A Kautilyan Solution to Kerala's Rise as a Terrorist Recruitment Hub

It took might of a pandemic for Kasargod, to find a place in the mindscape of ordinary Indians. Even as the nondescript town in North Kerala emerged as a Covid-19 hotspot, it has skipped popular attention that this was the hometown of Muhammad Muhsin, one of the terrorists who massacred Sikhs at the Kabul Gurudwara on 25 March 2020.  Kerala’s linkages with the international terror landscape had come into transitory limelight post Sri Lanka’s Easter-weekend terror strike in 2019. However, it got drowned in the sea of corona-related broadcasts even after Al Naba, the propaganda wing of ISKP (Islamic State Khorasan Province) published Muhsin’s (alias Abu Khalid Al-Hindi) photograph flaunting the one-finger Towheed gesture.   

Kerala used to take pride in its socio-religious syncretism, where Islam arrived peacefully and communal relations soured only for a brief period in its entire history, during Tipu’s reign. The Mappilla rebellion, support for Jinnah and flirtation with the idea of a sovereign Moppilistan on the eve of independence never affected the region’s social harmony. Today, the Malayali muslims enjoy superior economic status, political say and literacy rates than any other part of the country. Why is it then that the state has accounted for nearly a quarter of the IS related cases in India?

Abul A’la Maududi’s ideas of political Islam found roots in the state through Jamaat-e-Islami, post the 1979 Iranian revolution. Even as the communist dream fascinated the Malayali population at large, subtly-secularised intellectual Islam captivated the educated Muslims. Salafism which has existed as a minor strain in Kerala’s polity for over a century, gradually gained ground. Outfits like Islamic Seva Sangh and National Democratic Front (now the notorious Peoples’ Front of India / PFI) gained from political opportunism of those in power and facilitated radicalisation. The leadership of these groups has had close ties with the banned Students Islamic Movement of India (SIMI). The Kerala Muslim who was not influenced by the likes of Al Qaeda and Taliban because of the language barrier, found resonance with the ideology of IS as it gave them the hope of realising their utopian fantasy of living in a “pure Islamic milieu”. It is this dream of the caliphate conveyed in Malayalam by internet-based influencers that ignited in the already radicalised minds. Kerala’s links and easy connectivity with the gulf-region, money pumped into already-subsidised Islamic educational institutions and the onset of social media acted as catalysts in the process, as they took flight to Syria and Afghanistan.

There has been a recent realisation in the Indian security establishment that it is the radicalisation that has to be tackled rather than merely the symptoms of terrorism and Kerala is leading the way in de-radicalisation drives. The security agencies and police have been endeavouring to exploit the critical time of movement of radicalised persons from ideas to action, to intervene and bring them back to the mainstream. This approach however, is woefully inadequate in these times of “Do-It-Yourself terrorism”. When will the utopian dream in distant Syria or Khorasan transform into strife for a caliphate right here in Kerala, is anybody’s guess. Do we have to wait till the signs emerge?

What would the great Kautilya have done under these circumstances? My guess is he would have envisioned and laid out an ingenuous long-term course rather than go for symptomatic responses. The root of the problem lay in the seemingly harmless organisations (Jamaat-e-Islami, Tabliqi Jamaat, Towheed Jamaat and the like), that ingrain the seeds of fanaticism in impressionable minds. They act as system drivers of the “terrorism software” with an inherent capability to take over the hardware as well, under favourable circumstances. The solution is to corrupt these drivers, firstly by targeting their credibility in the eyes of their adherents and secondly by gradually crippling their strength financially. I trust, that the decision makers of India’s security apparatus are well-versed in Kautilyan thought and are capable of implementing his counsel despite our largely “secular” media, minority-rights narrative and naïve population.

Our whirlwind Bharat Darshan

Perhaps I woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day .... got my transfer order from Kanpur to the North Eastern corner of India ... where family accommodation was not available. I had only one weeks leave to drop sudha & shyam home in Kochi & get back ... all trains were overbooked .... there were no direct flights & the rates were sky high anyway. I was sitting in my Vista & leafing through the railway timetable when the road/rail map of the country slipped out .... "Why not drive down?" I thought.

The advantages of driving down were tremendous ... the very idea of travelling across the country was thrilling .... I'll get to put new car through a real test .... & the memories of the journey will keep me company during the period of separation from my family ..but the doubts were still weighing me down ..... one week was too little time perhaps to enjoy a 2800km trip & my son was just one year old .....hmmmm

When I made the proposition to Sudha, she gave an instant reply "If you are confident ... I am too ... & I am sure Shyam will enjoy it ..." So, the decision was made ... We charted the route took advice & made our plans ..... most folks were inclined towards discouraging us, out of concern ... I've always made instinctive decisions,stood by them & things have generally turned out ok .....

We set out on an early October morning .... & took the route - kanpur - khajuraho - bhopal - indore - mhow - nasik - mumbai(andheri) - pune (khadakwasla) - belgaum - hubli - jog falls - kollur (mookambika temple) - mangalore - kozhikode (bekal fort) - kochi ..... the km reading indicated a road distance of 3200km .. driving by day & resting by night, the journey was completed in six days ...... we visited some tourist spots ..... stopped to say hello to the near & dear en-route. The only rules followed were ... start early & never drive when tired.

I 'll not bore you with a travelogue ... but will run through the trip. As we started off the roads in UP were terrible to say the least .... the Khajuraho temples were architectural marvels ,though visually embarrassing at times .... the road till Bhopal was ok & was dotted with some typical crowded towns of MP .... the early morning drive from Bhopal to Mhow was the first one on a decent road ... the rendezvous with some very dear people in Mhow was rejuvenating ...... one could perceive the gradual shift from the North-Indian to the Malwa/Maratha setting (the fresh makki-ki-roti & arhar dal from a dhaba on the MP-Maha border is worth a mention) ..... Shyam behaved miraculously decent for his age .... he particularly enjoyed a potty session in a farm in the midst of numerous "ambas" (cows) much to the annoyance of his mother ....... we spent the night at Nashik & drove to Mumbai early morning the next day ...... one whole day of relaxation in my uncle's house at Andheri rested us for the next half of the trip. The mumbai- pune highway was a revelation ..... spent some nostalgic hours in khadakwasla & got on to the bangalore expressway .... the satara- kohlapur - belgaum route was covered in a flash.... after a night stay at hubli I intended to move west to the konkan coast but missed the turn....... we took a diversion from the road at haveri & took the forest road via sirsi to the jog falls ..... the cup of tea at a small stall near sirsi for a rupee was best i've ever had ..... we proceeded along the jungle road to kollur ..... after the evening prayers at mookambika temple we reached Mangalore & took a break at my cousins place .... after entering kerala our first halt was at the Bekal fort in Kazarkode (which is known more now beause of the "Tuhi-re" song in the film "Bombay" than the exploits of Hyder ali & Tipu Sultan) ...... the final stretch from there to kochi seemed unending becaue of the anxety to hit home & the terrible traffic congestion on the mallu streets .... we reached home late evening on the sixth day..... & I flew back on the seventh.


As we traveled across states, the rapid changes in vegetation, dialects, food and above all attitudes were intriguing.... this was a whirlwind trip which afforded little time for liesure... however the experience left us with some fond memories to cherish .... I've got to thank the Lord for the guiding us home & my little one for cooperating ..... Shyam too turned out to be travel freak .... :)

Bundle Of Joy

I 've been off blogging for a while ..... a year and more ..... felt the need to be back here to share .... learn ... release. A lot of things transpired during the hiatus ...travel, job ... success & failure in many endeavours. The defining event of the period however was the arrival of my son. I resume this space therefore with a small post dedicated to my bundle of joy......

Most of us have read inspirational books, listened to sermons etc ... all of it giving nothing more than an ephemeral period of calm. I've tried many times over & failed .... to live life fully on my own terms .... to invoke and retain the power of now. Advait now is my stress buster & shows me the way.

I return home after a dreary days work..... physically exhausted and with fluttering thoughts ... frustration at the workplace,plans for the future, judgements, opinions, anger ........ all of it vanishes in a moment ..... as I see him toddling across swiftly with a beaming face .... as he sticks to my leg with arms thrown up .... yearning for a cuddle. Nothing brings as much peace as when he meanders along, tired after playtime to drop on my chest & fall off to sleep. He's teaches me to notice and find joy in small things ..... by breaking into casual mirth on a cow's "moo.." .... on the sound of a tumbling vessel. He is fully engrossed as he tries discover the source of sound in a beeping microvawe... as he tries to attach the lid of a bottle to its base. His fixation is abruptly interrupted on hearing his favourite Ad music on TV.... & he starts dancing to it's rhythm ....

He's growing fast & helping us grow with him ...... & I am grateful for it. I pray therefore to be able to steer his development ... into a person of substance who knows his own means & can find his way..... That should be my payback ...

Memo From a Soldier's Grave

Khartoum, very much unlike the barren deserts of North Sudan and the swampy countryside of South Sudan, is a relatively "happening" place. It accounts for 80% of the country's (2/3 rd India's size) paved roads, 50% of its population and it's only decent airport. We were on our last trip to the city before our return home. After visits to the National Museum and the Nile confluence we were told of the Sudan War Cemetery, built by the British to honour the memory of those who laid down their lives during WW-II on Sudanese soil.

The fenced compound was well maintained, the tombs and vaults built in marble systematically laid out to aptly reflect marked reverence held for the heroes. While sauntering across, quickly reading through the epitaphs, the words "Om Bhagavate Namah" caught my eyes. The tombstone belonged to Sapper Appalaswami of Madras Sappers. The names of more Indian soldiers were etched on a huge memorial wall along with other officers and men whose bodies could not be identified. One felt truly proud of the valour displayed by our soldiers in an alien land and respect for the British system which valued the lives of each of its men and honoured their memory without bias or prejudice.




Let us briefly delve on what Appalaswami and his comrades did in Sudan. Italy's entry into the War in June 1940 threatened the British rule in Egypt and close the Mediterranean trade routes to Egypt, India and Australia. In early July the Italian East African Garrison launched attacks on the borders of Sudan and Kenya, supported by the Naval and air bases in Eritrea. By early 1941, the Commonwealth air force had attained parity with the formerly preponderant Italians. Around the same time, the three British Battalions and the small Sudan Defence force in Northern Sudan were joined by the fourth and fifth Indian Divisions (better known for its campaigns in Burma and Malaya later in the war). The frontiers were crossed on 19th Jan 1941 and the Indians overcame the Italians in Agordat and Barentu and overcame some strong resistance in Keren, thus paving way for the capture of Asmara and Massawa (Eritrea) by April. ( The Fifth Division then fought the Germans in Libya and moved to Iraq to protect the oil fields. The Fourth Division fought in Syria, Palestine, Cyprus, Italy and Greece).

During WW-II, Indian personnel received 4000 gallantry awards including 31 Victoria Crosses (highest gallantry award). The fact that the only VC winner from elsewhere in the Empire was Corporal Sefanaia Sukanaivalu of the Fiji Military Forces, speaks volumes about the Indian soldier.

Many must be wondering as to why so much veneration should be showered on the men who fought for a foreign monarchy. Others might be trying to speculate as to what motivated these men to fight in a distant land, away from kin for such a prolonged period for no cause of theirs. The mystery lies in the virtues of thorough regimentation that existed in the Indian Army. The prime cause in a soldier's mind had little to do with National or Strategic issues ..... it has all to do with the honour of the regiment, faith in their leader and respect for the fallen comrades.

The Indian Soldier definitely retains these traits to this day. However, the socio-economic changes in civil society and generational shift towards more practicable soldiering have brought about a dilution in these values. As a Nation we must learn to value the lives of every citizen in general and our soldiers in particular. Even while adapting to new technology and doctrines, our leaders and policy makers need to be awake to the need of preserving the quality of uniformed men, lest we loose our edge in combat.

Laughter Challenge

No ....... This is not about Raju Srivastav or Shekhar Suman. The challenge is not to make others laugh, but the other way around .....it is to face up to the ordeal of laughter and come out unscathed. Yes, you read it right.Laughter can be an ordeal at times ... here is how.

Despite living in the same complex, we colleagues used to meet up only during social functions or bump into each other while at official errands. It was therefore decided by the Boss (let's call him B)that everybody would have lunch together on working days. From that day on, a daily joint lunch became a norm .....and the trial began. We would all sit across the loooong dining table with B at its head.

A few "lunch sessions" later we realised that B was actually in love with his own voice. He would narrate experiences and tales, putting his mimicing skills to frequent use. The culmination of every sentence would invariably be a thundering laughter (seemingly wicked kind that reminded me of the satans of Harry Porter and the notorious "Krur Singh", a charcter in a hindi teleserial). It often happened that none of us could make head or tail of his "hilarious" sagas, but had to burst into mirth, just to stay in sync ... you know what I mean. The only positive factor being the hope to invountarily imbibe the proclaimed benifits of laughter therapy. The problem was that these mealtime meetings would seldom conclude before our cheeks pained due to the synthetic laughter and until the food was almost digested. Gradually, a time came when "lunchtime" would translate as "horror time" in our dictionaries and some of us started getting nightmares of the "laughter beast".

We worked out methods to deal with the crisis … taking turns to attend lunch … scheduling work to match the lunch timings … etc …..but the fear factor remained. I was enjoying the pleasures of an afternoon siesta yesterday when shaken awake by an appalling dream….. All I could remember hearing was that savage laughter … a very familiar voice asked .. “Pahchan Kaun” …. And I shuddered …

It's All in the Mind

Khor fulus is a little hamlet by the Sobat River in central Sudan. We were standing at the jetty awaiting a boat that would take us across to this village, where we were to establish a medical camp. On the opposite pier was a group of people trying to get into an already teeming boat. Each one was carrying a small bundle of personal belongings and infants were clinging on to the backs of their frail mothers. The latest spell of fighting in the village had consumed twenty –two lives and the small rustic market was ransacked and reduced to shambles. Some villagers were abandoning their dwellings to seek out safer (but not greener) pastures. This was a supposedly poignant scene and I felt a slight lump in my throat. As we got closer I strangely realised that there were no signs of remorse writ on their faces. There seemed to be no qualms of an uncertain future. Instead, everything appeared routine and the people looked as jovial as ever. These people were raised in an era of invasive ambiguity, and so were two generations before them. Decades of civil war had perhaps habituated them to violence, robbed them of all desolate emotions and coerced them to look for the sunny side, even in the midst of calamity.
As the medical camp was being set up, the county commissioner arrived in his posh Land Cruiser escorted by two AK bearing sentinels. He wore an expensive watch and wielded a satellite phone. The solitary show affluence and clout amid blatant poverty was an odd paradox. We sought his permission to see around the village which he quickly accorded and walked off towards the “panchayat style” congregation which was awaiting his arrival under a nearby tree. We took a walk amidst the ruins and realised that almost everything had been plundered. A few children were foraging the leftovers and grown ups were still taking stock.

There was a group of children playing soccer, totally unmindful of the ruckus all around. They were conditioned to such carnage, I guess. The most striking factor one observed was the boundless energy displayed by the kids. They would wave at you, salute you and give a comic pose when they notice a camera. They wore torn clothes, ate a pittance, drank from the dirty river and still retained the spark in their eyes.

During our break for lunch, the Doctor narrated an incident that took place at a medical camp that he organized at a place called Akobo. A pregnant lady was brought in by two young men. She was bleeding profusely and needed expert care. On inquiring he was told that she hailed from a village around thirty km across the border in Ethiopia and that her husband and brother had carried her all the way to the camp. The doctor recommended that she be taken to Nasser County (a couple of days walk away) where an NGO managed hospital could provide her the medical expertise required. Her husband quickly calculated the provisions he would require to buy, to sustain them for the journey and promptly proceeded ahead as advised, carrying his wife on a stretcher.

When I set out for the day’s task that morning, I had a few worries of my own. By the end of the day my issues seemed trivial. I felt grateful to have what I have.

"Handy" Nuggets of Wisdom

"Always take care those little things" he said "the ones that make the difference between success and failure, between victory and defeat". Dr Joseph, the Principal was speaking at the morning assembly after I had finished my first "news-reading exercise" at the school assembly. The term "Disaster" would be a liberal euphemism if used to describe my performance. The script was well prepared and practised, but the knees wouldn't stop shaking as I took my place on the stage. I gathered myself with a few deep breaths and started reading out the news. I was taken by surprise when the whole school burst out into laughter after a few minutes. Apparently there was a loose connection in the cable of the public address system which was causing the mike to get switched off every half a minute. I was too engrossed in putting up a confident looking show to realise that I was sounding like a barking dog to the whole school. After giving a bewildered look to the Principal (who was smiling too) I sped down the stage. It was then that he gave this "little things" talk which got imprinted in my head. Iwalked up to him later that day and asked to be allowed to read the news again. The next morning I took my time to check the connections at the amplifier and mike (even as the whole school was watching with amusement) before commencing the news. It went of pretty well this time and I got a nod of approval from Dr Joseph.

There have been numerous instances later in life when this advice came in handy. The most prominent one that comes to mind was during my attempt at paratrooping. The ground training was piece of cake and it all seemed too simple ... till the day of reckoning. As all of us strapped on the gear, wore the helmets and boarded the aircraft for the first jump, the strange growls in the stomach and unusually rapid tempo of the heartbeats made me forget the check-list. Being the seniormost novice in the sortie I was the automatic choice for the first jumper. As we reached an altitude of 1500 ft the instructor put both thumps up and gleefully shouted "ALL OK?" .... and all of us replies back in a feeble chorus "ok". I took my position at the door, consciously avoiding that downward glance and took the customary deep breaths. When the instructor shouted "RED ON". A voice clicked in the head .. "check .. check "it said and I did a quick survey. To my horror the static line cable which was hooked on to the aircraft was passing from under the right arm. I quickly took it over the arm even as the instructor said "GREEN ON ...... GO" and leapt out. Had I not carried out that last minute check and the cable remained where it was I wouldn't have been able to type this post today. The right arm would have got ripped off.

I am getting back to blogging after a long hiatus. The break was taken because my ultra slow internet connection and as my circumstances weren't exactly compatible to regular blogging. I realised during the time off that I was missing something. Though I don't subscribe to the view that "blog-space" can be used as "personal-space" in totality, I do believe that it provides us with an avenue to give expression to the ideas we can call our own. Every blogger has a personal reason for blogging. Some may see it as a canvas to discover their "till now dormant" creativity while others may appreciate it as a useful vent to relieve themselves from the pressures and apparent inadequacies of professional and personal lives. I don't exactly know which definition fits my cause, but definitely feel an urge to return .... and hence this post.