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The siege of Sivarasan
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Saturday is World Photography Day and K. GOPINATHAN, our Special Photographer, narrates how, despite a 24-hour wait with bullets flying all around him, he missed out taking what could have been some of the greatest pictures of his life
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It was eight in the morning and that meant the usual call to the district police control room. It was (and is) a routine for me to reach the workplace early and surprisingly that day senior police officials were not available, and staff at most police stations refused to talk.
My journalistic instincts sensed something was up. I called a photographer of an evening newspaper as crime reporters of eveningers start work early and are usually the first to get information. But here too I was stonewalled. That did it. I decided to personally go to police stations to check out what was up.I roped in a photographer from a non-English eveninger and even as we went from one police station to another, we realised that something big was definitely up. We found out that all police officials had gone to the south of the city the previous night itself. And that was clue enough for us.
We started driving on Kanakapura Road and soon an ambulance overtook us, and then another. I decided to follow the vehicles and they soon turned off the main road into a kutcha road. Here we found cops everywhere: it was like a scene straight out of Bollywood. They had surrounded a house, hoping they had cornered the mastermind behind the killing of former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, comprising Sivarasan, dubbed by the media as one-eyed Jack, Shuba and their team.
Scraps of information
We gleaned bit of information talking to officials and locals. The intelligence men had got the address of those who rented houses for the LTTE cadre at Muthatti and other places. They had trapped the house agent and had almost caught Sivarasan but he had moved.
And now he had been finally traced to Konankunte. The entire area was promptly cordoned off overnight and the waiting game had begun. Blissfully unaware of the turn of events, an autorickshaw bound for the house turned up early morning and both the passenger and driver were held, unbeknownst to the occupants of the house. If this was a siege, it certainly didn't look like one. Policemen were walking casually around the house and climbing up the compound wall. The photographer who came with me decided to go back to his office and I sent some of my used film rolls with him to be delivered to my darkroom assistant. Then I settled down, conserving the remaining rolls (this 1991, long before we switched over to the digital camera) and waited. In due course, I got bored and peeked over the compound wall and thought I saw someone looking out of a window. I immediately told a police official nearby and he promptly brushed me off saying it was a bhrame (illusion). Lunchtime passed with no food. The cops offered me a little water though.News about the siege now started spreading and reporters and photographers from other newspapers started arriving (this was before 24/7 news and DD was the king), and two of my reporter colleagues also arrived. I briefed one of them. It was getting dark and I saw a mother and her teenaged daughter cross in front of the house. I remarked to my colleague how careless the cops were. What if they were taken hostage by the occupants of the house? Barely had I completed the sentence when we heard gunshots. They were coming from the house and the cops responded.
Oddly, the shots didn't frighten me (how our reactions are shaped by movies!) as they sounded like small Deepavali firecrackers. The police took positions behind a nearby compound and on rooftops, and a partially constructed house nearby came in handy to hide and return fire. The laid-back mood changed in no time. People ran for cover and the police screamed over a loudspeaker at families in neighbouring houses to switch off their lights. I was thrilled that I would get a picture but tragically the light had already fallen and my flash and lens had limited reach. I hid behind a thin stone slab that served as a compound wall while the other photographers ensconced themselves behind some stone slabs 200 metres away. It was too late for me to find such a place.Someone came out of the house, shouted something like "vangada, vangada (come, come)" and sprayed fire with a machine gun. The police responded and in the darkness I could only see muzzle flares. Even as I was praying for someone to come near me so that I could get a picture, police were warning everyone to keep clear. Some cops noticed me hiding and tried to shoo me but fell back when shots came from the house again. Bullets were striking the rocks near me with a distinctive "cling, cling" sound. Something nearby looked like a dead buffalo, but it could also have been a rock. I could feel a knot in my throat.The firing stopped on both sides and my reporter colleague Natchi came running towards me and shouted: "Gopi, come back or you'll get hit." He then crawled back. An ambulance arrived to carry away an injured policeman (who later got a medal). I knew the police would pull me back and decided to find a safe place to hide and take pictures. I crawled and reached a firewood shop but there was a huge crowd there. I met a friend, Nagaraj, there and we both decided to find a safe hideout. We settled behind a few bushes with a house to our back. We could only whisper now.
Suddenly I remembered the women in front of the house when the firing started. Did they escape? I was discussing this with my friend and a voice came from behind the closed doors of the house. "We are here inside, sir. We are scared, please come in." I was doubly happy; we now had a safe place to hide.
The gunshot
As we settled, the women lit a chimney lamp after covering the windowpanes with newspapers. We were offered some leftover food that we shared. At almost midnight I thought I heard a gunshot but my friend said it was not. In the meantime the other photographers and my colleague told the cops I was missing and the news was flashed on the wireless. Early in the morning, while waiting with my camera, I heard a crime reporter, Madhusoodan, going around with a small torch from house to house, calling out my name. I opened the door and dragged him in and we moved to a nearby police post.
News filtered in that a Special Task Force (STF) from Nagpur was coming and there wouldn't be any action till then. They reached at sunrise. I saw them climb up the compound and throw a bomb-like object inside from the roof. I moved to the half-constructed house but a police official dragged me out. And I missed shooting the pictures of a lifetime and cursed my fate. I later heard on the wireless that the operation was over and all the LTTE cadre were found dead after consuming cyanide and that Sivarasan had shot himself dead. That was the shot I had heard in the night. The bodies were brought out of the house and laid down for the media. The entire ordeal had taken 24 hours.
Ironically, the date was August 19, which is observed as World Photography Day.
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