Open Secrets: The Explosive Memoirs of an Indian Intelligence Officer by Maloy Krishna Dhar
Authors: Maloy Krishna Dhar
Ads: Link
They too, two calves included, slithered out of the gravel and sand and lined up in a solid phalanx.
“Get into the jeep sir.”
Dhanbir pushed me towards the front seat. But I declined to be intimidated by the frozen dark patch that was getting ready to come alive into motion. I fired another round into the air, just above the head of the leader of the herd. A chorus of angry cry rent the air. Dhanbir jumped into the back seat. Nima grabbed me by my arms and pushed me into the front seat and kick-started the jeep, as if it were a formula one-racetrack car. I looked back in anger. Something, probably the ecstasy of holding the gun and my injured ego prompted me to take out the service revolver and fire two rounds at the direction of the dark patch of cloud that had started rushing towards the red tail lights of the jeep. The ground below had started vibrating as if a minor earthquake had hit the immediate geographical area. We rapidly climbed up the Chalsa tea garden hillock and stopped the jeep for a breather.
The angry elephant herd broke out into a riot of destruction. The animals uprooted tea bushes and pulled down a few rest huts. The commotion and the sounds of firing had alerted the tea garden personnel, some were armed with .12 bore shotguns. A sizeable labour force too came out with lit torches, spears and bow and arrows. I gathered an impression in the flashlight that a force of about 70 had gathered behind me. That gave me an idea. I radioed the police and forest guard party at Kumai and directed them to charge the herd from the rear. They rushed in.
A hurried conference with the Chalsa forest ranger and the manager of the tea garden helped me to work out a battle plan. We divided the Chalsa party into three charging groups and directed the Kumai party to guard the left phalanx. Thus surrounded the herd suddenly came to a halt. On my signal simultaneous shots were fired from about a dozen firearms over the head of the herd. The tribal labourers fired flame-tipped arrows directly on the herd. Some enterprising people had started beating the drums and blowing the horns. The loudest possible human challenge unnerved the leader. He raised his trunk and bellowed out three short cries. The herd members responded with similar cries and turned their trunks towards the bed of the Jaldhaka River, which meandered past a hydroelectric station and melted into the forests of Bhutan.
We smelled victory and advanced while firing into the air from my revolver. The Chalsa and the Kumai legion followed me. Initially it was a slow movement. But the herd suddenly gathered speed. We too rushed in a body hurling arrows, spears and beating drums. The guns had fallen silent on my order. Victory was in sight. We were required to chase the herd for another kilometre across the international border into Bhutan. I knew that the Bhutan forest guards would drive them back into India at the earliest opportunity. The Bhutanese were at high risk too. Only a month ago a rogue herd had demolished the staff quarters of the Royal Bhutan Brewery at Samchi. But the war was won momentarily and by itself it was a great achievement without causing any diplomatic row.
I spent the rest of the night at Rongo medicinal herb garden guesthouse, which produced cinchona, an essential drug for treating tropical malaria.
Next morning, while seated at Gorubathan police station I received a few unexpected calls. The first call came from Ivan Surita, the Commissioner of Jalpaiguri Division. He used a few choicest vocabularies, which I always accepted as endearing words and finally thanked for exporting the rogue herd to Bhutan. The SP too called to congratulate me. The Deputy Chief Conservator of Forest called to enquire about the number of rounds fired and description of injuries that might have been inflicted on the retreating beasts. I had failed to satisfy him. It was later compensated by a written report with heaps of assurances that only five rounds were
“Get into the jeep sir.”
Dhanbir pushed me towards the front seat. But I declined to be intimidated by the frozen dark patch that was getting ready to come alive into motion. I fired another round into the air, just above the head of the leader of the herd. A chorus of angry cry rent the air. Dhanbir jumped into the back seat. Nima grabbed me by my arms and pushed me into the front seat and kick-started the jeep, as if it were a formula one-racetrack car. I looked back in anger. Something, probably the ecstasy of holding the gun and my injured ego prompted me to take out the service revolver and fire two rounds at the direction of the dark patch of cloud that had started rushing towards the red tail lights of the jeep. The ground below had started vibrating as if a minor earthquake had hit the immediate geographical area. We rapidly climbed up the Chalsa tea garden hillock and stopped the jeep for a breather.
The angry elephant herd broke out into a riot of destruction. The animals uprooted tea bushes and pulled down a few rest huts. The commotion and the sounds of firing had alerted the tea garden personnel, some were armed with .12 bore shotguns. A sizeable labour force too came out with lit torches, spears and bow and arrows. I gathered an impression in the flashlight that a force of about 70 had gathered behind me. That gave me an idea. I radioed the police and forest guard party at Kumai and directed them to charge the herd from the rear. They rushed in.
A hurried conference with the Chalsa forest ranger and the manager of the tea garden helped me to work out a battle plan. We divided the Chalsa party into three charging groups and directed the Kumai party to guard the left phalanx. Thus surrounded the herd suddenly came to a halt. On my signal simultaneous shots were fired from about a dozen firearms over the head of the herd. The tribal labourers fired flame-tipped arrows directly on the herd. Some enterprising people had started beating the drums and blowing the horns. The loudest possible human challenge unnerved the leader. He raised his trunk and bellowed out three short cries. The herd members responded with similar cries and turned their trunks towards the bed of the Jaldhaka River, which meandered past a hydroelectric station and melted into the forests of Bhutan.
We smelled victory and advanced while firing into the air from my revolver. The Chalsa and the Kumai legion followed me. Initially it was a slow movement. But the herd suddenly gathered speed. We too rushed in a body hurling arrows, spears and beating drums. The guns had fallen silent on my order. Victory was in sight. We were required to chase the herd for another kilometre across the international border into Bhutan. I knew that the Bhutan forest guards would drive them back into India at the earliest opportunity. The Bhutanese were at high risk too. Only a month ago a rogue herd had demolished the staff quarters of the Royal Bhutan Brewery at Samchi. But the war was won momentarily and by itself it was a great achievement without causing any diplomatic row.
I spent the rest of the night at Rongo medicinal herb garden guesthouse, which produced cinchona, an essential drug for treating tropical malaria.
Next morning, while seated at Gorubathan police station I received a few unexpected calls. The first call came from Ivan Surita, the Commissioner of Jalpaiguri Division. He used a few choicest vocabularies, which I always accepted as endearing words and finally thanked for exporting the rogue herd to Bhutan. The SP too called to congratulate me. The Deputy Chief Conservator of Forest called to enquire about the number of rounds fired and description of injuries that might have been inflicted on the retreating beasts. I had failed to satisfy him. It was later compensated by a written report with heaps of assurances that only five rounds were
Similar Books
The Best of Galaxy’s Edge 2013-2014
Larry Niven, Nancy Kress, Mercedes Lackey, Ken Liu, Brad R. Torgersen, C. L. Moore, Tina Gower
