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Diary of a Terrorist - Part II
The second part of the extracts from prison notes reveals how the Black Tuesday suspect got his first hostage
In September-October ’94, Sheikh combs Delhi to kidnap foreigners as part of the conspiracy to force the release of Jaish chief Masood Azhar. He catches a Briton but loses an American
The beggar at Nizamuddin
The next day, I was at ISBT when I saw a foreign chap wandering about. I asked him where he was going. He said Dehra Dun. I quickly made up my mind. My experience with Akhmir had shown that journeys together gave an excellent opportunity to initiate friendships. So I said, ‘‘What a surprise — I’m going there too!’’ and got with him on the bus. His name was Richard and he was a British student who had arranged to have teaching experience at Doon School, Dehra Dun. He will be a teacher there now. By the time we got to Doon School, I had not only initiated a friendship — I had put forward the idea of spending time together touring India. I spent the night at Hotel Relax at Dehra Dun but failed to start up a conversation with the foreign couple staying there.
Back to Delhi, Shah saab told me to leave the tourists aside and look for foreigners under the protection of the Indian Government as he called them i.e. diplomats and engineers based here.
One night Nasir said he was moving out. He left. I had the room to myself. Now, since I had been in India, the sight of emaciated beggars everywhere particularly round the (Nizamuddin) Markaz had posed a serious dilemma for me. I had never seen so much poverty first hand in my life before. But I had soon realised that superficial help was only perpetuating the problem — most of the money they received was spent on cigarettes or charas. But they were genuinely needy people. Anyway, that night I decided that since I had the room to myself, I would offer to share it with an old one-legged man who sat outside the Markaz. I went and brought the old man to the room. We had dinner and I was enjoying one of his stories when Farooq arrived. He declared that the old man had to leave the house. I tried to reason with him but he said that my ‘‘antics’’ were putting everyone in risk. I lost my temper, packed up my stuff and left — taking the old man with me — and telling Farooq I was sorry I had such a cowardly set of companions.
I had taken Salahuddin and Siddique to meet Shah saab at Jamia mosque. Shah saab talked to them in turns. He had told me that they were suitable for sentry duty over whoever was kidnapped. My search for foreign employees based in India took me to the Chanakyapuri side. But I didn’t see much scope since security was tight — even to my optimistic eyes.
A house in Saharanpur
It was about the third week of September when Shah saab told me in a Jamia Masjid meeting to bring Salahuddin and Siddique early the next day. He said that he had finally managed to arrange a house in a remote area in Saharanpur where the neighbourhood was Muslim and undeveloped to the extent that it was unlikely to have an effective system of informers. Siddique and Salahuddin were to be left in the house and be on the ready. I was to go and see the house and cook up a story accordingly to entice people there the same way as I had bought the Israeli. Sultan would be taking us there and would have two pistols with him — so we have to be alert on the way.
We got to Saharanpur, the four of us, and from the bus stand we went by cycle rickshaw to a place called Katha Keri. From there it was a short walk to the house. When I saw the house, my heart sank. How the hell was I supposed to bring a foreigner all the way here? And that unnoticed by the local people? Salahuddin was aggrieved at the prospect of himself having to stay virtually prisoner there for may be weeks to come. Siddique was jumping up and down in joy and making little gestures with the pistols. Sultan beamed at me and said, ‘‘Like it?’’ ‘‘No,’’ I said sharply. He was surprised. I didn’t bother to start to explain. I’d explain to Big Man himself. But then I cheered up. This wasn’t far from Dehra Dun and I’d give ole Richard a shot any day. So I told Sultan I wouldn’t go back with him to Delhi and would go out ‘‘on the hunt’’ straightaway.
A prospective teacher
I stayed the night with Sid (Siddique) and Sal (Salahuddin) — and set off for Dehra Dun the next day. I met Richard at the school and he had got over his cultural shock and was involved with school activities such that he couldn’t take time off to visit my ‘‘relatives’’. After Richard refused, I went onto Mussoorie, the hill-station and checked most of the hotels there but due to the agitation at that time, there were no foreigners there at all. I stayed at a hotel in front of the mosque there. Next morning, I went to Woodstock School — an American school situated even higher up — and applied for a job as a teacher. I did this partly because if I got it, I could easily bring one of my co-teachers down to visit my ‘‘relatives’’ and partly because I wanted to see whether cutting short my academic career had greatly affected my competitiveness on the job-market. I had an interview with the vice-principal and I didn’t get offered the job!
So I returned to Saharanpur, spent another night there and then returned the next day to Delhi. I went to Kale Khan as instructed where Farooq met the next morning and took me for the first time to Shah saab’s hideout. It was between Jamia Masjid and Turkman Gate. I told him that I had had no success with Richard and that I was fed up this friendship business — especially with a house in the middle of nowhere like that and that we stop wasting time and grab whoever we needed. He told me to be patient — he was just in the process of purchasing a van (I mentioned that we could have borrowed one a long time ago) and in any case, he was waiting for the reports of the other channels before he made a final decision.
We finally came to a conclusion. I was to have one final thrust at befriending foreigners and if there was no result by the end of four days, we would carry out the snatch option.
So, next morning I left. I went by cycle rickshaw to Turkman Gate and took an autorickshaw to Paharganj. There I checked in at Ankur Guest House (I can’t remember by what name but I said I was from Bombay). I sat around at the four or five cafes in that stretch, slowly sipping or eating something and gradually developed a knack for opening up conversations. I would introduce myself as an Indian-blooded British national who was thrilled to come to India for the first time since he had left as a child. Then I would go on to tell them that my uncle had died and because of some grievance against his son, he had left his village on my name. Given that the feudal system had died out in India for a long time — it seems amazing that the story was greeted with such credible enthusiasm but the newly-arrived traveller to India yearns to hear extraordinary stories which will increase his insight into this strange and colourful culture.
Early sightings
I made several acquaintances and convinced a British chap called Trevor to come to the village after a few days. But the strongest friendship by far was with Rhys Partridge and Graham Fox — we had many common interests like chess, travelling and writing. Both were fascinated by the village phenomenon. On 28th, I went to meet Sultan as planned at Tilak Bridge. This is the first time I saw the van and driver — which Sultan had brought with him. We sat inside and drove off to a car park where Shah saab and Carrie joined us. We drove around and picked up Farooq somewhere and then went to some lawns. We prayed. The driver didn’t pray — this made me suspicious. What was he? Then we sat down and I excitedly told them I had two chaps ready, the story I had told them, and the acting which would have to be done by my companions. Shah saab then detailed the procedure. He said that Sultan would accompany us and once we got to Saharanpur, he would be in charge and I was not to interfere in the chaining up of the hostages. Then we made a collective prayer for the success of the operation.
When I went to meet Graham and Rhys at the restaurant, I was a bit taken aback because Graham’s girl friend Kate had come and she thought she was coming the next day also. I’d later, when I was playing chess with Rhys, mentioned that the village elders might not appreciate a girl accompanying us. He must have passed on the message — because next morning Graham said that he was sorry — he and Kate had changed their mind.
After taking Rhys to the Saharanpur house, I started explaining to him the facts of life. I told him that I was a revolutionary and was here in India for a specific purpose and I wanted him to help me in that purpose. He asked what I meant. I said I wanted him to be our guest while we negotiated with the British and Indian Governments. I was trembling at that moment. In a short time it was probably the strongest friendship I had made for a long time (there is a great difference between comradeship and friendship) and all of a sudden the reality hit me.
‘‘If this is a joke,’’ he said angrily, ‘‘It’s a very poor one. I get very upset at these things.’’ The aggressiveness towards me made it a lot easier. ‘‘I’ll show it’s not a joke,’’ I said simply. ‘‘Come in you guys.’’ And in rushed the three — Sultan, Sid and Sal — brandishing the two pistols. Sultan growled, ‘‘You are under arrest.’’ Sid and Sal said, ‘‘Hands up.’’
‘‘All right, all right,’’ said Rhys. He looked at me and said, ‘‘Can I buy my way out of this.’’ I started explaining gently that he hadn’t understood the situation but Sultan cut me short. It wasn’t until Rhys’ ankle had been chained and Sultan had left that I got a chance to explain to Rhys what was going on. I assured him that he was not in any danger unless he tried to escape. Naturally, though, he was still very scared. I took his passport details and left the next morning for Delhi.
Next morning Amin came to me and said Shah saab would meet me in Nizamuddin Markaz in an hour’s time. He asked me, ‘‘Has the work been done?’’ I said, ‘‘Yes, it has.’’ In the meeting, Shah saab ticked me off saying I should have replied, ‘‘What work?’’ and shrugged my shoulders. Though I never really agreed with Shah saab’s way of doing things — I thought all this hush-hush nonsense was unnecessary — I thought that Shah saab cared about me, almost in a fatherly way.
The hunt for an American
Shah saab’s next instruction was to hunt down an American. I set off for YMCA. By evening I had established rapport with a chap I thought to be American and had told him about my village when to my annoyance, I found out he was German. I was about to leave when an American joined in the conversation. The American had been teaching English voluntarily and was leaving India because of lack of funds. I turned to him and said, Hey, I needed someone to teach English at my village school. He was happy at the prospect especially since I mentioned monetary consideration but said he had a few things to do in Delhi first. I arranged to meet him a couple of days hence and confirm the details. When I spoke again to the American whose name was Daniel Skinner, he agreed to accompany me the next day. So the next morning, round about the 5th October, I told Shah saab at the Markaz about the developments. He was pleased. He told me to return to the Markaz at 1 p.m. where Amin would be waiting for me. He said he himself would make his way to Saharanpur and wait for us.
At 1 p.m therefore I made my way to the Markaz from where Amin took me to the van. We made our way to the YMCA. I got off and told the driver to return in half an hour. When Daniel and I came out complete with Daniel’s luggage, the driver took a good 15 minutes to come. He was alone. We sat down and started off for Saharanpur, but before an hour had passed Dan asked to get off for cigarettes. We stopped the car and he got off with his bags and said he thought he’d better stay in Delhi for a few days more. ‘‘What’s the matter?’’ I asked in a surprised tone. ‘‘I’ve only known you two days,’’ he said. ‘‘And all of a sudden I’m in a car with you.’’
I told the driver that we had changed our programme and that I would go to Saharanpur alone. He was surprised and asked why but I carefully hushed him up. The words ‘‘I’ve only known you two days and all of a sudden...’’ were ringing in my ears and I became paranoid that the driver was an agent of the enemy. It was a tense remainder of a journey. When we got to Saharanpur, we parked the car and made our way by rickshaw to the house. I would have told the driver to stay and wait in the van but he was very ill.
When we got to the house and knocked, Siddique opened the door and respectfully bowed. I slapped his head and said ‘Don’t bother. I got him to open the front room door and took the driver in. And he immediately lay down on the rug. Then I went inside. Shah saab was alone. ‘‘What happened,’’ he asked. I told him. To my surprise he started laughing. ‘‘Bachoo, you must have said something to him to make him suspicious,’’ he said. ‘‘Well, you just have to get another.’’ I told him also what I suspected of the driver. At that he was impatient and said that he knew what he was doing — did I take him for a fool?
I went to talk to Rhys after that. He had calmed down considerably. I told him about the American and he was pleased that someone had outsmarted me.
I went around this time to the universities. I went to the international student house of Delhi university with no luck. At JNU, however, after much wandering about, I learnt of an American by the name of Michael living in Vasant Kunj. I went to the apartment he was sharing with four others but he had gone away on a trip. I took the phone number. I went back to YMCA to see if Daniel Skinner was still there. But he had left and so had most of the other foreigners there. Back therefore to Pahargunj — but Swiss, Dutch, Australian, Canadian... not one single American! I told Shah saab that I had combed the whole of Delhi. He said, OK, more Britishers or a Frenchman would do.
So, reluctantly, back to Pahargunj. And who should I bump into but ole Graham. He asked me how it had all been and I said terrific, Rhys had thoroughly enjoyed himself and was now in Manali. And ironically, it was Graham who introduced to me later in the Hare Krishna restaurant to Paul Rideout and Christopher Morston. I didn’t have to go through the old village story because Graham told it for me. We played a game of chess and I offered Paul and Chris, who had just arrived in India, to take them to see the Red Fort. We went, the three of us, and when we got there, there was a festival going on, the one with the big icons. I managed to take them right through the VIP section and they were thrilled as well as convinced that I was from a well-connected Indian family.
Published in Indian Express.
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