In large systems, people often assume that extensive collaboration leads to greater efficiency. In my experience, what matters more is how effectively that collaboration is structured and managed.When multiple stakeholders are involved, there is a real risk of confusion, with different priorities pulling in different directions. This works well when the purpose of collaboration is clearly defined, but becomes difficult when partnerships are created without clear objectives or ownership.The real challenge is not collaboration itself, but designing and executing it with clarity.
Blog
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A Cauldron of gases
Part 1
Dramatist Personae – the Gases
Recent events in the Persian Gulf have brought to the fore discussions on energy and by extension, fuel and gases. Though they do not figure in the calculation of core inflation, their production and supply have worldwide ramifications. It is necessary to understand what these gases are, how are they produced and supplied and their uses.
Let us first dissect three words going around. NG, LNG and LPG. Natural gas (NG) is basically methane, the stuff that contributes to the greenhouse effect and what many planets like Uranus and Neptune are engulfed with. Despite these major infirmities, it is critical as a fuel for cooking and transport, electricity generation and fertilizer production. Since it cannot be transported easily in gaseous state, it is cooled to -162 degrees into Liquified Natural Gas (LNG) which is supplied around the world in super tankers. The LNG is then converted back to gas at import terminals. In large city networks it is supplied to homes through pipes as Piped Natural Gas (PNG). For transportation it is used as Compressed Natural Gas (CNG).
Natural Gas is extracted from underground gas reservoirs or oil and gas basins. These are in the Middle East, Russia, North America (through shale extraction) and Australia. In India, natural gas is produced from offshore and onshore basins such as the Krishna–Godavari Basin, the Mumbai Offshore Basin and the Assam–Arakan Basin.
Natural gas consumption in India is currently around 195 million standard cubic metres per day (mmscmd). Roughly half of the demand is met through LNG imports with a large share coming from the Gulf region. Qatar alone accounts for about 39% of India’s LNG imports. Other major suppliers are Australia, United States, Russia and Oman.
Liquified Petroleum Gas (LPG) by contrast, is a different fuel composed mainly of propane and butane – higher cousins of Methane. It liquefies at moderate pressure and ambient temperature, which allows it to be stored easily in pressurised cylinders. This makes LPG particularly suitable for household cooking.
While LNG is largely used by industry and power plants, LPG is the primary cooking fuel for hundreds of millions of Indian households. India’s LPG consumption has grown sharply over the past decade with demand reaching about 31–33 million tonnes annually, driven by expanding household access. Domestic production remains limited at roughly 12–13 million tonnes per year, meaning the country imports around 20–21 million tonnes annually, equivalent to roughly 60–65% of total consumption. This makes India one of the world’s largest LPG importers.
The expansion in demand is closely linked to the rapid increase in LPG connections. The number of LPG consumers increased from about 145 million in 2014 to more than 320 million by late 2024, more than doubling within a decade. Much of this expansion occurred under the Pradhan Mantri Ujjwala Yojana, which sought to replace traditional biomass cooking fuels with cleaner alternatives. This has brought relief to millions of women who otherwise battled smoke and consequently ill health just to provide their families two square meals a day.
Unlike many European countries where households receive piped natural gas, India distributes LPG largely through cylinders delivered to homes through an extensive infrastructure present in rural and urban areas with bottling plants, storage depots and a robust network of distributors. The network of piped gas is expanding though they are expensive to lay, require dense urban infrastructure and significant capital investment.
LPG has two main sources. A significant portion is produced during crude oil refining, where propane and butane are separated from other petroleum products. LPG is also recovered during natural gas processing, when heavier hydrocarbons are extracted from raw natural gas streams before the methane is transported through pipelines or liquefied as LNG. As a result, LPG production is closely linked to both global oil refining activity and natural gas extraction.
India sources LPG from multiple producers, but the Middle East remains the dominant supplier. It is estimated that the region accounted for around 90% of India’s LPG imports. Supplies from the Gulf typically transit the Strait of Hormuz, one of the world’s most important energy shipping corridors. Disruptions affect shipping routes and freight costs. In recent years, diversification efforts have begun. India has begun expanding imports from other suppliers, including the United States, Norway and Canada.
India’s overall storage capacity remains limited compared with total consumption, reflecting the historically steady flow of imports from nearby Gulf producers and the logistics of distributing cylinders rapidly across the country.
India’s rising LPG demand has also reshaped global energy trade. Together with China—where LPG is used heavily in petrochemical manufacturing—India now accounts for a significant share of global LPG import growth. This has encouraged exporters, particularly the United States following its shale energy boom, to expand LPG shipments to Asia.
Despite occasional supply disruptions or geopolitical tensions, India’s LPG distribution system generally operates with multiple suppliers and diversified shipping routes. While short-term market fluctuations can affect prices or logistics, long-term demand growth reflects structural changes in household energy use and improved access to cleaner cooking fuels.
Understanding the distinction between natural gas and LPG is therefore essential to interpreting headlines about energy supply disruptions and their actual implications for Indian households.
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The Ugliness of Noise
A mother hears a baby cry when it enters the world — perhaps the most beautiful notes to her ears. We are surrounded by beautiful sounds: the purr of a pet cat, a baby’s coo, a nightingale’s song, waves crashing against rocks; regaling the symphonies of Beethoven to the taals of Tansen.
Yet it takes very little to descend into a pall of noise. The Cambridge Dictionary defines noise as sound that is unwanted, unpleasant, or loud. In other words, sound becomes noise when it stops delighting and starts disturbing.
Modern life generates noise in abundance. Unplanned urban growth has blurred the boundaries between residential and commercial spaces. We wake to the honking of school traffic; as the day unfolds, the din intensifies — office commuters, construction machines, and blaring loudspeakers layering one disturbance over another.
What does this do to us?
The World Health Organization identifies noise as the second-largest environmental cause of health problems after air pollution. Excessive noise disrupts sleep, affects cardiovascular health, reduces productivity, and impairs children’s learning and development — sometimes with lifelong consequences.
Government rules on permissible noise levels are clear and have been upheld by the Honourable Supreme Court. Silence zones (defined as 100 square meters around hospitals, schools, courts, and religious institutions) are meant to be protected spaces where honking and loudspeakers are prohibited. Permissible day time levels permit a maximum of 75 dB(A).
Yet rules alone cannot create quiet; only responsible citizens can. Like air pollution, noise is a public burden. Even those who do not create it are forced to suffer it. Ironically schools where children come to learn, play and grow themselves mock the silence zones themselves.
May we, as responsible citizens, make conscious efforts to reduce noise — honking less, respecting silence zones, and avoiding loudspeakers where they do not belong. Especially near hospitals and schools. May we aspire to wake to birdsong rather than blaring horns, to the rustle of leaves rather than the roar of machines.
Plato said, “An empty vessel makes the loudest sound.” Let us not be empty vessels. Let us aspire instead to be golden harps — producing soft melodies that are music to everyone’s ears.
Only then can we protect both our present peace and our children’s tomorrow.
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It’s Dogmatic, It’s a Dog’s Life
Hi, I am D. Well, I could be a, b, c, d or x, since I am not lucky as humans to be given a name. Most of you are familiar with me – maybe that’s why I am scientifically called Canis Familiaris – your familiar, friendly neighbourhood dog.
My antecedents go far back in time, quite similar to yours. Excavations from the glorious Indus Valley Civilisation by diligent archaeologists have unearthed a skull of my forefathers, and I have been depicted in the beautiful cave paintings of Bhimbetka. I have seen it all – the rise and fall of the great ancient kingdoms, the conscientious keeper Ashoka the Great, the golden age of the Guptas, the Bronze Age of the Cholas, the Mughal Empire, colonialism and independence.
I have seen jewelled treatises being written and beautiful poems composed of love and valour. I have seen the time when we were the largest economy in the world – the ‘Golden Bird’ – and I have seen the time when we were refused food aid, which heralded our brilliant scientists to usher in the Green Revolution.
The grand epic Mahabharata starts with a story of injustice meted out to a pup. In the end of the same epic too, I am mentioned. On his final journey in the Himalayas, the righteous Yudhistira refused to abandon me till the end. Lord Indra rewarded him for his loyalty and took him to Heaven.
The British brought their exotic breeds, and like everything native, we were labelled as the “Pariah Dog.” Quite ironic, calling us natives “outsiders.” Perhaps that is where the infamous signages came outside colonial clubs and restricted areas – “Indians and Dogs – Not Allowed.”
We live in the streets, we live in the barns, we live wherever we can eke out our measly existence. I am often the ‘underdog,’ always expected to lose. Perhaps that should gain me some sympathy. So whenever I ever win – and that is a big IF – would it evoke the same emotions as when our brave team caused the greatest upset in cricket history in 1983?
We are hardy, unlike the Siberian Huskies or St. Bernards who are tormented in the heat of the subcontinent. However, our families are dynamic, as we keep losing members to disease, cruelty, and undernourishment. We are fatalists too. One minute we are up and about, the other we are knocked down by a speeding car – for no fault of our own. Jurisprudence has something called manslaughter. Have you ever heard of dog-slaughter?
We keep it simple, live each day and enjoy the small pleasures of life – basking in the winter sun, drinking fresh water from puddles after rain, and snoozing under the cool shade of a peepal tree. We sniff for scraps – leftovers – thrown out by humans by design or by default.
We guard the streets and usually keep to ourselves. As with everyone else, we have the right to defend ourselves when provoked. We bark a lot and seldom bite unless it is linked to our survival. Haven’t you heard – barking dogs seldom bite?
As in humans, we too get infected by deadly viruses and bacteria. Rabies is fatal for us and, God forbid, for humans too if they are bitten by an infected member of our species. Thankfully it is a preventable disease. While it rightfully carries a lot of concern, fatalities for humans are much more from reckless driving, tuberculosis and suicides. I heard that the WHO aims to eliminate rabies-related deaths by 2030. Many countries have already been declared rabies-free and India, through its rabies control programme, aims to achieve this target. This will be a big respite not only for humans but also for us.
We love and like to be loved. So in the end, you may love us, you may even ignore us, but please don’t hate us – haven’t you heard – dogs are man’s best friends.
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“Now or Never: The Flawed Dream”
On our 79th Independence Day, we once again got a chance to celebrate our hard-won freedom and all that we have consolidated as a celebrated democracy. We have stood resolute in our principles and are heading towards becoming one of the largest economies in the world
On this day, we are also sadly reminded on how a day earlier, a new nation was carved out of India. We know that it was Jinnah, who in his pursuits, was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people and the uprooting of millions more from their homes. The wounds of the tragedy are still to heal.
Most of us however may not know that the word “PAKSTAN” was first used by Chaudhary Rehmat Ali more than a decade before partition took place. Born in Balachur, Punjab, he went off to England to study law. It is at Cambridge in 1933, he, along with a few others took out a pamphlet titled “Now or Never Are we to live or perish for ever”.
The pamphlet was published just after the third Round Table Conference had concluded and had failed to make any headway on the question of the future of India. Rehmat Ali sought to influence British and Muslim opinion in his roughly two-thousand-word piece spread over eight pages.
The pamphlet used contradictory logic and is reflective of flawed concept of a separate nation state which is harped time and time again by our neighbour’s leaders even today.
Rehmat Ali stated to be speaking on behalf of thirty million Muslims of five Northern Units of India-Punjab, N.W.F.P. (Afghan Province), Kashmir, Sindh and BaluchisTAN and thus the acronym PAKSTAN. This was a fantastical premise, as he was neither a politician nor a mass movement leader. He did not represent any region, class or group from the subcontinent.
He tried to elevate regionalism to the pedestal of nationalism. It is mostly agreed that the modern concept of nationalism is a “social contract” between the rulers and the governed. No such “contract” existed in these five units which he names. He falsely claimed that thirty million Muslims of these areas were bound by common history, culture economics and tradition. Nothing could be more far from the truth. An Afghani would be as different from a Punjabi as Spanish from an Italian. He did not mention ‘language’ as a binding factor as he was aware of the many languages spoken in those areas. However, he stated that Urdu was the ‘lingua franca’ of the subcontinent. This dangerous contention would rear its head in 1971 ironically leading to another partition and contradiction of the two-nation theory. He claimed to be speaking for these thirty million Muslims while forgetting that fifty million more Muslims lived in the rest of the subcontinent
Rehmat Ali whipped up the bogey of minority versus majority claiming that Muslims would be one in four in a united India and thus needed a separate homeland. However, he was silent on the ten million non-Muslims who would also be one in four in his so called “nation of forty million” Data was selectively analyzed to convolute logic.
He spoke of fourteen hundred years of contribution to India as a justification for a separate homeland. Again, he forgot that historically recorded contributions to the concept of India or Bharat go back to seven thousand years and more. Our proud Indus Valley Civilization in fact springs up the region he claimed as his religious homeland.
Excluding Russia, he compared Europe to the subcontinent with the same size and population claiming that twenty-six nation states prospered together having the same religion, civilization and economic system. This was a fallacious comparison. European nations had been for centuries been at war with one another despite a common religion. In fact, had religion united, the political geography of the world map would be very different today. Further, Europe prospered only when they integrated into a common market and eventually a common currency. In unity lies strength.
In essence, Rehmat Ali dished out a self-defeating contradictory pamphlet. While the name may have stuck as fantasies do, it had no takers as a concept. Jinnah himself apparently called it a “Walt Disney dreamland”. Pakistan did happen later but further imploded twenty-five years later due to the inherent contractions of the idea of partition.
Rehmat Ali, came back to Pakistan after it was founded and was dissatisfied with its form. He apparently referred to Jinnah as “Quisling-e-Azam” and was soon expelled from the country with his assets confiscated. He went back to England broken and penniless and died a few years later – his funeral expenses were born by a college in Cambridge.
History reminds us that ideas born in pamphlets can redraw maps, but when they rest on flawed logic, they also sow seeds of future implosion. A fantasy that remains a pipedream.
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Snakes in the Closet, Skeletons in the Cupboard
Two metaphors come to mind that capture the essence of the ongoing situation in our neighbourhood. The first is skeletons in the cupboard—remnants of what once was. These are visible, documented traces of a dark past that persistently link to the present. Hidden away, they represent secrets not meant to be revealed—unsolved crimes, suppressed truths, and buried guilt. Their presence haunts even when unacknowledged.
The second metaphor is even more sinister: snakes in the closet. Unlike skeletons, snakes are alive—deadly, cunning, and calculating. They are fed in silence, let loose in stealth, bite without warning, and then slither back—only to be nurtured again. They inspire fear and loathing for good reason. Associated with treachery and terror, they inflict harm indiscriminately—man, woman, or child—and leave behind a trail of trauma.
To have skeletons in one’s cupboard is shameful. But to harbour snakes in the closet is evil exemplified.Some States have, as a matter of policy, released these snakes—deploying them as proxies to terrorise and settle scores. Their appeal lies in plausible deniability and cost-effectiveness. A single strike creates widespread panic. If caught, connections can be disowned. Yet, these creatures are not loyal. Snakes, after all, do not differentiate between friend and foe—and often bite the hand that feeds them.
As for the skeletons—no secret stays buried forever. They rattle. They spill out. Investigations, intelligence leaks, and shifting geopolitics often shine a light on what was meant to be hidden: terror plots, protected perpetrators, and a legacy of state complicity.
So what should the world do with these snakes and skeletons? There are no easy answers. But a collective, consistent exposure of the skeletons is imperative. The world must remember: these threats are not confined by borders. What begins as someone else’s problem can quickly become our own.Until these serpents turn on their masters—as they inevitably do—it remains the duty of responsible nations to rattle the cupboard doors. To remind all that harbouring secrets and serpents leads only to destruction.
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Wedding Chimes and Dancing Hooves
“🎵Aaj mere yaar ki shaadi hai, aaj mere yaar ki shaadi hai” (Today is my friend’s wedding, today is my friend’s wedding)🎵” – timeless classic wedding song from a hindi movie of the 70s.
She was majestic, with a pure white coat that shone like a snow-capped mountain in the sun. Her long black hair contrasted with her pale skin. Her chestnut eyes sparkled with intelligence and kindness. She had a refined head, with a straight profile. She had a strong neck, a deep chest, and complementing curves ending with long slender legs. She felt the groom’s excitement and nervousness. She sensed his gratitude, as he stroked her neck and whispered in her ear. “ Poor chap, perhaps this is his first time,” Rani thought with a hint of mischievousness.
Rani was more than a mare; she was a symbol of honour and virility. She was the queen of the Baarat (wedding procession).
As the groom mounted her, Rani’s black tail swished about, like the peacock feathered Pankhaa (fans) of the great emperors. She had a pink muzzle and striped hooves. Her white fetlocks bore the weight of the colourful saddlecloth, embroidered with gold and silver threads, and a matching bridle, adorned with bells and tassels.The groom held the reins and waved to the crowd. It was his day and there was an elaborate ceremony as he got onto Rani. The musicians had lined up and had started playing popular musical numbers. The cymbals clanged and the trumpets blared. The music alternated between noise, but who really cared?
Rani’s ears twitched in the din of the crowd. She saw pretty ladies in their new dresses and handsome men in their suits, surrounding the groom. She smelled the alcohol that was discreetly passed around. She remembered the old days, when weddings were simpler and happier. When there was live music and dancing, not loudspeakers and showbiz. When there was respect for tradition and nature, not frivolity and extravagance. She knew the world was changing, and not for the better. She heard the word “pollution” in many conversations, but she wondered if anyone cared about the noise that hurt her ears. She felt the pressure of the event managers and the clients, who wanted to make the most of their money and time. They made the processions longer and fancier, but also more boring and meaningless. They replaced the rituals with entertainment, but also lost the essence of the culture. They wanted to be the best and the brightest, but also the loudest and the most wasteful. Rani was a wise mare, and she pitied them.
Rani’s life had been dull and routine in the “Mastaan Band.” She led a lonely life as she was the only horse around and had no one to talk to. She missed her parents, who had been her companions and fussed over her. The old master had treated them well, feeding and letting them rest in the green fields. However, they grew old and could not go to the weddings. One night, he took them away. She overheard the musicians saying that he had set them free, as they were too old and weak to work. But some doubted this, and whispered that he had sold them to the leather factories. She never knew the truth, and she never saw them again
How she envied Black Beauty, the celebrated horse who, in comparison, lived in a faraway land and epitomised freedom, adventure and love. Black Beauty, a gentle and kind horse, was born on a farm and enjoyed a comfortable life with a squire. Later he was sold to various owners, some good and some cruel and suffered from overwork, mistreatment, and accidents. He finally found a happy home and found fulfilment and contentment.
Her attention was drawn back to the present. Someone had started lighting firecrackers. “Swishh, boom, crackle,” there were Anaars (flowerpots), sparkles and dreadful bombs. As they were lightened up, each sent a shudder down her spine. Someone from behind joked of tying a string of crackers to her tail – thankfully, nobody took it seriously. She wondered at the foolhardy humans at their naivety. These could set up a fire or worse still injure or maim the guests who were dancing with gay abandon. The smoke could induce asthma which she heard was reaching epidemic proportions.. She discounted the damage being done to her lungs and nerves – afterall she was dispensable, just a means to the end.
Rani understood the significance of weddings for families. These were reunions for relatives and friends, often funded by years of savings. These were opportunities for business families to impress their stakeholders. These were also events where celebrities were hired for entertainment and status. Weddings were grand and sacred, with carefully planned rituals and delicious food. They also supported a whole industry of goods and services, from tents and decorations, travel and hospitality, to sweets and gifts. They created jobs and boosted the economy. That’s why the wealthy were urged to avoid foreign weddings and keep the money and employment at home. However for Rani, it was simple. It was a matter of survival. The hardship ensured that she had her meal and her place in the band. For her GDP was Grinding Daily Perseverance.
Could she bolt one night and run away ? But where would she run to and more importantly to whom ? As far she knew, there were no green meadows around where she could lead a happy and carefree life, munching grass and basking in the sun. She would be caught by her master, and if not by him, then by another who would either sell her off to another band or the tanners. And most importantly, could she run away ? Her master did not keep her out of sight and if at all he would let her loose, he would ensure that a hind and fore leg were tied diagonally so that she could not even canter, let alone gallop away. She thought her condition was similar to Boxer, the loyal and hardworking horse in “Animal Farm”, another celebrated book, who was eventually sent to the “knacker’s yard,” after he became useless. The book, which was a political allegory about revolution and power, was one of her favourites. She had no voice or choice in her fate. She was to be loyal and obedient even if she was miserable. She was a victim of the system and had no hope for a better future.
It had been an hour and they still were some distance from the destination. There were a few curious foreigners who had joined the festivities. Some were clicking pictures, others were shaking a leg along with the main family. One or two came up to her and sympathetically clicked their tongues. Would they do something ? Maybe not – after all they had come to witness and enjoy the “grand Indian wedding” rather than get into the philosophy of exploitation and animal rights. After all, how much better did they treat their own horses – using them for sport, leisure and gambling.
A food cart trudged along behind her. Guests danced and helped themselves to the delicious refreshments. Rani paid no attention to the Paneer tikkas and French fries being served. Her longing was for a bale of hay and a cask of fresh, clean water. She had heard tales of horses savouring delectable lumps of sugar and juicy carrots. But Rani had never tasted such delicacies. In fact she could not remember the last time she had a full meal. Without proper exercise, a full meal would mean more weight – who would like to ride on a fat horse on their wedding ! So half starved, Rani could only allow herself the luxury of what might have been !
Half-starved, she had been many times. This was much better than being kicked and beaten. As a foal, she had been “trained” to withstand loud noises, bright flashes of light, and heavy loads. She quivered, remembering those training sessions. Made to stand her ground, firecrackers would be set off near her. She would see the fire, hear the loud noise, and smell the acrid smoke thereafter. Sometimes a spark or two would nonchalantly brush against her, stinging her hide. Her senses eventually dulled to endure the deadliest of rockets and bombs. Then came the loud volume songs—music that otherwise would have been balm to the soul—blared from loudspeakers, giving her splitting headaches. The “light and sound” shows soon tamed her into submission. An abject surrender to her master. Sometimes her master’s neighbours would mildly protest. To this, he would say, “ghoda ghas se dosti kar lega, to khaega kya”— if the horse befriends the grass—what will it eat? How grotesquely ironic, she pondered.
Rani sensed the destination drawing near. The music intensified, and the dance moves quickened. Uncles and aunties, once on the sidelines, now joined in, gyrating to the beats. Younger ones pirouetted on pencil heels to popular movie songs. In another time, another place, Rani might have lifted a hoof or two.
Once, she happened to glimpse her master’s smartphone which was ubiquitous these days – as common as tea stalls on every street corner. Onscreen horses pranced in a distant central Asian country, galloping across grasslands, manes swaying in the wind. A herd, perhaps their family, roamed together—munching, drinking from crystal-clear streams. Rani watched in fascination. Until then she did not know that horses could be free, except in stories. These were called wild horses. But Rani wondered: “who was really wild – these beautiful horses living their freedom or the ones who called them so?”
The procession was almost at the bride’s place. There would be rituals, merriment, food and photography the entire night. Vows would be taken around the sacred fire – the symbol of purity and the powerful medium to communicate to the Gods in heaven. These were powerful traditions dating back to the holy Vedas and held sacrosanct ever since. She knew that the country was proud of its culture and history and horses played a significant part down memory lane. Lord Krishna’s chariot was drawn by horses in the Mahabharata while the Ashwamedha yagya with horses was how kings expanded their territories, power and prestige. Towns and memorials had been built in memory of powerful loyal horses. Alexander from Macedonia, after restoring King Porus to his throne, founded a city in memory of his beloved horse which died in battle. Chetak entered folklore after giving up his life while saving Rana Pratap after the battle of Haldighati. A memorial commemorates his extraordinary feat. Chetak also became a household name for the motorised two wheeler which along with cars, ironically, replaced horses as a medium of transport and relegated them to the fringes of the economy.
Rani sometimes met horses at the wholesalers market -dragging twice the loads that they usually would. Their condition was much worse than hers. She was weighed down by only a groom and the ornamented saddle while they were beasts of burden along with donkeys and mules.
They reached their destination. One final round of dance and music ensued, reaching a feverish pitch with ear-splitting trumpets and drums. Bank notes were thrown in the air, a powerful omen to ward off evil spirits. Greedily gathered by the members of “Mastaan Band,” the money would fund another night of sozzled merriment once they got back to base. The groom, grinning from ear to ear, was carefully dismounted. The dancing resumed – presumably all the way to the altar. A night to remember for years to come through silver, ruby, gold and diamond anniversaries. Rani, doing a double shift tonight was led away to another venue. She cast one last glance at the festivities. With a heavy heart, she resigned herself to another night of serving as a mere spectacle in someone else’s celebration.
As she steeled herself to an encore, she remembered another popular hindi movie song “ 🎵Raja ki aayegi baraat, rangili hogi raat, magan mein nachungi – (The groom’s wedding procession will come, it will be a colourful night, I will dance in joy !🎵”
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Bindusara’s dilemma
Bindusara, Bindusara, the son of a great king,
Bindusara, Bindusara, the father of a greater king;
Bindusara, Bindusara, a ruler of glory and might,
Bindusara, Bindusara, preserver in his own right.From his palace at Patliputra, Bindusara gazed at the yore. The vast river Ganga flowed at a sluggish pace. It was the lean season, so the channels were narrow, interspaced with vast sand formations. Farmers were planting vegetables taking advantage of the fertile soil. They would then sell the produce, providing nourishment to his subjects and contributing to the growth of his glorious empire.
The summers would soon peak and then it would be time for torrential downpours. This would be followed by winter and another new cycle of seasons. He would grow one year older- adding another year of glory and fame. Yet, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Bindusara felt the weight of his inheritance.
Glory and Fame ! Bindusara inherited a vast empire from his father Chandra Gupta Maurya who was the founder of the Mauryan Dynasty. Chandra Gupta Maurya had overthrown the powerful Nandas to establish his kingdom at Pataliputra. He went on to defeat Seleucus, the Greek viceroy of Alexander, and his empire soon stretched from Bengal in the east to the Hindu Kush in the north west. He was supported by Chanakya, his advisor, mentor and friend, whose statecraft ensured rule of law, diplomacy and an efficient administration. The Kingdom was prosperous and the people happy. Even in death, Chandra Gupta attained glory. Following Bradabahu, the great Jain ascetic, he converted to Jainism, went south, attaining immortality by fasting to death.
Bindusara knew that his father had worked hard to earn his stature. With no lineage like Ajatshatru or Dhana Nanda, Chandra Gupta had risen from an impoverished family, and armed with bravery, skill and intelligence, had worked his way right to the very top. Chandra Gupta Maurya was a Creator and gave his son, Bindusara, a vast empire as an inheritance to govern.
His father had etched his name into the hall of immortality, taking risks, doing things not done before and even seeking death in a most noble way. In contrast, Bindusara’s had none of those exciting chapters. Was it necessary to take the unbeaten path to enter the hallowed portals of fame? Or could he also be praised for the paths not taken, the risks not endured.
His reign had been steady and quiet, but whispers of discontent began to reach his ears. A young rebel leader, claiming descent from the Nandas, had ignited a rebellion in the west. His court urged swift and ruthless action, as his great father would have done.
Fellow kings jeered at him. They whispered around that he was nothing like his father who built the vast empire from scratch. He suspected that many of his ministers felt the same. That was one of the reasons why he relieved the old Chanakya from his responsibilities and asked him to proceed on pilgrimage. He always suspected that Chanakya did not have the same respect for him as he had for his father.
Bindusara felt guilty. Obviously he had none of the achievements of his father to gloat and no exciting stories to tell. In the streets of Patliputra, where he often went out in disguise, he heard his father’s exploits, which were now folklore. In contrast, he scarcely heard praises about himself. Once he overheard his subjects’ yearning for a ruler with the vigour and valour of his father. “Our King does not forge his own path,” one said, “he walks the road laid before him. “This is what happens when one is born in luxury, there is no zeal, no drive, no ambition,” muttered the other in agreement.
And this was the problem. Or was it? No prince would have had it better. Bindusara did not have to fight poverty, forge alliances, make promises and go for conquests to establish an empire. This was all done by his father, who went through this exhausting grind. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth – quite literally – did he not have lick honey from one, in his “Annaprasan” ceremony.
His father was larger than life who rose like a phoenix from the ashes to accomplish great things. In contrast, he was already on a golden pedestal with rivers of aplenty flowing around. Was it his fault that he was born in royalty? Was it his fault that he had no rags to riches story to enthuse the rabble? He had the best of education, learnt how to fight and engaged in deep conversations with the wise men of his court. His administration was firm and efficient and its borders were secure. His people were happy or so he thought. And yet this rebellion?
How he wished for wise and sane counsel. The courtiers around would fawn over him, each currying for a favour – each having their own personal axes to grind. They were all “Yes men” who were like opium – giving instant gratification while befuddling his brain. He asked his friend, the Macedon king Antiochus-I for sweet wine, dried figs and a sophist. He got the excellent wine and figs but a sophist was not sent – apparently forbidden under Greek law.
He was “Bindusara” which meant “strength of a drop”, referring to the drop of poison which touched his head when he was born. He not only survived but also flourished. The Greeks called him Amitrochates – derived from his Sanskrit name “Amitraghata”, slayer of enemies. Was he expected to live and die by these epithets ? Should he not gather his army, crush the rebellion? He could do one better than his father and conquer the unconquered lands. The south lay out of his grasp as did the troublesome Kalinga due east. Should he add these to his great kingdom and etch his name alongside his father?
Or he could be the “Preserver”. Lord Vishnu and his ten avatars were as much revered as the “Creator” Lord Brahma and the “Destroyer” Lord Shiva. He could preserve what had been bestowed upon him and pass on the legacy to his heirs.
Tormented by the words on the street, the whispers in the court, the internal tumult, and driven by a desire to prove his worth, Bindusara resolved to face the rebellion with understanding. He embarked on a secretive journey to the rebellious region, dressed as a common traveller.
Along the way, Bindusara saw the plight of his people: the harsh taxes and the brutal enforcement of laws that spurred the rebellion. In a dusty tavern, he met with the rebel, a charismatic young man whose grievances echoed those of his followers. They spoke at length and spent considerable time together.
Amongst other things, some of his words struck deep. “Your subjects toil hard from morning to night for two square meals a day, ” the rebel said. “They marry and have children who carry on the same drudgery that would be repeated generation after generation. Leadership, conquests and glory are as foreign to them as the Greeks to India. Their expectations of their king are limited to remain secure and earn their living peacefully. But the wars, the taxes which they entail, the loss of life and crops, not to mention the harsh punishments, all add to their misery”. For the first time, Bindusara viewed his empire through the eyes of those it had failed.
Returning to Patliputra, Bindusara called his advisors together. “We will not crush this rebellion with force,” he declared. “We will address the root of this discontent. We will ensure fair treatment for all. We need not innovate or enforce with impunity but improve the efficiency of our administration.”
His decision shocked the court but marked the beginning of a new approach. The gentle reforms had its desired effect. Nothing spectacular. Just better implementation with an ear to the ground. The rebellion dissolved as quickly as it had formed. The kingdom was peaceful once again. He liked the term which was now associated with his rule – “enlightened despotism”.
Bindusara further proclaimed that he would not embark on any new major conquests. His father had spent much of his life conquering and building his great empire. This left him with little time for his family. He did not understand what further purpose he would gain by mounting the horse of ambition and chasing unattained glory. Bindusara resolved to devote time to his family. His family of subjects and his family at home. His success would be in balancing both…..
Years later, Bindusara walked the same palace balconies. The kingdom was stable and peace prevailed. There were occasional revolts which had to be put down with force, but only as a last option. Generally, gentle counsel prevailed. Bindusara pondered again. Would he be remembered in the annals of history and in what manner? As the son of his father, or as the father of his son? Or would he be remembered as Bindusara, the king who not only preserved what was bestowed upon him but flourished. He was no longer just the heir to Chandra Gupta’s empire; he was Bindusara, the ruler who bridged the old with the new. He hoped to pass down not just an empire, but a legacy of compassion and wisdom.
Epilogue
Bindusara rule spanned more than two decades. Apart from his father great Chandra Gupta Maurya and his illustrious son – Ashoka the Great, no other Mauryan king reigned for as long as he did, nor are the others remembered as were these three spectacular kings. While Chandra Gupta Maurya conquered and Ashoka the Great spread “Dhamma”, it was Bindusara who was the bridge between the two, who preserved and nourished the stage, given to him, enabling his son to attain world fame. And that is how he is remembered, for being Bindusara !
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Dr. M.S. Swaminathan – An obituary
Can leaders inspire ?
In 2013, Late Dr. MS Swaminathan came to Myanmar for an official visit. Like most in India, I too had read about the “Green Man ” who transformed India from being food deficient to a nation producing surplus to feed its population and beyond. I assumed it would be another tick-the-box meeting with a dignitary.Already an Octogenarian, I thought maybe Dr. Swaminathan was a tad too old to undertake a trip overseas with a grueling one day itinerary which included numerous courtesy call ons including to the then President and Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. It also included a review of our agriculture projects being implemented under our Development Cooperation partnership and a lecture at Yezin University. I admit, I was not quite sure if he would be able to justify the itinerary drawn up for him.
I was told that Dr. Swaminathan would like to meet us early in the morning – at six to be precise. He was a towering personality with a soft voice. Extremely courteous, he went over the schedule for the day. We then set out for our meetings after a quick breakfast.
The day progressed in a whirlwind. We went to the project sites, where he meticulously reviewed their progress. Knowing that I was not an agricultural specialist (I am a medical graduate), he explained to me the larger picture and the vision he had for the projects which he hoped would help to build capacity in the Myanmar agricultural sector.
Then we went to call on the then Myanmar President U Thein Sein. The President complimented Dr Swaminathan for his energy disproportionate to his age and they both instantly struck a chord. With Daw Suu Kyi, Dr. Swaminathan patiently answered her doubts regarding genetically modified crops and carried the conversation with such ease as if he were a seasoned diplomat. Dr. Swaminathan’s reputation after all was not confined to the shores of India.
Shri M.S Swaminathan and Daw Aung San Suu Kyi at Nay Pyi Taw , February 2013 © We then headed to the University where Dr. Swaminathan addressed a packed auditorium. His speech ended with a rapturous applause which proved that if spoken with clarity, passion and knowledge, language is no constraint. Such was his conviction on the importance of agriculture in an economy, that for a moment, I wondered if I made a wrong choice of graduating as a doctor instead of taking up agricultural science. A day well spent, he finally had a lengthy discussion with us before he retired for the night
That was my only meeting with the Great Man or rather G.O.A.T (Greatest Of All Time) in today’s parlance. I still remember the sparkle in his eyes, the energy in his steps and passion in his words. Coupled with his humbleness, he left an everlasting impression. His wisdom was unparalleled as was his vision and dedication to the country. To quote Mark Antony from the play Julius Caesar “And say to all the world, THIS WAS A MAN!”
Leaders can inspire !(An edited version was published in the Times of India, Lucknow edition, 19th October 2023)
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The enigma called Dudhnath Tewary
Whatever it takes to survive !
(The following story is ‘inspired’ from the real life of Shri Dudhnath Tewary.)
I
Dudhnath tossed about restlessly as he tried to get some sleep. His companions, meanwhile, took turns to keep watch. For the past few days (and nights) it had been an endless cycle of running, hiding in villages and again running. The British reinforcements were hot in pursuit for they were mutineers in the eyes of the East India Company Law. They had rebelled and deserted their posts in the Jhelum rebellion of the 14th regiment of the Native Infantry.
The rebellion, later celebrated as the 1857 War of Independence had begun on a high note. They had heard about the courage of Mangal Pandey’s initiative, and they were certain that their castes were being defiled. “Were not the British providing them with cartridges greased in animal fat – to be bitten before loading ?” Dudhnath and his companions had hoped that their regiment would rebel en masse and they would join the other soldiers in their march to Delhi. It had been exactly one hundred years since Plassey and the “shatak” (century) was a good omen that Indians would be masters of Hindustan once again.
As it happened elsewhere too, there were rats who connived with their colonial masters for scraps. Their uprising was quelled in a few days. Most were captured and hanged. Dudhnath and his companions had no choice but to flee and try and make it to either Kanpur or Lucknow which were becoming nerve centres in the War for Independence being waged.
Troops of the 14th Regiment of Bengal Native Infantry However, fate willed otherwise. He had dozed off and so had his companions. He was awakened by the pointed poke of a bayonet and kicks to his behind. As he opened his eyes, he saw dozens of soldiers around him and his companions – rifles aimed and ready to shoot. For him, the War was over even before it begun!
II
The next few weeks were a nightmare. They were tortured, physically and mentally. He saw many of his companions being brutally hanged in public places. For some reason unknown to him (as he did not understand a word spoken at the summary military trail) he was not hanged but given a sentence called “transportation for life”. A native soldier, on the right side of the Company, gleefully explained it to him quite succinctly – ” Off you go to a faraway island which the British are using as a prison. It is scarcely populated; the weather is hot and humid and there are cannibals in the jungles waiting for treats like you from the mainland. And you will definitely lose your caste as you cross the Bay of Bengal. The best part is, that this will be for life. There is no coming back. Enjoy the rest of your miserable existence in the Godforsaken land. The only redemption is that probably you will not suffer long enough – tribals, animals, weather and the prison will take you out very soon”. Dudhnath, shuddered at the thought. Was this the price to pay for fighting for his own country?
III
Dudhnath was sent to Karachi and finally after six months since he was first captured, he was shoved onto the ship Emperor Roman. Dudhnath, a poor sepoy, was ignorant of world history to realise the irony – a ship named after an empire which had dominated Britain itself. Roman Emperor set sail from Karachi to the unknown beyond….
Image credit – The Andaman Islands – Illustrated News 1858 IV
He reached the Andamans after an agonising journey in iron fetters. The sea crossing had been horrendous. He lost his caste and vowed a Mahamritunjaya Yagya (sacred religious ceremony) when he would go back home. Yes, he would go home one day he mused. The black waters of the Bengal Bay would not be his death. No amount of “Kalaa Paani” would stop him from going back. He was a survivor.
Along with him were other convicts, most of them warriors like himself. He was given a number “276” at Ross Island. Life was oppressive as promised. Insects buzzing around, fresh water was scarce -the only source being rainwater stored. They had to do manual labour – which included cutting tall trees whose wood was so hard, that their axes often broke. Within a week, he was fed up. He started conversing with other convicts whenever he got a chance and soon found out that an escape was being planned. He immediately agreed. They surmised that that the land which they could see beyond the island was Burma (present day Myanmar) and the local raja would support them in their bid to go back to India. After all Burma had suffered two defeats in 1826 and 1852 at the hands of the British and would still be smarting from those blows to their sovereignty and prestige.
Dudhnath ignorance of geography- Burma was not next door ! Ninety odd convicts were soon onboard. They secretly made rafts using felled trees and bamboo. A sympathetic Indian guard had a whiff of the impending plan but kept quiet. After a few days, the rafts were ready and hidden at the shore. When the sun was down, and the guards were lax, they silently and stealthily made it to the shore in batches. They took with them pots of drinking water, rice and some implements for protection and travel. They pulled out the rafts on to the channel and started rowing quietly hoping to reach the ‘mainland’ a few kilometres away in quick time. They did that, barring a few mishaps including a raft capsizing and a convict being pulled into the water by a huge fish. Though they did lose a considerable portion of their rations with the raft, they were more relieved than exhausted as they pulled up onto the beach and hid in the undergrowth beyond. A few were asked to keep watch while the rest dozed off happily – after all they had won their freedom.
V
Dudhnath woke up to the sounds of pleasant chirping birds and irritating mosquitoes. The sun was up and fierce. The azure blue transparent sea offered little solace. They quickly drank some water from their rations and decided to head inland towards Burma. The were greeted by dense forests with trees as tall as their gaze could go. Sunlight scarcely peered through, and the ground was an undulating landscape of roots, shrubs, vines and ferns. They trooped northwards, but soon lost sense of direction or time. After two days of painstaking progress, they heard the sound of humans. It could either be the Islanders, whose aggression and hostility were folklore, or the British who may have sent a capture party to take them back. Thankfully it was neither. While they got ready with their axes and knives, they were confronted by – another batch of escapees, about forty in all. They hugged each other and soon found out that they had escaped the Viper and Chatham Islands and were also on their way to Burma. With renewed enthusiasm, the hundred and three dozen odd band of fighters, set off again in their flight to freedom.
The convicts escaped from Viper, Chatham and Ross Islands (as they were known as in those times) VI
Duthnath knew something was wrong. They had been walking for two weeks and Burma was still not in sight. The jungle did not thin out and the same formidable trees, irritating insects and cacophony of birds persisted. Wherever they went, they were confronted by sea, and they soon realised that they were on a large Island rather than any mainland. They ran out of whatever rice they had, and the pots of water were soon empty. There was no rain and a few who drank from the sea retched and were left to die. They could not carry the sick to hinder their progress. A few climbed the tall trees and used the axes to obtain water stored in the branches and climbers. Some water was also obtained from rivulets on the sides of the hills. But they were soon hungry and thirsty, and their heat was adding woe to their worries. They also found a few huts which they believed to be of islanders but thankfully there were no “savages” in sight.
However, luck soon ran out and as they were walking through the jungle, they were confronted by almost an equal number of native islanders. All armed to teeth with bows and arrows. Resistance was useless and so they prostrated themselves in an act of clemency as word of the tongue was useless. The natives, however, maybe captives of their past experiences, attacked the escapees from all sides. It was as if orders had been issued to leave no quarter.
Dudhnath was hit thrice, in his shoulder, elbow and around his eyebrow. He somehow managed to flee the carnage and as he dashed through the undergrowth, he heard the cries of his fellows as they were mercilessly slaughtered. After running for ten minutes, he was joined by two other escapees. Quite sure, that they were not being followed, they sat down to recess their hopeless situation. Burma seemed as far as India now, and going back to Ross Island would mean a certain hanging by the noose. The Islanders had shown their intent and so another confrontation with them would also mean death. So, they decided to go the shore, build a raft and hope to be picked up by a ship from a friendly country be it Burma or Siam (Thailand). Or maybe an Indian princely state vessel, not under the East India Company flag, could pick them up if they were lucky. If nothing else, they would scourge the numerous islands and try to settle on one where there were fewer hostile tribes or were uninhabited.
So, the three of them, trudged along a saltwater creek which led them to the shore. And there, as if fate was still not done playing mischief, they stumbled headlong into a group of islanders who were drawing up their canoes after a day’s hard work at sea.
VII
Dudhnath gathered his breath as he looked around. The past fifteen minutes had been horrendous. They tried to flee but were cut off by the group which numbered up to fifty souls. The hapless three prostrated with folding hands and pleaded for their lives, but his two companions were killed from arrows straight to the heart. Dudhnath spied a hole under a fallen trunk a few meters away and dived headlong after breaking out from cordon. Now in this hole, he could sense the group waiting for his next move – which was none. Dudhnath had no options and death was now a certainty. He wished he was killed on the battlefield rather being subjugated to the ignominy of being killed by a non-white. He gingerly brought out a foot, but a flurry of arrows came through, one scratching him in his thigh. He then came out headlong, with his hands folded in supplication, with an endearing look at the group. He closed his eyes and muttered the Gayatri Mantra, remembering his parents as he waited for the arrow to pierce his heart. However, much to his surprise, no fatal blow came. Dozens of arms dragged him out and carried him off to their boats. Dudhnath had survived again, for now….
Photographic Representation of the Tribes of the Andamans VIII
Dudhnath, not only survived that day, but thrived as days turned to months. He assumed that he had been accepted in the tribe as he was neither killed or confined. He was shorn of his clothes and hair shaved from his head. He went around from island to island along with the group, who led a nomadic existence, camping at one site not for a prolonged stretch of time. He ate the same food as them (no, they were not cannibals) and slept in the same clearings. He was taken on hunts though he was not allowed to bear any arms. They would make forays into the jungle but always come back to the seashore at sunset. He picked up a word of two of their language and as days went by, his fears started to dissipate. His wounds soon healed, helped by the pastes applied by the tribals, made from roots and herbs. He regained his strength. He was amazed to see the agility of the Islanders, their love for family values and their organisational skills. Life was not luxurious but was comfortable as it could be in the surroundings. It was not all death and illness as he had often heard in India. These were human beings, just like any other race, proud of their kin and their surroundings. However, they were extremely protective about their habitat which explained their hostility to external interferences. One day an elder, called him out and pointed his daughter towards him. A clearing was made in the center of their current camp, and he was made to sit with her. He had seen this before and knew he was being married to the elder’s daughter called Leepa. They sat quietly for a few hours as was the custom. They still did not trust him, as there were no bows or arrows in the middle as was the norm for the ceremony. By evening, he supposed that Leepa and he were husband and wife.
IX
It had been many months since Dudhnath had escaped and had been captured by the Islanders. Throughout the year, he visited many islands along with his newfound kinsfolk. He was married five times, each ceremony taking place exactly the way it was performed the first time. Still no bows and arrows! He grew accustomed to the life he was leading but he knew that this was not home. He was still a prisoner of the islands. The fact that there were no chains, and the masters were not white, brought him little solace. He yearned for his village, his farm with large swathe of paddy swaying in the wind, and most of all, home cooked food prepared in ghee by his mother. The familial bliss attained in the last one year could not overcome the pangs of separation from home. This was not home away from home. But what could he do? He could not escape as he had still not sense of geography, nor was he willing to risk his life with a confrontation with another group who may not be as merciful as this one. Dudhnath did not share his thoughts with anyone. The language barriers made it quite impossible to communicate the simplest of things, and anyways they would not understand what he felt. Biding his time, Dudhnath continued to go about his life in the jungle.
X
Dudhnath could see the mighty Ganga in the distance. His friends were jumping into the water to escape the pre-monsoon heat. He could smell the whiff of milky tea and piping hot samosas. He extended his arm to grab one, but something was wrong. The landscape rapidly turned green and the gastronomic whiffs faded away. He woke with a start to find that his “wife” was gently shaking him. She motioned him to get ready. So much for his samosas, he cursed. A few minutes more, and he would have eaten one too, even if was in a dream. Soon he joined the rest but this time he observed that a few other groups had gathered and there was an unusual excitement in the air. The armoury which included bows, arrows, crude axes and spears were also more than would have been required for a daily hunt and seemed that preparations were on for a long time. Maybe they were planned an inter-island raid he speculated.
He went with the menfolk and got onto the boats. It was still quite dark, and the sun had still not risen from the sea. But something was wrong, instead of going to the other islands they were heading in the direction from where it all began – they were going towards Port Blair and Ross Island. And soon there were canoes from all sides, and they were now numbering a thousand, not a few hundreds. Dudhnath had picked a bit of the local dialect in his yearlong sojourn. He soon realised he was part of an attack party, and the target were the British. As they neared Port Blair, Dudhnath’s gut churned. Yet another battle, where death would again be lurking around the corner. He relished the prospect of killing a few colonialists, but what if he was killed? And even if he did survive, he would be back to the jungle, eking out a life in the humid jungle, waiting for the next battle. He had seen the viscousness of the British, and he knew that they ultimately would prevail over the Island. What if he was captured, during the battle, then death as a fugitive convict was even more certain. Dudhnath, the survivor, mulled over his options and gradually a sketchy plan began to take shape. It was risky, but he was convinced that this was for the best, whatever the consequences.
XI
The Islanders silently converged near Port Blair. They were seething for revenge against the Whites and their Brown lackeys who had been cutting down their beautiful habitat. The land had been theirs, for times immemorial. They had resisted the Malay pirates centuries earlier and also the curious savage explorers who had taken some of their kin in chains. More than seven decades ago, they had successfully ensured that the first white settlement did not take permanence and so this time too, they would prevail. They had taken in this brown native, despite pleas from older folk to show no mercy. However he looked harmless and had integrated into their tribe while they still kept a close watch on him. ” Never trust the outside man” had been the mantra that had been passed on through generations. They brought him along for the attack, as they did not want to leave him behind with the women. They all thought him of a dull pitiable soul, so one more to the party did not make much of a difference.
As they neared the barracks, Dudhnath jumped into the water and went beneath the surface. It was dark enough and thus the Islanders on the boat couldn’t pinpoint his location. Still, he remained submerged and swam away from the boats with all the strength he could muster. An occasional arrow came zipping in for a minute after he jumped, but then there was silence. Thankfully the fishes or the crocodiles must be sleeping, and he did not meet a watery grave. After twenty minutes, he reached the shore and ran to the Office of Mr. Walker, the superintendent. He knew he may be running to his death, but he ran on and on…
Ross Island XII
Superintendent Walker was grumpy. His dinner had been more like the gruel offered to Oliver Twist. Life in the Andamans had taken a toll on him. Away from what he called civilisation, it had been an endless rigmarole of disciplining convicts, manning his disgruntled soldiers and thwarting the Islanders who were resisting attempts of colonisation. He had just finished his morning tea when an unkempt man came running to his office hotly pursued by two guards. The person who tumbled in looked like a cross between a Hindustani and an Islander. He was in the elements of nature with barely a few scraps of barks and leaves on him, his head was shaved, and his body had tattoos, the tell-tale of the tribes. The guards apprehended the person and roughly searched him for arms, but he was clean. Walker had seen this guy somewhere but couldn’t place him immediately. The usual course of action would have been instant arrest and interrogation later, but the terror in the eyes of the person and his pleadings made Walker curious. Motioning to his guards to pause, he asked the fellow to slow down his blabbering and make sense. For the next half hour, Walker’s eyes widened in astonishment as Dudhnath recounted his extraordinary story.
XIII
The confrontation with the Islanders that day would come to be known as the Battle of Aberdeen. Dudhnath’s timely warning enabled the colonists to divert and concentrate crucial resources and thwarted the biggest challenge yet so far to their authority. The exploration, expansion and exploitation of the Islands continued unabashedly in the years to come, and the Islanders were not able to mount an attack of this scale ever again. The Administration recommended an unprecedented pardon to Dudhnath, who otherwise would have gone to the gallows as a recaptured convict. Delhi, in order to demonstrate the benevolence of Imperial rule, made an exception and granted the “Hero of Aberdeen” his freedom. Dudhnath’s exploits became a topic of dinner parties from Lucknow to London and a subject of many weeklies and journals. He returned to his village, a legend. He had thrice survived – the rebellion, the Islanders and finally the gallows and thus was thrice reborn. An elaborate religious ceremony regained him his caste too. He regaled the young and old with his “heroic stories” on the banks of the river Ganga, while munching his hot samosas along with milky sugary tea. The Administration kept an eye on him for some time but realised that he was past his prime and had his life’s worth of excitement. Though they did occasionally call him for cross referencing the elaborate records that they were keeping on everything – including the Andamans.
Battle of Aberdeen – photo courtesy Digital repository Amrit Mohotsav (https://amritmahotsav.nic.in/district-reopsitory-detail.htm?2346) XIV
Dudhnath was summoned once more, but this time requested (more like a direction) to go to Andaman to help the local administration in some anthropological/scientific mission. His time with the Islanders would provide invaluable information to the scientific team stationed there. He travelled across the Bay of Bengal once again, this time without fetters and in relative comfort. As the islands loomed before him in the horizon, he had a feeling of dread which he could not explain. Port Blair was expanding, and the British were firmly in control. He was taken to a group of Islanders who were being “civilised”, and he recognised a few women from the group with whom he had stayed during his sojourn. He learnt that Leepa had given birth to his child. Leepa was there too, she did not say anything, just came to him and spat in his face. The disgust on the faces of the Islanders made him shudder. Obviously, thereafter there was no further conversation with the group. Dudhnath the survivor, quietly walked away. The rest of his trip was uneventful, and with mixed feelings, he returned home.
XV
The churning within, kept Dudhnath awake for many nights. His happiness of surviving the ordeal was now laced with pangs of guilt. As he grew older, his stories were soon forgotten, consigned to the appendices of history. India would have much bigger things to ponder – the national movement, mass mobilisation by Gandhiji, revolutionaries, and eventually partition and independence. Dudhnath did not have the luxury of foresight but knew that one day the Islands along with Hindustan would be free. He fervently prayed that history would not judge him harshly. He hoped that free Hindustan would take steps to preserve the indigenous people and their habitat. That would be his atonement. That would be his deliverance.
An AI impression of Dudhnath Tiwari based on available descriptions
The enigma called Dudhnath Tewary by Dr Neil Jain is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. -
Pass the Salt please…
Published in the Times of India Lucknow Edition (May 22, 2022)
The popular television series “Versailles”, which is streaming on Netflix, deals with the life of the Sun King Louis XIV and the intrigue of court politics during his reign. An interesting side subject which is touched upon, is the imposition of salt tax known as gabelle in French. The king increased the salt tax to account for the shortfall in revenue. Colbert, the finance minister, remonstrated, reminding the King that it was the tenth increase in so many years. Protests later erupt and eventually a revolution costs the later Louis XVI his crown and his life.
Gabelle – salt tax Salt is a curious commodity, ubiquitous and yet ever so precious. A simple compound made up of two elements Sodium and Chlorine in equal measure, it is a sine qua non for humans and has been used as a preservative since times immemorial. It dissolves in water easily, leaving no trace and while having the ability to corrode and destroy infinitely stronger compounds like metals. Both deficiency and excess consumption lead to life threatening conditions and along with sugar, its regulation is a subject of dinner conversations, medical conferences and food safety regulation standards.
While spices for flavour and preservation spurred Europeans to navigate oceans and “discover” new lands, the humble salt was also used to control trade and outcomes of wars. Often kingdoms such as in medieval Poland and cities across Europe rose and fell depending on the availability and ability to mine and sell salt. It was often a war strategy used to starve the enemy by denying access to salt and thus causing their food supplies to turn stale and foul.
Salt riots in 1648 Tax on salt has enriched and unsettled rulers. Russia had it and so did France as mentioned above. In India, the tax treatise Arthashastra written by Chanakya mentions a special officer designated to collect tax on salt. The Mughals also imposed salt tax in Bengal where it was mainly produced. Following the battle of Plassey, the British used to derive revenue from the land producing salt and also imposed duties on its transit. After the battle of Buxar, production and sale of salt was made the monopoly of the East India Company (apart from tobacco and betel nuts). At one point, salt contributed to around ten percent of the total revenue collected by the British ! Tax on salt was hated and much before the famous Dandi March by Gandhi ji, nationalists had advocated modifications and repeal of the salt tax. The first session of the Indian National Congress had it in their agenda, while Dadabhai Naroji gave an impassioned speech in the House of Commons against it. Gandhiji electrified the country with his famous March and was a contributing factor to eventual Independence. It was abolished, paradoxically, by Liaquat Ali Khan, the Finance Minister of the interim Government in 1946 (and later on Prime Minister of Pakistan). Curiously salt tax remained a cess (tax for a specific purpose) from 1953 for maintaining the salt production and distribution infrastructure until it was finally abolished in 2016.
West, Benjamin; Shah ‘Alam, Mughal Emperor (1759-1806), Conveying the Grant of the Diwani to Lord Clive, August 1765; British Library; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/shah-alam-mughal-emperor-17591806-conveying-the-grant-of-the-diwani-to-lord-clive-august-1765-191206 Why the fascination to monopolise and tax salt? Being a universal and indispensable ingredient, tax on salt ensured uniformity, uniformity and certainty in collection of revenue. Further it is a consumption tax wherein the tax is on consumption and included in the cost of the good. This is called sales tax, value added tax, goods and services tax etc. depending upon which country you reside in and the modality of levy. Indirect taxes have the benefit of inclusion within the price of a good or service and thus does not affect the individual directly. That’s why governments find it convenient to rely on indirect taxes as a source of revenue. The recent record monthly GST collections in India have shown the government’s intent to reap the benefits of GST reforms, better compliance and good enforcement by the officers administering Indirect taxes. However increased collections, while reflecting increased consumer demand and economic revival, also indicates rising inflation which is validated by wholesale and retail inflation statistics. Thus, indirect taxes adversely affect the consumer due to its inflationary pressure on price of goods and services. Further, indirect taxes are regressive, which means that they hurt the lower end of society much more than the upper echelons. Salt is a classic case, consumed by everyone in more or less the same quantities, but any tax on it will pinch the pocket of a less earning household more than anyone else. No wonder, revolutions have occurred on the issue of humble salt and increased taxes affecting the poor are currently causing economic and political upheavals in our neighbourhood.
So while indirect taxes are necessary for ensuring wide outreach as it is imposed on everyone, has certainty in collection as it is included in the price of commodity and also has a social objective to dissuade consumption of ‘sin’ products like alcohol and cigarettes; for developing economies, it is necessary to have a thrust on direct tax collections which are progressive, which means a person contributes according to his income levels and not his consumption pattern. This has the effect of reducing inequalities in society. Most developed nations have collections from direct taxes exceeding indirect taxes while ironically developing countries which need to reduce inequality in society still rely more on indirect taxes.
The recent direct tax reforms in India, have signaled the Government’s intent in making direct tax administration more transparent with the help of technology and reducing physical interface. Better enforcement based on modern data analytics and pinpoint intelligence apart from inter-agency coordination will help to widen and deepen the tax base. Incentivising compliant taxpayers through cashbacks and loyalty points will help to improve engagement with taxpayers who may like to see “tax” as their contribution to the nation and society be it for maintaining our armed forces or enjoying subsidised public goods and services e.g., free COVID-19 vaccines at government hospitals. However, the government may also like to focus on the expenditure side of the ledger account to ensure that each rupee collected from a taxpayer is made to count.
Thus, while we may and should rejoice at improved GST collections, improved “contributions” through direct collections will help to generate revenue needed for growth and development. This will require renewed focus on direct taxation with meaningful patriotism conveyed through true disclosures and contribution. Meanwhile enjoy your salt, but do not rely too much on it!
Direct taxes as a contribution for nation building -
Dugong dugon
Thousands of kilometers from the “mainland” are the emerald isles of the Andaman and Nicobar. This archipelago of around 500 islands is where “kaal” (time) used to stop and the “paani” (waters) were considered as the gateway to Hell known as kalapaani.
From being a penal colony, the Islands, enveloped by the enticing azure blue Andaman Sea, with all its brilliant shades, have transformed into a travelers’ paradise!
The Andaman and Nicobar Islands are located on the eastern fringe of the Bay of Bengal, with the Andaman Sea separating it from Southeast Asia. A cursory glance at a map will depict the Islands as part of a discontinuous volcanic chain starting from Cape Negrais and Coco Islands (Myanmar) in the North, through the Andamans, down to the Nicobar Islands with the southernmost point of India separating it from Aceh (Indonesia) by the Six Degree Channel. During the drifting of land masses in prehistoric times, the Andaman Sea may have been an extension of mainland Asia before waters came in and left only the tips exposed as the beautiful Islands. The Andaman and Nicobar group are themselves separated by the Ten Degree Channel. Nothing to do with mathematics, the “degrees” are named after the latitudes in which they lie.
Andaman and Nicobar Islands -location The Andaman and Nicobar Islands is a Union Territory in the Republic of India which means it governed directly by the Centre. The Island sends one elected representative to the Lower House (Lok Sabha) and does not have any legislature of its own. The Andaman Islands are classified into the North, Middle, South and Little group of islands while the Nicobar Islands has the Car, Little and Great groups. The capital is Port Blair, situated on the South Andaman and named after a marine surveyor, Archibald Blair. The Islands were colonized soon thereafter, though malaria and resistance by tribes saw numerous attempts by the British (and the Danes) fail. It was only after the first war of Independence in 1857, that a permanent penal colony was set up.
The Dark History of Andamans with the infamous dramatist personae – Clockwise from top left – convicts, Brig- Gen Neil, Major Gen Havelock, Archibald Blair. Pictures courtesy resources available on the Internet 
The Islands from the sky However, the history of the Islands goes beyond the era of imperialism and colonization. The Andamans are mentioned as Handuman, after Lord Hanuman. Legend has it that the islands were supposed to be the springboard to taking the attack on Ravana’s Lanka before the alternate (and eventual) Rameshwaram route was planned. The Islands have also found mention in the writings of Ptolemy, Chinese and Arab travellers. Nicobar has been mentioned as Nakavarram in South Indian texts. These have been home to various tribes such as Onges, Jarawas and Sentilese, who may have their origins in the African continent. The Nicobarese ancestry could be traced to the Mongoloid people.
As one flies into the Islands, over the Bay of Bengal, an enchanting landscape with jewelled islands meet the eye. These volcanic islands are fringed by coral reefs giving the waters their different hues. Barren island has the only active volcano with the remaining being extinct. Landing in Port Blair, one is greeted by clean fresh air and blue sunny skies (unless it’s raining). A sprawling new airport is nearing completion and will improve connectivity and give a fillip to tourism. The capital, with an estimated population of around 150,000 is cozy and quaint. It’s busy bazaars (Aberdeen being the more famous of them), administrative offices, hotels and museums and eateries give the city a warm feel while the picturesque waterfront and Corbyn Cove add to the charm. At Flag Point, the Tricolour flutters majestically, acknowledging the lives lost to the Independence struggle. North Bay and Ross Island loom from the northern and eastern shores with ferries available for travel to these places which are famous for snorkelling and other water activities.
Vibrant Corbyn Cove in the evening Ross Island – now renamed as Netaji Shubhash Chandra Bose Island (NSCBI) – is a ten-minute ferry ride away. The Island, which was home to the British administration, was replete with bowling grounds, churches, residences and ball rooms. Shelled in World War -II by the Japanese, the place is in ruins and makes for an interesting trek up the hill. Tame deer roam the island with gay abandon and are always ready to be up, close and personal.There are golf carts available for not so nimble legs and administration officials/guides to lend a helping hand. Freyer’s beach, is a less known but beautiful sand-and-rock beach, where the crystal-clear waters of the Andaman Sea bring up different hues as one gazes to the horizon. NSCBI is credited with bearing the brunt of the Tsunami of 2004 sparing the bustling Port Blair of major damage. The approach to Freyer’s beach was partially washed away, a sad reminder of the tragedy which befell the region, the reclusively though adds to its enduring allure.
Freyer Beach @ Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose (Ross) Island Port Blair’s most (in)famous landmark is the Cellular Jail. Constructed as a seven spoke star with multiple stories, it became synonymous with colonial terror and oppression. It was our very own “Australia” where revolutionaries and people convicted under colonial laws were sent. Now a National Monument, the guided tours recount the harsh and oppressive conditions which the inmates had to face, with the objective of breaking their morale apart from many sinews and bones. There are many heroic stories which echo from the thick walls of the Jail captures brilliantly by the brilliant Light and Sound show in the evenings. Three stories do stand out – of Veer Sarvarkar, the most popular inmate, whose freedom struggle has been an inspiration and after whom the airport at Port Blair is now named; Pathan Sher Ali Afridi, who assassinated the visiting Viceroy Lord Mayo and was hanged; and Dudhnath Tiwari, imprisoned after the 1857 uprising, who escaped, was captured by the tribals, married and integrated with them and then again escaped, informing the British about an imminent tribal assault, winning his freedom through a pardon thereafter. His unique story would require separate space elsewhere.
Light and Sound Show at the Cellular Jail Port Blair has eateries of all different shades and sizes. From pure vegetarian joints to seafood paradises, it caters all all budgets and classes. It is also the junction for travel up the Middle and North Andamans, for those interested to see limestone caves and a regulated tour through Jarawa territory (only through permits). It is also points you to Wandoor beach and Red Skin Island and further south to the Chidiya Tapoo and Munda Pahar beach. Chidya Tapoo and Munda Pahar are excellent places to visit sunsets. Though not regular sandy beaches, they have mangroves nearby and also a trek up a hill through pristine forests. Birds chirp around making the walk a delight for bird watchers., Salt water crocodiles have rarely been encountered but the reported sightings are more for newspaper eyeballs than actuals. The drive to Munda Pahar takes around 40 minutes and travel may be timed to leave in the afternoon and be back in the city just after sunset. The Naval and Anthropological museums are other good places to visit, with the former a tad better maintained and the latter having a bigger collection.
Sunset at Munda Pahar Beach
After a few days in Port Blair, it is time to hop on to other islands. There are the Nicobar Islands down south, most of which need permission to visit; the islands up north through the Middle and North Andaman; or the forbidden North Sentinel Island where the Sentinelese live in a self-imposed recluse. The Government does not permit any visits to this Island, which is patrolled by the Navy to deter any rash adventurers. An American tried to swim here many years ago. Reportedly he was killed, but his mortal remains have still not been recovered. There is also Barren Island which has India’s only active volcano and for which special tours operate.
Sculpture of a Jarawa Tribesman However the most popular island destinations continue to be Havelock Island (now renamed as Swaraj Dweep) and Neil Island (now renamed as Shaheed Dweep). Havelock is the more famous and visited of the two. Located around 50 km, as the crow flies, in a northeast direction, Havelock has gained fame for its world renowned Radhanagar Beach, rated as one of the best in the world. Many private and Government ferry services ply between the islands. The private fast-moving catamarans take around two hours to reach Havelock from Port Blair. The ferries are large with a capacity of around 300 with different classes as in trains. They are usually air-conditioned. The windows are sealed, and outside strolls are not permitted, so one travels in comfort albeit sans the smells and taste of the sea!
As one disembarks, the hustle in the narrow lane outside the jetty momentarily takes you aback. Havelock has scores of hotels and resorts – from the high-end Taj Exotica, the eco-tourist Barefoot to other popular hotel chains including several budget options, and thus pick up vehicles and taxis jostle for space and attention. Havelock, however, is a small island with a population of around seven thousand and one soon loses the cacophony as you head out of the jetty. The islanders are mainly Bengali in origin (mostly re-settlers from East Pakistan after partition in 1947 and Bangladesh war of liberation in 1971), though there are South Indians and tribals too.
Dudong Dudong – a delicious cocktail – courtesy Barefoot @Swaraj Deep
One striking thing about Havelock is that it has a strong connection with Shri Krishna, and thus the names of the villages (and beaches) e.g. Radhanagar, Govindnagar, Vijaynagar. This may be due to the strong Krishna cult in Bengali culture and folklore. The beaches are mostly on the eastern shore including Kala Pathar (Black stone) due to the rocks, Govind Nagar (a popular beach replete with all the island hustle and bustle) and Vijaynagar beach, all popular as sunrise viewpoints. The Elephant Beach on the northern shore is the gateway for commercial sea activities ranging from snorkeling, scuba, sea walking, para sailing and much more. Motorboats take ply from the jetty to Elephant Beach which is otherwise accessible through a couple of hours trek through the jungle. While the sea activities are numerous, catering to all ages, the restrictions of timings (morning till post noon) and the limited space, see operators running after tourists (and vice versa) making it a bit of a jamboree in the otherwise serene warm waters. I saw a small school of colourful fish in the shallow waters and admired their tenacity and audacity to be swimming amongst countless legs, arms and splashes.
Moonrise over Govind Nagar Beach Radhanagar Beach on the western shore, requires exclusive space, deservedly, as the most exclusive pristine beach one can come across. It is Maldives, sans the cost, Bali sans the distance, Florida, sans the commerciality and Rio, sans the party. Stretching for almost 25 minutes of quick walk from one end to the other, it is where golden sands meet warm clean waters with clarity up to 6 feet and more. Lazing on the palm fringed beach, endless shades of blue and green can be discerned in the distance. Clean as a whistle, the soft sands beckon one to discard any footwear and wade in the inviting waters. It would put any beach in India (and elsewhere too) to shame, reminding us of what was, before civilization took over. For sunset gazers, swimmers, walkers and simple toe-in-the-water doers, there is something for everyone. Truly, it is the pièce de résistance of the Andamans, and deserves all the accolades that keep pouring in.
Radhanagar Beach, Havelock (Swaraj) Island Surprisingly, the signal strength of mobile phone connectivity is optimal and there are good shops for souvenir shopping. However, one is reminded that collecting corals is illegal and even if one procures some from the beaches, at baggage screening at the ports or seaports, these would be confiscated. It is also noteworthy to know that only the northern half of the Island is habited and accessible by roads. Though this does not deter adventurists to trek down south!
Thick Jungle at Swaraj
From Swaraj Deep, it is time to move onto its smaller cousin Shaheed – the rechristened name for Neil Island. About an hour away by ferry, from Havelock, it is approachable both from Havelock and directly from Port Blair. This island has a north-south orientation as compared to the east-west bearings of Havelock.
Swaraj Island north south orientation compared with Shaheed’s east west bearings Neil Island was named after James Neil, the infamous British military officer who commandeered East India Company troops during the 1857 War of Independence. His contemporary Henry Havelock had the other island named after him. So, the ‘victors’ get islands named after them while the ‘vanquished’ are consigned to prison cells. C’est la vie!
However, it is not every day one visits a namesake island, no matter how undesirable the eponym. The conversation at the hotel reception went something like this ” Good morning, we have a reservation with you”. “Good morning”, the concierge replies, “under what name?”. “It is Neil”, I said. “Thank you, sir, you are indeed at Neil Island, but your name please”, “It is Neil” I replied and handed him over our identification and reservation mail. The look on his face said it all!
Bharatpur Beach If Lord Krishna has made Havelock his home with Govindnagar, Radhanagar et all; Shri Ram had “Neil” firmly in his sights. The beaches and attached villages are named after the famous Ayodhya clan. So, we have Bharatpur, Sitapur and a couple of Laxmanpurs. Bharatpur beach is next to the jetty and is again a treat to the eyes. In low tide, one can wade endlessly though the transparent waters with an occasional coral club to navigate around. It is also the site for embarking on sea activities, especially scuba diving. While Elephant beach at Havelock may be more extensive and spoiled (quite literally) for choices, Bharatpur is laid-back with fewer but better options.
Laxmanpur Beach is the place to witness spectacular sunsets and thus every evening (weather permitting). Everyone in the Island descends to this place to have their piece of (and place in) the sun.
Panoramic view of Laxmanpur Beach The other Laxmanpur Beach is rocky and has a natural stone arch formation which is locally known as the Natural or Howrah Bridge. Approach to the formation is through the rocky terrain, with a descent from the main road through a path lined with shops selling coconut water and raw mango juice (aam panna). The rocks form small pools where water (and fish) get trapped once the high tide bids adieu, only to replenish in the next cycle. Guides will point to live coral, shells, crabs and colorful fish in these pools along with small jelly fish swimming around.
Natural Bridge at Laxmanpur Beach No. 2 Even for non-swimmers, a scuba dive is a must-do activity, unless a medical condition restricts otherwise. From Bharatpur Beach, one is taken away from the shoreline on a boat. Scuba guides give a lowdown on the basic dos and don’ts while donning a diving suit, weights and harnessing an oxygen tank along with a face kit. Getting into the water is a mini thrill of its own. One is seated on the edge of the boat, back towards the water and then flipped over. For a second, panic sets in as one drops in the ocean. Then the still water envelopes the diver with a reassuring embrace. As one descends, she/he enter a different world, where time stops, and worldly worries dissipate to the surface with the bubbles after each breath. After several meters, one reaches the corals and while wading around, fishes dart in and out, oblivious to human presence. These aquatics, large and small; of different colours and shades; some swimming alone, others in schools light up the transparent aquamarine background. It is one’s own world of Nemo.
The scuba diving attendant guides the diver to different corals and fishes and will happily take pictures (if you have signed up for the service). After 20-25 minutes, she/he come up, away from paradise, back to reality. If one is really lucky, she/he may sight the Dugong – the State animal of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands – a shy herbivore commonly known as a Sea Cow
Dugong – (Sea Cow) State animal of Andaman. Picture courtesy Wikipedia Sitapur Beach, is another spectacle. Situated on the east end, it bore the brunt of the Tsunami (like Ross Island) and part of the beach is destroyed. However, the view from the top is spectacular with distinct different colors of the Andaman Sea to discern and admire. Navigating to the beach is a bit tricky with the approach path a bit damaged (again like Ross), but the reward to frolic through the pristine sands and clear waters negates minor inconveniences. Swimming is forbidden (due to rocks) but in spite of this, Sitapur would rate amongst the top waterfronts underdogs of Andamans.
Sitapur Beach
Neil Island is small and thus it does not take much time to cover ground with the terra firma generally plain. Two wheelers and cycles are easily available to rent. Unlike Havelock, eating options are few, so it is better to eat at your place of stay. Neil is a bit of an agricultural basket for the islands around apart from the mainstay of the tourism industry.The Andamans have plenty of sunshine and wind. It is a perfect recipe for self-generated sustainable power generation. At present fuel is shipped from the mainland and though it is subsidized, but the dependency on travel involved, make the inhabitants hostage to vagaries of time, logistics and weather. Solar and Wind power generation would be an ecofriendly sustainable solution to mitigate the power gap while boosting local productivity and tourism. Electric vehicles would reduce the dependency on diesel and petrol which are already proving detrimental to the ecosystem with the increasing tourism traffic. Noiseless and non-polluting electric vehicles would help the restore man’s harmony with nature in these Islands. Some islands like Neil’s are viable for cultivation and, concerted efforts in farming could make the area quite self-sufficient.
The Andamans are India’s very own Maldives, Bali and Thailand. Located in the crucial shipping lanes connecting the West to the East, the Islands were discovered by colonizers for imperialistic gains, which set off a series of sad chapters in their long history. Thankfully, the beautiful islands have shrugged off their dark past and are home to thousands of people who have settled here by design and by default. It is a paradise, with immense potential as a tourism destination and a strategic trading post. A visit to the Andaman and Nicobar Islands should be in everyone’s travel list.
The traveler Ibn Batuta while describing Andamans said ” Travel is not just about the destination; it is about the transformative journey within. As I ventured through the captivating landscapes of Andaman and Nicobar, I realized that true exploration extends far beyond the physical realm. It awakens our senses, broadens our perspectives, and enriches our souls.”
Nothing could be truer!!
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