Kamthai has always been a difficult panchayat for me so I was surprised by the large attendance. We sat on the groundsheet under a late-afternoon sky. The temperature was bearable now but the heat of the village politics shook me. They were vehement in their protests about the sarpanch and his wrongdoings in the implementation of the National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme. A tanka, the quintessential water-harvesting reservoir that is entirely man-made, had been constructed in the name of a person who was long dead, they alleged. Indian ingenuity has managed to make a leakproof scheme like NREGS lucrative. I assured them of an inquiry and learnt later that the collector had acted on the complaint in a jiffy and even suspended the gram sewak.
The meetings at Dhandhali and Nosar went smoothly, as expected, for these are villages that have always been very supportive. At both meetings I spoke about Atalji’s vision of joining rivers: it touches a chord here since both villages are located near the Luni River. Back home at Barmer I had the pleasant surprise of finding Chitra there. It was her intention to surprise me, and the long, tiring day ended on a high note.
14 April 2009
Today is Ambedkar Jayanti and there are programmes at almost every tehsil headquarters, and even at smaller places. Over the years, I have managed to attend the Ambedkar Jayanti programme almost everywhere. Politically, it is considered almost mandatory to attend these functions. And many pious speeches are made, even though most of the speakers have not got to the bottom of what Ambedkar was all about.
I was asked to preside over the programme at Barmer town. I had done it just last year, but this being an election year I thought if I went to the tehsils, people in Barmer might take it amiss. Even so, I managed to sneak in three tehsil meetings before the one at Barmer. All the main Rabari village heads from three tehsils were gathered in a dhani outside Bodwa for a community tête-à-tête. Somebody had obviously told them I would be dropping in for, soon after we were seated, cold drinks were served. I told them I did not drink such stuff, and besides, they are a waste of money as fresh buttermilk beats anything in the world. And anyway, the Rabaris should have the best buttermilk, I added.
On the way back from Bodwa, I had meetings at Chawa and Rawatsar, both largish villages. And both villages were complaining about disruptions in the water-supply scheme during the last three months. ‘We had a difficult winter so you can well imagine what will happen at the height of summer,’ was the refrain. I felt like being wicked and blaming the situation on the change of government in the state, but then decided to take responsibility for doing something about it.
By the time I headed towards Barmer for the Ambedkar Jayanti function, there were numerous calls asking where I was. So the first thing I did when I arrived and took the mike was to apologize for the delay. Some of the guests had already left by the time I reached, but a sizeable audience was still very much there and with a larger youth attendance than I had ever seen before. I thought for a while that it may have to do with the Bahujan Samaj Party, but it turned out that a young lawyer had asked his friends to fill up the hall for he was one of the speakers today. I stuck to my standard line about India never becoming a developed nation until it had eradicated the practice of untouchability.
I took my leave even before the prize distribution was over and came out into the corridor of the auditorium to see that a banner-carrying delegation had prepared an ambush for me. They had been brought here by an NGO to protest against an alleged rape. They didn’t seem sincere—reminded me of the rent-a-crowd that frequents central Delhi on particular occasions. There was another delegation to meet me but one I knew about and had planned for. These were the Barmer BJP councillors who were angry with the chairman. They had met me earlier a number of times but I had problems with their methods of protest. Protesting in public when both sides are members of the same party is not the done thing, and I had said this to them many a time. I had also told them to move a no-confidence motion against the chairman and be done with it. Since they did not have the numbers on their side to do so, their anger was now directed at me. I heard them out, and they seemed pacified. But when I suggested the Balotra formula that involves a committee with representatives from both sides, they resisted and said it would not work here, and that they would work independently of the chairman for the election. I simply wanted them to work, I said, and how they did it was not my concern.
Prakashji called to request that Mohan Singh Chitalwana, a relative in Jalore who was distancing himself from the BJP campaign there, be activated to help the party candidate. When I asked him about election prospects in Barmer, he now sounded more optimistic, which was a great relief. He also told me that he had warned all those who were working from within to sabotage the election. ‘We will take the strictest action against anybody doing that in Barmer,’ he assured me. I told him they have got other assurances from elsewhere, so I was not optimistic about their working sincerely.
By the time I hit the road again there were wickedly hot blasts of wind blowing into the Scorpio, at times strong enough to shake the car. After a well-attended village meeting at Borwa, it was on to Sarnu, and on the way a male gazelle crossed the road in front of us, from right to left. Bherji, who was accompanying me, commented that this was a good omen. I sighed and told him I hoped so. By now, I realized that I needed all the good omens I could get. At Sarnu, however, as the crowd began to disperse after the meeting was over, I stumbled on a stone sticking out of the ground and was promptly made to sit down again. This was a bad omen which needed to be corrected. Goma Ram produced a big event at Hodu, where he is sarpanch. During my first election he had been dodgy, and I made it clear to him that I was aware of it. Now he knew that I was keeping a watch on him. As today’s meeting progressed, a big bull strolled to the back and stood watching the crowd. Large smiles broke out on faces as this was supposedly very auspicious. I was now losing track of the omens. There was a thin attendance at the Aed Sindhri venue when we reached. As this was the last meeting of the day, we waited as more people were expected. I had been here almost every year so it was a surprise when the sarpanch began moaning that I had not been there. When I reeled off the number of times I had come, someone said, ‘But Hema Ram comes almost every third month!’ I replied: ‘He is an MLA while I have eight Assembly segments in my constituency, so you can imagine how many more villages I need to cover.’ They would have none of it, and ended by saying, ‘But we read in the papers about your travelling all over the border.’ I stopped defending myself then and left for Guda Mallani.
15 April 2009
Today is an important day in my life: it is the Parachute Regiment (India) Day and also the Hillsborough Memorial Day worldwide for Liverpool supporters. I have relatives and close friends who are paratroopers, but I am the sole Liverpool supporter. Today is the twentieth anniversary of that disaster, and when I woke up cool and refreshed from a brilliant sleep, the images kept coming back before my eyes. I was a student in London then and remember watching the live coverage of that tragedy. I suddenly remembered that the Chelsea–Liverpool Champions League match had been on last night. Since there was no television where I was staying, there was no way of watching it. When I tried to get the score from my phone, it just died on me. I must have been one of the very few MPs still using the iPaq given to us by Parliament, but now its time had passed. I had to switch the SIM card to another phone as I did not want people accusing me of keeping the phone switched off.
L. R. Bishnoi had made the programmes for today, and it was to be a Bishnoi-intensive day. He came to pick me up in the morning and requested that I speak to my local relatives to help us. I declined, telling him that I would have first asked for help in his election if I had had any hope of help from them. But help was to come from Pappu Maharaj, a pint-sized man with a spirit in inverse proportion to his size. While we were sitting at Mokhaba, someone suggested that Pappu Maharaj would return to the party if I requested him. I said, sure, I will go talk to him, but others suggested he be called to the meeting b
efore everyone else. Volunteers took a jeep to fetch him, and came back with him and another dozen. After he was garlanded, there was much happiness at the meeting over his homecoming. He sat by my side, and when I looked at his breast pocket there was a little diary that had a photograph of Sonia Gandhi on it, one of the election handouts. I whispered to him that he should now hide that. He blushed in deep embarrassment.
Baand and Ranasar had jointly organized a meeting, so there was a level of efficiency about it that other meetings did not have. Two villages pooling resources certainly makes for better organization. Raghuvir, formerly the head of the BJP in this area and a Guda Mallani businessman, had earlier told me about Natha Ram, a deputy sarpanch, complaining that I do not contact him, so I called him this morning before leaving Guda Mallani to say that we would meet in Baand, his village. I did not get a reply, and when I told him so at the meeting, he said sheepishly that he saw the missed call later. (That was the last meeting he was to have for us because he went and joined the Congress.)
Raghav, my schoolmate from Mayo, and his camera team joined us today and, seeing them, L. R. Bishnoi went into overdrive and told people to get up and shout out their demands as they would be carried on the evening news telecast in Delhi. At Aalpura, some women complained about the NREGS payments, and sitting amongst them was a young girl with a serene look in her eyes and the most beautiful lips. The cameraman should have been filming her rather than me, I thought.
The i-mate phone that I was now using did not have a car-charger and so, as the calls kept coming in, my anxiety over losing power kept growing. Somebody called to say that I should send some safaiwalas to his ward in Barmer; another, to ask that I call his cooperative-society manager and ask him to make payments to a group that was being denied monies. I quickly agreed that their demands were justified, trying to keep the conversations as short as I could. The young lads at the Nagar toll plaza stopped me as I was passing, and complained that their families had given up the land for this highway with an understanding that the boys of the area would be employed at the tollbooth. ‘But now, the toll contract has gone to some other company and we are being thrown out,’ they said. This was a genuine complaint, and I sympathized with them.
When we reached the Bishnoi Dharamshala at Guda Mallani in the evening, I found that L. R. Bishnoi had invited notable persons of his community from all over, for he had a purpose behind this meeting. Some of the Bishnoi sarpanches had invited Congress leaders to their villages and this had irked him no end. Many sarpanches switch sides to the winner of the Assembly elections, as it helps them get their panchayat payments in time or inquiries against them quashed. But L. R. Bishnoi took it as a personal affront, fearing that he was losing his grip over the community. Hence this gathering of Bishnoi personalities. During the meeting, there was much chastizing of those who had switched loyalties, and snide comments, too, in language that I as the candidate would never have been able to use. The assembly dispersed with many expressions of loyalty. Were these just words, I couldn’t help wondering.
16 April 2009
I started today’s rounds with a visit to the other rawla in Guda Mallani. They are from the same family as my mother-in-law but had divided the feudal estates some generations earlier. From here, it was straight to Manki, to Hira Ram’s farmhouse. At this, L. R. Bishnoi blew a fuse—visiting somebody’s house was the least advisable thing to do at this time, he said; others who think they are equally important would then expect us to visit their homes as well, and then there would be no end to it. I calmed him down. Moreover, I like Hira Ram, a bright young fellow with the potential to be groomed for future responsibilities.
After good meetings at Arniyali and Sudaberi, we reached Nedi Nadi, where voters were gathered under a khejdi tree. Last time I came here, it was for a condolence visit, so there had been only muted voices. But today there were loud complaints about the water pipeline to the village. I recalled having pushed for its sanction, but I had lost track of it thereafter. With everybody speaking at the same time, I could not quite understand what the problem was, until someone explained that the laying of the line was faulty as it meandered around dhanis so as to accommodate the favoured few; and that because of this the whole village would never get water. He pointed to the tank that was bone dry and said it would collapse very soon.
At Lukhu, in contrast, I got a very warm welcome, especially from a Dadhi (Dadhis are amongst the least recognized of the singing communities and so the poorest too), for whose corner of the village a water line had been supplied from monies given under the MP Local Area Development Scheme. He had even composed a verse to thank me.
I bade everyone farewell, thanked L. R. Bishnoi and his team, as Lukhu was the last meeting today. I invited them to Barmer for my nomination rally that is to be held tomorrow. ‘We will come by the busloads,’ said Hema Ram, the Lukhu sarpanch. Once we got out of the village and on to the shortest route to Jasol, I had Hukum Singh stop for a lunch break. While we were eating, a brother–sister duo, not more than ten years old, came and stood nearby, watching in silence. I had only half a packet of biscuits to share with them, which they accepted in a jiffy. It was at least 150 kilometres to Jasol so I had Hukum Singh put on the air conditioning in the Scorpio. After a while I felt as if the cold air was pressing against my chest.
My mother had already reached Jasol, and I finally got to sit with her. It was a long time since I had last done that. After all the affectionate words came the expected rebukes about my not taking blessings from elders, and so on. I learnt from her that Devi Singhji, the MLA from Kolayat in Bikaner district, was on his way to Barmer, so I set off again and caught up with him on the highway, soon after Baytu. I was relieved, for it is important to get him for the nomination rally. I was still worried about Kailashji’s arrival as there had been no word from him—he is the MP from Tonk and the national vice-president of the party. After seeing the arrangements at the election office I reached home—for my last beer and café crème until polling was over. I had made a resolution to give up my two favourite indulgences until after polling day.
17 April 2009
This is the day of my nomination and the day when the last lap of campaigning begins. From now on, it is a twenty-day dash and, as with all nomination days, it began with a visit to all the temples in Barmer town—old, established temples as well as newer, community-funded ones. To maximize the number of visits, I began early. But when I reached the election office, there were howls from the Jhule Lal temple that I had not yet come there to receive blessings. I had to excuse myself from doing so since it would not have been possible to reach the collector’s chambers in time to file my nomination.
Instead of walking, we decided to drive there to save time. On the way, I saw busloads coming in and realized that there would be more people at the rally than expected. Kailashji, Devi Singhji and Habib ur-Rehman, the MLA from Nagore, accompanied me into the collector’s chambers. The policemen at the entrance had said that, as per the Election Commission rules, only three persons were allowed to accompany the candidate. The auspicious time for the nomination was fixed for 12.32 p.m., and Habib ur-Rehman was particularly insistent that we stick to it, so I began signing the documents at that precise moment. While the process was going on, Ota Ramji, the MLA from Sirohi, and Prakashji dropped in as well, and two people went out, so as to keep to the Election Commission regulations.
All of us then drove together to the rally. When we reached, I was awestruck. The stadium venue was bursting with the crowds, and the energy was intoxicating. People had come from as far as Phalodi, Pokharan, Balesar—areas that were not in my constituency. I missed Taj Mohammed’s speech, but people told me later that he had made the most impassioned address. He had come all the way from Phalodi in Jodhpur, a long distance, and had never even been a constituent. I was very touched by his gesture. There was no place on the stage so I sat on the steps, continuously shaking hands or making eye contact with all those whom I recognized. Pr
akashji looked very pleased about the whole affair and told me so. The last time we had had this rally, the state government was BJP, and my father a minister in the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) government. This time, we had nothing of that sort in our favour, but the crowds displayed an exuberance that was simply awesome.
Through the proceedings I kept debating over how I should pitch my speech. In the end I decided to make it in the chatty village style. I thanked them all for coming from such distances and said that on such an occasion I should have been serving them jaggery, but the price was so wretchedly exorbitant now. There was a burst of laughter, and that set the tone for the rest of the speech. I had thought of speaking about opium, too, but dropped the idea, as the regulators may not have found it funny. I spoke about water and regretted that the lift canals had not been completed yet, but the work was under way, as they all well knew. We now have a train to Pakistan, and one to Haridwar, I reminded them, but now we needed to improve upon them. The meeting ended on a buoyant note and, as I came down from the stage, there was much jostling to shake my hand. I wanted to walk around the venue and thank all those who had come but, every few steps, I was being lifted up in the air. I left the rally venue with the feeling that my five years as an MP had been validated by the crowds.
While I was having lunch at home after the rally, I got a call to say that one of the buses returning from the nomination gathering had been stoned and some people beaten up. I got Shafi to come with me as we raced to find out what had happened. There was a long convoy of vehicles parked by the roadside near Undkha, and a very agitated Ratan Singh, the block BJP president, was berating the police for not protecting them. Suddenly, two stoned-looking boys pushed through into the crowd to ask where I was, and Ratan Singh screamed out: ‘They are the ones who attacked!’ The police were very swift in whisking them away. I told the other policemen present that if this incident were not dealt with strictly, there would be many more during and after the elections, so it was now a question of their image. Since the buses that were attacked had come from Chohtan, and that lot was all charged up, we drove along with them up to the Nimdi Mata temple about thirty kilometres away. In the gardens nearby, they all sat down to have an impromptu meeting. Ratan Singh spoke some rather harsh words, critical of one particular community. The Chohtan Assembly election result—when the BJP had been confident of winning the seat but did not get the votes of one of the largest communities amongst the Hindus—still rankles.
Campaign Diary Page 13