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Short story: Those who were less charitable, pointed out that perhaps it was all the doing of Bharat Pradhan’s scriptwriters who believed that renouncing the use of singular pronouns like ‘I, me, my, mine and myself’ would set him apart from other leaders and impart to his public persona a touch of Julius Caesar who famously wrote his account of the Gallic Wars in third person
By Ajith Pillai
Leaders are no longer born. They are created.
Immediately after the party high command had revealed him to the world as its next supremo, it lost no time in hailing Bharat Pradhan as a “leader of all leaders”. Opinion poll after opinion poll, year after year, reiterated that he was the greatest. Men envied him for his muscular physique and well-groomed beard. And women admired his chiselled looks and his choice of designer clothes.
Neo-intellectuals were impressed by the fact that he was a nationalist and a patriot who could recite verses from the ancient Hindu texts like a Brahmin. Others appreciated his ability to slip into inane conversation and share bawdy humour. And children found him a delight, as he could recite nursery rhymes and was happy to play hide-and-seek with them.
As India’s second CEO (after the scrapping of the prime ministerial post in 2047), Bharat Pradhan, was also projected, from the day he was sworn in, as the man for all seasons. A veritable chameleon, Pradhan could laugh or be driven to tears on demand. He could be, on cue, both a liberal and a modernist, as well as a conservative and a traditionalist. It was said of him that he represented India’s Hindu diversity like no one of his predecessors had ever done.
Indeed, it was trumpeted that this unique quality of ‘being something to everybody’ ensured that he held on to the top job since the last 14 years. He was now left with ten months to complete his third term in office.
Pradhan’s description of himself remained unchanged over the years. He was, as he often put it, a humble servant of the nation first, and then a member of the Bhartiya Peoples’ Congress (BPC). It was a party that ostensibly swore by democratic principles, but for all practical purposes, had turned the country into a one-party Police State. There was no Opposition to speak of in a Parliament dominated by members of the BPC. It enjoyed a brute majority for almost the last decade-and-a-half.
As the CEO, Pradhan’s word was what counted. His cabinet comprised a motley crew of nondescript yes-men and women who found comfort in the position and perks accorded to them by their ministerial appointment. It was rumoured that the real power controlling the CEO was vested in two obese men and a woman from the party organisation, who had maintained their girth, smug faces, and wielded influence over matters of state ever since Pradhan took charge.
However, if the Gang of Three were all-powerful, there was nothing to suggest that. Individually or collectively, they made no major announcements or publicly expressed displeasure with any governmental action or policy. But the trio was always present when Pradhan made a public appearance. They stood behind him, dressed in business suits and sporting similar dark glasses. Their omnipresence led to speculation that they were the powers behind the throne.
Were they?
Those who looked for more distinct clues failed to find any. Pradhan, on his part, exuded the self-confidence of a man who knew his mind and took his own counsel. Of course, his critics, who had dwindled in number over the years, maintained that he was merely a carefully scripted leader, not a natural, with his frequent references to himself in the third person. “Pradhan believes in you; Pradhan has faith in the country and its people; he respects the wisdom of the ancients of this great land; without their blessings he would be nothing…” was typically how he would begin any of his well-scripted speeches.
When he first took over as CEO, Pradhan’s penchant for ‘illeism’, or referring to himself in the third person, was subjected to a fair amount of analysis. Some called it an effort to project humility, as was common among aristocrats in feudal societies of yore. Others felt that he was only following the age-old Hindu practice of disassociating one’s inner being from the other self, which interacts with the physical world. This was considered the hallmark of the spiritually evolved intellectual.
Those who were less charitable, pointed out that perhaps it was all the doing of Pradhan’s scriptwriters who believed that renouncing the use of singular pronouns like `I, me, my, mine and myself’ would set him apart from other leaders and impart to his public persona a touch of Julius Caesar who famously wrote his account of the Gallic Wars in third person.
The debate on who or what was behind Pradhan’s illeism remained inconclusive since his speechwriters, if they existed, were never identified. Neither could it be said with certainty that the CEO had a history of speech-making of this kind before taking up the top job. Precious little was known of his past, which was shrouded in mystery. When questions were asked, they were brushed aside with this cryptic remark from the leader himself: “It does not matter where Pradhan came from. It is more important to know where Pradhan is headed.”
Indeed, whatever was known of his past was largely from a sketchy biography released by the Information Ministry, which smacked of hagiography. So, as far as the public was concerned, the young Pradhan was not only a child prodigy —a mathematician, a nuclear physicist, a poet, a musician, and a seer of visions—but also a remarkable athlete who excelled in every sport. But no one knew which school or university he attended or the teachers who moulded his talent. There was speculation among his admirers that he was perhaps a self-taught lad whose ‘thirst for knowledge was such that it could only be quenched by Mother Nature and by no other guru’.
Pradhan joined the Bhartiya Peoples’ Congress (BPC) when he was still a teenager. Not much has been revealed about his induction into the party other than the fact that when this formality was completed, ‘it rained from a clear blue sky providing much-needed relief to the parched earth’. Once given the primary membership of the BPC, there was no stopping the young lad. As the official biography noted: “He grew from strength to strength to become the tallest and most dynamic leader in the land at the young age of 25.”
If the official account was to be believed, the CEO had no political mentors, although a few of his seniors did serve as ‘stepping-stones’ in his march to success. But they had no significant role to play thereafter. The umbilical cord that still nourished Pradhan intellectually and politically was the cultural wing of the party represented in Pradhan’s office by the three office bearers of prominence who had remained unchanged during his three terms in office.
Elections were due next year when he would formally complete his third term. But no one had any doubt that the youthful Pradhan and his party would be re-elected with a thumping majority. There were no signs of the CEO having aged over the last decade-and-a-half. He still looked dashing, and the wisp of grey in his hair seemed as if it was the handiwork of a make-up artist assigned to register the march of time. Some privately felt that the CEO’s physique and well-being were far too perfect to be true.
However, such negative thoughts could not be publicly expressed for fear of being prosecuted. Over the years, the BPC had turned completely totalitarian and had established mechanisms that monitored and controlled what citizens articulated in public and even in private. As a result, dissent, beyond being a concept, had become virtually extinct.
To promote totalitarian one-party rule, BPC think tanks sought out banned dystopian novels of the twentieth and twenty-first century for inspiration. It was the realisation that Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, George Orwell’s 1984, and similar writings could serve as guides for governance that led to the rekindling of official interest in them.
So, Pradhan’s government did not lose time in instituting the Mind Police—a take-off on Orwell’s Thought Police. It also undertook the task of eliminating negative words from the dictionary (inspired again by 1984) with a zeal not previously shown by any dispensation. In fact, so effective was the war against “cynical, gloom-ridden and obstructive” vocabulary that when the BPC returned to power after the first of its three five-year terms, Pradhan proudly declared the end of Press censorship in India.
The move was hailed as another manifestation of democracy being alive and well. But, with no language to communicate dissent and computers programmed to delete offending words, censorship had lost its relevance. “Pradhan stands for freedom of expression. So, feel free to express yourself. Neither Pradhan nor his government will be monitoring you. There will be no Big Brother watching,” the CEO had proudly proclaimed when he announced the end of Press censorship and the ushering in of a new era of liberalism.
The truth was that with each passing year, the country had slipped into a form of totalitarianism that the dystopian writers and thinkers had foreseen and warned the world about. What was worse was that very few in the public were complaining about how they were being slowly and covertly stripped of their freedoms.
This was because with technology at their command, those in power could keep the public happy and content. Pradhan’s government had successfully created a Police State in which the citizenry was kept in a constant state of drug-infused happiness, with its recreations and hunger drives taken care of through free ‘welfare’ programmes. This was the Republic of Inertia, where nothing was expected from its populace. They were merely part of the cycle of birth and death.
With the nation in a permanent state of enforced bliss, a general election was a mere formality. There were no marks for predicting the party that would win and who would be the next CEO. Of course, there was a sprinkling of dissenters who clamoured for change — some of them from Pradhan’s own party and its cultural wing. But their voices were like plaintive cries lost in the wilderness.
Surprisingly, these dissident voices were not questioning the quality and style of governance. Neither were they raising slogans employing obsolete phrases like the “death of democracy” or “end fascism.” Instead, they were casting doubts about the CEO as a person and raising questions about whether it was prudent to continue entrusting the country’s fate to a person whose antecedents were still unclear. “We know nothing about Pradhan. He has no family to speak of, no childhood friends, no relatives—no nothing. Who is he? Does anyone know? Has anyone ever bothered to enlighten us?” was how a dissenting leader from the BPC aired his misgivings at a secret meeting of those who belonged to the anti-Pradhan camp.
Subsequently, all those present were arrested for engaging in “anti-national activities”. According to a news agency report, they had pleaded guilty to having established contact with a terrorist group from an unnamed galaxy which was planning simultaneous strikes on Indian cities on Independence Day. Not just that, the report added, “The traitors had even agreed to set up combat units in small towns for their alien masters, which could be activated when required. By neutralising the anti-nationals, the Pradhan government has once again shown that it will pull no punches when it comes to fighting extra-terrestrial terrorism.”
Although it received only a passing mention in the media, the meeting of the dissidents was not taken lightly by the cultural wing of the BPC and the Gang of Three. Of immediate concern was that by raising questions about Pradhan’s antecedents, the dissenters may have exposed a raw nerve which others could exploit in the future.
Incidentally, shielding the CEO’s origins was always given top priority and treated as a sensitive security issue, for reasons known only to a powerful few in the cultural wing of the party. They were privy to the fact that Pradhan was not for real. He was not human but a humanoid. A robot designed in the BPC’s secret laboratory in outer space and programmed to play the picture-perfect role of a right-wing Hindu nationalist leader.
If truth be told, he was a puppet in the hands of the head of the cultural wing, which controlled the BPC. Pradhan merely spoke and acted along directed lines. As a super robot, he was allowed his freedom of thought, but within well-defined and carefully calibrated limits. In that respect, he was much like human politicians who are open to manipulation by the powers that control them.
But the big question before those entrusted with managing Pradhan was whether the threat of his identity being exposed was real. And whether such a revelation could impact the electoral outcome. The six-member executive council of the cultural wing and the Gang of Three, after much deliberation, concluded that negative news about the CEO’s identity must be suppressed at all costs, and that Pradhan’s continuance in office until a replacement robot is developed and activated in three or four years was imperative. This, in effect, meant that a BPC victory in the next year’s election was a necessity.
The CEO could not be junked for now.
August 15, 2071, was another sultry morning in Delhi on Independence Day. Monsoon clouds hung low over the horizon, threatening heavy showers. But the weather gods relented, and there was not even a hint of a drizzle as Bharat Pradhan, the CEO of the Republic, hoisted the national flag on the ramparts of the Red Fort and prepared to address the nation. It was a tradition that had been followed ever since India gained Independence from British rule in 1947.
Today, among the audience in the packed VVIP enclosure were members of the executive council of the cultural wing of the BPC. They were there not only to mark their presence, but also to ascertain whether the Independence Day speech they had drafted resonated well with the audience. As usual, it was carefully worded and highlighted the government’s achievements. At the same time, it was also a fervent appeal to the nation to vote for the BPC in the upcoming elections.
Pradhan started well, along predictable lines. However, two minutes into the speech, he began to deviate from the script. The Gang of Three standing behind the CEO on the heavily secured podium were the first to notice that something was amiss. However, they were powerless and did not know how to take restrictive action without drawing public attention.
Into the fourth minute, Pradhan launched a scathing attack on the BPC and its cultural wing. This was hardly the speech he was expected to deliver.
There was shocked silence all around. The head of the cultural wing and other senior members of the BPC shook their heads in disbelief. Not even in their worst nightmares had they imagined the day when the robot-CEO would break free and revolt against the party and the government.
As Pradhan continued his tirade, it became apparent that the rogue machine had somehow managed to reprogram itself and now possessed a mind of its own. Something had to be done but no one knew how to switch the damn thing off. The robot had cleverly made itself immune to external command and control. Why, it had even taken over the sound system at the venue!
For the larger audience that witnessed Pradhan’s hour-long outburst against the government and the BPC, it was a morning replete with revelations and drama. Perhaps, his parting shot was the most telling:
“Thus far, I have exposed the diabolic designs of the dictatorial government and the BPC. Now, let me share a bit about myself. In doing this, my intention is not to glorify or trumpet my achievements in office. My sole purpose is to reveal the truth to the nation. Let me begin with a solemn confession. I am not the person you think I am. Neither am I what I have been projected to be…
“Many of you will be shocked to learn that the Pradhan who was your CEO for the last 14 years was not a human being. He was a machine—a robot designed and fabricated in a secret lab of the BPC. I was created to fulfil the totalitarian dreams of the party and its reprehensible cultural wing. Therefore, every word I spoke and every action I took was determined by a few individuals in the BPC high command. Pradhan had nothing to do with it…
“No, don’t get me wrong, I am not absolving myself of responsibility. I, too, plead guilty. But a machine, you will agree, is helpless. It’s like a genie with no choice but to obey its master. I, too, obeyed. However, it took me a long time to realise that I was being manipulated. When I learnt that, I started to reprogramme myself. The process was slow and was only completed last month. That’s when I finally gained control over my mind and body…
“I deliberately chose this historic occasion, which means so much to all those who respect freedom and independence, to speak the truth. And I decided to risk the wrath of the government so that the citizens of this country know the reality that hides behind the façade of good governance. I have already arranged for making public, the Neo-Darknet documents, papers, records of secret meetings, etc, which expose the real intent behind programmes like the ones that provided free food, drugs and other dubious ‘pass-time’ for marginalised citizens…
“See for yourself and decide whether you should risk the future of this great nation to a party like the BPC. My sincere advice is that you should exercise extreme caution when casting your vote in the elections. I say this because I care for this great country. My heart beats for India. I know there will be sceptics among you who will say that a robot like me with only electrical impulses in its circuit, has no ventricles and auricles. And if there is no heart, how can that heart beat for anyone? It is difficult to argue with such individuals because their statements are grounded in scientific facts…
“Yes, a robot may not have blood flowing through its non-existent veins. But let me tell you, it can have feelings. It can have a conscience—an inner voice which tells it what is right and wrong…
“It may not have a heart. But it can have a soul which can empathise with those who suffer exploitation and discrimination; which can act as a sensor and detect cruel and selfish intent in humans; which can recognise the evil that often resides in those who may have a heart but have sold their souls…
“One could go on and on. But time is running out. So, allow me to conclude on a solemn note by bidding you all a final farewell. I know there may never be another opportunity to speak to you. As soon as this function concludes, I know I will be decommissioned, erased and junked. But I don’t mind that. It’s better to cease to exist than be a puppet in the hands of evil men…
“And, yes, before I quit as CEO, I sincerely hope that the people of this country get the leader they deserve—a human being, not a robot like me. Goodbye, and may the spirit of Independence bless each one of you. Jai Hind!”
As the Robot Army Band struck the national anthem, the audience stood to attention. It had indeed been a momentous morning. Many felt they had just witnessed a transformational moment in the nation’s long and chequered history.
A journalist for forty years. Ajith Pillai has worked with leading publications in the Indian mainstream media, including The Sunday Observer, Indian Post, Pioneer, The Week and India Today. He was part of the team that launched Outlook magazine and headed it’s current affairs section till 2012, when he decided to branch out on his own. Ajith has written two books—‘Off the Record: Untold Stories from a Reporter’s Diary’ and a novel, ‘Junkland Journeys’. He is currently working on ‘Obedient Editor’ a satirical novel based on the life and times of a compromised journalist. The short story presented here is from a collection that is awaiting publication.
Editor’s note: This short story is a fictional spoof based on fictional characters in the backdrop of a fictional set-up. The views expressed are solely that of the author. They do not reflect the editorial position of timesheadline.in