Thus, the Sheikh rejected the option of independence as impractical, and the option of joining Pakistan as immoral. They would join India, but on terms of their own choosing. Among these terms were the retention of the state flag and the designation of the head of government as prime minister. Neither was acceptable to the Praja Parishad of Jammu. Asking for the complete integration of Kashmir into India, they had adopted the slogan: ‘Ek Vidhan, ek Pradhan, ek Nishan’ (One Constitution, One Head of State, One Flag).
In January 1952, shortly before Abdullah was due to speak in Jammu town, Hindu students protested against the National Conference flag being flown alongside the Indian tricolour. They were arrested and later expelled from their college. This sparked a wave of sympathy protests culminating in a march on the Secretariat, where demonstrators entered the offices, broke furniture and burnt records. The police cracked down hard, imposing a seventy-two-hour curfew and arresting hundreds of Parishad members. Also jailed was their aged leader, Prem Nath Dogra, although he had not participated in the protests himself.
The government in Delhi, fearful of a countrywide Hindu backlash, persuaded the Kashmir government to release the Parishad leaders. Abdullah agreed, if reluctantly. On 10 April he made a speech in which he said his party would accept the Indian Constitution ‘in its entirety once we are satisfied that the grave of communalism has been finally dug’. He darkly added: ‘Of that we are not sure yet. The Sheikh said that the Kashmiris ‘fear what will happen to them and their position if, for instance, something happens to Pandit Nehru’.11
Both the timing and venue of Abdullah’s speech were significant. It was made in Ranbirsinghpura, a town only four miles from the border with Pakistan. And India had just come through a general election the result of which appeared to vindicate Jawaharlal Nehru and his policies. The speech was widely reported, and caused considerable alarm. Why was the man who had often issued chits complimenting India for its secularism suddenly turning so sceptical?
The Sheikh’s change of mind coincided with a visit to Kashmir by the veteran British journalist Ian Stephens. Stephens, who had been editor of the Calcutta Statesman during the troubles of 1946–7, was known to be a strong supporter of Pakistan. He thought that the Kashmir Valley, with its majority Muslim population, properly belonged to that country. Still, he was sensitive to the dilemmas of its leader. He had long talks with Abdullah, whom he saw as ‘a man of pluck and enlightenment, standing for principles good in their way; a victim, like so many of us, of the unique scope and speed and confusion of the changes in 1947, and now holding a perhaps uniquely lonely and perplexing post’. His was a regime upheld by ‘Indian bayonets, which meant mainly Hindu bayonets’. Admittedly, ‘in many ways it was a good regime: energetic, full of ideas, staunchly non-communal, very go-ahead in agrarian reform’. But, concluded Stephens, ‘to the eye of history it might prove an unnatural one’.12
III
Once, Abdullah had been Nehru’s man in Kashmir. By the summer of 1952, however, it was more that Nehru was Abdullah’s man in India. The Sheikh had made it known that, in his view, only the prime minister stood between India and the ultimate victory of Hindu communalism.
Meanwhile, discussions continued about the precise status of Kashmir vis-à-vis the Indian Union. In July the Sheikh met Nehru in Delhi and also had a round of meetings with other ministers. They hammered out a compromise known as the Delhi Agreement, whereby Kashmiris would become full citizens of India in exchange for an autonomy far greater than that enjoyed by other states of the Union. Thus the new state flag (devised by the National Conference) would for ‘historical and other reasons’ be flown alongside the national flag. Delhi could not send in forces to quell ‘internal disturbances’ without the consent of Srinagar. Where with regard to other states residuary powers rested with the centre, in the case of Kashmir these would remain with the state. Crucially, those from outside the state were prohibited from buying land or property within it. This measure was aimed at forestalling attempts to change the demographic profile of the Valley through large-scale immigration.13
These were major concessions, but the Sheikh pressed for greater powers still. In a truculent speech in the state’s Constituent Assembly he said only the state could decide what powers to give away to the Union, or what jurisdiction the Supreme Court would have in Kashmir. Then he told Yuvraj Karan Singh, the formal head of state, that if he did not fall into line he would go the way of his father, the deposed Hari Singh. The young prince, said the Sheikh, must ‘break up with the reactionary elements’, and instead identify with the ‘happiness and sorrow of the common man’. For ‘if he is under the delusion that he can retain his office with the help of his few supporters, he is mistaken’.14
The ‘reactionary elements’ referred to here were the Hindus of Jammu. They had restarted their agitation, with an amended if equally catchy slogan: ‘Ek Desh mein Do Vidhan, Do Pradhan, Do Nishan – nahin chalenge, nahin chalenge’ (Two Constitutions, Two Heads of State, Two Flags – these in one State we shall not allow, not allow). Processions and marches, as well as clashes with police, became frequent. Once more the jails of Jammu began to fill with the volunteers of the Praja Parishad.
The Hindus of Jammu retained a deep attachment to the ruling family, and to Maharaja Hari Singh in particular. They resented his being deposed and were displeased with his son for being ‘disloyal’ by agreeing to replace him. But their apprehensions were also economic-namely, that the land reforms recently undertaken in the Kashmir Valley would be reproduced in Jammu. In the Valley, zamindars had been dispossessed of land in excess of the ceiling limit. Since this was fixed at twenty-two acres per family, their losses were substantial. The land seized by the state had been vested chiefly in the hands of the middle peasantry. The agricultural proletariat had not benefited to quite the same extent. Still, the land reforms had gone further and been more successful than anywhere else in India.15
As it happened, the large landlords in the Valley were almost all Hindu. This gave an unfortunate religious hue to what was essentially a project of socialist redistribution. This was perhaps inevitable; despite the sincerity of the Sheikh’s secularist professions, they could not nullify the legacies of history. At one time the state had been controlled by the Dogras of Jammu, who happened to be Hindu; now it was controlled by the National Conference, which was based in the Valley and whose leader and most of its members were Muslim.16
IV
Through the years 1950–2, as the rest of India became acquainted with its new constitution and had its first elections, Jammu and Kashmir was beset by uncertainty on two fronts. There were the unsettled relations between the state and the Union, and there was the growing conflict between the Muslim-majority Kashmir Valley and the Hindu-dominated Jammu region. Here was a situation made to order for a politician in search of a cause. And it found one in Dr Syama Prasad Mookerjee, who was to make the struggle of the Dogras of Jammu his own.
Dr Mookerjee had left Jawaharlal Nehru’s Cabinet to become the founder-president of the Bharatiya Jana Sangh. His new party fared poorly at the general election of 1952 – only three of its members were elected to Parliament. The troubles in Kashmir came at an opportune time for Dr Mookerjee and the Jana Sangh. Here was a chance to lift the dispirited cadres, to forget the disappointments of the election and reinvent the party on the national stage.
Dr Mookerjee began his charge with a series of blistering attacks on the government in Parliament. ‘Who made Sheikh Abdullah the King of Kings in Kashmir?’ he asked sarcastically. The Sheikh had apparently said that they would treat both the provincial and national flags ‘equally’; this, said the Jana Sangh leader, showed a ‘divided loyalty’ unacceptable in a sovereign country. Even if the Valley wanted a limited accession, Jammu and the Buddhist region of Ladakh must be allowed to integrate fully if they so chose. But a better solution still would be to make the whole state a part of India, without any special concessions. This would bring it on par with all the
other princely states, which – despite earlier promises made to them as regards autonomy – had finally to agree to be subject to the provisions of the constitution in toto. Abdullah himself had been a member of the Indian Constituent Assembly, yet ‘he is asking for special treatment. Did he not agree to accept this Constitution in relation to the rest of India, including 497 States. If it is good enough for all of them, why should it not be good enough for him in Kashmir?’17
In the autumn of 1952 Dr Mookerjee visited Jammu and made several speeches in support of the Praja Parishad movement. Their demands, he said, were ‘just and patriotic’. He promised to ‘secure’ the Constitution of India for them. He then went to Srinagar, where he had a most contentious meeting with Sheikh Abdullah.18
The support of a national party and a national leader had given much encouragement to the Dogras. In November 1952 the state government moved to Jammu for the winter. As head of state, Karan Singh arrived first. Years later he recalled the ‘derisive and hostile slogans’ and black flags with which he was received by the Praja Parishad. Although ‘the National Conference had tried to lay on some kind of reception it was swamped by the deep hostility of the Dogra masses’. Writing to the government of India, he noted that ‘an over-whelming majority of the Jammu province seem to me to be emphatically in sympathy with the agitation . . . I do not think it will be a correct appraisal to dismiss the whole affair as merely the creation of a reactionary clique.’19
Which, of course, is what Sheikh Abdullah was disposed to do. Through the winter of 1952/3 the Praja Parishad and the state government remained locked in conflict. Protesters would remove the state flag from government buildings and place Indian flags in their stead. They would be arrested, but others would soon arrive to replace them. The movement got a tremendous fillip when a Parishad member, Mela Ram, was shot by police near the Pakistan border. In Jammu, at least, Abdullah’s reputation was in tatters. He had made his name representing the people against an autocratic monarch. Now he had become a repressive ruler himself.20
In January Dr Syama Prasad Mookerjee wrote a long letter to Jawaharlal Nehru in support of the Parishad and their ‘highly patriotic and emotional struggle to ‘merge completely with India’. He added a gratuitous challenge with regard to the ‘recovery of the part of the erstwhile undivided state now in the possession of Pakistan. How was India ‘going to get this [territory] back’? asked Mookerjee. ‘You have always evaded this question. The time has come when we should know what exactly you propose to do about this matter. It will be nothing short of national disgrace and humiliation if we fail to regain this lost portion of our own territory.’
Nehru ignored the taunt. As for the Praja Parishad, he thought that they were ‘trying to decide a very difficult and complicated constitutional question by methods of war’. Abdullah (to whom Mookerjee had written separately) was more blunt; as he saw it, ‘the Praja Parishad is determined to force a solution of the entire Kashmir issue on communal lines’.
Mookerjee asked Nehru and Abdullah to release the Praja Parishad leaders and convene a conference to discuss the future of Kashmir. Mookerjee again challenged Nehru to go to war with Pakistan: ‘Please do not sidetrack the issue and let the public of India know how and when, if at all, we are going to get back this portion of our cherished territory. 21
Eventually the exchange ran a ground on a matter of pride. Nehru thought the Parishad should call off the movement as a precondition to talks with the government; Mookerjee wanted the government to offer talks as a precondition to the movement calling off the struggle. When the government refused to bend, Mookerjee decided to take the matter to the streets of Delhi. Beginning in the first week of March, Jana Sangh volunteers courted arrest in support of the demands of the Praja Parishad. The protesters would collect outside a police station and shout slogans against the government and against the prime minister, thereby violating Section 188 of the Indian Penal Code.
The satyagraha was co-ordinated by Dr Mookerjee from his office in Parliament House. Participating were members of what the authorities were calling the ‘Hindu communal parties’: the Jana Sangh, the Hindu Mahasabha and the Ram Rajya Parishad. By the end of April 1953 1,300 people had been arrested. Intelligence reports suggest that they came from all parts of India, yet were overwhelmingly upper caste: Brahmins, Thakurs, Banias.22
It was now summer, tourist season in the Valley. Among the first visitors to arrive, in late April, was the American politician Adlai Stevenson. He had come to Kashmir to sail on the Dal lake and see the snows, but also to meet Sheikh Abdullah. They met twice, for upwards of two hours each time. The content of these conversations were not revealed by either side, but some Indians assumed it was all about independence. A Bombay journal otherwise known to be sympathetic to the United States claimed that Stevenson had assured Abdullah of much more than moral support. A loan of $15 million would be on hand once Kashmir became independent; besides, the US would ensure that ‘the Valley would have a permanent population of at least 5,000 American families, that every houseboat and hotel would be filled to capacity, that Americans would buy up all the art and craft output of the dexterous Kashmiri artisans, that within three years every village in Kashmir would be electrified and so on and so forth’.23
Stevenson later denied that he had encouraged Abdullah. When the Sheikh offered the ‘casual suggestion that independent status might be an alternative solution’, Stevenson stayed silent; he did not, he claimed, give ‘even unconscious encouragement regarding independence, which did not seem to me realistic . . . I was listening, not talking’.24
So the Sheikh was once more contemplating independence. But independence for what? Not, most likely, the whole of the state of Jammu and Kashmir. One part (the north) was in Pakistani hands; another part (Jammu) was in the grip of a prolonged agitation. Abdullah’s own papers are closed to scholars and he is silent on the subject in his memoirs, but we can plausibly speculate that it must have been the Valley, and the Valley alone, for which he was seeking independence. Here he was in control, with the population largely behind him; and it was here that the tourists would come to nurture his dreams of an ‘Eastern Switzerland’.25
V
Not long after Stevenson, another politician came seeking to fish in troubled waters. On 8 May Dr Syama Prasad Mookerjee boarded a train to Jammu, en route to Srinagar. He had planned to take his satyagraha deep into enemy territory. Anticipating trouble, the state government issued orders prohibiting him from entering. Mookerjee disregarded the order and crossed the border on the morning of the 11th. The police requested him to return, and when he refused arrested him and took him to Srinagar jail.
Before the Praja Parishad movement, Dr Mookerjee had been a lifelong constitutionalist. A Bengali bhadralok of the old school, he was comfortable in a suit and tie, sipping a glass of whisky. During the entire nationalist movement he never resorted to satyagraha or spent a single night in jail. Indeed, he had long held, in the words of his biographer, that ‘legislatures were the only forum for giving vent to diverse viewpoints on Government policies’. That belief sat oddly with Dr Mookerjee’s support for the protests of the Praja Parishad. And now he was sanctioning and leading a street protest himself.
Why then did Dr Mookerjee resort to methods with which he was unfamiliar? He told his follower (and future biographer) Balraj Madhok that he was convinced that this was the only language the prime minister understood. ‘As a man who had been [an] agitator all his life, Pandit Nehru, he felt, had developed a complex for agitational methods. He would bow before force and agitation but not before right or reason unless backed by might.’26
Now, in Srinagar jail, while charges were being compiled, Dr Mookerjee spent his time reading Hindu philosophy and writing to friends and relatives.27 In early June he fell ill. Pain in one of his legs was accompanied by fever. The doctors diagnosed pleurisy. Then on 22 June he had a heart attack and died the following day.28
On 24 June an Indian air force plane fl
ew Mookerjee’s body back to his home town, Calcutta. Sheikh Abdullah had laid as hawl on the body, while his deputy, Bakshi Ghulam Mohammed, helped load the stretcher onto the plane. In Calcutta huge crowds lined the thirteen-mile route from Dum Dum airport to the family home in Bhowanipur. Nehru wrote to a friend in Madras that ‘we are having a great deal of trouble as a result of Dr Mookerjee’s death. The atmosphere in Delhi is bad. It is worse in Calcutta.’29
And worse still in Jammu. When the news reached the town an angry mob attacked and looted a government Arts emporium and set fire to government offices.30 In Delhi, meanwhile, a crowd gathered at Ajmeri Gate, wearing black badges, waving black flags and shouting, ‘Khoon ka Badla Khoon sé laingé’ (Blood will be avenged by blood). The anger persisted for days. On 5July a portion of Dr Mookerjee’s ashes arrived in the capital; these were carried in a massive procession by the Jana Sangh through the old City, with the marchers shouting slogans of revenge and insisting that ‘Kashmir hamarahai’ (Kashmir shall be ours).31
In late June posters appeared in parts of Delhi warning Sheikh Abdullah that he would be killed if he came to the capital. These calls could not be taken lightly, for it had been in a similarly surcharged atmosphere that Mahatma Gandhi had met his end. Now, again, it appeared that ‘in Delhi the entire middle class is in the hands of the [Hindu] communalists’. It was feared that not just the Sheikh, but also ‘Mr Nehrumaymeet the fate . . . of Gandhiji due to the intense propaganda of the communalists’. The police were instructed to look out for ‘any propaganda of a serious nature, or any plans or designs these groups of parties may have against the Prime Minister’.32