"That’s the only way they will
learn to fight the mafia that exists in each village and district,"
I said. At the mention of the word, mafia, his head jerked and his eyes
swivelled towards me . It occurred to me then that we use the word
loosely. With his Italian connection he understood something quite
different by it.
We finally talked about
the subject that had brought us together. The reference to Punjab was
brief. He said that Mrs Gandhi would accept any reasonable solution
proposed by Bhindranwale and Longowal. "Try and get something
quickly," he said. I assured him that I would. I promised to
contact him immediately on my return. On that note we parted.
I had met Bhindranwale
only once before. At that meeting we had a long discussion after which I
wrote a column on the subject. In our first meeting Bhindranwale had
been at great pains to say that he was not a terrorist. The Press
continued to describe him as one, he said angrily. "Will you write
that I am not a terrorist?" he had asked.
"Yes, I will", I
said. And I did. Bhindranwale gave me a long account of how the
government had discriminated against the Sikhs because it refused to
appoint a commission of inquiry despite dozens of Sikhs being
slaughtered by the Nirankaris at the Mehta Chowk incident.
For my meeting to be
useful I knew that it would not suffice to meet him as a journalist.
Bhindranwale had to be alerted about the mission on which I was coming.
My elder brother, Prikshat, was a general in the Army. He was
Engineer-in-Chief at Army Headquarters. Bhindranwale’s elder brother,
Captain Harcharan Singh Rode, was posted at Jalandhar and served under
Brigadier Sukhi Randhawa, also of the Engineers.
I asked my brother for
assistance. He telephoned Brigadier Randhawa who explained the problem
to Captain Rode. The captain agreed to help. He said he would alert
Bhindranwale about the purpose of the visit. Then he would personally
escort me to the Golden Temple where Bhindranwale was staying.
Through another political
channel I had arranged to meet Longowal. He too had been briefed about
the purpose of my visit. Both Longowal and Bhindranwale stayed in
different parts of the Golden Temple complex. There was smouldering
hostility between the two. The Akalis had appointed Longowal to lead the
struggle against the government.
Captain Rode left me in
the waiting room and went inside to confer with his brother. Within
minutes he returned and asked me to enter and meet Bhinranwale.
"Take all the time you want," he said. He warmly shook my hand
and left for Jalandhar. After my meetings with Bhindranwale and Longowal
I would return by train to Delhi. I had earlier checked into a hotel for
an overnight stay.
Bhindranwale was alone in
the room. I told him about my meeting with Rajiv. We talked for over 70
minutes. He summoned all the demons that tortured his mind. There was a
conspiracy to eliminate and subvert the Khalsa, he said.
Otherwise why would the Hindu government in Delhi have protected the
Nirankaris? The Nirankari Guru insulted the Guru Granth Sahib, he
said. He sat at a higher elevation than the Guru Granth Sahib, the
Sikh holy scriptures, while giving his public discourses. Why did the
government not act against the Nirankaris after they massacred innocent
Sikhs at Mehta Chowk...?
The words tumbled out like
a rambling river of woes. "Look at the Jews," he said.
"They are less than a crore surrounded by crores and crores of
Arabs. The Jews keep the Arabs at bay. There are over two crore Sikhs.
You think the Sikh’s bone is weaker than the Jew’s bone ?"
"Of course not,"
I said. "Look, if the Sikhs really want to create Khalistan and are
prepared to die for it, I have little doubt they will succeed. But what
do they really want? What do you want? Do you want Khalistan?"
"I have never asked
for Khalistan," he said. "But if they give me Khalistan on a
golden plate, I won’t refuse it!"
"That’s clear then,
" I said. "You don’t want Khalistan! So what do you
want?"
"I want to protect
the identity, honour and tradition of the Khalsa, " he
declared with some passion.
"Okay", I said.
"That means preserving the spiritual tradition of the Khalsa.
That is the mission of a true sant. You do that. The Sikh youth
look up to you. They will heed you. Demand a radio and TV channel from
the Golden Temple. Look after the spiritual side of the Sikh race. Why
bog yourself down with petty political issues like the sharing of river
waters and the status of Chandigarh? Why not let Longowal look after
these and bargain with the government? Your task is higher. You must
address yourself to Sikhs all over the world!" He thought for a
while. "Very well," he said. "You can tell the Dictator
to hammer any settlement with the government. I won’t come in the
way." By Dictator he meant Longowal, who had been appointed leader
of the Akali struggle. He used the word Dictator with some slight
contempt.
"Can I tell him
that?"
"Yes, you have my
word."
After a few perfunctory
remarks, I departed. I was elated. I was confident that Longowal would
cooperate. His main hurdle had been cleared.
The next day I called on
Longowal. I reached at the appointed hour. There were a couple of Akalis
in the room. One of them said that Longowal was in the bath, and asked
me to wait. I knew what was happening. Longowal knew that I had already
met Bhindranwale. By making me wait he was showing my place and his! I
could not help observing the difference between the Sikhs surrounding
Bhindrawale and those surrounding Longowal. Bhindranwale’s lieutenants
were youths, mostly with fair skins, some with light eyes, sporting
swords and spears, wearing saffron turbans and coarse tunics over bare
legs. They had an air or innocence mingled with intensity, so often seen
among fanatics and true believers. The men around Longowal were fat and
sleek, with blue turbans, dressed in polyster tunics and pyjamas.
They looked like conference-hall politicians.
After an hour had passed,
Longowal entered the room. He greeted me politely. "I was washing
my hair," he murmured. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
I assured him that it was
alright. "I said. "I thought it better to first get a blanket
assurance from him that he would not object to proposals put up by you.
He has agreed. After all he is not political. You have to protect the
political interests of Punjab."
Longowal’s face softened
and he looked pleased. After that it was smooth sailing. We talked for
an hour. We talked of politics and politicians. We deplored the current
crop of politicians. We talked about the Partition. How the British had
manipulated events. "If just fifty leaders had been eliminated in
1947, India would have remained united," he said.
Eventually we came to the
minimum demands of the Sikhs for a settlement with the Central
Government. I cannot recall the exact demands, but they were
unexceptionable. Something about the river waters, the status of
Chandigarh, the principles by which the future of Abohar and Fazilka
might be settled, broadcasting facilities for the Golden Temple,
declaring the immediate area around the Golden Temple a holy place with
some administrative rights for the Golden Temple authorities, and other
mundane issues. For the most part, Longowal wanted to abide by previous,
or future, adjunction by the courts. He appeared eminently reasonable.
Going by the meetings with
both Bhindranwale and Longowal, a settlement seemed to be clinched. I
buoyantly returned to Delhi to apprise Rajiv of these developments.
* * *
Just a few hours hours
after Mrs Gandhi was killed on October 31, I visited the Bharatiya
Janata Party office at Ashok Road. I was a member of its National
Executive. There was a hushed atmosphere in the room. L.K. Advani
thought there would be tremendous sympathy for the Congress. The party’s
Punjab leader, Baldev Prakash, echoed this sentiment. Others thought
that public grief would know no bounds. I had already toured parts of
the city by car. I found no grief even though people knew she had been
killed. This surprised me. I shared my experience with the BJP leaders.
Vijay Kumar Malhotra said I must be mistaken. I must have confused
shocked silence with lack of grief.
"Come with me and I’ll
take you around," I said. We got into my car and drove around. We
stopped at different places and asked people if they knew what had
happened. The response we got at a petrol station where I stopped to
fill my car was typical.
I asked the petrol station
attendant in a hushed tone, "Have you heard the news?" He
continued his chore without batting an eye. He said laconically,
"You mean about her being shot? Yes, we have heard."
Vijay was as stunned as I
was by the strange public apathy and unconcern over the assassination.
When I dropped Vijay at the party office, he got out of the car without
a word. This total apathy continued for almost the whole day. Then a
relative of Arjun Das, a close follower of Sanjay Gandhi, stabbed a Sikh
in one part of the city. Around the same time President Zail Singh, a
Sikh, visited the All India Medical Institute where Mrs Gandhi’s body
lay. A few miscreants stoned his car.
The next day the anti-Sikh
riots began. It was a systematic massacre. Sikh homes were earmarked,
and then torched. Sikhs were pulled out of their homes and killed or
burnt alive. I witnessed the carnage at several places. A mob burnt a
shop near Regal Cinema in Connaught Place while a policeman looked on
silently.
"Why don’t you stop
them?" I snarled.
He shrugged. "What
can I do?" he said with a smirk. This continued for several days. I
visited Atal Behari Vajpayee’s residence at Raisina Road. From the
verandah where we stood, we heard a mob intercepting a car outside on
the street. We rushed to the gate. Some of Vajpayee’s aides
accompanied us. There were urchins and youths with a can of petrol
surrounding a car. Vajpayee shouted from the gate. I advanced menacingly
towards the urchins mouthing vile expletives in Punjabi. The urchins
evaporated. We returned inside. Later I learnt that the same mob went
farther and set fire to a car with a Sikh locked inside. He was burnt
alive.
If the police wanted, the
situation could have been controlled easily. In fact, I witnessed
policemen urging lumpen youth from shanty colonies to burn and loot. The
miscreants were seen carrying TV sets and other articles from burning
shops while policemen watched benignly. I visited the dwellers of Pandu
Nagar, a shanty colony near Patel Nagar.
One ragged youth told me,
"We keep awake all night fearing the Sikhs will attack us!"
"But it is you who
have terrorised the Sikhs and burnt their shops," I said.
"Yes," he said.
"That’s why we fear they will come at night to take
revenge!"
The Sikhs were in no
position to take revenge. Along with Ram Jethmalani, I visited the camps
set up for homeless Sikhs. They were outnumbered and terrorised. I
visited some of the worst sites like Khichripur in East Delhi where poor
defenceless Sikhs were brutally killed while their wives and children
watched. The rich Sikhs of Punjabi Bagh and South Delhi lost homes,
shops and factories. The poor Sikhs living in shanties and resettlement
colonies lost lives. And this was all done by mobs from poor slums and
shanty colonies, with the police watching silently.
The Army offered to
control the situation at the first signs of an ugly situation. The
government bluntly ordered the Army to desist. Only after the carnage,
after more than three thousand Sikhs had been slaughtered, after forty
to fifty thousand had been rendered homeless, did the government take
steps to stop the violence. Once the government moved in, the violence
stopped almost immediately.
The government did not, as
it normally does, promptly announce a commission of inquiry to probe the
genocide. Private inquiries by public-spirited citizens of repute did
the job. The Peoples Union of Democratic Rights (PUDR) and the Peoples
Union of Civil Liberties (PUCL) jointly conducted a probe. The various
unofficial inquiries came to a common conclusion. Congress Party leaders
had conspired to unleash the genocide.
The Congress itself
projected a very different view. In a public speech after the genocide,
Rajiv Gandhi said: "When a big tree falls, the earth
trembles!" Years later a Sikh in Chandigarh, Sher Singh Sher,
recounted in a public speech Gandhi’s words and then tauntingly asked:
"Were there only Sikhs sitting under that tree?"
Rajiv Gandhi in a public
speech in Bihar on December 2, less than a month after the genocide,
said that the same extremist elements that killed Indira Gandhi later
engineered riots in Delhi to destabilise the nation. In subsequent
speeches he repeated this. He said that a deep-rooted conspiracy to
assassinate his mother was financed by outside sources. In other words,
he alleged that the assassination and the genocide were part of a single
conspiracy.
If Rajiv Gandhi is to be
believed does it not follow that the general election that immediately
followed these events was also a part of the same conspiracy? For over
two weeks during the election campaign, close on the heels of the
genocide, the government TV channel—there were no cable channels then—repeatedly
showed the same scene on TV screens across the nation. Congress
sympathisers surrounding Indira Gandhi’s dead body chanted:
"Blood to avenge blood!"
As a result of the mass
hysteria generated, a political novice obtained the largest mandate ever
accorded to any leader in independent India. Rajiv Gandhi won with a
substantially bigger majority than either Pandit Nehru or Indira Gandhi
ever did. Going by Rajiv Gandhi’s logic, if there was indeed a single
conspiracy behind the assassination and the genocide, its biggest
beneficiary was Rajiv Gandhi himself.
Thus did 1984 end. It
became a defining moment in the history of India. Seven years later,
Rajiv Gandhi himself was assassinated. A woman who was a human bomb,
sent by the LTTE on a suicide mission, staying in a house owned by a
prominent Congress leader, walked up to Rajiv Gandhi in a public meeting
to take his life. From being the unwitting beneficiary of conspiracy,
Rajiv Gandhi became its victim.
Excerpts from an article
being published by a new magazine, National Review in its
forthcoming issue.
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