Time to re-read Munshi Premchand...

Harish Khare

During those exciting and intoxicating days of the Anna Hazare movement, I would often suggest it to my interlocutors that they read Munshi Premchand’s classic story, Namak ka Daroga. Written in the mid-1930s, the story offers a penetrating insight into the Indian mindset, the allurement of bribe, the moral hazard inherent in inspector raj, and the businessman’s corrosive ability to suborn the law. 

The plot of the story is simple. Salt becomes a banned item. Smuggling of the banned substance becomes rampant and profitable. The sarkar appoints a namak ka daroga. Munshi Bansidhar, the protagonist, is an upright man who gets the coveted post of the namak daroga. Before he leaves home, he gets a reminder from his father about the family’s financial precariousness. The father also gives the son these pearls of wisdom: 

“Do not think about the government post; it is like a peer’s mazaar. Keep an eye on the offerings. Look for a job that yields an ‘additional income’. The monthly salary is like a full moon, which can be seen only once and then it only recedes. Whereas ‘the additional income’ is like a running stream, always there to quench your thirst. Salary is given by man, ‘additional income’ is God’s gift in His bountifulness.” 

No one has since improved upon this brilliant enunciation of moral economy of a sarkari naukri. 

In Premchand’s story, the young, idealistic Munshi Bansidhar comes in conflict with the town’s richest man who also happens to the biggest hoarder of salt. The rich man could buy the law as well as Munshi Bansidhar’s seniors, who promptly suspended him. 

I will again recommend that story. 

The story is a great sociological insight into our broken collective moral compass. 

Of course, in recent years, partisans have created a few self-serving myths about black money, bribery, etc. 

The assumption is that (a) till Independence, India was a land of great innocence and the Indians were totally unfamiliar with the culture of bribe; (b) the Englishmen ran a vigorously supervised governance system, which did not leave any scope for misuse of discretion; (c) the English rulers had set such high ethical standards that no Indian babu was tempted to cut a corner; (d) post-Independence political leaders, especially those belonging to the Congress, were guilty of encouraging and indulging in elaborate rites of bribery; and (e) all that is required is one good honest man to come to power and he/she would see to it that no one took or offered a bribe or abused the governmental discretion. 

The Prem Chand story lays hollow most of these myths. It makes a sobering read in these times of the hullabaloo about black money. 

Obeying the law and paying the taxes have been two most difficult propositions between the citizen and the authority. The rich and the powerful invariably get away from these two obligations by corrupting the official. 

No one should be surprised that there seems to be no end to stories of executive engineers, policemen and politicians taking bribes — of course, in new crisp currency notes of Rs 2,000.

THE journalistic community has lost one of its most prominent members. On Friday, Dileep Padgaonkar — Paddy to his friends — passed away. He was my boss for many years at The Times of India and later a friend and well-wisher. 

Dileep led The Times of India at a time of great transition. He inherited the mantle from the great Giri Lal Jain, who had come to epitomise a robust editorial autonomy and who imposed his personality on the newspaper. Dileep, on the other hand, had to steer the great newspaper at a time of a profound paradigm shift. The shift demanded that the editor surrender his unquestionable independence and instead pay heed to the demands of the ‘marketing bosses’. This was a painful transition. It was a consequential shift. And it was to Dileep’s credit that most of the time he insulated the editorial team from the indignities of having to answer to men held in contempt by a true journalist.

Dileep was a product of a now almost defunct world of liberal values, ideas and taste; he was a cosmopolitan as well as a refined Indian, perfectly at home as much in Paris as in Pune. Perhaps, his best and most lasting contribution was to set up Biblio — a journal exclusively devoted to books and ideas. 

He was happy to settle down to a semi-retired life in Pune rather than succumb to the meretricious charm of New Delhi. He was definitely at odds with the current boorish mood and temper that define the national capital. 

THE new tools of communication, especially the social media, have given politicians quite a bit of elbow room to portray themselves in brighter light. Politicians all over have taken to using Twitter and Facebook to send a message across to their followers and the critics; and, they can hire talented ‘geeks’ to operate these gadgets.

Sometimes it can produce interesting results. Lalu Prasad, as rustic a politician as you can get, has a Twitter account. He has engaged some smart aleck to operate that account. On Friday, a most incongruous tweet went out of Lalu’s account, invoking Jerome K Jerome’s delightfully lovable character, Uncle Podger. In the tweet, Prime Minister Modi is compared to Uncle Podger, a man given to haphazardness and creating a mess out of almost every situation. I am not sure if Lalu has any knowledge of the literary context.

Nonetheless, I found it a charming comparison. In our family, I am often accused of “doing an Uncle Podger” — perhaps, not too inaccurate a reference to my habit of making an elaborate list of things to do, making a great hoo-ha about it, involving every single member in the household in this task, and then, promptly misplacing the list. 

WE are becoming greatly enamoured of two words — deshbhakti and deshdrohi. Anyone we do not like or agree with, we simply declare him deshdrohi and anti-Indian.

First, it was Baba Ramdev who formulated that anyone who was opposed to demonetisation was guilty of deshdroh. Since he is the undeclared unofficial ‘raj guru’, it was only a matter of time before the Prime Minister picked up the argument and declared that these post-demonetisation days constitute a defining moment of deshbhakti.

Baba Ramdev and Narendra Modi are politicians. And politicians throughout the ages have taken refuge in ‘patriotism.’ But what is amusing is that the BCCI bosses too are invoking patriotic feelings.

The BCCI bosses, who are otherwise facing a tough time in the Supreme Court, have accused the ICC chief, Shashank Manohar, of having an “anti-India stance” because the international cricket body has docked the Indian women’s cricket team six points for not playing the Pakistan team. If the BCCI bosses are to be believed, the whole world and its institutions have to accommodate our patriotic feelings vis-a-vis Pakistan.

Let us not lose sight of the adage that patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel. 

I am going to reproduce in toto a communication from one of India’s finest art historians, BN Goswamy:

“…in the present situation, a fine verse — a qata'a — by Ahmed Nadeen Qasimi comes to mind. He addressed it to our British rulers, but it is as relevant today and deserves to be addressed to the powers-that-be now. It was titled: Angrez Sey Khitaab

Kitney suljhey huey sayyaad ho, 

Subhan-Allah!

Qafas-e-sang mein kimkhwab

bichha detey ho 

Jab mujhey bhook sataati hai to

kitney dhab sey

Thapkiyaan detey ho, gaate ho,

sulaa detey ho!

The incarcerator 'sayyad' then was the angrez of course, the qafas-e-sang, the cage made of stone, was the laws they made “in the interest of the people”, and the kimkhwab — that velvety floor-spread — was the promises they used to make.” 

Finely said, to my mind.

I shall raise my cup of black coffee to that. Join me.

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