That evening, Mohan called Nizamu for a drink and sat down with a bottle of Old Monk rum from his duty-free ration. Nizamu continued with their earlier conversation. ‘I wanted to test my luck when I decided to surrender. How long would I live? Someone or the other is likely to shoot me . . . so why not surrender to someone and see?’
He paused. ‘You know . . . I thought of moving to New Delhi. Settle down, kuch kaam-waam karo (get a job) and then maybe go abroad . . .’ He trailed off. They were halfway down the first drink when the radio operator ran in, struggling to catch his breath. He brought bad news. The battalion CO was on his way. The sentry followed with an update. The boss was at the gate now. Mohan contemplated whether he had made the right decision by probing for more information, or if it was a greater mistake to keep his boss in the dark. Before Nizamu could be sent back to his cell, the CO walked in. Clearly, he had caught wind of something and wanted to confront Mohan.
Taken by surprise, Nizamu quickly composed himself and addressed the visitor. ‘Hello saab,’ he said with a grin and extended his hand. The CO shook it, and then took Mohan aside. ‘You didn’t inform me. Why?’ he asked, looking him in the eye. Mohan stumbled, trying to convince the CO that Nizamuddin had provided intelligence. ‘We have got weapons, sir . . . I was about to tell you all that. We expect some more information from him.’ ‘Mohan, you’re crazy. I am disappointed you had more faith in that guy than you have in me!’ The CO’s contempt was evident, and Mohan braced himself for an uncomfortable order.
‘Sir, would you like to sit down? We can have food . . .’ he said in an attempt to pacify his boss. The CO refused with an excuse about another operation that required his attention. He walked away briskly, but halfway to his car, he stopped and turned to Mohan. ‘Bump him off,’ he ordered. Jolted, Mohan tried to reason with him. ‘Sir, he has surrendered, given himself over to us . . . he has led us to weapons. Says he will get us more people . . . we have to give it some time.’ The boss had the last word, ‘Bump him off, I said. Period,’ in an ominous, incontestable tone.
Following orders from the top
An infantry battalion company commander operating in a conflict zone has trusted hatchet men who are unflinching in carrying out the most gruesome tasks. At times, these tasks seem at odds with reality. But then, the hatchet man’s job isn’t to seek the truth. Instead, it is to eliminate it. Havildar Radhe Shyam, a Jat from Haryana, came from ruthless stock, and was raised to protect his people, land and izzat (honour). While the army had tamed his instincts to an extent, his unrepentant nature and ability to handle tough jobs made him the company commander’s favourite hatchet man.
After being reprimanded for not gathering sufficient evidence during an earlier militant encounter, Shyam ensured he followed protocol when Mohan gave him orders. Shyam took on a terrorist bare-handed and killed him brutally. Unable to carry the body back from a remote mountain area near the LOC, he collected a few knocked-out teeth and cut off the terrorist’s ears as evidence to show the officers at HQ that he had completed the task. When Mohan received the CO’s orders regarding Nizamu, he knew who to call. ‘Radhe,’ he bellowed. On receiving his orders, Shyam said nothing. He simply stared at his company commander for a few minutes and then left.
The next morning, Mohan was sipping tea when his buddy (assistant) said, ‘Sir, Nizamu wants to see you.’ Nizamuddin the militant had now become Nizamu to everyone in the company. The company men knew what was about to happen since the moment the CO had shown up. Mohan had asked them to be ready the next morning. When Nizamu arrived, he pretended to be calm though he was seasoned enough to fathom what was in store for him.
Mohan sensed he was anxious to share a secret before he departed. ‘You know, there are two things I want to tell you,’ he began. ‘I will give you a pen drive that has information stored in it. About the money, where it’s hidden.’ ‘Pen drive . . .? Why are you giving it to me?’ Mohan wanted to know. ‘Yes sir. I’ve hidden the money. I know these guys here are going to kill me, I know it, sir. Isn’t that so?’ Nizamu smiled sadly. Mohan kept a straight face and repeated his rehearsed lines. ‘No, well . . . there’s information that there are some suspicious people in the forest area a little ahead. I don’t have the time, but the boys will take you. You can show them the way.’
Nizamu shrugged and turned away. There were ten men, all armed and ready. Mohan watched as they took Nizamu away, disappearing down the slope in front of the company area. They emerged further ahead, following the path that led to higher ground. Their destination was a place that held many secrets in the valley – the Jhelum river. Mohan had fifteen minutes to make a decision. He had to act immediately or Nizamu could wind up in the river. He bolted out of the company area and ran faster than he had as a cadet in the academy. It brought back memories of a time when Mohan had tried to save his mate from relegation by secretly running the 5-kilometre Battle Physical Efficiency Test for him at the academy. Unfortunately, he was caught and punished, and his friend was demoted. Mohan couldn’t help his friend then. He wouldn’t fail another today.
Sprinting through the jungle and leaping over the forested trail, Mohan reached the location. He saw Nizamu on his knees and Shyam holding a gun to his head. Two men stood over the duo, as backup for Shyam, while the rest of the group guarded the incoming foot tracks and kept a watch over the area around them. Nizamu was giving Shyam advice on how to shoot. ‘Here, here . . .’ He pointed to his temple. A ruthless man, Shyam appeared sickened by the task, but it was the boss’s order. ‘Stop, stop!’ Mohan shouted. Short of breath, his words were almost indecipherable, but the men halted their activity as they noticed him. He thought they seemed relieved.
Shyam’s hands quivered as he held the pistol to Nizamu’s head, a rare moment of hesitation for someone who usually favoured stoic execution. He looked at his company commander in disbelief. Had he asked him to stop? No one moved. The pistol remained pointed at Nizamu’s head. ‘Stop!’ Mohan yelled. The company commander’s instructions were clear now.
Shyam, who had been seconds away from pulling the trigger, walked up to Mohan and hugged him. ‘Sahib, thank you . . . you saved me from committing a crime today,’ said the powerful hatchet man as he broke down. ‘Fine. Get on with your job now . . .’ Mohan wasn’t finished, his gaze shifted to Nizamu. ‘You . . . get up and go away.’ Nizamu appeared uncertain about Mohan’s intentions, and wondered if he planned on killing him another way. ‘Just run and don’t be in my company area . . . I can’t say what happens to you outside my jurisdiction. Run, and don’t be seen again here.’
‘Are you sure, haan (yes)?’ Nizamu sounded doubtful. Was he, a man who was expecting death an instant ago, being given a chance at life? ‘Jaao (Go)!’ Mohan waved him away, signalling the encounter had ended. He had let Nizamu go. The former militant began to walk away in disbelief, occasionally turning around to look at Mohan and his men to confirm that he had indeed been granted a reprieve. ‘You go . . . dikhna nahin . . . else goli maar doonga . . . (Don’t be seen again. Will shoot you,’ Mohan shouted at him. Nizamu began walking faster, and then broke into a run. Mohan and his men watched him disappear in the morning mist. Mohan turned to his men and asked, ‘So what happened to Nizamu?’ ‘We shot him . . . sir.’
This excerpt from Probal DasGupta’s ‘Camouflaged: Forgotten Stories from Battlefields’ has been published with permission from Juggernaut Books.