Dr R L Bhat
Those who are entering old age, now, were much amazed at Einstein saying of Gandhiji that ‘generations to come will scarce believe that such a one as this walked the earth in flesh and blood’. Then, in the sixties and seventies, Gandhiji was a palpable presence. People knew Gandhiji was no myth; many had actually seen him move around, speak in simple words and inspire actions in unimaginable ways. Yes, they knew all about Netaji and Gandhiji’s differences with him. They knew about Bhagat Singh, Azad too. They knew their respective roles and contributions, which had yet not blown out of proportion with choice interpretations of the now distant past. They had lived through it all. They knew laayee hain voh tuufaan see kishtii nikaal kee – how hard they had all worked to row the boat over the uncertain seas to the salubrious shores of freedom. They appreciated them, for they had seen the imperial rule, lived under autocracy, experienced how much of daring it took to walk upright before a policeman with the laatthi. They knew what it took to walk up to the emperor in dhootii and stand up to the ruler on whose empire the sun didn’t dare to set.
Freedom then was not a natural right. It was not the thing that people today take for granted. It would take many decades to even to understand the word. I came across a close parallel in 1990’s Kashmir when the curd-seller, an old man in his sixties, told a neighbourhood Hindu lady that she should appreciate what the militants were doing, for it would get them all – the curd-seller and the lady included – government jobs. Things like that began the myths. They begin sooner now. Remember the one about the PM telling one of his ministers waiting to take his flight to change his dress? If true, it could not happen until the PM had an eye on the minister, and if the surveillance of this sort is unthinkable, it was a myth. The best one I remember about Gandhiji was told by an illiterate carpenter back in the valley, some forty years ago: ‘The best king that has ever been was Gandhiji – he ruled the whole realm yet had nothing besides a goat which gave him the milk he drank for substance.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Gandhiji was never a king. He was not even the president – some say not even a member – of the Congress. Democracy and rights were not as concrete entities then as they are now. India was an abstraction of countless peoples, castes, creeds and groups and motivations. People saw things in the light of their knowledge and interpreted them accordingly.
One of the first to decry Gandhiji was Dr Ambedkar. In an interview to BBC in 1955 he trashed Gandhiji for treating harijans as a part of the general Hindu milieu of the country. Dr Saheb had gotten PM Ramsay MacDonald to separate Harijans from Hindus. Gandhiji fought it. Making India one distinct nation with all her diversity of identity and ethos was his mission, which was the vision before Patel after independence. That was what the fight against the British was for. That was why Gandhiji fought the Christian Missionaries. That was why he fought the narrow visions within. This was the vision of a pluralistic nation which would carry all diversities in one united whole. It was the vision of caring for others and denying the selfish needs. However, the vision discomfited many. The first there was Gandhiji’s eldest son Hari Lal, while he was still in South Africa. He was disappointed that his father did not choose him over another person for a scholarship to England. Hari Lal’s rancor travelled back with him and lived all through his life. So did Gandhiji’s self-denial. Back in india, he even gave up the full clothes he wore. That was a time when sacrifice and selflessness rated high in values. It made Tagore call him Mahatma. And the generation loved them for it – Tagore calling him a mahatma and Gandhiji for being one! It inspired them enough to break the fetters and gain freedom.
The generations Einstein spoke of have come to rule the realm. They are a no-nonsense generation. They rarely believe in what their parents accepted without question. It is an educated generation, alright. They do not believe in myths of their fathers. Not that they are a perfectly rational generation. They thunder and clap, without much thought, when they are suitably cued. They too make myths and believe in them. There have been more ‘sightings’ of Elvis Presley since his death, than those reported by any previous generation for their icons. Somehow they like to break the earlier myths as much as they invent their own. They scarce believe that somebody of flesh and blood could have been as perfect as Gandhiji is said to have been. They are probably right. Their diggings in the myths woven around Gandhiji prove that there were many chinks in the perfect armour. Gandhiji was not a god. He was a frail being with failings. That however proves that such a man did indeed live in flesh and blood. He fought his failings and usually over came them. After all he was experimenting with truth. And that is what can be said of very few people in all the ages. Commentators have found chinks in the perfection of maryaada purushootam too and relay them widely. There is Rishi Gotama wound in a stony conundrum with Ahalya and Indra.
That is Oscar Wilde: ‘Children begin by loving their parents; after a time they judge them; rarely, if ever, do they forgive them!’ New generations have come to rule the realm. Better educated than their progenitors they believe they know and can stand on judgment, as Wilde said they would. However, they are so shackled in their fast life that it leaves them little time to ponder. And time that ponders must have a stop. Journalism is notorious for being focused on the day. The social media have gone even faster and more superficial. Three clicks and it is done. They don’t even write out the words, lvng u 2 figure things out. In his essay On Truth, Beacon accused Pilate, the Roman general of Israel of not waiting to listen to the truth of Jesus: “What is truth?” asked the Pilate, and would not tarry to listen.’ There is definitely a haste in not listening to the very corollaries of one’s own search and find. It tells that Gandhiji was no myth, no phantom but a yoogii who worked his karma to its culmination.
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