It was a blistering Tuesday afternoon in May, 27 years ago. The sun was beating down mercilessly as I was setting out on an important call of duty from my modest West Chennai apartment. My mind was placid.
There were no troubled thoughts on my mind during the 90-minute drive to the sleepy town of Sriperumpudur, associated with the Vaishnavite saint Ramanuja. I was going to oversee an election propaganda public meeting to be addressed by then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi.
Just Another Day of Work
I chose to be at the meeting physically – and not by remote control – although I was not statutorily required to do so, as per the V P Singh-diluted security arrangement in force that deprived Rajiv of his SPG cover. There was little in the air to suggest that I was just a few hours from what was to prove my most traumatic moment in life.
I was on Rajiv’s security detail at least six times three years earlier when he toured Tamil Nadu as a serving prime minister and a darling of the Tamil masses. There was not even an iota of trouble during those exciting occasions, when Rajiv mingled freely. It was not for nothing that he felt safest in Tamil Nadu. He was so delighted and relaxed whenever he came, pointing to his love for the region and its hospitality.
I remember him upbraiding the organisers at Sivakasi for serving him Nescafe instead of the fabled aromatic filter coffee. Such was his disarming simplicity. To this day I can’t believe anybody could even slightly harm him, what to speak of liquidating him.
When he arrived a little after 9 in the night at Sriperumbudur, he looked rosy fresh and the charm on his visage was too attractive for even the dullest and vacant onlooker to ignore. Stealing a second glance at him was irresistible. For me it was energy boosting, because I was so used to his enviably handsome figure that did not show the slightest sign of fatigue even at the end of a punishing 8 AM to 1 AM schedule.
The Rest is History
The mild explosion that I heard a minute or two later did not initially set off any alarm in me. My first reaction was that it was part of an enthusiastic reception, something that happens every other day in the state, especially in the rural areas. I was soon alerted by a shrieking crowd that led to me believe that something was amiss.
I froze. I however recovered soon enough to join G K Moopanar and Jayanthi Natarajan on a hunt to locate Rajiv. I ran hither and thither around the rostrum, stamping out a small flame that was consuming a portion of the red carpet that had been laid out for the evening.
That action on reflex could have been disastrous if there had been any remnants of explosive material at the spot. It did not take long to realise that Rajiv had been targeted by a hostile element and killed. When I tried to lift what remained of Rajiv’s mortal frame, there was hardly anything that I could hold on to.
As I kept a night-long vigil all by myself over the numerous bodies lying around me near the rostrum – this was after Rajiv’s had been taken by road to Madras by the organisers and state officials – I had a few minutes to reflect on what had happened.
I just couldn’t believe that someone could exterminate a man who bore no ill will to any fellow being. He was sometimes juvenile and petulant, but never malicious or scornful.
I wasn’t affected by thoughts of personal safety. Actually my wife and son didn’t know until the next morning that I was still alive. Believe it or not, nobody at police headquarters gave them the information they were desperate to get. Such is the cruelty that I am now willing to forget. But I cannot forgive those who snuffed out a valuable life.
That I was at the spot where history was made is negative perception. What I will carry to my grave is a feeling of betrayal by a fellow Tamil, and a scar that refuses to heal over the quarter century that has gone by.
(R K Raghavan, a Tamil Nadu cadre IPS officer, retired as CBI director.)
(This article has been republished from The Quint's archives to mark Rajiv Gandhi's death anniversary. It was originally published on 22 May 2015.)
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