14
Death of a Rioter
I had come to these Blue Mountains, shrouded in mist and the spirits of the dead, to rest and had found only more conflict, the very thing I was running away from. This shouldn’t have come as a surprise, I realize that now, because we are drawn to the things we obsess about, no matter how hard we try to escape them. Meham had much to offer, the magic of its gardens, the desolate beauty of its landscapes, the peace of its isolation, but none of these held my interest. I suppose, in other circumstances and if I had been a different sort of person, I might have been able to ignore Noah, Rajan, and the disturbance over the shrine, but that was not be.
Today, as I write this account of my brief sojourn in the Nilgiris, I can’t help wondering if things might not have turned out differently if I hadn’t meddled in them. Or had I made no difference at all, would events have followed their destined trajectory no matter what?
The passage of time has given me a certain perspective on the events that took place on 5 January 1994, but it has erased none of the detail.
~
I found it difficult to go back to sleep after my nightmare. In the early hours of the morning I finally managed to drop off to, incredibly enough, the pulse of rain on the roof. I wasn’t imagining it—Meham’s unpredictable weather had closed in and I began to relax. Not even Rajan would attempt to get to the shrine in such conditions. When I awoke the house and garden were shuttered by mist. The rain had stopped, but this was even better. There could be no demonstration now, I was convinced of that. I had a leisurely breakfast and, Mr Khanna’s driver having finally shown up, ordered the car for eleven in the morning. The inspector had told me to arrive at the shrine by twelve, so I had plenty of time. When we set off, the mist had already begun to disperse, stirring in the folds and wrinkles of the surrounding mountains. I wondered as we passed the road leading to the cemetery if I should try to persuade Noah to accompany me, but I put the thought firmly out of my mind—after our altercation, I wondered if he would ever want to see me again. As we neared the Tower of God, the mountains that guarded it looked more tremendous than ever, cowled and shadowed by mist, part of a landscape that belonged to the first light of Creation. As I looked upon the view, my sense of peace heightened. How insignificant our human struggles seemed when set against the vast, unchanging presence of the mountains.
But the peace I felt was based on an illusion, for events had moved on in my absence, and the situation was far worse than I could have imagined. I have often wondered why we are frequently lulled into an immense calm before we experience disaster. Is it because God, that ruthless autocrat, wishes us to feel the edge of His lash more keenly?
~
Even before we got to the starting point for the climb to the shrine, I could see that something was terribly wrong. A mob was milling about in the staging area, and there was a thin line of khaki at the very edge as the few policemen at the scene tried to hold people back. The Tower of God was still obscured by mist and cloud, but everyone’s focus seemed to be on what lay in the deep chasm beyond. I told the driver to stop the car, got out and pushed my way through the crowd. Mingled among the ordinary people from town were a large number of Kadavul Katchi members, easily distinguished by their saffron bandannas and the banners and trishuls they carried. But none of them seemed in any way threatening; if anything, they looked bewildered and shaken. There were a smaller number of young men holding up placards in support of the shrine (so Menon had managed to organize a few people, I thought fleetingly), but neither group seemed to be interested in each other. A few of the KK men were arguing with Shanmugam, the police inspector, who had stationed himself in front of the steps leading down from the staging area. ‘Too dangerous to go down there. We will start our investigation once the weather clears up,’ he repeated over and over again. The men arguing with him did not seem to disagree, for their protests seemed desultory and they were making no attempt to push the policemen aside, something they could have done with ease, given their superior numbers.
The precise details of what happened on the morning of 5 January will never be known, for the two people who were involved, Noah and Rajan, are both dead. The only other people present, two of Rajan’s associates who accompanied him on his last journey, were too far behind, and wholly preoccupied with picking their way up the slippery steps cut into the Tower of God to have actually witnessed what went on. They did speak at length to the four journalists present at the scene—of which I was one—the police, KK party members and anyone else who would listen, but as their tales grew wilder and more outrageous, it became evident that they were unreliable. As a result, most of the news stories that appeared in the immediate aftermath skimmed over the actual details of the ‘accident’ that resulted in the deaths. In any event, the incident was deemed of so little importance that the majority of newspapers in the country devoted only a paragraph to it. The three longer accounts, two in Tamil and one in English (besides the report I filed for the February issue of The Indian Secularist), appeared in local newspapers and all three dwelled on the career of Rajan, mourning the loss of one of the state’s most dynamic young leaders. All three papers were known sympathizers of the KK cause. Mine was the only report that had anything at all to say about Noah, although Sakshi had to excise two paragraphs at the last minute to accommodate an advertisement. For the purposes of record I am reproducing the piece in full.
DEATHS IN MEHAM
By R.K. Vijay
Meham, 5 January 1994
The Feast Day of the Shrine of the Blessed Martyr in the Nilgiris District witnessed the deaths of two people when a demonstration outside the shrine reportedly turned violent. According to eyewitness accounts, the trouble started when D.P. Rajan, 44, a Bombay businessman who was affiliated to the Kadavul Katchi party, with its headquarters in Coimbatore, led a group of party workers to the shrine in order to demand its return to the Hindus, to whom they alleged it belonged. Right-wing Hindu parties say that a temple dedicated to Lord Shiva once stood on the spot, before it was demolished by a satrap of Hyder Ali in the eighteenth century, following which it was taken over by a Christian saint, but historical evidence in support of the Hindu claim is scanty.
According to Nallapan, 29, a long-time associate of Mr Rajan and one of those who claims to have witnessed the accident, bad weather had forced the demonstrators to delay their march upon the shrine. Some of the processionists who belonged to the district had advised Mr Rajan to postpone the demonstration, but as he was scheduled to return to Bombay the next day, he decided to stage a symbolic protest. Instructing the rest of the demonstrators to stay where they were, Mr Rajan proceeded up the rock formation (known locally as the Tower of God) with Nallapan and another associate who had accompanied him from Bombay. As the three men neared the summit, they were stopped by a local resident, Noah Yesudas, 36. An altercation broke out between Mr Yesudas and Mr Rajan and the eyewitnesses allege that Mr Rajan was attacked by Mr Yesudas without provocation. Others, especially a small group of volunteers who had gathered in the shrine to ‘protect’ it, insist the reverse is true. The police refuse to confirm either version of the incident, merely stating that an investigation will begin immediately. What is clear is that an argument took place, followed by a scuffle, during which the disputants lost their footing on the slippery path and plunged to their deaths.
The dispute over the shrine dates back to the 1920s, when the first claim in modern times was made by a Hindu right-wing party. Over the years there have been sporadic demands that the shrine be handed over, but the agitation only gained momentum in the 1990s with the heightening of Hindu militancy across the country. On the first anniversary of the demolition of the Babri Masjid, a group of demonstrators led by Mr Rajan attempted to repossess the shrine but they were dispersed by the police. At the time Mr Rajan announced that he would lead a peaceful dharna to press for ‘restoration to the Hindus of one of their most important sacred sites in South India’.
Ironically, the shrine is one of the few places in the entire district where people of all faiths gather to worship. Its custodian, Brother Ahimas, is credited with miraculous powers of healing and the saint who founded the shrine is revered by Muslims, Hindus and Christians. Since the tragedy the shrine has been cordoned off indefinitely. The Nilgiri District Collector’s office said in a statement that this measure was necessitated by the fact that the matter would need to be fully and thoroughly investigated without any evidence being disturbed. At the time of writing, this correspondent has learned that the local MLA has petitioned the Tamil Nadu Government to set up a commission of inquiry to thoroughly evaluate the dispute over the shrine.
That was my objective report, neatly bracketed by caveats and disclaimers, which would be quickly extinguished in the minds of my readers by the avalanche of newer stories that would fill the magazine.
But there was another story that germinated within me, that visited me during the early hours of the morning when I could not sleep, and that is the story I am attempting to narrate. It is a story that stretches back centuries, a story of sultans, soldiers, saints and ordinary men who felt the dead weight of God in their bones, urging them on to acts of folly that could only end disastrously. What madness had led to the establishment of this place of worship in such a remote and inaccessible spot? Had it originally been a temple dedicated to a Hindu deity? Had it been demolished by a Muslim sultan? Had it been founded by a Christian holy man? No matter what the truth about the origins of the shrine might be, there was no question that it existed under the gaze of an indifferent God, heedless to the passion and tragedy of the men who sacrificed themselves in His name. Noah and Rajan were only the latest victims but there would be more, many more, who would perish, not just at the Shrine of the Blessed Martyr but at many other places of worship in this land corroded by religion.
~
According to Mansukhani, who was exceptionally indiscreet and forthcoming because I interviewed him soon after the tragedy, Rajan had woken very early that morning, and as was his habit had had a bath in cold water although the temperature outside was close to zero. Dressed only in his veshti, his upper body bare, his hair still wet from his ablutions, he spent a long time in the puja room of the house, preparing himself for the day ahead. He alone knew what he had to do that morning, he hadn’t confided in even his most trusted followers. All that his men were aware of was that there was to be a demonstration outside the shrine and that it was designed to attract as much media attention as possible. There was to be no violence. So soon after Ayodhya and Bombay, any injury or death would bring too much heat to bear upon the Bombay branch of the national political party Rajan was affiliated to, and the senior leadership did not think the rewards would justify it. And although they liked the idea of expanding their sphere of influence, they considered Meham too isolated and unimportant to be much of a draw. However, as Rajan seemed very keen to lead the agitation on behalf of the Kadavul Katchi, he was permitted to go ahead as long as he was cautious. Accordingly, Rajan had been entirely truthful when he had assured the Meham inspector that neither he nor his followers intended to be violent during the demonstration.
Having finished his puja, Rajan dressed quickly and told his host that he wanted to get to the Tower of God early to ensure all was in readiness. He declined the breakfast of iddlis and sambhar that had been prepared. Accompanied by his Bombay associates, he set off for his destination.
As he drove through that whisper-soft morning of mist and cloud towards his fateful encounter with Noah, I wonder what he was thinking about. He was used to dealing with death and intimidation, he was a good planner, and he knew how to use the specifics of any situation to his advantage, but I remember something the Brigadier had said to me in his home—apparently when he set out on a combat mission, all the rehearsals, operations-room briefings and strategies would disappear, to be replaced by a keen awareness of his physical self and the environment around him, everything accentuated by the fear and adrenalin coursing through him. Did Rajan look around, feel the mist sliding off the windscreen? Did he think of calling off the project on account of the inclement weather? Did he worry that his kolhapuri chappals were inadequate for the climb? Did he think that the Shiv lingam wrapped in saffron silk might fall from his grasp as he ascended the Tower of God? If the Brigadier was correct, these are the things that would have preoccupied him, his mind would have been emptied of everything else, including any prospective encounter with the defenders of the shrine.
At the steps leading to the shrine Rajan met a small group of men who had been instructed to meet him in advance of the main body of demonstrators, who were expected to arrive a few hours later when the demonstration was officially scheduled to begin. Rajan told the men that he wanted them to follow him after an interval of an hour and then wait at the base of the Tower of God for further instructions.
It was nearly seven and the first traces of morning were beginning to infiltrate the mist. Rajan and his two closest associates set off down the steps that led to the path that would take them through the forest, past the Shiva temple and to the base of the Tower of God. Even on this short flight of steps, Rajan almost slipped and fell, the thin soles of his kolhapuri chappals offering him little purchase on the moisture-slick stone. One of his lieutenants offered to go back and get him a pair of thick-soled boots but Rajan refused. In defiance of the elements and the terrain, he had dressed in the garb of a Bombay politician—white kurta-pajama and chappals—his one concession to the Meham weather a shawl thrown around his shoulders. His single- mindedness and self-belief would have it no other way; he was Rajan, the powerful politician who would bring the shrine to its knees, he was not about to hide behind boots and sweaters. But after he slipped again his companions were able to prevail upon him to discard his unsuitable footwear. The kolhapuris were found later in the day next to the little stone bridge leading into the forest, perfectly aligned, for Rajan was a fastidious man.
Rajan still did not opt for sensible shoes. Instead, he decided to make the rest of the journey barefoot. ‘Sahib said this was an act of pilgrimage, and it was only proper that it be carried out in bare feet.’ This was the moment Rajan chose to reveal his audacious plan. He had decided to approach the shrine with only two companions in order not to alarm the custodian. Once he got close enough, he wanted his men to create a diversion while he sneaked around on the little-used path to the old entrance of the shrine. He expected to get into the chapel undetected. Once inside, he would install the lingam behind the cross, quietly ascertain how many defenders were present and then slip out to rejoin his men, who would summon the reinforcements waiting at the bottom of the Tower. When they arrived he intended to march boldly into the shrine and ask for it to be searched for any signs that it was a Hindu place of worship. When the Shiv lingam was discovered, his men would swiftly overcome the defenders of the shrine. He didn’t expect much resistance from them, they would be country people, small-town people, who would be no match for his ferociously committed rioters. By the time the police arrived on the scene the shrine would have been converted into a makeshift temple to Lord Shiva with a minimum of fuss. It was a precisely thought-through plan but it hadn’t bargained for one eventuality—Noah.
~
I’d like to think that Noah spent the evening before his death reading one of his beloved modern European poets, Rilke maybe, thinking about Maya and Iva, listening to Jimi Hendrix tearing music from his guitar, smoking dope—it would somehow have been appropriate for his inspiration to have come from something that was diametrically opposed to the forces that drove Rajan. But that is something we will never know. All that we can verify is that sometime between my argument with him and evening prayers, Noah arrived at the shrine. Its occupants marvelled at his ability to negotiate the Tower in such treacherous conditions and poor light, but Noah was a child of these mountains and he told them it had been no trouble at all. In addition to Menon and two full-time volunteers, the
custodian had permitted six young men from town to spend the night at the shrine in order to defend it should it come under attack. They were unarmed, for Brother Ahimas wouldn’t allow weapons in the place. Their choppers and lathis were left outside.
When Noah had announced his intention to stay, Brother Ahimas had tried to dissuade him. There were enough defenders, not that he expected the shrine to be attacked. There had been demonstrations before, but they were usually held outside its precincts and had never been a threat, only a nuisance, so he didn’t expect this one to be any different. Noah had apparently told him that Rajan was an adversary who was more dangerous than any the shrine had been threatened by before, and he was adamant about staying on. The custodian had relented, and space was found for Noah to stay the night. He hadn’t spent his time sleeping, Brother Ahimas told me; instead he had talked to the old man into the early hours of the morning, when the custodian had excused himself to go to his own quarters.
Noah stayed awake, wrapped in a borrowed blanket, looking out into the blank white emptiness of the rift from a ledge that overlooked both approaches to the shrine. At first light, as people began stirring, he drank a cup of tea, refused the simple communal breakfast of poorie and potatoes, performed his ablutions and returned to his post. ‘It was almost as if he was waiting for something,’ one of the young defenders said to me later. As Brother Ahimas and the others assembled in the chapel for morning prayers, Noah saw Rajan walk out of the mist and head for the little-used approach to the shrine. Seeing that he was alone, Noah didn’t alert the rest of the group, but got up, picked up a lathi and quickly walked around the shrine and on to the path from the opposite direction, so he would come face to face with Rajan.
The Solitude of Emperors Page 26
