Reporter: Are you going to fight the Communists or throw them out?
Nehru: Throw them out? How? What do you mean? They've been elected.
Indira Gandhi: Papu, what are you telling them? You re talking as Prime Minister. As Congress president I intend to fight them and throw them out.
THIS delightful exchange took place between the Hindu newspaper, the prime minister of India and the Congress president in early 1959. Some months later the first democratically elected Communist government in the world was dismissed amid "ugly scenes in the assembly".
Nothing has changed since (despite the pathetic flip-flop of the Gujral government) save the weaponry—it has become more varied and more lethal. Last Tuesday's pitched battle in the Lucknow vidhan sabha saw microphones, sound boxes, chairs, table-tops, slippers and paper-weights flying around. It was a sight worthy of tears.
I have never identified television as much of an educational tool for a loud and intricate democracy such as ours, but thanks to its magic, a nation which had just proudly celebrated five decades of people's rule, and more recently delivered what it considered a mighty 'snub' to Elizabeth R, saw its democracy disgraced (never mind the last-minute rescue act) and its government humiliated.
Indian vidhan sabhas have for long been arenas of combat. However, what we witnessed on October 21—most dramatically through television—will not be easily erased from national memory. The picture of an erect UP Speaker shielded with seat cushions and table-tops by a Praetorian Guard from the slings and slippers of outrageous MLAs will remain permanently etched. To say that the Congress, BSP and Janata Dal hooligans have shamed us is to say nothing new. How many times have they done it before, and how many times will they do it again? It is generally agreed that a country gets the legislators it deserves. If that be the case, India has been sold terribly short.
Except for the new occupant at Rashtrapati Bhavan and to some extent "the right wing Hindu nationalist party" (BBC's quaint description of Messrs Advani and Vajpayee), most of the other players in the sordid drama, which began just after mid-day on Tuesday and ended just after 8 pm on Wednesday, emerge with faces blackened. These include our permanently hapless prime minister, CPI(M)'s Sitaram Yechuri—behind all that JNU sophistication lies an incipient fascist—Mulayam Singh Yadav, Sitaram Kesri, the old firm of Kanshi Ram and Mayawati, and Romesh Bhandari, probably the most crooked governor India has produced for some decades. These people really cooked up a witches' brew. Their comeuppance should be universally welcomed.
The first miscalculation was made on Black Tuesday. At the Cabinet meeting which started around 5 pm, Mulayam Singh Yadav presented the numerous reports and affidavits faxed by Romesh Bhandari claiming breakdown of constitutional machinery. Mr Sitaram Yechuri purporting to speak for the CPI(M)(he was given a dressing down the next day by Jyoti Basu) joined in, pressing for President's rule. All this against the background of Mr Kesri's 'serious' but phoney threat of withdrawing support. Gujral firing off Indrajit Gupta's shoulders, characteristically, prevaricated but eventually succumbed when it came to "saving" the government. It was a colossal error of judgement.
The prime minister should surely have realised that Kesri was bluffing. Given his enemies within the Congress, the "old man in a hurry" would have huffed and puffed but finally fallen in line. This was confirmed by Pranab Mukherjee's "we cannot go on changing governments like we change our dresses" statement on Thursday. Even taking into account Kesri's famous unpredictability, the last thing the Congress president needs is a quick general election. Instead, in the next few months, he must subdue the emboldened troika of Sharad Pawar, Jitendra Prasada and Rajesh Pilot; he must try and re-assert his authority over a party currently in a shambles.
I am told Mulayam shouted and shrieked both on Tuesday and Wednesday. His ire is understandable and so is his desperation: if he loses Uttar Pradesh he has nothing left. He might as well go back to his original profession: wrestling. Nevertheless, here too Gujral should have realised that besides threats of "walking out", Mr Yadav has not few but no options. Where can he go? At the time of writing Mr Yadav is still sulking but he and his lieutenants have made it clear that he is very much 'in'.
And then Mr Gujral made the decisive blunder. No doubt, the ministers were fatigued by endless and inconclusive argument; it was getting close to midnight, tempers were frayed. The prime minister, it seems, was "reluctant" but gave in when the question of saving the government arose. What is a little bend in conscience compared to the life of a unique experiment in federal governance? The home secretary was despatched with the proclamation to Rashtrapati Bhavan; he returned, as we all know, without a signature.
Consider an alternative scenario. The prime minister declares the meeting adjourned on Tuesday night, requesting all the participants to reflect on the choices and their consequences. Between midnight and the following noon, he does what he belatedly did on Wednesday, namely get reactions—a simple yes or no—from the four regional parties, and Jyoti Basu. This would have left Mulayam totally isolated. Subsequently, Mr Gujral could have confronted Kesri with a much stronger hand (not only was there near-consensus against President's rule, but the Attorney General had warned that the courts were likely to decide in favour of the BJP) without having committed his government to President's rule.
There is much talk of damage-limitation, but, alas, the damage has already been done. It is too late to undo it. Forty-eight hours before the confidence vote in the UP assembly, the BJP looked divided and disconsolate. Advani and Vajpayee were drifting apart thanks to the indiscretions (were they really indiscretions or merely statements of fact?) of the loose-tongued Govindacharya; the RSS and the upper castes were beginning to wonder whether "social engineering" was the right horse to back; in Gujarat, the wobbly Vaghela was managing to survive; Mr Advani's hold over the party was diminishing even as the squabbling over who should succeed him as president mounted.
In one stroke, or rather by one ill-considered move, the well-meaning but inept United Front coalition has brought BJP rajya in India that much nearer. They say a week is a long time in politics; in India a day is a long time. I don't know about you, but I am doing some speed-reading of the life and thoughts of Guru Golwalkar.
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