Whether in power or out of it, Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah was a newsman’s delight — though at times, a nightmare as well.
As the 1975 Kashmir Accord between him and Prime Minister Indira Gandhi took shape in the power corridors of New Delhi and travel restrictions on him were lifted, Sheikh Saheb’s visits to his home in Kashmir became more frequent. He had served a long period of externment/detention in Delhi, lodged in a government bungalow on Kotla Lane. The Kashmir Accord was eventually concluded in the winter of 1974, ultimately leading to Sheikh Saheb’s formal re-installation on 25 February 1975 in Jammu.
Throughout this period his unique style of interaction with the press remained unchanged. It is impossible to sum it up in one go, so I will confine myself to a couple of illustrative instances.
Sometime in 1974 I accompanied my senior colleague, the late Jagan Nath Sathu, to Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah’s residence behind the Nedous Hotel in Srinagar for an interview. Sheikh Saheb, visibly relaxed, asked us to accompany him to Ganderbal where he was to address a religious congregation. His faithful chauffeur, ‘Amma’, took the wheel beside him on the front seat while the two of us sat in the back. On the way, Sheikh Saheb regaled us with jail-time jokes about Mirza Mohammad Afzal Beg and Kashyap Bandhu — all in good humour. He warned us that his host in Ganderbal, Maulana Mohammad Sayeed Massodi, would offer nothing beyond “namkeen chai and Chuchwaroo.”
But after Sheikh Saheb’s public engagement, when we were seated in the austere visiting room of Maulana’s humble dwelling, we were treated to a rich fare of crisply fried chicken and kebabs. A surprised Sheikh Saheb looked at us and asked Maulana, “Maulana Saheb, yeh sab kya hai?” Known for his ready wit, Maulana replied, “Yeh Tableeg-ul-Islam hai.” His crisp, though cryptic, words aptly conveyed that he had not gone out of his way — the hospitality was someone else’s doing, their ‘promotional’ effort. On our way back Sheikh Saheb shared other interesting moments from his life with contemporaries; by the time we reached home we were richer in professional experience, although the promised interview never took place.
That was the romance of being around Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah when he was a living legend. ‘Covering’ Sheikh Saheb was an enviable privilege enjoyed by journalists of every colour, creed and persuasion. It was a heady experience to listen to his long, winding public speeches addressed to enthusiastic crowds — an element missing today from our professional engagement. His inimitable style of public speaking (to his home crowds) remained unchanged throughout his turbulent life. He was an instant attraction for both the audience and the press. Words cannot convey the thrill of seeing that huge man passionately gesticulate while delivering his punchline.
Even when the content became repetitive to the point of boredom, coming from him it was always sprinkled with unexpected surprises that journalists could not afford to miss. Just as we weary reporters would be going through our lengthy copy to look for the day’s intro, Sheikh Saheb, as if on cue, would fire his last shot — a line that would ring around the globe. He had the habit of delivering his punchline at the fag end of his usually over-two-hour addresses. We could not afford to walk away earlier; most of us had learnt that at our cost.
In one of his few speeches at the Jamia Masjid, Sheikh Saheb threatened that “rivers of blood will flow in Kashmir” if the state subject law were tampered with. A newly posted central intelligence officer present incognito later asked me how serious the implications of that threat were. I tried to put him at ease, saying Kashmiris had a habit of using ghastly expressions like “khash kare, domb kaday” without meaning them at all. But on a later occasion I too tripped while reporting Sheikh Saheb. It happened on Martyrs’ Day (13 July). Addressing a late-night public gathering at the then only Shaheed Mazar, Sheikh Saheb thundered, “Hands off Kashmir — Indira Gandhi and (Pakistan president) Zia-ul-Haq.” The next day there was an official get-together where Sheikh Saheb took me aside to remind me of the Lakshman Rekha in reporting his speeches: “By now you should have known what I say for local consumption only.” I got the hint and never again made that mistake.
As Sheikh Saheb’s Director of Information and media adviser after 1975, I found him amenable to professional advice and, I must gratefully acknowledge, he had the grace to act upon it once he was convinced. In one public speech at Kokernag in South Kashmir he named his predecessor Syed Mir Qasim while attacking the Congress party’s behaviour in J&K. As we settled for the night at Duksum he asked for my expert comment. I strongly protested naming Qasim Saheb, who had just vacated his seat for him, though I conceded the justification for criticising the Congress. Sheikh Saheb graciously acknowledged the merit of my suggestion.
On another occasion Sheikh Saheb resorted to ‘friendly firing’ at Pahalgam when his ministerial colleague Devi Das Thakur made the grave mistake of publicly advising his leader. Thakur had asked Sheikh “not to ignore your obligations” towards Congress and New Delhi in maintaining cordial relations with local Congressmen. Mirza Mohammad Afzal Beg pressed my hand to caution me that the ‘Boss’ would not take it kindly. Sure enough, the Lion’s roar in retaliation had a visibly terrifying effect on Thakur, who chain-smoked to ease his tension. Thakur took it hard. After the speech Sheikh Saheb was his usual self and asked me to escort “Thakur Saheb” to the nearby Pahalgam Club for tea; he calmed Thakur’s nerves by pulling a vacant chair and asking him to sit.
During the national Emergency, I — as Director PR — was also the state authority for press censorship. It was an odd job for a professional journalist and one I did not relish. But Sheikh Saheb was strongly averse to letting New Delhi have its way on this matter, so I had to defend my position against my personal wish. Union I&B minister V. C. Shukla landed in Srinagar mainly to snatch the censorship authority from the state. Coincidentally, he sought my opinion while sounding me out about his mission. After I cautioned him about Sheikh Saheb’s strong views, and Governor L. K. Jha and Chief Secretary Sushital Bannerji took the same line, Shukla backtracked. Weeks later the central government’s chief censor, D’Penha, wrote a letter of appreciation to me as the state censoring authority. My good friend, the late K. L. Dhar, deputy director Information with longer administrative experience than I, advised me not to show it to the boss. He reminded me of Sheikh Saheb’s post-1953 suspicion about anyone from his camp “smelling of extra-loyalty to New Delhi.”
(The writer is a veteran journalist, highly respected political analyst and commentator. This is a republished column.)
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