All for a cause

THERE used to be this comic song from an old film which we used to sing in our childhood: "Adichuputane Novudhada. Ennai Adichuputane vallikudhada...Adichuputane...eh" The song ended with a kind of whimper. Or was it a sob or a hiccup?

I never thought I will have an occasion to remember this song. But, from the evening of March 23, when I was the victim of mob fury and was thrashed, this song came back to me and offered some comic relief from the pain I endured.

Twice before, in my career as a journalist, I had been beaten up. The first was when I went to do a story in a village near Ahmedabad where members of the Patel community were preventing the local Harijans from using the village well. They did not want any publicity. When I reached the village after talking to the Harijans who lived in the outskirts, the Patels were furious. They seized sticks and chased me and my photographer. We ran to our car, receiving blows all the way and escaped.

The second beating was during the Gujarat Nav Nirman agitation of 1974. Students in the Gujarat university were protesting against the poor quality of hostel food and the agitation took a political colour. On a night of intensive stone-throwing, the dreaded State Reserve Police (SRP) ordered a lathi charge. The lights went off and there was total confusion. The lathi-wielding policemen ran all over the place and I got some painful blows on my back. The lathi charges had been ordered by my good friend, Inspector Ghulam Guard, who had played test cricket for India. The next day, I showed him the bruises on my back and he was apologetic. But I did not complain to the authorities. As a journalist, I had to be in the thick of the action and injuries were part of the bargain.

The most recent beating had nothing to do with my being a journalist. At the four-day Arya Samaj sammelan held in the open grounds in front of our flat, the loudspeaker was in action from early morning till late night. Since the noise disturbed students who were preparing for their examination and senior citizens, I thought I could just cross the road, go up the dais and request the organisers to tone down the volume of the loudspeakers.

After all, the Arya Samaj people were supposed to be reasonable citizens. Wasn't their movement, started by the great Dayanand Saraswati, aimed towards reforms in Hinduism?

The convention had attracted thousands of delegates from all parts of India. They had come in buses which were parked all over the place. A music group was belting out religious songs from the dais with the loudspeaker going full blast. Yet, when I reached the dais and made my request, I still did not think anything would go amiss. Oh, I was sadly mistaken! The hostility which greeted my remark was clear. "Kya himmat hain tum ko Idar aanne ko?" (How dare you come here?) snarled someone on the dais. "Get out, get out." When I protested and repeated my request, the mood became ugly. "Maro, maro, pakad ke idhar se nikal do" (Thrash him, remove him from here, throw him out) shouted the organisers and the mob pounced on me.

I was taken aback. Within minutes, I was pushed around, punched, fisted all over the body. My spectacles flew somewhere. I fell down and the hooligans kicked me on the back, chest and hips. The pain was intense. All the time I kept on shouting that I meant no harm, I was only a senior journalist who had come to request them to lower the volume of their loudspeakers since playing them after 10 p.m. was banned by law. "Are you teaching us law?" snarled the mob and then came the chilling words, "Inko baandh do, zinda jala do." (Tie him up and burn him alive!)

O, God, what was going to happen to me, I thought to myself. Was my life to end like that of the noble Dr. Staines?

Kicked, beaten, I was dragged by the mob to the police who were posted outside the maidan. The police were told I was a bevda (drunkard) who had tried to disturb their religious convention! Some of the policemen who believed this, began to act tough and I thought I would get my second beating from them. Fortunately, some of the senior officers recognised my name and helped me to file a complaint. After that, I was taken to the hospital for x- rays and treatment.

Let me tell you something. Normally I am a meek, law-abiding citizen who avoids all sorts of trouble. Why then, did I lodge my protest directly? I find I cannot stand people who break laws with impunity. I must tell them something, I must do something, I tell myself. When people smoke in places where smoking is prohibited, I immediately object. It is the same with spitting and queue breakers. Call me a nuisance, but I cannot stand this contempt for the law of the land. I do not mind the dirty looks or muttered abuses I receive in the bargain.

At the same time, I don't think of myself as a public hero. I tell the law breakers in the most polite terms that they are doing wrong. At many functions and exhibitions in front of my flat, where people create noise pollution, I go to them directly and request them to stop the noise. On most occasions, they oblige me and are even apologetic. But not the Arya Samaj! "Why did you go there alone? Don't you know a mob can be dangerous?" asked my wife and friends. The answer is that I did not perceive any danger. The Arya Samaj was a well known reformist body and why should they harm a single individual? Even today, I do not understand the logic behind me being beaten up.

Come to think of it, the beating up was worth it. So many hundreds telephoned, there were hundreds of letters from all over India, including readers of The Hindu. They all wished me well.

Well, the wounds are healing, the pain and swelling on the chest and ribs will gradually disappear, but no bones were broken. Will I repeat my "adventure?" Is there any harm talking to people and telling them they are doing wrong? I don't think so.

V.GANGADHAR

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