The Good, the Bad and the Ridiculous (15 page)

Rafiq began his bulldozing tactics early on. Why didn’t I give his wife a permanent job on the staff? He could speak to the chairman of the company, retired Justice K.T Desai, and the general manager, Tarneja, but the initiative had to come from me. I had no idea how good or bad a worker Fatma could prove to be, but I could not resist the pressure put on me. I thought I might try her out as a subeditor and see how she acquitted herself. But Rafiq dictated the proposal that I sent to the management—Fatma was to be one of the three assistant editors. Rafiq spoke to Desai and Tarneja. The proposal was promptly accepted.

Within a few days, Fatma was installed as assistant editor and quietly assumed the powers of my senior-most aide. No one could see me without being cleared by her; all telephone calls to me were first received by her. Even my social life came to be regulated by her. At least twice a week, I had dinner with her and Rafiq; on other days, if I had not been invited out, food was sent to my apartment. Fatma proved to be an extremely possessive woman who could not tolerate my making friends with other women or men she did not approve of. There was, however, a very positive side to her character. Although she did not and could not write, she organized the commissioning and publishing of articles. She was an excellent sub and unsparing in her endeavour to see
The Weekly
come up. Her dedication to her job and to me was complete. Without her, I could not have run the journal.

I had the privilege of meeting both Sheikh Mujibur Rahman and President Ziaur Rahman many times. They were as unlike as any two persons I have known could be; apart from being Bengali Muslims, they had nothing in common. Mujib was above average in height for a Bengali, flabby and sloppily dressed. Zia was short, slim and made as if of whipcord. ‘His punch can make a man senseless,’ his bodyguard had once told me. Mujib was warm-hearted, outgoing and garrulous, Zia was distant, reserved and a man of few words. Mujib’s office was like an oriental durbar of the Mughal times: dozens of people squatting on the carpets, sprawling on the sofa and chairs, standing along the walls. Telephones rang continuously; he answered them while carrying on conversation with whoever happened to get his attention and signed papers placed on the table. It was chaotic. Zia’s office was as cold as he. In the waiting room, his secretaries and security staff discreetly engaged you in polite conversation while their eyes searched your person for concealed weapons. He received his visitors one at a time and stuck to a stopwatch schedule. No one dared to walk into his room unannounced, no telephones buzzed. Your questions froze in the air; his measured answers did not unfreeze them. Mujib insisted on embracing you and calling you an old friend on your second meeting. Zia gave you a stiff shake of his cold hand and a faint smile of recognition. Mujib spoke of himself in the third person, ‘Banglabandhu says’, and expected you to address him likewise. Zia never opened up, nor let anyone become too familiar with him. He was always ‘Mister’, ‘President’, ‘Sir’.

I first met Ziaur Rahman after he had been in office for two years. I had my reservations about military dictators and a distinct distaste for one who instead of punishing the assassins of Mujib had rewarded them with diplomatic assignments. Nevertheless, the little I saw of the Dacca environs in the week I spent in Bangladesh was most impressive. The city which had been in shambles a few years earlier had become orderly, with signs of prosperity burgeoning from its shopping centres and marketplaces. They had harvested a bumper crop of rice and the countryside looked greener, cleaner and more prosperous than I had ever seen it. I told Zia this; he looked very pleased and extended my interview. My last question to him was about the anti-India feeling growing in his country. Many walls had slogans painted on them: ‘Indian dogs, get out’, ‘Hands off Bangladesh’. I asked Zia if he could give any instances of Indian interference in his country’s affairs. All that he could mention was the Indian government giving asylum to Tiger Siddiqi and Sheikh Mujibur Rahman’s family. I countered this by asking him why no one had been arrested or punished for the Banglabandhu’s murder. He made no comment but looked at his watch impatiently. I knew the interview was over.

I was Zia’s last visitor that evening. He was walking down the corridor a few yards ahead of me, between two enormous bodyguards. It was then that I noticed how short he was—a little over five feet. He wore high-heeled shoes.

I thank Humra Quraishi, Ravi Singh and Pradipta Sarkar for helping me put this book together.

Most of my books and columns would not have been possible without Lachman Das, my secretary for fifty years. I am grateful to him.

Born in Punjab’s Hadali village (now in Pakistan) in 1915, KHUSHWANT SINGH is one of India’s best known and most widely read authors and columnists. He was founder-editor of
Yojana
, and editor of
The Illustrated Weekly of India
,
National Herald
and the
Hindustan Times
. His first book,
The Mark of Vishnu and Other Stories
, was published in 1950, and he has published several acclaimed and best-selling books of fiction and non-fiction in the six decades since. Among these are the novels
Train to Pakistan
,
I Shall Not Hear the Nightingale
,
Delhi
and
The Company of Women
; his autobiography,
Truth, Love and a Little Malice
; the two-volume
A History of the Sikhs
; a collection of prayers and precepts,
The Freethinker’s Prayer Book
; and the forthcoming
Consolations and Lamentations
. He has also translated the work of major Punjabi and Urdu poets and writers, as well as
The Japji and the Rehras: The Morning and Evening Prayers of the Sikhs
.

Khushwant Singh was a member of the Rajya Sabha from 1980 to 1986. He was awarded the Padma Bhushan in 1974; he returned the award in 1984 to protest the siege of the Golden Temple by the Indian Army. In 2007, he was awarded India’s second highest civilian honour, the Padma Vibhushan. He was also honoured by the Government of Punjab with the Punjab Rattan Award in 2006.