Chankya's Chant (39 page)

‘But that dream is far-fetched, Major Bedi. Uttar Pradesh is not a homogenous monolith. It consists of people who vote based on religion, caste, gender and economic strata. One size does not fit all!’ said Menon.

‘You’re right, Mr Menon. And that’s the reason why a single formula will never work in Uttar Pradesh. The single formula is to have no single formula. Some seats will be fought along caste lines—Dalits versus Brahmins or Yadavs versus Banias; other seats will be fought along religious divisions—Hindus versus Muslims. Yet others may be fought on economic grounds—poor versus the rich. That’s where the ABNS scores,’ explained the Major, taking a sip of water to lubricate his throat.

‘How?’ wondered Ikram, dipping a sugar-coated biscuit into his tea and taking a bite.

‘All other parties in Uttar Pradesh seem to have a core constituency. The ABNS has none,’ replied Jaspal confidently.

‘So we’re screwed?’ asked Ikram slurping his tea loudly.

‘On the contrary. Your strength lies in
not
having a core constituency. The very criteria that is perceived as a strength in one region is usually a weakness in another. For example, if the ABNS were perceived as a party of Dalits, that would help the party in Dalit strongholds but it would be a drawback in Brahmin-dominated areas,’ reasoned Major Bedi.

‘So you want us to ally ourselves with Hindus
and
Muslims, Brahmins
and
Dalits, Yadavs
and
Thakurs, landlords
and
farmers, rich
and
poor, men
and
women, old
and
young… don’t we run the risk of becoming a
khichdi
with no single dominant flavour?’ asked Chandini.

‘The other parties already have candidates who have represented these constituencies for years. You have the advantage of a clean slate. You can cherry-pick your own candidates, accurately tailored to the specific requirements of the constituency in question,’ said Major Bedi, ‘and that’s where I come into the picture’.

‘What will you do?’ asked Chandini.

‘Have done,’ corrected Bedi. ‘I was assigned by Gangasagarji the job of determining the ideal profile of a candidate for each of the eighty-five Uttar Pradesh constituencies a year ago. I am here to apprise you of my findings.’

‘You have eighty-five constituencies—Kheri, Dhaurahra, Bijnor, Amroha, Moradabad, Rampur, Sambhal, Budaun—’

He continued rattling off all the names methodically from his list. Along with each name he described its population, the literacy rate, age demographics, gender split, percentage composition of castes, religions and ethnicities, and the primary occupations of the population. Facts and figures poured forth effortlessly from Major Bedi. He was the human equivalent of a computer.

As he reached the last constituency he said, ‘In Uttar Pradesh the electoral contest is still about settling the primary questions of social dominance. I have analysed each of the eighty-five constituencies on this parameter.’

‘Social dominance? You mean caste!’ exclaimed Ikram.

‘Not merely caste. Social dominance is influenced by caste, gender, religion, age
and
economic strength. Please understand that there is no single constituency where a single dominant group can win an election! For example, in western Uttar Pradesh—Meerut—you have a concentration of Jats, the region often being called Jatland. How many Jats are there in Meerut? Ten per cent! Can you win an election with ten per cent?’ asked Bedi.

‘So how does one win, for example, Meerut?’ asked Gangasagar.

‘Look beyond the caste equations, Gangasagarji,’ suggested Bedi. ‘Meerut has a population of half a million. The city is sixty-two per cent Hindu, thirty-five per cent Muslim, three per cent Sikh, half per cent Christian and half per cent Jain; fifty-three per cent of the population is male, and the average literacy rate is seventy-two per cent, quite high for Uttar Pradesh.’

‘So our ideal candidate is an educated Hindu male?’ asked Chandini.

‘On the contrary, Hindus tend not to vote en bloc. Their votes get split along caste lines or on other considerations. Instead, if one was to try to forge an alliance of Jats and Muslims one could, theoretically, capture forty-five per cent of the votes,’ answered Bedi.

‘But why would Jats and Muslims vote for the same candidate?’ asked Chandini.

‘Good question. You assume that these two groups have been opposed to one another historically and hence correctly figure that the possibility of finding someone who appeals to both groups is remote. But I have succeeded in identifying potential candidates from the Chhachhar community,’ said Major Bedi proudly.

‘Why Chhachhar?’ asked a confused Menon.

‘Chhachars are a tribe of Jats who converted to Islam many years ago. Their descendants are Muslim Jats. A Muslim Jat is your perfect combination to win this constituency,’ declared the dapper sardar.

‘What would further strengthen his chances of winning?’ asked Gangasagar quietly.

‘Meerut is an important industrial town. It has eleven sugar-processing mills and more than seventy per cent of the population is engaged in sugarcane cultivation. If our Chhachhar candidate were to be a sugarcane farmer, he would be much more acceptable—even to other castes and communities—because of economic considerations.’

‘But you said that by doing all of this we would have forty-five per cent of the votes. That would still leave fifty-five per cent!’ said Menon.

‘The fifty-five per cent is only dangerous if it is left concentrated in the hands of a single opposition candidate. That brings me to the next part of my strategy,’ said Bedi, flipping through his notes.

‘And what is that?’ asked Gangasagar.

‘The second part of the strategy is to ensure that the remaining fifty-five per cent votes get split.’

‘And how would you achieve this?’ asked Ikram.

‘Simple. Map the profile of the existing sitting MP and find a replica to put up as an additional independent candidate in each contest. The job of this candidate is simply to play spoiler and split the competition’s vote bank.’

‘So we need to find ourselves a Muslim Jat sugarcane farmer? We then need to find ourselves a spoiler who closely matches the profile of the present MP from Meerut constituency?’ spluttered Ikram.

‘I have already found the former for you. His name is Daula Hassan Bhatti. He’s fifty-three years old, a Muslim Jat—his family migrated to Meerut three generations ago—and owns a five-acre sugarcane farm along with a crushing facility. He’s a natural choice,’ explained Bedi.

‘But—but are we expected to go around begging such people to contest elections on our ticket? We already have party workers queuing up for Lok Sabha tickets, why not make it easier by choosing from amongst them?’ asked Ikram.

‘Do you want to win or not? Never make the mistake of choosing from a suboptimal pool. Identify the perfect candidate according to the constituency. Now, shall I tell you about the remaining eighty-four ideal candidates from the other constituencies?’ asked Bedi, as Gangasagar sat quietly through the exchange, smiling.

‘The traders of Uttar Pradesh are going on strike,’ said Chandini.

‘Why?’ asked Gangasagar.

‘They say that the sales-tax rate in Uttar Pradesh is too high. They want it reduced.’

‘You don’t simply go around giving away tax revenue because someone wants it! Do you give whisky to an alcoholic because he just happens to want it?’

‘I agree. But what should I do? The strike will bring all economic activity to a halt. Prices of essential commodities will skyrocket. Our constituents will be angry.’

‘Hike sales tax by another five per cent!’

‘We can’t do that! They’re already in a combative mood—’

‘They have already taken the ultimate step of going on strike, right? What more can they do?’

‘And how will we ever get them to call it off?’

‘Give them a three-per-cent cut as concession to halt the strike. You still gain two,’ the Pandit chuckled.

‘The bus drivers of the state transport corporation continue to drive rashly under the influence of alcohol— this has been the fourth road accident in a fortnight,’ complained Chandini, pointing out the newspaper report to Gangasagar.

‘Why don’t we sack the drivers if they are found guilty?’ asked Gangasagar.

‘They have to be convicted first. The court cases drag on for years.’

‘There’s a perfect solution to solve the problem.’

‘And that is?’

‘Pay drivers’ salaries directly to their wives. They’ll never part with a penny for tipple! Tell the transport commissioner to ensure that all salary payments are made out to the wives. You’ll halve the drunk-driving rate!’

‘Loan defaults plague our regional banks,’ said Chandini as she pushed across the financial statements compiled by the state comptroller.

‘Who are the defaulters?’

‘Farmers, businessmen, traders, home-owners, as well as people who run up hefty bills on their credit cards. If we don’t recover these amounts, Uttar Pradesh’s banks may collapse one day.’

‘Leave the farmers. Scant rains have resulted in poor harvests this year. Give them more time to pay up and write off the interest on their loans.’

‘And the others?’

‘They should have no difficulty paying. They are simply taking advantage of the sloppy debt-recovery mechanism of our state-owned banks.’

‘But the only action that we can take is to go to court. That’s expensive and time-consuming. It could be years before one sees results.’

‘Tell Sachla Devi to recover your loans.’

‘Who?’

‘Sachla Devi. She’s a famous eunuch in Lucknow. I can ask her to help you.’

‘Why on earth should I take help from a eunuch?’

‘Because she has bands of wandering eunuchs who do absolutely nothing productive all day, besides standing outside homes and shops and clapping and shouting loudly.’

‘They only do that on happy occasions—marriages, births, inaugurations. Donating to eunuchs is supposed to bring good luck!’

‘But people don’t cough up cash to eunuchs because they want good luck. They simply want good riddance.’

‘So?’

‘Sachla Devi will organise her gangs to stand outside defaulters’ homes and offices. They will clap loudly and embarrass them before their friends and neighbours. They’ll get fed up and pay up. Tell Sachla Devi that she will get ten per cent of the loans recovered by her team!’