Read India After Gandhi Online
Authors: Ramachandra Guha
Tags: #History, #Asia, #General, #General Fiction
On 24 June an Indian air force plane flew Mookerjee’s body back to his home town, Calcutta. Sheikh Abdullah had laid as hawl on the body, while his deputy, Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed, helped load the stretcher onto the plane. In Calcutta huge crowds lined the thirteen-mile route from Dum Dum airport to the family home in Bhowanipur. Nehru wrote to a friend in Madras that ‘we are having a great deal of trouble as a result of Dr Mookerjee’s death. The atmosphere in Delhi is bad. It is worse in Calcutta.’
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And worse still in Jammu. When the news reached the town an angry mob attacked and looted a government Arts emporium and set fire to government offices.
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In Delhi, meanwhile, a crowd gathered at Ajmeri Gate, wearing black badges, waving black flags and shouting, ‘
Khoon ka Badla Khoon sé laingé
’ (Blood will be avenged by blood). The anger persisted for days. On 5July a portion of Dr Mookerjee’s ashes arrived in the capital; these were carried in a massive procession by the Jana Sangh through the old City, with the marchers shouting slogans of revenge and insisting that ‘
Kashmir hamarahai
’ (Kashmir shall be ours).
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In late June posters appeared in parts of Delhi warning Sheikh Abdullah that he would be killed if he came to the capital. These calls could not be taken lightly, for it had been in a similarly surcharged atmosphere that Mahatma Gandhi had met his end. Now, again, it appeared that ‘in Delhi the entire middle class is in the hands of the [Hindu] communalists’. It was feared that not just the Sheikh, but also ‘Mr Nehrumaymeet the fate . . . of Gandhiji due to the intense propaganda of the communalists’. The police were instructed to look out for ‘any propaganda of a serious nature, or any plans or designs these groups of parties may have against the Prime Minister’.
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The popular movement led by Dr Mookerjee planted the seed of independence in Sheikh Abdullah’’s mind; the outcry following his death seems only to have nurtured it. Sensing this, Nehru wrote two long emotional letters recalling their old friendship and India’s ties to Kashmir. He asked Abdullah to come down to Delhi and meet him. The Sheikh did not oblige. Then Nehru sent Maulana Abul Kalam Azad (the most
senior member of the Cabinet) to Srinagar, but that did not help either. The Sheikh now seemed convinced of two things: that he had the support of the United States and that ‘even Nehru could not subdue [Hindu] communal forces in India’. On 10 July he addressed party workers at Mujahid Manzil, the headquarters of the National Conference in Srinagar. After outlining Kashmir’s, and his own, grievances against the government of India, he said that ‘a time will, therefore, come when I will bid them good-bye’.
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The Sheikh’s turnabout greatly alarmed the prime minister. Writing to a colleague, Nehru said the developments in Kashmir were particularly unfortunate, for ‘anything that happens there has larger and wider consequences’. For the ‘problem of Kashmir [was] symbolic of many things, including our secular policy in India’.
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By now the government of Kashmir was divided within itself, its members (as Nehru observed), liable ‘to pull in different directions and proclaim entirely different policies’. This was in good part the work of the government of India’s Intelligence Bureau. Officers of the Bureau had been working within the National Conference, dividing the leadership and confusing the ranks. Some leaders, such as G. M. Sadiq, were left-wing anti-Americans; they disapproved of the Sheikh’s talks with Stevenson. Others, like Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed, had ambitions of ruling Kashmir themselves.
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There was now an open rift within the National Conference between the pro-India and pro-independence groups. The latter were led by the Sheikh’s close associate Mirza Afzal Beg. The former were in close touch with the sadr-i-riyasat, Karan Singh. It was rumoured that Sheikh Abdullah would declare independence on 21 August – the day of the great Id festival – following which he would seek the protection of the United Nations against ‘Indian aggression’.
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Two weeks before that date Abdullah dismissed a member of his Cabinet. This gave the others in the pro-India faction an excuse to move against him. Led by Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed, they wrote the Sheikh a letter accusing him of encouraging sectarianism and corruption. A copy of the letter was also sent to Karan Singh. He, in turn, dismissed Abdullah and invited Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed to form a government in his place.
Abdullah was served his walking papers in the early hours of the morning. When he was woken up and handed the letter of dismissal, the Sheikh flew into a rage. ‘Who is the sadr-i-riyasat to dismiss me?’, he shouted. ‘I made that chit of a boy sadr-i-riyasat.’ The police then told
him that he had not just been dismissed, but also placed under arrest. He was given two hours to say his prayers and pack his belongings before being taken off to jail.
Why was Abdullah humiliated so? Did he have to be dismissed in the dead of night, and did he then have to be placed under detention? Karan Singh later recalled that this was done because ‘Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed made it quite clear that he could not undertake to run the Government if the Sheikh and Beg were left free to propagate their views’. In other words, he was safe and quiet in jail, whereas as a free man, put out of office, he would quickly mobilize popular sentiment in hisfavour.
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Then, and later, it was widely believed that the arrest of Abdullah was masterminded by Rafi Ahmad Kidwai. Kidwai was a left-leaning member of the Cabinet, and a close friend of Nehru’s. In Delhi it was thought that his desire to humiliate the Sheikh had its roots in the fact that Abdullah was currying favour with the Americans. In Kashmir, however, it was held that this was a plain, if misguided, act of revenge. Back in 1947 Kidwai’s brother had been murdered by a Kashmiri in the hill station of Mussoorie. Deposing the Sheikh was away of settling accounts.
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Did Jawaharlal Nehru himself sanction the arrest of his friend Sheikh Abdullah? Nehru’s biographer thinks he did not know beforehand, whereas his chief of intelligence suggests he did. One thing is clear, however: once the deed was done he did nothing to countermand it.
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Like his predecessor, the new prime minister of Kashmir was a larger-than-life figure. He was known commonly as the Bakshi, much as his predecessor was known as the Sheikh. Born in 1907 in modest circumstances, Ghulam Mohammed began his political career by organizing a union of carriage drivers in Srinagar. That, and four terms in Hari Singh’s jails, gave him sterling nationalist credentials. However, by temperament and orientation he was quite different from the Sheikh. One was a man of ideas and idealism, the other a man of action and organization. When the raiders attacked in October 1947, it was Abdullah who gave the rousing speeches while the Bakshi placed volunteers in position and watched out for potential fifth-columnists. After 1947, while Abdullah dealt with Nehru and Delhi, the Bakshi ‘kept the structure of the State intact, at a time when the whole Government had collapsed and was non-existent’. As two Kashmiri academics wrote in 1950, ‘being a strict disciplinarian himself, he can brook no indiscipline and dilly-dallying
tactics. He is no lover of formal government routine and red-tapism. He believes in quick but right action. The conclusion, in the India of the time, was inescapable: ‘In fact, Bakshi is to Abdullah what Sardar [Patel] is to Nehru.
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The analogy, though attractive, was inexact. For Patel did not covet his boss’s job. And having got that job, the Bakshi intended to keep it. This meant, as he well understood, keeping Delhi on his side. Ten days after he had assumed power he visited Jammu, where he spoke to a large crowd, assuring them that ‘the ties between Kashmir and India are irrevocable. No power on earth can separate the two. Next, speaking in Srinagar to a meeting of National Conference workers, the Bakshi argued that ‘Sheikh Abdullah played directly into the hands of foreign invaders by entertaining the idea of an independent Kashmir’. That, he said, was ‘a dangerous game, pregnant with disastrous consequences for Kashmir, India, and Pakistan’. Since Kashmir lacked the resources to defend itself, independence was a ‘crack-brained idea’, calculated only to make the state a centre of superpower intrigue. It was an idea ‘which can devastate the people’.
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As prime minister, Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed adopted a populist style, holding a
darbar
(court) every Friday, where he heard the grievances of the public. An early move was to raise the procurement price of paddy. Next, he made school education free, sanctioned new engineering and medical colleges and abolished customs barriers between Jammu and Kashmir and the rest of India.
In October 1954 the All-India Newspaper Editors Conference was held in Srinagar. The state government pulled out all the stops, placing the guests in the best hotels and throwing parties at which the finest Kashmiri delicacies were served. A grateful editor wrote that, although the new regime had been in place only for a year, ‘it can be safely said that the Bakshi Government has in some fields, brought in more reforms than did Sheikh Abdullah’s in its six years of existence’. After the public and the press it was the turn of the president. In October 1955 Dr Rajendra Prasad arrived in Srinagar amid ‘carefully whipped-up mass enthusiasm – crowds lining the road from the airport, a procession of boats on the Jhelum. The president had come to inaugurate a hydroelectric project, one of several development schemes begun under the newdispensation.
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All the while Sheikh Abdullah was cooling his heels in detention. He was first housed in an old palace in Udhampur, in the plains, before
being shifted to a cooler bungalow in the mountains, at Kot. He was raising poultry and reported to have become ‘very anti-Indian’.
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Within and outside Kashmir the Bakshi was viewed as something of a usurper. Relevant here are the contents of two secret police reports on Friday prayers in Delhi’s Jama Masjid. On 2 October 1953 the prayers were attended by two members of Parliament from Kashmir. When they were asked by a Muslim cleric to organize a meeting on the situation in Kashmir, the MPs answered that the time was not right, for they were working behind the scenes for the release of Sheikh Abdullah. The MPs said that ‘all Kashmiris would remain with India and die for it’, but if the Sheikh continued to be held in jail, the state might then, in anger, ‘go to Pakistan, for which the responsibility would not be theirs’.
Three months later Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed himself attended prayers in the Jama Masjid. This was a way of claiming legitimacy, for the mosque, built by Shah Jehan in the seventeenth century, was the subcontinent’s grandest and most revered. The keepers of the shrine, sensible of the Bakshi’s proximity to the ruler of Delhi, received him respectfully enough. But, as a police report noted, ‘the Muslims who had congregated there, including some Kashmiris, were talking against Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed in whispering tones. They said that he had become the Prime Minister of Kashmir after putting his “guru” – Sheikh Abdullah – behind bars.’
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In the 1950s, as in the 1940s, the Valley of Kashmir was troubled and unsettled. Behind the troubles of the 1940s lay the indecision of the Maharaja – who refused to accede to either Pakistan or India while there was still time – and the greed and fervour of the tribal raiders who invaded the state. Behind the troubles of the 1950s were the ambitions of Sheikh Abdullah and S. P. Mookerjee. Neither was willing to play within the rules of constitutional democracy. Both raised the political stakes and both, tragically, paid for it.
The developments in Kashmir were worrisome not just to Indians. The British general who had been in charge of the Indian army in 1947 thought that they might very well ‘result in a worsening of Indo-Pak relations’. In the defence of Kashmir he had come to know both the Sheikh and the Bakshi very well. The Sheikh, though ‘never a great
man’, was nonetheless ‘sincere, in my opinion, in his love for his own country’. On the other hand, the Bakshi was ‘quite insincere’; he was ‘an individual without calibre’.
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In fact, the Bakshi did have a certain talent for organization, and for feathering his nest. He used his closeness to Delhi to get a steady flow of central funds into his state. These were used to pay for dams, roads, hospitals, tunnels and hotels. Many new buildings rose up in Srinagar, including a new Secretariat, a new sports stadium, and a new tourist complex. However, in the development projects undertaken by Bakshi’s government there was always ‘a percentage for family and friends’. His regime soon became known as the BBC, or the Bakshi Brothers Corporation.
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The developments of 1952–3 had raised sharp questions about India’s moral claim to the Valley. Six years had elapsed since the invasion of 1947 – enough time for the world to forget it, and to remember only that the Valley was Muslim and so was Pakistan. Besides, the Kashmiri leader so long paraded as India’s own had now been put into jail by the Indian government.
Could things have turned out otherwise? Perhaps if Sheikh Abdullah and Syama Prasad Mookerjee had acted with responsibility and restraint. And perhaps if Jawaharlal Nehru and the Indian government had listened to an obscure journalist of English extraction then editing a low-circulation liberal weekly out of Bangalore. In 1952–3, while Dr Mookerjee was demanding that Nehru should invade Pakistan and thus ‘reclaim’ northern Kashmir, Philip Spratt was proposing a radically different solution. India, he said, must abandon its claims to the Valley, and allow the Sheikh his dream of independence. It should withdraw its armies and write off its loans to the government of Jammu and Kashmir. ‘Let Kashmir go ahead, alone and adventurously, in her explorations of a secular state’, he wrote. ‘We shall watch the act of faith with due sympathy but at a safe distance, our honour, our resources and our future free from the enervating entanglements which write a lie in our soul.’