Mayawati raised an interesting question when under attack for her statue and memorial building for Dalit icons. Forward ("Manuwadi") castes could hardly object, she said, as they had already filled our streets and parks with their leaders' busts. "Jahan dekho, Nehru aur Indira," (wherever you look you find Nehru and Indira) and that was still understandable, she said. But what justifi ed such iconography around Rajiv Gandhi that you couldn't drive two miles in a city without passing two Rajiv Chowks? He was just an ordinary five-year prime minister who made no mark, she said.

Rajiv Gandhi featured for 11 years (1980-91) in the 40-year life of India Today, featuring in 26 cover stories, among the first being that classic Raghu Rai picture of Raijv, just inducted in politics, adjusting the angle at which his Gandhi cap sat with a brilliant headline: Will the Cap Fit? That question was and has been debated by contemporaries and pre-Googlists like me in his life and death. This is what Mayawati was asking, in her own cutting way.

Shekhar Gupta @1989 Shekhar Gupta @1989

For our generation of reporters, Rajiv was the first prime minister to be a hundred per cent contemporary. He joined politics when we were already on the political beat, he lost his mother, won a mandate so big it will probably never be matched (415 in a house of 543), promised a new India for the 21st century, ushered in the computer age, wowed the world with his youthful sincerity (his immortal 'I am young, I too have a dream') that brought the house down in his address on Capitol Hill truly launched India's nuclear weaponisation. Then, as spectacularly as he had achieved the mandate, he squandered it too, the youthful promise of change giving way to cynical old politics that had defeat written all over it, and robustly confident military modernisation that was promising to make India a strategic powerhouse reduced to an arrogant interventionist neighbourhood bully in retreat. Was Mayawati, therefore, right to ask what she did?

You could answer the question by reminding her that her own rise, that of her politics, her mentor Kanshi Ram and his Bahujan Samaj Party, is owed to Rajiv. If he hadn't demolished his own party's underclass vote bank, neither she, nor the new Heartland Mandalites, fortifi ed by Muslims, would have risen. But my intention is not to have an argument with Mayawati. It is just that she asked a question that assails the mind of anybody who lived through Rajiv's times, particularly as a political reporter.

Peace in our times

Truth to tell, during the Rajiv Gandhi years, even though India Today had completely rewritten the rules of age, experience and seniority in journalism, I was still too junior to cover a prime minister. My years at the magazine saw me grow from a senior correspondent to senior editor, and from age 27 to 34 between his electoral sweep in the winter of 1984 and assassination in the summer of 1991. I cannot claim to have known him well personally, or one-on-one professionally. I met him with some groups of journalists, mostly after he lost power. A reporter's life is all about timing and coincidences. The irony in my case is that through Rajiv's political life I was too young to cover him directly. But by 1991 I was old enough to cover his assassination in great detail, including from Sri Lanka and pursue that story for long afterwards. At the same time most of my repertorial time in that decade was invested either cov-ering his signifi cant actions, policies and their consequences. These include his peace-making with rebels, Sant Harchand Singh Longowal in Punjab, Assam student leaders Prafulla Mahanta and Bhrigu Phukan, and Mizoram's Laldenga.

The last two worked, but the first failed within months with the assassination of Longowal. Failure to protect his life, under Rajiv's handpicked young governor Arjun Singh in Punjab, was his fi rst setback. But as terror returned to Punjab, his fightback was fi rm and unyielding: his Operation Black Thunder in 1988 was a clinical success as much as Indira's Bluestar was a messy, bloody conquest. But he never really succeeded in putting the fire. Punjab terror complicated the second half of his prime ministership further. Khalistanis had become more powerful overseas, many key terrorists had escaped there, an Air India 747 was blown up in midair in June 1985 and I believe Rajiv spent many days and nights worrying obsessively about a threat to himself, but more to his family, from a top terrorist, Gurbachan Singh Manochahal, to the extent that when he was caught, he insisted on being personally briefed on his interrogation on a daily basis. The peacemaking in Assam and Mizoram, however, endured. These were much more large-hearted than Punjab, as he knew his party would cede political power in these states to former rebels. This is why peace in Assam and Mizoram is among Rajiv's most valuable, and lasting contributions. My enduring jour-nalistic memory of the finest side of Rajiv the statesman is his smilingly waving at crowds in the Assam elections of December 1985 (after the accord), greeting him with "Rajiv Gandhi Zindabad, Congress Party Murdabad." Funnier in that campaign was watching Amitabh Bachchan's helicopter land mistakenly in an Asom Gana Parishad rally and the confusion the mixed reception caused in his entourage.

The Rajiv prime ministership can be divided in two and a half phases. Sadly, the "half" was his best, the very first year. This was when he could do nothing wrong, when if he so wished, he could have changed the national anthem of India. I recall a conversation with my friend and mentor Arun Shourie then. As is usual with him, he had started raising questions about Rajiv. Watching him speak on Doordarshan once, Arun's mother chided him for not even sparing such a nice man. "Are you looking for a prime minister or a son-in-law?" Arun asked. It is however precisely because of the love and expectation that he began with that Rajiv's missteps led to such rapid disenchantment. The remaining four years are equally divided. Year two and three represent stutter and stall. The last two, 1987-89, were pure disaster.

If in his fi rst year even Rajiv's gaffes made us smile lovingly except the "when a big tree falls, the earth shakes", though that was before he was elected. He could never pronounce Sant Longowal's name right, though it was quite simple with two three consonants linked by three vowels. He called him "Longewala ji" instead. By his fourth and fifth, he could say nothing that didn't become a joke, 'hum jeetenge ya loosenge' being the most stunning of these although it was a mere slip during a downhill election campaign. There were some before that, his description of opposition MPs as limpets, and the one worst of all, at least in my book, but by now forgotten because these were pre-Internet days, his dismissing S. Jaipal Reddy's attacks on him in Parliament over Bofors with "he doesn't have a leg to stand on".

From Mr Clean to Bofors chor

His blunders, some of youthful, inexperienced exuberance and frankly many sins of commission-Shah Bano to Shilanyas, Bombay AICC session speech (threatening to purge the Congress of power-brokers) to whining "nani yaad dila denge" at Boat Club when he was under political siege, from the promise of regional power status to a flailing neighbourhood bully in ignominious retreat (Sri Lanka), from Mr Clean to Bofors Chor and from the great political reformer to just another dynast in deep panic who brought in as his deputy in the party, loyalist Arjun Singh, a personification of exactly what he had said was wrong with the Congress.

So formidable was Rajiv's mandate that how he lost it has become the dominant story. But his scoresheet is not all splattered in red ink. His modernising mind, love of the computer, evangelising Panchayati Raj and devolution of power are significant contributions. In his own hesitant way he had started to reform India's economy at least until V.P. Singh was still his friend, and finance minister. In 1987 India faced the worst drought of the century and, as T.N. Ninan noted later in an article in this magazine, it became the first year in history that India's economy grew in spite of the drought. This is because the Rajiv era saw rise in the share of services and industry in our GDP. Significant changes in foreign policy saw him warm up to Ronald Reagan and Caspar Weinberger came calling in 1986, the first US Secretary of Defence to do so in decades. Let me, however, talk in greater detail about his contribution in one key area I covered closely.

Rajiv brought a refreshingly young, and energetic view of Indian military and strategic power and was more willing to employ it than his "perfect gentleman, nice guy" demeanour would have suggested. He launched a massive wave of military acquisitions. Such was the pace that by the end of 1985 I had already written a cover story on India's defence modernisation and one of the newly acquired Mirage-2000s was the lead visual. My personal story of that assignment is a near tragedy as a Mirage, making low and very slow passes at Gwalior for photographer Bhawan Singh went into a momentary stall so low that it was list in a cloud of dust and we presumed the worst. Until, a multi-second later, it screamed out of the "cloud", afterburners spewing flames almost at our eye level. The pilot's skill and presence of mind had saved the day as he engaged the afterburners for an added surge of power and broke his stall. Wing Cdr Ajit Bhavnani, who was raising India's first Mirage squadron, was as relieved. He rose to be an Air Marshal commanding India's strategic forces, and we became friends for life.

Sri Lanka wasn't his waterloo

Time magazine too put Rajiv's military thrust on the cover with the headline "Super India" and a picture of INS Viraat. Rajiv shared with his old friend, and most trusted aide, Arun Singh a love for gadgets and instruments of war with an almost teenager-like enthusiasm. His five years marked the most relentless military modernisation in our history, and I don't say that lightly. Regrettably, it also destroyed him as scandals broke out soon enough.

Rajiv Gandhi campaigning in his constituency in Amethi, in 1981. Photo: Raghu Rai Rajiv Gandhi campaigning in his constituency in Amethi, in 1981. Photo: Raghu Rai

The Rajiv-Arun Singh partnership was complemented by the rise of two unusual Indian soldiers: General Krishnaswamy Sundarji and, Admiral R.H. Tahiliani. Even as western army commander (Operation Bluestar took place under his watch) Sundarji had acquired fame for his radical ideas on junking old concepts of static warfare, endless slugfests with tanks and artillery where little ground was taken or lost. His idea was now a much faster war-fighting profile where mobile juggernauts will roll on, over the DCBs and beyond without stopping.

This appealed to Rajiv and Arun Singh and a massive re-equipping, with tanks, infantry fighting vehicles (IFVs) and of course Bofors artillery was initiated. Mechanised Infantry units were formed as assault replaced defence as the buzzword. Sundarji's more radical ideas, RAPIDs and RAMIDSs (Reinforced Army Plains and Mountain Divisions) were accepted. Even in the mid-80s, Sundarji and Arun Singh conjured up the dream of an airborne assault division and one, 54th, at Hyderabad, was earmarked for the role even if the helicopters needed for it are still not in place. Air power multiplied. Mirages were followed by more of the new MiG series, 23, 27, 29 and trisonic 25s. Tahiliani was allowed to reconfigure India's naval doctrine from coastal defence and limited sea denial (in Arabian Sea) to a blue-water profile. When Rajiv went, Gir knew his storied vacations to Lakshadweep, Navy warships lurked close by in attendance! For nearly three decades now Rajiv has been attacked on Bofors. But it is still India's frontline artillery gun and a game-changer. Such was Rajiv's impact that even today in a conflict, Indian armed forces will field a lot of the equipment he ordered at least a quarter century ago. Of course, military power is heady and amateurs can get carried away.

Which is what happened with the Rajiv-Arun Singh duo under the influence of Sundarji's dash. He wanted to check out his new mobile warfare concepts in the mega wargaming exercises (Brasstacks) in 1987, and even as it alarmed the Pakistanis, he launched another set of "new-concept" exercises: Checkerboard (facing China) and Trident, in northern Kashmir area. Suddenly, it looked as if nobody knew what was happening and India seemed poised for a two-front war on Pakistan and China. As alarm spread in global capitals, Rajiv did finally calm things down, appointing V.P. Singh defence minister, thereby restraining Arun Singh, but he was still not cured of the headiness of his new military muscle. He loved force-projection in the neighbourhood. He sent paratroopers in his new Il-76s and AN-32s to help defeat a coup attempt in Maldives in 1988, and embarked on a full-scale peace-making intervention in Sri Lanka by sending in the Indian Peace Keeping Force (IPKF).

The Sri Lankan intervention was actually a good idea. At great risk to himself he had decided to fight like big powers would, a strategic battle far from its shores. Sadly for him, such military adventures need to have wide popular support, which it didn't. In fact, by the end of 1987, when IPKF happened, he had lost much political capital. He got the blame as the army suffered some early setbacks and it added to his spiral of crises. I believe, however, that in principle he had done the right thing. But he had scared the LTTE enough to fear his return, and assassinate him. I am willing to break rank with an entire generation of commentators who call Sri Lanka his big folly, even if it cost him his life. I'd rather go by what my friend and RSS ideologue S.Gurumurthy once told me, that in choosing the method and place of his tragic death, Rajiv actually finished whatever was left of the Tamil separatism and sympathy for LTTE in India. That is why Rajapaksa was able to finish the job 18 years later and Tamil Nadu looked the other way. His other positive contribution on the strategic side, for which he is given no credit is in launching India's nuclear weaponisation. In a series of events I have recorded elsewhere, beginning at an IAF firepower display at Tilpat near Delhi, where he called top civil servant Naresh Chandra, and mandated him to head the weaponisation operation. The result, ultimately, was Pokhran-2. Rajiv also made two significant innovations in national security by forming the National Security Guard (NSG) and the Special Protection Group (SPG).

Irony is a much overused and misused word in all journalism. At India Today it has kept our prose company for 40 years and we have laughed at our inability to shake it off. So here I am again, underlining the greatest irony of Rajiv's times, the man who did more to enhance India's military and strategic muscle, was destroyed by one of the instruments he bought to make this possible. But Bofors was just the most visible symbol of Rajiv's failures. In a series of long, on-record conversations with Arun Singh (who became a recluse and rarely, if ever, speaks), I could see what failed Rajiv. One, he had a poor choice of people. He built an inner circle of talented friends around him. A third of them were sincere and honest, Arun Singh included.

The rest were mostly crooks. Together, they gave Rajiv's regime an elitist, aloof, apolitical image. Second, much as he started out by cursing the Congress Party for all that was wrong with it, he acted no differently. His response to Bofors was imperious, dismissive first, then of self-righteous outrage (neither I nor any member of my family has taken any commission) and finally cynical and manipulative as he fixed every probe, stage-managed the Joint Parliamentary Committee under loyalist B. Shankaranand. In his core group of friends, only one, Arun Singh, counselled him to be more open-minded and transparent but was contemptuously dismissed, repeatedly with a counter-question-why are you getting so exercised? What is it that I can give you? Name the portfolio you want. Meanwhile, most of his other friends, starting with Arun Nehru, had disappeared.

A more reformist PM?

This is not a historian's critical reconstruction of the Rajiv era, nor his definitive political biography. He is among our most fascinating leaders sadly more because he ruined his mandate of 415 so badly in five years that the highest his party scored in 30 years after that was 232 in 1991. He initiated the destruction of his party's heartland vote banks and the rise of Dalit, Mandalite forces and, more importantly, of the BJP as India's pre-eminent party upstaging the Congress. My last conversation with him took place at a highway dhaba just as we crossed the Ganga from Buxar in Bihar towards Varanasi during the 1991 campaign. He listened to a couple of young villagers talk about their hopelessness, responded with sensitivity, sounded as if he had imbibed the right lessons and was going to be a very different, more reformist, economy-oriented prime minister if elected this time. This was not to be as this conversation took place just a day before he died in Tamil Nadu.

Rajiv was a patriot who ruled at a very tough juncture, his degree of difficulty unfairly masked by the size of his mandate. He rose in a traumatic moment of extreme personal violence, the assassination of his mother. He died seven years later, becoming the history's first prominent victim of a human bomb. In the intervening seven years he did much, good and bad to leave behind a legacy. No, Mayawati ji, he wasn't just another, non-entity five-year prime minister.





EXCERPT

June 15, 1991

Planned, precise, pulverising



The trade-off with Rajiv Gandhi's life was made the moment the last clasp on the belt was fastened. Short, stout, dark and bespectacled, the woman, somewhere in her mid-3Os, would have mingled indistinguishably in any Tamil election crowd but for one incongruity: she wore a salwar-kameez. But so many Tamil women have discarded the sari for the more practical northern dress, particularly in Madras.

Rajiv Gandhi decided to trade security for freedom to mingle with people. Photo: Raghu Rai Rajiv Gandhi decided to trade security for freedom to mingle with people. Photo: Raghu Rai The human bomb has taken a toll this country, and indeed history, will never be able to forget. In a ghastly heap that looked like a stage act in which a score of characters somehow decided to topple backwards and lie quietly, in peace, lay spattered with blood the body of the 46-year-old, his relentless fight for his lost inheritance over so cruelly.

by Shekhar Gupta

Shekhar Gupta is a columnist and author

