What India Would Have Been Without Him




The BJP Wants to Erase Nehru. Let's See What India Would Have Been Without Him

Trying to erase Nehru’s imprint on the country is a tall order because he is part of modern India’s DNA. Throw Nehru out of the equation and you end up undermining India.
Note: This article was first published on May 24, 2016, and is being republished on May 27, 2019, Jawaharlal Nehru’s death anniversary.
Writing in the Sunday Times of India, Amulya Gopalakrishnan recently brought out the huge Nehru vilification industry that exists across cyberspace. In Rajasthan, India’s first prime minister is being wiped out from schools since it is more easy to fiddle with textbooks than write academic tomes based on verifiable facts, footnotes and peer-review.
But what would India have been minus Nehru ?
It is very difficult to separate one or the other of the towering individuals who fought for India’s freedom. But there are specific issues in which the personality of the leader played a distinct role. And so it is with Nehru. A counterfactual on India minus Nehru emerges from the consideration of the following eight points.
First, in 1927, he attended the Congress of Oppressed Nationalities in Brussels and gave the freedom movement an international outlook. His anti-imperialist  cosmopolitanism certainly gave a modern patina to India’s freedom struggle.
Second, in 1928, Gandhi proposed dominion status for India, but Nehru is the one who demanded complete independence. In line with this, he opposed the Government of India Act of 1935, demanding a popularly chosen Constituent Assembly. Keeping with his views was the decision to move the historic Objectives Resolution of December 13, 1946 which categorically declared India’s decision to become an independent sovereign republic, notwithstanding the British desire to keep the country as a dominion.
Third, and this is perhaps the most intriguing example, in May 1947, Lord Mountbatten sent a plan for devolving power in India to the provinces – Bombay, Madras, UP, Bengal, etc. – allowing them to create confederations and only then transferring power.  In other words, opening up the possibility of the emergence of several successor states in British India. This was the plan the British Cabinet approved and sent back to Mountbatten in May of 1947. On the eve of a meeting of Indian leaders announcing  the plan, Mountbatten showed it to Nehru who was his house guest in Simla. Nehru was stunned and told Mountbatten that the Congress would under no circumstances accept this and wrote a long note to the Viceroy  saying that this would be tantamount to the Balkanisation of India. Indeed, in this note he attacked a number of proposals, including one for the self-determination of Balochistan. Mountbatten postponed his announcement and, subsequently, the plan prepared by V.P. Menon to partition India and transfer power to two dominions was announced. There can be little doubt about Nehru’s role, detailed in Menon’s Transfer of Power, in compelling Mountbatten to stay his hand on a course that could have been disastrous for India.
Strengthening the Union
Fourth, as prime minister it was not possible for him to play a major role in drafting the Constitution, yet his chairmanship of the Union constitution committee and the Union powers committee was a crucial determinant in determining the balance between the powers of the states and the Union government which has managed to maintain the unity of this extremely diverse country. But there can be little doubt that his political outlook and philosophy, primarily his supreme faith in democracy, was reflected in the document which did not have to mention the word “secularism” to make its point because by making the individual citizen the focus of the constitution it bypassed the tangled issue of caste, community and religion.
Fifth, there are many who criticise Nehru for his handling of Jammu and Kashmir. What the critics don’t realise is that but for Nehru and his relationship with Sheikh Abdullah, at least till 1952, it would have been difficult to keep Kashmir in the Indian Union.
Sixth, he advocated the pattern of the economy which balanced the private and public sector. Indeed, this was in line with what Indian industrialists had put forward in the Bombay Plan. The critique of his socialistic leanings must be weighed against the fact that militant communism was the major opposition in the country, at least till the mid-1950s. By adopting a socialistic line, he helped encourage the split in the communist movement and outflanked their appeal.
Seventh, Nehru played a key role in passing four Hindu code bills which carried out the most progressive and far-reaching reform of the community. These had been originally mooted in the constituent assembly but were vehemently opposed by the conservatives and Hindu nationalists. Though the man behind the reform was a man who rejected Hinduism – B.R. Ambedkar –  it was Nehru’s key support that ensured their passage in the first parliament. This modernisation, which removed the most oppressive aspects of Hindu society, was vehemently opposed by the RSS and its sister organisations. Among other things, the bills outlawed polygamy, enabled inter-caste marriages, simplified divorce procedures, placed daughters on the same footing as  sons on the issue of inheritance of property.
Eighth, Nehru’s personal imprint is also visible in India’s nuclear and space programmes. The father of Indian nuclear science, Homi Bhabha, met Nehru on a voyage back from the UK in 1939 and began a life-long association. Nehru gave him the charge of India’s nuclear programme and he was answerable only to the prime minister. He actually piloted the Atomic Energy Act in the constituent assembly which gave rise to the Atomic Energy Commission chaired by the PM.
Negatives too
Of course, there are also negatives in the Nehru ledger. For example, sending the Kashmir issue to the UN, and his handling of the border dispute with China. Perhaps, minus Nehru, there might have been a different outcome, though it is not easy to discern what it could have been. However, on China it would most certainly not have been a military option. Nehru is on record asking General Cariappa whether India had the capacity to intervene in Tibet and he was told in writing that it was not possible given the weakness of the Indian military and the hostile terrain.
Another negative is the handling of the military itself. Nehru’s pacifist leanings and idealism made him a poor leader of the military. He allowed an important instrument of state power to run down and did not pay the kind of attention that was needed. And his final fault here was to overlook the impact of Krishna Menon’s abrasive personality on the military.
That said, it is clear that trying to erase Nehru’s imprint on the country is a tall order because he is part of modern India’s DNA. Throw Nehru out of the equation and you end up undermining India.
Manoj Joshi is a Distinguished Fellow, Observer Research Foundation.


 

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Abandoned at Sea:British massacre of Indian sikhs


Abandoned at Sea: Book review of Voices of Komagata Mar

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12 hours ago - A meticulous account of neglected historiographic threads brings to life the Komagata Maru incident, which launched a thousand protests in .

Abandoned at Sea: Book review of Voices of Komagata Maru

A meticulous account of neglected historiographic threads brings to life the Komagata Maru incident, which launched a thousand protests in India


Abandoned at Sea: Book review of Voices of Komagata Maru
Sikhs aboard Komagata Maru in Vancouver’s Burrard Inlet, 1914
In September 1914, the German cruiser Emden, with remarkable stealth, appeared at the mouth of the Hooghly and destroyed five English vessels. It then shelled the tanks of the Burma Oil Company and the storage batteries of Madras docks. Destabilising sea routes, trade and mail connections in East Asia, the Emden challenged the confident superiority of the British empire in the region. Rumours of a possible German offensive and impending flight of British colonisers were rife and panic gripped Calcutta, already disturbed by wartime scarcity, rising prices and repressive administrative measures.

It was into this charged atmosphere that the Komagata Maru, carrying its shipload of destitute and exhausted passengers, returned to India under close surveillance. Chartered in March 1914 by Gurdit Singh, a labour contractor with Ghadar sympathies, it had carried over 300 would-be emigrants to Vancouver. The Canadian authorities, using the laws of racial exclusion, had refused to let the passengers disembark. After a long wait and a legal battle, the ship was expelled under armed threat from Canadian waters and sailed back to India. The British authorities fearing that the returning passengers, influenced by Ghadar revolutionaries, would cause further disturbance, disembarked them at Budge Budge instead of Calcutta. The plan was to arrest the leading figures and put the rest onto a virtual prison — a “special train” — and send them straight to Punjab. But at Budge Budge, a confrontation quickly turned into a massacre and 21 passengers were shot dead by colonial troops. The Komagata Maru became a lasting symbol, of both protest and deep-rooted racism; the saga of Indians, mostly Sikhs, being prevented from travelling as economic migrants to another part of the British empire has not been forgotten. In fact, the irony of the event is underlined by the powerful Sikh presence in Canada today which impelled Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, albeit for domestic considerations, to make a full apology in the House of Commons in 2014 for the discriminatory treatment meted out to the passengers.

Abandoned at Sea: Book review of Voices of Komagata Maru
The Komagata Maru Memorial at Budge Budge
But relatively less known is the inspiration that the emotive memory of the Komagata Maru provided to various protest movements that followed. Suchetana Chattopadhyay traces out these shadowy and neglected historiographic threads, delving deep into the largely unexplored archives of the West Bengal Police department. For instance, the suppressed voices of the passengers detained at Budge Budge, lost in the carefully orchestrated official accounts of the massacre, are an important revelation. They bring out evocatively the desperation of the innocent passengers during a journey through “an unknown topography of terror,” ill-treatment, privation and abuse during the two-month stand-off in Vancouver harbour and the return to pre-planned repression in India. These accounts also record how the survivors of the Budge Budge shooting were chased as “fugitives” by troops through swampy terrain, across rivers and into forests and how they survived, begging alms and seeking shelter in villages. Some rare archival photographs of activists, vintage steamships and important sites of revolutionary activity add to the sombre mood and feel of the monograph.
The Komagata Maru resistance led to increased colonial surveillance on all ships returning to India from the West. In Chattopadhyay’s words: “The British authorities in India were haunted by the spectre of return: the return of the rebel underlined official imagination, strategy and action.” Coercive measures, including rigorous searches for arms and seditious literature, were undertaken in cooperation with shipping companies which provided advance information of arrivals. Returning Sikh emigrants were particularly suspect as they were seen to be more radical and prone to sedition, a perception that was an inversion of the post-1857 British construct of a loyal martial race. Chattopadhyay also surveys the public as well as the underground discourse post the ships return, centering on adverse labour conditions and the racist mindset of white settler colonies, with a wink and a nudge from the colonial government in India. The resultant mood of resistance was evident also in the links between Sikh migrant activists with not only Ghadar revolutionaries but also with Bengali bhadralok anti-colonials and pan-Islamists; class, ethnic and religious differences were submerged for a common anti-colonial objective.
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Despite official persecution and close monitoring, the memory of the Komagatu Maru continued to fuel protest between the wars and its inspiration can be seen in the leftward leaning of Sikh activists, their membership of the Kirti Dal (the local Calcutta branch of the Kirti Kisan Party of Punjab) and their activities through the Communist as well as the Congress Left channels. The epic voyage, concludes the author, found “multiple echoes in the experiential, political and social spheres, acting as a motivating force, a conduit of militant consolidations, a field of not just fleeting combinations but organised bonding, capable of merging with various streams of activism.” As that quote will show, this book is not an easy read, weighed down as it is with the heavy jargon of academic research and exposition. Nevertheless, it rewards a patient reading with fresh perspectives and insights into an important event which has remained insufficiently explored until recent times.
Navtej Sarna is former ambassador of India to the United States

The opium trader who became one of India's richest men

In 1857, Queen Victoria named Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy the first Baronet of Bombay.

The opium trader who became one of India's richest men

In 1857, Queen Victoria named Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy the first Baronet of Bombay. In 1857, Queen Victoria named Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy the first Baronet of Bombay.  
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The philanthropist and businessman’s relationship with colonialism is a complex legacy

On his fourth trip to China, Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy was captured by the French. It was the middle of the Napoleonic Wars and hostilities between the British and the French had carried over to the Indian Ocean. Jejeebhoy was on a British ship called the Brunswick when, off the coast of Point de Galle in present-day Sri Lanka, it came face to face with two French frigates. The Brunswick was a trade ship and didn’t have much of a crew. They didn’t stand a chance. The passengers, mostly merchants like Jejeebhoy, were taken hostage to South Africa. They were released there but had no way to get home. It took Jejeebhoy four months to make it back. But when he did, his life had changed forever. He had made friends with the Brunswick’s young doctor, William Jardine. This chance meeting turned, as historian Jesse S. Palsetia writes in his book Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy of Bombay, into a friendship “that would change both men’s lives and influence the course of history.”
When Jejeebhoy met him, Jardine’s time as a doctor of the East India Company was almost at an end. He had plans to set up a trading house in Canton, now known as Guangzhou. That trading house still exists, as a conglomerate with a market capitalisation of more than $40 billion. Jardine’s firm would become so enormously successful because it was soon going to corner the market on one particular commodity, one that was much more profitable than cotton, and one whose demand was exploding because the British had got millions of Chinese hopelessly addicted to it: opium.
Opium wasn’t just another trade good for the British Empire. It was the necessary corollary to another commodity: tea. The British were importing tens of millions of pounds of tea from China every year. There seemed to be no end to the demand and everyone involved was making huge profits. There was just one problem. They didn’t have the cold hard cash or rather, cold hard silver to pay for it.

JJ Hospital, named after founder Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy.

JJ Hospital, named after founder Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy.   | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

With all of the Empire’s physical currency disappearing into China, the British were running a huge trade deficit. They needed something that the Chinese wanted as much as they wanted tea. Opium was the answer. And it was essential to keeping the Empire’s entire economy afloat.
Shipped from Bombay
The opium came from the East India Company’s nearby colony, India. It was grown in Malwa and shipped from Bombay. At its height, almost one-third of the entire trade was going to one firm, Jardine’s trading house in Canton. And the man who enabled this trade from India was becoming stunningly wealthy.
By the time he was 40, Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy had allegedly made more than ₹2 crore — in the 1820s. He was already one of the richest men in the entire country, but he had his eye on even greater prizes.
The life of Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy makes for an excellent story. It neatly divides into two acts. In the first act, Jejeebhoy lives a life of adventure and daring. In the second act, he becomes an elder statesman, a civic figure working for the benefit of the community. This is no accident. Jejeebhoy’s ambitions were sophisticated and manifold. They would’ve been far out of reach for anybody who wasn’t willing to reinvent themselves. Even in his earliest days, there are signs that Jejeebhoy was conscious of his persona, taking steps to change details of his life to better fit his desired narrative.

Sir JJ School of Art founded by Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy.

Sir JJ School of Art founded by Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy.   | Photo Credit: Vivek Bendre

For example, he repeatedly claimed to have been born in Bombay but a number of historians believe that he was actually born in Navsari in Gujarat. He also changed his name from Jamshed to Jamsetjee, allegedly so that he would seem more like a member of the mercantile Gujarati community. Undoubtedly, the capital and networks of the broader Parsi community were essential to his success, but in this way at least he was a self-made man.
His early life was marked by tragedy: he lost both his parents before the age of 16. His family was from a Parsi priestly community but his father worked as a weaver. After they died, Jejeebhoy moved to Bombay and began working for his maternal uncle, buying and selling empty liquor bottles. He earned the nickname ‘Batliwalla’ or bottle-seller and seemed to revel in it, often signing letters with the moniker as if it actually was his last name.
At 20, he married his maternal uncle’s daughter, Avabai, who was around 10 years old at the time. And through his family, he began to trade, making five trips to China. None of these trips directly made him rich, but they did make him vital connections across South and East Asia, including, of course, William Jardine.
Vital connections

A sketch of the First Opium War.

A sketch of the First Opium War.   | Photo Credit: Getty Images

Jamsetjee began his trading firm, Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy & Co, with three other partners, each from a different community. There was Motichund Amichund, who was Jain and had close ties to the opium producers in Malwa. There was Mohammed Ali Rogay, a Konkani Muslim, who was a ‘Nakhuda’ or ship-owner/ captain. They were joined by the Goan Catholic RogĂ©rio de Faria, who had connections with the Portuguese authorities that controlled the port at Daman. Initially, the existence of Daman was a thorn in the side of the British who tried to restrict the export of opium through Bombay alone. They eventually gave up and settled for taxing the produce at its source.
The second act of Jejeebhoy’s life can be seen as both a continuation of his earlier life and a sharp break from it. When his son Cursetjee was old enough, Jejeebhoy began to step back from the business to focus on civic life. While opium was seen as just another item of trade within these mercantile circles, it is possible that Jejeebhoy wanted to distance himself publicly from the drug trade. Opium prices were freely published in newspapers and it was clear that none of the merchants felt any sympathy for the Chinese when the First Opium War broke out. Jejeebhoy and the others seemed to be primarily interested in compensation for destroyed stocks and for regular trade to resume. But in his burgeoning career as a public figure, he might have been worried about the potential damage to his reputation.

An illustration of Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy’s Bombay residence in ‘The Illustrated London News’, 1858.

An illustration of Jamsetjee Jejeebhoy’s Bombay residence in ‘The Illustrated London News’, 1858.   | Photo Credit: Wiki Commons

Various historians have noted that between European merchants and their Indian counterparts there was a sense of shared community and mutual respect. But that was definitely not the case between the citizenry and the government in the Bombay Presidency. The Parsis, meanwhile, had repeatedly expressed their loyalty to the British and were rapidly becoming the most Anglophile of all Indian communities. For them and the other elite of Bombay, charity and public works were a way of building a common moral and ethical ground with the British — a way of proving their shared humanity. Simultaneously, the British were looking to ensure that the local elites saw a common interest in continued British rule.
At the forefront of this push to use philanthropy to forge bonds with the rulers was Jejeebhoy. His donations were prolific. By 1855, his commercial empire was mostly complete and he had devoted himself entirely to philanthropy and public life. In his biography, historian J.R.P. Mody calculates that Jejeebhoy would have donated £2,450,00 over the course of his life. In current terms, that would be around £10 million or ₹100 crore.
This astronomical charity left its mark on Bombay and Pune. He paid two-thirds of the entire cost of the Pune waterworks, with the remainder coming from the government. His wife, Avabai, single-handedly paid for the entire construction of the Mahim causeway that connects the island of Mahim to Bandra and ensured that the government wouldn’t charge citizens a toll.
He founded the Sir JJ School of Art, where John Lockwood Kipling, father of Rudyard Kipling, would be dean in the 1860s. Probably the most notable of all his contributions was the founding of JJ Hospital, to which he eventually donated both land and a large sum of money.
Caste and class lines

The special postage stamp issued in April 1959 to commemorate Jejeebhoy’s death anniversary.

The special postage stamp issued in April 1959 to commemorate Jejeebhoy’s death anniversary.   | Photo Credit: Getty Images/ iStock

The hospital had been entirely Jejeebhoy’s idea and when he wrote to the British government, they responded to the idea enthusiastically. But the process became extremely drawn out when sharp differences emerged in ideas of how the hospital should function. Jejeebhoy wanted it designed around class and caste lines, but the government refused. Finally, when the hospital was built, some concessions were made, like a separate kitchen for Brahmins.
With his philanthropy, Jejeebhoy’s reputation among the British was growing. In 1834, he became one of the first Indians appointed as Justice of the Peace, which was a position in the Court of Petty Sessions, the de facto municipal authority. In 1842, he became the first Indian to be knighted, officially receiving a Sir prepended to his name.
But Jejeebhoy wasn’t done. In secret, he began a campaign to receive a hereditary title. As Palsetia writes, it was the first “organized programme of publicity on behalf of a colonial subject”. Thomas Williamson Ramsay, former revenue commissioner of Bombay, wrote a glowing account of his numerous good deeds and with the help of many well-wishers, this account was widely distributed among the Lords of England, even reaching the hands of Prince Albert himself. In 1856, a profile of Jejeebhoy was published in The Illustrated London News. The campaign was eventually successful.
In 1857, Queen Victoria named him the first Baronet of Bombay. But it took four years for him to finally obtain the title because the British government remained unsure of Parsi inheritance law and whether it would complicate the inheritance process. To secure the baronetcy, Jejeebhoy had to place a property (officially referred to as Mazagaon Castle) and a sum of ₹25 lakh in trust.
Baronetcies galore
Now that Jejeebhoy had blazed the trail, the British eventually opened up the honours system to colonial subjects. They used the gesture to portray a united and homogeneous global empire. Between 1890 and 1911, seven baronetcies were granted to citizens of the Bombay Presidency and 63 Parsis were knighted by 1946. Despite being such a small community, various Parsis would endow more than 400 educational and medical institutions over the course of the 19th and early 20th centuries.
It’s apparent that Jejeebhoy’s philanthropy, institution-building and public works improved countless lives. But at the same time, the sheer wealth that he and other members of his class accumulated allowed them to negotiate colonialism and even benefit from it in a way that was impossible for most ordinary citizens. In the 160 years since Jejeebhoy’s death in April 1859, we still wrestle with his complicated legacy.
The writer is an award-winning playwright and freelance journalist based in Chennai. Twitter: @notrueindian