Sleeping with the Enemy

The day after Malkangiri Collector R Vineel Krishna and Junior Engineer Pabitra Majhi were abducted by Maoists, a journalist friend said; “Mark my words. The abducted government officers will be released only on Feb 24 after the Assembly adjourns for the mid-session break.” His reasoning: this is a neatly choreographed drama to take the sting out of the Opposition attack on the government in the Assembly on the rotten Dal scam.

Lo and behold!! The Collector’s release was announced to the world, just as the journalist friend had predicted, after the Assembly was adjourned till March 10, even though the actual release had already taken place at least an hour before the Assembly adjourned and at least two hours before the formal government announcement.

The journalist friend is no seer. Having once been a part of the think tank of the ruling establishment, he was just making an intelligent guess based on his insider’s knowledge of the working of the Naveen Patnaik government.

While nobody else predicted the date with such pin-point accuracy, there was no dearth of people – and certainly not journalists – who sincerely believed in, bought or peddled the ‘deal’ theory. Even paan shop gossip centred around the theory that the Naveen Patnaik government, through the seemingly omnipresent and omnipotent Pyari Mohan Mohapatra, had entered into a deal with the Ramakrishna faction of the Maoists to take attention away from the Dal scam, which was getting too hot to handle for the government when the abduction happened.

In journalist circles, there was animated talk of a more mundane ‘deal’ – one involving payment of huge amounts of cash to the Maoists to stage the drama. Even a figure – Rs. 8 crore – was bandied about freely.

Proponents of the ‘deal’ theory raised a number of eminently pertinent questions. Why did the Collector venture into territory which is widely known as the Maoists’ den without any security? Why was Swami Agnivesh cold shouldered by the state government though he was the first to offer his services as a mediator – especially considering the fact that he had played a key role as a mediator in securing the release of five abducted policemen in neighbouring Chhatisgarh just a few weeks before the hostage crisis in Orissa? Why did the Chhatisgarh government not pass on definite intelligence it apparently had a day before the abduction that the Maoists were planning to do precisely such a thing? Or, if it did, why was it not heeded by the Orissa government?

There were some impertinent – and in some cases, mischievous – questions as well. Why was Vineel Krishna chosen as the target? The implication was that the state government wanted to bask in the reflected glory of the Malkangiri Collector, who clearly has earned the admiration of the people of Malkangiri in general and the so-called ‘cut off’ area, in particular. One particularly unkind commentator even went to the extent of suggesting that he was ‘chums’ with the 'annas'and was just faithfully playing out his assigned role in the hostage drama. To prove his point, he has pointed to the unfettered access allegedly given to Vineel Krishna during his period of captivity to communicate with his family and even get essential items like clothes and shaving kit delivered to him in the jungles.

A leading Oriya daily ran a front page story asking for ‘stringent’ action against the Collector for his utterly ‘irresponsible’ and ‘foolish’ act in venturing into an area where the proverbial angle ‘fears to trade.’ [Is it not amusing that the media, which always lashes out at officers for not visiting remote places and listening to the grievances of the people first hand, pounced on Krishna for having done precisely that?]. It did not stop at that and went on to demand that officers who organized processions in support of the popular Malkangiri Collector should lose their salary for the nine days when “all work came to a standstill”.

Another Oriya daily ran a front page bottom spread making a big deal about the fact that Krishna was once a student of Prof. Hargopal to prove its point that it was a drama of the Telugus,for the Telugus and by the Telugus.

Yet another commentator wondered why Pabitra Majhi was chosen ahead of the other junior engineer accompanying the Collector to be abducted? The suggestion was it was a carefully crafted strategy to use the ‘tribal card’, particularly in view of the fact that he was released a day before the Collector. Somebody else asked: why was the helicopter carrying interlocutors Prof. Hargopal and Dandapani Mohanty ‘deliberately’ delayed till late in the afternoon? The unspoken suggestion: to ensure that they would not be able to reach Malkangiri in time to secure the release of the Collector. [No answers are available to the important question as to what material difference would it have made if Vineel Krishna had been handed over to the interlocutors and not to some local journalists because there is no way one can ask questions to those who have made a career out of raising questions without bothering to provide – or even suggest – possible answers! ]

The one question which has been the most puzzling for me personally is: when exactly did the government get the first information that the Collector had been released (or was being released)? Journalists who were present when the Collector was released say he was set free at about 4 pm. In that case, what does one make of the announcement by the third interlocutor (the other two having already left for Koraput) Prof. R Someswara Rao at 6.30 pm that Krishna “will be released by tomorrow”? Does that mean the government did not know, at least till two and a half hours after the release, that the Collector had already been released? If that is the case, then it is worrying. When the government of the day comes to know about the denouement of such a serious crisis that had paralysed the administration for nine days from the media, it is a clear signal that it is no more in control of things. If, as is more likely, it did know when the Collector would be released even while pretending that it didn’t and delayed the announcement sufficiently for the Assembly to adjourn, it’s even more worrying. For it means that the Naveen government has nothing but utter contempt for the people of the state, for the media and above all for the august house called the Orissa Assembly.

Despite being very much in the thick of things in my capacity as a journalist – and despite the time since the release of Vineel Krishna to reflect on things at leisure - I am still not sure what to make of the ‘deal’ theory. Now, it appears so eminently plausible. Now, it sounds so utterly incredible and far-fetched.

Governments, especially the ones centred around a single personality like the Naveen Patnaik government, have always been more than willing participants in deal-making. BJD’s deal-making skills were on full and vulgar display in the run up to the last Assembly elections in May 2009 and there is no reason why it would shy away from a deal with the Maoists to secure the release of one of the finest officers the state has – or, as the cynics suggest, to divert attention from the dal scam. But why did the Maoists play ball with the very government they are engaged in a fierce, no-holds-barred and bloody battle with? After all, as many as 20 Maoists were killed in the state by security personnel in January alone (although how many of them were really Maoists remains a matter of acrimonious debate).

But in the cynical times that we live in, nothing seems improbable. The new rules of the game provide ample opportunity to sleep and play footsie with the enemy. It is possible to do business with each other even while killing each other. [On second thoughts, it is an old – nay ancient – game, at least as old as the Mahabharat. Didn’t the Kauravas and Pandavas meet after sunset like friends after the day’s battle?] Some incurable romantics may imbue the Maoists with a halo – of an ideology-driven class war, blood and sacrifice. But the unpalatable truth is; they have left Mao far behind. [Why, even China has left the man who led the Revolution far behind!]

In large swathes of Maoist controlled areas in India, lower and middle level cadres have become a law unto themselves. They kill people at will; run extortion syndicates targeting corporates, mining lords and other rich people; charge hefty protection money from companies, government officials and even educational institutions (Remember the seizure of Rs. 12 lakh meant for the Maoists from two senior staff of a leading engineering college in Rayagada a couple of years back?]. In some places, they have now started, like corrupt government officials, demanding a cut even in welfare schemes meant for the poor and children. In the backdrop of all this, entering into a secret pact with the state government is not really as preposterous an idea as it initially appears, especially considering that the Maoists have held all the aces in this case since day one. They have got what they wanted (the release of key Maoist leaders); they have brought the state government to its knees and sent out the right signals by showing their concern for the tribals. [May be – just may be – they have also laughed all the way to the bank, (although the ‘deal’ has been allegedly transacted in hard cash)!]

The issue, however, is not whether a ‘deal’ had actually been struck by the government and the Maoists, but the number of people willing to believe this seemingly absurd theory. We are indeed living in very cynical times.

April Fool

“Aap Sandeep Sahu hain na?” [“Aren’t you Sandeep Sahu?”], asked the cute little girl in her early twenties, an AK 47 flung casually across her shoulders. Three black spots tattooed into her chin in the shape of a reverse triangle added a rare sparkle to her exquisitely carved face. Perhaps for the first time in life, I felt like a celebrity of sorts – a poor man’s Shahrukh, if you like. Here was a girl – and a dreaded Maoist at that - deep inside the forest somewhere on the Kandhmal-Ganjam border seeking me out in a group of six journalists from Bhubaneswar – four of them from television channels.
The Kandhamal riots were nearly two weeks old by the time. Dozens of Christians had already been butchered and hundreds of houses burnt. The top Maoist leader in Orissa, Sabyasachi Panda alias Comrade Sunil had invited a group of journalists from Bhubaneswar to confirm that the killing of Swami Laxmanananda Sarasawati, which triggered the riots, was the work of Maoists. The girl in question was one of the three guarding the ‘leader’.
As I said “Yes”, the girl in battle fatigues extended her mehndied hand to shake hands with me. Still wondering why she was particularly interested in me and not the four television journalists, I asked; “How do you know me?.” Pat came the reply; “We listen to your voice on the radio every day.” It was only now that I realized her interest in me had very little to do with me and everything to do with my reporting for the BBC Hindi radio. I could see an old radio set kept at a distance. “In these forests, there are neither newspapers nor television. Just about the only way of keeping abreast with what is happening in the outside world is the BBC radio”, said the girl in Hindi. And added, for good measure; “BBC ki reporting hamesha sabse santulit hoti hai” [BBC’s reporting is always balanced”]. I must confess this compliment (for the BBC and not so much for me) is among the most prized possessions of my 16-year long association with the BBC.
“Ah, the power of radio!”, I told myself. Coming as it did from the most unlikely of listeners, I thought this was the most definitive endorsement of radio news in general and BBC Hindi radio news in particular. I thought about the millions of people without access to newspapers, television or the internet – and not just in the forests – who need their daily staple of ‘news’.
The best part about working with the BBC was that it was a brand name that did not need an introduction anywhere even in my part of the world, where Hindi is spoken by very few – or, for that matter, any part of in the world. During my tours to the hinterland, I have often been amazed at the number of people who follow the BBC Hindi radio.
A year before the interview with the Maoist leader, I had accompanied Rehan Fazal and Sushila Singh from the Delhi office of BBC Hindi to Kalahandi – that perennial metaphor for poverty, starvation and much worse. The occasion was the outbreak of cholera in the area, which had already killed over 25 persons in Kalahandi and neighbouring Rayagada. The Aaj Kal programme was to be aired live from Bhawanipatna , the district headquarters of Kalahandi, that day. Suresh Agarwal, a faithful listener of BBC Hindi, had come from Kesinga, 40 km away, to meet the honoured guests from Delhi. “Here is a long time listener of our service”, I told Rehan as I began introducing Suresh after the day’s work was over. “Suresh Agarwal?”, quipped Rehan almost immediately. Suresh’s was a familiar name for nearly all BBC Hindi anchors and producers because he frequently participated in listener-based programmes like Aap ki Baat BBC ke saath. That is the kind of bond that the Hindi service had built with the listeners over the years.
Conventional wisdom suggests that BBC radio is the old man’s trip to the land of nostalgia and is aeons away from the mindspace of the young. But I have been surprised by the number of young people who follow BBC Hindi – though on the net rather than good old short wave radio. I have received dozens of friend requests on Facebook from young men and women, who primarily know me from BBC Hindi.
I am having a tough time explaining to all the people whom I meet or interact with on the phone or on the net why BBC Hindi needs to close down. My fate is not vastly different from my Editor Amit Barua’s the other day when he had to answer the same question worded differently from an army of angry, disconsolate listeners during the ‘BBC India Bol’ programme. One particularly irate listener actually accused BBC of ‘cheating’. “Aap hamare saath is tarah ‘dhokha’ nahin kar sakte” [“You cannot cheat us like this”], he said.
Even as I write this, I find that diehard BBC Hindi radio fans in the heartland are preparing to write to the British foreign office and even burn the effigy of Prime Minister David Cameron in a last ditch bid to save what they love. Many of them know, in their heart of hearts, that there is virtually no possibility of a rollback of the decision. But they will protest nevertheless. Because, as they say, “We are like that only.”
[PS: Given the profusion of writing on the subject both in print as well as on the net, I am a little surprised that nobody has so far (as far as I know) alluded to the irony of the date. After all, transmission of BBC Hindi radio will stop from All Fools Day. But I am pretty sure there would be many listeners, who will feel that BBC ne hamen April Fool banaya.]