Turning Hinduism on its head.

DEB SAID it so casually we hardly noticed: “Most Hindus’ll hafta quit India.”

Anjum, the quick Gemini, was the first to react: “What joke’s that?”

Deb retained the casual tone: “No joke at all. The press sees a BJP resurgence in its scores in Himachal and Punjab.”

“How in hell does a BJP resurgence threaten Hindus?” Anjum giggled.

“Well, not all Hindus maybe,” Deb persisted. “but those that practise Vedic religion’d better watch out.”

“In the mood for clowning?” Chhanda put on her indulgent motherly tone. “When did the BJP oppose Vedic religion?”

Deb went on: “It’s like this. The BJP, RSS and the VHP burnt their fingers in Gujarat after they burnt Muslims. The BJP’ll now try to prove they ain’t anti-Muslim. But the VHP and RSS must have their religion thingy. They’d been going on about those that practise a ‘foreign religion’ must quit India. They meant Muslims, of course. But now they’ll want to leave Islam alone---at least till they can woo Muslim votes. And so only Vedic religion can fit their bill.”

“What bill?” Anjum laughed.

“The ‘phoren religion’ bill, of course,” Deb said. “Vedic religion is altogether foreign, as y’know: the people we call Aryans brought it here. We still don’t know for sure where they came from; only that they were foreigners. Now if the Sangh Parivar wants to clang its ‘phoren religion’ gong, and yet must leave Islam alone, what’s left except Vedic religion?”

Here Anjum surprised us all: “Don’t be fooled; the BJP knows the Vedas are foreign . . . finds that a damned nuisance, of course. And so they’ve cooked up that there never was an Aryan invasion . . . that the Aryans, like the Vedas, just sprouted in the Indus valley. They’ve their Dr. Bisht, supposedly an archaologist, who turns history on its head.”

“Yes, but if the BJP begins its hunt,” Deb said, “it can’t brand Jainism foreign; that began in India. Ditto with Buddhism. Ditto with Vaishnavism. Ditto with Sikhism. Zoroastrianism came in from Iran, whence some of the Aryans came. But the Zoroastrians are such an invisible minority the Parivar’s goons won’t know where to look for them. So that leaves us with Vedic religion.”

“You forgot Christianity,” Anjum reminded him.

“Not really,” said Deb. “The Pune Bhandarkar Institute’s theory is that the Ahirs of Haryana brought in the Krishna cult after they heard about Christ. Hindus are pretty familiar with the Krishna-Christ equation, y’know.”

“They’re just as familiar with the Ram-Rahim equation,” said Anjum. “That didn’t stop Modi’s Godhra, did it?”

“No, it didn’t,” said Deb. “But y’see, bullying a few Christians can’t fetch cow belt votes; bashing Muslims can. Also, the BJP can always hope to pit Christians against Muslims in Kerala: might help it pitch camp in the South. But the Akali-BJP tie-up means a new path for the BJP.”

“What new path can the BJP take?” shot Anjum. “It can’t explain anything new to its illiterate supporters in the cow belt. How’d you get them to understand anything but Muslim-bashing?”

Deb was unfazed: “But the chaps think ‘Sikh’ when they hear ‘Akali’. Islam is garm masala in the Sikhism brew. An association with Sikhs means a new path for the BJP. It means a nearness to Islamic ideas.”

“It means nothing of the sort,” snorted Anjum. “The tie-up’s just survival politics. The BJP resurgence (if it’s a resurgence) might only encourage Hindu fanatics in Punjab and Himachal . . .”

“To start a Godhra in the north?” Deb interrupted him. “No way! Sidelining Narendra Modi was a signal to Muslims. The message is clear: the BJP won’t have RSS or VHP pushing it around.”

Anjum stuck to his guns: “It doesn’t matter what BJP leaders signal. If the party takes Delhi, the fanatics among its supporters will start the game anyways. Vajpayee was at the helm when Gujarat happened. He could do nothing. If the cow belt goons want a Godhra in the north, Rajnath Singh will be able to do damn all.”

Deb persisted with his logic: “If the BJP takes Delhi, you bet it’ll have to make sure Godhra can’t be repeated anywhere. If its cow belt goons run amok, the Army’ll get a free hand. Vajpayee’d wanted that in Gujarat. Modi barred the way. There’s no Modi in the north. And Rajnath’s deflated even the Smart Alec Jaitleys.”

“Sounds like wishful thinking to me,” said Anjum.

“Not at all,” said Deb. “The Sangh’s running out of cards.”

“What cards?” asked Chhanda naively.

“All the ‘smart cards’ it’d designed,” said Deb. “They can’t play the ‘Ram Mandir’ card: Singhal’s sadhu-Mahant gangs’ve quit screeching. The masjid-built-on-mandir card is a goner: ’cause that prodded Buddhists to clamour for pulling down Hindu temples built over Buddhist temples and monasteries. And so, there’s only one card the Parivar can play safely.”

Anjum corrected Deb: “Well Buddhists did say that after Babri, but it was low key. And how would they play the card ‘safely’?”

Deb, always impressive with his Virgo clarity of thought, delivered it calmly: “The BJP got resurrected in the land of five rivers, and this ‘phoren Vedic religion’ card is five-edged:

• “One: it may set the Shankaracharyas fuming, but who cares?
• “Two: the cow belt goons won’t know which way to look.
• “Three: the Singhal gang’ll still be able to pretend they are religious reformers all.
• “Four: it’ll convince minorities the BJP’s turning militant Hinduism on its head. -
• “Five: when the Shahi Imam figures the BJP’s turned Hinduism on its head---by about as much as it’s turned history on its head---he’ll issue a fatwa asking Muslims to vote the BJP to the Centre. Shanti Om.”

... And that’s all the news for today.

His Scorpio eyes askew with cynicism, Subhas watched Kanchan scan her newspaper.

“Ferreting for news?” The sarcasm was unmistakable. “Yell when you find any.”

Kanchan, the determined Capricorn, kept reading.

Rohit, the blunt Taurean, got suspicious: “What’re you pitching at?”

“Nothing sinister,” Subhas donned a studied cool. “Just marveling we expect the paper to give us news.”

“What do you see in a paper?” the Taurean snorted.

“The Establishment’s billboard.” Subhas yawned.

“Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay, wise Solomon,” Kanchan swished a grey lock aside and mimicked Subhas’s cool. “You slogged 30 years in a newspaper: let’s have the full monty.”

Subhas ignored Kanchan’s jab: “What’s there to bare? Just track the source for each bit of news: 98 per cent of it all’s either a briefing, or a handout they call a Press Note.”

“What’s that mean?” Rohit demanded.

Subhas put on mild surprise: “Simply that all of it’s what the Establishment chose to dope the Press with.”

“Are you saying all of it’s lies?” Kanchan now laid her paper aside.

Subhas chewed each word: “I’m only saying it’s what the Establishment rammed down reporters’ gullets.”

“Huh?” Rohit sounded nettled.

“I’m talking about the nature of ‘the news’.” Subhas was cucumber-cool no longer, I noticed.

“Go on”, I prodded him.

“We want our newspapers to tell us what’s happening, and what might hit us from where, right?” Subhas expanded.

“Sure”, I said.

“D’you think that concerns the reporter?” he teased us.

Rohit wanted no riddle: “What does?”

“Only CYA”, Subhas said mystifyingly.

“Huh?” Rohit was impatient. “What does that spell?”

Subhas dragged each word: “Cover Your Ass. Saving his ass from getting kicked.”

“Who by?” Rohit was sharp.

“The chief reporter”, said Subhas. “And his by the chief of bureau, and the bureau chief’s by his editor.”

“Why?” persisted Rohit.

Subhas said it casually: “It works like this: say, a paper’s got ten reporters. The chief reporter gapes at his roster in the morning. Sees one’s got the day off and a few are on leave; figures only six’ll turn up. He’s gotta ensure they scrounge enough to fill the holes for local news. It’d be risky asking a reporter to go get a story: what if he draws a blank?”

Curiosity now softened Rohit: “So what does he do?”

“So Chieffie decides he’d better not spur them to chase ANY news; only limp to press conferences and briefings---where they’ll be stuffed with non-news. Enough to dump into the allotted space.”

Kanchan smiled: “You mean they target non-news before news gathering can even begin, eh?”

“Bull’s eye!” Subhas chuckled.

“And then what happens?” Rohit couldn’t wait.

“And then,” said Subhas, “each reporter turns steno at the press conference. Scribbles scraps of official jargon in his note pad; begs for a Press Note if one’s ready.”

“And then?” Rohit was all ears.

“Then each reporter dawdles back to his paper”, Subhas drawled, “and rehashes the stuff into ‘reports’.”

“What about murders, robberies . . . and accidents?” Kanchan expected him to backtrack.

“Ditto.” Subhas sang. “Reporters on the beat buzz the police; jot down whatever they dictate over the phone.”

“Gosh!” Rohit was indignant. “Don’t they run to an accident site?”

“Only if it’s something big, and the bureau chief feels they’d better get crumbs from the spot. Or may be a ‘sensational’ murder---that’s if someone rich or well-known’s done in. If a serial killer bumps off only a pavement-dweller, they’ll go by police dictation.”

“Hey, you’re making reporters out to be redundant!” Kanchan was pissed off.

“But that’s how it works,” Subhas shrugged. “Reporters sent to the Secretariat take dictation from government officials. Those at police headquarters take it from police officers. It just so happens the paper that employs ’em pays their salaries. Papers might as well hire stenos, or just peons who’ll fetch the handouts.”

Rohit saw the light: “Hmm . . . those officials can plant what they like, and omit what they don’t.”

“Precisely. The administration ignored starvation in Orissa villages; so we didn’t get to read of baby-selling in Kalahandi. Police ignored children vanishing in Nithari. And so we never read of kebabs being made outta those kids. Tribals are dispossessed of their forest land; we get to read nothing. The Iraqis want Yanks off their soil. But the U.S. Establishment tells reporters Iraqis are the ‘insurgents’---so we never read that the Yanks are the intruders . . . Only, if the court lets off Sanjay Dutt, we don’t get to read much else . . .”

“Are you saying there’s no investigative journalism?” Kanchan interrupted him.

“The little that began here after the Emergency,” said Subhas, “fizzled out by the ’80s. Paper owners want nothing probed.”

That to Rohit was scandalous: “Gosh! Why not?”

“The big guys that give the big ads might be peeved,” Subhas served that bland. “Might vex the mafiosi . . . or rile the owners’ bum chums, y’know.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Kanchan.

Subhas shot back: “Think, woman. News is what the Establishment does NOT want printed; what somebody somewhere’d want to STOP you from publishing.”

“What’s what they dole out, then?” Rohit was calm now.

“What they WANT you to print is propaganda. Reporters get stuffed with what the Establishment decides we oughtta read. After they’ve served that, those stenos believe they’ve done their job. And we believe we’ve got the news. And the Establishment gets down to cooking the next hunk of bullshit.”