A good account of Hindu history, but with some flaws

Rajesh Singh

For all those readers who are interested in a refreshingly different account of the Hindus, Wendy Doniger's Hindus: An Alternative History will offer a good read. When I recently referred to the book in one of my articles (on the Saraswati river)that appeared in The Pioneer newspaper a reader took umbrage at it and castigated me for the positive comments. According to him, the book did not do justice to the Hindu history.

Doniger is a scholar in Sanskrit and Indian Studies and the author of many books on the subject. This book is an exhaustive account of the Hindu history encompassing the Vedic period, the Indus-Saraswati Civilisation, the Upanishads, the Bhakti phenomenon and its survival during the Mughal era. It talks of the Sati practise and the Sufi influence. I did not find anything offensive in her writing. Her love and respect for the subject is manifest in the chapters crafted in the 700 plus pages.

One thing that struck me was was her refusal to go by convention. For instance, Doniger lays down the various theories of the Aryan presence in India. She does not toe the line taken by many Westerner historians and their several Indian counterparts that the Aryans invaded India and caused the destruction of the Indus civilisation. In fact, she is dismissive of the invasion theory, saying there is little evidence in the archaeological excavations to justify that line of thought. In fact, she says, "No one understands how the Indus Valley Civilisation came to an end..." and then, she makes a pertinent observation, "A great civilisation was lost to memory. But was it in fact lost?"

Perhaps she means to say that the present day civilisation that we have is a continuation of that 'lost' civilisation. In other words, we as people of this country are a continuation of that civilisation, and must, therefore, understand, appreciate and revere it.

She does not ridicule the beliefs of ancient Hindus when she discusses their preoccupation with animal figures and women. There is none of the condescending tone that is often seen in Western authors who write on ancient India.

Of course there are some glitches. Doniger does not for instance offer any insight into the now dried river Saraswati. In fact, she does colossal injustice to a river that is now widely known to have sustained the Indus civilisation as much as the river Indus did. So much so that latter day historians have begun referring to the ancient period as the Indus-Saraswati civilisation. More than 2000 of the 3000 excavated sites of that time have been found along the course that once formed the Saraswati river. It is thus amazing that Doniger ignored this very important factor.

She steadfastly refers to the Rig Veda as having been written sometime in 1500 BC. This has been the period that most historians have maintained, beginning with Max Mueller, who dated it even at a more recent 1200 BC. These dates have been strongly contested by several modern-day historians for one very strong reason: they do not match with the flow of the Saraswati which has been mentioned in the Rig Veda more than fifty times, on several occasions in great detail as a mighty river flowing from the mountains to the sea and providing noruishment to the people. But from all known accounts, the river dried up sometime in 1900 BC. That means the Rig Veda was written well after the river had dried up four hundred years ago. How then does the ancient text elaborate with such detail the role of the river, in effect giving a running commentary of the might and glory of the Saraswati? The Rig Veda is clearly writing of a river that existed in its full flow, not a dried up river. Clearly, the date of the Rig Veda composition needs to be revised. Unfortunately, Doniger does not venture on that enchanting task.

A tribute to parenthood

(FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE PIONEER, DECEMBER 13, 2009)

REVIEW

By Rajesh Singh




Daddyji
Author: Ved Mehta
Publisher: Roli Books
Price: Rs 295

Mamaji
Author: Ved Mehta
Publisher: Roli Books
Price: Rs 375

Giving a straight account of one’s family members does not always make for interesting reading unless there is something scandalous to offer. Most stories of middle class protagonists sound similar, even if they are of the rags to riches type or beset with tantalising twists and turns that life provides. So often, authors running short of imagination fall back on the family narrative genre, hoping their fame will rub off on such books and make them acceptable to the readers. Quite a few of them have succeeded but perhaps more have failed to impact. Ved Mehta has pulled it off with his rather linear approach to profiling his parents, in two separate books.

The success is partly due to the author’s own credentials, but it is not only that. The biographical portraits shine because they are a window not just to the lives of otherwise ordinary though resourceful and strong parents but also to the society they lived in. While the backdrop of the British Raj in which events unfold adds a sense of history to the narration, nuances of a traditional middle class family in Punjab and its clashes and assimilation with the ‘stiff upper lip’ provide the drama that is so essential to readability. Despite their compactness and single-minded focus to the two protagonists — father and mother of the author — the twin books excel in creating for the reader a world that is both sentimental and practical. For the uninitiated, they are indeed a guide to rural India, though a bit mushy.

For the author the books are surely a tribute to his parents and a way, as he says, “to revisit” the world they (the books) describe and the ways of an “ancient Hindu family.” Mehta does not aspire to lofty designs; besides devotion to parents he is on a nostalgic trip. But that does not deter him from creating in an unobtrusive manner a world that we all wish to know better. The underlying simplicity and innocence are the strengths of the books, and make the author as much admirable a human being as his parents.

Amolak Ram (Daddyji) and Shanti Devi Mehra (Mamaji) were poles apart and became husband and wife through a not very transparent procedure. The author tells us how his father was made to believe that his prospective bride spoke fluent English and was well-versed in the ways of upper middle class living to which he aspired. Amolak, after all, was a successful man, foreign-returned with degrees to boot and needed a life partner who could adjust not just to him but to the society he moved — and later would in a higher one. Those were the days when one fell in love with photographs since there was little or no interaction between would-be partners before the nuptials. Mamaji was a beauty in her prime and there was no reason for Amolak to feel unhappy. He was in fact on cloud nine.

Her beauty was undeniable and so was her poise and grace, but Amolak learned after the marriage that his wife had only an elementary understanding of English. He had been clearly misled. He could have thrown a tantrum or remained cut off from the bride. But, true to his character and upbringing, he did neither. Instead, he accepted her with love and affection and took it upon himself to educate her on the nuances of the language. In due course of time he gave up, but that did nothing to sour relations. In time to come, they brought up their children with care and concern, instilling in them values that remained a life-time.

The author talks of values of a joint family. He narrates how first his grandfather laboured to ensure that not only his sons but immediate family members got the best education he could afford, and how later his father too followed in the footsteps, often making sacrifices so that his brothers got the crucial breaks. The emphasis on education — a constant in middle class families — remained throughout the two generations.

With the extended family being so important, it is little wonder that the author devotes considerable attention to the members. In fact, right in the beginning of the book, he provides an elaborate family tree with roots dating back to the 19th century and evolving into the present.

There are innumerable instances of Amolak’s resourcefulness — the way he set up a meeting with an influential British to secure admission to a college abroad, for instance. And there are occasions when the pull of the family and its teaching brought young Amolak home from abroad. Like, when he gave up an opportunity to settle down with a lucrative medical career in England. He told his benefactor, “I am honoured. But I must go home and share what I’ve learned here. My mother used to say, ‘to one who shares food it is sugar; to one who eats alone it is a toad.’”

There is a moving narration of how helpless Daddyji felt on seeing his little child — the author — go blind due to a meningitis attack. He cursed himself, a medical professional, for failure to respond appropriately and in time.

With lives of the parents so closely intertwined, the author agrees that the tribute to his mother, Mamaji has material that would necessarily overlap the first book. If the father was matter-of-fact and practical, the mother had the feel and touch that only mothers can. Mehta’s blindness must have broken her heart, but the courage that she displayed in raising him up, making him believe that he could “see” is unique.

One of the most endearing parts of the book is the reproduction of some of the letters that Amolak wrote to his wife from Montgomery — a name that she found difficulty in pronouncing and took to referring to it as “that place”, an oblique manner much like that she adopted when talking of her husband as “he” or “him.” (Even today in several Hindu families the woman does not take her husband’s name.) They oozed with love, beginning with “dearest” and ending with “many kisses.”

The strength of an undivided Hindu family, the splendour of an undivided Punjab and the spirit of mankind — you have it all in the two books. Besides, of course, the skills of Ved Mehta.

Demystifying The Taj Mahal creator

FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE PIONEER, DECEMBER 6, 2009



Shah Jahan: The Rise and Fall of the Mughal Emperor
By Fergus Nicoll
Penguin Viking


Rajesh Singh

For most of us, Shah Jahan is the guy who built the Taj Mahal, that unsurpassably beautiful monument of love. So, the Mughal ruler enjoys a rather romantic image. The halo around him gets stronger in the knowledge that he spent his last years entirely heart-broken, incarcerated by his ruthless son in a fort overlooking the historic mausoleum. In fact, he is one ruler in the lineage besides Akbar who enjoys general goodwill, unlike Babur and Aurangzeb who are objects of hate. What the film Mughal e Azam did to the Salim-Anarkali love legend, the Taj Mahal achieved for the Shah Jahan-Mumtaz pair. In the hearts and minds of most Indians, fed by sanitized versions of history in schools and colleges, Shah Jahan has been a tender-hearted, liberal and greatly wronged against ruler.

But now we have journalist and author Fergus Nicoll, who demolishes the carefully sustained myth and exposes the Emperor for what he was: a murderous schemer who spared none that threatened or had the potential to threaten his march to the throne. He even played power games with his father, revolting against him. As fate would have it, he did to his father what his son Aurangzeb was to later do to him, only with greater brutality.

But Nicoll is not biased against Shah Jahan, who is the primary character of his eponymously titled book. He presents a remarkable account of the palace intrigues that were the order the day in the Mughal era, and none who wished to survive it could afford to be less than scheming, shrewd and at times merciless. Thus, if Shah Jahan demonstrated guile and crookedness, it may not have been an inherent character trait – one can give him the benefit of doubt – but it certainly was meant to secure his position as the future king in the midst of other demanding applicants. As Nicoll shows, smooth transition of power was never automatically guaranteed to the heir; he had to earn it, often through bloody tussles. Shah Jahan’s father did, Shah Jahan did, and his son did.

If the book is a fascinating account of the rise and subsequent fall of one of the most enigmatic Mughal rulers, it also effectively takes the reader into the Mughal court, its rituals, the ways of sycophants and court poets, the constant switches of allegiance, the opulence of the rulers and those they favoured including queens and mistresses, the logistics of managing an empire and the many battles with adversaries within and outside the kingdom.

The author tells us how, in a span of 32 years as the Emperor, Khurram – for that was Shah Jahan’s real name – came to epitomize both depravity and sublime love. Having admitted that “many of the conventional wisdoms have had to be revisited,” after he went through contemporary documents and correspondences of the Mughal Empire with others, especially the neighbouring Persian kingdom, Nicoll ends up with a highly readable account. One wishes our history books had more of such stuff and style – `History’ as a subject would not be so boring then!

Three Poems


By Rajesh Singh

I Have a Wish


I have a wish
That when I go, people say
Here was a man
Who lived and died
For love every day.

He saw the stars and praised the sky
He heard the birds and cheered their cry
He smelled the breeze that touched his face
He felt the tears that ran a race.

He hid his sorrow under the bed
And laughed and laughed till others went dead
He cried a lot but when alone
His heart was butter though face stone.

He made blunders and was a fool
If only he wanted he could rule
He lived simple and thought high
He was a dreamer searching the sky.

Well, he was a good man
His void will be felt
Though with time
Like snow it will melt.

***


I Shall Sleep

A soft pillow of assurance
To place my weary head on
A soothing touch of affection
Over my brooding forehead
Give me these
And I shall sleep.

The free spirit of a chirping bird
The nimble feet of flowing stream
The serenity of an ascetic brahmin
The glow of a bud turning flower
Give me these
And I shall sleep.

The eyes that do not weep
The heart that does not pine
The lips that do not quiver
The mind that does not segregate
Give me these
And I shall sleep.

Love but not betrayal
Truth but not hurt
Relationship but not conditions
Calm but not deception
Give me these
And I shall sleep.

***

I Wish I Could Die

I wish I could die
Earlier than I will.

Dreams lie before me
Shattered like broken glass
Sparkling, tiny
Like distant stars.

Daylight is so wondrous
Delightful, spread of moon
Others may bask in them
I have my dark room.

Happiness is on wings
Grief lingers long
But the strength of pain
Supports life when pleasure in gone.

Nine Lives:
In Search of the Sacred in Modern India
By William Dalrymple
Bloomsbury

Rajesh Singh

Ordinary people, extraordinary tales


How do you look for the sacred in modern India? One way is to seek out the contemporary religious-spiritual leaders who have impacted society and understand their strain of thought. The other is to delve into ancient texts to grasp the beginning of sacredness and its journey into the present. The third approach is to study the life and times of saints of an earlier era.

And there is a fourth one: get into the soul of the ordinary, unknown devotee who battles his way in life, facing challenges as may come across ordinary, unprivileged citizens – all the while refusing to let go of the God that guides him and clinging on to It in the most irrational manner. These are the people who have kept religion alive, and they are the subjects of William Dalrymple’s Nine Lives.

Dalrymple is by now an established Indophile and author of acclaimed books – fiction and non-fiction – on India. This is a travel book in the conventional sense and the journey he undertakes is to understand what makes religion tick in a country that is as materialistic as it is spiritual. It is a difficult task, to say the least, and the good thing is that the author does not make it more daunting by drowning himself in the swirling waters of religious complexities. Instead, he leaves it to the nine devotees that he meets to tell their tales – unencumbered and uncensored, except when he holds back the identity of a few for the sake of privacy. This ensures simplicity and innocence.

There is variety here. The author profiles a Devdasi, Jain nun, Dalit transformed into God, singer of epics, Buddhist monk, Sufi saint, maker of bronze temple-idols, blind minstrel and a woman tantric who has found abode at the cremation ghat.

These are ordinary devotees the world passes by without so much as giving a second look. Yet, their stories, as Dalrymple illustrates, are fabulous and at times sorrowful. They are of a heady mix of blind but endearing faith in Gods and Goddesses. The Dalit dancer, for example is ready to forget the pain of his social status for the few hours that he transforms into Lord Vishnu and has the upper caste at his beck and call.

Devdasi Rani Bai, dedicated to Goddess Yellamma and doomed to prostitution by way of a `religious tradition’ takes it philosophically. Her devotion to the Goddess perhaps helps her mitigate to an extent the suffering and indignity of the life she leads; a life that she dreams will end in peace and happiness. But as a doctor tells the author, the young and good-looking Devdasi is inflicted with HIV virus, and is unlikely to live long.

Manisha Ma’s (in `The Lady Twilight’) is perhaps the most touching of all lives that Dalrymple profiles in the book. Manisha Ma is a tantric who lives with the Doms at a cremation ground in West Bengal. The chapter begins with an ominous quote from her: “Before you drink from a skull, you must first find the right corpse.” Can this be a human being – and that too a woman – living in civilized society? But when she takes you into her world, you see a different woman; one who encountered hatred where love should have been, before she found peace and happiness at the cremation ground in the company of a good soul and the Doms. She collects skulls not as part of some cannibalistic ritual, but because she believes it helps her visualize the Goddess. “…. If you awake the skulls through sadhana, and tame their spirits, they will give you more power and help show you the path… They help you to invoke her and call her to you.”

Well, we do not know about that, but Nine Lives certainly calls upon the reader to embrace it.

Prism, prism, tell me the truth

Tehelka as Metaphor
Author :Madhu Trehan
Publisher :Roli Books
Price: Rs 595


Rajesh Singh

It can be said with some amount of accuracy that true sting operations in the country began with Tehelka’s Operation West End that ruthlessly exposed the politician-bureaucrat-defence nexus in defence deals. The revelations eventually destroyed political careers, seriously dented the image of public figures and put serving defence officers out of jobs. In the process, however, Tehelka itself came under attack — and not just from the Establishment — for some of the dubious methods it deployed to expose the rot. While the powers-that-be ensured it was reduced to near decimation, few peers openly backed the organisation — peeved that someone among them (and not they) did something noteworthy, and also because they had reservations on the ethics of the operation. In the end, for all its faults and alleged linkages with a political party, Tehelka and its brand of investigative journalism became important enough to be discussed, debated and written about. The latest in the line is a 580 plus page book by journalist Madhu Trehan who, incidentally, can also claim credit for investigative stories through her path-breaking Newstrack video series.

While the book traces the sting story from the very beginning and rounds it up with the denouement, the account is more than a mere rendering of a by now well known episode. Trehan goes beyond the story, into the merits of the methods used, the innocence of some of Tehelka’s reporters and the wiliness of others, the revenge by the State, the desperation of financiers who were concerned more about their investments than the “path-breaking” journalism being indulged in by the group led by Tarun Tejpal. The book recounts the frustration of journalists who worked tirelessly and under fear only to see the credit hijacked by more savvy people, who finally basked in the glory of the after-math. Although (despite her best efforts to sound ‘neutral’) she comes across as an admirer of Operation West End, the book does give adequate space to dissenting voices. In fact, the author herself expresses unhappiness over certain aspects of the Tehelka approach, and is unflinching in her condemnation when she feels it is due.

Who then are the heroes and the villains in the book? Mathew Samuel is placed on the highest pedestal, higher than his bosses Aniruddha Bahal and Tejpal. The author deserves praise for pushing into the limelight a journalist who did all the dirty (and dangerous) field work that led to the scoop. While Tejpal went on to become a national celebrity and Bahal stayed afloat on the Tehelka achievements — writing a book and managing a website that (you guessed it right) specialises in sting operations, Samuel almost slid into oblivion. Unlike the other two, he is neither seen on TV shows nor is he on the lecture circuit. Trehan has virtually resurrected him in the memories of thousands of people who relate the defence rip-off with the likes of Tejpal and Bahal.

It is, thus, appropriate that the book is laced with conversations with this remarkable but, by the account provided by the author, an unassuming person whose faulty English lends credence to his naivete. Samuel did all the damning interviews and the secret filming of his ‘victims.’ He bluffed his way when faced with technical queries from senior defence officials, and courageously handled the articulate and sharp Jaya Jaitley. He knew all along that one slip on his part would not just doom the project but his own career as well. But, for all the simplicity, it is difficult to believe him when he says he did not know he was breaking a few laws in the process as well. He professes innocence, for instance, when he was asked in the Commission set up to inquire into the episode about the criminal codes. He responded by expressing a deep respect for the Indian Penal Code but added he knew nothing about them. All that he knew was he was doing his duty as a journalist and that it was for a greater good. When the counsel of an alleged middleman (in the defence deal) claimed in the Commission hearing that he tried to lure his client, Samuel with a straight face replied that he did not understand what ‘lure’ meant. On another occasion, to a charge that he had political leanings, he said he was unaware what ‘leaning’ was, reminding the Commission he had admitted earlier to a poor grasp over English.

While heads rolled after the exposé, the issue ironically led to a parting of ways among the people involved. Trehan chronicles the rift between Tejpal and Bahal — the former refusing to categorically back his colleague when asked whether he had sanctioned the use of sex workers as bait and whether he approved of it, and the latter cribbing that Tejpal had taken credit for work done by him, and completely shutting him out of the loop. Samuel himself refused to have anything to do with Tehelka after it was re-launched as a weekly magazine.

The author has been more than fair to all the key players of the episode, from the journalists involved to the victims. She extensively interviewed them to get their perspective, and sympathised with their plight, alluding in some cases that the punishment to the victims exceeded the crime. She has been equally harsh with fallacious justifications, questioning motives — whether those of reporters or the ones caught on tape. One detects, for instance, a tinge of pity in her tone for George Fernandes, who was dragged into the controversy although he does not once appear on tape; and for Jaya Jaitley who could have simply accepted that money was indeed taken and that it was normal for parties to accept donation.

Madhu Trehan says, “…there is great wisdom in looking at life in shades of grey. It is in the hazy hue of grey that you will find a crystal of truth.” Perhaps it is this realisation that led her to adopt the ‘Rashomon approach,’ where every participating individual has the opportunity, in hindsight, to reflect on what happened from his or her own perspective. One crime, many interpretations (and justifications). The legendary Akira Kurusowa would never have imagined Rashomon swamping a book on sting operations.

Finally, here is my Rashomon on Tehelka: The only other major sting operation it has done is on the Gujarat riots, a little over a year ago. Is it a mere coincidence that all Tehelka stings have targeted parties opposed to the Congress?

(First published in The Pioneer)

The Judiciary and Governance in India
Madhav Godbole
Rupa & Co

In pursuit of justice

Rajesh Singh

The dispensation of justice is an essential component of democratic governance in civil society. People expect such justice – comprising both timeliness and fairness in order to be effective – from their elected representatives, the police, the bureaucracy and various other arms of the government. But most of all, they depend on the judiciary for protection of their right and punishment of the wrong. The dependence has grown of late, and in various manifestations, triggering a nationwide debate on the sagacity of the judiciary to extend its influence over issues that are ostensibly within the government’s jurisdiction.

Those who have most felt the heat of judicial ‘activism,’ are understandably upset by the phenomenon while the beneficiaries are all praise. But both realize that eventually the judiciary cannot govern the country. However flawed the Executive might be, it is vested with the powers to administer. Since persistent failure to perform its role is one cause for judicial intervention, the Executive can keep extraneous interferences out by doing its job.

Unfortunately, in several instances, not only have governments failed to provide direction, they have shunned solutions out of political convenience, deliberating leaving the doors open for the judiciary to offer a face-saving way out. An example that immediately comes to mind is that of the Babri mosque-Ram Janmabhoomi issue that remains unresolved because the political class does not have the will to settle the dispute through engagement with stake-holders including religious organizations and citizen initiatives. The judiciary is now saddled with a politico-religious matter, since the Executive has virtually washed it hands off the matter saying the matter is ``sub judice.’’

The need for the judiciary and the Executive to co-habit harmoniously without constantly questioning and threatening each other forms the underlying theme of Madhav Godbole’s nearly 600-page book. In an authoritative study of the subject, the former HomeSecretary delves deep into the various flashpoints. The author sets the tone in the Introduction with a clash. He begins with a quote by Jawaharlal Nehru in the Constituent Assembly: “No Supreme Court and no judiciary can stand in judgement over the sovereign will of Parliament representing the will of the entire community… So it is important that with this limitation the judiciary should function.” The counterpoint was provided the Chief Justice of India in 1952: “While the court naturally attaches great weight to the legislative judgement, it cannot desert its own duty to determine finally the constitutionality of an impugned statute.’’

Thus, contrary to generally held belief that the Executive-Court clashes are a new development, the ‘rivalry’ is at least as old as the Constitution itself, with the two sides always holding the sacred document as the inspiration behind their respective positions. But as one reads Godbole’s voluminous work, it become clear that he is not out to give a drab version of the conflict; he takes the clear position that the courts need to re-visit their ‘hyper-active’ role, even as he acknowledges the indispensability of a robust judiciary in a functional democracy as also recurring situations where the judiciary had to necessarily step in.

In the context of the increasing number of policy issues coming before the courts, he accepts that this was “due to the reluctance of the elected government to deal with them. They (governments) seem to be more happy to let the court step in and arbitrate on the issues.’’ But then he is quick to point out that while the Supreme Court may be the “final arbiter” it is not “infallible.”

And, if any doubt still remains on the approach, the author towards the end of Introduction clears it with a quote from retired justice V R Krishna Iyer, who from all accounts is very quotable indeed – “No more can we leave judicial reforms to judges alone than war to generals alone, budgets to economists alone, government to bureaucrats alone, or the nation to politicians alone.” To further dent the judiciary’s ‘omniscience’ Godbole summons a similar punch line from the legal luminary, Fali Nariman: ``Something more potent than the Law Commission is required to revive our moribund and wayward legal system.’’

The book then laboriously launches into just how moribund and wayward our judicial system is, taking care though to litter the scholarly text with occasional praise for the courts. Godbole takes all of 100 pages to highlight the lack of judicial reforms in the country. The chapter is pessimistically titled `Judicial Reforms Nowhere in Sight,’ and deals with a plethora of drawbacks, including the lack of data base on cases – listing, adjournment, court attendance of witnesses, days consumed on arguments (written or oral); opaqueness in information providing mechanism; increasing backlog of cases; gray areas in perjury; provisions on anticipatory bail; and, plea bargaining.

The author also indulges in a feisty discussion on the accusatorial versus the inquisitorial system of justice that prevails in several European countries. He quotes B K Nehru saying that under the European system investigation into a crime is done by the police under the supervision of a magistrate who is an officer of the court and not the Executive. He further reproduces statements from the Justice Malimath Committee report on Reforms of Criminal Justice System. The learned judge – now retired but vocal as before -- remarked (according to the book): “The inquisitorial system is certainly efficient in the sense that the investigation is supervised by the judicial magistrate which results in a higher rate of conviction.’’

But the committee also observed that a ``fair trial’’ was better protected in the adversial system. On the whole, the panel felt that the better features of the inquisitorial system should be incorporated in the existing procedure being followed in India.

Godbole also presents an insightful account of the growing irrelevance of commissions of inquiry, and offers irrefutable examples of how inquiry commissions were rendered useless by governments, both those that created them and their successors. It is hardly surprising that he calls them “blunted” instruments. He sees a ray of hope only if “the question of revamping the Commissions of Inquiry Act (CoI) 1952, is examined seriously, in the very disappointing outcome of the commissions of inquiry so far.”

The author has nailed the “uselessness” of the inquiry panels under the CoI Act by upholding the efficacy of citizens’ tribunals and commissions. He points to the Citizens Commission on the anti-Sikh riots and the citizens’ tribunal on Gujarat riots as fine examples of bringing not just facts to light but also placing accountability.

Godbole does not emerge an optimist through the book. Perhaps, given his personal experiences, that is understandable. He suggests remedies but also adds in the same breath that they would not be implemented. So, we are back to square one. He ends his discourse thus: “We have, from the perspective of the civil society, made a series of recommendations… However, there are no prospects in the near future of the executive and the Parliament, lacking as they are in political and moral courage and stature, addressing them.’’

He has hit the nail on the head. That also explains just why the judiciary is getting involved in issues that the political class should be addressing.