Book: Blood on My Hands: Confessions of Staged Encounters
Author: Kishalay Bhattacharjee
Publisher: Harper Collins Publishers, India
Year of Publication: 2015
Pages: 200 Price: Rs 250
ISBN: 9789351772583
Kishalay Bhattacharjee’s “Blood on My Hands: Confessions of Staged Encounters” is a searing, journalistic exposé that peels back the layers of India’s internal security operations, revealing a system steeped in extra-judicial violence, institutional rot, and a profound moral crisis.
Drawing on anonymous confessions from serving and retired security personnel, Bhattacharjee presents a narrative that is as disturbing as it is revelatory.
The book opens with a powerful statement: “In this book, perhaps for the first time, some of the perpetrators of this form of violence have narrated accounts of how they hunted their prey. Their revelations of how the system has coerced and supported them in committing atrocities, then concealed and even rewarded acts of almost unthinkable depravity, are profoundly disturbing, and compel one to question the rewarded acts of almost unthinkable depravity, are profoundly disturbing, and compel one to question the essential morality of civil government in India.” (P-7).
This sets the tone for a work that is not just about rogue officers, but about a system that normalises and incentivises violence.
Bhattacharjee’s account is grounded in the realpolitik of India’s conflict zones, where the legal system is often seen as a hindrance rather than a safeguard. He quotes the infamous statement of K.P.S. Gill, the former police chief of Punjab, as saying, “Our legal system doesn’t work at all. If there are no legal remedies, there’ll be extra-legal ones.” One of his own officers once described a typical meeting with Gill, where each officer would compete with the number of kills. It was a given that the incidence of ‘encounters’ would rise dramatically the night before such meetings. (P-15).
This philosophy, embraced by many in the security establishment, has led to a culture where the number of “encounters” is a measure of success. The book documents how the state, through its own officers, has institutionalised secret killings, often targeting not just militants but also innocent civilians caught in the crossfire. The use of Special Police Officers (SPOs) to conduct fake arrests, the surrender of arms by manufactured “militants,” and the systematic erasure of evidence are all part of a grim pattern that has played out in Kashmir, Manipur, Assam, and other conflict zones.
The narrative reveals how places like community centers, religious sites, schools, markets, and homes, once associated with safety, have become sites of violence.
“Places earlier associated with safety, and indeed sanctity-throughfares, community centers, religious sites, schools, markets and, most poignantly, homes are places where the war is now fought. Dead bodies are dumped in streets and paddy fields, or thrown into our national rivers to ‘feed the fish.’ This undeclared war has enduring and profound consequences, not merely for our body politic, but for our national psyche and our collective moral behaviour. How we deal with encounter killings now will determine how we define ‘violence’ in the future, and the type of society that we hand down to future generations.” (P-47).
This “undeclared war” has left deep scars on the national psyche, breeding alienation and distrust among the people. The cycle of violence is fueled by a perverse incentive structure. Units that show a high number of “kills” receive more funds, particularly through programs like Sadbhavana.
“Any unit which has a good number of Sadbhavana projects will also have a good number of kills. It’s directly proportional. You get money, you kill; and because you kill, you get money to buy peace, and this cycle continues. It’s like a relay race, and you pass on the baton to the next unit” (P-75).
The funds meant for civic action and peacebuilding are thus misappropriated, further entrenching the culture of violence.
Bhattacharjee exposes how the army and paramilitary forces have become deeply involved in illicit activities, including chit funds, narcotics, extortion, gunrunning, and liquor smuggling. “Chit funds, narcotics, extortion, gunrunning and truckloads of liquor. You may not be able to prove it in a court of law, but ask any army person worth his salt, and he will tell you, yes, the army is big time in the black-money league” (P-119).
The line between state-sanctioned operations and organised crime has blurred, with security forces acting as both enforcers and beneficiaries of the black economy. The book details how encounters often target Bangladeshis, whose bodies are neither claimed by India nor Bangladesh, ensuring a lack of accountability. The pressure to show results leads to the “manufacturing” of militants from innocent civilians, as the army and police seek to meet targets for weapons seizure and headcounts.
The culture of impunity is further reinforced by the awards and citations given for fake killings, turning murder into a career advancement tool. Enquiry commissions are set up but rarely produce results, and the families of the victims are left without justice. Killings for personal vendetta, land grabbing, and other motives continue unchecked, with the state turning a blind eye.
The book highlights the impact of these killings on Manipur and other northeastern states, where shadowy operations by the army and paramilitary forces have led to widespread human rights abuses. The alienation and distrust created by fake encounters have eroded any semblance of trust between the people and the state.
Bhattacharjee’s account also points to the broader institutional rot. “The institution is rotten from the inside. That is what happens when you deploy the army for too long in internal strife. Now they don’t want to let go” (P-142-143).
The prolonged deployment of the army in internal conflicts has created vested interests, with the military becoming a self-sustaining entity that resists civilian oversight. The legacy of Indira Gandhi’s policies, which turned India into a de facto police state, continues to haunt the country’s democracy.
The book serves as a stark warning. How India deals with encounter killings today will shape its definition of violence and the kind of society it leaves for future generations.
Bhattacharjee’s “Blood on My Hands” is not just a chronicle of state-sponsored violence, but a call to confront the moral bankruptcy at the heart of India’s security establishment.
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