‘My life’s over,’ he said, slumping down

Inside it was cool, but Namdeo’s mind was boiling over with rage. Twenty-four months on the job and the small-town boy from Panna in Madhya Pradesh was already wilting from the pressures of a paramilitary job: long hours, uncertain destinations and an unceasing state of high alert.

But the CISF was a family calling. His father and younger brother too were in the force tasked with guarding oil fields, nuclear plants, and lately, airports.

Namdeo (22) strode over to a colleague in the neighbouring hold who wanted to visit the toilet, offering to look after his self-loading rifle (SLR).

Something had already snapped.

Namdeo walked over to where Deputy Commandant A R Karanjkar was teaching some CISF jawans techniques to frisk passengers.

‘‘Excuse me sir,’’ Namdeo said politely.

Before Karajkar could turn around, Namdeo started firing from the SLR.

Five bullets hit Karanjkar (49). He slumped to the floor as other jawans ran for cover. Three women constables took cover inside a nearby toilet. In the next few minutes he took six colleagues captive, including the three who stepped out from the toilet believing the drama was over.

Namdeo herded them into hold number 16, a room with three walls and a huge glass window that overlooked the departure lounge. It had a television, three telephones and a closed-circuit camera.

Shocked CISF officers were talking to Namdeo over the telephone when DCP Bipin Bihari joined in at 6.45 pm.

‘‘Beta me local DCP Bihari ahye. Tu kai kela? (Son, I am the local DCP Bihari. Why did you do this.)

Bihari switched from Marathi to Hindi when he realised Namdeo was not a Maharashtrian. CISF officers were on a parallel line.

‘‘I want to speak to the media,’’ raged Namdeo, whom Bihari could see on the closed-circuit camera. ‘‘How can I present you like this? And with a gun in our hand?

Meanwhile, CISF officials contacted Namdeo’s mother, Umadevi, and father, CISF Head Constable Lataprasad at their home in Chembur’s RCF colony. Around 7.40 pm Bihari again called Namdeo.

By now Joint Commissioner of Police (Law and Order) Ahmed Javed and Commissioner R S Sharma had arrived on the scene. Bihari kept talking to Namdeo, trying to strengthen a rapidly building rapport.

Around 8.30 pm, Bihari told Namdeo he would bring the media in on the condition their safety was ensured.

But Namdeo had turned to television news and started when he saw commandos streaming in. The set was switched off. Incensed, Namdeo fired two rounds wildly but the set stayed off.

Around 10 pm Namdeo’s mother and father reached the airport. The couple, Bihari, and CISF Inspector General A Kripakaran entered hold 16.

Bihari identified himself to Namdeo as the man he had been talking to for the past five hours. They were allowed in and made to sit a few meters across the hall. The hostages stood a little distance away.

‘‘Beta,’’ said Bihari, ‘‘I am here to solve your problems. What happened ?

It all came pouring out: the painful shoulder, his father’s operation, mother’s pilgrimage … no leave for anything.

The emotional Namdeo jammed the SLR to his throat and threatened to pull the trigger. There was panic and fear.

‘‘You shoot me,’’ Bihari pleaded. ‘‘Your parents will not be able to bear this.’’

Namdeo took the rifle away and slumped to the floor.

‘‘You will shoot me if I surrender,’’ Namdeo said. ‘‘My life is finished.’’

Bihari sat on the floor and persuaded Namdeo to sit next to him. ‘‘I assure you, nobody will touch you,’’ said Bihari. ‘‘You are still a kid. You’ll be free in a few months.’’

‘‘You are like my father and I trust you. But who will give me a job ? ‘‘I will see you are employed. Come to me.’’

Around 12.20 am Bihari threw his arms around Namdeo’s shoulders. The jawan dropped the gun, still calm.

There were still 27 live rounds in the SLR’s magazine.