Did I Really Do All This?

Book Title: DID I REALLY DO ALL THIS?
Genre: Memoirs
Author: Vijay Raman
Publisher: Rupa Publications India Pvt. Ltd. 

As an Indian living far down South, my first impression, as a kid, of the Chambal Valley was thanks to India’s iconic silver screen villain, Gabbar Singh, in the epic film, "Sholay". Apart from that, my childhood memories of a few train journeys, crossing the Valley, remain distant and vague. And then came Shekhar Kapur’s "The Bandit Queen", by which time I was an adult. The movie left me, as it did many others, disturbed. Of course, there were many other films too made on the baddies of the badlands, but they never reached the theatres of the South. And somewhere in between, I got to read about the daring, swashbuckling Vijay Raman IPS’ intense, gruelling encounters with the dacoits of the Chambal Valley. Those were real-time stories, and he was, undoubtedly, the real hero. Ever since I got to know about the book, “Did I Really Do All This”, I was looking forward to reading it. The book throws as much light on the man, the author, as on his illustrious career as a high-ranking police officer.

In contrast to the typical image of a policeman, Vijay Raman IPS, obviously, was a kind, compassionate, sensitive, and easily approachable police officer. Several incidents in his career, as revealed in the book, are testimonies to this. However, much remains unsaid, unwritten, or so this reader feels. Much is left to be read between the lines. There is much more to the man beyond the surface. Buried deep within him, and such guardians of law, must be a burden of emotions – the leftovers of many a job done well. This anguish is a huge sacrifice made by them, perhaps known only to them.

“One day, I received a report of the discovery of an unidentified dead body. Somehow the name of the place, which fell under the police station of Pandokhar, rang a bell, and I found myself rushing anxiously towards it with a growing sense of dread. It was about 100 km from Gwalior and by the time I got there, the body, though badly mauled and with limbs dismembered, had been identified. Beside it sat a woman clutching two children tightly to herself and wailing loudly.

It was a terrible, terrible feeling to know that this was my fault. I was responsible for the death of this informer. I was the person responsible for all those who were killed by Devi Singh after his release, until he was terminated by my junior, SP Asha Gopal. It would always remain on my conscience that my actions, though purely with the intention of upholding human rights and protecting human life, had led to so much violence and misery.” (p. 48)

When the author looks upon his own actions objectively, he is harsh on himself, but not in the least does he flinch from facing what he believes is the truth, albeit bitter.

“I did feel flattered by his description of me, and the objective way in which he reported what I had told him: my understanding and sympathy for dacoits as human beings that later became influenced by the suffering they wreaked on the villagers and seeing my own men crippled and killed in encounters. I told him that when I dealt with dacoits, I had to become as dehumanized as they were, shedding all sensibility, becoming exactly what my enemy was. I did not like it, but it happened.” (p. 58)

At the end of it all, after all the sacrifices and criticisms, does the law enforcer feel it was all worth it? Perhaps yes. But with some misgivings. The author speaks about the flip side, or the “alternate and rather harsh reality” of his encounter with Paan Singh Tomar which led to the decimation of Tomar and his gang.

“…to the media across the world and in India too, it was a hero who had been brutally gunned down. Paan Singh had served in the Indian Army. He had won athletics medals for India. When he returned home to his village, the disparities and inequities of Indian society had given him no choice but to turn to dacoity. The media focused on these, and this gave rise to huge sympathy for Paan Singh and even contempt for the law-keepers who had gunned him and his gang down. There was no mention of the fact that, in the course of our duty, and at great risk to our own lives, we had removed a dangerous criminal and his gang from the face of this earth. However, the people of Chambal and its surroundings, who had lived in terror of the gang’s burglaries and abductions, were deeply grateful for the capture.” (pp. 76-77)

The series of incidents that led to the execution of the bandit and his coterie is no less gripping than a suspense-filled silver-screen thriller. But one shouldn’t excerpt them here and spoil the surprise of a prospective reader.

And with as much as a few words, in an aside, Vijay Raman dispels the myths created by the movies around the highly romanticised, heroic image of the bandits.

“In those days, no dacoits in Chambal were going around on horseback. They were all walking. The movies have depicted this incorrectly. There were no horses, and there could not have been horses, because horses meant expenditure; they meant money. Where would the fodder for a horse come from? Where could the money come from? Every source of money could be detected. At night, when a gang is surrounded, you can tell your men to be silent, but can you keep your horses silent? The horses will neigh. And horses are easy to track, by their excreta, among other things. The dacoits do not ride on horseback – they walk. They walk through the ravines. I know that Malkhan used to walk every night, often as much as 22 km!” (pp. 61-62)

How the poor viewers’ lack of common sense is being taken for granted continuously by the filmmakers. One wonders how all those movies turned out to be the blockbusters they were. How far away are the general public from reality!

As one reads on, one realises that this “simple, straightforward” cop commanded the respect of even the lawbreakers. Take for instance Malkhan Singh’s surrender. Vijay Raman didn’t just defeat his opponent but won him over.

“That was the day on which a dacoit from the ravines of Chambal came to Delhi, made enquiries to find out where I lived and, when he found out, climbed eight floors (lifts scared him!) to come to my home (adorning a tilak, holding a gun!) to pay me a visit. He had honoured me with his rituals (touching feet, offering tilak, paying Rs. 101 shagun!), assuring me that, despite being on opposite sides of the law, despite my holding out relentlessly against him, he had always held me in respect and continued to do so.” (p. 112)

The author’s deceptively stoic recountal of the gruesome scenes that unfolded before his eyes following the Bhopal Gas Leakage, as he rushed back and forth between the hospital and the railway station, trying to make sense of the traumatic effects of the Tragedy and deal with them, makes it all the more heart-wrenching.

“The entire platform, a huge expanse, was filled with dead bodies. They were lying helter-skelter, as they had fallen, and I could see many corpses with intestines spilling out of the anal area. I did not allow the dreadful sight to affect me – it was my duty to find someone here who could tell me what had happened. I walked around to try and locate a person who was still alive, but could not.” (p. 122)

Vijay Raman’s portrayal brings out the writer in him as he makes the situation come alive in the reader’s mind so much so that they can see, feel and hear the panic.

“As they ran, people panted, struggled for breath, and inhaled even more than they would have if they had not ran! That image of people running for their lives, and the very act of running taking them closer to death, is one that will never leave me.” (p. 123)

This super cop’s daredevilry and adventure was not confined to his job, which was, as it were, adrenaline-fuelled. He was also full of fun and frolic. What else could have taken him around the world, along with his friend, in a Contessa in less than 40 days to earn a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records! He narrates the tour hour by thrilling hour, without leaving out any of the delightful surprises (or the rude shocks!) that popped up on the way. From the preparation for the tour to the receipt of the certificate, he relates, at length, the tiniest of details.

The passages quoted above are but a few, fleeting peeks into the book, which is replete with revelations on the action-filled life of Vijay Raman, the outstanding police officer who was also a remarkable human being. The list of his achievements and accomplishments are long, and include the liquidation of the mastermind behind the 2001 Parliament attack, Ghazi Baba, giving protection to four Prime Ministers of India, initiating the fencing of the Indo-Pak border, and so on and so forth, each one more engrossing than the other.

The book leaves the reader in awe of this dauntless man who had put his life at risk and had a brush with death, not once but several times, for the security of the nation and its people. His writing style is incredibly unassuming for a man who had created history at about every turn in his life.

In closing, one wonders if this note has turned out to be more about the man than about his book. Perhaps Vijay Raman was a man who couldn’t be separate from his purpose, his duty, or his actions. The more one reads into the book, the more one feels he identified himself with all three. His wife Veena Raman’s anecdotes throw more light on the personal side of this legendary man. You close the book with a sense of sadness, though. The author left this world before he could see his book published. But then, perhaps, it would have hardly made a difference to him, the karmayogi that he was.

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