Political analysts looking back on the six years of NDA rule may be tempted to compare the styles of two Brahmin, non-Nehru/ Gandhi prime ministers who survived their full terms: P.V. Narasimha Rao and Atal Bihari Vajpayee. The two men present a study in similarity and contrast. They were both in their seventies and certainly not in their physical prime when they came to power. They were equally shrewd in their ability to neutralise opposition — both within the party and without — and to create the necessary political scaffolding to support a tenuous base. But they used words very differently in order to survive. Rao deployed them with telling restraint, almost to the point of being laconic. Vajpayee, in contrast, had no such inhibitions. He revelled in them with an almost poetic abandonment — using them as instruments for both attack and defence; to appear the perfect statesman and the perfect fighter; to reveal reality and conceal it. If one were to do a quick survey of primeministerial statements made for a domestic audience over these six years, one would still not be any the wiser as to what Vajpayee really stood for. He was everything and its opposite. Liberal and fundamentalist; pro-Hindutva and anti-Hindutva; pro-Modi and anti-Modi; hard-headed realist and poetic dreamer; modernist and traditionalist; dyed-in-the-wool sanghi and ‘Nehruvian’ democrat. It was this ability to be all things to all people, of being apparently able to reconcile the irreconcilable, that helped him head a 24-member coalition for six years. But, interestingly, even as he did this, he ensured that the hopes and agendas of the sangh parivar were kept alive. Vajpayee succeeded largely in negotiating the sensitive issues that cropped up in these six years by speaking in different voices, followed by the timely deployment of a redefinition here, a clarification there. Take the masterly way in which Vajpayee made “Hindutva” appear to be synonymous with “secularism” in his musings from Panaji (January 2003): “Secularism is pitted against Hindutva, under the belief that the two are antithetical to one another. This is incorrect and untenable. Hinduism’s acceptance of the diversity of faiths is the central feature of secularism in India. On the other hand, Hindutva, which presents a viraat darshan of human life, is being projected by some in a narrow, rigid and extremist manner. (which) runs contrary to its true spirit. Hindutva is liberal, liberating and brooks no ill-will, hatred or violence among different communities on any ground.” This conflation of Hinduism and secularism results, of course, in a radical new definition of secularism quite contrary to how it is generally understood and Hindutva now appears shorn of its negativity. Then there was the Ayodhya temple controversy that kept looming on the political horizon. Vajpayee publicly stated that there were only two ways to resolve it: either through the judicial route or through a negotiated settlement. But on two occasions, at least, he spoke a different language on the issue. On December 6, 2000 he was reported to have observed in Rajya Sabha that the “construction of the temple at Ayodhya is an expression of national sentiment which is yet to be realised”. This observation created an uproar, in Parliament and outside it, which caused him to make a significant clarification on January 1, 2001, in his musings from his Kerala retreat: “My statement that the movement for the construction of a Ram temple in Ayodhya was an expression of the national sentiment has been misrepresented in many ways. What is overlooked is the past tense that I have consciously used in my statement. I had clearly stated that although the movement for the construction of a Ram temple at Ayodhya was an expression of our national sentiment, this sentiment became narrow and its inclusive character became restrictive, because of the unfortunate demolition of the disputed mosque structure”. Two and a half years later, at Mahant Ramchandra Paramhans’s funeral, he revisited the theme, promising to build the temple: “We will fulfill his last wish. We are confident that all obstacles would be removed and the path paved for it.” On Narendra Modi, too, there were significant shifts and eddies. After that famous injunction to the Gujarat chief minister to “practise rajdharma”, we found Vajpayee on Panaji’s Campal Maidan a few days later — on April 12 — speaking in almost Modi-eque tone and tenor: “What happened in Gujarat? If the conspiracy had not been hatched to burn alive the innocent passengers, then the subsequent tragedy in Gujarat could have been averted. The subsequent developments were no doubt condemnable but who lit the fire?” That speech even had BJP president Venkaiah Naidu explaining to the media that “the prime minister may have got emotional and said what he said”. The speech became the subject of a privilege motion in Parliament, during which Vajpayee clarified he had only meant to single out fundamentalist Muslims for attack and was not referring to the Muslim community as a whole. The matter did not end there. Two weeks ago, Vajpayee revisited Gujarat, praised Modi for ensuring peace and prosperity and appealed to people to “let bygones be bygones. how long will this bitterness continue and sparks fly?. Those less in numbers must be protected” (another hint of rajdharma?). Attempting to come to a cogent understanding of what Vajpayee really thinks of Modi and his brand of politics is, then, a self-defeating exercise because he is one politician who practices the craft of ambiguity with precision. The “swayamsewak” statement made on Staten Island in September 2000 can be viewed as a masterstroke of ambiguity. “No one,” he had declared, “can take away my right to remain a swayamsewak.” It was clarified a little later that what he had actually meant was that he was a swayamsewak to the nation. Yet, two years later, that same “swayamsewak” — during the debate in Parliament on Gujarat — seemed to distance himself in no uncertain terms from Hindu zealots by saying, “Is se hamein koson door rehna chahiye (we have to stay miles away from them).” Whatever reservations the RSS may have about its amorphous association with Vajpayee, it has reasons to be grateful to the “moderate” Vikas Purush, because he helped to achieve for the sangh a certain political “normalcy” that may have continued to elude it under more obvious hardliners. In any case, it must marvel at the consummate ease with which this man rode to power. Not on a rath driven by a Toyota but one driven by words, disparate words. Vajpayee has almost captured the experience in a verse he wrote: “Honour lost at busy crossroads,/ Knights defeated by pawns:/ Do I make my final move, or do I withdraw from battle?/ What road should I go down?”
