In a nation where crime often outpaces punishment and legal loopholes let the guilty walk free, Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Yogi Adityanath has once again demonstrated why he remains one of India’s most feared and admired administrators. His latest brainchild, Operation Langda—unofficially christened so by the state’s own cops—is not just an anti-crime initiative. It’s a masterclass in psychological warfare against criminals while skirting around the tightrope of judicial scrutiny.
Launched as a statewide crackdown on gangsters, hardened criminals, and fugitives, the operation deploys a simple yet ruthlessly effective tactic: shoot them in the leg.
Yes, you read that right.
No courtroom dramas. No lengthy bail hearings. No sympathy-inducing photos of slain gangsters. Instead, the message is brutally clear—run, and you’ll limp for life.
The operation has already spread its fearsome shadow over crime-prone districts, including Lucknow, Ghaziabad, Shamli, Ballia, Agra, Unnao, and Jhansi. In the last 24 hours alone, 14 criminals were caught in 11 separate encounters—several of them with bleeding legs and busted egos. One such encounter saw the arrest of Kamal Kishore alias Bhaddar, a man accused of raping a minor girl. He fired at the police, got shot in the leg, and was promptly packed off to the trauma center.
There’s a certain dark brilliance to the strategy.
By deliberately avoiding fatal force, the UP Police avoids the legal landmines associated with so-called ‘fake encounters.’ At the same time, it sends a chilling message to the criminal underworld: escape may cost you your knees, if not your life.
According to government data, over 8,400 encounters have taken place since 2017—when Yogi took office. More than 3,300 criminals have been injured, most of them with bullet wounds to the leg. Another 146 criminals have been killed in the same period. In a state once infamous for unchecked criminal empires, these numbers speak of a tectonic shift in law enforcement priorities—and outcomes.
Critics may scoff, but the legal foundations of this tactic remain firm. “If someone fires at us, we retaliate. That’s a power legally granted to police,” a senior official stated. He added, “Our goal isn’t to kill but to arrest. In that process, injuries can occur.” Especially if the target runs.
What makes Operation Langda more than just a clever ploy is its built-in legal insulation. In contrast to past allegations of extra-judicial killings—which often brought court censure and media heat—this policy walks a delicate line. It disables the criminal without denying him due process. Every encounter is followed by a magisterial inquiry, and every accused gets his day in court—albeit on crutches.
And let’s not forget the unintended genius here: fear.
In many districts, known criminals have simply stopped showing up. Gang lords are going underground, dacoits are surrendering, and repeat offenders are “reforming” at record speed. For the first time in years, criminals are more afraid of police bullets than judicial summons.
By turning the concept of “restraint” into a weapon, Yogi Adityanath has managed what few politicians dare: enforcing the law without trampling on the Constitution. It’s a tactic that avoids Supreme Court rebuke while earning street-level respect. And in a state long plagued by mafia raj and political protection for criminals, Operation Langda marks a turning point.
Critics may argue about ethics, but ask the citizens of Bulandshahr, Agra, or Unnao—where the fear of crime is giving way to faith in the khaki uniform. In Yogi’s Uttar Pradesh, crime may still pay—but it now limps all the way to jail.
Call it innovative policing. Call it deterrence with a limp. Just don’t call it ineffective.
