when he came to his priorities-on one trip Headley discovered he had gone to 'fight crusader forces in Afghanistan'. But the fight in Afghanistan, which drew Abdur Rehman closer to Ilyas Kashmiri's '313 Brigade', did not distract him from targeting India. He told Headley that the July 2006 Mumbai train bombings which killed over 200 Indian commuters were carried out by local Indian boys. He urged Headley to scout the National Defence College in Delhi, where senior military officers and bureaucrats underwent a year-long course, because 'they could kill more Indian military personnel than in all the wars against India.'

Soon after the Mumbai attacks, Headley and Abdur Rehman drifted apart from the LeT. Headley began working on Abdur Rehman's plan to attack the NDC in Delhi. In October 2009, Headley was arrested by the FBI at Chicago's O'Hare airport. He was to board a flight to Pakistan to meet Abdur Rehman and Ilyas Kashmiri. Abdur Rehman was also arrested by Pakistani authorities in October that year, but, later released. His war against India continues.

Monday, 26 August 2013

Navy's dubious safety record worrisome for national security


Indian Navy's dubious safety record worrisome for national security

Sandeep Unnithan  New Delhi, August 26, 2013 | UPDATED 16:25 IST

INS Sindhurakshak sank in Mumbai after two blasts ripped through its hull on August 14.
INS Sindhurakshak sank in Mumbai after two blasts ripped through its hull on August 14.
In November 2011, the Indian Navy was particularly incensed with what a US naval lieutenant had posted on a blog. The unnamed lieutenant, who spent four days on destroyer INS Delhi in the Arabian Sea as part of an exchange programme, called the Indian crew "generally clueless", with "almost zero seamanship skills". This was one in a long, harsh critique of what he saw on the frontline warship. The blog was removed days after it was posted.
Did the blog touch a raw nerve? Just 10 months earlier, the naval frigate INS Vindhyagiri collided with a merchant tanker in Mumbai harbour sank. It was the fourth time a warship was completely written off in 23 years. Since 1990, the Indian Navy has lost one warship in peacetime every five years. Since 2004, it has lost one naval combatant every two years. Few global navies have such a dubious record. Five days after the August 14 explosion destroyed INS Sindhurakshak, killing 18 crew members, Defence Minister A.K. Antony told Rajya Sabha that "preliminary probe indicated the blast was due to possible ignition of armament". Armed with torpedoes and missiles, the submarine was fully fuelled and ready to sail for patrol early next morning.
Former southern naval chief Vice Admiral K.N. Sushil (retired) cautions it is too early to conclude it sank due to negligence. Evidence points to a blast in an oxygen-powered torpedo, he says. "The Navy must do a forensic examination to pinpoint the cause," he says.
What is worrying is that with each warship loss, key maritime capabilities are being lost. The Sindhurakshak had returned from Russia four months ago, and after a two-and-a-half year refit, was the Navy's most potent conventional submarine. The frigate INS Vindhyagiri was the only warship that could control spy drones far out at sea.
Peacetime losses of warships are not uncommon. Since the World War II, the US Navy has lost 16 warships in accidents. Russia's nuclear submarine Kursk sank in August 2000 after a faulty torpedo exploded during a training exercise. But in case of the smaller Indian Navy-it only has 30 frontline warships and 14 submarines-they point to a far disturbing trend, of human rather than technical error. The Prahar and Vindhyagiri collided with lumbering merchant vessels. The INS Agray was cut into half in 2004 when a crew member tossed a misfired anti-submarine rocket overboard. The spate of accidents comes at a time when the fleet is expanding in both size and complexity. Last year, it acquired INS Chakra, its first nuclear-powered attack submarine from Russia. It is set to induct its largest ship, the 44,000-tonne aircraft carrier INS Vikramaditya, from Russia this year. Former eastern naval commander Vice Admiral A.K. Singh (retired) slams the Government's apathy. "The Navy is operating vessels long past their service years of 25 and 30 years as the government doesn't sanction new ones in time," he says.
Ageing ships alone do not explain other accidents and collisions. Naval officials say there are a series of smaller mishaps that point to Standard Operating Procedures (sops) not being followed. The August 2009 collision of the missile corvette INS Kuthar with destroyer INS Ranvir in the Bay of Bengal was traced to a rudder failure, compounded by a flawed manoeuvre. In 2010, three crew men on destroyer INS Mumbai were instantly killed when an AK-630 Gatling gun went off as safety drills were not followed. The submarine INS Sindhughosh collided twice; once with a fishing boat in 2006 and once with a merchant vessel in 2007. "The Navy has put in place multiple, institutionalised methods and procedures towards enhancing safety," a naval spokesperson said, responding to a questionnaire. "Each type of unit has a Safety Class Authority that oversees safety aspects and guides safety related policy. On completion of major repairs, all units undergo a safety audit, prior joining respective formations."
"The problem is that we aren't empowering our young officers," admits a senior naval officer, echoing what the US navy blogger said. Experience levels have suffered as there is a mismatch between number of warships and officers. Each year, 60 captain-ranked officers vie for the command of 15-20 warships. "A decade ago, a captain got two 18-month long sea tenures, allowing him to build up experience; today he gets only one," says a naval officer.
"Adequate sea tenures are provided to all concerned," a naval spokesperson said.
In 2006, then defence minister Pranab Mukherjee pulled Navy brass up after a spate of accidents. Accidents have however continued despite 'safety stand down' procedures performed on all warships every quarter, and court-martials. The loss of the Sindhurakshak has now pushed them to unacceptable levels.

Friday, 19 July 2013

The sons of Karimnagar


Inside The Maoist Nursery

Majority of the Maoist leadership hail from a single district of Telangana, a legacy that haunts its demand for statehood
Sandeep Unnithan  Karimnagar, July 19, 2013 | UPDATED 17:23 IST
On November 27, 2011, the body of slain Maoist Mallojula Koteshwara Rao alias Kishenji was brought back to his home in Pedapalli village in Andhra Pradesh's Karimnagar district. The Maoist number three, a ruthless tactician fluent in six languages, was killed after a firefight with CRPF men in West Bengal. Policemen in plainclothes filmed the crowds that gathered to spot Maoists in mufti. Kishenji was swiftly replaced in the Maoist politburo, the highest decision making body of CPI (Maoist), by his younger brother Venugopal, 51. His mother, Madhuramma, 76, wife of a deceased freedom fighter, says she may not live to see her son. "This is war," she says, "They kill the police... the police kill them."

Madhuramma
Madhuramma, the mother of Maoist leaders Kishenji and Venugopal. Photo: Vikram Sharma/India Today
A majority of the Maoist senior leadership, which steers this war against India from the jungles of Chhattisgarh, hails from Andhra Pradesh's Telangana region. Six of the Maoists' most important leaders including their chief, Muppalla Lakshmana Rao alias Ganapathy, 63, come from a quaint knot of towns and villages of Karimnagar district, 160 km north of Hyderabad.

"They are not like the dreamy Naxalite intellectuals of yore such as Charu Mazumdar," says an Andhra police officer. "These Maoist leaders back ideology with hardcore military skills." Their war, which has claimed over 8,000 lives since 2003, took a savage turn this year. In January, Maoists planted an explosive inside the body of a CRPF trooper they had killed in Jharkand and, in a first for any Indian insurgency, shot down an IAF  helicopter on January 18 in Chhattisgarh; on May 25, Maoists massacred 28 people in one swoop, wiping out practically the entire Opposition Congress party in Chhattisgarh-Nand Kumar Patel, V.C. Shukla and Mahendra Karma. Katakam Sudershan, 58, the mastermind, a senior member of the Maoists' Central Military Commission (CMC) is from Belampalli village in Nizamabad that borders Karimnagar.

A 2010 Andhra Pradesh police handbook of 408 wanted Maoists credits Karimnagar with 60 important Maoists, second only to Warangal with 80. Both these districts are part of what will eventually be India's 29th state, Telangana. In a July 12 power point presentation before the Congress core committee in Delhi, Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister Kiran Kumar Reddy said that statehood for Telangana would aggravate communalism and Naxalism. Newly created Chhattisgarh and Jharkhand, he warned, were in the grip of Naxalism.

Sons Of Karimnagar

Karimnagar with a population of 3.9 million, is sandwiched by the Godavari river in the north, Chhattisgarh's Bastar to the east, Nizamabad to the west and Warangal to the south. It is Andhra Pradesh's hottest district-10 people died after temperatures touched 49 degree Celcius this summer. Geography and climate alone does not answer why the district named after a Nizam scion, turned into an extremist hotbed.

On the morning of June 1 this year, the residents of Beerpur, a village of 3,651 people in northern Karimnagar, were roused by the town crier. Beating a tinny drum, a ritual unchanged since Mughal times, he announced that the government was seizing the lands of top Maoist leaders. He was accompanied by the village tehsildar and an officer from the National Investigation Agency (NIA). Beerpur is the birthplace of Maoist leader Ganapathy. The NIA is pursuing a 2010 arms recovery case in West Bengal where senior leaders including Ganapathy and Tirupati are co-accused. They confiscated 1.3 acres owned by Balamuri Narayan Rao, another Maoist leader and Ganapathy acolyte. Ganapathy, they discovered, owned no land. The effort was a token one, but it is the first time a central agency had acted against a leadership that flits between the grey areas of a Centre and state problem.

Land has always been the root cause. Ganapathy was the son of a farmer from the landowning Velama upper caste, the very class he eventually turned against. A BSc graduate from Karimnagar's srr college in 1970, he taught at a district school for three years. Karimnagar was a district with a history of near-continuous armed struggle. CPI's armed revolt, also called the Telangana Rebellion, began in 1945 and ended in 1951. It was aimed at the Nizam, but the feudal tyranny of the landlords called the 'Doralu' continued even after the Nizam's rule ended. "There was no development, agriculture was rain-fed and feudal oppression rampant," explains Karimnagar MP Ponnam Prabhakar. The Doralu exercised untrammelled power over their unlimited land holdings, a power that frequently extended over the wives of their tenant farmers. It was a condition ripe for uprising.

"He was shy, reserved... a teetotaler with no vices," recalls Ganapathy's cousin Rajeshwar Rao, 75, a contractor who lives in the village as he sits by the roadside, fanning himself with a towel in the damp monsoon heat. "All three brothers were communists," he says, "always immersed in viplava sahityam (revolutionary literature)."

The foundations of the Karimnagar caucus were set in the Radical Students Union (RSU), a Marxist students' body where all the Maoist leaders met. Ganapathy and other graduates from the districts of Telangana gravitated towards RSU. They were joined by other ideologues like Cherukuri Rajkumar alias 'Azad', a gold medallist from the regional engineering college in Warangal (killed by Andhra police in 2010) and Kishenji.

Ganapathy was arrested for violence and arson during the nationwide Emergency in 1977. He jumped bail and went underground in 1979. He and the others joined Kondapalli Seetharamaih's People's War Group (PWG) the following year. They were the children of Mao Zedong, adherents of his Red Book. They were convinced power flowed from the barrel of the gun and, like the Chairman, dreamt of wresting it in three steps: From remote jungle strongholds, to villages and finally the battle for the urban centres.

As the Maoists rose up the ranks, they abandoned families, adopted single guerrilla nom de guerres, left behind wives, children, families and memories: Wavy-haired portraits from the 1980s on walls and musty plastic albums. "I last met my brother in prison in 1980," says Tippiri Gangadhar, 40, a former toddy tapper who now works as a real estate agent. Tirupathi, who like Kishenji and Ganapathy went to Karimnagar's srr degree college, now heads the Maoists' central technical commission. He led the March 2007 attack on a state police camp in Ranibodli, Chhattisgarh, that killed 55 policemen. "He (Tirupathi) told me he had no family. The movement was his only family," says Gangadhar.

The Deadly Landmine

It was in Ganapathy's Beerpur village that the Naxals first used their weapon of mass destruction: The landmine. In 1989, PWG targeted what they thought was a police jeep. The blast blew the jeep to smithereens and showered body parts of the 17 occupants on nearby trees. It was a wedding party carrying members of Ganapathy's extended family. The Maoists issued an abject apology, but their war against the state continued.

By 1992, Ganapathy had ousted his mentor Seetharamaiah, taken control of PWG and driven most landlords out of rural Telangana. "The Naxals ended the 'Dora kaala' (reign of Doras)," says Sande Ravi, 36, a cotton farmer in Gudem village. "We worship him as God," he says pointing at a photo of his brother Sande Rajamouli with an AK-47, the Maoists' badge of high office. Rajamouli, aka Comrade Prasad, 43, was the youngest leader on the Maoists' central committee when he was killed by Andhra Pradesh Police in a 2007 encounter.

Ganapathy's four-room dwelling in Beerpur is a small roofless ruin overgrown with shrubbery. His family abandoned it for the anonymity of Hyderabad. A cellphone tower looms nearby and in the adjoining fields, the music system on a green and yellow John Deere tractor belts out Telugu film songs.

A technicolour statue of 'Telangana amma', holding a bushel of corn and a tray of rice, stands in the village centre. She was introduced a decade ago by Telangana parties as a rival to a similar looking 'Telugu talli' (Mother Telugu) of united Andhra. It looks directly at a 15-ft red column erected by the Maoists, topped with a hammer and sickle, and festooned with names of their fighters who fell to police bullets. The state government erected a rival white pillar topped by a dove with the names of civilians killed by left-wing guerrillas even as it worries an independent Telangana will, once again, turn into a Maoist sanctuary.

The State Strikes Back


A Maoist memorial
A Maoist memorial(right) in Ganapathy's village Beerpur faces a statue of Telanganaamma. Photo: Vikram Sharma/India Today
Sentries stand on guard towers behind self-loading rifles in Karimnagar's fortress-like district police headquarters. Inside, lithe Andhra police commandos sit in jeans, denim shirts and running shoes. The loaded AK-47s on their lap and a gaze that sweeps the scene tells you the Maoist threat hasn't entirely gone. Vishwanath Ravinder, Karimnagar's superintendent of police, sits on a glass- topped table before two crossed flags, one of which reads 'who dares wins'. He explains how the state beat back the Maoist challenge. "A three-pronged strategy of building road infrastructure, curbing armed squads and rehabilitating surrendered Naxals," he says. The Maoists wilted under the 'Andhra model'.

Huge investments in district policing and a formidable intelligence network allowed elite anti-Naxal Greyhounds to conduct precise intelligence-led operations. The Maoists, too, began targeting the police leadership, killing K.S. Vyas, the IPS officer who founded the Greyhounds in 1993, and attacked then Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister Chandrababu Naidu in a landmine ambush in September 2003. But by that year, the tide had already begun turning. The Karimnagar leadership carried their ideology and military skills into Dandakaranya's forests-a 92,000 square km stretch that covers Andhra Pradesh, Chhattisgarh and Odisha. In the words of Rural Development Minister Jairam Ramesh, Andhra Pradesh had, unwittingly, exported its Naxals to another state.

The Telugu Officer Class

Maoists
The younger brother and parents of slain Maoist leader Prasad in Jolapalli village. Photo: Vikram Sharma/India Today
"Vanakka evananna migilaara? (Anyone left?)" a voice in Telugu shouts in a 2007 shaky Maoist battle-cam video, trophy footage of their raid on a police post on Murkinar in Chhattisgarh's Bijapur district where Maoist fighters boarded a state transport bus and stormed the post, light machine guns blazing. Eleven police personnel were killed in the attack, a voiceover in the tribal Gondi dialect tells you. However, tactical instructions in Telugu, shouted back and forth, tell you who is calling the shots: An elite Andhra officer corps that controls an army of 10,000 tribal guerrillas that hopes to overthrow the Indian government by 2050.

In his new sanctuary in the impenetrable Dandakaranya forests in September 2004, Ganapathy did what no guerrilla group had done in post-independent India. He unified PWG with another, equally menacing left-wing extremist group, Bihar's Maoist Communist Centre (MCC), to form CPI (Maoist). By 2005, this formidable force was formally anointed as the 'greatest internal security threat' by Prime Minister Manmohan Singh.

Ganapathy heads a red empire spanning approximately 83 districts across nine states. The unification brought the Maoists closer to the eastern states but a bulk of the strategising is still done by the Karimnagar caucus. Ganapathy runs the Maoist empire with his Karimnagar acolytes. Venugopal runs the Maoist bastion, 'Dandakaranya Special Zonal Committee' (DKSZC), Malla Raji Reddy controls the sensitive Chhattisgarh- Odisha Border State Committee; Kadari Satyanarayana Reddy from Gopalraopalli is the secretary of DKSZC and Pulluri Prasad Rao heads the North Telangana Zonal committee. Police hope the leadership will surrender or be betrayed by friends and family. Each of them have bounties of Rs.44 lakh. So far, only one central committee leader, Lanka Papi Reddy, surrendered, five years ago.

Narasimha Beats Ganapathy

When home ministry officials look at the Maoist problem, they see an ageing, 'dyeing' leadership. A majority of the senior leadership including Ganapathy use hair dye. A greying guerrilla, even one carrying an ak-47, evidently cannot command obedience. The hair dye cannot conceal a greying ideology. "Maoists are having a hard time getting new recruits," a senior home ministry official says. "This is why over 60 per cent of their fighting cadres are now women. The second-rung leaders don't have the ideological commitment of Ganapathy and his aides," he says, predicting a descent into thuggery.

The final victor, they say, will be Karimnagar's most famous son: Former Prime Minister P.V. Narasimha Rao. Born into a feudal family in Vangara village, Rao represented the Manthani election segment in the state Assembly thrice until 1973. To the Maoists, Rao was their deadliest enemy, the wealthy landlord-capitalist who had captured power. A police post guarded the Rao family lands in Vangara village which were tilled under police protection.

Tippiri Gangadhar
Tippiri Gangadhar.
Rao's political legacy has been systematically erased by the Congress party. He has no statues in his home district nor state government schemes named after him. But clearly, Rao has had the last laugh. The district town luxuriates in the legacy of his economic reforms. The newly-opened multiplex plays dubbed Telugu versions of World War Z and Man of Steel in the week of their Hollywood release. A new black-topped state highway rushes trucks and buses, the engines of commerce, into the district. China is one of the biggest buyers of granite quarried from the district.

Maoism had died in the birthplace of its founders. Today, only a single armed squad is believed to be active in the district's Mahadeopur region bordering Gadchiroli. The last Maoist-related violent incident was the shooting of a Congress activist in May last year. Arun Kumar, Karimnagar's additional collector, reels out statistics of state government welfare programmes to explain why extremism will not take root again. "There has been considerable redistribution of wealth over the past few decades," he says. "We have managed to tackle the root cause of resentment." Educated youth are now absorbed in the call centres, shopping malls and techno-parks of Hyderabad and other district capitals.

The Prathima Residency hotel advertises itself as the largest pillarless banquet hall in Karimnagar, with a seating capacity of 2,000 people. But nothing prepares you for the sight in the banquet hall of the town's three-star Hotel Swetha: Chinese granite traders gorging on idlis and vadas. Deng Xiaoping's children in the midst of a culinary revolution.

Monday, 8 July 2013

Flights of Heroism-- Uttarakhand floods


Flights of Heroism

When all seemed lost, men in uniform stepped forward to turn the tide in the Uttarakhand floods
Sandeep Unnithan  June 28, 2013 | UPDATED 15:59 IST
In his command centre inside Dehradun's Jolly Grant airfield, Air Commodore Rajesh Issar, a lanky officer in olive green flying overalls and matching Ray-Bans, firmly speaks out words of encouragement to one of his pilots. "I will back you guys," he says over a satellite phone. On the afternoon of June 25, Issar, a helicopter pilot with over 8,000 flying hours and task force commander, reached deep within to motivate his pilots. Just an hour earlier, one of his Russian-built Mi-17s slammed into a hillside killing its entire five-member flight crew, six ITBP personnel and nine NDRF personnel. The crash was the worst setback to a gigantic armed forces rescue effort. Issar had to staunch the pall of gloom that spread over the National Technical Research Organisation drone base, now the nerve centre of a massive air rescue. "The chief has given a statement and he means it," he says. "We will not stop flying." Just the day before, Air Chief Marshal NAK Browne delivered the catchline for a well-oiled efficient rescue machine, over 7,000 armed forces personnel who worked tirelessly and efficiently to reach out to thousands of stranded, washed-out tourist-pilgrims stranded on the higher reaches of the valleys, slowly running out of food and hope. "Our helicopter rotors will not stop churning till such time we get each one of you out. Do not lose hope and hang in there."

The tragedy saw one ofthe largest air rescue efforts in Indian history.
As politicians squabbled and cleaved relief efforts along political lines, for the stranded pilgrims the most heartening sight was that of whirling blades and men in olive green fatigues.

The armed forces had performed spectacularly during the Bhuj earthquake in 2002 and when the devastating tsunami struck southern India in 2004. But the Uttarakhand deluge presented a complexity that boggled them. The floods had severed the ribbon-like roads that wrapped around mountains. Entire districts had been marooned. Over 30,000 people stranded. The rescue could take weeks. The forces speedily adapted combat techniques designed to operate in hostile territory for disaster relief.

Lt-General Navtej Singh Bawa, the general officer commanding the Uttar Bharat area, moved his headquarters from Bareilly to Dehradun, equidistant from all the flooded valleys, on June 18. His patrols of between 10 and 20 soldiers swiftly turned into rescue and relief nodes. His directives to the troops were threefold: Search for marooned people, bring them to a safe place and provide them food and medical care. "If my men have reached, there is no question of anyone dying," Lt-General Bawa said.

It was however only on June 21 that the magnitude of the tragedy became apparent. The IAF increased its helicopter strength from five helicopters to 45 machines, pulling them from bases as far away as Sulur near Bangalore and Bagdogra in West Bengal. The Army brought in 13 helicopters including Dhruvs, Cheetahs and Chetaks. Twenty-two private choppers, many flown by retired Air Force and Army pilots, were also brought in.

The forces decided to use one of India's largest helicopter rescue efforts to build air bridges. The concept appeared simple on paper, but where would the machines land? The state government had ignored a three-month-old request from the Army to build a helipad at the Hemkund shrine. The Army wanted the helipad to evacuate pilgrims in an emergency. Now, there was no time to lose. Nearly 150 commandos from the Army's parachute regiment slithered down in areas where knots of survivors had been spotted. The commandos used knives and explosives to hack out three rough helipads for light rescue helicopters like the Dhruv and Cheetah to land. The pilots flew in the worst flying conditions imaginable-over mountains, in poor weather and through treacherous valleys. "One valley could be perfectly clear, the other one could have a cloudburst," a pilot explains.

A survivor pleads with an army officer to lether mother board a rescue helicopter in Badrinath.
The effort spanned over 40,000 sq km and included over 50 helicopters and seven aircraft across the flood-ravaged mountainous state. "This capability has not been built overnight," an Army officer explains. "It took us over 350 years to get here," he says harking back to the Army's origins. On the ground, this capability played out with clockwork efficiency. Time was short and the orders were terse. A typical one-line order from a senior officer would read like this: 'Report to me from Sonprayag at 09.00 hours tomorrow.' The implication: An entire Army unit headed by the officer would have to be in place handling relief operations in the marooned valley.

At the Nehru Institute of Mountaineering on the riverbank of the Uttarkashi, the principal Colonel Ajay Kothiyal, a mountaineer and gallantry award-winner, swiftly deployed his staffers and local youth, over 60 people, to rescue thousands of stranded pilgrims and tourists. "Our greatest asset was the young people of the district who we used in the relief teams as they knew the terrain well," he says.

When it looked like the air effort would be overwhelmed by the sheer weight of people, the Army began opening roads to rescue survivors. Troops built 'Burma bridges', narrow rope bridges that allow people to cross over gorges in a single file. In Jungle Chatti and Govindghat, where such bridges couldn't be erected, Army Cheetahs flew nearly a 100 one-minute hops across a gorge, ferrying stranded pilgrims. Between Jungle Chatti and Gaurikund, troops of the Sikh regiment formed a 3.5 km human chain where they hefted marooned pilgrims on their backs through hazardous terrain. A kilometre away from Gaurikund, an Army helicopter spotted nine bodies on a riverine island. The pilgrims were alive, but only barely. They had passed out from sheer hunger. They were administered saline drips and flown to one of five 'forward mounting bases' at the furthest points of washed-away roads from where medium-sized Mi-17 helicopters carrying 30 people could operate from. This unique air bridge leapfrogged survivors into the relief hub in Dehradun.

The most daring rescue was at Jungle Chatti, an area on the route towards Kedarnath. Army helicopters located what they thought were around 80 tourists stranded on a steep hillside. A group of 18 Army commandos were lowered to provide them with aid. This was when they discovered how wrong the estimates were. "Sir," an officer radioed Lt-General Bawa back in Dehradun, "there are between 800 and 1,200 people stranded here." Jungle Chatti was swarming with survivors who had scrambled up the hillside to escape the flood. They had not eaten in five days and now looked towards the helicopters for succour. The armed forces launched a complex operation the following day. Most people were flown out using helicopters, the able-bodied survivors were moved out on foot.

The relief effort was not without external pressures. Central command officers were deluged by requests from "high ranking Centre and state officials" asking for certain persons to be evacuated first. One officer reads out an SMS template he kept to deal with such requests: "Kindly don't embarrass us. We are going as per the priority list: sick persons, old people, ladies, children, followed by other people."

Army officials in the rescue efforts may have barely had time to chuckle over a gleeful SMS that did the rounds: 'Earthquake? get army! floods? get army! Terror attacks? get army! child stuck in pipe? get army! Pay commission? ForGet army!' The Army was the last line of defence but used as the first option when disaster struck.

The air bridge cut through the miasma of corruption on the ground. One family rescued by the Air Force recounted how policemen on the ground demanded bribes to allow them near civilian choppers. The police melted away when an IAF chopper arrived. Businessman Sudhir Kumar Gupta, 40, lost his three-member family in the flood at Kedarnath. "I survived only because of the Army," he says of his helicopter rescue. After 10 days of non-stop rescue sorties, over 22,000 tourists and locals were saved by the armed forces. Sugandh Chand Jain, a 55-year-old homeopath from Gotegaon, Madhya Pradesh, trekked to Badrinath with his nine-member family and insists he saw divinity. "They are angels," he says of his rescuers in uniform. The armed forces take such accolades in their stride. "This operation fulfils our constitutional mandate of aiding civil authority," says Lt-General Bawa. "I am happy we could do it with the speed and safety of our men and the people we were rescuing," he smiles. Service with a smile.

Wednesday, 5 June 2013

France- travel diary


Unclear nuclear romance

Sandeep Unnithan   |   Mail Today  |   New Delhi, June 5, 2013 | UPDATED 09:46 IST
 
Michel Laurent, the snowhaired Mayor of Beaumont-Hague a French communeof 1,425 persons in Nor-mandie, speaks of Flamanville with the passion one would reserve for their first love. The object of his affection is a nuclear power plant built in 1986 less than 60 km away from the beaches the Allied forces landed on 6 June, 1944. The twin white domes of the complex loom over the English Channel, less than half a kilometer away from where Laurent sits. The 2600 MW complex hires nearly a third of its 2,650 employees from his town, but that's not the only reason Laurent's voice is suffused with national pride: the complex provides 3 per cent of his country's electricity. France broke away from its reliance on Middle Eastern oil after the oil shock of 1973: 'no coal, no oil, no gas, no choice,' went the slogan of the time.

The atom became the cornerstone of France's nuclear independence both for power and for strategic weapons. The world's most nuclear energy reliant country now generates over 74 per cent of its electricity from its 58 power plants. A third reactor under construction at Flamanville will light up French homes by 2016.

The atomic romance may be fraying. The Fukushima disaster has prompted President Francois Hollande to move to halve France's atomic dependence by 2025. Meanwhile, the 2008 IndoUS nuclear deal may have brightened the prospects for India to reduce its dependence on imported oil. India aimed to triple its nuclear power share from the present 2 per cent by 2025. But Fukushima may have cast a cloud on any such nuclear sunrise. The 2000 MW Kudankulam power plant was cleared by the Supreme Court, which dismissed a petition against the plant last month, but it is unclear whether the apex court Flamanville nuclear power plant will be able to do the same in Jaitapur.

Local protests in this port town in coastal Maharashtra have stalled a proposed 9900 MW plant to be built using the European Pressurised Reactors supplied by nuclear giant Areva. Arthur de Montalbert, Areva's global business development manager, who was based in Mumbai until last month, furrows his brow when he speaks of worldwide concerns over nuclear plants. It will be at least 2021 before Jaitapur can generate electricity, and only if a contract is signed this year, Montalbert says. India's romance with the atom may be a slow and painful uphill climb.


Marion stays put in Paris

Marion Cotillard
The Dark Knight Rises star Marion Cotillard.


The limpid eyes of Marion Cotillard, star of The Dark Knight Rises, gaze down from glow boards around Paris. Gerard Depardieu may have fled France citing a high tax regime and left an Obelix-sized hole in Paris, but France's biggest cinematic gift to the world in recent years, the luminous Ms Cottillard has no such plans.

A French official assures me the Oscar-winning actress lives in her apartment in the heart of Paris and can be spotted taking walks with her partner.

Another clash of opposites

Francois Hollande
Francois Hollande.
France's dull bureaucrat-turned Socialist President Francois Hollande beat his flamboyant conservative opponent President Sarkozy last year. Their contest could now have an echo in France's second largest city, Lyon.

Bernard Rivalta, the elected head of the city transportation network, is an unsmiling, bespectacled elected representative who proudly wears his socialist credentials on his sleeve, sips an espresso and flips through a slideshow on his city's transport future.

His political rival Michel Havard, a conservative politician and national assembly member, has movie star looks, dresses in a sharp suit and sips a cold beer as sits in a bar of the Novotel and discusses plans for a new subway system for the city of a half-million. "Expensive, yes, but necessary." The battle lines are drawn.

High-speed future

France
France's high-speeds trains might turn up in India.


The TGV is a shark-like high speed train with a particularly voracious appetite for airlines. It operates between the capital Paris and the second largest city Lyon, in the south. Air France recently suspended operations on this lucrative route. You get the answer a few minutes after the steel and blue train pulls out of the heart of Paris. The countryside turns into a blurry Monet as the train crosses 200 kmph. The clientele, mostly business passengers, are immersed in laptops and tablets. The train pulls into Lyon in Southern France, 400 km away, in just two hours.

Airlines can't compete with bullet trains that inject passengers into city centres, especially when 500 and 1,000 km apart. Someday, this could be the future on the 450 km between Mumbai and Ahmedabad. SNCF, the French firm that runs the line is to complete a รข‚¬1 million feasibility study on this corridor by next year.

It signed an MoU with Indian Railways during President Hollande's visit to New Delhi in February this year. Preliminary findings say the train on a dedicated corridor needs to cater to a mix of families and corporate passengers; it will take at least a decade to build and the train will have to halt outside Mumbai because there's no land for another railway corridor. Airlines can heave a sigh of relief.

(The author was in France as a guest of the French government)