KOCHI: Four unassuming police officers, well-backed by their silent companion, recently took the box office by storm. Malayalis have been cheering their exhausting chase across India to nab a gang accused of a gruesome crime in Kasaragod.
A runaway hit, Kannur Squad is a blend of realistic drama and commercial masala. The Mammootty-starrer is based on the story of a police team from Kannur — comprising Additional Sub-inspector Mathew Jose, and senior civil police officers Raphy Ahmed M A, Vinodkumar P, Manojkumar K, Sunilkumar C, Jayarajan K, Reji Skaria, Rajasekar C K, and led by Assistant Sub-inspector Baby George.
Formed in 2008, when the current Transport Commissioner ADGP S Sreejith was investigating a terror recruitment case in Kannur, the squad aced at cracking tough cases. One notable achievement is how the squad cracked a famous murder case. The only clue was the type of vehicle the accused had used.
After an extensive scan across Kerala, within hours, the squad shortlisted 800 vehicles and finally zeroed in on the one used by the suspects. It was found abandoned in a village near the Karnataka border. Officers found crucial evidence in the vehicle, thanks to the massive effort overnight.
After 33 years of service, Baby retired in May this year as a sub-inspector. He is yet to get accustomed to life outside of khaki. “I spend my time travelling, and engage in a bit of farming,” says Baby, who has just returned from a trip to Wayanad. “I didn’t have time for anything like this in the past 33 years (laughs).”
Baby, who joined the force as a constable, starts his story with a clarification: every district has special squads to handle extraordinary cases. “The District Anti-Narcotics Special Action Force is an example. Many of these squads have solved even more intricate and dangerous cases than what the Kannur unit has handled,” he adds. “The film focuses on some cases that the Kannur squad dealt with. The squads in several other districts are also daring, and famous for their achievements.”
He also stresses that the life and pursuits of the real squad were not as dramatic as shown in the film. “The struggle, however, was much more, especially when you are on the road to catch criminals in faraway states. There were times one had to survive on just fruits and water,” says Baby. In the same old Tata Sumo, as shown in the film? “Yes, we got a Sumo, a couple of years after the squad was formed,” recalls Baby.
In the film, director Roby Varghese Raj has drawn references from the murder of businessman A B Abdul Salam Hajee, 58, on August 4, 2013. Back then, the squad had travelled nearly 6,000km in 16 days to nab the culprits. “The crime wasn’t as gruesome as shown in the film,” Baby says. “There was no rape, for instance. However, the director explained that such additions were needed to stir the emotions of the audience. The corruption part is also fiction, probably to create tension in the plot. In reality, we were able to work together for 10 years because none of us was corrupt. We had a good track record, and our sincerity to the work glued us together like a family.”
Baby adds another deviation from the original story: the criminals were caught near a bus stop, not in a forest. “But, films need such action and thrill,” he laughs. “Real life presents different kinds of challenges.” He, however, lauds the director. “The film showed two pictures — the struggles of squad members who have to travel many places within and outside the state, sacrificing their sleep, and those who remain in stations working overtime, even back-to-back night duties,” Baby highlights.
“I got many calls from officers saying they never realised how difficult it was for squad members. For many, it was something to be proud about.” Though initially reluctant, Baby reveals some testing moments he went through during squad duty. “Once, my child was sick, and we were at the hospital. I was buying medicines at the pharmacy after seeing the doctor,” he recalls.
“At that time, I got a call from a superior officer. It was about a case. The next day was my father’s 90th birthday. Yet, I had to pack up and leave within two hours. One has to sacrifice things such as being with family during important moments. This is true for almost everyone in khaki. When duty calls, you just go.”Baby, who is the unofficial spokesperson for his team, says that though the experiences in states such as UP and West Bengal were challenging, the squad mostly managed to succeed with cohesive teamwork.
Language, he adds, was the main challenge. “Officers at local stations would help in communicating with villagers. Sometimes, we would approach the sarpanch of the village,” Baby recalls. “If tension escalates, and the locals resist, we would leave the scene after placating them. Then, we would return the next day and ensure to approach the village leader to broker peace and continue our probe.”
However, like ASI George Martin in the film, has anyone from the real Kannur Squad ever fired their gun? “Never,” laughs Baby. “If something happens to them, we will be charged with a murder case! See, unlike in films, firing a gun follows with a lot of paperwork. We, however, were issued a gun for self-defence, and have used it to scare the criminals. Sometimes, the sight of a gun is enough to rattle them.”
In tense situations, Baby adds, the most important thing is to make split-second decisions. “Questions keep popping up in the mind: ‘Should we reveal we are police officers? Should we take the train to some obscure village in Odisha (as shown in the film)? Should we take out the gun? Thankfully, our decisions always worked in our favour,” he smiles.
Notably, the Kannur Squad was called in to nab the accused in the T P Chandrasekharan murder case of 2012. “The gang had split up. And we were part of the team that caught three of the accused — three from a hillock in Iritty, one from Mumbai, and another in Bengaluru,” Baby recalls.The team worked in the Kannur squad for a decade, etching their names in the annals of Kerala Police history. Did they have a 100 per cent strike rate? “That is impossible for anyone,” Baby smiles.
He points to the gruesome Kunjamina murder case that happened near Irikkur in Kannur on August 30, 2016. The criminals were identified — two women and a man. The squad was called in and chased them till Uttarakhand, one of their longest chase. “But we lost them there,” says Baby, with a shrug of regret. “They are still being pursued.” However, Baby believes that many in service are nowadays reluctant to join special squads. “Drugs have changed the scenario. It is now more dangerous,” he notes.
“Earlier, some criminals used ganja or hashish. But now, they are into synthetic drugs. It can get quite nasty if the criminal is an addict.” In 2017, officers of the team were split and deployed in other squads. Five of them, including Baby, were inducted into the internal security wing, which is tasked with investigating Maoist activities. Four of them are serving in the anti-terrorist squad, and the rest in Kannur law & order units.
‘I know officers who are still dealing with injuries’
It was current Kerala Transport Commissioner, ADGP S Sreejith, who handpicked and groomed the officers for the original ‘Kannur squad’ while he was superintendent in the district in 2008. “I knew two of them earlier. I knew their working style. They were with me when I was injured after a country bomb was hurled at me. I fell into their arms and they took me to safety,” he recalls. “So, later, while I was investigating terror recruitment in Kerala, my squad included these two officers. ASI Baby George was also inducted, and he was the most senior in the team.”
Sreejith explains that the work done by the squad from Kannur has been extra-ordinary in many ways. “It is these squads, comprising junior-rank officers, that work on the ground, scrutinising every detail, rounding up suspects, etc ,” he says. “It is no easy work that they do. It involves many dangers. I have known officers who are still dealing with injuries they suffered in hot pursuits.” Apparently, another professional hazard is getting entangled in custodial death cases, which have wrecked careers and landed sincere officers behind bars in the past.