Opinion More than two decades later, at end of the red corridor, there is light

The recent killings and spate of surrenders indicate that the tables are finally being turned, after more than two decades. Security operations now involve not just the use of helicopters and drones, but also anti-mine vehicles, highly-trained state police personnel, and fortified police stations. This May, the government reiterated it would establish the rule of law and quickly compensate for losses in areas deprived of development via its Special Central Assistance scheme to fill gaps in public infrastructure.

But in August 2004, when this reporter and a photographer colleague embarked on an exercise in cartographic reportage on the red corridor from Tirupati (Andhra Pradesh) to Pashupati (Nepal), the odds were heavily stacked against the security forces. Atal Bihari Vajpayee’s NDA coalition had been voted out in a stunning electoral verdict, making way for the UPA I under Manmohan Singh. The CPI (Maoist) was still to be born. The People’s War Group was the dominant Maoist force. Founded in 1980 by Kondapalli Seetharamaiah, who was later thrown out, the PWG comprised cadres weaned on the theory of Mao’s organised peasant insurrection, told to reject parliamentary democracy and aim at setting up a ‘‘people’s government’’ through ‘‘people’s war”.

The PWG, in fact, was one from a family of brothers and sisters in arms who all traced their parentage to the uprising in the north Bengal village of Naxalbari under Charu Majumdar. The cadres occupied space in India’s heart of darkness, much of it in remote, underdeveloped and tribal-dominated regions, stretching north almost crescent-like from Andhra Pradesh through the forests of eastern Maharashtra, south-east Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, Odisha, Jharkhand and Bihar before slipping into Nepal. They even had a name for it: The ‘‘Compact Revolutionary Zone that will feed the final insurrection’’ to overthrow the state.

Making matters worse, state governments, especially Andhra Pradesh, had been playing footsie with the Maoists, switching on and calling off police operations, affecting efficiency and morale. In June 2004, months after Chief Minister N Chandrababu Naidu had survived an assassination attempt by the PWG, the new state government of YS Rajasekhara Reddy put the Greyhounds operations on pause and announced talks with Maoists. It cited a poll promise to address what it believed was just a socio-economic problem.

That temporary truce suited the Maoists, who needed time. At his home in Malakpet in Hyderabad, P Varavara Rao, who maintained he was a revolutionary poet and not a Maoist ideologue, said the PWG was “not asking for immediate transfer of power” and that, he felt, was one reason why the YSR government wanted to talk to them.

Warnings from officers that the Maoists would use the ceasefire to recoup fell on deaf ears. And that’s exactly what happened. In September that year, the PWG merged with the Maoist Communist Centre of India, giving birth to the CPI (Maoist). Their hands tied, officers blamed it on “the sins of Andhra” and “the confusion in Delhi” — on the one hand, the government was being advised by the home ministry not to get involved in any peace dialogue with Left-wing extremists, and, on the other hand, the Centre was telling states to engage the Maoists in talks at their end. Left-wing extremism was being treated as a mere law and order problem that affected states were expected to sort out.

Policemen considered stints in Maoist-affected areas as punishment postings. Those who tried to perform according to their remit often did not have the means. Poorly equipped in difficult situations, the Gadchiroli police had come up with their own solution: A C60 commando force, split into 14 units, one to counter each of the 14 dalams (armed Maoist squads) in the area.

But they knew that was not enough to contain the threat. Officers sought more police stations, not Central forces. An extensive thana network, they said, would make all the difference — police would be more visible in the interiors, instilling local confidence. And intelligence-gathering had to be local, possible only if people familiar with local dialects were recruited.

But not much changed on the ground. The Maoist cadres proliferated, as did their acts of terror, extortion and intimidation. In April 2006, addressing chief ministers of Maoist-affected states, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh described it as “the single biggest internal security challenge ever faced” by India.

In June 2009, the Centre banned the CPI (Maoist) and its front organisations under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act. Less than a year later, Maoists carried out their deadliest attack on security forces. They ambushed a CRPF convoy near Tadmetla in Chhattisgarh, killing 76 personnel. By 2013, the number of affected districts stood at 126. In May that year, the Congress leadership in Chhattisgarh was wiped out when its convoy was attacked by Maoists in Jhiram Ghati in Darbha.

A crackdown, which began in earnest in the UPA’s second term, gathered momentum after the change of guard in Delhi in 2014. The Narendra Modi government drew up a plan that prioritised equipping the security forces, filling the administrative vacuum, extending welfare schemes and developing infrastructure. It choked Maoist funding and targeted their leaders. The count of affected districts shrunk to 38 in 2024 and now, according to the government, is limited to just 11. There’s still a lot of ground to cover but the tables seem to be turning.

The writer is Executive Editor, The Indian Express. rakesh.sinha@expressindia.com