Ghashiram Kotwal transcends time and space

TENDULKAR’s Ghashiram Kotwal is a deadly combination of topical¬ity and timelessness. Every time I watch the play, I discover a new take on fascism and power play. At other times, I find that certain innocuous, routine events bring Ghashiram back to me. For theatre buffs, Ghashiram is a milestone. I was too young to understand most of the play’s minutiae the first time I saw it. I remember being vaguely aware of the controversy over the play - its alleged anti-Brahmin stand and the ‘inaccurate’ portrayal of the Maratha statesman, Nana Phadnavis and the ado about Ghashiram’s performances abroad.

I had just climbed another step up the journalistic ladder and was almost convinced, obviously for wrong reasons, that I had a more clear ‘understanding’ of the world around me than other mortals. Ghashiram came as a jolt. Its effect was magnetic. The human wall of Puneri Brahmins swinging and swirling to folk music - dashavtaar, abhanga, kirtan, lavni. Gouri bole Nana nache was such a gripping episode that on many occasions I thought I could see Ghashiram staring at me, directly.

The story is set against the backdrop of late 18th century Pune. The play, I realised, went beyond the prose, the verse, the music and the dance. It commented on the socio-political situation we live in. Ghashiram Kotwal is the story of a Brahmin from Kannauj, Ghasiram Savaldas, who moved to Pune with his wife and young daughter, looking for a better life. He has a run-in with the vicious and powerful Brahmin lobby of Pune and plots revenge. Ghashiram returns to the city and manages to wrangle the post of the kotwal _police chief _by using his daughter as bait for Nana.

After my first date with Ghashiram, I grabbed a few more opportunities to watch the play. I kept looking for comments and reviews on the play. Today, Ghashiram’s audio track is an invaluable part of my music collection. Every time I watch the play, I feel that Ghashiram's appeal is beyond time and space. The play makes a mockery of our belief that we are an egalitarian and accommodating people.

Ghashiram may have a historical backdrop but it presents a contemporary political parable. In a brief note to the play, Tendulkar says that Ghashirams are created by socio-political circumstances and these are beyond time and space. He further points out that he never intended to comment on the ethics of Nana or the Peshwas or even Ghashiram, and that the nub of his story lies elsewhere. This ‘elsewhere’ is in fact a global phenomenon, critic Shanta Gokhale had once written. Tendulkar in an interview once said that contemporary political circumstances, especially the emergence of the Shiv Sena, inspired him to write the play. He said he was actually examining the kind of situations that created men like Ghashiram at different points in history.

Watching Ghashiram in its current context is a learning experience. Today’s Ghashiram could be an international terrorist, a saheb or a bhau. The play tells us that debauchery and power go hand in hand and that despots are always cowards. They create their Ghashirams, feed them as long as it is convenient, and then destroy them ruthlessly.

There is a dilapidated double-storeyed structure in Pune that identifies itself with Ghashiram. There was Kotwal Chawadi, the administrative headquarters of the police chief, right in the heart of the city, till the early 90s. This was demolished by the PMC to widen the busy junction. This other structure near the Armed Forces Medical Stores Depot, at the end of Coyaji Road, is believed to be Ghashiram’s residential mansion.

While working for a now-defunct Marathi channel, I had shot a tele-feature at this crumbling mansion. A typically blue Archaeological Survey of India plaque says that the structure was already in ruins when the British occupied it in 1818. A major portion of the structure was dismantled, a godown built on the site. This was later converted into a workshop. The plaque makes a reference to the killing of Telangi Brahmins that finally proved to be Ghashiram’s undoing. This structure is perhaps the only surviving witness to the life and times of Ghashiram.

(First published in The Maharashtra Herald on July 21, 2005)

Give me the solitude of forests any day

SHEKRUS are back at Lord Shiva’s doorsteps. This is probably the most heartening change in Bhi­mashankar. This obviously means very little compared to the environmental degradation of one of the last jungle around us. Just a fragile silver lining, one could say. But it could mean much more if it proves to be even a small step towards protecting our fast-disappearing jungles.

It could be the result of the pressure on the administration after the Mandhardev stampede. But ahead of the annual Ma­hashivratri fair, foresters have cleared all encroachments along the climb to the Bhimashankar temple. It is two months since the drive and Mother Nature is at work, even on the temple-steps, where the shekhrus can be seen scrambling around. Nisargo rakshati rakshitah, they say. Protect nature and it protects you.

Locals have not taken the anti-en­croachment drive lightly. But I’m sure, along with the giant squirrels and other jungle-dwellers; the Lord himself must be thanking the foresters for their efforts, which should have come much earlier. Why do you think the Lord chose an impenetrable, inhospitable forest to live, my forester friend asked me. Why Bhi­mashankar? There is Tryambakeshwar near Nashik, Periyar in God’s own coun­try, or even Badri-Kedar for that matter. Yet we choose to be a step ahead of the Gods themselves. Because we want roads to take us right up to the temple doors, if not the sanctum sanctorum. We wish for five-star facilities in jungles.

Well, I was telling you about shekrus. These deep brown/near purple tree-top dwellers now can be seen near the temple steps in Bhimashankar. We could even lo­cate a nest, resembling a heap of leaves, atop an anjan tree. It was a new addition to the temple landscape, it wasn’t there before, says a forester. Cut out human in­terference, and nature regenerates itself.

Temple shops in pilgrim places are intriguing places. They are truly global. Some stock mineral water, chewing gum, gutkha or cigarettes brands. Others sell puja articles, malas and yantras, mysti­cal Feng Shui articles and even loud bhajans. Bhimashankar being the jungle abode of Lord Shiva also sells herbal medicines that can cure pilgrims of any­thing, from diabetes to piles. Saili, who was a part of the wildlife census team in Bhimashankar sanctuary, found self- styled village doctors — vaidus — sell­ing 18 types of herbs. She found out that these were ordinary leaves. The jungle had to fed the greed of the con men.

Temple tourism has become a wor­rying proposition in the State. Bhi­mashankar, for example, gets 5,000-6,000 tourists every day. The temple priest was particularly upset about the filth left be­hind. The temple is nestled in something of a trough. The first rains bring down all the dirt. This priest also doubles as a rain-measurer for the irrigation depart­ment. He has been measuring an average rainfall of 225 inches. Water runs off Bhimashankar and today it depends on tankers. None found any contradiction in the fact that a tanker feeds a kund, a sacred water tank, that is supposed to be the source of River Bhima. I have many fond memories of my trysts with the jun­gles. Bhimashankar I remember vividly, because it was the place where I got to meet and have a word with Kusumagraj, the Jnanapeeth laureate. I remember he did not allow me to touch his feet.

I am not sure whether I should call myself an environmentalist or a wildlife enthusiast, but I often long to be envel­oped by the quiet solitude of Dandeli or Tadoba or our very own Sinhagad. These places always give me a sense of detachment. There is this vast, largely unknown, busy world around me in the forests. The people here don't give a damn for labels like 'journalists' and ‘media’. You are welcome here without any of those. Here, you can be on your own, without an audience of admirers or critics.

(First published in The Maharashtra Herald on April 28, 2005)

Democracy beyond the right to vote

IT is unfortunate that neither the people nor those who hold public offices are aware of the wider definitions of maladministration and corruption. It is necessary that they be acquainted with them. It is also necessary to evolve a suitable, prompt, and effective mechanism to deal with complaints of this nature. This will go a long way in curing our public institutions of inefficiency and abuse of power: With these words ends the second chapter of Justice P B Sawant’s fact-finding report.

The 12-page chapter -- Corruption and Maladministration in Public Institutions -- in the 372-page inquiry report is a scathing critique of the present day socio-economic and political democracy vis-à-vis social activism. The chapter records certain vital observations on the country’s democratic polity, the scope of corruption, citizens’ responsibilities, and the need for people to go beyond the right to vote. The Oxford English dictionary explains the adjective “corrupt” as dishonest, accepting bribes, immoral, wicked or decaying (individual). Corruption, says Justice Sawant, is only one type of maladministration. He calls misadministration a mix of negligence, the lack of supervision, neglect of grievances and complaints, carelessness, waste and inefficiency, besides corruption.

There are certain observations on politicians. "It appears that for the last few decades now, a tribe has been growing fast -- it looks upon public office as a source of pelf and power... Some of them have become bold enough to not only defy the law, but also to make it a norm of their public life. Unless this arrogance of power is checked in its track, the disease may spread and devour the rule of law itself."

Justice Sawant observes that the country's democratic polity has deepened class cracks. The rulers appear disinterested in concepts of social and economic democracy, and instead are perpetuating social and economic inequalities, which make suitable foundation for their survival, Justice Sawant says. He underlines the fact that the onus of reducing inequalities and their social consequences lies on the civil society.

Here Justice Sawant makes vital observations about citizens’ role in democracy. The existing framework of political democracy hardly confers any right on citizens beyond the right to vote and to contest elections. He further observes that in the absence of social and economic democracy, even the rights to elect and get elected remain on paper for most people. With multiplying social and economic inequalities, the right to vote itself may be manipulated, while the right to contest elections has become the preserve of a wealthy few.

Justice Sawant takes serious note of the all-life pervasive chalta hai attitude. There is a pernicious theory that has been doing the rounds for the past few years: it says that corruption needs to be condoned to some extent because elections involve huge expenditure. Justice Sawant describes this notion as “perverse and dangerous” and “legally and morally indefensible”.

Participating in elections is not the end of citizens’ role in democracy. People must realize that they cannot and should not expect anything in return for voting for a particular person, apart from what they may share with others as citizens. Justice Sawant feels that this would go a long way towards making the country's public life "clean and safe" for democracy.

Justice Sawant says that citizens definitely can play a role in democratic governance that goes beyond franchise. He therefore calls on citizens to embark on constructive activities, with or without government support to improve the quality of social life. Agitational means too are fine, he says offering a word of caution to activists. He lays down certain norms for agitations. They have to be peaceful and legal, and must not allow agitators to become extra-constitutional centres of power. Justice Sawant does not mince his words when he says that when social power is used irresponsibly or to subvert constitutional authority, it is hardly distinguishable from terror.

When I talked to Justice Sawant for a Sunday interview a few days back, he was emphatic that I read the chapter. “You should read it,” he then had told me. When I did, I remembered about the 50 or more per cent of Puneites who chose to stay at home while the rest of the nation voted for first the Parliament, and then and a few months later, the State Assembly. Then I thought of motorists who jump signals and break traffic rules and try to bribe their way out of fines. They are all convinced that no change is possible. And choose to remain oblivious to unacceptable social ills.
(First published in The Maharashtra Herald on Aril 7, 2005)

The many beloved faces of the Krishna...and now this

Drenched. Soaked. Dripping. Wet. Floods. Deluge. Isolated. Rescue. Discharge. Cusecs... I’ve hardly used any other words these past 72 hours. Sitting on the third floor of my newspaper’s Sangli office, I’m trying to surface from the waters engulfing me. The first question I ask my friend is how can I get out of this city. Normally a man of great wit, he fumbles for an answer, makes a couple of calls on his mobile, and tells me, “It's difficult.”

He wears a big question mark on his face when I tell him that I would like Kolhapur to be my next destination. His face tells me that this is too much to ask for. I have much to thank for. I am now thinking from the relative safety of the third floor, even though the building itself is marooned. Yesterday around noon, I was standing in the chest-deep waters of the Krishna, holding a bar attached to a submerged paan shop. It was still pouring. Actually, it hardly ever stopped.

A young boy was peering out of the window of his flooded home and in front of us was the raging Krishna. Mud-red, and mad. The paan shop I was clinging to was the last tangible sign of human existence. I always remember the Krishna with fascination. The Krishna at its origin; one of the five rivers originating from the undulating Western Ghat hills. The serene Krishna I experienced from the ghats at Menavali village. Then, the temples on its banks at Wai. One of the temples is dedicated to the river itself, a sign of the reverence people feel for its bounty. Here the river becomes Krishnabai, a close relative. Krishnabaicha Utsav, the Krishna festival, is a significant event in Wai’s cultural life. Yet, this is where the Krishna picks up its first bit of pollution - at the exposed rocky river bed where it crosses the Bangalore highway.

Then there is the Krishna cutting a serpentine swathe through the soothing green of cash crops seen from the heights of Sagareshwar hill. The Krishna here emerges as a vital catalyst for the region’s economy. The Krishna at Sangli is another phenomenon. Then there is the wide expanse of the Krishna waters below Almatti.

Yet, the Krishna in front of me now is just a massive flow of water, taking away everything. People, homes, cattle, everything. I think of the people who I just saw embarking from a small wooden boat. Sujata Todkar, a young college student, was helping her old grandmother out of the floods. There was a baby, who, I was told, had been running a fever for two days. These simple, rustic people are devastated. But they are fighting. “Have you had your lunch?” a young villager asks me solicitously as we both walk from neck-deep waters into knee-deep waters. “It’s the Krishna,” I tell myself.

(First published in The Maharashtra Herald on August 4, 2005)

We study science and still keep dates with babas, bribe gods

THE dance of death atop the Mandhardev Hill last week must have made many revisit the notion of theism. Some 400 human lives were lost at the abode of the hill deity, and for many, the name Mandhardev henceforth would spell loss and agony. Kalubai kopli (Goddess Kalubai is angry), rationalize simple believers. The wiser folks who visited Mandhardev last week put the disaster down to inefficient security and fair management. A probe was ordered, compensation announced and safety measures declared. I have my doubts that the probe will touch upon the psyche of those who throng such gatherings. Especially since politicians choose religion as their most valued vehicle.

Mandhardev may turn out to be a gory manifestation of what happens when blind traditions mix with pseudo sciences. Novelist Thomas Hardy had this theory of having “a full look at the worst” while assessing life. Writers like John Bowker insist that the same is certainly necessary for God. This is so since so much folly, wickedness and exploitation swirl around what people make of God, says Bowker in his book, God -- A Brief History.

The story of mankind shows there has never been a human society of which God has not been a part, usually a controlling and creative part. That is true even of those societies that set out to be deliberately secular. We too are not an exception, even though we have a strong tradition of social reformers, from medieval saint-poets to towering 20th century social icons like Dr Babasaheb Ambedkar. Each one of these has, in his or her pursuit of an ideal value system, lamented the exploitation of faith by unscrupulous elements and attempted to expose the futility of certain traditions, social or religious. Yet, we, the people, have managed to icon-ise even these great men. Their teachings are used occasionally by orators, may be on their birth and death anniversaries, or while making long speeches. Once used, they can easily be forgotten.
I often feel that the kind of support these rationalist movements garner actually ends up defeating the great souls who fought social ills all their lives. Look at the examples. Mahatma Jyotiba Phule, Vitthal Ramji Shinde, Gopal Ganesh Agarkar, Chattrapati Shahu Maharaj, Sayajirao Gaekwad and Dr Ambedkar. Contrary to the medieval tradition of devotional literature, the writings of Maharashtrian poet-saints show great concern about prevailing social conditions. Egalitarians, they not just preached universal love and compassion, but also questioned the monopoly of a few over knowledge. They flayed the privileges embodied in the caste hierarchy and analyzed critically the religious practices that divided people.

Centuries before modern-day reformists, Tukaram refurbished for us the concept of rationalism through his scathing criticism of traditions and blind beliefs. Unlike Europe, we have always lived in a polity where religions and religious fiefdoms remained married to political powers. We got modern sciences packaged with alien rule; hence we got accustomed to the usage of science rather than process of science. Consequently, even though we study science as a discipline, many of us also keep dates with babas, bapus and maas. The standard argument is that science and spirituality are two different things. So all around us we can see this unique mix -- people who are rationalists and fatalists at the same time.

For a child, the learning process begins at home. Educators and society in general are the two other factors that contribute to the learning process. None of these three systems instill the scientific temperament in individuals. So we have educated urban youth queuing up outside temples. And we also have illiterate villagers sacrificing animals to appease local deities. Bizarre as it may be, both have the same mindset. (And so do those who bribe government officials to get their work done faster, or by skirting the procedures.)

Superstitions that uneducated, underprivileged rural folks believe in and that the educated city dwellers follow are only as different as the texture of the clothes they wear. An educated city dweller’s superstitions might seem to be less crude, that is all. Economic development therefore needs to go hand in hand with rationalism, the spirit of inquisitiveness and egalitarian human values.

(First published in The Maharashtra Herald on February 3, 2005)