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Make your own way!
The planning was done well in advance, after a lot of homework.
The first approach, through a friend and newsman, was followed up by email.
Nearly a fortnight went for logistics. But by the time I landed in Imphal, Manipur's capital, everything had been arranged.
Our haversacks full of essentials for the next few days, Photographer Nilayan Dutta and I waited for the morrow with apprehension... Day 1 YUMNAM Rupachandra, correspondent of The Statesman, arrives with four others -- Khelen Thokchom, editor of Sangai Express, a local English daily, two photographers, and an ANI correspondent -- at 0600 hours IST. We set off in a Tata Sumo. An hour reaches us to a small town. After a bit of breakfast, we turn off the highway, onto a dirt track. We arrive at a village and are told to unload our rucksacks and wait. Ten minutes later, a man in a heavy jacket rides up on a bicycle. He could have been one of the several onlookers gathered around us but for one thing: a small Kenwood two-way radio around his neck. He is Inga, and chats animatedly with our local friends in Manipuri. Rupachandra translates for our benefit: "An armed posse will escort us from this point." Half an hour later, guerrillas arrive. In jungle fatigues, armed with AK-56s, the band of 11 boys, all of them in their early 20s, march into the village in a single file. The leader, also carrying a radio, is a lance corporal in the UNLF hierarchy. He instructs his boys to pick up our luggage. I gather we are VIPs to them, so we are exempted from carrying our own bags. With two 'scouts' in front, the procession begins. We march in single file. The pace, as it happens in the beginning of any journey on foot, is brisk. Soon we begin to sweat -- and off come our sweaters and heavy jackets. After an hour or so, the water bottles come out. So do biscuits and chocolates. We city-types are beginning to tire and wonder what we have got ourselves into. On the way, villagers stare at us, as if watching an exotic species. They are used to armed men walking through, but not 'civilians' like us. After two-and-a-half hours, we reach the village where we are to have lunch. All of us lie down on the cool grass. Lunch is rice and dal. It has never tasted so great anywhere before! CHAIREN is checking the route ahead for enemy movement. "I am not so much worried about the security forces. What I am concerned about is our rivals attacking unexpectedly," he says. Apparently, other groups such as the Issac-Muivah faction of the National Socialist Council of Nagaland -- bitter enemies of the UNLF -- control some areas en route. We begin walking again, this time silently. As dusk dissolves into darkness, the fear in my mind accentuates. Everyone is quiet. What if there is an attack? Are these guys capable of warding it off? The walk continues for the next four hours with little or no banter among us. Around 2000 hours, we reach a riverbank. Chairen is constantly in touch with his base on radio. We wait. A vehicle is supposed to pick us up here. After 30 minutes a Shaktiman truck wades through the waist-deep water and comes to our side. We clamber on to the open truck, grateful that we don't have to walk anymore. But 10 minutes on, we are all wishing that we had continued walking. The Shaktiman is lurching violently as it cuts through the jungle. Branches hit us from both sides. My thoughts go back to the Tata Safari ad that says, 'Make your own way.' If the makers of Shaktiman could see us now, I think they would just film our journey and use it as promo! An hour later we reach a village, gorge the simple fare of rice, tinned fish and dal and crash out on the wooden floor of a safe house. Chairen's men, showing no signs of exhaustion despite the long day, stand guard. It is cold, but I drop off immediately into an exhausted slumber. Photographs: Nilayan Dutta Follow Nitin on Day 2 Return to Rendezvous With The Rebel
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