The Good, the Bad and the Ridiculous by Khushwant Singh Read Free Book Online

describe Zail Singh as a farsighted statesman
would be an exaggeration; to describe him as a
cunning politician would be grossly unfair because
the stock-in-trade of a cunning politician is the
ability to tell a blatant lie. And the one thing that
no one could accuse Zail Singh of was falsehood. He
was best as a shrewd judge of men and events. After
Mrs Gandhi’s murder, there were many claimants to
the prime ministership; one of the senior-most civil
servants of the time even suggested to Zail Singh
that he take over the position himself. Sensing the
anti-Sikh climate of the day, it was Zail Singh who
brushed aside this suggestion and decided to offer
the prime ministership to Rajiv Gandhi in the
belief that, as the descendant of Jawaharlal Nehru
and Indira Gandhi, he would be best suited to hold
the country together.
    When the opposition tried to put him up for a
second term and Congress dissidents assured him
of a substantial vote from the party, Zail Singh
carefully weighed his prospects before turning it
down. He was not a gambler; he played to win. It was the same when pressure was brought on him to dismiss the prime minister or permit his prosecution on charges of corruption. Zail Singh had little to lose and could have made things very hot for Rajiv Gandhi. But he refused to succumb to temptation—teaching Rajiv a lesson for his bad behaviour—because he felt that the nation’s future was paramount and India was more important than Zail Singh or Rajiv Gandhi.
    After Operation Blue Star, I requested a meeting with Giani Zail Singh in order to return my Padma Bhushan to register my protest. When the appointment was granted, I saw that he was in a state of acute depression. ‘I know how you feel,’ he said to me. ‘But don’t be hasty. Think about it for a few days and then decide what you should do.’ I held my ground: ‘No, Gianiji. I don’t want to give myself time to change my mind. I had sworn that if the army entered the temple I would renounce the honours bestowed on me by this government.’ Even after the citation was put aside, Zail Singh continued talking to me. ‘I don’t think my qaum’—community—‘will ever forgive me for this,’ he said, looking for some kind of assurance to the contrary. ‘No, Gianiji,’ I replied, ‘I don’t think the Sikhs will ever forgive you for Blue Star.’ He looked to be in the depths of despair. ‘Do you think it would serve any purpose if I resign now?’ he asked. I told him that it was too late: whether or not he resigned, the Sikhs would hold him responsible for the desecration of their holiest shrine.
    Zail Singh often quoted a couplet to the effect that, while he put a rose in the palms of Rajiv Gandhi, Rajiv took a stone to hurt him. There is another equally apt couplet that perhaps best encapsulates Giani Zail Singh’s political career:
     
    Zakhmi huey jo hont toh mehsoos yeh hua
    Chooma tha maine phool ko deevangi ke sath
     
    It was the bruises on my lips that made me comprehend
    With what thoughtlessness I had kissed the rose

INDER SAIN JOHAR
(1920–1984)
    Inder Sain Johar was a few years younger than me. He was in Forman Christian College, Lahore, and was making some noise on the amateur stage as a comic actor. We had met, shaken hands, but did not get to know each other. One summer evening, when I was a practising lawyer living in a small flat opposite the high court, I heard a band playing raucous music coming down the road. I went to my balcony to see what was happening. It was a wedding procession. On a white horse sat I.S. Johar, decked up as a bridegroom. He was on his way to marry Rama Bans, a very pretty girl who also acted in college plays. The couple migrated to Bombay to try their fortune in the film industry. I lost track of them.
    Johar and Rama had two children, a son and a daughter. I saw some films in which Johar had acted, including a couple of Hollywood productions in English. I did not rate him a great