Etiquette demands that we should not speak ill of the dead. But then an obituary for someone like Veerappan can be anything but flattering. In any case, I am no fan of his, unlike many learned and zealous peers in the profession. I am darned happy that he has been done away with for he is not just another criminal to be bestowed with the benefits of such modern fads like human rights and fair trial.
The non-brigand world has now been spared a tortuous trial and worse, the accompanying media coverage which held out the frightening prospect of V hogging the limelight in print and prime-time, trying to don a victimâs cloak and justifying why he spilt so much blood, of both man and mammals.
In the process, while a killer-at-will became a Tamil militant fighting for a cause, editors became indispensable emissaries. While the formerâs heroic pronouncements warmed the hearts of hard-core Tamil nationalists who found in him a new champion for the cause, whatever it was, journalists found the jungle sojourns and the subsequent press meets of their brother journalist a very enlightening affair.
The sole emissary became the sole source of news and updates on Vâs life and times and they lapped up all that he generously scooped out. Little wonder that in many eyes V seemed to wear a halo and his pal, a mini halo. A senior correspondent of a national or rather international news channel even made the shocking discovery today that by dying V has proved he is mortal! Another one described fellow poacher Sethukkuli Govindan as a âcolleague of Veerappanâ. The sway and sweep of the V bug seemed to have spared none!
But the media excesses apart, what was more appalling was the official indulgence to the brigand and his emissary. The earlier regime never displayed the kind of political will that was needed to tackle the crises that V periodically perpetuated. He held to ransom not just his hostages who unwittingly, often foolishly, walked into his domain. The moment the word âkidnapâ appeared on the ticker, as if on cue, the entire State machinery would get into crawl mode, spineless and clueless.
The emissary would be sought out and despatched for talks while the mandarins vested with the mandate for protecting the people would be wringing their hands in despair at the Secretariat, far from the madding jungles. From CM to CoP, the entire hierarchy would await the arrival of the next cassette from the thickets, carrying the Masterâs voice in husky tones but with crisp instructions and of course, the rationale for his demands. The emissary would also come back with fresh proposals after his âhectic negotiationsâ.
And having been thus updated on the killerâs latest moods, tastes and needs, the officialdom would promptly set forth fulfilling them, abdicating governance, State power and shunning transparency in favour of brigands and unofficial emissaries. The Special Task Force(STF) formed to nab the brigand was numbed into becoming a specially targetted force under the combined onslaught of Vâs sniping and official indifference.
It was put through the ignominy of waiting in the forest fringes looking for crumbs of âintelligenceâ info from sundry journalists who had just had a tete-a-tete with the brigand. If the media gave V a larger than life image, the erstwhile regime made the invisible brigand seem invincible by its sheer lack of will! And we are now witness to what the manifestation of that political will can achieve.
Yes, I do not mourn V. But on second thoughts, I do mourn the trimming of the twirls of his trademark moustache – truly a metaphor for him – probably a few days before to escape identification. V actually died then.
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