‘He came himself?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he say anything?’
‘What would he say to me?’ asked Mrs Mahesh Kapoor.
Her husband clicked his tongue in irritation. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and see him.’ It was more than civil of the Chief Minister to have come in person to his house, and Mahesh Kapoor had a shrewd idea of what he wanted to discuss. The crisis in the Congress was the talk of the country now, not just of the party. Nehru’s resignation from all his party offices had made certain of that.
Mahesh Kapoor called ahead, then visited Sharma at home. Though he had left the Congress, he continued to wear the white cap that had become a natural part of his attire. Sharma was sitting on a white cane chair in the garden, and stood up to greet him as he approached. He should have looked tired, but he did not. It was a warm day, and he had been fanning himself with a newspaper, the headlines of which spoke of the latest moves to conciliate Nehru. He offered his erstwhile colleague a chair and some tea.
‘I needn’t go around in circles, Kapoor Sahib,’ said the Chief Minister. ‘I want your help in trying to persuade Nehru to return to the Congress.’
‘But he has never left it,’ said Mahesh Kapoor with a smile, seeing that the Chief Minister was already thinking two steps ahead.
‘I meant, to full participation in the Congress.’
‘I sympathize, Sharmaji; these must be troubling times for the Congress Party. But what can I do? I am no longer a member of the party myself. Nor are many of my friends and colleagues.’
‘The Congress is your true home,’ said Sharma, a little sadly, his head beginning to shake. ‘You have given everything for it, you have sacrificed the best years of your life for it. Even now you are sitting in the same position in the Legislative Assembly as before. If that wedge is now labelled the KMPP or something else, I still look upon it with affection. I still consider you my colleagues. There are more idealists there than in those who have remained with me.’
Sharma did not need to state that by this he was referring to the likes of Agarwal. Mahesh Kapoor stirred his tea. He felt great sympathy for the man whose Cabinet he had so recently resigned from. But he hoped that Nehru would leave the Congress and join the party that he himself had joined, and he could not see how Sharma could have imagined that he, of all people, would be keen to dissuade him from doing so. He leaned forward a little and said quietly: ‘Sharmaji, I sacrificed those years for my country more than for any party. If the Congress has betrayed its ideals, and forced so many of its old supporters to leave—’ He stopped. ‘Anyway, I see no immediate danger of Panditji leaving the party.’
‘Don’t you?’ said Sharma.
A couple of letters lay in front of him, and he now handed one of them, the longer one, to Mahesh Kapoor and tapped his finger on a couple of paragraphs at the end. Mahesh Kapoor read slowly, not looking up till he had finished. It was one of Nehru’s regular fortnightly letters to his Chief Ministers and was dated August 1—two days after his friend Kidwai, having withdrawn his resignation, had resigned again. The last part of the long letter, which ranged over the entire gamut of foreign and domestic developments, went as follows:
24. There has been frequent reference in the press recently to resignations from the Central Cabinet. I confess I have been greatly troubled over this matter, for the two persons concerned have been valuable colleagues who have fully justified their membership of Government. There was no question of a difference of opinion in regard to governmental policy. Difficulties arose about other matters relating to the National Congress. I do not propose to say anything about this subject here because you will probably soon see some statements in the press which will explain the present position. That position only indirectly affects the Government. Essentially it is a question of the future of the Congress. This is not only of interest to Congressmen but to everybody in India, because the role of the Congress has been great.
25. The next session of Parliament begins on Monday next, August 6th. This is the last session before the elections. It has heavy business before it, some of which is of importance and must be passed during the session. Probably this session will last for about two months.
Yours sincerely,
Jawaharlal Nehru
Mahesh Kapoor, reading the letter in the light of Nehru’s resignation less than a week later from the Congress Working Committee and Central Election Committee, could see why Sharma—or anyone else—might think that these resignations were preliminary to Nehru’s complete resignation from the Congress. ‘Because the role of the Congress has been great’ sounded ominously lukewarm.
Sharma had put down his cup and was looking at Mahesh Kapoor. Since the latter made no comment, he said, ‘The U.P. Congressmen are going to try to persuade Nehru to withdraw his resignation—or at least to persuade Nehru and Tandon to come to some kind of compromise. I too feel we should send a group to speak to him. I am prepared to go to Delhi myself. But I want you to come with me.’
‘I am sorry, Sharmaji,’ said Mahesh Kapoor with some annoyance. Sharma might be the great conciliator, but he surely could not imagine that he could persuade him, who was now a member of the opposition, into such a self-defeating position. ‘I cannot help you. Panditji respects you, and you will be as persuasive as anyone. For my part, I, like Kidwai and Kripalani and all the others who have left the Congress, hope that Nehru will join us soon. As you say, we have some elements of idealism. Perhaps it is time that politics was based on issues and ideals, and not on the control of party machines.’
Sharma’s head began to nod slightly. A peon came out on to the lawn with a message, but he waved him away. For a while he rested his chin on his hands, then said, in his nasal but persuasive manner:
‘Maheshji, you must be wondering about my motives, perhaps even about my logic. It may be that I have not made my visualization of the situation clear. I will put before you several pictures. First: Suppose Nehru leaves the Congress. Suppose further that I do not wish to fight him in the forthcoming elections, perhaps because of my respect for him, perhaps because I fear to lose, and—as an old man—care too much about my own self-respect. At any rate, I too resign from the Congress. Or if not from the Congress, from active participation in affairs of state—from the government, from the Chief Ministership. The state will require a new Chief Minister. In the present configuration, unless the ex-Minister of Revenue rejoins the party and persuades those who left with him to rejoin, there will be only one contender for the mantle.’
‘You would not permit Agarwal to become Chief Minister,’ said Mahesh Kapoor in a hard voice, making no attempt to conceal his resentment and shock. ‘You would not deliver the state into his hands.’
Sharma cast an eye around the garden. A cow had got into the radish patch, but he ignored it.
‘I am only drawing imaginary scenes,’ he said. ‘Let me draw a second one. I go to Delhi. I try to talk to Nehru, to persuade him to withdraw his resignations. He, for his part, renews his standard assault on me. He wants me at the Centre, in the Cabinet—a Cabinet now already depleted by resignations. We both know Jawaharlal, we know how persuasive he can be. He will say that more important than the Congress Party is the good of India, the government of the country. He wants good administrators at the Centre, people of stature, people of proven competence. I am only repeating the kind words he has already repeated a score of times to me. So far I have always found some excuse for getting back from Delhi. People say I am ambitious, that I prefer to be King in Brahmpur rather than a baron in Delhi. They may be right. But this time Jawaharlal tells me: “You are asking me to act against my own inclinations for the good of the country, yet you refuse to do the same yourself.” It is an unanswerable argument. I go to Delhi as a Cabinet Minister, and L.N. Agarwal takes over as Chief Minister of Purva Pradesh.’
Mahesh Kapoor remained silent. After a while, he said: ‘If—if this were the case, and this—this man took over, it would on
ly be for a few months. The people would throw him out in the coming elections.’
‘I think you underestimate the Home Minister,’ said S.S. Sharma with a smile. ‘But now, suppose we leave this bugbear behind and think in broader terms: in terms of the country itself. Do you or I want the kind of battle that will ensue if Nehru leaves the Congress? If you recall the bitterness that was generated in the battle within the Congress Party when Tandon got elected—and it is no secret that I too voted for him rather than Kripalani—can you imagine the bitterness of the battle in the General Elections if Nehru fights on one side and the Congress on the other? Whom will the people turn to? Think how their hearts will be torn, their loyalties divided. The Congress, after all, is the party of Gandhiji, the party of Independence.’
Mahesh Kapoor forbore from remarking that it was the party of a good deal else besides: nepotism, corruption, inefficiency, complacency—and that Gandhiji himself had wanted it dissolved as a political force after Independence. He said: ‘Well, if there has to be a battle, it should be fought during these elections. If the Congress uses Nehru to fight its election battles and then turns against him because its right wing has most of the MLAs and MPs in its pocket—that will be far worse. The sooner the matter is fought out, the better. I agree that the two of us should be fighting on the same side. I wish, Sharmaji, that I could persuade you to join my party—and then persuade you to persuade Nehru to do the same.’
The Chief Minister smiled at what he chose to interpret as an attempt at humour by Mahesh Kapoor. Then he picked up the second letter that he had in front of him and said:
‘What I am showing you now is not one of Panditji’s regular fortnightly letters, but a special letter to the Chief Ministers. It is supposed to be secret. It is dated a couple of days after he wrote to Tandonji submitting his resignation. If you read it you will see why I am so worried about the possibility of divisions in the country at this time.’ He handed Mahesh Kapoor the letter, then said: ‘I have not shown this to anyone yet, not even to anyone in my Cabinet, though I have told Agarwal to come around to read it because it concerns him as Home Minister. And I will naturally discuss it with the Chief Secretary. It would not be good if the contents of this letter got around.’
He then got up and walked over with the help of his cane to tell his gardener to chase the cow out of the vegetable garden, leaving Mahesh Kapoor to read the letter. Parts of it read as follows:
New Delhi
9 August, 1951
My dear Chief Minister,
The Indo-Pakistan situation shows no signs of improvement. The most that can be said is that it has not grown any worse, but it is bad enough. On the Pakistan side, feverish preparations for war are taking place. . . .
Considering the question logically, I do not consider war likely. But logic does not explain everything and, in any event, we cannot base our activities on pure logic. Logic would not explain the spate of propaganda, full of hatred and falsehood, that issues from Pakistan. . . .
There was a sound of aggrieved if patient lowing from the far end of the garden. Mahesh Kapoor’s eyes skimmed rapidly down the letter. Nehru was now talking about the Indian Muslims:
. . . Sometimes it is said that there might be bad elements among the Muslims who might give trouble. That is quite possible, but I think it highly unlikely that any major trouble will come from that direction. We should be careful of course in regard to strategic areas or vital spots.
I think it is much more likely that trouble may come from Hindu or Sikh communal elements. They would like to take advantage of the occasion to misbehave towards Muslims. If any such thing occurs, it will have very bad consequences and will weaken us. Therefore, this kind of thing must not be allowed to happen. This is of major importance and we must give full protection to our minorities. This means also that we must not permit any propaganda on the part of Hindu or Sikh communal organisations, which is on a par with Pakistan propaganda on the other side. There have been some recent incidents of this where, lacking originality, the Hindu Mahasabha people have tried to imitate the Pakistanis. They did not succeed to any extent. But it is quite possible that if we are unwary and some incidents happen, the communal elements might take advantage of them. I would, therefore, specially request you to keep this in mind. . . .
These are speculations which I am sharing with you. We have to be prepared for all emergencies and, in a military sense, we are so prepared from now onwards. I still hope and partly believe that there will be no war and I do not wish to do anything on our side which might perhaps tip the balance on the side of war.
Hence my earnest request to you that no public activity that savours of war preparation should be indulged in or encouraged in others, while at the same time our minds must keep prepared.
You will please keep this letter as top secret and not to be shared with others except, perhaps, a very few.
Yours sincerely,
Jawaharlal Nehru
14.9
When Sharma returned from chasing the cow out of the further reaches of the garden, he found Mahesh Kapoor pacing up and down, restless and troubled. ‘You see,’ said Sharma, homing unerringly into his thoughts, ‘you see why we cannot have any unnecessary divisions of opinion in the country at this time, of all times. And also why I am so keen to persuade you to return to the Congress. Agarwal’s attitude to the Muslims is well known. As he is the Home Minister, well, I have to leave certain matters in his hands. And the calendar this year makes things worse than ever.’
This last sentence took Mahesh Kapoor by surprise. ‘The calendar?’ he asked, frowning at Sharma.
‘Here—let me show you—’ The Chief Minister took a small brown diary out of his kurta pocket. He pointed to the beginning of October. ‘The ten days of Moharram and the ten days leading up to Dussehra almost coincide this year. And Gandhi Jayanti falls within the same period.’ He closed the diary and laughed humourlessly. ‘Rama, Muhammad, and Gandhiji may all have been apostles of peace—but in combination there could be nothing more explosive. And if in addition there is war with Pakistan, and the only cohesive party in India is bitterly divided within itself—I fear to think of what will happen throughout the country between the Hindus and the Muslims. It will be as bad as the Partition riots.’
Mahesh Kapoor did not reply. But he could not deny to himself that he had been deeply affected by the arguments of the Chief Minister. When offered more tea, he accepted, and sat down on a cane chair. After a few minutes he said to his former chief, ‘I will think about what you have said.’ He was still holding Nehru’s letter in his hands. In fact, unconsciously, he had folded it lengthwise two or three times.
It was unfortunate that L.N. Agarwal should have chosen that very moment to visit the Chief Minister. As he walked across the lawn he noticed Mahesh Kapoor. Mahesh Kapoor nodded, but did not get up to greet him. He did not intend to be discourteous, but his thoughts were far away.
‘About Panditji’s letter—’ began L.N. Agarwal.
Sharma reached out for the letter, and Mahesh Kapoor handed it over in an absent manner. Agarwal frowned, obviously displeased that the letter had been shared with Mahesh Kapoor: Sharma appeared to be treating him as if he were still a member of his Cabinet, instead of the renegade that he was.
Perhaps sensing his thoughts, S.S. Sharma began to explain, rather apologetically: ‘I was just discussing with Kapoor Sahib the urgency of bringing Panditji back into full participation in the Congress. We cannot do without him, the country cannot do without him, and we must persuade him by any means we can. It is a time to close ranks. Don’t you agree?’
A look of disdain slowly formed on L.N. Agarwal’s face as he thought about this attitude: dependent, cringing, weak.
‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I do not agree. Tandonji has been democratically elected. He has constituted his own Working Committee, and it has managed very well for several months. Nehru has participated in its meetings; he has no right to try to change its me
mbership now. That is not his prerogative. He claims to be a democrat; let him prove it by doing the right thing. He claims to believe in party discipline; he should abide by it. He claims to believe in unity; let him stand by his beliefs.’
S.S. Sharma closed his eyes. ‘That is all very well,’ he murmured. ‘But if Panditji—’
L.N. Agarwal almost exploded. ‘Panditji—Panditji—why should everyone go whimpering and pleading for everything to Nehru? Yes, he is a great leader—but are there no other great leaders in Congress? Does Prasad not exist? Does Pant not exist? Did Patel not exist?’ At the thought of Sardar Patel his voice almost choked with emotion. ‘Let us see what happens if he leaves us. He doesn’t have the least idea how to organize a campaign, how to gather funds, how to select candidates. And he will have no time, as Prime Minister, to storm the country—that is quite obvious. He has too much on his plate as it is, attempting to run it. Let him join Kidwai—he’ll get the Muslim vote all right. But we will see what else he gets.’
Mahesh Kapoor got up, nodded curtly to the Chief Minister, and began to walk away. The Chief Minister, distressed and annoyed by Agarwal’s explosion, made no attempt to stop him from going; Agarwal and Kapoor in one place did not form a happy combination.
It is like dealing with two refractory children, he thought. But he called out after Mahesh Kapoor:
‘Kapoor Sahib, please think about what I have said. We will talk about this again soon. I will come over to Prem Nivas.’
Then he turned to Agarwal and said, with displeased nasality: ‘An hour’s good work destroyed in a minute. Why are you going out of your way to antagonize him?’
L.N. Agarwal shook his head. ‘Everyone is afraid to speak his mind,’ he said. He reflected that matters in Purva Pradesh had become much clearer now that the leftists and secularists in Congress did not have Mahesh Kapoor’s fine kurta to cling to.
Instead of taking offence at the roughness of this last remark, S.S. Sharma said to him in a calmer voice: ‘Here is the letter. Read it through and tell me what steps you think are appropriate. Of course, we are located nowhere near the borders of Pakistan. Still, some measures may be necessary to control the more excitable newspapers—in the case of panic, I mean. Or incitement.’