Simply Fly

by Capt G R Gopinath

  Elections to the state assembly were announced. The party asked me to contest from my constituency of Gandsi. Constituencies are determined on the basis of population and according to taluq demography. Gandsi was a large constituency with 410 villages. Only two political parties were dominant there: the Congress and the Janata Dal. Congress MLA Shivaram was serving his second term and the party held sway over the region. The BJP was still scouting for grass-roots leaders. The Janata Dal was headed by Ramakrishna Hegde and Deve Gowda. Both leaders were powerful and popular. Deve Gowda had great clout in my area, which had a significant Gowda population. His sons were with him in politics. They had strong grass-roots cadres and leaders. The fight was clearly between the two major parties, with the BJP making an attempt to join the race. People advised me to contest from Malleshwaram or Basavanagudi in Bengaluru, or from Hassan city. These had large Brahmin populations. This idea did not appeal to me as I was not seeking caste votes. I was ex-army, well-educated, hard-working, and well-known as a farmer. People in my party got together and coined a slogan ‘Model Farmer, Model Soldier’. I glanced at the slogan and was delighted! It looked catchy enough to sell my brand name! I would be the candidate of choice for farmers and people in the villages. I , therefore, remained in Gandsi reckoning that I had a good chance of winning as I had a clean track record in the region, as a hard working farmer. I began preparations for my election campaign in right earnest.

  I received healthy press coverage in all Hassan’s local newspapers of Hassan but was mortified that nobody in the villages knew me. The BJP as a party did not exist for them. It was a big challenge for me to create an image for the party. I delved deep into my psychic resources and spent sleepless nights. I felt certain that people would look up to me if they learnt about the serious work I had been engaged with, as a farmer. I was elated at the thought of the good work I could do for the people if elected.

  Candidates spent Rs 15 to 20 lakhs on their election campaigns. I decided to keep mine low-budget and compensate with my energy, passion for work, and my immense lung power. I met people personally and visited every nook and cranny of my constituency. I began a second loop of village visits three months before the elections. I bought another second hand car and together with a few supporters, I set out for every village. Local supporters had put up posters with the slogan, ‘From Model Farmer to Model Leader’ next to my photograph. I attempted to create a highly visible and catchy campaign through specially designed peak caps, lapel-pins, and paper badges featuring my photograph.

  Doordarshan, the only TV channel in the country, had begun to air programmes. There was one TV tower in Hassan with a footprint of 15 to 20 km, which meant that the rest of the district, about 90 per cent, lay in an information-blackout zone. I therefore decided to make a short film about my life and work. We planned to hire a few television sets and video cassette players to screen the film. That would ensure maximum coverage and publicity in the villages.

  We sent word around that there would be a movie screening at 10 p.m. The equipment was placed in the village square and the entire village turned up to watch my film prefaced by my speech (which actually rode piggyback on the promise of a film screening). I found it impossible to visit all the villages in the twenty days allotted to campaigning so my party workers screened the film minus my presence and speech in many villages.

  There was enthusiasm and euphoria in the villages during the campaign. My wife and I visited about 200 villages. In each I was welcomed traditionally with incense, vermilion, and garlands. I would make my speech at the village square. Following this they gave us panaka (sherbet) made of bel fruit, bitter lime, and jaggery. If I finished around lunch-time they offered us a meal. Sometimes we were greeted by poornakumbha, a group of fifteen to twenty girls offering us the traditional welcome. Each of the girls carried on her head a kalasa topped with a whole coconut and four betel leaves arranged like petals. There would be folk music and the girls swayed gracefully to the gentle rhythm. People touched my feet, sang for me, made me feel like a hero.

  It is customary for a party to organize at least one or two large election rallies. The party sends star campaigners to attend such rallies to boost the morale of the local party candidates and to help improve their prospects of victory. Former Bollywood star-turned BJP leader Shatrughan Sinha was assigned to Hassan to campaign with me. A Kannada film star was also asked to attend the rally, which was supposed to be held at 11 a.m. at the weekly market or shandy where people gathered. We were assured of a large captive audience.

  T.N. Seshan, the then chief election commissioner (CEC) had put in place a very strict election code. Shatrughan Sinha was to stay in Hassan district for two or three days. Most people in the party seemed to be aware that Shatrughan Sinha is not an early bird—I was not. The actor was spending the night at ITDC Ashok Hotel at Hassan, from which Javagal, the venue of the rally, was an hour’s drive. My people went to fetch him from Hassan and waited from 9 a.m. until it was half past ten. I was nervous: the crowds were likely to become restive, and we had already announced that Shatrughan Sinha and the Kannada actor would be attending the function.

  My party workers told me the crowd was getting edgy. Shatrughan Sinha was nowhere in sight. Like many of us, he liked a drink and a drink too many!

  The actor had crashed out the night before. When reports last came in, he had not yet been salvaged for the morning chores. This made me quite wild. I asked my brothers and fellow party workers to keep banging on the actor’s door, till he opened it. Shatrughan Sinha eventually emerged from his hotel room at 11.30 looking as fresh and as well groomed as ever. Actors, regardless of where they are, are very particular about their appearance and couture. He emerged and told the reception party, ‘Look here, it’s already too late! I don’t think I can do the first two meetings.’ He was desirous of skipping my meetings, his manner was brusque and dismissive: ‘I apologize, but I cannot come. I’m unwell. I’m only human. How can I be expected to attend so many meetings every day?’ he retorted.

  I asked my brothers and party workers to be aggressive. ‘Physically stop him. Tell him you will not let him go. I will not allow him to ruin my campaign; not permit him go back on his word. If he has begun late he must finish late.’ The star reluctantly agreed. Back in Javagal we had managed to keep the crowds regaled with songs and jokes. Shatrughan Sinha arrived by mid-day. I made a very powerful speech in Kannada. As many Kannada words are derived from Sanskrit, Shatrughan Sinha understood what I was saying. He complimented me by saying: ‘Had I only known that you are such a good orator, I would not have come.’

  Sinha himself was of course a very powerful orator. Tall and solidly built and gifted with an arresting personality, he exuded an impressive aura and spoke to the audience in his trademark rich baritone. His speech was passionate, in very fluent, chaste Hindi. The crowds were delighted.

  He smiled at me and said, ‘Your people physically arrested me and brought me here. Anyhow, I admire your guts and your determination. Hats off to you!’ The Kannada actor was there too, and between them the function went off well and the rally concluded on a happy note. Shatrughan and I became good friends and remain so.

  On another occasion I campaigned with Kannada actor Rajesh. I was supposed to start my speech at 11 a.m. We were assembled at the village square in Gandsi. In contrast to Javagal, where no other election rally clashed with ours and therefore the time factor was not critical, in Gandsi the speech had to begin at an exact time. The EC was strict about timing, not wishing politicians to arrive late and block public places from general use. There was no grace period and no adjustment of slots. This code of conduct kept politicians on their toes. More importantly, it helped provide security to all party leaders.

  On the day I was to address the rally with Kannada actor Rajesh at a busy market-place, the next slot had been allotted to Janata Dal supremo Deve Gowda. My speech was to be at 11 a.m., Deve Gowda had been allotted the noon slot. We had distributed pamphlet
s announcing that actor Rajesh and Capt. Gopinath would speak. People had turned up in substantial numbers for the village fair and had drifted close to the elevated platform. It was a circular dais partitioned by a delicate, translucent curtain at the centre. The leaders of one political party could take their position on the other side and as the party on one side finished its speeches, the other’s began.

  Our function got under way. A few leaders spoke before me. I had only just taken the stage and spoken a few introductory words when there was a deafening sound of crackers, the noise drowning out my speech. There was a stunned pause. People turned to see where the sounds were coming from and witnessed a spectacle. A sea of people, numbering thousands was marching like an army towards the venue, many perched atop hundreds of tractors and bullock-carts. The huge march was accompanied by the palpably loud rhythmic thudding of drums, the rhythm shattered by the bomb-like bursting of crackers. Some of these were staccato and could be heard for a long while. In the din you could not hear your neighbour shouting. The procession also presented spectacular visuals. A burning, giant bullock-cart wheel was held aloft, spinning on its axis, resembling the Vishnu Chakra. Right in front of the Vishnu Chakra stood Deve Gowda, suggesting it was he who wielded the invincible weapon of the gods. Deve Gowda stood tall in a cart, his hands folded in a humble namaste. His son, Revanna, who was also a contestant from one of the constituencies, was by his side.

  Hassan was Deve Gowda’s constituency and he had a huge following. He was the PWD minister and a prominent leader of the Gowda community and a powerful politician. The audience who had been cheering and hailing me, without exception rushed off to join Deve Gowda’s procession within seconds. These even included my BJP workers. Gowda’s charisma had acted as an electrifying switch. He is a master tactician and politician, and every vacant spot at the venue was now filled with people eager to listen to him. People danced, gyrated, tottered. Many of them were drunk on liquor and the rest on his charisma.

  Rajesh, the Kannada actor, went white with anxiety and fear. He whispered in my ear, ‘Can we call off the meeting? There might be violence.’ I, however, had no intention of calling it off. I was facing my first real test in public life. Fleeing at that juncture would spell the end of the road and a goodbye to politics. As for the actor, I quickly realized that he was a hero only on the silver screen and I could not expect any support from him. I also realized that by standing my ground, I would be taking on someone politically very powerful. I therefore stood my ground and looked at my watch, which indicated that it was 11.35 a.m. Deve Gowda’s meeting was scheduled to begin at 12 noon. He had reached early and was depriving another candidate of his rightful time and space. This was in violation of the rules. I knew that Seshan, the CEC, considered these transgressions very seriously, and this lent me added confidence.

  I began and continued to speak to the empty ground before me, mounting a sharp, strong, and articulate attack directed against Deve Gowda. ‘Come back!’ I hollered to my supporters. ‘This is unethical. This is high-handedness. This kind of tamasha will not get us anywhere. This is precisely why Gowda should be removed from power.’ In the meantime, without my realizing it, Deve Gowda was standing right behind me, just behind the thin curtain. The circle inspector came; other police officials came. They urged me. ‘Sir, why don’t you stop for just twenty minutes. He has come a little early. Yes, we understand, but please wait for twenty minutes. He will be done. This crowd will come back to you.’ Far less polite were the Janata Dal goons who were gesticulating quite threateningly at me and at my supporters. Some of the party workers of Deve Gowda, who knew me, came over and requested me politely to stop my speech.

  As the speakers faced both directions, my remarks had been heard by everyone including Deve Gowda. He would have been unable to match the sheer stridency and the high decibel level of my voice unless I stopped. It was a narrow podium. At the time I did not realize I was on the mike and my explosive response went something like:

  Over my dead body will I leave this stage. I will file a complaint with T. N. Seshan to have Deve Gowda disqualified from the election. It’s a violation of the election code of conduct. I have my permission letter here. I am allowed to speak here from 11.00 a.m to 12.00 noon. Deve Gowda can speak only at 12.00 noon. I am not going to leave the stage. You may ask him to wait for twenty minutes or leave.

  I also let fly a string of expletives in Kannada, my voice booming. I then heard Deve Gowda making enquiries in Kannada, ‘Yaaru avaru?’ (Who is it?) He was told that I was a BJP candidate. He knew I was inconsequential, his real battle being with the Congress, but there was no way he could continue with me shouting over the mike. While this was going on the crowds took notice of my firm voice, my fearless use of expletives, and my gumption and edged towards me. Among them were Congress sympathizers in addition to BJP workers. They began booing and shouting at Deve Gowda. I remember one man coming over to me and screaming in Kannada, ‘You are a tiger, Sir! You must continue!’ Another said, ‘You are a man, Sir! We are with you. We want to hear you.’

  I felt greatly encouraged and continued my tirade. I then overheard Deve Gowda tell his associates, ‘Don’t trouble him. I’ll come some other time.’ He was unable to deliver his speech but his party workers and associates did not leave with a whimper. They made a raucous noise and burst a volley of crackers. Deve Gowda mounted his Vishnu Chakra-adorned truck and departed with dignity. From that day’s experience I learnt that nobody is inconsequential in politics. If I had thought of myself as a political nonentity I would not have been able to assert my legal rights against someone as powerful as Deve Gowda!

  The polling took place and the counting began. It was a thrilling experience. I was in the counting hall along with politicians from other parties including Deve Gowda’s son Revanna. I was certain of victory as were my supporters. We expected a landslide victory but I had overlooked one important cultural aspect of village life which perhaps applies also to cities. When I went campaigning, people escorted me to the village temple. The head priest would tell me he had prayed for me. He had placed flowers on the lingam and the flower had fallen on the auspicious right hand side, meaning victory for me. I did not believe in temple rituals, but it crossed my mind that every politician went to the temple and made an offering to the deity. My opponent had visited the same temple, explaining why every candidate brimmed with confidence about victory. Diehard sceptic that I was, even I was taken in!

  I was reminded of the story, ‘An Astrologer’s Day’, by the well-known writer R.K. Narayan. A man murders someone, flees his village, and moves to the city. He has no skills and cannot find a job so he decides to become an astrologer. He becomes quite a popular fortune-teller. He knew no more of what was going to happen to others than he knew what was going to happen to himself next minute. He was as much a stranger to the stars as were his innocent customers. One day he has a customer. The pseudo astrologer recognizes the customer as somebody from his shady past: the man he had thought he had killed in a drunken brawl was alive. The fugitive is able to recall in close detail the events of the past. He speaks of the past; the future remains unsaid.

  Years later, when Deccan was going through a rough patch, I was advised to seek help from an astrologer. It still puzzles me how even the highly educated and successful politicians approach these god-men and god-women. Politics is like a game and the anxious electoral candidate clutches at anything, even a flotsam of straw, to ascertain his win. I was carried away too and did likewise, even believing that there could be some hidden power in the utterances of fortune-tellers. I was also compelled by the absolute faith of my supporters to believe in the powers of the divine spirit. By scoffing at it, I would have hurt their morale.

  The result of the polls was independent of fortunes foretold. The counting began with me still believing with certitude I would win. If I lost, I reckoned, it would be by a small margin. Such was my optimism. In the event, however, after the count was closed, the vote tall
y was dismal. Of the 1,40,000 votes polled, only 7000 had been cast in my favour. As I had initially, correctly suspected, the votes were split closely between the Congress and the Janata Dal. The latter came to power and Deve Gowda became the chief minister.

  I returned to my farm. Those three months spent campaigning were the longest I had stayed away from it. I would begin campaigning at eight in the morning and spend the whole day on the road. I often returned as late as two or three in the morning. I had lost in the election but I had won in the battle because I had discovered this source of great strength and stamina within me. My election debacle did not sadden me. Yes, there was disappointment, but there was also a curious sense of exultation. I had discovered a strange power within me. I would assume charge of a situation and do all that was necessary for its accomplishment. I had no money but I was able to raise sufficient resources from friends and well-wishers to fight the elections!

  My focus reverted to the farm. The crops that I had planted were ready to be harvested. The cycle had commenced and the trees yielded fruit, season after season. The farm had been freshened by the rains and glistened in the sun. My heart was filled with music. The wind rustled among the coconut fronds, bees buzzed, birds hummed, and I was aware of an intense sense of joy. The trees I had planted and watered with my own hands were now bursting with fruit. Wild berries and nuts that had flowered in the thickets were a bonus. Sometimes I felt like a tree among trees, bird among birds, and bee among bees: an inner soul of all I perceived: a true romantic.

  5

  You see things; and you say, ‘Why?’, but I dream things that never were; and I say, ‘Why not?’

  —George Bernard Shaw

  The Foundations of a New Venture

  T

  he strange stirrings within me were pregnant with the prospect of a new beginning.