Extract from a book on Jinnah
Jinnah’s friend, Nehru’s foe
Ramkrishna Dalmia, the first Indian owner of The Times of India, was undoubtedly one of our most colourful industrialists. Starting today, a three-part extract from Father Dearest, written by Neelima Dalmia Adhar, one of his 18 children from six wives.
Like all discerning Indians, Dalmia knew that the fate of India rested in the hands of four persons — Lord Mountbatten, Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru and his old-time friend and ally Mohammad Ali Jinnah.
Dalmia was appaled by the brutality of the massacres. He was equally appaled by the apathy and ruthlessness of their perpetrator, his stone-hearted friend Jinnah, and took it upon himself at that crucial hour to do everything in his power to set the damage right. He was confident that Jinnah would listen to him — and the rest would fall into place.
Jinnah’s home in Delhi was barely five minutes down the road from the Dalmias. In his house at 10 Aurangzeb Road, he lived as a bachelor with his sister Fatima as his sole companion.
Jinnah and Dalmia shared a close friendship with each other and were often seen in animated conversation seated on the wide verandah that overlooked the garden in Dalmia’s house. That Jinnah trusted him and relied upon his judgement was evident.
He discussed his innermost secrets, his fears and fantasies with Dalmia whenever he got the chance. ‘Jinnah’ and ‘Dalmia’, as they fondly addressed each other, were friends bound incredibly together by their polarities for no two people could have been more dissimilar.
A staunch Hindu, Dalmia wore clothes made of only handwoven and handspun khadi, and was strictly against meat-eating and the consumption of alcohol. Like all good Hindus he believed that the cow was a sacred animal and he had given up the use of shoes or watch-straps made from leather. He had none of the sophistication that comes with an elite British education and was dead against the division of India on religious lines.
Jinnah who harboured a mildly visible scorn for his Hindu rivals, was the completely unorthodox Muslim. He wore only impeccably cut suits made of fine linen and relished his fare of oysters and champagne. He had the refined taste of a connoisseur for good brandy and Bordeaux. He drank alcohol and ate pork in abject defiance of the tenets of Islam and did not believe in mindless worship at a mosque.
While Dalmia made simplicity his religion, Jinnah revelled in pomp and splendour akin to that of the Indian Maharajas on whose treasures and palaces he had modelled his plush home.
The only thing they shared apart from a profound love for their motherland was the liberal sanction that both their religions bestowed on them, allowing men to take more than one wife! Paradoxically, it was also one of their most perceptible differences — for Jinnah remained single all his life after his estranged Parsi wife Ratti Bai died in 1929, but Dalmia went on to wed six women like a devout and practising Hindu.
In Jawaharlal Nehru, however, they both perceived the cunning of a self-absorbed ‘pseudo-socialist’ who had never really discarded his essentially British ways — the other common denominator between the two!
Contrary to what rumour mongers decreed, Fatima, the withdrawn and unobtrusive sister of Jinnah, was never the binding factor between Dalmia and her brother — the two men in her life. Given Dalmia’s own liberality in the choice and number of the women he married or was associated with, along with the frequency of his visits to the home of an eligible and single woman, it is possible that a romantic relationship evolved from there. But one impropriety Dalmia could not be accused of was hypocrisy and if had felt any amorous inclinations towards the accessible Muslim woman, he would have unabashedly and courageously pursued her till it culminated in marriage.
Even though Dalmia’s friendship with Jinnah was much maligned, it was sound and it was solid, his romantic liaisons with Fatima notwithstanding. He knew Jinnah was a man of ‘towering vanity’ and ‘unassailable personal honesty’ — therefore, completely incorruptible. Wealth held no lure for him and perhaps the only intemperance that he could be charged with was his inflexible demand for the separate state of Pakistan.
Ignoring the treacherous ‘anti-Hindu’ tag that stuck to Dalmia, he never failed to exercise his right as an advisor and friend, always deriding Jinnah for his rigidity and fanaticism.
‘‘You are selfish and ambitious, Jinnah,’’ he said. ‘‘You want to become like the Caliph of Turkey in independent Pakistan. The Hindus think you are a demon and are retarding the progress of the country…’’
Dalmia’s strong words never offended Jinnah. His thin lips pursed into a downward sneer, making his gaunt cheeks look even more hollow. Living under the shadow of death, breathing through lungs ravaged by the dreaded tuberculosis, Jinnah said, ‘‘I do not speak frequently, Dalmia, but I speak at the appropriate time. Perhaps we could have arrived at an amicable settlement because of you. Your selfish love for your motherland and your deep affection for me makes you the most competent man to have negotiated it. But mark my words — your leaders are not worthy of your loyalty.’’ Indeed prophetic words of a dying man!
Debilitated in body but jubilant in spirit, Jinnah departed from the Indian soil in the second week of August to hail the birth of his homeland. He left with a sadistic satisfaction that his house in Delhi — the last of his claim on Indian soil, now belonged to his friend — Dalmia. Before leaving, Fatima made one last call to a number that she had dialled many times before. Then she wiped a tear from her eyes as she left with her brother from India and her friend!
The prime minister was a troubled man. The governance of a country ridden with ailments, torn apart by bloody riots, had already stretched him to the end of his tether. He hardly needed a rabble-rouser who had the voice and instrument to incite public sentiment against him. Criticism made him testy and short-tempered and Dalmia’s verbal assault could neither be trivialised nor ignored.
Jawaharlal Nehru had spent many years of his life in British jails orchestrating his battle against their formidable might. Dalmia’s was not a threat that was insurmountable, his widely read newspapers and diatribe notwithstanding. Ridden with his own failings, anger and vindictiveness, he felt infuriated by this defiance.
With an egocentricity that few of his ilk could have rivalled, the adored and admired Nehru, his Janus-face neither beautiful nor saintly, raged against his opponent. His most vocal antagonist — the messiah of the miserable refugees, the should-have-been-finance minister Dalmia — was to become his vilest enemy. The man who found himself duty-bound to alleviate the suffering of the masses, proclaimed loudly that Nehru was incompetent and had been unfairly favoured by Gandhi and providence. Since his was a voice that rang with candour and sincerity, and was complemented with practical measures of aid and relief, the masses listened to him!
Their association dated back to 1931. Already established as the mainstay source of funds for the Congress party in Bihar, moved by a call of service for the nation, Dalmia wrote a letter to Nehru after his father Motilal Nehru died:
Dear Panditji,
I understand that after the death of your revered father Motilalji, you are in financial difficulties. You may not know me personally as my activities have been confined mostly to Bihar.
If hundreds or even thousands of persons like me sacrifice their lives for you, it is too little. I am enclosing a cheque of Rs 5000. On a word from you I can send you some more even though my resources are limited. If you do not want to accept it as help kindly take it as a loan.
On 13 March the cheque came back with a brief and laconic reply:
No doubt my position has been adversely affected by my father’s death. However, I can manage to maintain myself. Even if I was not in a position to do so, I would rather choose to work hard than to accept (unearned) help from a friend. If you desire I can spend this money for the kisans (farmers).
Even though it was unlikely that Nehru was unaware of Dalmia’s unstinting support to the party at that time, the mild rebuff from him had no adverse affect on Dalmia. In fact his respect for Nehru increased tremendously as a result.
To be continued