New Delhi, Sept. 5 -- After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities
T.S. Eliot (Gerontion, 1920)
The massacre in Nandigram occurred on March 14, 2004. I went to Delhi ten days later to attend a seminar. It was decided that Tanika Sarkar, herself a brilliant historian and my very close friend, her husband-the legendary Sumit Sarkar-and I would spend an evening together at the IIC. I went to the prestigious club and, expectedly, our spontaneous conversation began.
After about ten minutes, Tanika suddenly said, "Both Sumit and I are feeling so reassured. You are a professor at a research institute totally funded by the CPI(M)-led Left Front, and we apprehended that your professional compulsion might prompt you to remain silent on the carnage. And, you know, our position." Their stand was as clear as daylight in summer: "Jallianwala massacre happened in colonial India, but what happened in Nandigram is shocking since it happened under a Left-ruled government in independent India."
One, my mentor, and the other, my college-mate, were 'nervous', as they had said. Without donning the agitator's cap, I replied, "On the very next day, Ashok-da (revered Professor Ashok Sen), Koushik (Koushik Sen, excellent thespian), I and many others took to the streets." These words were enough. Thereafter, we conversed with fervour for two more hours, and they met the bill. Before we parted, Sumit Sarkar, wedded to the enlightened Marxian weltanschauung like E.P. Thompson, said, "We are shattered. All this has happened and there is not a word of shame or apology from the CPI(M) Central Committee." Deeply aggrieved, Sumit-da returned the prestigious Rabindra Puraskar (Award) conferred on him by the Left Front Government in protest.
On another occasion, they were in Kolkata and we were invited to dinner by an erudite historian and dedicated Trotskyite. Of course, we chatted on the subject of the derogatory practices of the Communist governments in Eastern Europe. We were told that this desiccating process was initiated by Josef Stalin. At one stage, lowering his voice, Sumit-da told me in a whisper, "Trotsky, hailed by Isaac Deutscher as the Prophet, would have turned into another autocrat had he assumed power." This dark observation confirmed that Sumit Sarkar did not care for any 'sacred cow', no matter to which camp or shed he belonged, officially Communist or not. He was a critical dissident from head to foot.
I was abroad when the Emergency was imposed. One of my friends, a young, astute historian, wrote to me: "Among the critics who do not belong to Jayaprakash Narayan's camp, two who deserve particular mention are Romila Thapar and our teacher Sumit Sarkar." As to how the powers-that-be harassed Romila Thapar, we know from her remarkable memoir Just Being. And Sumit Sarkar himself articulated a critique that was unerringly prophetic. He warned, "This draconian measure is fanning the sails of those who care a tuppence for democracy. They are exploiting the situation to wave their pseudo-democratic flags. If we give them legitimacy, we shall have to pay dearly in the future." Need I dissect this prediction, impregnated with enviable foresight? I need to add that the CPI, which kept silent during this phase to follow the dictate of its Big Brother, Moscow, which supported the Emergency, did not cherish the acerbic evaluation of Sumit Sarkar, whom they considered to be 'near' and 'dear'. The fact is, a dissident always remains lonely; he has no 'near' or 'dear'.
The trenchant criticism of the Congress did not end with his denunciation of the Emergency. He said, "It must not be forgotten that it was the Congress government that updated the Ramayana epic into a pseudo-nationalist TV serial, and allowed access in 1986 to the idols installed inside the Babri Masjid by stealth and administrative collusion in December 1949, under an earlier Congress regime." But even more disastrous was the culpability of Prime Minister Narasimha Rao before and after the fateful December 6. Sumit-da described it as 'suicidal wobbling', even from the point of view of narrow party interests. He emphasised, "It was yet another futile attempt to compete with the BJP for the 'Hindu card.' Principles apart, elementary realpolitik suggests that the more determined and consistent always win that kind of game."
Obviously, he opposed the fantastic view of many diehard Communists that the upheaval in Soviet Russia and Eastern Europe was the result of Gorbachev's 'wickedness' and 'imperialist' Western funding only. Everything otherwise, according to them, was hunky-dory in their Communist empire! Sumit-da's view was totally different. According to him, the entire system was a victim of deep-seated structural deficiencies. The system simply failed and collapsed, and one of the main reasons was its intractable bureaucratic command and control. In other words, it was not possible for a single 'villain' (Gorbachev) to wreck an empire in seven days, extending from Vladivostok in the East to Berlin in the West. The rot had been percolating for long. His message was salutary-the complex processes of history should not be simplified in such an elementary manner.
The most sustained and flawless critique, however, was reserved for those who propagated the Hindutva version of history and BJP governance. We need to recall that it was Sumit-da, along with Tanika and two other young historians, who took on the mythifiers masquerading as historians way back in 1993 with their stunningly new monograph Khaki Shorts and Saffron Flags: A Critique of the Hindu Right. Once again, Romila Thapar extended her hand of cooperation by functioning as a member of the Editorial Board, which supervised the publication of this text and others under the series Tracts for the Times.
Indeed, since that year, the Sarkar couple presented one text after another on this subject, epistemic as well as accusatory. The very last, The Fascism of the Sangh Parivar (2016), by Sumit Sarkar, acts as the culminating verdict. He certainly had his epistemic anchor-call it Marxian, if you like-but he rejected the narrow and sectarian quagmire of Hindutva history. Like Amartya Sen, Sumit Sarkar aspired to a combative heterodoxy where a hundred flowers, that is, perceptions, bloomed. He appealed for many histories and then added in his dialogue, "The human being will be at the very centre of this flowering." And this human being, redemptive in essence, is not the blind karsevak given to vandalism. Underlining the grievous vacuity of Hindutva theory and practice, he said, "They are trying to make out of Ram and Ayodhya-a single supreme deity and pilgrimage centre, steam-rolling out of existence differences of region, sect, caste, gender, class.. An ocean separates the Ram of Mahatma Gandhi, conceived of as both Iswara and Allah, from the Ram in whose name the Babri Masjid has been destroyed." A denunciation could not be more meaningful and emphatic.
In a sentence, Sumit-da did not articulate his vehement critique of the Congress, CPI(M), CPI and, above all, the BJP from the cosy corner of his library only. After the rampage in Ayodhya and in other moments of crisis, like the Nandigram carnage, he came out onto the streets like any other activist, alongside many protesters and students, with placards held high in his hands. He chose to demonstrate like a resolute citizen tormented by the oppressive powers-that-be. His students and colleagues admired the spirit of resistance of this frail, small-built academic who always bound himself to the defiance of the common people.
Published by HT Digital Content Services with permission from Millennium Post.