Today has been the most stressful day for our crew. We are in Jharkhand, which is not what you associate with naxal activities. But all that we've heard about since we've come here last night is their threat.

We were driving in from Baripada and noticed that there were no dhabas open. It turned out that the maoists had threatened all shops to remain closed and told them -'If you dare to vote, we'll reduce your height'. This classic threat of beheading was related to us by Narendra Pal of the Mota Line Dhaba.

Narendra Pal being a man from Punjab didn't obviously think much of the MCC's threats. He kept his establishment open but with the entry path blocked.

Over dal, aloo-palwal ki subzi and hot chappatis, we were regaled by scary stories of what they could do. The election bus was our concern. Till now, it's been welcomed everywhere. Could the big red bus make the maoists see red?

We reached Jamshedpur and thought that we had left the naxal story behind. But, the papers in the morning had nothing but naxal in print. Helicopters to watch over polling in sensitive areas et cetera et cetera.

As always we were rushing from one story to another when the news came - Naxals had attacked a polling booth in the ghaatshila area. The bad news was that the area was on our way to Kolkata.

Now, I am no braveheart but I had never heard of Naxals attacking journalists. On the contrary, many of them had become publicity savvy - taking groups of journos to their forest hideouts from time to time.

"No question of it," said a local reporter. They are desperately seeking attention and attacking your bus would give them attention.

The local SP and DGP rubbished such fears. "Of course they would say it's safe, it affects their reputation," he said.

Anyway, instead of working and talking to people, we had to spend precious time worrying about a crew member losing a limb to a landmine. We decided to put our faith in the men in uniform (may be foolishly) and set out. Along the way, we saw shops still closed and heavily armoured vehicles. We'd look at them and giggle nervously, exhaling only when we passed ghaatshila. The red bus had survived red country.