The tragic end of Sarabjit Singh in Lahore jail unplugged long-frozen memories of my journalistic encounters with the surreal and secretive world of cross-border spies. Documenting tales of these real-life spies who had survived years of torture and incarceration in Pakistan was a bone-chilling experience that still sends a shiver down the spine. And, contrary to popular depictions of spies such as a James Bond, armed with cool gadgets or fast cars, they were ordinary folk, inhabiting the grubby, poverty-stricken villages on the India-Pakistan border where espionage has always been a risky but alluring option to eke out a living. Many become cannon fodder during furtive border crossings or perish in jails.
On a hot morning in late April of 1988, the iron gate at Wagah opened to reveal the sight of 107-odd Indian nationals on the Pakistan side, barely metres short of the zero line. Looking forlorn and emaciated, they waited for their homecoming as a large batch of Indian prisoners repatriated from Pakistan after many years. Each had a harrowing tale to tell. One of them had on him only a small earthen-pot that carried the ashes of his fellow Indian prisoner, who had died during incarceration, hoping to deliver it to his family in a village in Gurdaspur.
Another gaunt-looking prisoner with the surname Azad hobbled across on crutches. As an operative of Indian intelligence agencies who returned after an 18-year sentence in Pakistan jails, he carried tell-tale signs of torture like a badge of honour - some of which he ascribed to his protests against ill-treatment meted out to Indians in Pakistani jails. That lent him the status of a leader among fellow prisoners.
But the return to the homeland was in no way welcoming. Swarmed by intelligence sleuths for de-briefing sessions, the repatriated prisoners were made to sit on their haunches under the blazing sun for hours. Not served even a glass of water, they felt distraught and insulted at such a heartless reception in their motherland. Soon enough, the angry prisoners were on their feet, raising slogans against the Indian authorities while amused Pakistani officials looked on from a distance. It took quite an effort to pacify them before they were bundled into waiting vehicles to ferry them to their homes.
{{/usCountry}}But the return to the homeland was in no way welcoming. Swarmed by intelligence sleuths for de-briefing sessions, the repatriated prisoners were made to sit on their haunches under the blazing sun for hours. Not served even a glass of water, they felt distraught and insulted at such a heartless reception in their motherland. Soon enough, the angry prisoners were on their feet, raising slogans against the Indian authorities while amused Pakistani officials looked on from a distance. It took quite an effort to pacify them before they were bundled into waiting vehicles to ferry them to their homes.
{{/usCountry}}Years later, curious to know what happened to the spies upon their return, I set out to locate some of them for a story I was doing for a weekly. A few trips to the border belts of Punjab and Jammu didn't throw up any leads. Meeting intelligence officials was equally frustrating as they feigned ignorance of any ex-spies. A few months later, a Jammu-datelined news item caught my eye. It was about a Pakistan-returned spy on hunger strike outside Raj Bhawan, demanding the reward money that his intelligence handlers had promised before launching him into enemy territory. The next day I was in Jammu, and the protester turned out to be Azad. Asked whether it would be possible to meet some ex-spies of his ilk, Azad shot back: "Kitne jasoos chaheeye?" We drove through dusty villages along the border and soon our Maruti van was overflowing with ex-spies of different ages.
They shared the same chilling tale - of being left out in the cold.
He is guilty as charged.