By Krupakar

Trans. via S.R. Ramakrishna

In a comic book case of flawed id, flora and fauna photographers Krupakar and Senani have been abducted one evening from their domestic on the fringe of the Bandipur nationwide Park by way of Veerappan, India’s ‘most dreaded bandit’. He proposal they have been very important executive officers, and his plan used to be to carry them hostage in go back for clemency and a considerable ransom. The bandit and his gang saved the hostages at the circulation within the woodland, and their in basic terms touch with the surface international used to be through an previous transistor radio. whereas Veerappan,who had already killed a few 250 humans, formulated techniques to strength the govt. to comply with his calls for, his hostages not just obtained a detailed examine the plant and animal range within the forests of Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, however the intimacy in their lifestyles at the run gave them an perception into Veerappan’s unusual mixture of cruelty and humanity. although Krupakar and Senani got here from an international that used to be different from that of Veerappan’s gang, the abducted and the abductors grew to become heavily thinking about every one other’s matters. Birds, Beasts and Bandits are a witty and poignant account of a rare event with the infamous poacher and his partners.

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Additional info for Birds, Beasts and Bandits: 14 Days with Veerappan

Example text

She turned to look at the cage Mrs. Peters was holding up. ” She sighed. “There was a man round last year selling canaries cheap—but I don’t know as she took one. Maybe she did. ” Mrs. Peters looked around the kitchen. ” She half laughed—an attempt to put up a barrier. “But she must have had one—or why would she have a cage? ” “I suppose maybe the cat got it,” suggested Mrs. Hale, resuming her sewing. “No, she didn’t have a cat. She’s got that feeling some people have about cats—being afraid of them.

Hale raised the piece of silk. “Oh, Mrs. ” she cried. “It’s—” Mrs. Peters bent closer. “It’s the bird,” she whispered. “But, Mrs. ” cried Mrs. Hale. “Look at it! Its neck—look at its neck! ” She held the box away from her. The sheriff’s wife again bent closer. “Somebody wrung its neck,” said she, in a voice that was slow and deep. And then again the eyes of the two women met—this time clung together in a look of dawning comprehension, of growing horror. Mrs. Peters looked from the dead bird to the broken door of the cage.

He felt in his overcoat pocket, and his hand closed comfortably on something thick and heavy. Ever since that day in Lincoln he had gone about armed for protection. Not a revolver—he was no hand with firearms. A sandbag was much better. He had bought one from an old man wheeling a pushcart. It was meant for keeping out draughts from the door—a good, old-fashioned affair. The inevitable verdict was returned. The spectators began to push their way out. Pender had to hurry now, not to lose sight of his man.

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