Jamshedpur Diaries

I have just finished reading "Bihar Diaries" by Amit Lodha, a policeman, who writes about the nexus between the the police, politician and criminal and about his success in eliminating criminal gangs in the state. The 90's were tumultuous times for the state and Jamshedpur too bore the brunt of criminalisation. Inspired by "Bihar Diaries", I write about my experiences, after almost half a century, about run-ins with criminals which disturbed our peaceful existence. 

To begin with, newspapers reported incidents of kidnappings and dacoity on a regular basis. One came to learn that Kidnapping served many purposes, from obtaining easy money to a coveted bride or groom of choice, anyone could be snatched at gunpoint. The other profitable haunt of criminals was the train. 

During one such night journey to Patna, as the train slowed down, my mother awoke to a strange sight. The comforter, protecting my sick father, was being pulled out of the window. Had my mother delayed even a moment in raising the alarm, my father would have had to spend a cold sleepless night. It took a whole compartment to pull it back. 

Another favourite of the train pirates was the Bokaro Allepey train, the only train, in those days, travelling to South India. On one such occasion, my grandparents were travelling by themselves to Chennai. The dacoits jumped into the compartment as the train slowed down on the outskirts of an approaching city. They passengers were forced to hand over everything of value - wallets, handbags, purses, money and jewellery, of course, at gun point. My grandfather had already surrendered his purse, still he approached the robber, waiting to disembark. He spoke to him kindly, "Look son," he said kindly, "just give me 10 rupees from my purse. I'm travelling with my old wife. In case my son is late, we can at least have a cup of tea". The robber returned my grandfather's purse. He had made a very good killing. And as quickly they had entered, the robbers vanished into the darkness as soon as the train gathered speed. 

 When the all clear signal sounded, my grandmother finally removed the shawl covering her head . Only then did one realise that she was not merely protecting herself from the cold, she had covered her ears nose and hands, bedecked with diamond jewellery. I was sure that information about the South Indian women's love for jewellery must have reached the ears of gangsters. Sporadic cases of loot were often reported. A Tamilian friend of ours, recently married, was returning late one night from the club. He stopped his scooter to remove the logs blocking his path. They had been waylaid and the terrified new bride handed over the little but expensive jewellery she was wearing. 

We had been hearing of thefts in our area. But nobody took them seriously because we were so used to the safe and comfortable life in the Steel City. Then news trickled in that a family in KD Flats had been robbed. But information was scarce and people were  reluctant to believe such news. And then it happened in my house; I was very young and didn't understand the gravity of the situation but I recall it today with great trepidation. Early one morning, possibly between 2 and 3 am, I woke up to commotion in my house. My parents were dazed, they were in a state of shock and bewilderment. My mother was crying and gently rubbing her red bruised neck, from where her gold chain had been ripped free. She had felt someone standing behind her, cutting the chain and pulling it, she tried to scream- but no sound escaped her lips, her throat had gone dry. The thief jumped over my father and this woke him up. He screamed. 

My parents were asleep in their bedroom, they preferred sleeping on the floor. My sister and I were in the other room, my grandparents were asleep in the third bedroom. Listening to my father's screams, my grandfather switched on the light and rushed out from his room. My father pointed towards the side door screaming, "He went that way". Father and son rushed out and found the grill door wide open. It was a heavy iron door and it had been unlocked. We kept asking and listening again and agin and when the first lights appeared, our neighbours rushed out. Only then in the light of dawn, did we see the bunch of keys lying on the stair case leading to the flat above. My mom was sure that there were at least two of them and then we discovered that they had entered our ground floor house by removing an iron rod from the toilet window.

After entering, they must have used a flash light, gone from room to room and by chance, found the house keys. A wrist watch and some cash was also missing. And we were sure chloroform was used, because we didn't seem to find our bearings for a long time. My grandfather insisted on reporting the matter to the police, against good advice. The policemen came, went around the house and enjoyed a cup of coffee. "Tell us, whom do you suspect? We'll catch the culprits immediately!" This was their refrain and after three visits to the police station, my grandfather gave up hope. We got no help from any quarter, but the robbery in our house was neither the first nor the last carried out by the gang. 

Later, some well meaning friends told us that a young man named Biru (name changed) was involved in that gang. He had somehow managed to befriend my authoritarian grandfather. He used to visit our house often and had won us over with his friendly and helpful ways. Once, he even insisted we attend  his brother's wedding reception. Strange enough Biru never ever visited us after the robbery and this made us suspicious of his involvement. 

Soon after, a particularly violent attack was unleashed in a locality nearby. The victims were again another ordinary Tamilian family like ours. One night, about half a dozen masked men, made their way across the river on a cloudy, starless night, cool, yet heavy and dark. The men were on a mission- they were each assigned a task. A couple of them broke into the corner flat, their target. They had bolted from outside all the outer gates of the surrounding flats, arresting the people inside. So even when the neighbors heard cries for help, all they could do was scream some more or throw down pots from their balcony. 

The masked men broke open the door and confronted the frightened family. The most terrifying one looted the 70,000 Rupees withdrawn from the bank that morning towards construction of their home. Then the retired father and son were  bludgeoned and thrown out of the house. The daughter-in-law hid in the back yard and silently removed all her jewellery and dropped them gently  into the dark coal shed. Misreading the silence, the mother in law emerged from the bathroom and the last of the masked men decamped with whatever jewellery she was wearing . He disappeared into the dark night along with the others, crossing the river and making good their escape. It took a long time for help to arrive and by the time I went to meet them the next morning, the men had been hospitalised in a serious but stable condition. The women were shocked, it was they who narrated the details to the neighbors and policemen.

I'll never forget my visit to Baba Dham, the holy shrine in Deogarh, Bihar. After having sought the blessings of Baba Bholenath, we were on our way back home. It had been a long winding and tedious journey and as soon as we boarded the train from Deogarh, I fell asleep. I woke up suddenly, something seemed amiss. There was an eerie silence broken by screams and shouting in the compartment. I sat upright in the middle berth. A young man kept calling out to me, "Bhabiji, Bhabiji, get down". He was already hiding under the lower berth.  My husband was crouching and so were most of the other passengers. The young man continued screaming, "Bhabiji, you are too brave! Please duck before you are hit".

Only then did I understand the enormity of the situation. I saw two armed guards of the Railway Protection Force and they were pulling down all the shutters and the train was screeching to a halt. We heard gun shots and the policemen were returning fire and a pitched battle was going on. The armed bandits, hiding somewhere in the dark, firing indiscriminately at a moving train. This time, a failed mission. Finally the all clear signal sounded and normalcy returned. 

I remember the case of a dynamic young IPS officer, a doctor by education, posted as city SP, Jamshedpur. He was successful in controlling and decreasing crime rate during the 1990s, when crime was at its peak. This much is fact. But the rest of what I write is all heresay. Much like Lodha, he had been assigned the task of nabbing a dangerous criminal, who was on the run. During one of his official briefing duty, he found the criminal enjoying political hospitality. The policeman resigned immediately, joined private service and then plunged into politics, and was elected Member of Parliament from Jamshedpur Lok Sabha Constituency. 

There are so many childhood memories like these, that you just want to keep going back to, no matter how old you become. When I look back, in spite of it all, everything still seems alright. I would never trade my childhood days for anything else in the world for I realise how lucky I was. I can't even imagine what my life would be like, if I had a different childhood, if I had lived in a different town or met different people!