Camaraderie

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Three logs, about six, four and three feet in length lay flat on the ground. Coming from three directions the logs met at one point to produce a flame. A slanted hay roof-- about 10 feet from the ground in the middle and about four feet at the sides-- rested on six asymmetrical logs. All four sides were open but nothing was visible beyond a few meters. The flame coming out from the confluence of the logs flew in all directions. The smoke played similar tricks. The wind changed its direction every few minutes.

Outside, on a similar fire, water boiled in an aluminum container. The container had taken several hits on all sides, perhaps fallen on the stones that it now rested on. Rice and yellow dal was on its way from a nearby village. The feast was still a couple of hours away.

Under the hay roof lay three cots with a jute net forming a horse shoe shape. Against one of the cots rested a 303 rifle that once hung on the shoulders of a police man. Now it was providing security from those very policemen.

Gopesh did not have any idea about when and where the gun was snatched but he was its owner now. He sat on a stone leaning against the cot. Facing him I crumbled on the four feet long cot, trying to protect myself from the forest chill with a Pashmina Loi (shawl) that my grand dad had once weaved. The fire from the three logs invited closer for comfort but the neck demanded staying still.

It was 7.30 pm in the evening and Gopesh was trying to adjust the antenna of his radio to tune into the local news. He had heard of an encounter with the police the previous day in Jharkand in which two naxals were feared killed. He wanted to hear the enemy's take for himself.

"This is propaganda, misinformation," he mumbled the moment he heard the news reader announce the killing of the two naxals. "In the morning I had heard the version of our Jharkhand commander on BBC radio and he had denied any killing. Do they have the bodies. Why can't they display the dead bodies," he protested.

The naxals do not leave their dead behind, an area commander--our escort for the past seven days-had assured us on being asked what would happen if there was a police attack? "Don't worry you are in safe custody. If there is a police attack we will fight first and if not in a position to revert the attack we will escape. We are guerrillas, we know all the escape routes," she had said. What if we are killed: "We will not let them take away the bodies. Martyrs deserve an honorable farewell."

I quoted the area commander to Gopesh.

What followed was complete silence. The water had boiled now. It was being filtered through a piece of red cloth. The rice and yellow dal had also arrived. Two sentries had started the cooking and Gopesh was trying to set his solar torch right.

It was difficult to manage on the four feet long cot now. The silence was killing. Sentries had taken positions on all sides and under the hay roof the thought of a police encounter was least welcome.

The silence was broken by Gopesh. I was now sitting on a piece of stone opposite him, trying to light a beedi (tobacco rolled into a tendu leaf ) from the fire. Turning my face in the opposite direction, trying to avoid the smoke from getting into my eyes even as my neck protested. "Ek beedi milega," Had I heard it right? turning towards Gopesh, looking through the smoke, I pushed forward the entire bundle. He took just one.

We were smoking beedis for the past four days. The cigarettes we carried were finished on day three. We had set out to meet the top naxal leadership but that it would take seven days of trekking through the jungles, we had never thought. The beedis were bought on the fourth day from a village shop. And they were bought in plenty. Our escorts by this time had made it known that it could take anywhere from 10 to 15 days to reach the destination. We reached on the seventh day and Gopesh was in charge of our security now, on our way back.

Gopesh was more forthcoming now. "It is an all out war. The enemy is very powerful. All tools are being used. Propaganda and false information is part of a larger design." The purpose of inviting us to the red den to meet the top leadership was thus explained.

But why was Gopesh doing what he was doing? He wanted to learn to operate the camera. And no instruction had to be given twice. He was a fast learner with a photographic memory. Born to poor tribal farmer parents he had gone up till ninth class. He had asked for Hindi magazines --Outlook and India today-but settled for the English Frontline, that I carried. He knew the English alphabets and tried to put them together and speak out the written word. Was he caught here? No he said. It was by choice: to fight the imperialist and fascist forces.

He was in the village militia first. And on June 10, 2007 was guarding a place near Akka Beri. The weekly village bazaar was on display. The previous day intelligence inputs had suggested a police raid. The village had to be guarded and the comrades in the jungles informed in case the police attacked.

"We were three of us," he said refusing a second beeri. I lit my second.

"The place was similar to the one we are sitting in right now. The only difference was that behind us was the village and ahead of us was the school building and the Angan Baari on one side and an open ground on the other side. A barbed wire blocked the entry to the school side. The open ground led to the world outside and police was expected from here." He had already gone back into the scene and was just narrating.

"The police had precise information about our stay in the village and chose not to come from the open ground. The first shot was fired only when we were surrounded from all sides. The only way out was to run. But where? We had no idea. They must be more than 75 in number. The two of us ran towards a tree to take position. I started firing. The barbed wire was in front of us. And to escape, the school wall had to be jumped. I gave cover to my comrade and he managed to escape. Firing started from all sides and I lay still. The end was near. I don't believe in god and I remembered my comrades and bid adieu. I did not want to give up without killing at least one from the other side. It was dark and the firing stopped after 10 minutes. They came to clear the area.

I lay in ambush, my gun in position. I had just three bullets." Gopesh was taking both his hands to the corner of his eyes and moving them forward. This he did several times trying to explain how he had focused on the job at hand that day.

"Guerella and war skills came in handy. Two policemen came within firing range but they did not notice me. I decided I will shoot only once they took aim at me. I was at an advantage, they could not see me but I could. They cleared the area. Abusing us, they shouted, 'the bastards have fled.' I lay still. "Their commander shouted from inside the school building to check the area again."

"After two minutes two more policemen came within firing range. They were walking towards me. I took the aim and fired but missed. I was left with just two bullets."

The food was ready but it could wait. Gopesh's story was more engrossing. My neck was also feeling slightly better.

"The two policemen shouted at other members of the party, he continued. 'don't fire unnecessarily. The bullet could have hit us' they said and the commander once again shouted from inside the school to clear the area. He refused to come out but the policemen were convinced we had left."

"After about two minutes the two police men started moving towards the school building. I took an aim, fired and this time it was bang on target. The other policeman ran for cover. I rushed towards the dead cop picked his AK47 and sprayed bullets and jumped the barbed wire and escaped into the jungle." Gopesh heaved a sigh yet again and added "I left my 303 as I could not have carried two guns."

In the dark I reached the spot that was decided as the meeting point in case we lost contact. One of my comrades was already there. The other took a longer route and reached after about two hours."

The next day the 7.30 evening news at the local radio station announced, "Large amount of ammunition and weapons recovered from naxals. Two killed" "They had no bodies, because we take the bodies back, they said. And the only ammunition they had recovered was a single bullet and a gun, while they had given up an AK47. Is it not propaganda?" I nodded.

Dinner was served. The three logs had burnt to half. There was silence yet again.

Next day Gopesh handed us over to another escort party that was to take us to a motorable road from where we were to board a bus back home.

We said good bye. Gopesh had his fist clenched. "Lal Salam," he said. We hugged. "Comrade aap beedi bahut peete hain. sehat ke liye kharab hai. thoda kam keejeye," he said and we parted.