No doubt, bandits sell. And combined with investigative journalists, they seem to make a wonderful product mix. Surely we at News Today would vouch for it for we appear to have hit a jackpot with our novel crash course announced yesterday.
The response for this rather off-beat study on Brigand Management and Investigative Journalismās has been overwhelming. No sooner the admissions opened, there was a spate of aspiring candidates-some attired in bandit greens, some in lungis, several armed with video cameras and quite a few sporting bristling moustachesāwho thronged the venue. The enrollment was over in a matter of minutes and so we thought it prudent to begin classes without wasting any more precious time. So we begin by introducing the students to some important terminology in bandit lexicon:
Politician: Generally speaking they defy definition. But an old bird had attempted one which fits the bill perfectly. So we might as well poach it. Here it goes: A politician is one who changes colour like the chameleon. (little wonder we find it difficult to spot him, in a crowd).
Their unchanging motto however is: cash and carry
State: Something that withers away at the very prospect of negotiating with brigands.
The current policy: A government is best that governs the least.
Neighbouring State: A State that is very mean when sharing river waters, but could get very charitable and will let you take the entire share when it comes to tackling brigands.
Their declared policy. Hands off our State, hell with other States.
Investigative journalists: They are those that dare to venture onto dangerous jungles, meet dreaded brigands and take exclusive interviews and video clippings of negotiations, after managing exclusive permission from authorities concerned. After befriending some such bandits and getting into their good books, they will be conferred, what is called Emissary status. For them big moustaches are an added qualification.
The catchword in these circles of late is: Fortune favours the brave.
Journalists: These are those that are not investigative journalists. Some of them dwelt in the fringes of jungles, while investigative journalists are prowling in the wilderness. They, then patiently wait for the latter to emerge to dish out exclusive scoops of stories. They are normally a tame lot who avoid asking uncomfortable questions if the subject belongs to their fraternity.
Their refrain is live and let five.
STF: Specially Targeted Force. They as a rule are always on banditsā firing line. If they escape, they are still prone to get blown up by a vicious landmine planted by a humanitarian brigand to defend himself. And if they still manage to survive both the bullet and the landmine, they end up getting āunder-minedā by their own bosses. Whether they die or live, their life is a tragedy; they are always at the receiving end, either of brig-ands or their political bosses. As there are few takers and fewer sponsors, they are likely to become extinct soon. Caught as they are between the devil and the deep sea they get butchered either way. For them big moustaches are a negative qualification.
Their tale of woe runs thus: ditched by friend and foe alike.
Brigands: The most sought after people on earth. (we are not certain whether they exist in other planets, but then other planets are not known to grow sandal trees nor breed elephants). The more they kill, the more they smuggle, the more they are appeased and respected by the civilised society. They are normally allowed a quota of human sacrifices for defending themselves, for propitiating these jungle gods is the latest craze among the urban elite today. Their image goes up in direct proportion to their (mis)deeds. If they achieve a target of over a hundred scalps (which should necessarily include intruding forest officials and over-zealous STF men, not to speak of informers), besides poaching elephants for their tusks and smuggling crores of rupees worth of sandalwood, they are wooed by investigative journalists, who are willing to present their side of the story. If they manage to have in their custody some hostages, they will be honoured with State visits by emissaries from the far away civilised lands. And if they condescend to even think of surrender, without really surrendering, they will be assured of a special abode, the best of food and may even be allowed to carry arms. As these bandits are generally believed to enjoy the blessings of the Sun god, they are free to demand anything under the sun, including amnesty or Rs.5 crore or a limited sentence, and they will be given a patient and favourable hearing by the powers that be. The deaf ears of the same powers that shall be earmarked for the families of the victims of the brigands and the sceptics who question the wisdom of general amnesty.
To sum up, the common talk in knowledgeable circles is that it pays to be a brigand.
CMs (of State and Neighbouring State): They are those duly elected captains who declare jointly, severally and collectively that they have lost in the brigand catching match, without even entering the arena and who prefer unofficial umpires to negotiate honourable walk-overs rather than have their own teamā (read STF) take on the opponent. Each would prefer the match to be held in the other Stateās arena.
Their slogan. He is best who passes the buck fast.
EX-DGPs (the moustached ones): They are a much harried, much maligned tribe on the verge of extinction. While in service they hunt bandits, after retirement they are hunted not only by bandits but by all and sundry. They still have use for their pistols, but there is none to provide ammunition, all suppliers having diverted their stock to the favoured lot.
Their recent lament: So near, yet so far away.
EX-DGPs (the non-moustached ones): They are those who have perfected the art of fawning and drooling before investigative journalists and neutral anchormen. They also do counselling to brigands by giving them valuable tips, quoting vital case laws from lawbooks and precedents of amnesty from classified police records. They are also self-appointed agents for Pulitzers, ready to make unsolicited recommendations for the coveted award.
Their gospel: spare the hunted, hang the hunter.
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