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The great compromises that chip away at the great cause that is India

Gopalkrishna Gandhi

Cry, My Beloved Country' is an expression which comes to mind when we think of some facets of the Indian condition, such as that section of our population which lives on Rs 20 a day; farmers who have committed suicide; the hundreds of families who have lost their kin to the violence all around us; and the trauma inflicted regularly on women, of which we saw ghastly examples in Guwahati only last fortnight. These constitute deep agonies.

But between these deep valleys of anxiety lies another terrain. For all its undramatic nature, even this plain terrain has its own smaller ravines and hollows.

One such that comes to mind most persistently is the silent interlocking of entrenched interests.

Great causes can accommodate great compromises. I will refer to three such comings-together. The first is in the domain of the state; the second of society and
the third concerns individuals—you and me.

My first example has its locus in something we are rightly proud of and which has earned the world's applause—our elections. The coming-together of interests in our elections is the coming together of low politics and high money.

In the first few years since 1937, elections meant the chance to select, objectively, A over B. Today, it can still mean that. However, it cannot but mean the pitting of A's money resources against those of B. Elections have come to mean, by definition, the infusing of candidature with cash. The weaker the candidate, the stronger the cash.

An election episode of 1937 has been recounted by Lal Bahadur Shastri: "I remember his (Nehru's) visit to the district of Allahabad. It was about 8.30 pm when he finished his speech. As soon as he had done so, he enquired from the local Congressmen

whether he could leave. Pat came the reply, 'Yes, sir', after having driven about a furlong, Jawaharlal said that the Congress workers of Mirzapur had no sense of hospitality. 'I said I wanted to go and they agreed to it without even offering me a cup of tea.' Nehru had taken no tea in the afternoon and...he was feeling very hungry. He asked me whether there was any restaurant in the city...I remembered the railway station where some tea could be got. He said, 'Let us go there.' We motored to the railway station and went to the railway restaurant.... After having taken the tea, we were asked to pay the bill. Every one of us searched his pockets and found that none of us carried sufficient money. Between us we could collect about two-and-a-half rupees. Nehru had about a rupee and a quarter, Mrs Purnima Banerjee another rupee and I gave the few annas to complete the full amount required. How awkward would it have been if we had failed to make up the amount among ourselves!"

Another cameo, this time from the elections that followed a decade later, in 1946: the highly respected Congressman of Bombay, Vaikunthlal Mehta, was a candidate. His reputation was such that any individual or corporate house would have considered it a privilege to assist with his campaign. When he was contemplating the contest, his instincts for integrity were strengthened by a letter he received from Gandhiji. "Offer your name as a candidate for the Assembly, on the condition, however, that you will not have to spend a single pie and will not have to go begging for votes," the letter said.

Vaikunthbhai decided to send a postcard to each of his electors and do nothing more. The postcards won him the seat and he became the first finance minister of Bombay state after Independence. No donor could have reminded the finance minister of his debt—for there was no donor and there was no debt.

Both these elections were held in pre-Independence India. Let us come to post-independence India in which C.