It was 24 October 1990. Something was going on in India that I might have heard about when I was listening to the BBC World Service on my radio but to tell the truth I hadn't been paying very much attention when I was in Turkey. What was going on was, however, very serious. When I woke up this Wednesday morning I realised my breakfast experience the day before was, when considering the bigger picture, nothing very much to worry about. There wasn't any breakfast to be had at all this morning.
What was it that was going on? Well, I may not be in any position to say what is or is not typically Indian but I suppose something like this is unlikely to happen anywhere else. Some weeks before my arrival the leader of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) formed in 1980, Sri Lal Krishna Advani had begun a Rath Yatra. I am indebted to Wikipedia for the explanation of this term. It is made up of two words "Rath" and "Yatra". Rath means chariot and Yatra means pilgrimage, journey or procession. So already it is a typically Indian thing. The Rath Yatra is a festival held every year in Puri in the state of Orissa in June or July to commemorate the return of Jagganath (Krishna) to his home in Vrindavan after a long period of separation from the people there. The festival involves pulling huge Chariots through the streets from one temple to another. I don't want to get sidetracked too much here so if you want to know more about this I suggest you go looking for it.
Wikipedia says the english word "Juggernaut" derives from the Jagganath Rath Yatra. This journey undertaken by L K Advani and his supporters had all the power of a juggernaut and left a bloody trail of destruction.
The reason this journey was started was something else that I would say was typically Indian and which would be unlikely to happen anywhere else. It all concerned a plan to build a temple at the birthplace of Rama, the Ram Janmabhoomi temple, in Ayodhya in Uttar Pradesh. The trouble was that there appeared to be no way a temple could simply be built near where Rama was born, say in the same city. Oh no, the temple had to be built on the exact spot where he was born. The problem with that was that there was a mosque on the spot, the Babri Masjid. This had been built centuries before and it seems had been deliberately built on the spot precisely because it was where Rama was supposed to have been born and the mosque never had any special significance from a religious point of view. It was purely and simply a symbol not of devotion and of religion but of conquest. Correspondingly, quite apart from its being an obstacle, preventing Hindus from worshipping the birthplace of their idol, Sri Rama, it was for the country the symbol of its subjugation. This is how in 1989 the Bharatiya Janata Party formally decided to lend its shoulder to the cause.
I stand to be corrected but I doubt whether it is a matter of indisputable fact that Sri Rama was actually born on the exact spot where it is said he was born. This seems to be a case of it being a matter of religious belief rather than actual fact. If I am right it was a tenet of the faith that this was the spot where Sri Rama was born and that was the end of it. There was no room for argument and less room for compromise.
All the wise teachings of a religion seem to go out of the window in a situation like this and it would seem that the Rath Yatra resulted in communal violence wherever it went. The aim was to have the Babri Masjid demolished which clearly was not something the muslim community could accept.
Let's not forget that India is a very large place and at the time I was there its population was approaching the 1 billion mark, ten percent of whom were muslims. Ten percent may seem like a minority but it is a large minority comprising 100 million people.
Mr Advani's Rath Yatra was gathering pace and on 24 October 1990 there was a general strike. All the shops were shut in Paharganj and no-one in the restaurant was working. There was no breakfast to be had. I don't know who called the strike but it was pretty well adhered to.
There was was nothing for it but to get on with what I had to do. The next thing on my list of things to get out of the way was to apply for my Nepalese visa. I hadn't got one before I set off and so it seemed sensible to sort it out in Delhi before I was sidetracked and found myself unable to sort it out in time.
At the Embassy there were loads of back-packer types queuing up and filling in the forms to apply for visas to enter Nepal. Here I learned something interesting. Whilst my father had always said that having British Citizenship was like winning First Prize in the lottery of life it turned out that I might have been better off with an Irish Passport. I honestly can't remember how much the visa for Nepal cost. I'm sure it wasn't very much but enough to make sure I got it before I ran out of money to pay for it. On the other hand a visa for Nepal for Irish Citizens was absolutely free. Indeed it seemed that possession of an Irish passport very often meant that there was no visa fee. The reason for this was that all around the world at that time the Irish were perceived to be oppressed by the British! Anyone who had also suffered under the yoke of British colonial oppression was welcomed with open arms and without fee. On the other hand holders of a British passport could expect to pay a hefty visa fee as a revenge for the former Empire's sins. It was also likely that the cost of a visa for British citizens reflected the very costly visas that some visitors need to enter the UK. So having a British passport meant I had won Last Prize in the lottery of visa fees.
Getting a Nepalese visa was a two stage process and I had to leave my passport at the Embassy to collect it the following day after my application had been processed. I headed back to the Metropolis Tourist Home.
As I walked down the Main Bazaar Road I purchased a length of chain to attach to my rucksack. The intention was to be able to lock it to whatever means of transport I was using so that I didn't have to worry about it disappearing while I was asleep. I know it sounds paranoid but the stories you hear about people losing their stuff get to you. It's all very well thinking it would never happen to you but I thought it would be best to take precautions. At the same time I sorted out a parcel of paraphernalia that I didn't need to be carrying around so as to post it home.
I don't know when the strike ended because by the end of the day the shops were open again and I took a stroll up and down the Main Bazaar Road and had a Biriyani at the Metropolis. It wasn't very good and my notes say I went out to eat again - the meal cost a princely Rs8!
