Indian Identity

by Sudhir Kakar

  As far as self-control is concerned, Majid Khan is more uncontrolled than compulsive, but not to an extent that would signal delinquency or sociopathic tendencies. It is, however, evident that Majid Khan has a problem in dealing with his aggressive impulses. He has a tendency to let out his anger easily which he struggles to control, lest it break out in episodes of unchecked rage and bouts of violence.

  Although Majid lets out his anger and is not at all timid, there are strong indications of an underlying depressive mood. He tends to worry a good deal about personal problems, lets outer changes greatly affect his emotional state, and is often depressed. Coupled with his difficulties with self-control and the fact that he finds it very easy to get into high spirits, I would suspect a disposition where hyperactivity compensates for and sometimes alternates with a dysphoric mood and where there is a marked tendency to blow a fuse in tense situations.

  As far as permeability is concerned—the fundamental ways in which the outer world is experienced and how open or closed the person is in interaction with others—Majid Khan sees himself as very trusting and experiences strong feelings in love. Yet he also finds it very hard to come out of his shell, gives away very little of himself, and avoids getting close to another person. The fact that this is true only of personal relations and does not happen in the public sphere, where he can work well with others, would lead one to suspect disturbances in the development of his sense of basic trust and in an openness to his own feelings. It is as if the early contacts with the world were not positive, generating a fear of a hostile environment which led to a defensive closing up and guarding of the core self. I sense in Majid Khan an anxiety about being exploited and abused if he ever opened himself fully to another human being. This way, though he may remain emotionally isolated, he also cannot be destroyed by others. This hypothesis is supported by his responses to other statements in the questionnaire such as that he finds it relatively hard to feel tied to someone for long, that is, he is fearful of personal commitment. He thus comes across as someone who mimics trust and affection without deeply feeling them, something he does quite successfully in his public life since he confesses to being very good at acting and not too particular about truth.

  The Violent Poet

  Unlike Majid Khan, Akbar is a true pehlwan, He has been trained as a wrestler since the age of ten and comes from a family where for the last four generations the men have all been wrestlers. Among the Hindus, he is notorious as a killer while many Muslims approvingly acknowledge his role in the organization of the community’s violence during the riots. Living in a large house with four wrestler brothers and their families, a widowed mother, and three wives, Akbar is a prosperous man who owns a hotel and three taleemkhanas, as the wrestling gymnasiums are called in Urdu. Like most other pehlwans, the chief source of his income is what the pehlwans delicately describe as ‘land business’.

  Baldly stated, ‘land business’ is one of the outcomes of India’s crumbling legal system. Since landlord and tenant disputes as well as other disputes about land and property can take well over a decade to be sorted out if a redress of grievance is sought through the courts, the pehlwan is approached by one of the party. The dispute being thus ‘settled’ the pehlwan receives a large fee for his services. In the case of well-known pehlwans with taleemkhanas (or the Hindu akharas) and thus a large supply of young toughs as students and all-purpose assistants, land business can be very profitable. Many of the pehlwans do not need to use strong-arm methods any longer. The mere fact that a famous pehlwan like Akbar has been engaged by one of the parties is enough for the opponent to back down and reach a settlement to the dispute. In some cases, and these are on some increase, if the second party also employes a pehlwan to protect its interests, then the two pehlwans generally get together and come to a mutually satisfactory solution which, because of the fear they arouse, they can impose on their clients. Built on the threat of physical violence, overt violence is rare in this informal system where a black legality, like a black economy, runs parallel to the state’s legal system, and violence occurs only when new pehlwans try to muscle into the territories of established ‘tigers’, as the pehlwans also like to call themselves, threatening their vital interests and inviting swift reprisals. At least among the Muslim pehlwans, Akbar is a tiger’s tiger, a well-respected man who is a figure of awe for his prowess as a wrestler, success in the land business, and the high esteem in which he is held by his community. A political career is on the cards. Akbar has been asked to and plans to stand for the state legislature election on the platform of the Muslim party.

  The history sheet of the police, though, is not a respecter of success or sentiment. It goes on to call him a chronic ‘rowdy’ and to list a succession of dates, beginning in the early 1960s, and a few laconic lines in front of the date for the offence committed. Akbar was first convicted of sexual harassment when he was 20 years old—‘Eve teasing of a girl’—as the police history sheet puts it—and was fined ten rupees by the court. A few months later, he came to the attention of the police on a charge of physical assault; the complainant failed to press charges because, the police suspect, Akbar intimidated the victim. He was then suspected of snatching a gold chain, but the first serious crime for which he was sentenced to a couple of years in prison was assaulting a special police party, ‘causing grievous injury’. There follows a succession of charges of assault, stabbing, kidnapping, and wrongful confinement, most of them in connection with land deals, although he is acquitted every time either because the witnesses or the complainant or both are too scared to give evidence against him in court. A long list of arrests, orders of externment and removal from the city for specified periods, and short jail sentences (many of which he circumvented by getting himself admitted to the prison hospital) follows in monotonous detail.

  What is now striking about his record are his increasing confrontations with the police. Abuse of police personnel, threats, and a couple of assaults on police officers are actions which the Hyderabad police, like the police of any other city in the world, view with particular disfavour and on which they come down severely. What is not mentioned in the records is that these confrontations with the police are often in the context of Hindu-Muslim violence where Akbar is seen to be defending Muslim interests in a clear-cut and unambiguous manner by putting his body on the line. This wins admirers in the community, especially among the young. And then something strange happens. The rowdy is recruited into the police ranks, undergoes training and is appointed as a police constable in the armed police, something which can only happen as one of the minor fallouts of a political deal struck by the Majlis with the ruling Congress party at that particular time. Akbar’s police career is cut short when he is dismissed for threatening to kill an assistant police commissioner during one of the riots in the Seventies. He assaulted a police inspector and landed in jail again, this time for one year of imprisonment. He spent a large part of this sentence in the prison hospital where he continued to be active. Cases of wrongful confinement, assault, and extraction of money are registered as having been organized by Akbar from his hospital bed.

  For about a decade now, though, Akbar’s history sheet is clean. Akbar is becoming increasingly busy in the political arena and is no longer personally involved in any of the street and mohalla violence. He is no more a soldier but is suspected of being a general and one of the chief organizers of Muslim violence during a riot. The police, in their written summary which reveals an aversion to pronouns, concede: ‘Is very popular. Called pehlwan in his locality. Has earned a lot of money in land business. Many local people approach for settlement of domestic problems and civil disputes which he settles amicably. Has car and properties and income from house rents and hotels: Trains many people of locality, in wrestling. Of late not involved in any criminal cases. However, close watch is being maintained on his activities.’

  Akbar questioned Sabha closely when she first met him. He wanted to know the names of the people who
had mentioned his name, how she knew his student who had brought her to him, the number of visits she had made to the Karwan area and what the people had said about politics, religion, and violence. He was guarded at first and reluctant to talk, asking why it was necessary to interview him and why he should believe that Sabha was a Muslim except that her dress, face, and way of carrying herself and talking gave her away as a Muslim. After all his bitter experiences in life, he found it difficult to trust people. If people knew about him it was because of the good work he had been doing to uphold the honour (izzut) of the Muslim nation. Once his suspicions were lulled, however, Akbar talked to Sabha freely about himself and his view of Hindu-Muslim relations.

  ‘I am proud to be a Muslim. It is this pride which has carried me through many wrestling competitions I won. My aim in wrestling has not been to achieve fame for myself but to make a name as a Muslim I always felt thrilled when large numbers of Muslim boys bought tickets because I was fighting in the arena. Each time I defeated a Hindu wrestler, I felt I had not only made a name for myself but for the entire Muslim community, which looked up to me for its honour and fame. I train a lot of Muslim boys in my taleemkhanas. I visit the taleemkhanas occasionally since I have trained others to do the job. But it is done under my close supervision. Apart from wrestling, the boys are also trained to protect themselves from attack by the enemy. They are trained on the condition that they will never misuse the training to unnecessarily harm someone.

  ‘I also teach my disciples to be good Muslims—to respect their parents, elders, neighbours and women. A wrestler’s life is not easy. He has to observe certain rules very strictly. Besides eating a good diet, he must go to bed early and wake up very early in the morning. Alcohol, cigarettes, and pan are absolutely prohibited. He must not drink tea and loaf around on the streets. I myself have strictly followed these rules and even today I do not drink alcohol or tea, smoke or eat pan. To become an example to others, I have undergone a lot of hardship. Today my disciples are very attached to me. If I were to tell them to kill themselves, they would not hesitate for a moment. But they know that their ustad will never ask them for their lives. He only works for their welfare. He wants them to be brave.’

  Akbar was now leaning forward, his voice swelling with pride.

  ‘Your list of pehlwans has more Muslims than Hindu names because Muslims are stronger than Hindus. The Muslim has God’s strength in him. A Muslim reflects the strength of the nation. Muslims are united and one. The other nation (Hindu) does not have this unity. They are divided. We know our immense strength, given to us by God. A true Muslim is never afraid. The only fear in his heart is of God. The wooden stave of a Muslim or only the cry “Allah-u-Akbar (God is Great)” is more than ten Hindu swords. Whatever is happening today is a test the Muslims have to go through. The Qur’an says very clearly that it is a sin to oppress others but an even greater sin to bear oppression. A good Muslim can never tolerate oppression. Today I am a pehlwan because our society, government, and police have forced me to be one. I have faced a lot of zulm but have never submitted to it. I have always fought it.

  ‘I was myself a policeman once but I quit the service after I witnessed police brutality. I saw the atrocities they commit on innocent people. One day I openly took on the police in public. I beat up a policeman very badly. Later they ransacked my house and destroyed my hotel. I was charged with assault and jailed for one year. It was solitary confinement. In this one year I changed a lot. My sentiment for God and my love for the nation awakened. I also read the Qur’an and prayed regularly. I decided to dedicate my life to the well-being of my community.

  ‘On my return, I received a hero’s welcome. People were so happy to see me back. I did a lot of work for the poor of the community. I am satisfied that I am doing good work—not for myself or for my own good but for others, for my people. A pehlwan does not get strength from the building of the body but from the blessings of the poor and the grace of Allah to whom he prays. To pray to God in the early hours of the morning when others are sleeping is the best. He is not distracted by the prayers of so many others who are still asleep.’

  There was no trace of banter now, only a deadly seriousness.

  ‘I believe in equality for everyone. There should be no divide between the rich and the poor. I have the communist way of thinking. I am religious and communist at the same time. You might think I am a hypocrite because I own such a big house, a hotel, property. But even in Russia the leaders had everything. I am talking about beliefs and ideas. I hate the rich, their vulgar lifestyle, and the show of wealth. I also hate the whites because they exploit the dark races not only in Africa but all over the world. I also hate the police whose uniform gives them the licence to commit such horrible crimes. Today the Muslim’s fight is not only against the other nation but also against the police.

  ‘I feel very happy when young Muslim boys are tortured by the police. They should be beaten up even more. My prayer to God is for the police to commit unlimited atrocities on young Muslims. Whenever I hear about Muslim boys being tortured, I feel like dancing with joy. Unless these boys directly experience oppression on their bodies, they will never be able to stand up against it. When they are victims of police brutality they become tigers who join my army. Today, because of God’s grace there are hundreds of these young disciples who are spread all over the city.’ There was no hysteria as he spoke now, just a cold fanatic dedication.

  ‘The impression is false that in every riot more Muslims than Hindus are killed. I can say with complete confidence that at least in Hyderabad this is not ture. Here the Muslims are very strong and completely united. More Hindus than Muslims are killed in every riot.

  ‘In another ten to 15 years the Hindus will be finished as a political force and not only politically. It is important to remember that many Muslim men marry more than once and have large families with many children. Every other Muslim house has at least five to six childern. Imagine only two boys in every family growing up to be tigers and it is these tigers who will take them on without fear. Then the Hindus have the caste sytem in which poor Hindus are exploited. It has happened many times in the past that lower caste Hindus have converted to Islam or Christianity. This is going to happen in a big way now. There won’t be many Hindus left.’

  His expression was again relaxing, a seductive light coming back into his eyes and in the hint of a smile.

  ‘During the riots or at the time of curfew, I often go away from home. Because whenever there is disturbance this is the first place where the police land up. I get the work I have to do during the riots done but never out of my own house. For the last many years the police have been unable to nab me. I do my land business the same way. I buy and sell land but I am not a land grabber like others. All my land dealings are done at home. No one ever sees me at a site and my signature is never found on any document.

  ‘When you came to meet me, you must have had a certain image of me as a pehlwan. But I am sure you will go back thinking differently of Akbar pehlwan. I am not like the others.’

  Sahba’s account of her meeting with Akbar had whetted my curiosity. She had been impressed with the dignity with which he carried himself, his elegance and his chaste idiomatic Urdu, liberally sprinkled with couplets from well-known poets. His courtly ways, coupled with the air of menace around him because of his reputation, made him an intriguing figure. Akbar was like the soft paw of a big cat, the talons retracted and almost invisible in the silken fur, a Damascus-steel sword sheathed in a velvet scabbard. I thus went to our meeting with Akbar, which was to take place in his hotel in the late afternoon, with much anticipation.

  The rickshaw driver who took us to the meeting place did not need an address more elaborate than our simple instructions to take us to ‘Akbar pehlwan’s hotel’. The hotel was located near a bus terminal where buses from all over Andhra Pradesh as well as the neighbouring states disgorge pilgrims bound for the temple of Tirupathi, one of the holiest of Hindu shrines. Fam
ilies from far-flung villages, often led by wizened women, bent with age yet shuffling along, sprightly with faith, stream out of the buses to stretch their legs, use the toilets and perhaps eat before they take the connecting buses for Tirupathi. I found it ironical that Akbar’s hotel advertised itself as serving special vegetarian meals for Hindu pilgrims. This time, though, ‘hotel’ was not a misnomer since on one side of the restaurant, there was a flight of stairs leading up to the first floor which had six rooms lined along a narrow corridor. At the end of the corridor, recessed into a wall, there was a sort of, well, reception desk. Behind it, barely visible in the shadows, were three strapping young men. We asked for Akbar and one of the youths, disengaging himself from his companions, told us we were expected. Akbar would be with us in 20 minutes and in the meanwhile to please follow him.

  He led us through the corridor to the last room, motioned us inside, and went away. All the other rooms seemed empty and the corridor was silent, with only the subdued late afternoon street noises filtering through its closed windows barred with iron grills. The room was stuffy and dingy, without a single window, the weak whirring of the fan churning the same stale air over and over again. There were two chairs, a twin bed, a television set on a low stool and a red telephone on a table. Otherwise the room was bare without even a poster or a print to mar the uniformity of its ugliness. Above the bed, there was a red bulb sticking out of the wall, baffling as to its purpose. I could feel the stream of perspiration thickening all over my back and my chest as molecules of sweat sought each other to form drops which trickled down to enter the pyjamas at the waist. The fan wheezed slowly, dispensing its miserly breeze only to someone who sat right under it, a space both Sahba and I were too polite to occupy by moving our chairs. The sheets on the bed were washed though they still looked soiled, covered with a profusion of patches, a cheap detergent having changed the colour of the original stains to various shades of grey. There were oil stains on the pillows from the heads of guests who believed a daily smearing of coconut oil not only kept the hair thick and healthy but acted as a coolant for the head and tonic for the body. I could not help wondering what the hotel was used for and how many customers rented its rooms for periods shorter than a night’s stay.