TRYSTS AND TURNS: Making sense of a murderous attack

WHEN Salman Rushdie’s novel Midnight’s Children was published, I bought a copy. I found it unreadable! He has written several novels after that, but since his style did not appeal to me, I paid no attention to them. And I did not purchase any.

I had no grudge against my assailants. They were combatants in an undeclared war.

I was in Goa recently during Diwali celebrations. It was my wife Melba’s second death anniversary on October 31. I invited her nearest relatives and mine for lunch. It was not an occasion for gifts but my wife’s niece brought a copy of Knife, Rushdie’s latest book, recounting the attempt on his life two years ago in New York.

My curiosity was aroused by the theme. I faced two assassination attempts myself, the first in October 1986 in Jalandhar, Punjab, and the second in August 1991 in Bucharest, Romania. Rushdie narrated that he stood dumbstruck on the stage, watching the attacker sprinting towards him with a knife. I suppose the reactions of victims would differ according to their occupations and mindset, as also the motivation of the assailant(s).

In my case, lethal attacks were an occupational hazard to be expected in arenas where emotionally charged terrorists operated. I remember then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi suggesting that I take a section of ‘Black Cats’ from the SPG (Special Protection Group) or the NSG (National Security Guard) to Punjab with me for my protection. I politely turned down the offer. I was being sent to boost the morale of the Punjab Police. It was essential for me to gain the loyalty of the police force in order to lead it into battle against Khalistani terrorists. If I arrived in Chandigarh with ‘Black Cats’, it would be a signal to those whom I was sent to command that I did not trust them! And that would make my mission a non-starter.

The morning after I assumed charge in Punjab, then President Giani Zail Singh phoned to warn me of the danger inherent in the job I had accepted. I replied that a soldier cannot turn down a job only because it is dangerous.

The Lebanese-American youth who chose to execute Ayatollah Khomeini’s fatwa to kill Rushdie — issued after The Satanic Verses (1988) was published — had been influenced by his own father who had abandoned the boy, his mother and sisters in the US and returned to Lebanon. He paid his estranged father a visit in his native village. There, he met his father’s friends, who forcefully denounced Rushdie as a traitor to the religion of his forbearers. That interaction with his father and friends was the pivot for the young man’s resolve to execute Khomeini’s fatwa.

Rushdie lost an eye in the dastardly attack. He took more than a dozen blows of the knife used by a near-deranged young man. The writer was lucky to get what he himself terms as a “second chance”. His recovery was facilitated by the fact that he had only recently got romantically involved with an African-American woman, Eliza, whom he married. He constantly refers to her in the book, using the word ‘love’ more frequently than necessary.

My own ‘love’, who left me bereft after 62 years of marriage, was present during both the assassination attempts. The one in Jalandhar was totally unexpected. It took place in the heavily guarded Punjab Police’s Armed Reserve Headquarters. I knew that the Khalistani underground had formed half-a-dozen units of trained assassins to get me, but never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that they would cross two formidable barriers to get me.

The first barrier was the quarter guard at the entrance to the premises. The gates were always closed amid the onslaught of terrorism. The sentry would open them only after verifying the identity of the visitor. The unit demanding entry that day was a properly attired police contingent with an ‘inspector’ seated next to a uniformed driver navigating a ‘police jeep’.

In reality, they were terrorists. Besides the driver and the ‘inspector’, there were four men in police uniform sitting behind in the jeep. Having gained entry, the vehicle proceeded to the Officers’ Mess a few metres away. It was enclosed by walls patrolled by armed guards.

The terrorists shot dead the cops guarding the walls, climbed atop and fired a fusillade of bullets at me and my wife while we were taking a walk inside the compound. On hearing the first sounds of gunfire, I had prostrated myself on the ground and shouted to my wife to do likewise. But seeing me lying on the ground, she came towards me and received a bullet in the leg.

The officers staying in cottages hurried to the spot. The doctor-son of a senior officer took care of my wife’s wound. The other officers and I followed the trail of the terrorists’ jeep on foot right up to the outskirts of the premises.

Later, we counted 49 empty cartridges of SLRs (self-loading rifles) and AK56 rifles outside the walls of the Mess. Two policemen and a CRPF jawan on guard duty at the armoury lost their lives.

The second attempt was in Bucharest, capital of the East European country that had only a year ago revolted against the repressive communist regime of Nicolae Ceausescu. Some days earlier, I had been warned by our external intelligence agency, R&AW, and also by the Romanian Foreign Office of the presence of a group of Indians plotting to kill me.

I accepted the security cover of the highly trained Romanian security apparatus. So, when five Khalistani Commando Force (KCF) men in two cars mounted an attack, I took to my heels (I was 62 at that time). My wife ran behind me, but was soon overtaken by the KCF men with their AK56 rifles. They kept firing at me, but only one bullet hit me, on the rump. It missed my bladder, rectum and all important arteries, but penetrated my urinary tract. It required the expertise of a urologist to reconstruct the urethra.

After I was discharged and the catheter removed a month later, I requested the Foreign Office for permission to talk to my assailants, two of whom had been captured (the team leader had been shot dead by the Romanian security detail and two others had escaped in the getaway vehicle). The authorities conveyed my request to the offenders, who refused to meet me. I had no grudge against any of them. They were combatants in an undeclared war.

Rushdie has included an imaginary conversation with his assailant in his book. It reveals his attitude to religion and why he has discarded the theory of creation that most organised religions uphold. According to your beliefs, you may or may not agree with him.