Preface

Ever since I donned the khaki uniform of a police officer, to support me in my official work and to maintain a completely authentic account of whatever I did and whatever happened around me, I recorded all the relevant facts and figures briefly in my personal police diaries. As an investigator and as a part of India’s criminal justice and juvenile justice systems, I have always believed that discovering the truth was my solemn duty, since the truth held the key to solving the problems in any situation, whether it was to investigate a crime or maintain law and order. Any crime or incident warranting an inquiry or investigation requires an authentic and truthful reconstruction of the events. It helps immensely if, as an observer or as a participant, we record the facts contemporaneously, closest to the time and place of occurrence.

Through my active participation in law enforcement for 34 years and an equal number of years in the voluntary sector, I have been able to understand somewhat how truth can be distorted, mutilated and at times even falsified completely in the criminal justice system (CJS) in which we operate—with the police as investigators and inexorably intertwined with the broken wings of the CJS, the lawyers as the prosecutors and defenders of the accused and the victims, the judges as the final dispensers of justice and the prisons or correctional services as the repositories of the proceeds of the entire process. Time and again, the question asked by those who perpetually remain at the receiving end is whether truth has prevailed and justice given to the victims, who are mostly the needy and helpless, the poor and deprived. Most of the stakeholders—with the exception of the rich and powerful—the victims of crimes and injustice and even the witnesses, accused and perpetrators, remain equally ignorant about the laws of the country and the labyrinth of systems in which they get pushed around—eyeless in Gaza.

My experience with India’s criminal justice system is that it is alien, colonial and archaic. But I can’t resist admiring the legal provision in the Criminal Procedure Code that makes it obligatory for a police officer to record the ‘case diaries’ in the present tense, and simultaneously, as and when the investigation or inquiry proceeds. If we don’t enter the philosophical domain of ‘absolute or relative truth’ and it is to be explored with reference to an event and the attendant circumstances in question as it unfolds, the truth remains immutable. But when the facts thus collected have to be presented as evidence—even though they are mostly inadmissible under the law—for judicial scrutiny, the distortions of the truth begin.

In this book I have attempted to describe how rich and influential people, in connivance with the those who operate the CJS, exploited the loopholes in the system in some of the most sensational and heinous crimes that dominated national headlines and still continue to remain fresh in the public’s mind. In the Jessica Lal murder case, despite compelling evidence, the court came close to acquitting the accused, prompting newspaper headlines such as ‘no one killed Jessica’. In Sanjeev Nanda’s BMW hit-and-run case, the money power and unprecedented intrigues between the lawyers along with a planted witness and a powerful family, almost dictated the judicial pronouncements. Through the international crook Charles Sobhraj’s sensational Tihar jail break case, I lay bare the manipulations in the country’s highest security prison. And through the investigations in Romesh Sharma’s cases, I present how a politico-mafia lord influenced the system while terrorising his targets and extorting properties worth hundreds of crores.

The first-hand material about these landmark cases that I had the opportunity to handle remained confined for decades in my old, yellowed diaries, personal papers and the media reports I had collected and maintained along with my occasional reflections. They would have disintegrated and disappeared had it not been for Bloomsbury India, which encouraged me to write my first police memoirs—Khaki in Dust Storm—and now this book, Khaki on Broken Wings. I am thankful to my close associates Umang Lal, Dilip Sharan and Soni Sangwan, who remained a part of me in this exploratory journey. No words are enough to thank my wife, Rekha, and my son, Pratinav, for remaining extremely indulgent and supportive of my efforts.

1

Exploring Arunachal with a Tribal Patriarch

You are a genius, Sir!’

Picturing him as a political acrobat, I would say this with amusement to one of India’s longest-serving chief ministers, the chief minister (CM) of Arunachal Pradesh, Gegong Apang. He could, as I had observed, accomplish several gymnastic feats in politics and life simultaneously, juggling with 5–6 balls at a time, always keeping two in his hands while the others were in the air.

He would laughingly ask, ‘Why do you say so, DGP (Director General of Police) saheb?’

I would reply, ‘I am always amazed to see you quite happily dealing with all your personal or official problems with complete ease, without any grudge or anxiety. You look so comfortable, Sir!’

He would smile and then give me a long discourse about the history, geography, tribal intrigues, traditions, culture and social structure of Arunachal Pradesh. These wonderful chats during the several hours of road journeys with him were a great source of learning for me.

Since taking over as DGP, Arunachal Pradesh, in January 2005, sometimes, as a part of my duty, I travelled long distances by road to different parts of the state with the chief minister.

I did not know why he took me along. Actually, his convoy always included some policemen, but probably he thought that ‘ bif the DGP was a part of his convoy, it would add some extra stature to it.

Most of the times I agreed to go with him. Not only was I directly responsible for his security, I believed it would give me first-hand information about the situation in the state.

All these trips were a unique experience for me in many ways. I listened attentively to his lengthy talks, which were interrupted by frequent bouts of sleep, with his whole stout body appearing to hang towards one side by the seat belt. Considering it my duty to accompany him, I never complained or expressed my unwillingness to do so, but actually I was very uncomfortable physically. I also became unwell at times as I was not used to such trips. But, in retrospect, I realise that I gained immensely from his company. My understanding of that fascinating part of India inhabited by amazing people, who I served as a policeman, increased tremendously. I learnt a lot, and all my learning came to me in a very natural and practical manner.

Gegong Apang often talked about his matrimonial alliances during these road journeys. He would point out and say, ‘You know Amod ji, this village, which we are passing through in this hilly tract, is owned by me and my family. And in a village a little further from here, my wife lives with my children.’

I would be surprised to hear that. I would eagerly ask, ‘How is that possible, Sir? I know you already have a family somewhere else.’

He would then explain. ‘In your system, you follow monogamy. But here, in our social life of tribals, the ways and traditions are very different. We all have to follow and respect them. This ensures our good living. Our tradition allows us polygamy. Often polygamy is highly functional and useful for maintaining amicable coexistence among the people who live here, who cling to their traditions. They willingly accept me as their leader when I follow the traditional practices.’

As I showed interest, he would explain further, ‘In ancient and medieval India, polygamy was common among the rulers for developing political cohesion in the society. My marriages help me tremendously in resolving some age-old quarrels and disputes among the tribes of these hills. This also aids in stopping the possibilities of skirmishes and battles among them.’

When our convoy of about a dozen vehicles crossed villages in the hills, children and often groups of people would run after our cavalcade, shouting ‘Jai Hind, Jai Hind!’ Many of them would also hold the national flag, our tricolour, in their hands.

No other part of our country appeared to me as patriotic as these places. To my big surprise and also my heartfelt joy, I discovered that the common language of the people was Hindi, albeit influenced by local dialects. I would have never believed this extraordinary aspect of this remote part of India, which was often under threat from China, if I had not witnessed it myself.

Mr Apang usually sat in the front seat of the car, next to the driver and I would sit in the back seat along with a trusted assistant of his. Seeing an overwhelming demonstration of affection and unflinching support by the local people, once, just out of curiosity, I asked the assistant, within the CM’s hearing, ‘What makes these tribal people appear to be so friendly and loving towards the CM? What do you give them when you go out of the car to embrace them? How have you won this kind of loyalty of the people? They seem to welcome you everywhere with open hearts.’

The assistant replied, ‘I give each of them, especially the Gaon Buddhas (village elders), some cash on behalf of CM saheb. I always carry cash in my bag when I am with him. These people lack hard cash and feel very happy when they get some. In fact, some of them still live in the barter age. Our CM saheb gives them a little token to keep them happy and loyal. It is like extending his blessings to them.’

I completely failed to appreciate all these narratives and explanations. My automatic reaction was to immediately ask what the need was to do all this and how it was managed financially. I felt that this was fundamentally wrong according to the rule book and being the DGP of the state, how could I witness such happenings and let them continue?

The CM would then try to assuage my feelings through a long explanation, ‘See Amod ji, I do this from my individual funds. It is important to keep the village elders and the hard-working persons happy. This little gesture acts as an elixir against all the petty grievances which they often harbour in their hearts.’ He would say this to convince me, but at the same time, he was intelligent enough to ensure that whatever he did, it did not appear to fall short of following the rule book.

Mr Apang was a Congress veteran—a patriarch who had earlier remained the chief minister of Arunachal for nineteen years, from 1980 to 1999. He maintained a close association with all segments of the society, including other political parties. That’s how, after having lost his position, within just three years he was again back in power, from 2003 to 2007, when I was serving there.

I was transferred out of Arunachal Pradesh, having earned Mr Apang’s wrath when I took some legal actions to implement the Supreme Court directives on police reforms (often called the ‘Prakash Singh Case’) with the help of the highly supportive and forthright chief secretary of the state, Tabom Bam.

Mr Apang was eventually embroiled in a corruption case involving allegedly irregular bank and cash transactions running into crores of rupees.* This was what was called the ‘head-loading’ in the Public Distribution System (PDS) goods in the name of several remote and inaccessible places in the hills. The charges have been under investigation by the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI).

I found Mr Apang to be an interesting character. He was a self-made man and a leader who had risen from humble beginnings to the level of national politics, with the reputation of enjoying a complete command over his people. Though I did not agree with his ideas or the way he practised his politics, I was certainly impacted by my interactions with him.

2

Retrospections in Shangri-La

My professional and personal life has been full of ups and downs. In my stormy and challenging police career, my posting as DGP Arunachal Pradesh from 2005 to 2007, though less eventful, actually turned out to be very meaningful for me. This was not my first tenure in the North-East, the earlier being as Deputy Inspector General (DIG) of a police range during 1996–1997 in another fascinating state, Mizoram.

Having been involved during my postings in Delhi in several important and hugely hyped cases of policing which created turbulence all over the sociopolitical landscape of the country, many disturbing thoughts would often haunt me with scores of unanswered questions.

Troubled by the memories of the sensational crimes I had handled as the senior supervisory officer of the investigating teams, I became restless. My mind was overwhelmed by the innumerable questions about the criminal justice system, my experience as a law enforcement officer and the state of policing of India.

The Arunachal Pradesh posting was, professionally, very important and significant for me. It offered me the opportunity for appropriating, spacing out and settling several intensely conflicting and severely disturbing beliefs, thoughts, ideas, desires, ponderings and memories.

The multiple dimensions as a human being which surfaced at that time had actually been developing within me for several years, having their roots in my highly challenging experiences, especially while in Delhi Police and the CBI. These extraordinary experiences produced some novel yet realistic ideas and strategies for effectively handling the unique situations I faced. Remarkably, many of the actions taken then resulted in popular demands for changes in the criminal laws directly connected with the functioning of the police.

At Itanagar, the capital of Arunachal Pradesh, I lived in a bungalow called the ‘Police House’, which was built on a hilltop. The day I landed there, it reminded me of the great novelist James Hilton’s fictional land in his novel Lost Horizon (based on which Frank Capra, the celebrated film director of 1930s, made a popular movie). He described the entire piece of land bordering India and Tibet as ‘Shangri-La’, meaning a real Garden of Eden, carved out on earth.

Initially, I was somewhat of an ‘outsider’. In fact, the police administration itself was layered and structured, with divisions between the ‘local’ police officers and the ‘outsider’ police officers quite clearly marked.

As I settled down, the heavenly atmosphere of the place started having its impact on me. Quite naturally and at times spontaneously, my regular wanderings in the state resulted in the surfacing of numerous thoughts lying buried inside me, which also brought up unanswered queries so far embedded deep within my heart. The heavenly views and the sights would fetch answers to my numerous convoluted thoughts and questions.

In just two years of my stay in the state, I travelled to almost all the regions and soon began to recognise every nook and corner of the place, even the size of a particular fern, the smallest rivulet and all the culverts on the way.

My regular field visits as the head of the state police were highly inspiring, enriching and professionally productive experiences for me. All the places I visited were a treat to the eyes and a divine enlightenment of the soul. I could heal my psychological wounds of police life which I had been carrying within me all this while as a huge baggage.

The entire two years of my posting were, by and large, peaceful, except for a few minor skirmishes amongst some twenty odd major tribes in the state. By the definition of ‘crime’ as I had understood it in my career of police service, Arunachal Pradesh had a minimal crime rate.

There were some sporadic incidents of insurgency, mostly originating from the neighbouring states of Nagaland and Assam. They were mainly in the two Nagaland-adjacent pockets of Tirap and Changlang districts, which I visited a couple of times. They were heavily influenced by the National Socialist Council of Nagaland (NSCN–Khaplang/Muivah), like the adjacent areas of Nagaland demanding Greater Nagaland. I had to tackle the problem of extortions there, including some cases affecting government servants.

The home-grown ultras and militant groups caused the state police some worry. My actions to address the specific problem with limited counter-insurgency operations had some positive effects. In retrospect, I feel the problems were no big deal as compared to the prevailing scenario in the other strife-torn parts of the North-East. One reason for a better situation in Arunachal was that the local people were inherently innocent, simple, friendly and peace-loving.

I found it to be a natural but extraordinary achievement that in spite of my apex and rather inaccessible position as the head of the police department, very soon I had several local friends who appeared to have happily accepted me as one of their own. It was a wonderful thing to happen and it also turned out to be helpful in many ways. In these people I saw traits of pure humanity, something rarely seen in metropolises like Delhi.

In the midst all these pleasant happenings, a rather different experience was the emerging insurgency led by Gangte Tugung, a self-styled gang leader of a terrorist outfit, holding the rank of the chairman of the so-called United Socialist Council of Arunachal (USCA). He had escaped from jail and the state police were on the lookout to catch him. With the efforts of my efficient team, we searched the police records and found some important facts about Gangte Tugung and his gang. This process and the actions taken later became the guidelines for police actions towards curbing insurgency in the state.

I recall the eventful day of 21 February 2006. It was a day when several events took place, which was a lot considering our usual laid-back times in Arunachal Pradesh. It was drizzling since morning, and the weather was giving indication of turning rough at any moment. The Arunachal Police Mess had been renovated, and its opening ceremony was scheduled in the evening. Considering the personal interest I had taken in the renovation and the general excitement around, I expected a good gathering of the family members of the local police officers and a mixed group of locals and officials. A performance of a team of musicians consisting of policemen, their families and some local artists was scheduled.

There was an apprehension based on the experience in the previous years that the family members, particularly the young boys and girls, would not participate. But we were pleasantly surprised to see that, ignoring the inclement weather, almost everyone who was invited came to the event.

The evening turned out to be beautiful. Our own police band, revived a little earlier, performed admirably and there were some great singers among the policemen. A variety of games, especially tambola, were played. The animated chatter of ladies and the laughter and shouts of youngsters filled the place. Everyone had a gala time.

It was a very satisfying experience for me. I had, in my own way, worked hard to break down the social barriers and encouraged bonhomie and camaraderie amongst the policemen, their families and the general public. The event created a sense of belonging among everyone. They could feel they were all a part of a self-developed, homogeneous group—including those who had personal reservations about one another previously.

I was happy. The merrymaking filled me with a pleasant glow. All the diverse currents in my inner self seemed to be settling down inside, finding cosy corners where they could easily fit themselves. I developed an intense desire to take a deep dive into my emotions and have a frank dialogue with myself. I remained quiet and calm, watching everyone indulging in one activity or the other, but my mind took a flight to a world where I could boldly debate on all the pressing questions filling my mind.

In the midst of all the mirth and gaiety, I started thinking about the highly complex functions of the criminal justice system of India, the differences between police set-ups of Delhi and Arunachal and the systems under which they operated, trying to resolve the dilemma between tradition and the need for change.

Busy with my thoughts, I didn’t realise that I had left the party and returned to the Police House. I found myself standing at the window across my work table overlooking the hills, which were full of greenery, and which I knew were a treasure trove of a large variety of flora and fauna.

This was where I would often stand, looking out of the window, holding a mug of my post-supper coffee, lost in my thoughts. Sometimes I would almost freeze in the cold, standing for hours, lost in my thoughts, until someone called me. It was my favourite place in the house.

3

Plugging Holes in Hawa Mahal

Every stage of an individual’s life has a certain amount of uniqueness. My posting in a remote border state of the country as the police chief was also unique in that sense. It gave me an opportunity to find answers to many of the questions which had filled my mind for years, making me somewhat vexed and restless. The answers came from within myself. But the serendipity happened only at Itanagar, in Arunachal Pradesh.

I would often look out from the large window of my camp office and walk in the sizeable open spaces of the Police House. The grounds had a hall called ‘Hawa Mahal’. It was an open-air built-up space without walls, with only a canopy overhead. It overlooked a deep valley with a rivulet, and there were hills beyond. I enjoyed talking to myself there, right in the lap of nature. I often saw my mirror image—my alter ego—quite separate from me, over the placid hills and valleys spread in front of me.

In the camp office, the new white curtains adorning the window, brought from Delhi by my wife Rekha on one of her occasional visits, would often cling to me while blowing in the pleasant breeze and remind me of her. This would encourage me to begin a dialogue with myself again.

The questions in my mind arose from a complex mix of multiple planes of memory connected with a wide spectrum of pressing issues about the day-to-day and mundane affairs of places ranging from Arunachal to Delhi. There were also many intricate questions about the grave aspects of the events either in the National Capital Territory (NCT) or the remote territory of Arunachal Pradesh, many of them concerning the criminal justice system of our country.

While working in Arunachal Pradesh, and then later in other positions, my mind would be continuously thinking in the background. My mirror image or the alter ego I had created of myself often talked to me and asked me to define my overall being and my character, as I understood it. I passionately described my life and my personality, ‘My early life contained a lot of uncertainty. I had a chaotic academic career, especially in the 1960s, followed by a couple of years of courageous and, at times, penniless life-experiments until the early 1970s.

‘As the mediocre fifth child amongst nine brilliant siblings, the penury of the early years might have been the basis for what happened in the 1970s. I had an adventurous start as a lecturer in Jamshedpur when we created a college amongst the tribals of Jharkhand. I qualified for the Civil Services and got into the Indian Police Service (IPS) in 1974. Due to my unusual background, I was quite different from my batchmates at the training institutes at Mussoorie, Mount Abu and Hyderabad.

‘With the start of a new career began a new life. During most of my service of nearly thirty-four years, I had numerous active and eventful field assignments. The journey as a policeman was full of several mammoth events and extraordinary experiences which became landmarks in the history of the criminal justice system of India.

‘I believe that I was fortunate to have so many opportunities to work as an investigator in several tumultuous high-profile criminal cases. Each time when these events occurred or the cases came up, I happened to be in critical positions as one of the officers directly involved in crime control or investigations, either in the district police or the crime branch or as one of range police chiefs or in the CBI—the premier national investigation agency. Each time, I was officially assigned to investigate these cases.’

Continuing the discussion, my alter ego said, ‘You appreciate and at the same time have reservations about the system in which you operate. As one of the agents of this system, holding the key position in law enforcement and often one of the prime movers of the system, you have openly talked about the need for a change. Many others have also done so. You ostensibly agree with a few and disagree with many of them and you have often expressed this in meetings, presentations, writings and television talks. You appear to have some firm beliefs about the mandated rule of law as it exists in a democracy like India’s. Definitely, the rule of law should be the hallmark of the Indian political, administrative and legal systems. You believe that the rule of law draws its entire meaning as well as strength, legitimacy, efficacy and authority from the Constitution of India.’

My alter ego continued, ‘But, as you have expressed many times, you have reservations about the way the rule of law is implemented in India. You do not seem to have any reservations about the essence, efficacy, core philosophy or the main objectives of the rule of law. Your complaint is against the misuse which takes place by manipulating the existing system. You feel that the system itself offers scope for misuse. It is designed on the belief that its implementors will be righteous, honest, forthright and virtuous. It is meant to be a tool in the hands of the virtuous to kill the evil. But as you point out, often this tool goes into the hands of the evil-doers themselves and then the system becomes the means to shield the wrong doers. The rule of law dwells in the realm of rationality but if evil manages to walk on that path, it creates a helpless situation. You believe that the set of laws that govern the criminal justice system and the so-called trinity of laws, that is, Code of Criminal Procedure or Criminal Procedure Code (CrPC), Indian Penal Code (IPC) and Indian Evidence Act, coupled with the Indian Police Act of 1861, are all archaic in character.’

I answered, ‘The CrPC, IPC and Indian Evidence Act along with the Indian Police Act of 1861, through which we have been primarily operating, are all anachronistic in many ways, continuing in India since the 1860s. Mainly formulated by the brilliant lawmaker Lord Thomas Babington Macaulay, this sheet anchor of India’s legal system was implemented by the British to achieve their imperial goals. The British did not leave any stone unturned to subjugate India after the revolt of 1857 or the First War of Independence.

‘The police and the judiciary, along with the English education system, were based on Western models with the prime objective to crush India and keep it subjugated. The core objectives of the system had no place or provision for providing justice to the common people of India. After Independence, for whatever reasons, we retained the criminal justice system established by the foreign rulers and this continues even today. The system is not designed to suit our country’s requirements. To make it workable, we often apply patches and do some mending through reforms, but the problems continue.

‘Earlier, the British were experts in