Like all great men,he had the ability to express the complex with simplicity.
Meeting Nelson Mandela was one of my first acts as high commissioner to South Africa. The Indian government wanted to donate money to the Nelson Mandela Foundation. The cheque was with me and I asked to present it to him personally. Though he saw diplomats rarely,the mention of the large-ish sum got me the appointment in double quick time. I arrived in his ante-chamber in the foundation office all agog. Sitting down,I could not help notice a photograph of a naked African girl skipping along a jungle-rimmed beach. Sheer joy was written all over her face. I was told that she symbolised Africas joie de vivre to Mandela when he was at Robben Island prison. Robben Island is a bleak rocky outcrop off the Cape Town coast.
Soon a door opened and I was greeted by a tall lanky man with crinkly white hair and a colourful bush shirt. His frail frame,supported by a walking stick,radiated magnetic energy. Mandela spoke softly,as if surprised by the sound of his own voice. A result perhaps of the long silences he had got used to in prison. He talked of his fondness for India and Indian food. The story is that on finally being released from Victor Verster Prison,he kept a huge crowd collected to hear him outside Cape Town city hall waiting. The reason? In the middle of being mobbed en route,he developed an irresistible urge to eat biryani. Mandela also spoke of being inspired by Mahatma Gandhis struggles in South Africa and India. And admiration for the Gandhian spirit Nehru and other Congress leaders had displayed in forgiving Gandhis assassin. I tried to set the record straight. Nathuram Godse was hanged,not pardoned,I murmured. He carried on regardless. Asking fondly about Indira and Sonia Gandhi,he seemed to be under the impression that they were related to the Mahatma. Oh well! Why bother about such details? He had an infectious smile. He spoke crisply. And had child-like simplicity. Like all great men,he had the ability to express the complex simply.
Not many know that he started his political career as head of the Umkhonto we Sizwe,the underground wing of the ANC. How he progressed from planting explosives to nurturing a harmonious country free of racial rancour is an inspiring story. I came across a white ex-bodyguard of Mandela. A veteran of South Africas military campaign in Angola,he recounted how he had at first refused to be assigned to the security detail of South Africas first non-white president. A bodyguard has to be ready to risk himself to protect,something he honestly thought he could not do for a black. But then he saw Mandela appear in a Springbok jersey at the first international rugby game played by liberated South Africa. Rugby was a white sport,and Mandela was reaching out to the white minority. Something changed then. He agreed to join the protection squad. He admitted that he grew so fond of Madiba that he would willingly have laid down his life for him.
Madiba no longer needs to be guarded. But the ideals that he lived do,especially in our ever more fraught society.
The writer is a former high commissioner to South Africa. The article is based on excerpts from his forthcoming book Rats,Cats and Diplomats