The Chief Minister was out of town. In his absence – and because law and order lay in his domain – the Home Minister ran things. Mahesh Kapoor, though Revenue Minister, and not there – fore directly concerned, heard about the unrest because part of Misri Mandi lay in his constituency. He hurried to the spot and talked with the Superintendent of Police and the District Magistrate. The SP and the DM believed that things would blow over if neither side was provoked. However, the Home Minister, L.N. Agarwal, part of whose constituency also lay in Misri Mandi, did not think it necessary to go to the spot. He received a number of phone calls at home and decided that something by way of a salutary example needed to be provided.
These jatavs had disrupted the trade of the city long enough with their frivolous complaints and their mischievous strike. They had doubtless been stirred up by union leaders. Now they were threatening to block the entrance of the Govind Shoe Mart at the point where it joined the main road of Misri Mandi. Many traders there were already in financial straits. The threatened picketing would finish them off. L.N. Agarwal himself came from a shopkeeping family and some of the traders were good friends of his. Others supplied him with election funds. He had received three desperate calls from them. It was a time not for talk but for action. It was not merely a question of law, but of order, the order of society itself. Surely this is what the Iron Man of India, the late Sardar Patel, would have felt in his place.
But what would he have done had he been here? As if in a dream, the Home Minister conjured up the domed and severe head of his political mentor, dead these four months. He sat in thought for a while. Then he told his personal assistant to get him the District Magistrate on the phone.
The District Magistrate, who was in his mid-thirties, was directly in charge of the civil administration of Brahmpur District and, together with the SP – as the Superintendent of Police was referred to by everyone – maintained law and order.
The PA tried to get through, then said: ‘Sorry, Sir, DM is out on the site. He is trying to conciliate –’
‘Give me the phone,’ said the Home Minister in a calm voice. The PA nervously handed him the receiver.
‘Who…? Where…? I am Agarwal speaking, that’s who… yes, direct instructions… I don’t care. Get Dayal at once… Yes, ten minutes… call me back… The SP is there, that is enough surely, is it a cinema show?’
He put down the phone and grasped the grey curls that curved like a horse-shoe around his otherwise bald head.
After a while he made as if to pick up the receiver again, then decided against it, and turned his attention to a file.
Ten minutes later the young District Magistrate, Krishan Dayal, was on the phone. The Home Minister told him to guard the entrance of the Govind Shoe Mart. He was to disperse any pickets forthwith, if necessary by reading out Section 144 of the Criminal Procedure Code – and then firing if the crowd did not disperse.
The line was unclear but the message disturbingly clear. Krishan Dayal said in a strong voice, but one which was fraught with concern: ‘Sir, with respect, may I suggest an alternative course of action. We are talking with the leaders of the crowd –’
‘So there are leaders, are there, it is not spontaneous?’
‘Sir, it is spontaneous, but there are leaders.’ L.N. Agarwal reflected that it was puppies of the ilk of Krishan Dayal who used to lock him up in British jails. He said, calmly: ‘Are you being witty, Mr Dayal?’
‘No, Sir, I –’
‘You have your instructions. This is an emergency. I have discussed things with the Chief Secretary by phone. I understand that the crowd is some three hundred strong. I want the SP to get the police stationed everywhere along the main road of Misri Mandi and to guard all entrances – Govind Shoe Mart, Brahmpur Shoe Mart, and so on – you just do the needful.’
There was a pause. The Home Minister was about to put down the phone when the DM said: ‘Sir, we may not be able to spare such a large number of police at short notice. A number of policemen are stationed at the site of the Shiva Temple in case of trouble. Things are very tense, Sir. The Revenue Minister thinks that on Friday –’
‘Are they there at the moment? I did not notice them this morning,’ said L.N. Agarwal in a relaxed but steely tone.
‘No, Sir, but they are in the main police station in the Chowk area, so it is sufficiently close to the temple site. It is best to keep them there for a true emergency.’ Krishan Dayal had been in the army during the war, but he was rattled by the Home Minister’s calm air of almost dismissive interrogation and command.