Saffron humbug

Uma Bharti is a saffron-humbug power-addict who has climbed the greasier part of the BJP ladder by a careful use of petulance and virulence. Her petulance is reserved for her Hindutva colleagues. Her virulence is concentrated on Muslims. Even her saffron is humbug, for she is as far from renunciation as anyone could possibly be. Flaunting it as a uniform cannot disguise the fact that her addiction to power is pathetic.

Her tantrums are an instance of acute withdrawal syndrome after she was lured out of the chief minister's chair in Madhya Pradesh by a relieved BJP high command since her quirky behaviour was guaranteed to destroy the party. A quick search on the net throws up this definition for Causes and Symptoms: "Acute withdrawal syndrome begins within hours of abstinence, and includes a full range of physical and psychological symptoms. More long-term, or sub-acute, withdrawal symptoms, such as intense drug craving, may occur weeks or months after detoxification has taken place." Substitute the word "drug" for "power" and you have an accurate diagnosis of Uma Bharti's malaise.

Tap here to add The Daily Star as a trusted source

She was lulled in the first phase of detoxification by visions of flag-waving heroism, and since intellect is not her primary asset she thought she was headed straight for the history books. But she is clever, and when the patriotic jingles petered out into nothing, realised what had happened. She has re-crafted herself as a victim, adding pious self-justification to the bleeding resentment-anger against the two men who have run the party for the last two decades, Lal Krishna Advani and Atal Behari Vajpayee. Her periodic trips to the Himalayas might be considered the perfect metaphor for the ultimate withdrawal symptom.

So that takes care of the ordinary element in the low drama.

What I found extraordinary was a particular decision by Advani.

That the BJP president should want to chastise the upper echelons of his flock is unexceptionable. That he should do so in a setting reminiscent of a classroom is entirely appropriate, for the much-vaunted Generation Next has been behaving like delinquent schoolchildren ever since the lollipops of Delhi were snatched away from them. The party office on the day in question looked like a room in a school for habitual offenders. There was a prim desk at the head of class at which the triumvirate were assembled to reinforce the mood of judgment. Vajpayee looked like a chairman of the board deeply reluctant to face facts that were smirking at him. He kept his head generally down. Jaswant Singh, to the left of Advani, had the impenetrable uncertainty of a back-up enforcer without a Plan B in any of his multifarious pockets. Advani, centre stage, had the distinct manner of a tired war-horse only one stage away from despair. He should have kept a Malacca cane in his hand. Instead he merely lashed out with his tongue. The Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva of the BJP did not seem a very confident lot.

In front of them the party gods seemed like Indra and his fellow deities just after they had been defeated and driven out of swargawas by the demon Mahisha. These chaps still have not understood what happened during those halcyon days of India Rising and Vote Falling. The generals of this once-mighty divine host -- well, general secretaries at least if not quite generals -- wore penitent white and hangdog looks. Gone were the resplendent colours they had once flaunted, along with chubby cheeks, on hungry television screens. The one exception to humble white was of course Uma Bharti, but then she was not in the least bit penitent. She does not hold herself or her club of true believers responsible for the debacle of the party. As she has often told those in her confidence, she holds Vajpayee and Advani responsible, for they sold out the Ram temple in order to stay in power. Instead of hearing a reprimand, she would have loved to reverse the roles. That is why she stomped off in a holy rage.

What I found extraordinary is that Advani should have opted to rebuke his assembled functionaries in front of television cameras. All party presidents have to throw the rule book at offending deputies from time to time. Defeat is always a bad period for morale, and when you can't fight the opponent you naturally choose the next best option, which is fighting between yourselves. This is the therapy of despair.

So why did Advani invite television cameras to record an internal castigation? Does he believe that self-flagellation works only if accompanied by public humiliation?

This may well be true of the BJP's Generation Next. Six years ago, with the exception of an Arun Jaitley or a Pramod Mahajan, they were nobodies. Six years of unexpected power spoilt them. Some -- not all, I hasten to add -- have benefited deeply from the gravy train on which they got first class seats from the lottery of life. One cabinet minister, to provide an example, was leader of the rickshaw union in his constituency when, to his surprise, he won the election of 1999 and, to his total shock, rose quickly to become cabinet minister. Today he leads the nation from a multi-crore farmhouse.

It is possible that Advani summoned the cameras in order to reach the party cadre. He did make the point that he had no answers when the cadre queried him about the sordid name-calling that has become par for the course between faction leaders. The BJP claims that its traditions and ideology provide a glue of discipline that unites the party through good times and bad. Even if this was once true (say in the time of Deen Dayal Upadhyaya), it is not a myth. The factions have denuded the BJP of even a fraction of credibility. And Uma Bharti provided the Congress with a handsome Diwali gift.

There is a serious question that awaits an answer. Is the BJP in effect split? It was certainly fear of an open split that persuaded Advani to think again just after he ordered the expulsion of Uma Bharti from the party for six years, through a public statement by Jaswant Singh. Arun Jaitley is not a weasel. But he was given the weaselish task of amending that order to "further notice" from six years, and blaming the press for getting it wrong.

Uma Bharti's strength lies in the simple reality that she is not alone. She has chosen to become the voice of a strong section in the Hindutva family that believes that Vajpayee and Advani have together betrayed the Hindutva agenda. Her outburst is part of a pattern that has been building up for a while. Pramod Mahajan was only the stalking horse. The Ram temple is only one point on the agenda. The larger objective is to refashion India into a Hindu state in which the minorities become second-class citizens. Truth to tell, there is enough evidence to suggest that Vajpayee, Advani, and Jaswant Singh have been trying to steer, as discreetly as they can, the party away from Muslim-hatred. They were tolerated by the vitriol-sprayers as long as they kept the party in power. With defeat, the claws are out.

Advani will do his best to prevent further stress on the frayed tensile strength of the BJP, but a very harsh truth contains the difference between 1984 and 2004. After the demolition of the 1984 elections, in which the BJP got only two seats in the Lok Sabha, Advani emerged as the hope for the future, particularly of its hardliners. Today, they see him as the past, and as part of the betrayal. For Uma Bharti and the core base, he is yesterday's man in the struggle for the future.

Who is the future?

It is a law of party politics in a democracy that the pivot of a rebellion never -- well, almost never -- becomes the successor. If the rebellion succeeds, the succession goes to the silent man in the wings, who has remained silent in order to play the healer.

As you enjoy, or cringe at the cacophony let loose by Uma Bharti and the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, remember one thing. The silence of Narendra Modi is more eloquent than the hysteria of Uma Bharti.

MJ Akbar is Chief Editor of the Asian Age.