Dear Sister, My deepest sympathy and the sympathy of all my people and my Government to you and your people (Hindustan Times, 13.9.48).
Coveting ‘first-hand knowledge of every shade of opinion,’ including of those unable to ‘afford a pilgrimage to Delhi,’10 he travelled as often as possible. If visiting a familiar place, he ran the risk, in his words, of inviting the anger of friends ‘because I have not shaken hands with them, or gone to their homes, or looked at them and smiled.’
However, from a car in Bangalore he recognized, in a knot of onlookers, ‘Lame’ Rajan who had cooked for him three decades earlier in Salem. After thrusting a hundred-rupee note into the cook’s hand, C.R. had him driven home in an official car. And when Guruswami the cobbler rushed at the Governor- General’s car in Madras and security men caught hold of him, Rajaji said, ‘Don’t meddle with him. He makes fine chappals.’11
Gandhi’s death was on many minds, and everywhere C.R. was asked to open a college or hospital in the Mahatma’s name or to unveil a Gandhi portrait or statue. He found it hard to do the latter: his grief was fresh and the likenesses were seldom good. But Gandhi was one of his incessant themes.
He was like a rocket which went up in a blaze and disappeared in the sky. It did not come down to die. It died at its highest illumination . . . Let us try as far as we can to keep his memory not in marble or plaster or bronze but in the tissue of our hearts.12
He had not lost his skill with images. English was ‘the airline all over India,’ providing ‘immediate means of communication at higher levels.’ Correcting the educational system was ‘like trying to repair a railway train while it is in motion.’ It was not possible to ‘close all schools and think quietly for a year.’13
Walking with the Governor-General in Simla, T.V. Parasuram from the Press Trust of India observed, ‘Isn’t Simla beautiful?’ ‘Yes,’ agreed C.R., adding, ‘Have you seen Ooty?’14 He was not going to lose his pride in the South.
Repeatedly he claimed ordinariness for himself, and drew attention to his lack of powers. For example:
I have no powers. All the powers I exercise are exercised strictly on the advice of Ministers. I stand before you . . . as an unworthy symbol of a great thing . . . Nobody taught me how to behave if I should be made Governor-General.
Close to the humility in C.R.’s blood was his Hinduism:
There is no country which can be governed more easily than India. You have only to appeal to tradition . . . I am not the Governor-General. Sri Ram is . . . Thank you for your address to me. I shall place it at Ram’s feet.15
He offered his view on the springs of great art:
Could any man on earth conceive the dance of Siva if he did not see God behind all the diversities in this world? Could anyone paint the Ajanta frescoes if he did not believe with all the strength of his soul in love and compassion? Could anyone have given us the Taj unless he loved as greatly as Shahjahan did? (Hindustan Times, 7.11.48)
Was the Governor-General’s salary of Rs 20,000 a month consistent with the norms C.R. and the Congress had espoused over the years? Nehru explained to the AICC that taxes removed Rs 13,000 from the salary and that out of the remaining Rs 7,000 ‘the Governor-General had to meet certain necessary expenses, whether he liked it or not.’ All the same, as Nehru informed the AICC, C.R. felt that the Rs 20,000 figure was too high. The Cabinet decided that from January 1949 he should get Rs 5,500 a month tax-free, which was the salary the draft Constitution had fixed for the President of the contemplated Republic.16
Jawaharlal, Vallabhbhai and C.R. constituted an impressive trio, yet some foreign observers wondered whether Indian democracy would last. Attlee, the British Premier, who had visited India in 1928, wrote to Nehru in March 1949:
At the moment with statesmen such as yourself, Sardar Patel and Rajagopalachari in the leading positions, the danger of dictatorship may be remote, but it might arise in a great subcontinent like India.17
To C.R., the key to India’s future lay in a healthy relationship between Nehru and Patel. In a letter in October 1948 for the birthday of Vallabhbhai, who had striven successfully for the integration into India of the princely states, C.R. wrote:
Birthdays do not count with you and me and one day is as good as another. Yet . . . I congratulate you most sincerely. Many dear colleagues have passed away, and our beloved leader who was our fountain of love and inspiration was snatched away from us.
You have borne a great burden with courage and ability and by the grace of God with pre-eminent success. Our Prime Minister is the beloved of this land. Who can resist his sincerety of purpose? . . . You and he can and will overcome all difficulties.18
Should the Constitution that was being prepared enshrine the pledges given to the princes when they acceded their states to the Indian Union? And what should the Constitution say about compensation to landowners for lands acquired by the State? These were two of the issues on which Nehru and Patel, unable to agree with each other, sought C.R.’s views.
The Governor-General was evidently in favour of ‘a general guarantee in the Constitution that all assurances given in connection with the integration of states’ would be ‘binding.’19 On the second question, while C.R. agreed with Nehru that the State could not ‘pay up full value before setting right anything that is found to be a curse,’20 he tried to evolve a compromise acceptable to Patel.21
Nehru and Azad, the Education Minister, wanted an inquiry into the affairs of Benares Hindu University; Patel was opposed. C.R. gave his clear support to the latter, saying that while a study of a group of universities might be in order, it would be wrong to single out one for a probe.
If vacancies arose for posts of Governors or High Court judges, or action towards a justice involved in irregularities had to be decided upon, Nehru and Patel consulted the Governor- General. An indication of how C.R. saw the role of a Governor- General, and of Governors, can be had from accounts in newspapers of a conference of Governors held in May 1949.
Chairing, and commanding, the conference, C.R. lists the agenda, invites the Prime Minister and the Deputy Prime Minister to speak, tells the Governors that reporters would ‘soon leave and then there will be a frank discussion,’ and adds:
You should not imagine that you are just figureheads and can do nothing . . . Our Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister do not hold that view. They want you to develop your influence for good.22
Mercy petitions had to be finally disposed of by him. While the views of the Prime Minister and the Home Minister carried weight, Nehru was anxious that on this question the head of state should have personal discretion. C.R.’s philosophy regarding the death sentence was spelled out in a confidential letter to a few friends:
There are certain situations where the taking of life offers itself as a solution to people in distress and difficulty . . . If the only sanction is a term of imprisonment, the urge to kill will have its way. . . To retain the death penalty in the statute book and to give large powers to the judges to give an alternative sentence even in cases of proved murder in cold blood seems to be the only proper thing to do.23
The parents of Nathuram Godse, the Mahatma’s assassin, and the wife of Narayan Apte, sentenced to death along with Godse, pleaded with the Governor-General for a waiver of the sentence. They were joined by a few Gandhians and by two of the Mahatma’s sons, Ramdas and Manual, who argued that Gandhi would have advocated mercy. Nehru and Patel, however, were at one with the Governor-General when the latter turned down the petitions. C.R. said that he saw the assassination as ‘the wickedest act of modern times.’24
When differences arose between C.R. and Nehru or Patel, they were generally settled by frank talk or by airing any emotional bruises. Once when C.R. complained to Vallabhbhai about the tone of a letter from him, Patel replied:
I am sorry if my letter gave you any impression of lack of courtesy. I am sure you will agree that I would not even be the last person to be guilty of any act of discourtesy to you person
ally or to the high and distinguished office which you hold.25
Nehru’s tendency, as C.R. would later put it, ‘to propose plebiscites for every problem,’ once provoked the Governor- General into writing, a satirical doggerel. After smiling at his product, C.R. tore it up.26
To sign assent when he did not agree was not pleasing for C.R.; at times he would enter next to his signature the words, ‘Against conscience.’ Neither was it pleasing for Nehru or Patel when the Governor-General requested the Cabinet to reconsider a decision. Occasions of these two kinds were rare, however, and made bearable by the comradeship, indeed the affection, in C.R.’s relationships with Jawaharlal and Vallabhbhai.
The ending of the year stirred memories. On 31 December he wrote to the widow of his old teacher, Tait, saying, ‘I cannot let 1948 pass without letting you know how much I owe your husband.’27 In January Rama Rao came as his house guest; did they recall their first meeting as boys in a miserable eating house in Chickpet, Bangalore? Lady Mountbatten and her daughter Pamela were among the others who visited and stayed under his roof.
Namagiri was coping well as hostess. Guests found her well-informed and observant. But when Latin diplomats invited by her father kissed her hand, Namagiri would seize the first chance to get at some soap and water!
Some of his visitors were bright. After informing a journalist that he had no hobby like ‘kennel-keeping, hunting, yachting or painting,’ C.R. added, ‘Although I once belonged to the bar . . . I do not even possess one in the House.’ ‘Ah,’ said the journalist, ‘there is a big bar between the two bars.’ But C.R. would not be topped. ‘Barring the fact,’ he retorted at once, ‘that both are often linked with big men.’28
Once in a while there was time to write an article. He reviewed Bernard Shaw’s Sixteen Self-Sketches for the Hindustan Times (19.6.49) and offered a fresh angle on Shaw: ‘Kindliness is his strongest point . . . Dislike is a put-on for the sake of his pet passion, the desire for unusualness.’
An important old friend — and old foe — E.V.R. the Periyar spent two hours with C.R. on one of the latter’s southern visits, wanting advice: should he or should he not marry a woman forty-odd years his junior? The wedding took place and was one of the reasons for a split in E.V.R.’s Dravida Kazhagam. Some of C.R.’s critics in the South accused him of encouraging the marriage in order to discredit and divide the Dravida movement, but Philip Spratt seems to have conveyed the truth in his DMK in Power, published when C.R. and E.V.R. were both living:
The fact is that [the Periyar] consulted Rajaji (despite politics they have remained good friends), and Mr Rajagopalachari, a good Victorian, replied that as the lady’s name has been compromised, it was his duty to marry her.29
More speeches and broadcasts. There were witty ones, like the talk to the newly-formed All-India Music Society:
There are no people as quarrelsome as the artists. They are very good in their own art but when they step out a bit they become inharmonious . . . You have called your society an All-India Music Society . . . At Oxford they do not call themselves the All-England University. Cambridge is not the All-World University. Take Harvard. They do not call themselves All-American (New Delhi 19.6.49).
At times, he was utterly candid, as in his talk to leaders of different tribal groups in Shillong:
Unless all of you are linked to a strong government like that of India, it is not safe. The very customs which you wish to preserve will be blown away in a storm . . . China threatens Tibet and Burma is divided, whereas India is established and can defend you and your families (27.12.49).
Occasionally, to the dislike of Cabinet Ministers, he would propose a radical reform, as he did in Bombay (8.8.49):
I venture to suggest to crusaders of compulsory primary education whether we cannot be content with three days in the week for schooling. Our schools . . . could then take two sets of children in the week. Give the childen a chance during the other four days to work with their parents. [In the villages] the homes are homes as well as trade schools, and the parents are masters as well to whom the children [can be] apprenticed.
He could invest a formal occasion with lively wisdom. At the opening of the National Physical Laboratory in New Delhi he said:
It would be wonderful if research could help us to develop a strain of rice that has shed its wasteful habit of wallowing neck-deep in water. Yet . . . the biggest discoveries . . . come by accident.
True to feminine type, the goddess of science rejects the direct mercenary approach and prefers to be gracious by her own choice and only when you approach her for her own sake.30
From 26 January 1950 — so the Constituent Assembly had decided — India would be a Republic and need a President to replace the Governor-General. He would be elected, in this first instance, by the Constituent Assembly.
It had seemed clear that the Assembly would be guided by the wishes of Nehru and Patel. In June 1949 their wishes, as yet unannounced, were that C.R. should continue as head of state. True, the name of Rajendra Prasad, who had presided over the Constituent Assembly, had been mentioned; true, moreover, that when Patel and C.R. hinted to Prasad that a statement from him scotching rumours that he was interested in the post would be helpful, he confined himself to declaring that ‘there can be no question of any rivalry between Rajaji and myself for any post or honour.’31
Still, it looked likely that the Congress members predominating in the Assembly would carry out a joint recommendation by Jawaharlal and Patel in C.R.’s favour. By the end of September, however, it was clear that there would not be a joint proposal, that Prasad was interested in the position, and that a majority in the party preferred Prasad.
While eager to install Rajaji, Nehru overestimated his capacity to succeed. He also committed two tactical blunders. The first was to send a letter to Prasad indicating a preference for C.R. and requesting Prasad to propose C.R.’s name. Sent without consulting Patel, the letter only made Prasad keener on the Presidentship.
Nehru’s second mistake was to move — against Patel’s advice — a resolution proposing C.R.’s name at a meeting of the Congress Parliamentary Party. He was leaving for the United States and wanted the question settled before his departure. When several speakers opposed the resolution, Jawaharlal looked for help from Patel, who, however, merely proposed that the question be deferred until the end of Nehru’s American trip.
Returning from America, Nehru offered Prasad the chairmanship of the Planning Commission that was envisaged. When Prasad did not bite this bait, Jawaharlal wrote to him of the need for the ‘five of us, you, Rajaji, Vallabhbhai, Maulana and myself,’ to tackle together the deterioration that had assailed Congress — ‘the cracking up, with great rapidity, of the noble structure that Bapu built,’ as Nehru put it — and threw a hint about Prasad taking up the Congress Presidentship. Finally, he said:
It is patent that there are only two persons who might be chosen as President of the Republic — yourself and Rajaji. There is no other. One of the two, it seems to me, should take the initiative of declaring that he will not stand . . . Rajaji himself was anxious to retire to his village and the only consideration for him was whether his colleagues and his duty demanded something else. He would gladly issue a statement about retiring himself, if his colleagues so desired.32
However, not only was Prasad unwilling to retire, Patel by this time was definite that he should not. Not that he preferred Prasad to C.R. Morarji Desai and Ghanshyamdas Birla, both of whom enjoyed Patel’s confidence, have recalled that Vallabhbhai felt that C.R. would be as good a President as Prasad.33 Nor did Vallabhbhai swallow the line that Nehru wanted C.R. ‘as a prop against his deputy Prime Minister.’ According to Dwarka Prasad Mishra, another of Patel’s close friends, Vallabhbhai ‘believed that once elected as President C.R. would not blindly support Nehru disregarding national interests.’34
Patel changed his attitude when he saw the feeling in the party and also a chance to bring Nehru down a peg. IIis only worry now wa
s about Prasad backing out at the last minute. To him he sent the message, ‘Agar dulha palki chhod kar bhag na jaye to shadi nakki.’ (‘Provided the bridegroom does not desert the palanquin, the marriage is assured.’) However, as Mishra recalls, ‘the bridegroom was firmly sitting in the palanquin and the marriage party need not have been anxious.’ Prasad was ready, in fact, to be ‘harder than a diamond.’35
He informed Nehru that a withdrawal by him would be interpreted as ‘dictation’ and ‘a betrayal.’36 The ball was now in the court of C.R., who promptly announced his retirement.
Why was the party not keen on C.R., whose success as Governor-General had been unquestioned? That he came from outside the Hindi belt and was not fluent in the language were perhaps factors. ‘The protagonists of Hindi favour Rajendra Babu,’ Nehru told Patel.37 But the biggest reason was C.R.’s 1942 role.
Most Members of the Constituent Assembly had taken part in Quit India. Prasad had gone to prison with them while C.R. was proposing accommodation with the British and the League. If one of the two had to be the first President, they would choose Prasad, unless Nehru and Patel jointly urged them to the contrary.
C.R. did not try to charm the Members the way he had charmed the diplomats. He enjoyed high office but a patient and tactful effort to keep it was beyond him. Nor was it in him to ask for Patel’s favour, though one word to Patel, with whom C.R. had personal and ideological links of long standing, might have fetched him the Presidentship.
Patel would die in less than a year and in ten years C.R. and Nehru would be engaged in sharp political conflict. Yet C.R. was never to express, in public or private, deliberately or absent- mindedly, to strangers or confidants, bitterness at Nehru or Patel for not being chosen President. Was it that C.R. concealed his true feeling with remarkable success? It is more likely that he had philosophy enough to smile both at his entry into Government House and his exit from it.
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