Open Secrets: The Explosive Memoirs of an Indian Intelligence Officer (11 page)

The anthology of violent movements in post-independent India is a long one. Ethnic violence in the North East did not result from disillusionment with democracy. But use of violence as a means to bring about social, economic and political changes had plagued the nation from day one. Political independence had not succeeded in fine-setting the rough edges of the linguistic, ethnic, tribal and parochial ambitions and aspirations. The economic performance did not match up to the expectations of the people and imbalance in economic developments in different parts of the country had left gaping seismic chasms.

The ruling elite had rather promoted the sense of caste alienation by failing to banish the old curse of fictitious
varnashram
(caste division) from the fractured Hindu society. They tended to perpetuate it by promoting and fortifying the caste barriers, merely for a few more votes. These iron-hot aspects of social engineering were not included in the curricula. I did not agree with the stuff I was taught, but was advised by my seniors to listen and forget. Protestation was an unpardonable crime in the Intelligence Bureau. Only ‘yes sir’ was the winning mantra. I detested the idea but having jumped into uncertain waters I had very little option but to swim along.

Another aspect that surprised me was the total neglect of ‘economic intelligence’ and intelligence related to mass movements arising out of poverty and conflict between the rural rich and poor. No mention was made about the bane of absence of land reforms and the need for studying the relevance between economic situation and unrest in the society.

Absence of another aspect of training also surprised me. I did not expect to receive CIA commando type individualised intensive training. But I was looking for personalised interaction between the trainers and the trainees. There was no personal touch. The trainers behaved as if they were spot-paid lecturers and their commitment ended after indifferent and perfunctory delivery of the talks they had mugged up. My attempts to develop personal friendship were frowned upon with the exception of C. L. Dhingra, who took personal interest in willing trainees. We remained friends throughout our career in the Intelligence Bureau.

However, the tradecraft stuff captured my imagination. The trainers, mostly from the promoted ranks, were much above the mediocre desk analysts. Their dissertations and demonstrations on the crafts of foot surveillance, secret writing, concealment, memory enhancement, agent recruitment and handling, secured communication etc, fascinated me. The tricks of the intelligence trade taught to us, now I understand, were not finely chiselled. The IB hadn’t drawn upon the innovative tradecrafts in vogue in the USA, UK, USSR and other advanced intelligence communities. Nonetheless, I was exposed to a fascinating world that had transformed my perception of the intelligence profession.

The lessons in foot (Fosur), mobile (Mosur), technical (Tesur) surveillances gave me deeper insight into the world of the spooks. I had taken these lessons seriously and had tried to extract as much as possible from the instructors. I must salute these nameless and faceless officers of the IB, who had helped the company running smoothly. They still do.

*

Chaman Lal Dhingra, one of the instructors, had taught me in the course of lessons on agent running: Everyone has a price. His formula was very simple. To raise an agent in a target area the right and correct price must be paid. I would rather not like to drag my readers through the laborious process of agent priming, targeting, cultivation and penetration. These technical matters are as foxy as the scheming of marsh jackals. But the inner philosophy of the motto was crystal clear. Subversion of the target and evaluation of the price tag preferred by him were the most important aspects.

What about the targets fired by ideological fervour? Dhingra could not give a convincing reply. I had faced those moments of truth when I handled certain key ideologically committed targets. They too have a price, but not in monetary term. I had learnt much later in my career that the price for an ideologically fired target-agent is the elevation of the mental faculties of the handling officer to the level of the mental capability of the target, who was often very accomplished and sophisticated.

I did not appreciate Dhingra’s pronouncement that an intelligence operator should shun the slough of sentiment and should be able to ‘disengage’ from his agent without any pang of conscience. He was, in his words, ‘a kind of a whore’, who traded information for the motive of gain. There was no place of sentiment in the trade off. I did not like that ‘dictum’ of the intelligence jargon. I never grew up to believe in the golden policy of ‘heartless, bloodless and remorseless’ disengagement from a vital human agent. I might have disagreed with him, but he offered me a rich bouquet of knowledge, especially the bouquet of deep insight into the world of Islam.

I hated the Muslims. They, I believed, were responsible for partition of the country and excesses committed against the Hindus. I would never forgive them for raping Manorama, my childhood companion back in East Pakistan, and uprooting us from our real motherland. I had very little idea at that time about the civilisational clashes between the Hindus and the Muslims and the crucial role played by the International Islamic Brotherhood.

Dhingra helped me to delve deep into the world of the Muslims and discover them afresh. It was a fascinating journey and I had started to understand the geopolitical compulsion of India being a multi-religious, multi-lingual, multi-ethnic and multi-cultural nation. It could never be turned to a Dar-ul-Islam or Hindu Rashtra. It never was, and it would never be. I am thankful to my trainers, especially Dhingra for opening up a new vista. I, however, differed with him on the issue of study of Islam and Muslims of the subcontinent as a security related subject. I still feel that the security perspective of the State should lay emphasis on the attempts of the Islamists continuously trying to destabilise the delicate secular balance in the region.

By itself Islam was not subversive in nature. Their faith taught tolerance in as much as Hinduism (if there is a religion like that) taught to it followers. But the geopolitical compulsions of the Muslims in South and South East Asia were different from those inhabiting the Persian Gulf region, Arab Peninsula, North and Central Africa and Central Asia. In India particularly, the Muslims had reigned for over 800 years before being subjugated by the British. The Muslim community once ruled by the Muslim monarchs could not live in peace with themselves with the idea of living under political suzerainty of the Hindus. In South Asia, Hindu Muslim cleavage had taken the shape of civilisational conflict, which was fanned by the Wahabi and Deobandi Sunnis, and the British Home Office.

This aspect of civilisational conflict, still persisting in a large section of the South Asian Muslims, was not emphasised by the IB trainers. To them it was another façade of ‘communal tension.’ They were wrong in understanding and prescribing the underlying ailment.

*

However, the spooky boys of the super secret Technical Laboratory failed to impress me. I possessed a vast library on the various facades of technical intelligence. I was amused to see the rudimentary wireless sets (some manufactured by the IB technicians at mount joy), clandestine cameras, miniature radio transmitters and a few bugging tools flaunted by the so-called experts as the main tools of technical intelligence. These gadgets were shown to us like the magicians pulling out an occasional rabbit from their hats. I don’t think anyone emerged out of the classrooms much wiser about the application of electronic gadgets for generating intelligence. Our conducted visit to the Technical Laboratory was equally frustrating. The IB was simply not oriented to the needs of acquiring sophisticated gadgets to the aid of intelligence generation.

The leisurely rhythm of operations was broken much later T. V. Rajeshwar, and the process received a boost from M. K. Narayanan. He gave a quantum push to the concepts of satellite communication, computer application and use of sophisticated electronic gadgets. I had the rare opportunity of heading the technical wing of the IB under him, though under queer circumstances. I was the first and perhaps the last IPS officer to practically head that fascinating wing of intelligence generation.

Later as a field officer I realised that the IB had made the cardinal mistake by totally segregating the general intelligence officers from the technical officers, who were also trained in police and intelligence subjects and segregated later from the human intelligence (HumInt) generating cadre. They functioned in isolation, even when located under the same roof at a remote border post. They owed allegiance to different bosses. The general intelligence officers followed their own hierarchy and the technical boys lined up behind their spiral formation of leadership, which hinged on the wisdom and foolishness of the top man.

This anomaly continues even today. The technical wing has been made to suffer by the generalists simply because they have been denied the opportunity of experiencing the glamorous world of HumInt generation. They still remain behind the shadows. Only a few enterprising senior officers of the IB draw upon their tremendous potential in generating and denying intelligence. They simply come to the ‘aid’ of the generalists. They are not encouraged to delve into the realm of R&D and make innovative contribution to the intelligence fraternity. IB continues to follow the Jurassic policies of technical intelligence generation.

*

The basic training was a mixed bag; mostly mundane but some aspects were really world class. The training had helped me in overcoming the policeman’s hangover that I carried to Delhi from the police training college. It dawned upon me that I was supposed to deal with human assets, break them down to raw clay and reformat them as intelligence agents. That required expertise in human psychology, deep knowledge of a given target situation and balanced application of the skills of diplomacy, bribing, corrupting, blackmailing and exploitation. Only intimate knowledge of the people, the terrain, the socio-economic peculiarities, and the dreams and frustrations of the people could arm an intelligence operative with superior weapons. Application of the golden rule that everybody has a price appeared to be fallacious as some human assets were not sale. I understood this truth a little later in my intelligence career.

However, I felt that the concept of intensive training on a group of targeted people in a target location was not imparted at the Anand Parvat facility. Threadbare analysis of the people of Manipur, for instance, was never explained to me when I was suddenly called upon to take charge of the Manipur unit of the IB soon after completion of my training. All that I faced was the stony face of K.N. Prasad and the babbling wordplay of my desk in charge, V. K. Kaul. I was only armed with bookish knowledge, hope, and my charming wife, who did not hesitate to accompany me to the wilderness of Manipur.

I strongly felt that after an officer is earmarked for posting to a new territory he should be made to undergo a rigorous training on all conceivable aspects of that area. These were never taught at the Anand Parvat facility and these aspects are not taken care of even today. An officer is catapulted to a new location and is supposed to educate himself through avalanches of failure and rare pinnacle of success. However, education nuggets are more in abundance outside the factory of knowledge, the classrooms and wise advisories of the senior officers. I knew that Anand Parvat was just the beginning of my thirst; I would require more exposé to the wonderful world of intelligence amidst kicking and pulsating people.

At the end of the penultimate day of my training at Anand Parvat I was ordered to report to Mr. K.N. Prasad for understudying the branch that handled the Indian North East. If I exactly recall I had entered the portico of the massive palace with great trepidation. I was advised by some of my seniors that Mr. Prasad was a man-eater and he had the capability of demolishing me in two seconds. His reputation for curt conversation, use of unpolished language and his addiction to work had travelled far and wide in the organisation. I knew that my days of innocence were over and I had to pass through the eye of a very difficult needle.

K. N. Prasad wasn’t the person who could put a visitor at ease by a disarming smile. His scheming eyeballs rotated in synchronisation with the turns and twists of his facial muscles that could hardly be described as a piece of smile.

His eyeballs licked me up and his right palm stretched slightly to convey his order to take a seat.

“So, you are the hero of Naksalbari!”

“I’m no hero sir. I happen to be trained there and did a stint of policing duty that had almost exploded on my face.”

I replied as soberly as I could.

“And that explosion has thrown you on to my lap. Isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure sir. But I enjoyed what I did.”

“Let me see,” he pressed a bell and ordered his duty constable, “Inform Kaul
sahab
to come in.”

Mr. Kaul, I mean Vinod Kumar Kaul, a rotund Kashmiri, rushed in like a gravel yard mini-whirlwind with a bunch of paper loosely hanging from his hand. The
pan
(betel leaf) stuffed in his mouth scattered a shifting aroma of scented tobacco.

“So Mr. Kaul you have a pseudo Kashmiri here. He is a Dhar but is a Bengali.”

“Glad to meet you.”

Kaul extended his free palm; I feel it was the left one, to greet me. The handshake was warm but his eyes glinted with a naughty smile.

“Now train him in tribal affairs. Teach him everything about the Jharkhandis (protagonists of a new Jharkhand State) and the North Eastern tribal groups.”