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1971 war — bid to distort facts
India wanted US intervention
by Justice Rajindar Sachar (retd)
THE recently declassified documents of the 1971 war between India and Pakistan have without doubt established the fact of absolute tilt of US President Nixon and his then National Security Adviser Henry Kissinger against India. This hostile stand taken by Nixon was sought to be justified by the false premise that Indira Gandhi, then Prime Minister, was, right from the beginning, determined to attack East Pakistan. This, however, was a lie and Nixon, above all the people, knew that she tried her best to avoid a confrontation with Pakistan. As a matter of fact, Indira Gandhi tried her best to persuade Nixon to intervene at an early stage to help her do so. Nixon and Kissinger were visiting India in mid-1971. At that time people in large numbers fleeing from East Pakistan and terror by the Pakistan Army were creating havoc in West Bengal and the rest of the country. Mrs Gandhi was obviously under a big strain. She, therefore, invited both of them for a private breakfast to be able to discuss the matter urgently. However, on the evening before, Mrs Gandhi telephoned General Manekshaw, our Army Chief, and told him that she would like him to come and meet her at breakfast next morning. She did not disclose as to who her other guests were. She further told the General that when he would come for breakfast, he should be in uniform. Naturally, the General felt surprised and asked whether he had heard rightly that she wanted him to come in uniform at the breakfast because it was naturally a very strange suggestion. Mrs Gandhi was straightforward and told him, “Yes, she wanted him to come for breakfast but in uniform.” So, General Manekshaw went for breakfast in full uniform and soon they were joined by Nixon and Kissinger. At that meeting Mrs Gandhi was persistent in pleading with Nixon that he should try to restrain Pakistan for what was being done in East Pakistan because the conditions there were becoming intolerable and it was almost getting impossible for India to remain silent. Nixon and Kissinger went on prevaricating and would not really give a straight answer. Rather they tried to underplay the situation. Mrs Gandhi, however, still insisted, but without success. Rather, Nixon, in half annoyance, is said to have told her that the US could do nothing about it. Obviously rattled, she made a last-minute appeal to Nixon to do something, otherwise she may have to do something herself which she was reluctant to do. At this Nixon again expressed his inability to do anything and asked her rather ironically as to what she intended to do. At that time she stood up and, pointing towards General Manekshaw (who was in full military uniform), told Nixon that if you could not control the situation, then I would ask him (meaning the General) to do the same. There was stunning silence for a minute and the sharp message was conveyed to Nixon in a very stark manner. As a matter of fact, the General was himself surprised and suddenly understood the purpose as to why he had been asked to come in uniform rather than in civilian clothes at an apparently harmless function of breakfast. Obviously, Nixon and Kissinger had their egos deflated and were not going to forgive Mrs Gandhi for such an attitude. Mrs Gandhi had no other course but to create world opinion in favour of India. She requested J.P. (Jayaprakash Narayan), a famous socialist and legendary hero of the freedom struggle, to go on a world tour to explain India’s case, which he willingly undertook. Still matters were getting worse, but India could not directly intervene. Refugees were continuing to pour in from East Pakistan. Sidharth Shankar Ray was in charge of the borders. On one of the usual visits by Mrs Gandhi to the border area, where a public meeting was being held, she reassured the public that the matter was being looked into properly. She told Ray that after the public meeting she would go back to Delhi, and Ray should stay for some days in Calcutta and come later. At the public meeting, while Mrs Gandhi was addressing, one of her aides handed her a small paper — she read it and put it in her pocket and continued as usual with her speech. After the meeting ended and when she was going to the airport, she told Ray that he should come along with her to Delhi. Ray was a little surprised at this sudden change of the programme. But her followers did not ask questions — there was implicit compliance. After about 15 minutes of flight onward to Delhi Mrs Gandhi leaned back in her seat a bit relaxed, took out a paper given to her at the public meeting and told Ray, who was sitting next to her, that here was the information, “Pakistan has attacked”. At first blush, it would seem strange that Mrs Gandhi should seem relaxed on knowing about Pakistan’s attack. But there was obvious logic — India was reeling under refugee influx and yet it dared not attack East Pakistan because then the world opinion would call it the aggressor. An excuse was necessary and Pakistan had now conveniently provided it. Of course, let it be an objective war on the eastern front was all that weighed in favour of India. As General Arora told me, the whole population of East Pakistan was against the rulers in West Pakistan. Movements of the Pakistan Army were leaked in detail by the Mukti Bahini and its volunteers to the Indian Army, whose task was made smooth. To make matters still easier, the Indian Air Force had no opposition and bombarded General Niazi’s official bungalow. As one of the Air Chiefs told me, “You can’t imagine the panic, the utter helplessness at being bombarded from above by enemy planes, knowing full well that you can’t even send one plane to stop them. It was inevitable that Niazi surrendered without losing much time. Fortunately, we, both Pakistan and India, have already put those sad memories behind us and are determined to march forward together on a common course of mutual confidence building for a bright future for our people. The past should not control the future of the two countries.n The writer is a former Chief Justice of the High Court of Delhi.
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A matter of genes
by Harish Dhillon
I was heading YPS Patiala, and YPS Mohali was without a Principal. So, for a few months I did alternate days at both schools. On one trip to Mohali, during the fruit break, I came out of my office to find two boys chasing each other around the main building. It had rained the night before and one of them slipped on the wet concrete of the verandah. “Are you all right?” I called and for answer he flashed me a reassuring smile. My heart skipped a beat. Only one other person had that cracked, broken smile. It had been years ago and there could not possibly be a connection and yet I could not help myself and called out a tentative: “Po?” He looked questioningly at me and then ran away. I shook my head and continued on my round. But next morning I had visitors — Chut Po and his charming wife, Raman. That boy was their son, Shivraj. The next time I ran into this phenomenon was at Sanawar. There was a tradition that all new-comers were invited to tea at the Headmaster’s house. By now many of the Old Sanawarians, who had passed through my hands when I was a teacher, were sending their offspring to school. I played a fascinating game at this party, identifying these children and trying to establish which Old Sanawarian they belonged to. It wasn’t too difficult, the colour of the eyes, the defiant slant of the chin, the high cheekbones, the timbre of the voice, a familiar gesture — most of the time I was able to make this identification correctly. On one such occasion, a perky little girl looked defiantly at me and threw out a challenge: “I bet you can’t tell whose daughter I am!” I took one look at the bent right knee and the left arm held akimbo. There could not be an iota of doubt. “You are Rajni Parmar’s daughter.” She had the grace to blush with embarrassment and the blush, too, was Rajni’s blush. I had come across this manifestation of similar genes, early in life. On leave from the NDA, I had gone to visit my mother’s aunt, in Attari. While I was there, a visitor came to see my grand aunt, a friend of my grandmother. She was old and blind and she listened in silence for a while as I talked to my aunt. My aunt interrupted me and turning to the lady asked, “Bijee, do you know who this is?” And the old lady, without a moment’s pause, had said: “He is Beant’s son,” naming my mother, who had been dead and gone for more than a dozen years now. “He talks exactly like her.” At the time I had thought she must have heard Masiji using my name and was indulging in sentimental nonsense. But my experience with the progeny of my former students has made me think there is truth in what she had said.n
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In memory of the Hindi novel
As Hindi spreads in its scope in the market place, especially through the entertainment industry, the same can’t be said about its depth. When was it last that a Hindi novel or a piece of literature became a cult in its own right?
Nidheesh Tyagi
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NO one remembers Raag Darbari for the awards it received. We remember it because it brings a smile on our face with amusing memories of its narrative. Srilal Shukla wrote this Hindi novel in 1969 that became a cult. It has been translated into 17 languages (in English by Gillian Wright), has sold several reprints, has been turned into one of the most interesting television serials by Doordarshan in the eighties. It remains one of the best gifts of Hindi literature to its readers and one of the most notable novels. It is a hilarious piece meandering through the minds, peoples and situations of the Indian cow-belt. Shukla was announced to be the recipient of the coveted Gnanpeeth award four decades after writing of this cult novel… and two weeks before his death!
As Raag Darbari amply demonstrates, a well written book can do well without (last minute) awards and will find its readers through the length and breadth of its own domain and across the language barriers. It is difficult to find cult novels in Hindi anymore to match the likes and class of Agyeya, Faneeshwar Nath Renu, Nirmal Verma, Amrit Lal Nagar, Acharya Chatursen, Kamleshwar, Mohan Rakesh, Dharmvir Bharati, Rajendra Yadav, Manohar Shyam Joshi, Hari Shankar Parsai, Vinod Kumar Shukla, Mannu Bhandari, Rahi Masoom Raza and Shivani. Most of these works happened several decades ago and barring a few, most writers are not with us anymore. Long before they were dead, the process of churning out novels had faded away. Today it is hard to find a single young writer penning one serious novel which has the promise and potential of becoming a cult book on its own. When we compare this to the Indian writings in English and other languages, especially Marathi and Bangla, there is something seriously amiss in Hindi. Novels remain the most concrete body of work for any literature, but now we don’t see much of it happening in a language which is spoken by most of this country, runs a billion dollar entertainment industry from Mumbai and also has the constitutional support as Rajbhasha of this country. Some irony here. So what happened?
Forever nascent Hindi publishing industry
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As Raag Darbari amply demonstrates, a well written book can do well without (last minute) awards and will find its readers through the length and breadth of its own domain and across the language barriers.
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What looks like consequence of several factors may also be the cause of the void it has created in the sanctum sanctorum of Hindi consciousness, literature being at the core of it. All the cult novels we read in Hindi didn’t come from any kind of government patronage or the awards they won. They came from the depths and layers of their own culture, thoughts, politics, society, history and mythologies. Hindi also saw a huge boom in the number of schooled, thanks to literacy mission, but that changed the status of the culturally literates into a minority. In between the ideologies and politics of languages, writers lost their hold on the ground and became monochromatic. The source of entertainment shifted from books to the multiple channels giving easy gratification of the TV remote. We will remember Rahi Masoom Raza not for Adha Gaon but for the serial Mahabharat on Sunday mornings, when streets were completely deserted and India was glued to its telly. In the last two decades, Hindi newspapers saw a huge boom as half of the most circulated and read newspapers in India are in Hindi. While Hindi has increased its length and breadth manifolds, and enhanced its market cap, where has its depth gone? Somewhere in the midst of this change, literature lost its mass appeal. Most Hindi book publishers have cottage industry status, largely dependent upon the government procurement orders (thanks to Rajbhasha status) and not on the retail sales. So, there are far fewer paperbacks in Hindi than the costlier hardbound books, which readers can afford and easily access too. Most community libraries have lost, or, are losing their sheen. Compare this to the emergence of publishing of Indian English writings and one can almost draw a pattern of where the educated middle class is finding its voice, where more books are coming from, discussed, sold and celebrated in Literary festivals, which have token presence of Bollywood icons like Gulzar and Javed Akhtar in the name of Hindi. So many English bestsellers are translated into Hindi much before the Hindi original works find a market, they also do better business.
When writers become greater than the writing
The discussion of Hindi literature has deviated from the writings to the writers (life, lobbies, forums they espouse and belong to) and what goes on between two cult writers. The literary class seems more occupied about the fireworks between Rajendra Yadav and Namvar Singh, rather than talking about what’s new in Hindi or the lack of it. More than external factors, this internal transition has led the Hindi writing to the margins of our consciousness. Added to this, the politics that affects the making of syllabi of Hindi in schools and colleges and the shoddy way Hindi teachers are trained with no deep sense of involvement, interest and pride in the language, which has so many gems and much class to offer. Then there is the alienation of writings in Urdu from Hindi, as if it’s a different culture or voice altogether. What Hindi did to Urdu is happening to her. While Urdu had no one on her side, Hindi has had all the support and patronage on her side. Yet, two decades back one could find a number of Marathi, Bengali and Malayalam novels available in Hindi translation, now you don’t hear about it. Literature from other languages helped to enhance the collective consciousness of the creative eco-system we were living in. A Bangla Sharat Chandra and a Marathi Shivaji Sawant could be prominently spotted on the book shelves of the Hindi reader. That window to a greater Indian eco-system seems to be closing now. The talking points of the middle class have changed too. Books and literature are not part of them. It’s about money, security, consumption, acquisitions and television plots. Is this fear baseless that mainstream India is losing its connect with its deeper self, is unable to listen to its own original thought and contextualise and express it in an effective manner? To begin with novels were not an original form in Hindi narrative, short stories and epics were. But then it could internalise the form acquired from the west and make it so beautifully its own.
All noise no essence There is so much noise in Hindi, if you look at the market of commercials, entertainment and information. But, perhaps medium is not the message here. Hindi is used for minting profit, but not much thought is given to profit Hindi language right from school levels to the university courses. There is serious lack of a voice, a deeper thought, a wider narrative and construct, which produced cult novels like Kitne Pakistan, Shekhar Ek Jeevni, Gunahon Ka Devta and Naukar ki Kameez. Because novels are essentially all that — a long evolutionary journey to a hitherto undiscovered world, a connect with deeper self, a certain breezy calmness — all that the present ‘economics of attention’ doesn’t allow. The increasingly consumerist, upwardly mobile middle class lacks the required patience for it. It thrives on distracting the mind in spans of 15 to 30 second commercials. But a novel is more than a speed date. Is Hindi losing its voice in the din of the market place and scripted (and therefore fake) reality shows on TV channels ? When was the last time we heard about a Hindi movie which was based on a Hindi novel? A great novel like Raag Darbari not only irreversibly changes you by the time you have finished reading it, it also gives you a new insight into the ‘incredible’ India. The absence of novels-in-making at present also indicates that we are stepping out of our collective memory which was shaped by our politics, people and their cultural discourse. The long-read defined that connect. Novels institutionalise the lives and times mankind lives in. If there aren’t enough Hindi readers for novels, they can be translated and sold in the market in English and other languages. But the sad part is, besides a Srilal Shukla, a Kamleshwar or a Nirmal Verma, whose rather old works in English translations seem to be doing well, you don’t see much of translations happening from Hindi into English. And it is not just novels — you find a similar void in other genres of Hindi literature, like plays and poetry. There are some good writings of course (like Vinod Kumar Shukla, Udai Prakash, Alka Saraogi, working on their narratives), and they cause a stir but they don’t make a great pattern, a panorama. Their writings survive the noise and the market and the establishment in the name of Hindi. Because of writers like them, all hope is not lost, but it speaks volumes about what has happened to the greater Hindi consciousness, which is not incubating its own ideas, creativity and expressions in a deeper literary way for a long time now.
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