Open Secrets: The Explosive Memoirs of an Indian Intelligence Officer by Maloy Krishna Dhar Page A
Authors: Maloy Krishna Dhar
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fired from the regulation weapons and the animals were sent off as cordially as possible.
The most rewarding call came at about ten a.m.
“Sir the DIG is coming on the line. Please take the call.”
A panicked sub-inspector rushed to me, where I was busy meeting a delegation from the nearby villages.
I rushed back to the phone and by instinct addressed the caller as sir. I was greeted by a faint laughter and plenty of good wishes. My fiancé was on the line. It was the greatest reward that I hadn’t expected. I assured her that I wasn’t a dragon killer and I wasn’t going to expose myself to unwarranted danger. She knew it was a hollow promise. Danger and I were the most intimate bed mates.
*
The destiny moves according to a predestined speed. That’s what a Hindu is taught to believe from his childhood. I was not a firm believer in many of the fatalistic dicta that ruled over the lives of common Indians, Hindus, semi-Hindu animists, converted Muslims and Christians, in fact everybody, who happened to grow up on the soil of this ancient land. My non-conformist attitude displeased many and invited derision from others. But gradually I had started learning the tricks to keep my trap shut and lock away my social views and views on religion.
Much later a Vaishnaba (a Hindu stream of worship) saint in Manipur taught me that tolerance wasn’t an anathema to rational thinking. Tolerance rather helped in widening the knowledge base of a person who felt thirst for the truth. He had also warned me to acknowledge that truth wasn’t a fixed object. It was a relative concept. It was, according to him like the layers of an onion. The final truth, he felt was maya (eternal void), which appeared to exist and very often appeared non-existent.
This minor indulgence in a stream of Hindu philosophy was prompted by two unforeseen developments.
Chandan Sanyal (name changed), my Calcutta University friend and my colleague in a Calcutta newspaper, had traversed a tortuous ideological terrain and come to the conclusion that political and social changes could only be brought about through the barrel of gun. He had joined the ranks of Charu Majumdar, Kanu Sanyal and Jangal Santhal. A prominent member of the Communist party (Marxist-Leninist) he believed in simultaneous rural and urban upri sing. I had met him last in 1966 at the famous College Street coffee house, a favourite rendezvous of the real and budding intellectuals of Calcutta and the most fertile ground of spawning renaissance and revolution.
I received an early morning call from DIG state intelligence branch and faced a critical enquiry.
“I believe you know Chandan Sanyal?”
“Yes sir. We studied and worked together.”
“I want you to spot him in Siliguri and arrest him.”
“That’s not my area sir.”
“You’ve the orders from the IGP.”
“Where do I look for him?”
The DIG shared with me an address somewhere in Bidhan Nagar, an upcoming residential area.
The moment of truth confronted me rather brazenly. I was very close to the RSS and at a later date had fraternised with the Congress. I never felt aroused by the political ideas of the Bengal communists. Chandan was drawn to communist ideology and believed in the Chinese brand of violent movement. But our ideological incompatibility did not stand in the way of our friendship.
I went down to Siliguri all by myself in a hired private car. I did not take the police jeep. Bidhan Nagar wasn’t a big place way back in early 1967. The address was correct but Chandan wasn’t there. I was advised to come after a few days. It was a big disappointment.
My next stop was the ramshackle home of Charu Majumdar, the paternal figure of India’s Left Extremist movement. I had met him thrice, way back in 1966, along with a journalist friend of Darjeeling, who worked as a stringer for the BBC. The contents of only one of my initial meetings with Charu were shared with the SP. I was aware that Haren Banerjee was a
The most rewarding call came at about ten a.m.
“Sir the DIG is coming on the line. Please take the call.”
A panicked sub-inspector rushed to me, where I was busy meeting a delegation from the nearby villages.
I rushed back to the phone and by instinct addressed the caller as sir. I was greeted by a faint laughter and plenty of good wishes. My fiancé was on the line. It was the greatest reward that I hadn’t expected. I assured her that I wasn’t a dragon killer and I wasn’t going to expose myself to unwarranted danger. She knew it was a hollow promise. Danger and I were the most intimate bed mates.
*
The destiny moves according to a predestined speed. That’s what a Hindu is taught to believe from his childhood. I was not a firm believer in many of the fatalistic dicta that ruled over the lives of common Indians, Hindus, semi-Hindu animists, converted Muslims and Christians, in fact everybody, who happened to grow up on the soil of this ancient land. My non-conformist attitude displeased many and invited derision from others. But gradually I had started learning the tricks to keep my trap shut and lock away my social views and views on religion.
Much later a Vaishnaba (a Hindu stream of worship) saint in Manipur taught me that tolerance wasn’t an anathema to rational thinking. Tolerance rather helped in widening the knowledge base of a person who felt thirst for the truth. He had also warned me to acknowledge that truth wasn’t a fixed object. It was a relative concept. It was, according to him like the layers of an onion. The final truth, he felt was maya (eternal void), which appeared to exist and very often appeared non-existent.
This minor indulgence in a stream of Hindu philosophy was prompted by two unforeseen developments.
Chandan Sanyal (name changed), my Calcutta University friend and my colleague in a Calcutta newspaper, had traversed a tortuous ideological terrain and come to the conclusion that political and social changes could only be brought about through the barrel of gun. He had joined the ranks of Charu Majumdar, Kanu Sanyal and Jangal Santhal. A prominent member of the Communist party (Marxist-Leninist) he believed in simultaneous rural and urban upri sing. I had met him last in 1966 at the famous College Street coffee house, a favourite rendezvous of the real and budding intellectuals of Calcutta and the most fertile ground of spawning renaissance and revolution.
I received an early morning call from DIG state intelligence branch and faced a critical enquiry.
“I believe you know Chandan Sanyal?”
“Yes sir. We studied and worked together.”
“I want you to spot him in Siliguri and arrest him.”
“That’s not my area sir.”
“You’ve the orders from the IGP.”
“Where do I look for him?”
The DIG shared with me an address somewhere in Bidhan Nagar, an upcoming residential area.
The moment of truth confronted me rather brazenly. I was very close to the RSS and at a later date had fraternised with the Congress. I never felt aroused by the political ideas of the Bengal communists. Chandan was drawn to communist ideology and believed in the Chinese brand of violent movement. But our ideological incompatibility did not stand in the way of our friendship.
I went down to Siliguri all by myself in a hired private car. I did not take the police jeep. Bidhan Nagar wasn’t a big place way back in early 1967. The address was correct but Chandan wasn’t there. I was advised to come after a few days. It was a big disappointment.
My next stop was the ramshackle home of Charu Majumdar, the paternal figure of India’s Left Extremist movement. I had met him thrice, way back in 1966, along with a journalist friend of Darjeeling, who worked as a stringer for the BBC. The contents of only one of my initial meetings with Charu were shared with the SP. I was aware that Haren Banerjee was a
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