My Best Negotiation Class
The semester is soon going to begin. It feels like a
mammoth army is going to invade my cozy world of isolated, deserted and sunny
Ithaca, long evening walks, empty college town, quiet Iftaar parties at Annabel
Taylor Hall, youtube movies and exciting field visits in Tompkins County.
Suddenly, the environment seems to be charged with a
lot of energy, anxiety of course' selections and job hunts. Even the temperature
seems to be getting a bit cold in the last few days. Contrary to my nature,
even I am forcing myself to accept these changes in the ivy-league world of
U.S., pretty much like a laid back feudal lord, reluctantly making his peace
with newly established democracy after a people’s revolution. Last night, I was
pondering over my courses for this semester i.e. fall 2013 and the list
included a course in negotiations. About ten years back courses like
negotiations, food policy, gender development etc would have been brushed off
as good topics for writing essays and newspaper articles. Even know in my home
country India and, in my cognitive existence, it is a bit difficult to accept
anything beyond History, Geography, Economics and Philosophy as subjects. So,
when I get to hear things like ‘Masters in Communication Management’, Masters
in Post-Modern Transgender Studies’, 'Diploma in Negotiations', I find myself kind of ‘clueless’ and
deprived of my ‘space’ and ‘time’ coordinates for a while.
Anyways, when I was thinking about the course structure
of negotiations class, I had no idea of what it would it would be like. But,
then something happened, which ordinarily happens in the books of magical
realism. I was reminded of my best negotiation class. What could one feel, when
in the middle of making a nerve-racking decision of choosing between
statistical software programs like Stata and Metlab, one gets a flash of the
petite, sun scorched, dull greenish parrot, which you wanted to catch when your old grandmother sitting beside you with her rosary in one of the quiet afternoons of your childhood, but, it flew away into the
reddish horizons of the dusk, beyond the muddy waters of your village pond. That one
flash will be an absolute bliss of childish innocence for me. That flash of my
best negotiation class was just like that elusive, mystic parrot, which in spite
of its ordinariness in all aspects of its being, was still sitting deep in my
heart.
I was transported to the land where there were no
Public Policy schools with their ‘core courses’ and ‘concentrations’, no balls
and prom nights, no sky-scrappers of New York city and senators of Washington
D.C. I travelled miles across the seas and in less than a fraction of a second,
I was in the remote, isolated, small district in the deserts of Rajasthan
(India). The district was known as Kalore (Names have been changed).
Before, I begin with my negotiations class, I feel
like writing something about the district itself. It was a sleepy, old town
with a robust and historical fort whose walls had almost turned black while
romancing with the winds of time. It was said that Khalji muslim(12 cent. A.D) rulers had once
attacked that fort with all their might, lust, deceit, greed and of course
chivalry. They could not open the gates of the fort for days on end, as it was
the strongest fort in region, beating even the then fort of Kandhar in strength.
Finally, a local muslim converted Rajput landlord Kunwar Dagabaaz Muhammad
Chauhaan showered a word of wisdom on Khalji Sipah Salaar( army captain). He
advised him to grow Rai along the ramparts of the fort. Rai grew up in a night
and in turn weakened the walls of the fort. Next day the Rajputs were left with
bare minimum resources, unmatchable valor and the blessings of Goddess Bhawani (Mother goddess in Hinduism) as long as they did not look back while fighting (Rajput king claimed that
goddess had promised him to bless them as long as he did not look back in the
fight.) But how long could they last with the promises made in dreams, in front
of chicanery, deceit, endless army and sleezy lust for women and wealth,
strongly backed by the spirit of jihad and complete disregard of human values,
morals and war-codes.
Kalore of 2004-05 was a small city of less than
50,000 inhabitants which included a bunch of pious and well-known Hindu
ascetics with tremendous social and political clout. One, who was the eldest
and the most revered one, was Guru Maninath Ji. There were lots of rumors about
him like he turned into a ferocious tiger in the night, with rudraksha( a
sacred tree, symbol of shiva) tied around the neck. Another rumor that was
doing the rounds was that he fed about 300,000 monks in the grand fair of
Kumbha (sacred fair of Hindus) with his supernatural powers. His ashram (house of the ascetic with a temple in the compound) had 30 elephants and 150 cows. Everyday about 400 people ate in his ashram.
Call it a rumor effect or general spiritual fervor of
the people, but he was always surrounded by devotees who came from all castes,
communities and religions. He himself was from a very low caste of Hindu
society called saragadas (caste employed as palace guard) and many other monks in the
area came from low castes like Devasis (shepherds). His devotees included big
zamindars(landlords), Jain merchants from far-off places like Chennai and
Mumbai, politicians, bureaucrats, common masses, local muslims etc. His sermons
included very simple things like cultivating the virtue of devotion,
vegetarianism, Surya-Namaskaar( Yogic exercise). One of his locally powerful
pathan(muslims) devotee Yakub Khan Bahadur had even started a cow-protection
committee in the district. Having seen all that, I just felt that a great
socio-economic egalitarian movement was taking place, unheard of in the shell-like intellectual
circles and media, spreading communal harmony and uniting people, transcending
the barriers of caste and religion. This was something which the big NGOs
formed by my page-3, high class stephanian batch mates and intellectuals of
JNU( Great University of Delhi, and an intellectual hub, popular for its Marxist
Culture and anti-establishment views) could not achieve.
The district had rajputs, Brahmins, jainas, chamars,
saragdas and the surrounding areas had a good number of Gujjars(community that worked with
animal rearing) and Vishnois (a local tribe). Superficially the town was quite
peaceful but the still waters of Kalore ran deep. The sands of Kalore had the tremendous potential to generate storms of unimaginable violence and turbulence on
some religiously or socially sensitive issue as these tribes were very
sensitive about their religious beliefs and social customs.
Everything was fine,
peaceful and normal with intoxicatingly soporific tumblers of
chach(buttermilk); lazy, deserted town with all animate beings slumbering
through long, dull afternoons and, soul-quenching folk bhajans (religious
chants) in the evening, until the Gujjar community in the state of Rajasthan
started a supposedly peaceful state wide agitation, claiming reservation in the
government jobs. All the district collectors (Administrative head of the
district in India) wanted to keep the ‘gujjar headache’ away from their
districts. They were using all time-tested instruments of statecraft to keep
the storm away from their backyard but most of them failed. The collectors
these days in India are unlike those British collectors who used to get the
assignment of district head only after 15 to 20 years of experience in the
state, which they utilized to fully understand the cultural, political and
religious dynamics of the state. Hence, they had profound understanding of
their people and state from strategic point of view. The collectors after
independence were young lads who came after going through almost an year long
tedious, boring and mind-numbing examination process. Some of these young lads
were lured by money, some by the power of red-beacon (A sign of powerful,
arrogant Indian bureaucracy) and some by the moth-eaten idealism of their Delhi
alma maters and in worse cases they were forced by their greedy, materialist
parents, in order to get a good dowry (A civil servant in India gets huge
dowry). The district collector of Kalore, Mr. Abhijeet Sinha was one such young
lad from Bihar, a state well-known for producing politicians like Laluprasad
yadav ji and shrewd bureaucrats. He was inspired partially by ‘moth-eaten’
idealism emanating from his ‘post-modern’ girl-friend of South Delhi and
partially by the desire for ‘power’ emanating from his middle-class utopias,
made up of 'unbounded desires' guarded with the so-called ‘feasible’ and ‘pragmatic’
ethics.
He had kind of separated from his wife because of his
‘extra-loving’ nature and naughty eyes endlessly attempting to inject seduction
in the opposite gender (good he did not become a doctor). His dull and humdrum
life included long evening walks, tennis and watching Veena Malik(a hot
Pakistani seductress who has all the potential to solve Kashmir dispute) in
‘Big Boss’( a cheap, porn reality show).
Besides him, there was another fellow in the town, who
was much more interesting from the point of view of both, Public Policy and
personality. He was an old police officer viz. Surendra Mohan Mishra, almost
on the verge of retirement. He was the police superintendent of Kalore. He was my father’s batch mate and a distant
relative too. When I first met him I was immediately reminded of my history
Professor Avadh Narayan Thakur, who always sang in his characteristic Bihari
nasal twang that Sher shah Suri(medieval
ruler known for his administrative efficiency and deceitful nature) had the
traits of fox and lion (as if it was class of hunting, rather than history). I
could actually see the cunning shrewdness of fox and valor of tiger in Mishra ji's mysterious or rather 'mischievous' eyes, which would scan you in one glance.
He was a very interesting character, a perfect product
of a country marked by feudal pockets and silicon valleys. Formerly an
economist, so even in his police job he always came out as the smartest utilitarian
and an opportunity cost expert. He was a huge, dark figure, with a signature
bureaucratic baldness, a big laddu(a round big, Indian sweet) shaped face and petty
rotund hands, sufficiently reflective of eroded morals, knowledge, softness and
vestiges of the poor innocent childhood. He could always be seen chewing
tobacco in a very rustic and rooted manner, in his leisurely moments. I must
mention that he was ‘modestly’, ‘wisely’, ‘rationally’ and ‘humanely’ corrupt.
Once, the district collector caught the traffic police constable Bhaira Ram
Gurjar accepting Rs. 300 in bribe from a rich merchant’s son illegally crossing
the signal. The collector ordered his suspension but Mishra ji just transferred
him to small police station in the outskirts with a warning and hushed up the
matter. When I asked him the rationale for his action he replied that this poor
fellow with a monthly salary of Rs. 4000 was not doing much of a harm in
accepting Rs 300 in bribe. Besides, he was doing the traffic duty in the heat of 45 degree celsius for 13 hours so by standards of the most stringent labor economics principles
he was underpaid hence, one need not make a big issue out this poor man’s act of
little greed.
I found him much more efficient, practical and social
in administration than the so-called most honest officers whose only
qualifications were to talk endlessly against the system and get transferred to
useless postings like chief commissioner of state kabbadi society, Lalit Kala
Akadami( Fine Arts Academy) . Mishra ji, by the sheer dint of his abilities and
economics had made good system of networks and relations in the district. He was
good friends with Guru Maninath Ji because his ashram (Monk’s house) offered
the best kheer (rice pudding) and dal and rice. Maninath ji used to sent fresh
green peas, grams and fresh ghee(clarified butter) extracted from cow’s milk to
Mishra ji in Prasad( food offered by temple to devotees). Whenever any guest
visited Mishra ji from his village, he would always take him to Maninath ji’s
ashram for obvious economic reasons and paid real respect to his microeconomic soul.
One another remarkable thing about Mishra ji was that he equally popular among
the religious heads of different religions like Islam, Christianity despite
himself being a hardcore vegetarian Brahmin. He was very secular in accepting
laddus, sevaiyya(a sweet dish made on Id) and pan cakes from all the different
religious heads.
In spite of the
unrest in rest of the state, things were going fine in Kalore, with Abhijit
Sinha ji busy in his romantic adventures and Mishra ji with his laddus of
different ashrams and different religions. Then suddenly, one day Gujjars in
kalore declared that they will revolt and stage a demonstration in a peaceful
manner. The gujjar police constables had switched loyalties because all of them
were annoyed with the collector’s unjust behavior with constable Bhaira Ram
Gurjar.
Abhijit Sinha and Mishra ji were getting worried as
Mishra ji just had about 500 cops with him in the district. The rest of them
had been sent to other strife-torn areas and there was no possibility of
getting additional forces. Mishra ji was having a fearful intuition that there
could be a violent agitation, considering the track record of Gujjars in the
other districts, but the collector said that ‘bloody revolution’ needs training
in the political philosophies of Marxism, modern social institutions,
leadership of middle class intellectuals and strong support of peasantry, and
these ‘bunch of idiots’ had no such institutional forces. Mishra ji could not
make much sense of all that wisdom except that he was reminded a bit of his
pseudo-idealist stephanian son talking of left wing radicalism whenever asked
to make a career in civil services. He thought of something with which
collector felt confident, normal, sane and comfortable, and asked, ‘sir what’s
going on with Veena Malik in ‘Big Boss’?” The collector took a deep sigh of relief
as if he had been brought home from empty, oxygen-less Mars. He lectured on
Veena Malik’s curves for about an hour.
Meanwhile Bhaira Ram wanted to pay back to Mishra ji
for a saving his job and salary. He was perplexed because he could not go
against the decision of Gujjar Panhcayat( social decision making body of gujjar
leaders) . So he appeared in the guise of a snake-charmer at Mishra Ji’s house
at about 2:30 in the night and informed him that there was great rage and
turbulence among the gujjars. He informed that there were plans of mass violent
rebellion in which the local gurjar dacoit Zalim Singh was supplying all the
arms and ammunition. They were also planning to bomb the police stations.
Next day, Mishra Ji told the entire story to the
district collector. Collector ordered that in such a situation, he had all the
authority to open lathi-charge and tear gas. Mishra ji just smirked and left.
He was just wondering that how could he open lathi- charge on the mob of at
least 40,000 rogues armed with assault rifles, crude bombs and swords, with just
500 cops at his command.
He then called up Maninath Ji, seeking an appointment.
He went to Maninath ji with lots of grams and jaggery as his micro-economic
soul did not permit him to buy cashews in devotion, which he kept for himself
and his chivas regal. Maninath ji got happy with grams and jaggery and asked
him the purpose of the visit. Mishra ji told him about the gujjar agitation and
his fearful intuitions. Maninath ji was popular among the gujjars and he had blessed
their movement. At first he was surprised and said that he had could not help
as he had given his blessings to gujjars, to which Mishra ji replied, “but, I am
also your little, innocent, harmless child who deserved blessings”. Maninath ji
said, “since I have eaten your gur and jaggery I have an obligation now and will have to do
something to avoid coming in the next birth. I will ask gujjar delegation,
which is going to officially report collector about the agitation, to meet you
also for like, half an hour. Rest is up to you, your wits and innocence. My blessings
are with you.”
Next day gujjar delegation led by Hukum Singh Bhadana,
dressed in thick khadi barni(narrow jacket), kurta made of Mysori Paper silk
and upturned green jutis( locally made shoes, a handicraft) from Bhinmaal(
place famous for its shoe industry) went to meet collector. Hukum Singh Bhadana
was a rich, hefty and powerful transporter who had strong political connections
and an overwhelming social clout. Other members included Master Bhanwar lal Gurjar,
a local schoolteacher, whose mind lived in samosas and revolutionary ideals as
long as they were used to seek a salary hike and increase in dearness allowance
from the government , and his brother Banwari lal Gurjar, a part time property dealer
actively involved with Bajrang dal( local right wing outfit) youth politics.
Both of them went to have samosas when the delegation was waiting for collector’s
response. The brothers ate about 18 samosas with the green chilies.
The collector
refused to meet as he was busy explaining one of his Bengali batch mates in
civil service, the ‘sustainable and postmodern take on sexual intercourse’. The
conquest of voluptuous, arousing, seductive curves and almost maddening lips
had almost prepared a stage for another Mahabharata (Hindu mythological story
of devastating fight between brothers) in the district. The enraged and angry
delegation then went to meet Mishra ji, as advised by Maninath ji.
Mishra ji had just finished his lunch, which was a great
ceremony in itself. Last time, when I saw him at lunch he was with a 13 course meal
which included multiple varieties of chutneys like coriander chutney, garlic
chutney, tomato chutney, dals, riatas, green grams and a couple of other green ‘wild
organic herbs’. His office was usually loaded with heavily explosive and toxic
farts as reported by his Munshi(clerk). When the gujjar delegation entered the
office, as usual the air-conditioned government office was laden with the
moisture of most stinky farts in the cosmos. In one corner, was standing an old, haggard havildar(a police sargent)
Takhat Singh with a white walrus like, upturned rajput mustache, trying to stuff
his nose with all the possible options to avoid those lethal fumes, blessing the
room. In the center of the room, Mishra ji was sitting, enjoying a juicy Alphonso
mango, which had been sent by Mr. Ghevar Chand Singhvi, a local merchant. Mishra
ji did not like the fact that Takhat Singh was protecting his nostrils from the
‘moisture-laden aromas’ so he ordered him to filter tobacco for him, which he
quite reluctantly did, contracting his facial muscles and presenting a sight of
rotten tomato. At this I could see the smile of satisfaction on Mishra ji's face.
Mr. Bhadana was the first victim of those ‘moisture–laden
aromas’. He was already in a very bad mood and the moment his nostrils were
invaded by ‘heavenly fumes’ he opened a salvo of rustic abuses at ‘samosa brothers,
their eating habits and digestion’ for polluting the atmosphere. He was ranting that mass movements are not led by ‘farters’. He called them a burden on earth
and yelled that they could have behaved with proper hygiene in the government
office, at least. The brothers shot back that they were not responsible for that
heinous crime and that he was trying to blame them for something which he had
done. In fact the revolt could have taken place right there, but for the
statesmanship of Takaht singh that the ‘fart uprising’ was nipped in the bud.
Mishra ji smirked as usually, as the ‘moisture-laden aromas’ got a few more
victims and no one got to know the original sinner.
Then Mr. Bhadana roared, “We have come to inform the
ruthless, inhumane and arrogant district administration that we are going to
stage a rail-roko( stop the train) movement tomorrow in the outskirts of the
city. All transport services will be stopped and supplies of milk and food items
will be stopped.” He started abusing the
collector and called him an arrogant buffoon, at which Mishra ji again smirked
and felt a tinge of strong ‘bureaucratic happiness’ which occurs when your
fellow officer is mocked at. Meanwhile, Takhat Singh reported Mishra ji that
about 100 protesters had been killed in police firing and 40 policemen had
been butchered in the neighboring district by gujjars. This alarmed Mishra Ji.
He now did not want to resort to firing as he just had 500 cops and he did not
want to tarnish his service record, as he was thinking of a political career
after retirement, by initiating a similar movement for his own community.
He got up, and once again the ‘stinky humidity’ increased in
the room. He joined hands in supplication and addressed Mr. Bhadana, “ Hukum,
Collector and all your ministers are big people but this little, poor, humble
fellow is your younger brother. So, please sit down and grace the little
garibkhana( poor man’s house) of your younger brother”. Mr. Bhadana had already
been told by Maninath ji that Mishra ji was very efficient and ‘vyavharik’(
wise, rational in pragmatic way, sometimes even at the cost of petty morals) and a very social officer. He had also heard about Mishra ji’s ruthless encounter of dacoits
who had killed a few jain merchants. So, he was impressed with the humble
nature and pleasing smile of such a high-profile and strongly connected police
officer and felt honored and flattered by the government which was his ultimate desire, although
the fumes were still making his neurons crazy.
Mr. Bhadana sat down and initiated the conversation regarding
next day’s agitation but he was interrupted by Mishra ji saying, “Sir, all
this, we can talk later also. First, please relax, and tell me what would you
like to have? First time, the elder brother has come to my office and I cannot
begin the conversation with the talk about agitation. This is very inauspicious.”
Bhadana Saheb first refused but then agreed, as even he was hungry since morning.
Mishra ji ordered hot jalebis, Imarti, gulab jamuns (all are Indian sweets),
spicy samosas(Indian dumplings) with chilly sauce (the brothers looked at each
other with divine happiness, the moment they sighted samosas), nicely-cooled
and sliced alphonso mangoes. All this was followed by fried pakoras( spicy
fritters) and special ‘pyaz ki kachori’(Onion dumpling) specially ordered from
Jodhpur (nearby district famous for its sweets and kachoris). The whole
delegation almost jumped upon the food. The whole scene looked an invasion of
Bakasur(mythological demon who ate like huge amounts of food) and his beastly
army of asuras(demons)
Then Mishra ji asked Mr. Bhadana to come home some
time for dinner and described the special heeng( Indian spice with heavenly
smell) dal(lentil soup) and chiwda (a
spicy flour stuff to munch with drinks) which he made and used to enjoy after two
drinks of chivas regal. He then asked Bhadana ji about his kids. Bhadana ji
told that his son was studying in Kota, for admission into engineering (In South
Asia middle class parents are crazy about sending their kids to engineering,
management and medical schools so that they can get employed with MNCs and earn
a lot in dollars) and his daughter was preparing for an entrance into top
management institute. When Bhanwar lal Gurjar(One of the samosa brother) heard
about the ‘career-talks’, he did not waste a second in declaring, with a force
that would almost trample upon every animate thing existing there, that his son was a chartered accountant
employed with Reliance and earning Rs. 400,000 per annum. His son’s achievement
had become known in the remotest villages and was on the verge of becoming a
folk lore and he left no stone unturned in denigrating others by lyrical rendering of his son’s success story. His son had almost become a cult figure, a boy with supernatural powers
in 'accounting'. Bhawar lal ji never missed any opportunity to belittle Mr.
Bhadana by mentioning his son Ratan lal’s achievement.
Mr. Bhadana made an angry face at Bhanwarlaal and put
him back in his chair, saying that he should first take care of his radioactive
vapors. He then asked Mishra ji about the good MNCs and the pay packages they
offered. Mishra ji had almost done a Phd. in this kind of knowledge, like a
bunch of other officers on the verge of retirement for whom this was favorite
past time, since two his batch mates had sent their sons to IIM( A)( top
management institute of India) Mishra ji told Mr. Bhadana that Barclays offered
like Rs. 600,000 per annum and Accenture offered 100,000 dollars in its foreign assignments
. He also mentioned about Boston Consulting Group offering 200,000 dollars per
annum. Mr. Bhadana got enamored with those figures and started dreaming of his
son as a wall street banker.
Mishra ji, then took a deep breath of a reasonable
victory, and asked about the exact time of the agitation next day, to which
Bhadana ji replied, “which is the best medical college in country and how much
donation they take and if Mishra ji had any connections to get the admission
done?”After that, Mishra ji gave the list of all such
high-profile colleges and felt a great relief that things were on the right
track. Suddenly, there was once again a whiff of obnoxious fumes, doing rounds
in the room. This time, the fumes smelled a bit relaxed and easy. The moment
they said hello to Bhadana ji’s nostrils, he turned back and stared at the ‘samosa
brothers’ with his amber like eyes, burning with rage. The brothers, finding
themselves in no position to prove their innocence, tried to hide themselves
behind the chairs. Meanwhile, Mishra ji advised Bhadana ji to persuade his
daughter to sit for civil service examination and also mentioned the assets of
top 20 corrupt bureaucrats. It was the last stroke to break the camel’s back.
Bhadan ji was absolutely overwhelmed with ‘younger brother’s’ best advise and,
was almost in tears, imagining his daughter with all that wealth in an
ambassador car with red beacon. He looked as if he was in a great hurry to rush
home and strictly command his daughter to prepare for that ‘gold mine’. Mishra
ji then made a passing reference to the revolt. Bhadana ji, while getting into
his car, hurriedly asked Mishra ji, “Should we stage this protest? What is your advise? Since you are a brother so your advise is very important for gujjars
now.” Mishra ji, without taking a pause,
shot back, as if he was doing all that hard work for that question, “Hukum, Your
younger brother is just a petty cop, who had no audacity and status to advise a
wise man like you but, I just wanted to inform you that youth leaders from your
rival political group were planning to send their men with rifles in order to
spark a police firing on peaceful demonstrators. The IB (Intelligence Bureau)
has reported this. Sir, once firing will start, then I will have no option but
to respond. We have got an additional force of 1200 cops from paramilitary
groups!!!!!!!!( Mishra ji was famous for such tricks) I can take care of my
jawans(cops) but you know how ruthless and bull-headed these paramilitary
people are. They do not spare anyone in firing. In Bharatpur they mercilessly
poured bullets in the 50 inches broad chest of the leader of the protesters.
The poor fellow died and others fled”.
The names like IB, CID and CBI( intelligence departments)
still carried a bollywood like aura in those parts of the country and ‘stages of
one’s consciousness’, thanks to crime thrillers starring Amitabh and Mithun,
and the remnants of terror invoked by British secret service, still dormant
somewhere in the sub-continental consciousness. Mr. Bhadana, having heard this, was shivering in his shoes and ordered for lemon soda as he suffered from low
blood pressure. He profusely thanked Mishra ji and was in tears while doing
that for saving his life as he was planning to lead the demonstration, out of
his ‘compassion’ for gujjar masses and a ‘LITTLE’ concern for better political
future. He gave a warm ‘brotherly’ hug to Mishra ji and said that if not for
you, I would have been the first person to be shot dead. The samosa brothers
had already left, cursing the youth for lack of pragmatism and provoking such
violent agitations, having heard those gory stories of paramilitary forces. Mishra ji spoke, in voice heavily laden with ‘emotions and wisdom of
the refined statecraft’ , “ Sir it was my duty to save my brother’s life even
if that happened at the stake of leaking out confidential information and
risking my career”. While going back Bhadana ji bought some guide books on current
affairs for his daughter.
Both, Mishra Ji and Bhadana Ji were at Maninath ji’s
ashram at 2 in the night. Both these leaders, supported by Maninath ji
convinced the gujjar panchayat to drop the idea of the revolt and save the
district from communal tensions and violence. The remaining rogues of the youth
brigade who were planning to bomb police stations, with the support of Zalim
Singh dacoit, were arrested overnight at the orders of Mishra ji. While going back Mishra Ji requested Maninath ji to
pack some laddus( as he could not resist the smell of ghee and cloves, invading
his nostrils during the talks) as his blessings. Takhat Singh also got a box
packed for himself (he always did that).
Next day, everything was normal with scorching loo
winds, collector sahib going on a walk with a voluptuous batch mate for another
conquest and Mishra ji enjoying his laddus and 13 course lunch, and Takhat Singh
as usually trying to protect his nostrils from ‘toxic vapors’, in vain. In the
evening Bhadana ji came to thank Mishra Ji and informed him that Gujjar
panchayat had decided to honor him by a gold idol of Lord Hanuman for shooting
this trouble(as Hanuman, the monkey God is worshipped as a troubleshooter),
which Mishra ji, gladly accepted and immediately calculated its monetary worth.
Bhadana Ji also gifted 10 air tickets to Mishra ji and his family for a visit
to Bangalore, where Bhadana ji had, his farm house. While going, he asked Mishra
ji about the best tuition center for civil services. He also cursed the main
leaders of revolt and alleged them of spoiling the youth’s mental stability and
future. He vigorously suggested that the youth should not indulge in such
violence and should sit for civil service exams.
This was my best negotiation class in which I saw how
a small, peaceful town was saved from loss of human life and property. If that
mammoth revolt had occurred in Kalore, it would have taken a toll of at least
60 to 70 human lives. Most of the times, the public unrest arises due to
arrogant, incompetent rulers and their poor statecraft. A good
statecraft supplemented with a decent dose of humility can solve most of the problems.
