14.28
Abdus Salaam stirred his tea, then murmured, ‘Well, from what you have said I can see you are veering towards rejoining the Congress, Minister Sahib.’
Mahesh Kapoor shrugged his shoulders. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘why are you so dubious about it? How can you be so sure he won’t gain — or regain — a grip on things? He turned the whole party around and seized the reins when no one expected it of him. He may surprise us further.’
‘I was at the All-India Congress Committee meeting in Delhi, as you know,’ said Abdus Salaam casually, focusing on a spot in the middle distance. ‘I saw him seizing the reins at close range. Well, it was quite a sight — do you want a first-hand account?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, Minister Sahib, it was the second day. There we were, all of us, in the Constitution Club. Nehru had been elected President the previous day — but of course he had not actually accepted. He said he wanted to sleep over the matter. He asked us to sleep over the matter. Everyone slept over the matter, and the next afternoon we waited for him to speak. He had not accepted, of course, but he was in the chair. Tandon was among the leaders on the dais, but Nehru was in the chair. The previous day he had refused the chair, but today, well, today, perhaps he thought that such extreme delicacy might be misinterpreted. Or perhaps Tandon had put his foot down and refused to sit where he so clearly was not wanted.’
‘Tandon,’ admitted Mahesh Kapoor, ‘was one of the few who refused to go along with the decision to divide the country when the Congress Party voted for Partition. No one says he’s not a man of principle.’
‘Well,’ said Abdus Salaam in passing, ‘Pakistan was a good thing.’
Seeing Mahesh Kapoor look shocked, he said: ‘For one thing, with the Muslim League wielding so much power in an undivided India neither could you have got rid of princely states like Marh nor forced through the abolition of zamindari. Everyone knows this, yet no one says so. But all this is water under the bridge, history, spilt milk. So there we were, Minister Sahib, looking reverently upwards at the dais, expecting the conqueror to tell us that he would take no nonsense from anybody, that he would make sure that the party apparatus responded to his slightest touch, that the candidates for the elections would all be his men.’
‘And women.’
‘Yes. And women. Panditji is keen on female representation.’
‘Go on, go on, Abdus Salaam, get to the point.’
‘Well, instead of getting a commander’s battle cry or even a pragmatist’s plan, we got a speech about the Unity of the Heart. We should think above divisions, splits, cliques! We must pull along like a team, a family, a battalion. Dear Chacha Nehru, I felt like saying, this is India, Hindustan, Bharat, the country where faction was invented before the zero. If even the heart is divided into four parts can you expect us Indians to divide ourselves into less than four hundred?’
‘But what did he say about candidates?’ asked Mahesh Kapoor.
Abdus Salaam’s answer was not reassuring.
‘What would he say, being Jawaharlal? That he just did not know and did not care who belonged to which group. That he entirely agreed with Tandonji that the right way to choose a candidate was to choose a man who did not apply for the slot. Of course, he could see that this might not always be possible in practice. And when he said this, Agarwal, who was sitting near me, visibly relaxed — he relaxed and he smiled. I can tell you, Minister Sahib, I did not feel very reassured by the nature of that smile.’
Mahesh Kapoor nodded and said, ‘And then Panditji agreed to accept the Presidency?’
‘Not quite,’ said Abdus Salaam. ‘But he said he had thought about it. Luckily for us, he had been able to obtain some sleep that night. He confided in us that the previous day, when his name had been put up and accepted at once, he did not quite know what to do. Those were his words: “I did not quite know what to do.” But now, having slept over it, he told us that he realized that it was not an easy matter for him to escape from this responsibility. Not an easy matter at all.’
‘So all of you breathed a sigh of relief.’
‘That, Minister Sahib, is correct. But we had breathed too early. A niggling doubt had struck him. A minor doubt, but one that niggled. He had slept, and made up his mind. Or almost, yes, almost made up his mind. But the question was: had we slept and made up our minds again — or at least not changed our minds? And if we had, how could we show him that we meant it? And how could we make him believe it?’
‘Well, what did you do?’ asked Mahesh Kapoor rather shortly. He found Abdus Salaam’s mode of narration far too leisurely for his tastes.
‘Well, what could we do? We raised our hands again. But that was not enough. Then some of us raised both our hands. But that would not do either. Panditji wanted no formal show, no revoting with hands or feet. He wanted a demonstration of our “minds and hearts”. Only then could he decide whether to accept our request or not.’
Abdus Salaam paused, awaiting a Socratic response, and Mahesh Kapoor, realizing that things would not move without it, supplied it.
‘That must have put you in a quandary,’ he said.
‘It did indeed,’ said Abdus Salaam. ‘I kept thinking: seize the levers of power; select your candidates. He kept talking about minds and hearts. I noticed Pant and Tandon and Sharma looking at him in perplexity. And L.N. Agarwal kept smiling his twisted little smile to himself.’
‘Go on, go on.’
‘So then we clapped.’
‘But that did not do either?’
‘No, Minister Sahib, that did not do either. So then we decided to pass a resolution. But Pandit Nehru would have none of it. We would have shouted “Long live Pandit Nehru!” till we were hoarse, but everyone knew that that would have put him in a temper. He does not care for personality cults. He does not care for flattery — for patent or vociferous flattery. He is a democrat through and through.’
‘How was the problem resolved, Salaam? Will you please tell your story, without waiting for me to ask you questions?’
‘Well,’ said Abdus Salaam, ‘there was only one way to resolve it. Exhausted, and unwilling to sleep over anything again, we turned to Nehruji himself. We had racked our brains and thought ourselves thin, and none of our offerings had been acceptable to him. Perhaps he would grace us with a suggestion himself. What would satisfy him that our hearts and minds were with him? At this, our supreme leader looked perplexed. He did not know.’
‘He did not know?’ Mahesh Kapoor could not help exclaiming.
‘He did not know.’ Abdus Salaam’s face took on one of Nehru’s more melancholy expressions. ‘But after a few minutes of thought he found his way out of the difficulty. We were all to join him in a patriotic shout of “Jai Hind!” That would show him that our hearts and minds were in the right place.’
‘So that was what you did?’ said Mahesh Kapoor with rather a rueful smile himself.
‘That was what we did. But our first shout was not full-throated enough. Panditji looked unhappy, and we could see the Congress and the country collapsing before our eyes. So we raised another shout, a mighty cry of “Jai Hind!” such as almost caused the Constitution Club to collapse about our ears. And Jawaharlal smiled. He smiled. The sun came out and all was well.’
‘And that was that?’
‘And that was that.’
14.29
Every year at the time of shraadh, Mrs Rupa Mehra had a struggle with her eldest son, which she, after a fashion, won. Every year, Mrs Mahesh Kapoor had a struggle with her husband, which she lost. And Mrs Tandon had no struggle at all, except with her memories of her husband; for Kedarnath performed his father’s rites in full accordance with his duty.