Books and Authors

Dr. D. ANJANEYULU

Time was, not very long ago, when Indian leaders of the Liberal school sincerely believed in the providential character of the British rule in India. Nor were they afraid of saying it out in public. This was followed by a period in our struggle for freedom, when all the ills of the land were attributed to the accursed foreign rulers and their sinister machinations. Even after the attainment of political independence, the alibi of foreign exploitation came in handy as an explanation for our inadequacies and ineptitude, for at least a generation. Only now, this cover is growing thinner and thinner.

On the British side too, there has been an ambivalent response, with a variety of mixed feelings – nostalgia and bitterness, friend­ship and frustration, goodwill and suspicion, cordiality and caution. It was hard for any British historian or novelist to forget that India had been the brightest jewel in the British crown. Nor was the vivid phrase an empty boast of Disraeli, who represented in himself a happy blend of the pragmatic and the picturesque. By the same token, the viceroyalty of India was the most glamorous post in the hands of the British sovereign, beyond the dreams of avarice of any imperialist – budding or full-blown.

“The Emperor of China and I govern half the human race and yet we find time for breakfast” – was the pardonable boast of a self-conscious proconsul, much before the time of Curzon. These rulers, most of whom were distinguished, with only a few negligible nonentities thrown in for good measure, had, understandably, attracted the attention of future biographers and historians. These decades had, likewise, stimulated the imagination of creativity writers from Rudyard Kipling to John Masters, E. M. Forster and Edward Thompson to M. M. Kaye.

The Raj is obviously not played out yet not as a theme for political writers. Dominique Lappierre and Larry Collins had, of course, made a thundering success of the story of its end in Freedom at Midnight. But earlier, Philip Mason, as “Philip Woodruffe,” had tried to do justice to the rulers of India from Warren Hastings downwards. Detailed studies of individual Viceroys had also come out, biographical and general, as also historical- archival, as those of Ripon and Irwin, by Dr. S. Gopal. It is not, however, certain if the whole galaxy has ever been presented, from the human angle, in a single comprehensive volume.

This omission, if it be so, is made good by Mark Bence-Jones, whose Indian connection seems to grow in on him, in The Viceroys of India, which is a brilliant gallery, from Clemency Canning to Magician Mountbatten. Part history, part biography, it reads like a romance, but with no concession to fancy as a source of facts. It is extremely well-documented, based on official archives, diaries and letters, some of which had not been previously explored or adequately exploited.

With an apt adjective or an amusing sobriquet attached to each of the dignitaries, the personalities light up, to make the gallery colourful. We have not only Clemency Canning, but plain John Lawrence; not only the humble and high-minded Ripon, but the wayward and flirting Lytton; not only the colourless North­brook described as an “amiable brick”, but the charming, fastidious Dufferin; not only the eccentric Ellenborough but the dynamic Mayo (friendliest towards Indians, but stabbed to death by a fanatical Wahabi tribesman in the Andamans); not only the brilliant and overbearing Curzon, but the mild and benevolent Minto. Lytton is the “horse that bolted,” Minto is the “gentleman, who jumps hedges.” Irwin was the most Christian and gentlemanly of them all,” while Willingdon and Linlithgow represented the Freemans and Hopies that stood in the way of settlement in India.

Wavell and Mountbatten presented a marked study in contrast­–the seasoned subdued soldier and the glamorous, flamboyant sailor–one restrained, cautious, hesitant, the other confident, charismatic, dashing–one a retreating failure, the other a resounding success–Wavell, well-meaning, was obviously misunderstood; Mountbatten cast a spell on everyone. In the perspective of history, it is possible to see the injustice done to Wavell and the fortune that favoured Mountbatten, his bewitching smile covering his unlimited vanity, practised guile and absolute ruthlessness. Nothing succeeds like success or excess if you like and nothing fails like failure or a faint-heart, as we know.

Not that there were no pompous mediocrities and titled nonentities among the Viceroys. But it was obvious that, by and large, Britain was sending out its best men–aristocratic scions as also a few self-made men like Reading–to look after the Indian Empire. What was more, they had, within the framework of race and rank, a sense of identity with India and fought for her interest as against that of the Home Government–even an imperialist proconsul like Curzon did it, to his bitter cost.

Relations between the Government of India and the Princely States, before the latter were abolished, were no less important or intriguing than those between India and Britain. Kashmir was in a way the crown of those Princely States. On the eve of Indian Independence and for many years thereafter, these rela­tions tended to become complex, thanks to its strategic position and the strange role played by the main personalities an the public stage, especially Maharaja Hari Singh and Sheikh Abdullah.

If there is one person deeply involved in the drama of political events in Kashmir, almost from his birth, that is Dr. Karan Singh, who was successively Yuvaraj (heir apparent), Regent, Sadar-i-Riyasat and Governor of Kashmir, during the two decades from 1949 to 1967. Obliged to assume the august responsibilities of State administration at the age of eighteen, he leaves his governorship at the age of 36, to join the Union Cabinet, all the while growing to maturity from crisis to crisis, emerging unscathed from it an with the aid of a happy amalgam of judgement and luck.

Poet and scholar, speaker and writer, Dr. Karan Singh cap­tures his experiences, vividly and precisely in his engaging autobiography Heir Apparent, which takes the account of his life up to his twenty-second year. From the moment of his birth in Hotel Martinez at Cannes in 1931 to his decision to dismiss Sheikh Abdullah in 1953, the whole story is eventful and exciting. There is an attempt on the author’s part to play fair by all the participants in this drama, including those ranged against him.

The relations between his father and his mother, strained by an incompatibility of temperament, are drawn by Dr. Karan Singh. with a sense of accuracy that does not offend against dignity or decorum. “This psychological and emotional imbalance led to a good deal of tension and mutual conflict.” he says, mincing no words.

Other conflicts follow, when his father toys with the idea of absolute independence for the State. When the National Conference, bent upon effecting the removal of the Dogra dynasty, came to power under the leadership of Sheikh Abdullah, his father had to go, making way for Karan Singh, as the Regent. Heredi­tary monarchy is then abolished and he becomes an elected head, under the title Sadar-i-Riyasat in 1952. But soon, the Sheikh, with his vaulting personal ambition, develops grandiose illusions of running the State independent of India, ignoring the Delhi Agreement on completing the process of integration.

Crisis deepens in the State, when there is a rift in the Cabinet, with the Sheikh supporting the hardliners like Mirza Afzal Beg, against the Integrationists including Bakshi, Saraf and Dhar. It was a moment of decision for Karan Singh, who takes courage in both hands and orders the dismissal of the cabinet and detention of Sheikh Abdullah. The situation was kept under control by careful planning and close co-operation from Delhi.

It is amusing to read the violent reaction of the Sheikh, who shouted: “Who is the Sadar-i-Riyasat to dismiss me? I made that chit of a boy Sadar-i-Riyasat.” But the Sheikh had frankly over-reached himself; and the Lion of Kashmir had to sulk in the den for at least two decades, before staging a come-.

Describing the swoopdown on the Sheikh, the author writes: “By the time the whole operation was over, dawn had broken. The clouds and thunder of the last two days had disappeared, and the sky was clear again.” How symbolic!

Was it Lord Macaulay, who said that he would not exchange the heritage of Shakespeare for the wealth of the entire world? A knowledgeable Indian might, likewise, say that he would not exchange the wisdom of Vedanta for all the petro-dollars of West Asia.

But then, what exactly is Vedanta? Literally, the end-portion of the Vedas, it is the essence of all the teachings drawn from the Upanishads, the Brahma Sutras and the Bhagavad Gita, or the Prasthanatraya, as they are called.

Is Vedanta, described by some as the ancient, eternal wisdom of the Hindus, relevant to the modern world of science and technology? Vedanta is by no means static, but dynamic enough for application to the changing times, thanks to a creative reinter­pretation of its principles by modern Vedantins.

In his doctoral thesis on Vedanta: Some Modern Trends. Dr. Ch. Sreenivasa Rao (of the Madras Christian College, Tambaram) examines the contribution made by three of the modern Vedantins, viz., Raja Ram Mohan Roy, Swami Rama Tirtha and Swami Vivekananda.

He says: “One of the characteristics of the modern Vedantins is to find the means to coalesce the wisdom of Vedanta with the modern knowledge. The implications of the postulates of Vedanta are regarded by the modern Vedantins as supporting the approach of science. It is clear that Roy anticipated the explosion in knowledge and hence in him, we find the keen awareness of the shape of things in future. This explains his admiration for the West. The West is a symbol of the new age as well as new knowledge, to Roy. The same awareness is also shared by Vivekananda and Rama Tirtha, who found in the West a new assertion of the human spirit.” The modern Vedantins adopt a standpoint which is truly above the distinctions of race and colour, he adds.

In the orthodox Hindu tradition, no more authoritative Vedantins could be found than the three great Acharyas–Sankara, Ramanuja and Madhwa.

For those who might find their philosophical teachings heavy ­going in Sanskrit prose, Dr. Krishna Srinivas, the poet, has come out with a presentation of this essence in English verse – lucid, readable, evocative, stimulating.

In interpreting Ramanuja’s Visishtadvaita or “Qualified non­-dualism”, the poet translates the concept of “Surrender” as:

Absolute Surrender
Total Surrender–­
The segregated soul
In coma of earthly swirl
Must smash the rinds of life
And mind chained
To passioned possession
Of God’s nectared Feet
And aches of life
Killed and stilled­–

Our eagerness may, likewise, be stilled, when the poet is able to give us the other volumes in due course.

In reflecting on the human predicament which deepens day after day with the growing prospect of a Nuclear holocaust; one should not lose sight of the essential difference between, our “personal mortality” and the “immortality of our species.” It is unclear if the idea of such immortality of man is borne out by the cyclical concept of time in Yugas, according to the Hindus.)

This awareness is emphasized by Jonathan Schell, who is anxious about the fate of the earth. We may all know that the nuclear holocaust is possible; Schell proves that it is almost inevitable – because of the irresponsibility of politicians and diplomats. He approaches the problem of life and death from a moral, spiritual and human standpoint.

In a graphic description of the threat, Schell says:

“Now we are at the breakfast table drinking our coffee and reading the newspaper, but in a moment, we may be inside a fireball, whose temperature is tens of thousands of degrees. Now we are on our way to work, walking through the city streets, but in a moment, we may be standing on an empty plain under a darkened sky looking for the charred remnants of our children. Now we are alive, but in a moment we may be dead. Now there is human life on earth, but in a moment it may be gone.”

The question arises – when the children are dead, will we be alive?

E. M. Forster told us, “Only connect!” Let us connect, by restoring our severed links with life, while life exists. Christ said, “I come not to judge the world, but tosave the world.” In an agonising call to his readers, Schell underlines the point – ­let us save the world while there is still a world to save. Let us be up and doing, before it is too late!