by Javier Moro
“Mother, look how many people there are! Don’t you think you ought to wave to them?”
Sonia listens to her daughter and raises her arm. The thunderous response from the people emboldens her. Flanked by Priyanka, she gives free rein to her anger: “For four long years the government has been incapable of arresting my husband’s murderers and bringing them to trial,” she declares in almost perfect Hindi. “If the proceedings into the assassination of an ex-Prime Minister take so long to make any progress, what will happen to the common citizen with matters pending justice? I am sure that you understand what I am feeling.” In the midst of a hurricane of exclamations, she continues: “Today, the ideals of Nehru, of Indira and of Rajiv are under threat. There are divisions everywhere. The time has come to restore their principles and I will be with you in that effort.” “Sonia, save the country!” the people reply, feeling love for this brave and worthy widow. They admire her for her self-denial, her faithfulness to the family and her sacrifice. Before she gets into the car, a reporter comes up to her:
“Does your speech mark the return of the Gandhi dynasty to the political scene in India?”
“No,” replies Sonia. “I have no political ambitions. I always speak as president of the Rajiv Gandhi Foundation.”
But the whole of India has heard her message. The next day, her photo with her arm raised, accompanied by her children, is on the front page of all the national newspapers. In the eyes of millions of Indians, Sonia is no longer seen as the housewife who lives in the shadow of her husband and her mother-in-law, and she becomes the public figure responsible for the legacy of the family.
What happened to Rajiv and Indira is now happening to Sonia. Contact with the people cheers her, comforts her and takes her out of her existential anguish, making her forget the contradiction there is in taking on the legacy of such a political family when she herself detests politics. The result of the following elections, those in 1996, does not surprise her at all. She is so well informed that she already knows the party is not going to get even two hundred MPs. But it does not even get 140, a historic disaster. Rao dissolves the government, and resigns as Prime Minister and leader of the party.
A few days later, she receives a visit from a group of dissidents from the Congress Party who once again have come to ask for her advice in choosing the next president of the organization. But Sonia refuses to give her opinion. This time, aware of her power, of “the Sonia factor”, she does not even mention who would be her favourite to take over. She does not want to be manipulated.
The one who has come out victorious in these elections is Maneka, who has again won a seat in Parliament. Going back and forth from the benches, the sister-in-law has made herself an image of her own as a defender of animals. She is named as Minister of the Environment again, but her joy does not last long. Because of pressure from the enemies of the coalition, the new Prime Minister is forced to dismiss her a few days later. It is ironic that Indira’s Indian daughter-in-law, a political and talkative woman, should fight so much for a piece of power while the timid, apolitical foreign daughter-in-law goes on rejecting offers of leadership.
Because the leaders of the Congress Party come back to the attack, aware that the absence of the widow is the most important presence in the party. The situation is catastrophic, they tell her, the party is falling apart, the country is rushing towards the abyss of religious wars. There is not a day when someone does not come to repeat this to her. The internecine fighting within the largest political organization in the world is emptying it of the best militants, who are deserting en masse. The new leader, who is elected at the cost of bitter disputes, is an individual who does not inspire respect. He spends the evenings at home, lying on the floor with his head on a pillow, drinking whisky and smoking non-stop, while talking about politics, gossip and sex. Sonia knows that this man is not the solution, rather the opposite. In spite of the constant pressure, she still does not let them twist her arm. “What about Priyanka?” they ask, as if the daughter would do just as well as the mother. It does not matter who it is, but it must be a Gandhi, it is the only thing that can save the organization. Only a Gandhi can hold together the different tendencies, the different egos. Only a Gandhi can galvanize the battered morale of the sympathizers. In the once all-powerful Congress Party, a party with 112 years of history behind it, there is despair. “Millions of party militants are prepared to give their lives for you. How can you allow the Congress Party to fall apart before your very eyes?” they repeat. It is said so much that Sonia begins to feel a vague guilt complex, her conscience afflicted by a kind of pain. Can I go on being a silent spectator in the face of the disintegration of the party for which Rajiv gave his life? The question perturbs her. Suddenly it is as if the ground has given way beneath her feet. Besides, she is tired of so much pressure and she has been subjected to it constantly since Rajiv died. She is also tired of so much sycophancy. But above all she is tormented. If the Congress Party falls apart, the family legacy comes to an end. Thinking that Rajiv’s sacrifice was in vain makes her lose sleep. Her daughter shares her worries.
“Something has to be done,” Priyanka says to her, “otherwise the BJP will end up destroying everything we have achieved, from grandfather down to Daddy.”
When an old friend of the family, Amitabh Bachchan, whose house she lived in when she arrived in New Delhi and who has become the most popular film star in India, comes to visit her, she shares her uneasiness with him.
“I wonder if by failing the Congress party, I’m not failing Nehru, Indira and Rajiv,” she confesses.
“Don’t confuse them with the leaders there are now,” Amitabh replies. “These are a bunch of vultures who want to take advantage of your family’s power of pull for their own political ends. Don’t let yourself be deceived, don’t give way.”
“Of course, you’re right,” she tells him.
But Priyanka does not agree with Amitabh.
“So,” she tells her mother when they are alone again, “we are going to let the country fall apart and not do anything then?”
Sonia answers her with another question.
“Don’t you think the family has already done enough for the country?”
But doubt grips her like a gloomy embrace, as though it can guess that her resistance is about to give way to the inevitable.
Months later, another visit from another old friend of Rajiv’s sows more doubt in Sonia’s mind. He is one of the most highly valued leaders of the Congress Party, an upright man who goes by the initials D.S. His opinion always carried weight in Rajiv’s time.
“We’re heading straight for disaster,” he tells her suddenly. “With this new president, we aren’t even going to get a hundred seats in the next elections. Do you know what that means?”
Sonia makes a face in displeasure. The man goes on:
“It means the disintegration of the party, the end of the Congress Party. And perhaps of India as a nation.”
There is a long, dense silence.
“I know your position and that of your children as regards taking on your family’s mantle, but given the extreme gravity of the situation, I have come in the name of Rajiv’s colleagues to ask you to do it. I know what you think of politics, we all know. I know you’re going to say no, but I would be remiss in my duty if I did not insist. And I wouldn’t do it if I knew there was a better solution.”
“I have always thought that you had pull, that you could perfectly well be a good president for the party,” Sonia tells him.
“I don’t have enough backing. I may have in the future perhaps, but not now. At this time of extreme gravity, the solution is up to you or your children.”
“Are you telling me that if I don’t go into politics, I’m failing in my responsibilities?”
The man does not dare to reply.
“I want to make you see another side to the problem,” he goes on. “Let us suppose that the Congress Party disappears… What will happen to your
security? Whether you go into politics or not, there are a lot of people who see you as a threat because of what you represent. Those who are against the founding principles of the Congress Party are also against you. And unfortunately they are legion, every day more. Even if you never go into politics, the fact of having stayed on to live in this house is in itself a political act.”
Sonia does not answer. Her head is spinning. D.S. goes on:
“If they took protection away from Rajiv, they will take it away from you, don’t have any doubts about that. If the Congress Party disappears as a political force, who is going to pay for the enormous security deployment that you and your children need?”
Sonia shivers, because she knows he is right. Would they dare to leave them unprotected? Everything is possible in this dirty world of politics. There are enemies out there, and also within the party, the same ones who withdrew protection from Rajiv. Some for one reason, others for another. It is clear that if the party goes under, they will be left defenceless. But if she agrees and goes into politics to save it, is that not tempting the devil? Is it not exposing herself even more to the bullets of any madman? There is no way out in the labyrinth of her life. It all ends up getting mixed up in her head: the sense of responsibility and the fear, the hatred of politics and the need for security. For the first time, Sonia begins to realize that power not only needs her, the family also needs the protection of power. Otherwise, it is quite clear: the legacy will no longer exist, the sacrifice of Indira and Rajiv will fall into oblivion and perhaps they—Sonia, Priyanka or Rahul—will also no longer exist.
44
While Sonia struggles with all her doubts, Indian politics continues to fall apart. The concept of nation created by the Congress Party during the struggle for independence, and which advocates a pluralistic, secular and diverse nation (the opposite of Pakistan, a nation created around a religion), is still losing ground in an alarming manner. The same adversaries against whom Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru, Indira and Rajiv fought, are those who are now gaining adepts with their idea of a Hindu India, like an involuntary echo of Pakistan. What will happen if they get hold of power? Will there be ethnic cleansing? Then there is the lamentable spectacle of corruption. A hundred or so MPs in New Delhi now have a “criminal past”, which means that they have been accused of several crimes, but not formally convicted. If Nehru could only see this! Once they are elected it is practically impossible to convict them, and for that reason politics is becoming an important incentive for delinquents of all kinds.
The corruption is so grotesque that a leader on the rise in the biggest “untouchables” party in India, a middle-aged woman called Mayawati who has become rich overnight and claims that her followers are “very generous”, has been caught red- handed giving out licences to her builder friends to put up a huge theme park around the Taj Mahal. The scandal has forced her to abandon the project, but it has not taken any votes away from her. The newspapers publish photos of her receiving her interviewers sitting on a real carved wooden throne covered in gold leaf in her palatial home in Lucknow. She celebrated her birthday in style, using official procedures and public funds. And she is not the only one.
It seems that instead of progressing, the country is moving back to the times of the corrupt maharajahs. It is going back to its old ways, like when it was made up of a myriad kingdoms that fought amongst themselves, weakening each other, making the Mogul and British invasions easier. If the Congress Party ends up smashed to pieces in the coming elections, the only large national party will die. Now all that is left are kingdoms of gangs who fight, not for their ideology, but to win the favour of their electors, more and more grouped together in castes or regional communities. Politics is fragmenting. How far will that fragmentation go? As far as the disintegration of India? The analysts do not discount that. Some say that India was the Nehru family, that without them India is not even a nation.
During one of her nights of insomnia, Sonia feels pressure on her chest again. Sometimes it is the cold that starts off an asthma attack, other times it comes with no apparent explanation and yet others it is due to stress. Her bronchial tubes feel narrower and make the passage of air to her lungs difficult. The feeling she is drowning, that when she inhales no air comes in, is very distressing. Chronic asthma cannot be cured, but you learn to live with the illness, as Sonia has done. She knows that yoga has helped her a lot. Yoga teaches you to breathe. When she notices the first symptoms that night, she starts looking for her inhaler and her medicines. But she cannot find them in their usual place, they are not in the bathroom cabinet or on her bedside table. “I must have left them in the office,” she says to herself. She wraps herself in her dressing gown and goes out of her room.
In effect, the inhaler is on the desk in the office. Sonia sits down, puts it in her mouth, presses just as she breathes in and takes some deep breaths. She feels the effect immediately. That’s it, she can breathe. She relaxes. The house is almost silent, except for the sound of the wind in the leaves on the trees in the garden and her deep breaths in and out. The room still smells of cold incense, just as when Rajiv was alive. He liked to have some sticks burning when he was working. He used to say they helped him to concentrate.
Suddenly Sonia looks up and sees the picture of Indira. Then the one of Nehru. And then the one of Rajiv. “Why are you looking at me so insistently? With such enigmatic smiles?” That night, in the shadows, they look as if they are alive. Sonia puts her inhaler away in her pocket and, before putting out the light, she looks at the pictures again. She cannot hold their gaze and she looks down, as though she is ashamed. She turns out the light and goes back to bed in her room. But she cannot get to sleep and she does not want to take a pill in case she gets used to them. She turns over and over in bed, gets tangled up in the sheets, turns on the light, tries to read, feels tired, and puts the light out again. She cannot get the photos in the office out of her head. “I’m failing them,” she says to herself. “I’m betraying them. My God, what shall I do?”
She needs to talk to her children. Rahul has just arrived from London, where he has found a job in a finance company after finishing his studies in the United States. Priyanka has a boyfriend, a young man she has known since she was little. The next day, sitting at the breakfast table, Sonia tells them about the feeling the photos in the office gave her.
“Every time I walk past them, I have the impression they are looking at me, as though they expected something of me…”
“They do expect something, Mother,” Priyanka says. “The same thing happens to me and I’m ashamed that I’m doing nothing while everything is falling to pieces. What would Grandmother say? I’m sure she wouldn’t like it… We have to avoid the party coming apart.”
“And how can that be done?” her brother asks.
“By campaigning for the Congress Party in the coming elections,” answers Priyanka.
Rahul shrugs his shoulders.
“Let’s not get into that mess.”
“I think we have to think about it,” answers Priyanka, who has her feet firmly on the ground. “You know, Mother, I’ve come to the same conclusion as you, although by another path. We cannot remain as spectators. It’s as if… as if it’s immoral!”
Little by little, they start weighing up the pros and cons of a decision that apparently changes everything, but which finally shows its own deep logic.
“There are times when one’s preferences have to be left aside, don’t you think?” asks Sonia, with a serious look on her face.
Her children do not answer. She goes on: “I would be prepared to campaign for the Congress Party in order to try to save the organization, but not to take on any government position. Will you help me?”
“Of course,” her daughter says.
“Do you remember what your great-grandfather said to Grandmother Indira in that letter?… That she would never be able to get away from the family tradition. How right he was! I think we too cannot get away from it. It’s like
a second skin to us, whether we like it or not.”
Rahul finds it difficult to accept his mother’s decision, because he cannot see that she is happy. He knows she is going to go down a path that really repels her. He knows she is doing it because she has inherited the same sense of duty that Indira and Rajiv had. But in the end, the young man understands what is at stake.
“Mother, I’ll give up my job and I’ll go with you to all the rallies,” he says to encourage her.
Sonia likes to serve the tea herself to people who come to see her. This time it is not a usual visit, it was she who called the leader of the Congress Party and an old friend of the family, D.S., the one who told her a few months before that they were heading straight for disaster. He is a tall, good-looking man, with natural elegance emphasized by the clothes he is wearing: a white kurta and white pyjama-type trousers. He has come without delay, in spite of having had to spend the night on a train. But if Sonia calls, people take notice, because she does not usually ever call. Sonia hands him his cup of tea, which gives off the scent of jasmine. Before she sits down, she glances quickly at the photos on the walls, as though asking for their approval for daring to do what she is proposing.
“What would happen if I campaigned for the Congress Party?” she says all of a sudden.
The man burns his lips and splutters. Can what he is hearing be true? he wonders. He had no idea what he was going to find, and that is why the question has caught him unaware.
There is a silence, a dense silence, which Sonia uses to offer him a linen serviette embroidered with a G.
“Madam,” he replies, wiping the corner of his mouth, “that would have a galvanizing effect on our ranks. We would win overwhelmingly in the polls.”
Sonia is serious, meditative. The man’s eyes light up.
“Do you really think so?”
“I am convinced of it.”
“For me, it is a very difficult decision to make.”