Open Secrets: The Explosive Memoirs of an Indian Intelligence Officer (17 page)

I had conveyed to Delhi in several despatches that the Centre was adding fuel to fire in Manipur by denying the legitimate demand of the people. Early decision on statehood, perhaps way back in 1968-69 and granting of a sympathetic economic package would have lured away the Meitei youths from the path of insurgency/terrorism. I shared similar views with Kohl and even used my ground knowledge to work out a composite blueprint for development in the agricultural, power, industrial and communication sectors. I had reasons to believe that the Lt. Governor accepted these suggestions seriously. But Delhi was still unresponsive to the explosive situation.

Indira Gandhi and her ruling party had very little time for Manipur. The situation, however, continued to deteriorate inside the frontier state. A fairly large contingent of the Meitei youths had already reached East Pakistan and was being trained by the ISI. At least two sizeable Naga insurgent gangs traversed through the hostile terrain of Manipur and N.C. Hills and had reached Sylhet. They were hosted by the ISI and were supplied with sophisticated weapons. Pakistan had undertaken a deliberate game by arming the Naga, Mizo and Meitei insurgents with a view to increase pressure on India’s North East.

Amidst these developments Indira Gandhi declared on September 3, 1971, that her government had decided on principle to grant statehood to Manipur. On the eve of India’s Bangladesh war this was accepted as a tactical announcement. Nevertheless, it was a right decision. The Re-organisation of the North-East India Act was passed in the Parliament in 1972, and Indira Gandhi made another visit to Imphal to inaugurate the state on January 21, 1972.

*

I must mention at this stage that I had made a rare trip to Delhi in February 1970. I met Gopal Dutta and asked him if it would be prudent to contact R. K. Dawn. Dutta agreed and arranged a meeting with the key man in PMO.

I was ushered into Dawn’s smoke filled room. Dawn was dressed in an off white safari suite and a cigarette hanged from his lips. He was disappointed to see a Dhar with dark skin.

“Aren’t you a Kashmiri?”

“No. I’m a Bengali.”

“How come? Dhars are from Kashmir.”

I explained that there were Dhars in Bengal and Assam too and I was not really aware what made them different than the colour of the skin, language and caste.

I was deeply impressed by the sharpness of the man. His eyes sparkled. His demeanour announced his efficiency. He handled a couple of phones at a time and received and saw off a few visiting VIPs with great élan and ease. He rushed into the inner chambers on a couple of occasions and finally told me that the ma’am was ready to receive me.

He escorted me to the inner chambers and there she was in front of me, the residue of the living legend of India’s independence struggle.

She stood up with a correct motion to reciprocate my salutations. Nathu entered the room with tea and crisp
samosas
(salted savoury). She talked about her visit to Manipur and opined that the welfare of the state was uppermost in her mind.

Did I have anything to suggest?

I managed to mention that besides a political settlement of the Statehood issue Manipur required an immediate economic package and a programme that could meet the serious economic problems of the people. She gave an affirmative nod and asked me to remain in touch. That was the signal for me to stand up, salute and return to Dhawan’s room.

“Can I do anything for you brother?”

Dhawan asked in his characteristic manner.

I must say that I had developed an instant liking for Dhawan and I was won over by the charismatic smile and the small mercies of Indira Gandhi. I returned to Imphal with the enchanted idea that I’d chanced to meet a piece of history that linked India’s past with the present. It was, in a way, a foolish and romantic interpretation of a non-event.

Soon after my return to Imphal I was inundated by the increased belligerence of the Naga and the Meitei insurgent groups. I had, however, a miraculous breakthrough with the only active underground Mizo Army unit in Manipur, the 10th battalion headed by self-styled colonel Lalzika Sailo.

Paokai, a prominent leader of the Kuki National Assembly, acted as a bridge. The 10th battalion Mizo Army had an effective strength of 80 men and 4 officers and arms holding of about 8 Light Machine Guns, 40 rifles and an equal number of small weapons. The most deadly weapon in their armoury included a couple of RPG Rifles (rocket propelled grenade firing rifles) and three 2” mortars.

Lalzika had become disillusioned with the MNA top bosses and desired to
barga
in insurance for his family and himself from the government of Manipur and from the political leaders in Delhi.

Lalzika controlled a vast non-Naga dominated territory between the Zeliang and Rongmei areas of Manipur and North Cachar Hills. His mandate was almost absolute on the Manipur Mizoram bordering areas and some parts of adjoining Cachar district of Assam.

I sent a top-secret despatch to Delhi detailing the operational aspects of the intelligence initiative and pre-empted them by saying that I did not intend to keep the Manipur government informed at the initial stage. Delhi’s approval came through a cipher message that enjoined upon me the conditionality of keeping the Lt. Governor informed and to take care of my personal safety. D.R. Kohli was amused to hear my daring approach and directed his secretary and Development Commissioner T. S. Murthy, IAS, to coordinate with T.J.Quinn, the DIG in charge of operations. Murthy was a wonderfully suave person and possessed an excellent analytical mind. His Canadian wife had added a unique charm to the contrived social ambience of Imphal.

I had no difficulty with Quinn, a gem of an officer and a devout Christian. The childless couple had their home filled with pet animals of different kinds. We liked the devoted Christian couple. We reached a gentleman’s agreement that the Lt. Governor would take the formal surrender and Quinn would help me with security cover whenever I called for it, even over the wireless.

The Mizos were rated as more diabolic than the chivalrous Naga fighters. Even the Meitei youngsters were not rated as merciless as the Mizos were perceived to be.

Paokai waited for me at a roadside village near Sekmai on Imphal Kohima road. I picked him up at around 8a.m. and drove straight to the Kangpokpi post of the Intelligence Bureau. Sharma, a bright Assistant Intelligence Officer, was surprised to see me. We shared a cup of coffee and asked him to occupy the back seat of the jeep. Driver Madhu Singh piloted the jeep along the uncharted mud road for about an hour when Haokip directed him to stop under a huge spruce just ahead of village Thanglang Kuki.

We alighted from the jeep only to be surrounded by a posse of armed Mizo youths. One of them flaunted the badge insignia of a captain over his shoulder pips. Some of the armed men snatched away the key from Madhu Singh and tied him with a tree. The captain ordered us to follow to a remote hut that was lodged on top of a small hillock. Two LMGs were mounted behind natural boulders guarding the main approaches and another group of armed men crouched behind the bushes.

We were ushered in, Paokai taking the lead.

Lalzika Sailo was seated on a platform by the side of a simmering fire. Some chicken and green leafy vegetables were being cooked in an aluminium container. He looked up at me and talked in a shrill voice.

“I’d told you not to carry a weapon. I find that you’re carrying one.”

I took out the Belgian .9 mm automatic from my waistband and two spare magazines from my waist clip and placed them on a wooden board.

“Here is the deadly weapon. However, I find you have mobilised an entire army to greet us. Would you please free my driver and offer him some tea?”

“I cannot take chances with my men. You Indians can betray us any moment.”

“The Lord is your keeper. The Lord is your shade on your right hand,” I quoted from a Biblical Psalm to humour his known weakness for his religion, “What are you afraid of?”

“Well said Bangali
babu
,” Lalzika’s facial muscles tensed again, “We trust in the Lord. But we cannot trust the Indians.”

“In that case Paokai,” I addressed the Kuki leader, “Let’s go back.”

“Wait,” Paokai pulled me down to a chair and made Sharma to sit on a plank, “Well Lalzika. I’ve brought the best person you can negotiate with. This one Bengali
babu
is reliable.”

Some lady entered the room. She served the steaming hot chicken and vegetable broth in wooden bowls and made a few wooden spoons available for our convenience.

We savoured the tasty but pungent broth and exchanged cigarettes. The hot broth inside helped cooling down of temperature and Lalzika opened up. We discussed the modalities of future talks and the package that he expected from the government of India.

As we boarded the jeep I noticed a column of 31 Mahar marching down from a ridge above. I rushed back to the hut and alerted Lalzika to take guard and melt into the thick jungles above Molbung. He appreciated the gesture and scurried down to a deep gorge that drained the waters from the Zapfu ranges. We encountered the Mahar column, headed by Lieutenant Angad (name changed), a young Sikh officer, and two kilometres down the ridge. He stopped us to inform that his patrol was assigned to intercept a Mizo gang loitering in the area. He offered me a sip of whisky from his canteen, and we left after wishing good luck to each other. Angad, as I knew him was a fine officer. The Naga and Mizo insurgents feared him. He had the uncanny knack of sniffing out the underground hideouts, which he described as gifts from the battalion
tantrik
(member of an esoteric cult). That wizard of the mystic world claimed to have divine visions, which provided him rare insight into the hideouts of the insurgents. Angad believed in dreams and almost blindly followed the battalion clairvoyant.

Lalzika operation fructified after a prolonged negotiation and some degree of understanding displayed by the Lt. Governor. He had persuaded Delhi to agree on a generous package that included induction of the suitable boys to the Manipur Rifles and settlement of Lalzika and his family with adequate compensation. He took the formal surrender on July 20, 1970 at Imphal. T.J.Quinn performed the task of the frontal high priest and I, as my profession demanded, receded to the background.

I received a rare satisfaction when appreciation letters from the DIB and the Union Home Secretary greeted my performance. That was the highest honour one could expect, which fell short of the Police Medal for bravery. I had no godfather in Delhi and my desk chief in Delhi was not particularly happy with me over my encounters with Baleswar Prasad. One had to pay a price for keeping his flag fluttering uncompromisingly.

The sweetness of the success in the conclusive eradication of Mizo insurgency from Manipur was rendered sweeter when we were blessed by the birth of our first son on September 9, 1970. Sunanda was doubly enthralled by the twist of good luck as her first conception was medically terminated in 1969 for certain health complications. It was a spell of bliss. By all account Manipur turned out to be a lucky place.

THE PARTING PANGS

Whenever two people meet there are really six people present. There is each man as he sees himself, each man as the other person sees him, and each man as he really is.

William James

The spell of bliss was suddenly disturbed by a sad incident. Jyotish Gogoi, a bright Ahom youth, had joined the same course of Indian Police Service with me. Allotted to the Union Territory cadre he felt homesick and always pined to be nearer to his mother. Jyotish, a jolly good fellow, was given to the pleasure of drinking a little bit more than he could stand.

To avoid a posting to remote Andamans he obtained a stint of deputation to the Manipur Rifles as a battalion commandant. He lived alone in a sprawling bungalow on Kohima Road. I was aware that he liked his drinks but did not know that his drinking bouts had assumed rather serious proportions and he had a couple of escapades with attractive women.

Indu Shekhar Sharma, also an IPS officer of 1962 seniority and son of an illustrious Manipuri Brhmhin Dwijamani Dev Sharma assisted him in his pursuits of pleasure. The elderly Dwijamani Dev Sharma had been the first chief minister of Manipur. The lifestyle of his IPS son and the terrorist linkages of his younger son Bobby Sharma pained a pure patriotic Indian Dwijamani. I owe a lot to this pious soul, who helped me considerably in combating Meitei extremism.

Jyotish Gogoi trusted me and had kept a window open for me. He would often drop in and talk about his frustrations. He had, in fact, fallen in love with a Christian girl and wanted to take her as life partner. His family had objected to the match.

Blackmailed by Indu Sharma and the Meitei girl Jyotish Gogoi committed suicide. On tour to Thanlon, a remote post on Mizoram border, I was informed over wireless that Gogoi was killed by a self-styled Tangkhul Colonel of Naga Army for molesting his girlfriend. 

On my return DIG Quinn narrated a different story. Gogoi had committed suicide by firing a single shot through his head. He had chosen an isolated location on Kohima Road and had driven up alone to the spot of occurrence.

I happened to accost Indushekhar Sharma in an exclusive meeting. He denied the story and produced some letters written by the poor Meitei girl in support of his claim that Gogoi was responsible for the dastardly act of impregnating the young lady NCC officer.

Gogoi’s death was splashed in the local media and finally the blame came to rest on the Naga insurgents. Sunanda consoled me that in his death my friend was painted with the brush of martyrdom. Well! I never thought that a coat of paint alone could replace the truth. I left Manipur with the regret that I could not bring Indushekhar Sharma to the books.

*

I received a discreet message from a self-styled Col. Stephen Phunchang (name changed) through L. Hungyo that the Nagas were not responsible for Gogoi’s death. He requested for a discreet meeting at a village near Tusum Khullen. I should add here that my tryst with the Naga people did not end with Manipur. But I had developed a healthy relationship with the Naga society and that tie continued even after my tour of duty to the North East was over.

There was no defined road to Tusum. I took to the steering, drove past the lesser Andro Hills, and took a dirt road along the Iring River.

I stopped for a while to light a cigarette and Hungyo too rushed behind a bush to take a few quick puffs. His old world etiquette and our sense of perverted hierarchical formality prevented him smoking in front of me. I too, rather wilfully, did not encourage my subordinates to break the rules of the game taught to us by our social system.

The steely cracking sound came from the left. I could feel a whiff of hot air rushing past my right ear. I took cover behind a boulder and drew my pistol. Hungyo, as I noticed, crawled on his elbows and took position behind a huge piece of jagged rock.

It must be an ambush!

I waited with bated breath for the firing to continue.

“I’ve seen them sir,” Hungyo whispered, “Look at your right. They have occupied the gully.”

“Is it an ambush?”

Hungyo did not reply. He crawled past the boulder and positioned himself next to me, a loaded Colt firmly in his grip.

“Yes. But they are not Tangkhuls.”

“How do you know?”

“I know sir. They are Angamis.”

“This is not the operational area of the Angami battalion. You’re talking shit.”

“No sir. I’m correct. Follow me. Don’t raise your head.”

Hungyo crawled towards a small hill feature that tapered down to the bed of the Iring. I followed him. Our movements were greeted by another volley of rapid firing from a Light Machine Gun. By that time we had managed to hide behind a shoal in the riverbed that was hidden from the views of the ambushing party. We decided not to open fire as that would give away our position and we were vastly outmanned and outgunned by our enemy.

One person in jungle fatigue lumbered out of the gully and fired a few more rounds at the jeep. He shouted out in Nagamese (lingua franca of Nagaland, a queer mixture of Assamese and Bengali).

“They’re not Tangkhuls, I’m sure. We don’t talk in Nagamese. We talk either in Tangkhul or Meitei tongue.”

His words as well as the bullets fired from the upper gully convinced me that the ambush party was new to the area. The Tangkhuls would have surprised us from the rear after negotiating a low hump that separated our shoal from the upper gully. Moreover, this wasn’t the style of Stephen Phunchang. I had known and cultivated him for over 18 months and we had developed some rapport that, I knew, as a member of the Revivalist Church, he wouldn’t like to betray.

“How far is Tusum?”

“Another three kilometres. But we can’t go now. The track passes through that gully.”

We waited for an agonising hour when we noticed a column of about twenty Village Volunteer Force boys doubling up to the ambush site. They opened up from 2” mortar followed by rifle fired grenades and LMG. The Naga contingent fired indeterminately and melted away into the forest as the VVF contingent outnumbered them.

I stood up and shouted in Hindi that I was an Indian officer and that the Naga Army had ambushed my jeep. The VVF platoon commander, a Tangkhul, wasn’t sure if I was to be trusted.

“Hey Rawling,” Hungyo shouted at the boy, “This is Hungyo uncle here. My
sahab
is with me. Escort us to Tusum Khullen.”

The boy recognised Hungyo’s voice and approached us cautiously. His VVF contingent was attracted to the ambush site after being alerted by a nearby Assam Rifles post. Rawling, a loveable boy from Soraphung escorted us to the outskirt of Tusum and marched back to their camp location.

The village head and Mathew Karakkal, the pastor, greeted us. The latter one was a member of the 16th tribe of Nagaland, a Malayalee. A large number of teachers and pastors from Kerala had succeeded in ingratiating with the tribals, especially the Nagas. Very often operators like me used these Indian talents for penetrating the remote village clusters.

We met Stephen Phunchang late in the night inside the village church. He had a fascinating story to tell. The Oking, imaginary headquarter of the Naga Federal Government, had received two emissaries from Pakistan, They were harboured somewhere in the Yimchunger area for consultations with the President of the NFG Mr. Zashie Huire and important
Kilonsars
(ministers),
Tatars
(MPs) and Army Generals. The ISI had urged the NFG to send fresh gangs to the training camps in East Pakistan and to lift fresh supply of Chinese weapons. Brigadier Thinousille Angami and Col. Surozolie were scheduled to lead two separate gangs to East Pakistan next month. They would take the Angami, Zeliang, North Cachar Hills and Silchar route to enter Pakistan. Two other gangs under Vesalho and Vedai Chakesang were being readied for a long march to China.

The NFG had directed the
Midan Peyus
(regional governors),
Raja Peyus
(sub-regional chiefs) and
Runa Peyus
(village council chiefs) to recruit new talents from the villages and also to collect fresh national defence taxes.

“What prompts Pakistan to go for such a crash drive?”

“You would know better. I presume Pakistan wants to escalate fighting in the North East. They and the Chinese would like the Indian Army to get bogged down in this region. They are having immense trouble in East Pakistan and they resent the blatant Indian intervention.”

“Why have you inducted the Angamis in your area? They had fired on my jeep.”

“Sorry for the event. They have come to accelerate the recruitment drive. Z. Ramyo (a kilonsar-minister and former chairman of the
Tatar Hoho
-lower house of the National Assembly) was overseeing the Manipur operations. But he has fallen sick. They have deputed Col. Razanou Angami for assisting my team.”

I discussed the possibility of ambushing Razanou. Stephen opposed the idea on the plea of his own security. He reminded me of my promise. I had promised him a seat in one of the medical colleges in the southern peninsula after he successfully collaborated with me in curbing the underground threat in Ukhrul. I reassured him.

We had a fine beef, pork, foul and venison dinner. The crate of rum that I carried in my jeep helped in warming up the ambience and next morning I was escorted to the foothills of Andro, east of Imphal town.

Stephen had extracted a promise from me before I left that I would help him in arranging medical treatment of Z. Ramyo, who had developed a heart ailment and suffered from diabetes.

The meeting with Stephen wasn’t tactical in nature. He had shared with me tonnes of strategic intelligence. I spent five hours at a stretch with my staff officers to study the security scenario in the Indian subcontinent and the possible routes that could be taken by the Naga Army for infiltration into Pakistan and for their return journey. We marked the routes on quarter inch maps and made some tactical changes in our ground spread.

The SIB was very thinly spread on the ground. For the entire district of Tamenglong we had two intelligence posts and the Kohima outfit had only three outposts in the Zeliang areas of Nagaland. The SIB set up in Assam had very little intelligence spread in the North Cachar Hills. We had very little technical tools at our disposal except the routine HF communication sets. We required all terrain vehicles and backpack HF and VHF sets for mobility and speedy communication. Delhi, I was told, could supply three backpack HF sets with VT (voice transmission) faculty. After some dogged
barga
ining I managed to procure two VHF monitoring sets, which I thought would help me in following the radio conversations of the Naga contingents.

Our HumInt output was appallingly poor. I did some urgent consultations with my Zeliang, Rongmei and Tangkhul friends and some reliable associates in Jiribam area of Manipur that touched the borders of Mizoram and N.C.Hills.

Having done my groundwork I visited Kohima and discussed the strategic importance of two gangs being despatched to China. My colleague J.N.Roy was a matured intelligence operator and I have reasons to believe that he had taken necessary steps to thwart the Naga underground’s move. He informed me that my intelligence was most probably flawed as they had in possession some written letters from A. Z. Phizo to Zashie Huire that advised the NFG and the NNC to maintain neutrality during any future Indo-Pakistan war. I was foxed by Roy’s revelations. But I refused to relax my guard. Much later, when I succeeded Roy at Kohima I happened to unearth the mystery of the communications between Phizo and Huire and other underground Naga leaders.

I had no doubt in mind that the subcontinent was heading towards a serious conflict situation. After the March 25, 1971 military crackdown in East Pakistan the East Pakistan Police, the EPR, the Ansars and the East Bengal Regiments had unfurled the banner of revolt. India and the USSR had already trained a large number of Bengali East Pakistanis and supplied them with small and medium weapons. Some elements of the Indian Army regulars and the Para-Military forces had also joined the Bengali revolutionary forces. On April 11, 1971 these forces were given a formal shape under the name of Mukti Bahini (Freedom Force) with Colonel M.A.G. Osmani (Retd) as the chief.

In our sector, I knew that certain elements of the 8th Mountain Division were inducted to impart training to the Bengali liberation forces. Brigadier Shahbeg Singh, whom I knew as an enterprising officer of the Army Division at Jakhama had emerged as a legend. He had later earned notoriety as a collaborator of Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale, the Sikh saint turned rebel.

On a sensitive operation I chanced to visit a few such India-operated camps on Cachar-East Pakistan border. My brief stay with the Bengali Mukti Bahini elements left no doubt that Pakistan had exhausted all its political and diplomatic leverages on the Bengalis and Bangladesh was a virtual gift to the Bengalis of East Pakistan by the Punjabi and Sindhi rulers of West Pakistan. The Muslims of West Pakistan were not ready to share the fruits of the new Muslim nation with their Bengali brethren. The two-nation concept crafted on the soils of East Bengal in 1905-06 as a British engineered tool to divide the Indians on religious lines had started crumbling down.

It was natural for Pakistan to seek out the North Eastern insurgent groups and generate adequate problems within India. I could not agree with my Kohima colleagues that Phizo had developed a soft corner for India. I went ahead with my preparations. The officers of the SIB Imphal had succeeded in following the Naga gangs from hilltop to hilltop and from valley to valley. They traversed the inhospitable terrain on jeep and often on mule pack with their mobile wireless sets and VHF interceptors. We could provide almost a running commentary on the outgoing and incoming movements of the three contingents of Naga Army totalling about 500 that picked up sophisticated weapons from Pakistan. Some contingents of the Naga Army headed by Brigadier Thinnousille Angami, later promoted to a General, were left in Dacca. The Indian Army had intercepted the Pakistan hosted Naga group during its victorious march into the city.