I have always believed that news is so much more fascinating than fiction simply because it is true. It's real life. I've witnessed more drama, suspense, horror, bizarre coincidences and amazing twists and turns while covering news than watching the most incredible Bollywood or Hollywood films. My latest brush with coincidence in real life came about a fortnight ago. I was writing a chapter on the Mumbai riots that followed the demolition of the Babri Masjid for a forthcoming book. I ended the chapter noting that "Bal Thackeray has gotten away lightly for the trauma he inflicted on Mumbai." The chapter had taken me several difficult weeks to write. There was so much drama to recapture - I was an eyewitness to the demolition, to the Mumbai riots, had published that famous interview with Thackeray where he'd hit out against Muslims and had also deposed before the Srikrishna Commission. I was relieved to finish that chapter, so exhausted that I decided to take a brief break from writing.
But the very next day's headline was about how the Maharashtra government had decided to prosecute Thackeray for the inflammatory articles he wrote in his Saamna newspaper. My reactions were mixed. My first thought was "that long arm of law is really long and what a good thing it is too." But my sense of satisfaction was short-lived. I was disconcerted because I realised that the prime mover behind this turn of events was not the faceless bureaucracy or judiciary that grinds slowly, but sometimes does ground surely. It was Chhagan Bhujbal. This isn't the long arm of the law. This is the old arm of vendetta. This isn't an example of pure, unadulterated justice finally catching up. This is an old enemy catching up. You could rationalise and say that in our system, where there's so much injustice and manipulation, maybe the only motto that works is a political version of "set a thief to catch a thief". It boils down to the age-old debate about means and ends. If the "end" is that Thackeray pays for his sins, should the "means" matter, especially when it has the cloak of legality? But my discomfort turned to dismay when struck by a purely selfish thought. "Oh God, my chapter is not over. I've to wait this out and rewrite the ending." And then I wondered at the sheer coincidence. Seven years have gone by, but the very day I write about Thackeray having gotten away lightly comes a new and dramatic twist.
And then the story twisted and turned, becoming more dramatic and unpredictable each day. India, especially Mumbai, was on tenterhooks. Shiv Sainiks were on the prowl again, with sticks and stones, terrorising people. "If Thackeray is arrested, Mumbai will burn," they threatened. What they meant was they'll make Mumbai burn. There was nothing to suggest a spontaneous uprising if Thackeray was arrested. The people of Mumbai want peace and stability and they don't care if Thackeray is in or out of jail, provided wherever he is, it enables them to lead a normal life.
And then we saw this unedifying kidplay between centre and state. Bhujbal wants extra security forces, Advani denies them. Is it because he felt there was no threat to law and order, or is it because Bhujbal is from a different party and seeks to harm his ally. People see through these games and form their opinions, irrespective of what the official explanation is. And then Bhujbal says, with the irresponsibility and puerility of a school bully, that if New Delhi fails to give him additional forces, he would withdraw security forces from vital installations, including nuclear facilities. It rapidly degenerates into a political Theatre of the Absurd.
Nothing new in that of course, but what's intriguing is that the farce erupts into a full-fledged controversy that embroils the PM, the law minister, the chief justice of India and the attorney-general. This is an all-star cast. The storm in Mumbai triggers a typhoon in New Delhi and it's as absurd as the sub-plot eclipsing the main plot. Bal Thackeray is forgotten as charges and counter-charges fly thick and fast. It's Hindujas and land scams once again. His legal brilliance is yet again on display, but Ram Jethmalani winds up losing his job. The others are left with egg on their face. And mud.
But what is even more absurd is that the original villain becomes a hero. Just seven years ago, Thackeray was spewing venom. His anti-Muslim pronouncements, threats, orders and commands were as hot and virulent as volcanic lava. He was the new political dragon on the Indian firmament, breathing fire and brimstone. And as he seethed, Mumbai shook, New Delhi fretted, Muslims trembled, bureaucrats quaked. And then the Kafkaesque transformation. Bal Thackeray becomes the epitome of sweet reasonableness. The man who flagrantly violated the law, who once dared the authorities to try and control him, now says grandly: let the rule of law prevail. And the law prevails in his favour. Clearly the long arm of law isn't long enough, especially when politico-bureaucratic machinations can delay justice enough to ensure it's denied. All that's needed is to engineer the case's slide into the time-barred zone.
That's not very remarkable, but what is remarkable is Thackeray's new-found maturity and mellowness. What induced this mutation? Ill health? Advancing age? A brush with death? Repentance? Whatever be the factors, it appears he has changed for the better. It's good for him at the moral level, and even better at the political level. Because today, Bal Thackeray has risen in public esteem. Of course, people's respect could be born out of relief that things turned out well and Mumbai didn't burn. Still, Thackeray is likely to fetch more votes today than a few months ago. And thus closes another turbulent chapter in India's politics. Like many other chapters, it had its share of drama, suspense, absurdities and ups and downs. And as I close my chapter, my earlier conclusion is reinforced: Thackeray has gotten away even more lightly that I could have ever imagined.
(The author can be contacted at anitapratap@usa.net)
