Sudhir Kumar Khanna"Those who make a living by catching fish, by catching rodents, by tapping toddy, by tilling land, I beseech thee, become literate. Send thy children to school.

Let them become collectors, let them become darogas, let them become doctors, let them become engineers. I beseech thee, become literate."The leader is giving the finishing touches to his election speech. The crowd is going berserk and the security forces are having a tough time. The barricades are snapping. "Ab rajya ki bari hai, phir Dilli door nahin," the leader concludes his speech, and all hell breaks loose.The whole crowd, young and old, old and infirm rush towards the stage. Those near the helipad rush to the barricade. As if by telepathy, the pilots get into the cockpit and the engine roars to life. Kicking up dust on the assemblage, the hepter lifts off for the next helipad and the next meeting."The helicopter has come from a far-off place. It's on hire, not a sarkari one," the leader says. It's a handy excuse for winding up early. At times, it also a good starter. He tells of the places he has been visiting since morning; of how worried he is about the welfare of the people. Unless he is re-elected, the good work he has initiated cannot reach them "in its final shape". The meetings have been arranged at strategic locations, with helipads constructed close by, an `H' marked prominently with white chalk powder. The entire state is covered. The south with clearly marked rivers and hillocks, the northern plains with rivers all over, the tribal areas with their drums and dances, the mining town with their red flags. The aides strategically pass the leader a green towel in minority areas.

The pilots, like the leader, are given tea in earthen cups. Invariably, the tea is over-sweetened. "It's in direct proportion to the affection of the people," the party worker says. For the curious, it's a once-in-a-lifetime show. They watch the crew drinking tea, eating samosas, reading newspapers. The boredom in their faces. Every movement, every action of the pilots is followed, memorised, remembered forever. The helicopter and its pilots are in a cage. The barrier around the helipad reminds the people of zoo enclosures. "The democracy is alive and kicking in this country. Where in the world such democratic traditions being followed?" the leader asks the crowd. He then changes the topic and asks the police to let the "mothers and sisters" into the sterile area in front of the dais. Again, there is bedlam.He asks the central forces, who hail from different states, not to treat the locals like convicts. "Understand their culture of a thousand years," he urges them. The crowd cheers. The inner nerve has been touched, the heart massaged. The crowd cheers some more. In the same tone, the leader tells them that they are cutting down their own time with their applause: "Let me speak and listen carefully." The crowd cheers again, then shuts up on its own.

"Our ancestors from this land were taken in shackles as slaves across the mighty ocean, to work in tea gardens and sugarcane fields. They have settled down there and become respectable. So when you tell them you are from this great state, they welcome you with folded hands and offer you a glass of tea. Earlier, we used to be classified as dirty and chased away."Dream castles are being built in the minds of the people by the leader. The castles are the cages in which they lock themselves, and see them as they saw the helicopter and the pilots.

Suddenly, the leader lapses into: "O fishermen, O rodent-catchers, O cowherds, O toddy-tappers, I beseech thee, become literate. Illiteracy is like blindness. Come out into the open..." The crowd goes berserk. Thunderous clapping follows. The meeting is over. People mill about the helipad. Yes, democracy is quite alive. So what if it's in cages? The copter starts up and gets airborne. So what if there's dust in our eyes?

Copyright © 1997 Indian Express Newspapers (Bombay) Ltd.