GULLIVER IN PATALIPUTRA

My peripatetic travels have taken me to strange lands. In Lilliput, I encountered human creatures the size of thumbnails, whereas I had the discomfiture of being reduced to thumbnail size myself in the presence of the mighty Brobdingnagians. During my voyages, I have met craven politicians and mad scientists, barbaric homo sapiens as well as civilised horses. After having taken the measure of the endless variety that nature had to offer, I hung my haversack and donated my compass and telescope to the local museum. The exclusive account was given to my literary executor, a certain Mr. Jonathan Swift who, I am told, later went insane. This is perhaps just as well, because for anyone to handle such bizarre tales is job enough. But my travel agent was pestering me for the last few decades to visit Atlantis, which he described as the Pearl of the Orient and like nowhere else on this earth. The name was exotic but I refused to bite the bait until I received this cable: "Buffaloes and bulls cultivated on bonsai scale. Handy enough to ride pillion on tiny scooters but have gargantuan appetites. A sight fit for gods". It was difficult to resist this last temptation and I cabled my assent.

The world was really becoming a mean little place now with so many barriers and restrictions on the movement of human beings. For a certain fee, the tour operator offered to take care of all the currency, immigration, passport and other formalities. I packed my bag, picked up my Handycam video camera and boarded a Boeing Aircraft for my destination. After many hours and changing many an aircraft, finally, I was hovering over the airport of my destination - Atlantis. I was not much used to this mode of travel, so I enquired of my fellow passengers the reason for this. I couldn’t have spoken sooner, because the pilot was on the mike to announce that a couple of young blue bulls were gamboling on the runway. The authorities were trying to persuade them to change the locale of their amorous pursuits to their nearby home.

It made quite an impression on me. In these unregenerate days when the flora and fauna were threatened all over the globe, here at least in a corner of the planet, the convenience of the lesser members of the animal kingdom was being accorded priority over such human nostrums as punctuality etc. We landed a few hours behind schedule but still in time for the magnificent parade that these people hold annually to celebrate their Republic Day.

En route to the parade ground, I was very impressed by the love of nature and natural surroundings that these people had. Cows, goats, pigs all roamed around, sharing the same bit of macadamized stretch of path with cars, buses, trucks. The dwellings could serve equally well for men and pigs! It was indeed a bit of a welcome change from the other countries, where they practice complete segregation. Not only animals, birds were shown equal consideration. At numerous places, tall human statues were erected through public funds to serve as perch for them, and also for them to do their dirt upon. In an ingenious move to placate the churlish taxpayers - for Atlantis was a democracy - these statues were cleaned and decorated once a year and dignitaries performed some ritualistic mumbo jumbo to justify the expense incurred.

Finally we arrived at the parade ground where a separate enclosure was erected for the distinguished personages. A leisurely crowd of courtiers lounged about. These went about with familiar sounding names of officials in British Civil Service. Atlantis prides itself in unity in diversity and a fierce commitment to originality and independence of views. They are a people remarkably free from jingoism and false national pride. The more reactionary and conventional courtiers were present in the de rigour bandhgalas, but the more progressive ones sported tweeds and blazers and various jackets, very much akin to people in our lands. Being a sociable people, the courtiers displayed a natural tendency to garrulousness while the children - the more noisy adults in miniature - played a small game of hide and seek in the enclosure. In the meantime the National Flag was unfurled, and people got up and sat down at their pleasure, while the National Anthem played merrily. The general atmosphere of gaiety and even levity left me in no doubt that they are a highly evolved people politically and they treated such holy icons as national flag, national anthem etc. with just the right dose of cynicism. The next morning’s newspaper carried a story of the national flag slipping down the pole; at some other place it was unfurled upside down. I could now see the foolishness and the fanaticism of soldiers, sailors and citizens back home prepared to kill and be killed for a quilted piece of cloth called the Union Jack.

The parade was over, and the tableau relating to achievements of the state began to emerge from behind a curtained enclosure. The first one, that nearly took my breath away, was a school without teachers, followed by a school chock-full of teachers but with no students. Atlantis, being a very ancient land, had evolved the method of self instruction and, as the story goes, when denied access to a teacher they make do with his statue - as somebody called Eklavya seems to have done. Similarly, the teachers, who are in the lineage of the great sages, are all the time in pursuit of the realization of the ultimate knowledge. In this vibrant democracy, politics has been accorded - and rightly - the status of the ultimate pursuit. Needless to say, these teachers are elected. Hospitals without doctors, doctors without any formal medical training or degree - the presentation was getting to be a little jaded when suddenly, in the distance, a procession of scooters emerged.

The audience was electrified, and a deafening applause demonstrated how justly they were proud of their achievement. It was a sight which I witnessed with no mean surprise. Buffaloes and bulls the size of thumbnails were neatly stacked, one on top of another, and on one scooter at least I counted four score and six. It was confirmed by the excited crowd that each one of them ate animal feed equivalent to one hundred normal animals. I had no doubt in my mind that they are a people much advanced in eugenics and genetic engineering. They appeared to have crossed Brobdingnagian animals with the Lilliputian ones. Invention as they say is the mother of necessity. These animals were to be given away to the poor tribals who had very small huts. So the compassionate state bred these animals commensurate with the needs of these poor people. The copious dung of these animals was pure gold, and was collected as reward by all those associated with this noble project. The compassion and the efforts of the welfare state touched me deeply.

But the piece de resistance of the whole show was the award giving ceremony. In our country, thieves and scoundrels were publicly hanged. The intent behind such a public ceremony was that the general populace should take heed and desist from such deeds. But the barbaric practice did leave them brutalized to that extent. Readers will remember that these people are highly evolved politically, and are above jingoism and sectarian patriotic claptrap. Dr Johnson's dictum "patriotism is the last resort of a scoundrel" was understood in the true sense of the terms. But rather than punishing, their scoundrels who resorted to patriotic acts like keeping the enemy at bay on international borders were called out publicly for such misdemeanours. The rationale was that these who got foolishly killed should be rewarded with petty sums to underline the comicality of their endeavour. I was reminded of the punishment meted out to dissenters in the Roman days, who were made to wear the mask of a clown to rob them of the dignity of their deeds and deaths. There could be no other reason for a compassionate state which honours criminals or their victims, or people killed in accidents and natural calamities so handsomely to be so stingy. But the deeds of these people were described in very fulsome terms. The French pride themselves on having the most polite manner of saying things - if they have to abuse you, then they will abuse you sil vous plait!

It was a grand spectacle which drove home the message pointedly and left the people elevated rather than brutalised. Britain and other advanced nations have much to learn from this country and the colour of the skin of these people may be darker but their hearts have hues of gold. The first leg of my journey had greatly instructed me in the ways of the modern world

REPRISE SERIES

The IAS is in the news. The Prime Minister himself eloquently told the parliament about what they can and they cannot do , so I thought it would be a good starting point , to share with the world Gulliver's impression of the Mighty Service.

By way of an introduction to the article "The Mighty Service "that I am going to post shortly ,Gulliver's Travels, a humorous series that I wrote about 25 years back , could not proceed beyond the sixth part.It was written with active encouragement from my dear friend

Uttam Sengupta

then RE Times Of India , and published in the year 1996-97(?) in the Times Of India and was published without attribution to the author for obvious reasons.

The inspiration for the series was a bizarre incident. An airplane couldn't land at Patna airport even after hovering over it for quite some time because a couple of frisky blue bulls had strayed on the runway, nobody knew from where. And of course writing in 1997 who could put away the thoughts about the infamous Animal Husbandry Scam that burst upon Bihar. In the same year on the Independence Day security personnel were honoured with cash awards like 2977.50 paise. (Rs.22.50 were deducted as charges for preparing the bank draft etc.!) Such financial prudence went hand in hand with the withdrawal of hundreds of crores of rupees from the treasuries without budget, without allotment, without proper authorization. Bills for transporting thousands of bulls and buffaloes on scooters were also paid for with the taxpayers money. On the other hand criminals killed in police encounters – fake or genuine -were rewarded with sums like Rs.2 lac and above should they belong to the politically favoured caste or those who owed allegiance to ruling political party. The first part of the serial tries to look at these events from the viewpoint of an alien that is one who carries no bias.

The Police serials( 2,and3) were similarly triggered off by topical events which have now faded away from public memory. Sl. 2 was occasioned by a spate of kidnappings and train dacoities. Since many of the dacoits owed allegiance to powerful politicians or caste groups police were understandably reluctant to act.

Sl 3 :Deepa Murmu, a young poetically inclined and politically ambitious girl was raped, first by a government functionary, and then allegedly by the minister himself to whom when she had gone seeking his help, in nailing down the accused. Forced to investigate the influential offender police investigation meandered through literary , and metaphysical alleys and byways, and finally get lost in the maze of court procedure . Senior officers wrote eloquent disquisitions on the etiology of the crime of rape and mapped the psychological profile of the rapist in great detail. Meanwhile the raped girl who had conceived, died during childbirth. SL. 3 pays homage to this attribute of Police. SI 4 is in breathless adoration of arms merchants, their resident agents and other lobbyists and liaison men. It also celebrates the vanishing trick of a certain highly connected Italian gentleman who figured in a defence deal but agencies dared not take his name. SI 5 and 6 are about the two warring tribes- the IPS and IAS. The 5th in the serial is in the context of 5th -pay commission recommendation and the sole concern of the IPS for parity with the IAS etc. The sixth part describes the deluded descendents of The Men Who Ruled India, about their fondness for mulcting of development funds, the brazen episode of out of turn allotment of government houses where in the Supreme Court and Patna High Court in their respective jurisdictions had to intervene. The whimsies and other peccadilloes of the Bada Sahibs (IAS) has been described from the perspective of the lesser folks.I do not remember why did I stop this serial. I guess I got bored with myself.

I had discovered the old drafts sometime back and I am trying to reconstruct the articles .Since the IAS is in the news, I thought it would be a good starting point , to share with the world Gulliver's impression of the Mighty Service, even though this is the last of the Gulliver’s series.

Mr . Gulliver first port of call is in Pataliputra . He meets a local who acts as his guide and takes him to places. This post is by way of introducing The Mighty Service which I shall post in a short while.

In A Maze Of Books

I succumb to the enchantment of books very easily and end up buying or collecting more books than what I can chew and digest. Some books remain untasted for years and in many cases I have followed Francis Bacon’s advice by reading them “only in parts”.

Umberto Eco’s huge personal library proclaimed his insatiable lust for books, and he took an impish delight in leading his gawking but boorish visitors, on the false scent. To one such curious, nosy parker who had perhaps, little, or no interest in books, and wondered whether Eco had read all the books in his capacious library, he said something to the effect that ‘no, this is my weekend reading. My main hoard is elsewhere. Mine, of course is nothing compared to the great professor of semiotics, polyglot scholar and renowned intellectual, but even in my modest collection, whenever I look up at the bookshelves, I sigh the lack of time or rue my tardiness for not having read all of them, from cover to cover. Like Seneca, when I go to bed, I tell myself “Today I forgive you. But tomorrow ...” That, however, does not seem to have improved matters.

“You will accumulate more knowledge and more books as you grow older,” I sought solace in, Nissim Nicholas Taleb, “and the growing number of unread books on the shelves will look at you menacingly. Indeed, the more you know, the larger the rows of unread books. Let us call this collection of unread books an antilibrary.” I am not sure about accumulating knowledge but the ‘anti library’ is slowly growing and I fear that just as the collision of matter and anti-matter promises a cataclysmic end – of – the – world – what if the collision of library and ‘anti library’ may lead to some minor explosion, an apocalypse at smaller scale.

My father was a cross word freak and a great gormandizer of books. Though trained to be a lawyer his passion for reading claimed him entirely. In his efforts to ignite a curiosity in me not only for mathematics, but for a whole lot of other things, led him to acquire many books for me. So, on my shelf sit curiosities like Fantasia Mathematica and Mathematical Magpie, books of 60s vintage, sit with my own acquisitions.

He introduced me to Arthur Porges’ classical story on Fermat, The Devil and Simon Flagg , as a child. (I have read it several times now as an adult). A man challenges the devil that he could give him a task which the devil could not perform even in twenty four hours. "My question is this”, said the man , “ Is Fermat's Last Theorem correct?" My father explained to me that Fermat’s Last Theorem was the most difficult problem in mathematics . I am supposed to have asked him ‘more difficult than the table of twenty six.’ He said, ‘way more.’ Since then I have been in religious awe of the Fermat’s Last Theorem, feeling somewhat relieved at the same time that the theorem in question was his last .

The devil set the terms refusing to take him as a slave in case he won. "I deal only in souls. There is no shortage of slaves. The amount of free, wholehearted service I receive from humans would amaze you.”( I have heavily underlined this portion!) To cut a long story short, the devil, the doer of impossible acts was defeated by Fermat’s last theorem.

My father’s diligence alas! did not improve my standing in mathematics( such as it was!) but it imbued in me a curiosity about the subject much beyond my capability. So I always aimed higher than I could shoot. That is how I got to surround myself with a lot of books on mathematics and mathematicians, always meaning to wade through them with stoic patience , grit and determination. One of the by-products of this is Fermats’s Theorem in four versions, including Andrew Wiles’ and Simon Singh’s Fermat’s Last Theorem , explained and simplified for laymen. Apart from Nagel and Newman’s classic Godel’s Proof I have the shiny new Godel’s Theroem , Its Incomplete Guide To its Use and Abuse by Torkel Franzen, books on David Hilbert, Gauss, Cauchy, Abel, Cantor, Weirestrass and of course several on Ramanujan. Burnished by deference and blackened by incense, they occupy a distinctive corner on the shelf. My only encounter with many of them was when I opened them to write my name to establish ownership. I wish it was as easy to own the content but I will speak of my missed opportunity to master mathematics some other time.

There was a time in my life when I could relate to Pablo Neruda’s lament in his memoir, “ A bibliophile of little means is likely to suffer often. Books don't slip from his hands but fly past him through the air, high as birds, high as prices.” But a bibliophile suffers in equal measure when books start raining in great profusion : it is great pleasure but brings with it great pain too. Aware of my separation from my horde of books, my daughters , who are bibliophiles in their own rights, have plied me with a whole lot of books in these last lockdown months , many of them are my old favourites , but many that I had not read. Despite my best efforts many remain unread .Books have been not only the solace but sustenance during days of forced separation from the world outside. But now the very presence of so many of them which I crave for when I cannot find them, has a hugely distracting presence. They fail to entice or hold my attention for any length of time. It agitates me, it confuses me. A profitable reading depends on your ability to obtain and hold attention. I will tell you what.

I was reading Dipesh Chakrabarty’s The Calling Of History: Sir Jadunath Sarkar and His Empire of Truth last evening, nicely cruising along his elucidation of ‘public history’ and ‘cloistered history,’ which lead me to think of my own many notes to myself on epistemic violence to the history of Indian independence. The thought also crossed my mind that half-finished “The Loss of Hindustan The Invention of India by Manan Ahmed Asif, and a very interesting paper by Sanjay Seth: Reason or Reasoning? CLIO OR SIVA? Sanjay Seth remain to be finished. My sense of guilt was made worse by that insistent tom tom inside my brain, reminding me the presence of a partially read Burkhardt and a book of Norberto Bobbio, of whom I was unaware until very recently.

Confused as to the order in which these books need to be marshalled for reading or rereading, unable to choose between Dipesh and Manan I settled for the well-trodden routes, via many well-loved diversions. Yesterday I found myself checking out for the umpteenth time Lucky Jim to see what Dixon was up to and then dropped in to catch up on Bellow’s Herzog . Italo Calvino’s General camping in the library assessing the dangerousness of books in his unputdownable story The General is a favourite port of call.

For the night cap I picked up A Wall Of Two , a collection of poems of Henia and Iloma Karamel .These poems were written by two survivors from the camps of Hitler’s pogroms , poems of resistance and suffering from Kraków to Buchenwald and Beyond. To be continued .....

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Adieu Ajit

Ajit Datt , my dear friend and batch mate in the IPS , passed away in his sleep, at his Gurgaon residence, yesterday. In a manner of speaking , he was lost to us , his close family and friends sometime back; what died yesterday was his body . He was suffering from dementia, his memory had been badly impaired. Memory is what creates the illusion of self-hood , memory is what makes a person human, and relatable. He had become a complete stranger to himself , what comfort and cheer could he bring to those close to him? We often used to look him up but Corona put a thousand miles of sea between friend and friend and to my lasting regret I had not seen him for quite a while.

He was a good athlete, a proficient sportsman and a fairly competent boxer. But he was outstanding in his sportsman spirit and sense of fair play. Life, however, played foul with him, it hit him below the belt.

He took to his job as a policeman with great gusto and commitment . As A S P (undertraining ) at Rohtas, Sasaram in Bihar, his chase- and -grab sequence during the arrest of a notorious criminal – had the hallmarks of a block buster crime thriller. There may not be official records , he left no personal account of the event because he thought his job was over, the moment he had performed the task . It was for the government and the police department to recognise his service, to memorialise it for successive generation of officers. He was never into marketing himself , into the odious business of pimping for oneself which is the sine qua non of some officers these days . Some young IPS officers whip up tales of valour and fictionalise routine work- a- day events as great acts of courage and bravery. All these Singhams stalking the social media, all these privates posing as generals were not heard of in our time ! Just to underline the bitter irony , a local newspaper recounted that heroic deed of this arrest in Sasaram ,Rohtas, in great detail, sometime in 2013- 14, about 40 years after the incident, but put a different IPS officer, with the surname Dutt in the central role. The heroic deed lives on in public memory , but the hero is forgotten. I shared it with Ajit’s daughter

Kamna Datt Bangaru

on facebook , because Ajit was too serious for frivolous activities like facebook .

During the Sikh riots, as SRP Dhanbad, he went beyond his call of duty to provide succour and solace to the marooned Sikhs in trains, on Dhanbad railway station, including arranging for medical help for a woman who was pregnant. Bokaro and Dhanbad were the worst affected districts, as far as the riots were concerned. But the defining moment of his career was his deputation to Bhagalpur, to quell a communal riot that was raging for some time. The PM was greeted with slogans of Jay Sri Ram by the local constabulary. There were unseemly stories about communal bias and abdication of responsibility against the previous SP. (He later went on to become DGP Bihar)

Ajit not only brought peace to Bhagalpur, he brought to light one of the most brutal events of the carnage in which scores of people were killed, their dead bodies disposed of and cauliflowers planted over the patch of land where they lay buried. He was posted as a regular Dy. IG Bhagalpur and stayed there for ten years, during governments of all shades of political opinion and Bhagalpur enjoyed a peace like never before. His testimony as the prime witness during the trial of one of the most important cases of communal carnage was crucial and the ring leader was sentenced to death. Government of the day added another feather to its secular cap but Ajit’s much expected promotion to the rank of IG never came about.

His personal courage, bravery and the ability to take responsibility was amazing. He never blew his own trumpet, so his sterling qualities went unsung, unrewarded. The good is bound to be interred with his bones but an instance of carelessness in managing his inventory as SP Nalanda , or maybe his implicit trust in his subordinates, embroiled him in a CBI case that dogged him throughout his career . For even someone who was himself a part of the criminal administration system, the system took thirty five years to come to the conclusion that he was not guilty as charged . He retired as Dy IG, but eight years after his retirement he was promoted as DG retrospectively, and given the benefits. Many insiders believe that the genesis of the infamous ‘uniform scandal’ lay in a clash of egos between two powerful IPS officers. In an effort to chastise the junio officer for his impertinence , a case of conspiracy was built. Ajit and many others may have became collateral damage.

Even God in whom he had unshakable faith played foul with him. His young son died sometime back. Balancing his personal grief against his belief in God, may have been a bit more than he could handle. We – I and my wife - visited him after his son ,Neeraj’s death. His dementia was not that bad . I could see that he was perfectly aware of his situation , while recounting events he would some time lose track , but that was more because he was making great efforts to fight off his tears . ‘Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes? , I wondered , ‘Or are they invisible rivers that run toward sadness?” I wanted to tell him, ‘let the dykes of restraint burst ,let the tears irrigate and inundate your whole being. Men , even brave men, have a right to cry sometime.

He came to see me off till the gate, assuring me all the while that things were normal , that he had come to terms with the situation, but his voice sounded hollow and lacked that conviction which was his hallmark. As we drove on, I saw a slouching figure, walking back in the semi darkness , with measured steps to counter the effects of Parkinsonism. That is the last I saw of him . I did not know that this was the last I was going to see of him .

एक प्रवासी मजदूर की डायरी से

प्रजा तो बस बेचारी प्रजा होती है,

सके इर्द गिर्द बाड़ा चाहे जो बना दो.

प्रजातंत्र , गणतंत्र राजतंत्र,अधिनायक तंत्र।

राजे मनमौजी होते हैं ,दुष्यंत की तरह।

सहवास कर भूल जाते हैं संगिनी को ,

मछली के पेट से निकली अंगूठी

याद दिलाती है उसे प्रेयसी की ,

कुछ इस तरह जैसे राजनेताओं को चुनाव से याद आती है जनता की.

चुनाव का महायज्ञ मतदान का पावन अनुष्ठान।

इहागच्छ( जाति का नाम ) इहागच्छ( उपजाति का नाम).

पान ,फूल , नैवेद्य ,पोशाक ,अन्न, सिलिंडर , साईकिल

द्रव्य ,के साथ सतत सेवा के मंत्र उच्चरित होते हैं

थोड़ा मान, थोड़ा मनुहार,थोड़ा लाड दुलार।

थोड़ा खेद , थोड़ सा भूल का इजहार।

बस फिर से नवीकृत हो जाता है पंचसाला करार।

राजा को मिल गया अपना राज , रानी को मिल गया अपना सुहाग

दोनों मिलकर गाएंगे "राजन के राजा---" एक ताल, विलम्बित, राग विहाग

लेकिन प्रजा तो बस प्रजा होती है ,मान जाती है।

राजों का क्या राजे तो मनमौजी होते हैं।

आप शासन करो सरकार

आप भाषण करो सरकार

जनता कर लेगी अपना जुगाड़।

देने को रोजगार नहीं है आपके पास ?

चिंता न करो सरकार ,

हम जायेंगे रोजगार के पास ,

सरकारी खज़ाना है खस्ताहाल

मत कीजिये इसका मलाल

हम करेंगे सरकारी ख़ज़ाने को मालामाल ,

अपनी छोटी छोटी नौकरियों से।

हम ठेला चलाएंगे, हम रिक्शा चलाएंगे ,

हम चौकीदारी करेंगे ,हम रेवड़ियां लगायेगे।

" मुंबई में का बा " रैप करते हुए टेम्पो में सो जायेंगे,

मुंबई में बिहार की समृद्धि की डींगे हांकेंगे

लेकिन बिहार को सचमुच समृद्ध बनाएंगे।

लेकिन प्लीज़ आप टेंशन न लो सरकार

प्लीज आप शासन करो सरकार

प्लीज आप भाषण करो सरकार।

पांच साल बाद हम फिर आयंगे ,

पैरों में भले ही पड़े हों छाले

मुंह में भले ही न पड़े हों निवाले ,

धूप हो , घाम हो , पानी हो, पत्थर हो ,

कोरोना का कहर हो या डेंगू की लहर हो ,

लिए हुए मन में ये आस,

पांच साल बाद तो आएगा राजा

जनता के पास।

This is also published in Outlook Magazine 15 10 2020

 व्यंग्य

विक्रम और बेताल : किस्सा वही पुराना - संदर्भ आधुनिक।

राजा विक्रम चुपचाप उठा और श्मशान की ओर चल दिया। महल के सभी पहरेदार सो रहे थे पर शहर के सारे चोर जाग रहे थे. राजा को श्मशान पहुँचने की जल्दी थी इसलिए उसने उस समय कोई करवाई करना मुनासिब नहीं समझा। सोचा आखिर प्रकारांतर से सारा माल तो सरकारी ख़ज़ाने में पहुँच ही जायेगा. श्मशान पहुँच कर हमेशा की भांति उसने पीपल के पेड़ पर झूलती लाश को कंधे पर उठाया और चल पड़ा. राजा को अपरिचित मार्ग पर जाते हुए देख बेताल ने पूछा , "ये हम कहाँ जा रहे हैं."राजा ने कहा ," पड़ोस के राज्य में एक बहुत बड़ा यज्ञ हो रहा है, जहाँ प्रजातान्त्रिक कुरीतियों , मिथ्या आडंबरों ,ढकोसलों की आहुति दी जा रही है । मैं तंग आ गया हूँ ,प्रजातंत्र की लाश ढोते ढोते । बहुत पहले जब मैंने शासन की बागडोर संभाली थी तो मुझे विरासत में इसी पेड़ पर झूलता हुआ यह शव मिला था.मुझे बताया गया कि यह प्रजातंत्र है.मैंने पूछा भी नहीं कि ये ज़िंदा है या मुर्दा ?,मेरे पुरखो ने ही इस प्रजातंत्र नामक व्यवस्था का इजाद किया था . इसलिए इस शव का अंतिम संस्कार करने का पूरा अधिकार है मुझे. मैं सोच रहा हूँ तुम्हे भी आज मुक्ति दिला दूँ."बेताल ने चिर परिचित विनोद मिश्रित गंभीर स्वर में कहा . "राजन जो सूक्ष्म है , मात्र छाया है, उसे जलने का क्या भय। स्थूल मनुजों को काया लुप्त हो जाने का भय सताता है. तुम्हारा निर्णय तो अंतिम होगा लेकिन आखिर जब इस शव को तुम इतने दिनों से ढो रहे हो तो अचानक? प्रजातंत्र जीवित है या मृत यह एक यक्ष प्रश्न है, श्रोडिंजर'स कैट की तरह .यह जीवित भी है मृत भी , परिस्थितियों के अनुसार " बेताल ने कहा" लेकिन राजन , प्रजातंत्र है बड़े काम की चीज़। जिसने भी राजा का प्रजातांत्रिक ढंग से चयन की व्यवस्था की और फिर ऐसा पेंच डाल दिया कि जो एक बार आये वह हमेशा का होकर रह जाय , वह वास्तव में एक मनीषी रहा होगा। निरंकुश ,निरंतर और निर्भय होकर सत्ता का सुख भोगने की इससे बेहतर कोइ व्यवस्था नहीं हो सकती. जब तक राज करना है राज कर जब मन भर जाय तो इसे वारिस के नाम कर। न कोई रण कौशल , न कोई शौर्य , पराक्रम का प्रदर्शन।न सपरिवार गीएटिन ( guillotine ) होने का ख़तरा .इतिहास को खंगाल राजन छोटे छोटे राज रजवाड़े के लिए. कितना खून बहता है. कई बार तो राजा और भावी राजकुमार एक साथ खेत आते हैं , वंशावलियाँ मिट जाती हैं। यहाँ तो बस थोड़ा सा काइंयापन,थोड़ी बेशर्मी , मुट्ठी भर कमीनIपन, अंजुरीभर नमक हरामी , झूठ बोलने की विविध कलाएँ , गिरगिट सा रंग बदलने में महारत , साथ में एक चुटकी धुल उड़ाकर मौसम का हाल जानने का अनुभव। बस चल पड़ी तुम्हारी दुकान. जीते तो राजा भोज नहीं तो महाराजा भोगेन्द्र। मोटा पेंशन, हवाई यात्रा की सुविधा , नौकर , चाकर , ऐशो आराम। और हाँ सत्ता के बल पर जनता से लूटी हुई सम्पदा के अक्षुण्ण रहने के पूरी गारंटी।पुश्त दर पुश्त के लिये. फिर भी राजा झल्लाकर बोला “वो सब तो ठीक है, लेकिन ये साली जनता जो है ,हिसाब मांगे जा रही है. ५ साल में एक बार वोट देती है और1827 दिन ऊँगली करती है."1827 दिन ? " " 5 वर्ष के 1825 दिन और दो लीप ईयर के दो और दिन। हुए न 1827? सब इसी शव के चलते। लोग रोज़ प्रजातंत्र की हत्या की खबरे उड़ाते हैं । हत्या की खबर तो पहले हमें होगी , तंत्र हमारे हाँथ में है.” बेताल ने कहा ," चुनाव से बढ़कर प्रजातंत्र का क्या प्रमाण हो सकता है. चुनाव कराओ , चुनाव जीतो फिर निष्कंटक राज्य करो । " हाँ पर चुनाव जीतें कैसे ? पहले एक युग में मैंने वही भरत वाला मॉडल अपनाया। खुद ज़मीन पर बैठा और जनता की खडाऊ सिंहासन पर। फिर पता चला पादुका तो जनता के सर पर रखनी थी और सिंहासन उनकी छाती पर. कई युगों तक ये मॉडल भी ट्राई किया. फिर उन्हें तरह तरह के अमोद प्रमोद में बहलाया , उनके लिए टाइम मशीन बनाया, इतिहास के गर्भ में गोते लगIते हुए, पुनः वर्तमान में लौटने जैसे खेल आयोजित किये . वैराग्य और आध्यात्म , धर्म और ध्यान की और प्रेरित करने का बहुत प्रयास किया। पर बार बार इनका ध्यान इह लौकिक चीज़ों पर ही जाता है. जैसे सन्निपात ज्वर में रोगी चीखता है वैसे ये गाहे बगाहे चिल्लाने लगते हैं " रोटी दो , रोज़गार दो, रहने की ठावँ दो". पहले तो स्वान्तः सुखाय की भावना से लोग बाहर नौकरी ढूंढते थे , रोज़गार करते थे , कुछ नहीं तो असीम संतोष के साथ टेम्पो में सो जाते थे। लेकिन अब घर बैठे बैठे नौकरी चाहिए। बेताल किसी गहरी सोंच में डूबा हुआ था . पर बेताल की चुप्पी ने राजा के धैर्य की सीमा तोड़ दी. राजा ने अपना खडग निकला और हवा में भांजते हुए कहा , “अबे ,मैं राजा हूँ ,बोले जा रहा हूं , पर तुम साले बेताल हो कि बकलोल, कुछ बोल ही नहीं रहे. जब मर्ज़ी आता है अपनी बकचोदी करते हो और काम की बात पर ध्यान मग्न हो जाते हो.” " राजन तुम पूरी तरह जनोन्मुख हो गए हो अब मुझे इस पर लेश मात्र भी संदेह नहीं है. तुम्हारी भाषा से आम आदमी के मजबूरी , झेले हुए यथार्थ की बू आती है. इससे प्रजातंत्र में तुम्हारी घोर आस्था तो प्रमाणित होती है। परन्तु तुम्हारा तेवर बिलकुल राजशाही है. ख़ैर जाने दो।अब मैं जो तुम्हे बता रहा हूँ उसे ध्यान से सुनो राजन. प्रजातंत्र में जनता का जगे रहना जनता एवं प्रजातंत्र दोनों के लिए आत्म घातक है., प्रजातान्त्रिक व्यवस्था माँ की तरह है, जनता बच्चों की तरह है . इसलिए अच्छा शासक वही है जो जनता को ऐसा अहसास कराये कि वह माँ की गोद में सुरक्षित सो रहा है. उसे ऐसी मानसिक बैसाखी दो की वह सोचे भी तुम्हारी सोच , देखे भी तुम्हारे सपने और तुम्हारे आनंद में उसे अपने आनंद की अनुभूति हो । प्रजातंत्र के लिए जनता का शिशुवत 24 घंटे मैं 22 घंटे सोना एक गंभीर अनिवार्यता है. चुनाव के समय उसे जगाओ फिर वोट ले कर सुलाओ ” राजा अचानक चलते चलते रुक गया। उसकी आँखे फटी की फटी रह गयी। "ऐसा हो सकता है." "बिलकुल अब तुम्हे मैं एक नमूना दिखता हूँ."

कुछ देर बाद एक घर से दहाड़ मार कर रोने की आवाज़ आयी। बेताल ने कहा" बस काम बन गया। अब देखते जाओ. “ रुदन, क्रंदन, चीत्कार के बीच रैप की तर्ज़ पर "जासु राज प्रिय प्रजा दुखारी ,से नर अवस नरक अधिकारी" गाता हुआ घर में राजा का दूत प्रविष्ट हुआ।"अरे मेरा इकलौता बेटा था. अच्छा खासा स्पोर्ट्समैन। आई आई टी का इंजीनयर ,अचानक इसे क्या हो गया।" दूत ने अनाहूत उस के शरीर का अन्त्य परीक्षण कर वहीँ का वहीँ अपना मंतव्य दे डाला । "अरे ये तो मर गया । लेकिन फिर भी इसे राज चिकित्सालय ले चलते हैं। राज वैद्य ने तो कितने ऐसे लोगों को जीवित कर दिया है।"तबतक मीडिया वाले साक्षात् शव की "लाइव" रिपोर्ट करने के लोभ में गिद्धों के भांति मडराने लगे और आकाश न सही ज़मीन पर ही आपस में टकराने लगे , एकाध सर फूटे लेकिन उनके जोश में कोई कमी नहीं आयी. राजा के दूत ने बहुत मुश्किल से परिवार को राज चिकित्सालय शव ले जाने को राज़ी किया. "मरे हुए को राज चिकित्सालय से क्या भय है ,हाँ जिस में थोड़ी जान बाकी हो तो अलग बात हैI” पड़ोसियों ने भी माँ को समझाया " अरे बावली मुर्दे का क्या बिगाड़ लेंगे, लेकिन क्या पता चुनावी माहौल है, राज चिकित्सक कोई चमत्कार कर ही डालें “ चैनल हर घंटे खबरें तोड़ रहे थे "शव का उपचार शुरू,", "शव के स्वस्थ्य में थोड़ा सुधार "शव के स्वस्थ्य में और सुधार ".टूटते हुए ख़बरों को श्रोत पर ही लूटने की मंशा से राज चिकित्सालय के पास धीरे धीरे भीड़ इकठ्ठा होने लगी." सड़क पर ही एनाटोमी का क्लास शुरू हो गया . नर कंकाल और अन्य सजीव माध्यमों से शरीर के बनावट मांस ,मज्जा, यकृत, रक्त नलिका , श्वसन क्रिया , मल द्वार , के बारे में ज्ञान परोसने लगे .पर जैसे जैसे दिन बीतते गए खबरों का ताबड़तोड़ टूटने का सिलसिला थोड़ा धीरे पड़ने लगा। सड़क पर खड़ी भीड़ घरों में सिमटने लगी। शव की हालत में निरंतर सुधार होता रहा पर जनता की करतल ध्वनियाँ धीरे धीरे मद्धिम पड़ने लगी। एंकरों का उन्माद साधारण संवाद के स्तर तक आ पहुंचा और धीरे धीरे बिलकुल सन्नाटा पसर गया। राजा ने बेताल की तरफ देखा। बेताल ने कहा " राजन, शव के अनुप्राणित होने के प्रति आश्वस्त होकर जनता गहरी नींद में सो गयी है। प्रजातंत्र के उपलब्धि की यह चरम अवस्थितिहै। जा राजन जा , अब इनके वस्त्राभूषण भी उतार ले. " राजा की आंखो में एक अजीब सी चमक आ गयी " और उसके बाद ?". दम धरो, राजन! अभी चुनाव आने वाला है। चुनाव जीत , फिर उसके बाद जो जी में आये कर ? " थोड़ी देर बाद बेताल ने कहा"हाँ जल्दी करो इस शव को जलना भी तो है. हाथरस नहीं हापुड़ ,हावड़ा ,हल्द्वानी,हाजीपुर होशियारपुर होशंगाबाद होसपेट , कहीं जला दो। सारा जम्बूद्वीप एक विशाल हाथरस ही तो है." राजा ने बेताल को कंधे से उतारना चाहा पर वह तो सामने खड़ा था। कृतज्ञता के आंसुओं से सिक्त राजा भावातिरेकमें बेताल के चरणों पर गिर पड़ा। "प्रभु इस परम ज्ञान की प्राप्ति के बाद कोई मूढ़ ही इस शव को अग्नि के हवाले करेगा. आज से बरगद के पेड़ पर झूलता हुआ प्रजातंत्र का यह शव राजचिन्ह होगा.

        WE MISS YOU ASHWINI .

It must have come as a shock for suicide itself to be courted by a man who had such a strong sense of joi de vivre , who radiated a playful tenderness and good cheer. But death has a hundred hands and walks by a thousand ways and springs surprises as a matter of course. Who could have thought that Ashwini, our dear friend, the purest gem of 1973 batch of IPS officers, would choose to depart like this , committing suicide by hanging himself at his Shimla home 100 meter sprint champion, dimpled athlete, a man who defied age and kept disabilities at bay, Ashwini may not have held all the four aces of a pack of cards but life certainly seems to have dealt him a good hand. Good looks , great health , a very happy and fulfilling family life, brilliant career, he went on to become the director of the CBI , was the governor of Nagaland for a while and till the time he chose to exit life by way of suicide , he was the vice chancellor of a private university. I was just ticking all the boxes , trying to arrive at a rational motive for the man who chose to take his own life when comes the news that he was ill and unconfirmed reports available with our group suggests he was suffering from clinical depression. That in itself is a hugely depressing thought as he was the bright sunlight which could dispel the deepest gloom. If the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned?

The lowest common denominator of those on the wrong side of youth age divide is the paralyzing dread of being betrayed by their own bodies, the fear of being let down by their own minds. Crippling or terminal diseases are like a radioactive presence, unbeknown to us they engulf us in the grey of depression, unwittingly we take Death’s dark-nailed fingers in ours . Depression descends on us like a “bell jar ” . One feels trapped in ones body. The sick man sitting alone in a room has more than the usual chances to disgust himself —this is the problem of the body, not that it is mortal but that in certain conditions it is mortifying.

Depression is for real, it is a reality which overcomes the primal instinct for self preservation , it is an urge that leads a person to execute oneself, the self that has been at the centre of all our thoughts, concerns, longings .There are eternal verities of life revealed to you only when your time comes to be worthy of receiving them . I have been an avid reader of Montaigne and something that I read at the age of 26 yields the full quota of it meaning in the death of my friend. We have forever privileged our minds over the bodies , we tend to deny the stupid interventions of the gross corporeal bodies on our intellectual and spiritual life. In the evenings of our lives when the light and glow of health go down ,'the undiscovered countries of pain, suffering and humiliation that are then disclosed ' overwhelm our hopes and optimism which have themselves lost their youths, the energies to mount a rebellion against pain. In a situation like this Camus , lying majestically on the book shelf as an evidence of ones being educated, and his existential philosophy an occasion for sharpening of wits , becomes a necessary manual to be having at your side. Indeed, “deciding whether or not life is worth living is to answer the fundamental question in philosophy’. To that extent suicide becomes an ordinary act, a quotidian choice, one among many possible choices.

No one can sit on judgement, Ashwini, on why you chose to undertake the celestial journey so soon. It was a choice that you made as a conscious, moral , existential agent but your family members , many friends , batch mates, admirers are devastated by your decision and shall forever mourn their loss. May God grant you eternal peace . Om Shantih.