Chankya's Chant (11 page)

‘And what’s the catch behind this benevolent attitude of Ikrambhai?’ asked Agrawalji.

‘He wants to fight the next municipal elections. He wants financial and intellectual support,’ explained Gangasagar.

‘So you’ve promised him my money?’ asked Agrawalji dryly.

‘And my brains,’ countered Gangasagar, ‘only if he fights on an ABNS ticket, though.’

‘What political party is that? I’ve never heard of it.’

‘It doesn’t exist as yet. It will by the next municipal elections, though.’

‘Should you be handing out tickets of your new outfit to mafia dons, Ganga?’

‘The best person to advise one on how to protect a bank is a thief. This one’s going to help me build and protect my vote bank.’

‘How?’

‘I’m a Brahmin. I can do the job of pulling in high-caste Hindu votes but the lower castes and the Muslims view me suspiciously. Ikrambhai will help take care of the Muslim votes.’

‘Won’t associating with him spoil your reputation, Ganga?’

‘Character is what you are. Reputation is what people think you are. As long as he doesn’t change my character, I’ll be fine.’

‘I hope that you know what you’re doing. You’re making a pact with the devil.’

‘God will forgive me. That’s his job after all!’ said Gangasagar, winking at Agrawalji.

The Kanpur Municipality had come into existence during the British Raj, but was converted into a corporation— the
Kanpur Nagar Mahapalika
—some years after Independence, with a mayor who was elected every five years. The election was an indirect one in which over a hundred municipal coroporators who were elected from the various geographical wards in the city would choose the mayor. Ikrambhai was contesting only one out of the hundred seats in the municipal council but Gangasagar had also convinced many others to contest the elections on the ABNS platform. He had confidently pronounced that he would make Ikram the mayor.

‘The council is hopelessly split along caste and religious lines. Twenty-five per cent of the members are Brahmins, another quarter are the intermediate castes such as the Yadavs, one-fourth are Dalits and the remaining fourth are Muslims,’ explained Gangasagar.

‘You have no chance,’ said Agrawalji helplessly.

But this was politics, not economics. The master of this game was Gangasagar, not Agrawalji.

‘Not true. All I need to do is take away five per cent from each of the four blocs. By doing that, I’ll have twenty per cent of the total. The fifth bloc.’

‘But you’ll still be twenty per cent, equal to each of the four other blocs,’ argued Agrawalji, not realising that this particular game of chess had already been analysed several moves into its conclusion.

‘The other four blocs hate each other. Whoever wants power will have no alternative but to ally themselves with us—the only caste- and religion-neutral outfit,’ said Gangasagar triumphantly.

‘But they’d only support you if you agreed that their candidate became mayor. How can you expect to make Ikram mayor?’

‘The mayor is elected through the system of a single transferable vote. The game theory involved here is different to an ordinary vote,’ explained Gangasagar. ‘The early bird gets the worm but it’s the second mouse that gets the cheese! I don’t need Ikrambhai to be the favourite —merely the second favourite.’

‘How will that help him?’ asked Agrawalji.

‘All corporators are required to rank—in order of preference—their choice of all five candidates when they submit their ballot.’

‘So?’

‘For all the five political blocs, including our own, the first choice will be a candidate from within.’

‘Yes. But that merely puts Ikram on equal footing with the other four candidates.’

‘Ah, but each corporator must not only indicate his first choice from the five candidates but also indicate his second, third, fourth and fifth preference,’ explained Gangasagar. ‘Given the intense hatred between the other four parties, they would refuse to endorse each other’s candidates as second choice. I simply need to tell them to make Ikram their second choice.’

‘How exactly does this process work?’ enquired Agrawalji.

‘In round one the votes for the first choice candidates are counted. Obviously all five, including Ikram, will be equal. Given the lack of a clear winner, the second-choice votes will be tallied and added to the count of each candidate. At this stage, Ikram becomes the strongest. The second mouse shall bring home the cheese!’

‘I just hope that your mouse doesn’t turn out to be a cat, Ganga,’ said Agrawalji.

‘Can any of you tell me what the core philosophy of Mahatma Gandhi was?’

‘Ahimsa,’ came the answer from the back. It was a frail and petite thirteen-year-old girl. Her face was rounded and her dark black hair was oiled and pulled back in a plait tied with a red ribbon. Little tendrils that had escaped the torturous ministrations of oiling and being pulled tightly back, hung over her forehead. She wore a dull grey skirt and an insipid blue top—the usual dreary uniform of slum schools. Her complexion, however, was unusually fair for such a setting, and her little white teeth, pink lips and sparkling emerald-green eyes gave her an expression of innocence coupled with intelligence.

She fiddled nervously with her pencil as Gangasagar looked at her. ‘Very good, Chandini. Can you tell me what that means?’

‘Ahimsa means non-violence.’

‘Does that mean refusing to fight?’

‘No. Ahimsa is not cowardice. It takes a very brave man to face blows head-on.’

‘So it’s about getting your way without coming to blows for it?’

‘Yes. But you need to have the moral authority to make people understand what you want to achieve. Gandhiji’s moral authority was very great.’

‘And can you tell me what gave him that moral authority?’

‘The personal example that he set for others?’ asked Gupta’s daughter hesitantly.

‘Yes. We Indians continue to adore renunciation. It’s a tradition that has come down to us from the ancient yogis. Gandhiji was a modern yogi, in that sense.’

‘Because he lived in poverty?’ she asked, her emerald-green eyes widening.

‘Yes, but his poverty was a symbol. A symbol that gave him the political authority to carry people with him.’

‘And it saved the country lots of money?’

‘Hah! Sarojini Naidu—our first governor here in Uttar Pradesh—summed it up beautifully when she said that it cost the Indian nation a great deal of money to keep the Mahatma in poverty!’

‘Then why did he do it?’

‘That’s the power of renunciation for you, my dear!’

‘Like the way that you renounced becoming mayor so that Uncle Ikram could?’

‘Yes,’ chuckled Gangasagar, ‘something like that.’

‘We need to clean up this city, Ikram.’

‘You mean “clean up” as in “make a killing”, right Gangasagarji?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t mean clean up as in sweeping the streets and clearing the garbage, do you?’

‘Yes, I do. The city’s filthy.’

‘Taking control of the municipal corporation is all about making money, not about actually cleaning up.’

‘I’d be a fool if I said that corruption isn’t a way of life. We’re going to need money to strengthen the ABNS, but let’s also do some good along the way.’

‘Why? Who’s ever done any good in local government?’

‘We shouldn’t do it because we’re do-gooders. We should do it because we want to win the next elections without assistance from other political parties.’

‘If we make enough money in this term, we won’t need another term in the corporation. We’ll be rich.’

‘Who’s talking about the corporation?’

‘Huh?’

‘My dear Ikram. Real power lies at state level, not in local government. That’s where we’re all going to be five years from now—the Uttar Pradesh state government.’

‘Gangasagarji. The garbage collectors have gone on strike. They say that the new discipline imposed on them has resulted in longer hours—they want more pay and perks.’

‘They’re already overpaid, Ikram. The corporation can’t afford any more hikes.’

‘So what do you want me to do? The municipal commissioner phones me every ten minutes for a negotiated settlement.’

‘Negotiation must always be done from a position of strength, not weakness. If essential services are disrupted, they’ll have the upper hand.’

‘What’s your advice?’

‘Garbage collection mustn’t get disrupted. They’ll then be forced to negotiate from a position of weakness.’

‘So you want me—the mayor—to go around the city collecting garbage?’

‘No. But you have hundreds of ragpickers in your slum. Offer them a small daily allowance to do the job. They’ll not only do the job but also recycle the waste. It’s an economy-friendly and ecology-friendly solution.’

‘The garbage collectors will be enraged.’

‘Better they than us. Negotiate once they fall in line.’

‘The municipal hospitals are in shambles, Gangasagarji.’

‘Let’s improve and upgrade them, Ikram.’

‘We don’t have the budget. We’re in deficit.’

‘Then let’s rename the hospitals instead.’

‘How will renaming anything improve it?’

‘Simple. Who are the businessmen in this city who are being prosecuted for tax fraud?’

‘There are several. Why?’