I fear for Rahul Gandhi. My neighbour foresees visitation of murderous consequences upon him for perennially crossing the Laxman Rekha. How can Rahul Gandhi strut about the country sloganeering “Chowkidar Chor Hai” ? Demeaning the PM is not mere irreverence but a blasphemy too , an insult to Bharat Mata. This is his perpetual refrain in our political jousts these days. That the Chowkidar too isn’t above hitting below the belt with more trenchant epithets does not pinch his shoes.
I try to assuage his sense of hurt by pointing out that it’s the done thing in all liberal democracies nowadays and that there is a word for it ‘Trumpism’. In the good old days insults were inflicted by a play upon words or by subtle innuendos like this one.
An MP said to PM, Disraeli : ‘Sir, you will either die on the gallows or of some unspeakable disease.’
‘That depends, Sir,’ said Disraeli, ‘ whether I embrace your policies or your mistress.’
No longer. The flavour of post truth times we live in is Trumpism- frontal assaults on opponents and certifying their vices by mere association. During the ‘heydays’ of Bofors scandal opponents of the PM screamed “Gali Gali Mein Shor Hai ,Rajiv Gandhi Chor Hai”. So, let’s not be overly sanctimonious, I counsel him. The profane not the urbane is the lingua franca of political discourse.
Without ,of course, condoning use of epithets for political opponents, I venture a postulate - bad-mouthing in certain situations could be the difference between life and death and that is why leaders on the wrong side of political power divide take recourse to it. This folk tale from Bengal so aptly and succinctly illustrates the point.
A wicked snake lived by a village road and frequently bit passers by. Villagers so dreaded the snake that they took all measures to avoid the stretch of road infested by it. One day a sage wishing to recruit disciples visited the village. The snake, fangs bared lay in wait , ready to strike. The sage spotted it but wasn’t intimidated. Unruffled, he asked “ you want to bite me ? Go ahead. If you happen to be the instrument of God to send me to swarg, I will only be too happy to be bitten . My deliverance from this earthly existence would be hastened .”
The snake was taken aback, previously people fled at its sight, but here was a fearless one looking it in the eye. It felt shamed and powerless. The sage sensed a moral victory and after discoursing on the ethical way of living succeeded in persuading the wicked snake to abjure violence and then went his way. Thereupon the snake on sighting humans would sling away into the bushes. Gradually, villagers’ dread of the snake vanished. Urchins would now not run away but chase it and pelt it with stones. He suffered greatly and felt terribly miserable.
Some time later the sage visited the village again to see how his newly baptised disciples were faring . The snake accosted him and bewailed, “ Holy man , as promised I lived the ideal non-violent life. But now villagers torment me. They catch me , twirl me by my tail and throw me afar, hit me with sticks and pour water into my snake-hole to ferret me out. My body is all bloody and bruised. But I have borne it all ,never once bitten anyone in retaliation. But if this continues I won’t survive long. What should I do “
“ I told you not to bite, but did I tell you not to hiss ? “
Do you get it !
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