POLICE BLOOD IS ALSO RED

 POLICE BLOOD IS ALSO RED

                  Last few days I have felt truly rinsed out for some unknown reason. I have been a bit snappy and fatigued. Some sort of dull and sluggish. I was ready with some new projects but have somewhat stalled on the draft. The mounting temperature of this arid land might have taken its toll on my writing skills. It’s like that the sun is sucking the creative juices from my grey cells with a straw made of bamboo that are easily available in this place.

Meanwhile I thought, I need some inspiration to come out of this phase and plough on ahead. Then I remembered there’s always somebody there who has got more reason to be worried than me but is living a fully engaged, meaningful life in the community which makes the life of others better worth living. I met one such person at Kolhapur in Maharashtra. He was not alone. With him were few of his likeminded friends who relentlessly back him in his activities, extending from arranging blood for the hapless patients to organizing ambulance service for those in trauma. He, when I met him, was associated with CPR hospital at Kolhapur, the biggest health care centre in the district. Still I don’t know how popular he has been in his region as a humanitarian worker but I found his mobile phone never stops ringing, nor his old motorcycle got any relief from its escalating engine heat. The local populace affectionately hails him as “Bunty” and for those outsiders, he is Virendra Prabhakar Sawant.  In fact this post is not a story about Bunty to whom I had but little acquaintance with. But this depiction is about how he and his friends whom I met in the backdrop of a major riot, changed my perception of laymen in our society and more over how our meeting turned to be a moment of enlightenment for me that the ……..

POLICE BLOOD IS ALSO RED.

The ill-fated motorcycle breathed its last sending twisting curls of black smoke as a distress message to the weeping skies.  Several analogous messages were sent on the night of 7^th September 2009 from a small village in Maharashtra during the “Ganapathi Visarjan” festival that year. The flames of hatred every so often cause loud noises from inside the shops selling foot wears, flowers, medicines, cereals and vegetables in its busy and chaotic market road. Boulevards wore a deserted look as police imposed an indefinite curfew to prevent the violence from spreading into other districts. Peeking out from behind the tattered curtains were startled heads hitting each other in the dark, trying to figure out the movements outside the national highway, hostile or docile. Small children were held back by their hapless mothers from venturing out of their house and getting a volley of angry shouts from the policemen overseeing the curfew.  The mothers too found it hard to adjust to the plight. Often they cry out cursing the irresponsible men folk who desolated them by fleeing the village when the police knocked the doors in the night.   Narrow paths branch off the highway leading to slums now wore a semblance of cemetery. Behind the frail doors of those thatched huts were hooligans lurk to pounce on anyone daring to venture out for essential things like kerosene and milk and snatch the same eventually.

Rolled through those narrow paths in the wee hours had entered a convoy of eight RAF vehicles after much intricate eighteen hours of incessant journey from Hyderabad.  A new outburst of hostility was still looming large around the town. The exhausted members of RAF had no time to unwind as they had in their hand a grave job in saving the lives of several innocents who might die in the streets as irrational frenzy gripped the area. I thought, “Leading a contingent of one hundred and fifty well equipped men and women in blue uniform to sensitive places have become a routine for me during festival seasons as the communities living side by side for generations turn on each other in a bewildering frenzy through these times”.  For several years they have been meeting each other at least once a day and exchange pleasantries. They often help each other and share food and it would, in a matter of minutes, these very same people run amok like stray dogs searching for acquaintances from other community, only to butcher them brutally. Many times it had nothing to do with the religious fervor but would be a carefully orchestrated effort to rob the shops and wealth of their neighbors. A shame on mankind

The 'presence' of Rapid Action Force had to be made known to those hiding behind the doors of dirty houses with revenge in their mind and daggers in their hand. The trail of catastrophe, hooligans left behind in a matter of hours the previous day was terrible. The air was noxious with receding fumes of burning vehicles and shops. The flames often blazed out of proportion and coloured the dark sky in red flecks. Late night hush, though occasionally broken by mild explosions from inside the burning shops and houses along with screams or hysterical sobbing of dwellers, was indeed awesome.

It was early morning before our first assignment-show of strength-had been accomplished. Perturbed senior police officers encamped in the town since the ordeal started, heaved a sigh of relief as the vindictive night went off peacefully without any unpleasant incidents. Situation had improved significantly as combined efforts of state police as well as RAF, intervened on time, bore fruit. Strictly imposed curfew had prevented any moving objects, man or machine, to venture out into the streets with dubious intentions.  Pacing up and down were the vehicles of senior police officers taking all precautionary measures in their respective jurisdictions in order to prevent any collateral damage. “Situation tense but under control” scrolled the television news channels as they continued the coverage of one of the fierce communal riot happened in the district since long.

Finally at 3am in the morning, a security assessment meeting was conducted at the local police station whereby it was proposed to shift my company to the district headquarters at Kolhapur as another RAF company from Mumbai was already there engaged in vigorous patrolling.

It was almost dawn when we reached this historic town of Kolhapur.  Not even bothered about the basic amenities available in the police lines,   troops went into a quick slumber as they were much tired after a long journey from Hyderabad and an arduous patrolling the previous night.

Kolhapur was free from curfew. Nevertheless, prohibitory orders were issued by the district administration in few sensitive places as a precautionary measure as they genuinely feared a backlash over the sporadic incidents of violence happened elsewhere would affect the city of Kolhapur also. People seemed to be care less about what had happened in their neighboring villages. RAF had no much job to do for a couple of days apart from conducting flag march and foot patrolling in the city limits as a show of strength to infix confidence in the mind of local community.

Suddenly things took an ugly turn one day as tension erupted in the outskirts of Kolhapur when public violated the prohibitory orders and took out a politically motivated procession. When the police tried to hold them back beyond a point, the demonstrators came into a violent scuffle with them which resulted in heavy stone pelting from all directions. Police resorted to lathy-charge to disperse the unruly mob. Agitators ran helter skelter.  Several of them were injured, some of them seriously. The area was placed under curfew and RAF was called instantly as a rudimentary precaution. But the situation returned to normal as fast as it appeared. RAF returned to barracks and put themselves in routine in-house training activities at the Kolhapur police lines.

Hectic “Ganapathi Visarjan” bandobast duty for almost eleven grueling days in Hyderabad and a hasty short notice movement to Maharashtra was in fact a daunting assignment would any elite force dare acknowledge. Such an unrelenting work load for almost one month started taking toll on my company personnel. Few of them had got fever due to fatigue and sudden change in climate. Two among them, including a lady constable, had to be admitted in the CPR hospital where their condition continues to remain a matter of concern.

Couple of days later when I was standing near the hospital ward, the duty doctor came in a hurry “I have to tell you, officer,” he said drily, “the condition of your men is critical. I gather you are here to save the public and now your own men are in trouble”. He stared at me. Laboratory investigations revealed a critical state of affair.  The blood platelets of both of them had declined drastically due to the incessant viral fever they were suffering for many days. “They are in a state of thrombocytopenia”, doctor murmured in my direction. “Normal platelet count in a healthy individual is 150000 and 450000 per micro liter of blood, anything below 20000 is a reduced count and if platelet count level falls below that, spontaneous bleeding may occur and is considered a life threatening risk. The most serious complication which is potentially fatal is a bleeding inside the head (intracranial) or from the lining of the gut (gastrointestinal). Your men are in that state of affair”. He paused but found to be nervous about the laboratory reports.

It was late in the night. He motioned me to a chair at one end of his room and told that the main approach to addressing low platelet count in a variety of conditions is to give blood transfusion or platelet transfusion. “Both may be necessary in the present condition”, he said, “Either way the blood platelet may need to be replaced”.  Few other doctors also joined him in some serious discussion. Sitting there I had been listening quietly to that. Now one among them turned to me and said, “ An immediate transfusion of blood plasma would be required to save them. It is very difficult to get blood platelets now at mid night as all blood banks in the city are closed.”. That was a shocking revelation for me. My over ambitious assertion that I had enough donors available with me , made no impact on them.  “Extraction of blood platelets is done through a process called Plasmapherasis which itself is a long process”, they continued, “You have only one option. Convince the administration to get any blood bank open at this time….. Think it over…. We have to act fast”. He moved swiftly towards the ward. Dumbstruck, I stayed there gazing at him. I felt helpless. With one hundred and fifty trained men under me, if needed, I thought I could manifest anything that I want. But here Iam looking back at the corridor of the hospital, stood there staring into abyss in some sort of despondency.

 Suddenly I thought, “I have to act and act soon. A wrong or late decision could mean a horrible death for the two constables who had trusted me”. Time had suddenly became precious. In a strange place at odd hours, I felt vulnerable. To the terrible dilemma in which I found myself, there seemed to be only one answer; that to approach the district administration or police as the doctors rightly said. It was late night, the city, otherwise boisterous with busy markets and ever shouting street vendors, was quiet.

Superintend of police, Kolhapur, might not have expected a call from me at midnight with a problem he would have never expected from a central armed force officer. Of course, policemen talk benevolence too. For such a need, he assured me, he had ample resources. It took only a matter of minutes before the local police Inspector and the man with a mission, Prabhakar Sawant alias Bunty, arrived on the scene and was placed at my disposal. Paraded behind them were few doctors and few local politicians with several young men as volunteers. Bunty was found busy giving instructions to them.

I stood there alone and tense as a mute spectator in the corridor of the hospital watching how quickly the arrangements were made in a sophisticated manner. A Blood Bank in the city was opened and platelet packages were made available at the hospital in a flash. Under close observation of senior doctors, the transfusion was done then and there.

 A perceptible change of atmosphere in the ward had been noticed by me. Doctors assured a fast recuperation. It was almost, sort of life saving effort by all of them. It was, even the experienced doctors would later recall, ‘A wild gamble’.

“Midnight ordeal is over” was my initial thought after seeing a gleaming smile on the faces of doctors. It was almost an hour past the midnight. I stretched my legs, straitened myself and walked into the loggia where Mr. Prabhakar Sawant and local police Inspector were waiting for me with smiles on their lips. My gratitude was expressed to them through a long, long handshake. I looked at the eyes of Bunty for a long moment, and something I seemed to see in his eyes gave me a lesson in my life. I read that in his eyes, eyes that appealed to me that humanity is the biggest religion. My mind was full of affection. “It’s indeed amazing that such a remarkable effort could be done by you in a short period of time and in odd hours” my words, I know, were not enough to appreciate the efforts  they rendered to help the patients with compassion and service.

i found there in the portal, not far away at a respectable distance from us stood few young guys who willfully came along with Mr. Prabhakar Sawant on his request. Their mission was to donate blood for the sick RAF personnel just by chance. While expressing my words of gratitude to all of them, I found two among them had a heavy bandage on their arms.  A casual enquiry about the the injury brought sheer astonishment in return. One of them said in an unruffled voice “Sir.. We were there at Ujgaon village yesterday when the police resorted to lathy charge and were defending the blows with our arms”- he smiled. A sudden silence froze the loggia. For few seconds I looked aghast at his words. ‘Well,’ he continued with that smile intact, ‘Let me tell you sir, the Police Blood is also Red’, and turned back disappeared in the darkness. As they left, I heard inside my eardrums, the bitter sound of the roar and scream of the crowd outside the Ujgaon police station and rattling sound of cane and body shields. Stunned and beyond words I stood there alive.