Going backwards to the future

THE most important thing to look for in any book forecasting future events is the date of its publication. Then you can be sure how much of it deals with the past and how much of it is forecasting. In relating the past they are on reasonably firm ground but keep up the pretence they knew about it beforehand. The second thing you should note about them is that when they forecast events to come they use delightfully vague language punctuated with ifs and buts so it is impossible to pin them down.

This is true of Vyasa’s Bhavishyavaani, the Bhrigu Samhita, Nostradamus, Cheiro and all other soothsayers. No one should take them seriously. Theirs are outpourings of sick minds which only the most gullible will accept. Hence, I was pained to note that as painstaking and respected a scholar of Sikh theology as Professor Surinder Singh Kohli, retired head of the Department of Punjabi of the Panjab University, Chandigarh, should have wasted more than 60 years of his precious life studying various versions of Sau Saakhi (100 tales) compiled by men claiming to be contemporaries of the last Sikh Guru, Gobind Singh.

All these Sau Saakhis have been used to propagate claims of men like Maharaja Dalip Singh when he tried to regain his father’s kingdom down to that of Maharajah Yadavendra Singh of Patiala on the Partition of the Punjab in 1947. The British also made use of them by circulating versions of such Saakhis to suit their own ends.

Sikh Predictions (based on all relevant texts) compiled by Surinder Singh Kohli (Munshi Ram Manaharlal) makes amusing reading for only one reason: It is a lot of garbage assembled by a good man. I will give just one instance of the kind of stuff it is and let you judge for yourself. This is taken from the 61st of the Sau Saakhis:

"The Kaliyuga in the beginning was destined to move for four lakhs and thirty-two thousand years. In this age the number of good people will decline and there will be great suffering. You will listen at first to the Bhavishya Purana in which the sage Vyasa unfolded several secret things, after which you will listen to the sacred utterances of Guru Nanak Dev and then I shall give my own perceptions. The age of two lakh years of Kaliyuga dwindles away by the sinful deeds of four major castes and one lakh will be cut down by the wrong actions of the four ashramas; half-a-lakh will be diminished by the sins of women; two thousand will decrease by the bad deeds of young boys and girls and two more thousand will go away by the bad deeds of foolish and mad persons. Ten thousand will diminish by the wrongful actions in fairs and festivals and five thousand more will dwindle away through apostates and agnostics. The remaining age of Kaliyuga will pass in sins and then at the end of the age, the Kalki incarnation will appear. The righteous disciplines of major castes and ashramas will disappear and the hypocrisies and humbugs shall prevail. Once early in the morning Kaliyuga manifested himself far away from the city, in a terrible form for the sight of Guru Nanak (as recorded in Janaksakhi). He had blue garments on his body; then he began to laugh and looking towards the Guru uttered the Name of the Lord. His sins were destroyed for having the right of the Guru and all his doubts were effaced."

Goa: X-mas to New Year

Comes New Year’s Eve. The hotel is again decked up like a marriage pandal: coloured lights, buntings, large paintings and Neptune and full-bosomed mermaids. And once again Christmas carols blare through loud-speakers: "Holy Night Silent Night, all is clear, all is bright," followed by "Holy and the Ivy", and I am dreaming of a white Christmas. Indeed in warm, sunny Goa you can only dream of snow in distant lands?

I prepare myself for the festivities: longer walk on the beach, longer time in the sauna, more lengths in the chilly water of the bathing pool, dinner at the Sea Cuisine; crab with garlic sauce. Instead of joining festivities, I watch Star TV.

Early to bed. At midnight I get severe constriction of the throat. I fear I may not have a voice left in the morning. I get up and scribble on the hotel pad: "Sore throat. Can’t speak. Get me some vitamin C tablets and Dispirin from Vasco." A glass of orange juice soothes my throat. I am able to convey my request in clear voice, but symptoms of oncoming cold and fever present themselves. So on New Year’s Eve my hopes to double my time on the beach, the health club and the swimming pool are washed away. I spend the morning lying listlessly. Moral: learn to be your age. At midnight I am rudely shaken up by explosion of bombs and crackers and men yelling at the tops of their voices. I realise 1998 has died, 1999 has been born.

* * *

New Year’s Day 1999. Looks no different from December 31, 1998. The same calm sea, middle-aged people strolling on the beach, children screaming as they jump to meat incoming waves, poolside strewn with masses of white flesh; it is hard to keep one’s eyes straying to girls wearing tight shorts. I can’t risk another swim to cool off or burn away my libidinous fantasies in a sauna. I do the next best thing: I return to my novel in a frantic bid to finish it. I do. Exactly at 3.30 pm. I kill the hero of my novel, Only one Life to Live with an overdose of sleeping pills. First I made him into the world’s champion womaniser, then gave him AIDS, then made him commit suicide. Penguin Viking have agreed to publish it. I fear they will chicken out at the last minute.

* * *

How long will Goa remain India’s paradise on earth? I got an idea of the shape of things to come on my last evening. I was invited for drinks by Jagdish Khanna and his wife Milti who own the Majorda Beach Resort. The narrow, winding pot-holed road made a 15-minute drive stretch to over half-an-hour. If they have any plans of repairing and widening roads, they remain on paper. The Majorda Resort is a beautifully designed hotel stretching over 22 acres of lawns, bathing pools and flowerbeds, right up to the sea. Like many other Goan hotels it has its regulars from abroad: many Germans and Australians spend many weeks of winter in the same hotel.

Majorda Beach is much larger than Bogmalo: it stretches on either side of the hotel as far as the eye can see. But It is being encroached on. Snacks with restaurants have been raised on the sand against government regulations and rules laid down by the Ministry of Tourism. All the encroachers have to do is to square the local panchayat to avoid action being taken against them. All states have corrupt politicians and ministers.

Tiny Goa has a surfeit of this venal breed with their quota of musclemen to back them. So encroachments on beaches continues apace. Shack owners have no arrangements for disposal of garbage. They simply dump it in the wood nearest them. Pi dogs and crows feed on the litter and crumbs thrown by visitors. If this goes on unchecked, Goa’s lovely beaches will become a memory of the past. They are the best things Goa has to offer: no beaches, no tourism. However, my evening at Majorda was very pleasant: munching succulent prawns dipped in garlic sauce and a trio called Golden Notes led by Agostinho Da Cruz playing Goan melodies — one song Satanichea bongrar was in Konkani, set to a Portuguese tune.

I left Majorda around 8 pm. A full moon shone in at its silvery glory in a clear blue sky. No electric lights around most of the route, so one could see hillsides bathed in moonlight and paddy fields flooded with water shimmer like quick silver. Back in my hotel I sat on my room balcony, watching the moonlight playing on Bogmalo Beach. When I got up at 5 am the moon was sinking on the western horizon. I saw it lose its lustre as day light came on. It was very beautiful, also very sad. I knew I will not be able to come to Goa again but I hope and pray others will continue to visit it in increasing numbers and enjoy their stay as much as I have over the last 15 years.

Politicians’ story

A criminal-politician’s tale starts with glory and ends in jail;
But the lawyers and the court Issue him a free passport,
And he is soon released on bail!

* * *

Politician’s face is sooty;
His house is full of booty.
In the pursuit of wealth,
Which is acquired by stealth,
He has forgotten his duty.

(Contributed by Rajendra Singh, New Delhi)