Diwakar and Shiva Rao were on the delegation with C.R.; in fact, following Nehru’s advice, Diwakar was designated ‘leader’ and C.R. ‘chief spokesman.’1
On 22 September word came via John Galbraith, the American ambassador in Delhi, that President Kennedy would receive the group on 28 September.
The party flew via London and New York. Meeting the delegation in New York, and noting that the ages of Rajaji, Diwakar and Shiva Rao added up to 223 years, Natwar Singh, the Indian Consul-General, thought, ‘Fancy sending three stretcher cases to meet President Kennedy’ (Swarajya, 3.9.78).
As their plane approached the American capital, C.R. recalled that twenty years earlier Col. Louis Johnson, President Roosevelt’s representative in India, had wanted to fly Nehru and C.R. to Washington in a bid to resolve the deadlock in Congress’s wartime talks with the British. That trip was not to be, but at 5.00 p.m. the next day he would be meeting one of Roosevelt’s successors, the glamorous and, it was said, tough and astute John F. Kennedy, not to seek aid over any Indo-British tangle but to offer aid over the Russo-American one!
Not vanity but a sense of duty had brought him to America. The appointment at the White House was preceded by an 80- minute discussion starting at 3.30 p.m. with a seasoned team led by William Foster, director of the US Disarmament Agency. This exercise exhausted C.R. and almost made him late for the big interview, but it also acquainted him with the hurdles he would need to overcome in his talk with the President.
As their car entered the White House driveway, C.R. said to Shiva Rao, his voice a hoarse whisper, ‘What am I going to say to the President? I am so tired.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ the faith- giving Shiva Rao replied, ‘the right words will come to you.’ What followed has been described by Ambassador B.K. Nehru, who had accompanied the delegation:
We had barely sat down in the waiting room—which was, incidentally, the Cabinet Room of the United States — when the door opened, a young man walked briskly in, shook hands all round and took us into another room a short distance away where flash bulbs popped, television lights shone and batteries of cameramen started taking pictures.
Rajaji looked up to the man on his left, who was a whole twelve inches taller than he, and said in a very gentle voice, ‘Am I in the presence of the President of the United States?’ . . . Rajaji had not realised, till the photographing had started, that the young man who had led us in was President Kennedy himself.
Kennedy sat in his rocking chair, with Diwakar and Shiva Rao to his right and Rajaji and B.K. Nehru to his left. Rajaji began disarmingly. He was not pleading, he said, for American disarmament: how could he, when his own government had a policy of armed defence? But the immediate cessation of nuclear tests stood on a different footing. Delicately he introduced the argument that the world as a whole had a right to say to the nuclear powers that they could not, in the name of testing, poison the atmosphere and endanger humanity, now and in the future.
Moreover, America and Russia did not seem too far from an agreement: the Kremlin’s refusal to allow inspection was the only hitch. In the absence of an agreement, could not America contemplate a unilateral suspension of all tests save underground ones? Didn’t the world need someone with the courage to take the first step?
He had had, Rajaji went on, exchanges on the subject with Krushchev. Though some of these had been disappointing, it could not be denied that the Soviet Union had at one stage announced unilateral cessation. When the Kremlin resumed testing a year ago, Rajaji went on, he had pleaded for its ostracism. Unfortunately, the Indian government could not accept his suggestion.
Yet, faced with American unilateral action, and the global opinion created by such an action, the Kremlin would find it hard not to follow suit, and humanity would be spared the danger of continuous fallout. If the Soviet Union did not repond positively, the USA could legitimately resume testing. B.K. Nehru has written:
I have had the good fortune of being present when great men have argued their points of view with each other in many parts of the world. But I had seldom seen a case presented with such lucidity of argument, such economy of speech, such felicity of language, such gentleness of manner and such command of facts as Rajaji displayed that day. It was interesting to watch President Kennedy’s reactions, for he too was a great admirer of style. One could almost see his eyes open wider and wider in wonder and in admiration of the frail little man who was making this masterly presentation.
Recorded Shiva Rao:
The minutes sped far beyond the allotted time of twenty-five minutes. Messengers kept coming at regular intervals with notes from impatient aides to remind Mr Kennedy that other appointments were falling behind schedule. The President ignored them all: with a face aglow with admiration he seemed absorbed in the practical wisdom of his Indian visitor. ‘Governor,’ he said every few moments for a brief intervention . . .
Towards the end, the President said, ‘I find the proposals reasonable and I will certainly consider which of them are feasible.’ He asked his visitors to wait for good news, and said that it might emerge by January 1963. He was aware, Kennedy went on, of the danger from profilerating tests. The basic problem was of mutual trust. ‘Something must be done to build such trust.’
They had been with Kennedy for over an hour but he was in no hurry to send them away. He showed them a writing desk that Queen Victoria had presented to a previous occupant of the White House, gave them a view of his garden, and, taking leave, asked Rajaji to keep in touch.
Kennedy apparently said to Philips Talbot, Assistant Secretary of State, who was present, that the interview ‘had a civilising quality about it.’ At any rate this is what Talbot afterwards told Shiva Rao.2 In a gesture normally restricted to a visit by a head of state or government, the White House issued a communique on the talk between ‘the President and Mr Rajagopalachari.’
‘Was it a fruitful talk?’ a reporter asked. ‘It was flowerful,’ said Rajaji. (This had been Gandhi’s reply in 1944 after a meeting with Jinnah.) But it was more than that. Chester Bowles disclosed to the delegation that some of the points C.R. made to Kennedy featured in a State Department discussion two days later.
His fifteen days in America were spent in Washington, New York and Boston. Slowly climbing the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, C.R. stood silently in front of the seated hero and then stretched his arms to touch the marble figure. B.K. Nehru, Rajaji’s host in Washington, thought that despite all his reading C.R. seemed surprised by ‘the overwhelming affluence of the Western world.’ Natwar Singh, the New York host, noted that Rajaji was ‘always punctual and a model of tidiness’ and that ‘the bedroom and the bathroom were kept spotlessly clean.’
Wives of South Indian members of India’s missions made the things C.R. was used to eating; he talked — mostly about the Bomb — with interesting scientists and editors, senators and professors, students and diplomats; altogether, it was a satisfactory time in America. It included meetings with Secretary of State Dean Rusk; Adlai Stevenson, the American Ambassador at the UN; U Thant, the UN Secretary-General; Foreign Ministers at the UN including Andrei Gromyko of the Soviet Union; a lunch with a youthful Harvard professor called Henry Kissinger; a session with the editors of the New York Times; and more.
‘I am a rightist at home,’ said C.R., candidly, to Gromyko. ‘By which you mean that you want to do the right thing,’ said the well-versed Gromyko. They talked very frankly, and it was clear that bridging the Soviet and American positions would be hard work. C.R. was tempted to go to Moscow, but heeded Kennedy’s advice to wait.
Zafarulla Khan of Pakistan, the UN President at this time, gave a lunch in C.R.’s honour. Zafarulla has recalled his reaction earlier when his secretary informed him that someone described as Rajaji wished to call on him. ‘I recognise only one Rajaji, and he cannot possibly be in New York,’ he told the secretary, and asked her to discover ‘further particulars of the gentleman who desires to call on me.’ When she ‘returned with a slip on which Rajaji�
��s full name was spelt out,’ Zafarulla asked his secretary to convey that ‘if I was given an appointment, I would deem it an honour to call on Rajaji.’
C.R.’s small, fragile frame and the nature of his cause aided his advocacy in the West. The old man in strange apparel was pleading not for a party, country or bloc of countries, but for the whole world’s dumb millions. Men of his sort with his sort of aim do not often tread on the carpets of the world’s chancelleries. The impact was considerable. He awarded himself fair marks. Writing to his grandson, Gopu, 17 at the time, he said:
God has helped me to keep good health and to do my work well. Everyone I think who heard me including all the big bureaucrats were impressed, and their conscience is not easy. But God keeps to himself results (8.10.62).
Five days in Britain followed. Rajaji talked with Premier Harold Macmillan and Gaitskell, the opposition leader; with Canon Collins, the peace champion; with Britons who had served in India; and to assorted British and Indian groups.
His host in London, High Commissioner M.C. Chagla, saw that C.R. was curious about ‘a particular street.’ When Chagla ‘laughingly asked why this interest in this particular street,’ C.R. replied—Chagla recalls—that he had read about it. ‘Though he had tried to visualise it, now that he was in London, he would like to see it as it really was.’3
It would have been a mistake, C.R. wrote to his daughter Lakshmi, not to see ‘the glories of ancient and modern Rome.’ The highlight of three days in Rome was a meeting with Pope John, at which Father Jerome D’Souza, an old friend from Madras, acted as interpreter.
Rajaji sought ‘the blessing and encouragement’ of the Pope in his mission against the Bomb. The Holy Father offered assurances and said he would pray. Expressing his gratitude, C.R. said he would ‘venture also to appeal’ for something more. Could there not be, C.R. asked, a Papal plea at a suitable occasion — even, perhaps, at the next Council — for a test-ban agreement? John XXIII said he would ‘carefully consider’ the idea.
After finding out from Father D’Souza how old Rajaji was, the Pope said to C.R.: ‘I am 81 and so your junior.’ C.R.: ‘In wisdom and spiritual knowledge we are children before you.’ The Pope: ‘The secret of keeping young is being ready at all times to answer if the Lord should call us. The coming Council is a great and important event, but it is the Lord’s work and I leave it with serene confidence in His Hands.’
The Pope played his part. An encyclical contained a plea for the stoppage of test explosions. C.R. was thrilled. Then, in June 1963, when the Pope died, C.R. paid him a tribute (Swarajya, 15.6.63).
May Mr Kennedy and Mr Krushchev and their advisers be inspired by John the good, whose spirit hovers over us, still pleading.
Responding to many voices, including an eloquent one supplied by C.R., America, the Soviet Union and Britain agreed, at the end of July 1963, on a test-ban treaty. C.R., who sent letters of praise to the leaders of the three powers, wrote to Monica Felton that he was ‘delighted beyond expression at what has at last happened.’
‘Ours was not,’ he said in a letter to Diwakar, ‘a case of tilting at the windmills’ (9.8.63).
Chester Bowles, who by now was posted again as ambassador to India, wrote to C.R. (9.8.63):
I am sure that the treaty will be the subject of vigorous discussion in the United States Senate. However . . . I feel confident that President Kennedy will stand firm . . . I might add that this persistence is, in no small measure, due to your eloquent plea for just such a step as this . . . during your visit.
A letter from Kennedy followed. Expressing ‘personal thanks’ to C.R. for his congratulatory words, the President added (15.8.63):
Even so limited a beginning cannot help but carry forward the cause of peace for which you have so devotedly laboured.
Visiting Delhi three months later, Rajaji was brushing his teeth one morning when a grandson informed him that Kennedy had been killed. ‘It can’t be true!’ exclaimed C.R.
24
Defiance
1962-69
C.R. was in London when, in a swift move across India’s Himalayan border, the Chinese army ‘outnumbered, outweaponed, outmanoeuvred and slaughtered’ Indian soldiers, as C.R. put it, borrowing a famous phrase.
The defeat outraged the Indian public. The revelation that Indian soldiers in the icy heights were poorly clothed and poorly shod, in addition to being poorly armed, added to the indignation. Asked by Congress MPs to remove Krishna Menon, the Defence Minister, unless he wished to risk his leadership, Nehru — with great reluctance — dropped his protégé.
Though C.R. referred once to the belief that Nehru himself ‘had directed the policy’ that led to the disaster (Swarajya, 10.11.62), he refrained from attempting to force Jawaharlal out. Only Nehru commanded the nation’s affection.
In utterances following his return, and at a face-to-face meeting in Delhi, C.R. sought to encourage Nehru the man, while urging a drastic revision of his policies.
[Nehru’s] deprecation of any tendency to brutalization of our people’s minds was admirable and appropriate . . . Sri Nehru rightly condemns the silly exhibitions of misguided partriots by way of burning effigies and shouting ugly and childish slogans. They do not in the least affect the Chinese; they affect us (Swarajya, 24.11.62).
The Prime Minister is standing up bravely to the reverses we have had to suffer. God bless him and give him strength (Swarajya, 1.12.62).
Double quick change in policies is called for (Swarajya, 24.11.61).
It is necessary to establish friendly relations with Pakistan . . . We cannot fight on two fronts . . . [Secondly] we must build friendship and alliances with Western powers (Swarajya, 22.11.62).
Much earlier (3.11.62), he had sent a message to President Ayub Khan: ‘Pakistan has a great opportunity to do the grand and correct thing. I shall not dilate or expand. May God guide you to do the right thing when Providence has provided the occasion.’1
Three years previously, when Ayub made a joint defence offer to India, Nehru had asked, ‘Joint defence against whom?’ Now, when India probed Pakistan’s willingness to stand by India, Ayub asked, ‘What about Kashmir?’ On Kashmir Nehru was not prepared to budge.
As for approaching the West, Nehru privately asked for the West’s aid, and it was offered. As Kennedy said in a letter to C.R. (5.12.62): ‘We have given you some military help already and we are considering your Government’s requests for more.’
Prescribing ‘a more dynamic military policy’ and ‘a strategy that will wrest the initiative from the enemy,’ (Swarajya, 1.12.62) C.R. suggested a move towards Taiwan, hitherto an untouchable in Indian eyes. ‘We can bomb Peking from Taiwan,’ he had apparently said to Nehru when the two met on C.R.’s return to India.2
What was dynamic to C.R. may have seemed reckless to Nehru. Happily for Jawaharlal, pressure for immediate realignments ceased when, after an easy descent into the Himalayan foothills, Peking unilaterally returned to the heights.
But it retained bits of captured territory. Nehru’s assertion that India would retrieve these pieces at the border did not convince C.R. Time would justify C.R.’s cheerless assessment:
The Chinese have de facto imposed their will and pleasure on us and the Prime Minister has resolved to accept it, whatever hot and patriotic words may be uttered (Swarajya, 16.2.63).
The swoop from the north strengthened C.R.’s view that China’s power and possible ambitions constituted a ‘menace which is not only big but permanent.’ Perceiving stirrings for ‘a Chinese empire [in Asia] to rival Soviet Russia in Europe,’ C.R. hoped, in response, for ‘a system of forces which will produce and maintain equilibrium in Asia’ (Swarajya, 1 & 22.12.62).
The Chinese withdrawal not being followed by a surrender of the special powers the government had acquired, C.R. rang an alarm.
‘Bless the baby and save the mother is my motto, sir,’ said Mrs Gamp, in Dickens’s story of Martin Chuzzlewit. [However,] the motto of all good gynaecologists
is that neither the mother nor the baby should be sacrificed . . . Democracy should be preserved as well as national security (Swarajya, 19.1.63).
Earlier, when India’s defeat became known, he had demanded ‘full and accurate news of casualties’ and ‘correct news about our losses and the reason why’ (Swarajya, 3 24.11.62).
Morarji Desai, Nehru’s Finance Minister, now produced policies that C.R.’s itchy pen was waiting for. He over-taxed; he compelled the diversion of middle-class savings into poor-interest government bonds; and, with his Gold Control scheme, he sought to cure the Indian of his gold-addiction.
Though cordiality existed between him and Desai, C.R. savaged the measures. ‘Sadism runs amuck’ was his comment on the new taxes, and he foresaw ‘fruitless suffering, barren pain’ from the compulsory deposit law. But it was the error of Gold Control that most offended him.
A ban on the use of high-purity gold in fresh jewellery, which Desai claimed would reduce the smuggling of gold into India, was the essence of the Desai scheme. Crying ‘Dacoity!’, C.R. charged that ‘the jewels and gold of our womenfolk have attracted . . . greedy eyes.’ (Swarajya, 1.9.62). As he saw it, ‘the yellow metal was . . . the honest and industrious family’s village- bank, with no difficult forms and inaccessible counters for the illiterate’ (Swarajya, 2.2.63).
To him, smuggling of gold was not ‘the fault of the people’ but the result of the rupee’s falling value. One of Desai’s follow- up measures amused him:
I had a notion that [Desai] planned to save our womenfolk from the expensive lure of trinkets, and that his attack on gold was a puritanic taste-reform. But we find now that under his inspiration Government is going to spend public money on a 14-carat-and-below jewellery-making national institute! (Swarajya, 6.4.63)
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