Shashi Tharoor - Riot

I know the Hindutva types believe that the temples of Ayodhya precede Babar and that he must have destroyed the biggest one because it was the best located. But the problem with this is that there’s a lot of evidence for the opposite — for the building of temples in Ayodhya under Muslim rule, well after Babar built his masjid. I don’t want to bore you with all the details of the tax-free land grants given by rulers like Safdar Jang, who ruled from 1739 to 1754, but they document support for temple building. It was land that the Muslim nawab provided to a Hindu abbot that led to the construction of the Hanumangarhi, the most important Hindu temple in today’s Ayodhya. Many historians, not just me, argue that Ayodhya filled up with temples as a direct result of support from the Muslim nawabs of the area, and that as the nawabi realm expanded, so did Ayodhya gain as a major Hindu pilgrimage center in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. This was two hundred years after the Babri Masjid was built.

So that’s my historian’s answer to your question: There’s no evidence for the historicity of the Ram Janmabhoomi claims. Again, does that matter? Isn’t this all about faith, not history? Well, the fact is that the Ram Janmabhoomi agitation is profoundly antihistorical. The bigots who spearhead it want to reinvent the past to suit their aspirations for the present. If we allow them to do it now, here, they will turn their attentions to something else, and the whole orgy of hate and violence will start again. If they get away with attacking Muslims today, they’ll hit Christians tomorrow. And at a fundamental level, intolerance is the real enemy; intolerance can always shift targets. We’ve seen it happen in Bombay, where the Shiv Sena was born in the 1960s as a rabid bunch of Marathi chauvinists trying to drive South Indian migrants out of the city. “Sons of the soil” was their slogan in those days; they looted and burned stores with signs in South Indian languages. That worked for a while, made them popular with some of the local Tukarams, but its appeal was limited; so the Shiv Sena suddenly turned into a Hindu chauvinist party and started denouncing Muslims, a far better target for their brand of homegrown bigotry.

The Shiv Sena leader says his hero is Hitler. And you know what happened under Hitler. As the German theologian Pastor Martin Niemoeller put it: “At first they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Jew. Then they came for the Communists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a Communist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out, because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for me — and there was no one left to speak out for me.”

They are coming for the Muslims now, and I must speak out. But not because I am a Muslim. Only because I am an Indian, and I do not want them to come for any other Indians. No group of Indians must be allowed to attack another group of Indians because of where they are from, or who they worship, or what language they speak.

That’ s why your Ram Charan Guptas have to be stopped. Here. Now. Before they set all of India alight.

from Lakshman’s journal

August 10, 1989

Gurinder just won’t let up. “You, quitting the IAS?” He let fly a choice expletive or two. “You can’t be serious, man! You’re made for the IAS. You’re doing great work, work that makes a real difference to the lives of real human beings. You’ve got a great career, a great future. I can’t believe you’re even contemplating such a damn-fool idea. You know what your problem is? You’re thinking with your cock.”

He brushed aside my feeble protestations. “You’ve seen the possibility of sexual paradise with this girl, all in Technicolor, and suddenly everything else in life seems prosaic black-and-white. You really think she’s worth giving up everything for — your wife, your kid, your job, your country?” He was really frothing now. “Look, however wonderful things have been with her, yaar, you can’t forget a few basic facts. Like, she’s an American, Lucky, a fucking Yank. They’re not like us. It’s a different country, a different culture, a different planet, man. You’ve lived all your life with a definite set of values. You know what’s right because it’s always been right. I know you’re not entirely happy with Geetha, what the hell, it’s never been a secret, but come on, yaar, she’s been a good wife to you. She runs a good house, serves a great table, gets the best out of the servants — so what if she gives them hell once in a while? — and spends a lot of time with your daughter. You can bring someone home for dinner at practically no notice and she adjusts to your needs. Your work takes you away unexpectedly, keeps you out till no one knows when, man, and she doesn’t complain.”

She doesn’t complain, I want to say, because she doesn’t care whether I’m there or not. But Gurinder won’t be interrupted; he plunges remorselessly on with his portrait of Indian domestic bliss.

“When you’re home she ensures you are served first and gives you the choicest portions before she eats herself. And you can be sure she’s never looked at another man and never will. If you die she will honor your memory, put a fresh garland round your fucking framed photo every day and do puja before it. These are not small things, man.” He thumped a hand into his palm for emphasis. “Not bloody small things. Take it from me, yaar. It’s a comfort to know these are things you can take for granted. As you grow older, you can rest assured there are some things you can always rely on.”

I nodded. He needed no further encouragement to go on: “What do you have with Priscilla? Sex. Fucking sex, if you’ll excuse the tautology. Sure that’s important: if my Bunty didn’t enjoy a good joust with my personal hockey stick I wouldn’t be a happy man. But you of all people know that isn’t enough.” He looked me evenly in the eye, as if weighing briefly whether to go on. It didn’t take him too long to decide. “And doesn’t it bother you that you’re not the only man who’s been in her bed?” He saw the glint of pain in my eyes and drove home his point with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “Sex means much less to these Americans than it does to us, Lucky. Look, I’ll tell you something. Remember the time she reported her handbag stolen and we found the thief? We recovered the handbag and, as you know, we have to do an inventory of the contents. The thief had spent or sold what he could but there was at least one thing he hadn’t touched. The constable doing the inventory was at a total loss when he saw it, so he came to me to ask what it was. It was a vibrator, man. A fucking vibrator. I switched it on for him and burst out laughing at his expression. He asked me what it was for and I said it was an American hairdressing tool — a battery-operated hair curler, I explained solemnly. When Priscilla was given the inventory to sign she paused at that item, frowned, then smiled to herself and signed. She must have thought, what ignorant idiots these Indians are. Hair curler indeed. She had no idea of what disgrace I had spared her in the constable’s eyes. If I had told him what it really was, she would have been the talk of every male in Zalilgarh. And they would have treated her with contempt ever afterwards. Or worse, some hothead might have tried to act as a personal substitute for her vibrator, whether she’d wanted him to or not. I’m telling you this just so you know. My instinct was to protect her, Lucky. But don’t forget this — she’s used to a certain amount of physical pleasure and you happen to be the one she’s found here to provide it. At least you don’t need batteries.”

“Bugger off, Guru. You don’t know the first thing about this girl.”