When Jaipur was on the edge

Two days after nine blasts ripped through Jaipur, I heard a friend compare Vijay Mallya’s investments in IPL with the money pumped into the explosives by the terrorists behind the strikes. “Both will cry. They won’t get the expected return on their investments,” he joked.

The first reference, obviously, was to the string of defeats the Royal Challengers had suffered, sinking both Mallya’s spirits and his plans of spinning the T-20 adventure into a successful business.

The second was an ode to the city’s steely spirit and resolve.  When the bombs rocked the Walled City, my immediate fear was the scars would take months to heal. The fear, back then, appeared completely justified, courtesy Rajasthan’s pain-free history.

Since 1727, when Kachhawah ruler Sawai Jai Singh laid the foundation of Jaipur, we had remained completely impervious to foreign influence/violence.

Invaders from Central Asia never dreamt of crossing the Thar Desert to attack the Kachhawah kingdom. And the British never had a big problem with Jaipur. Our past, like our city, always remained in the pink of health. The blasts could have changed it. Our lack of experience in dealing with violence had left us vulnerable to collective disorders like fear, anxiety, and religious bigotry. Jaipur was on the edge, ready to topple over.

But just a day after the blasts, my neighbours got up at the usual hour to saunter down to Dakshinmukhi (south-facing) Hanumanji, inches away from another temple where a bomb had killed a dozen devotees. (In Jaipur there are so many deities these days that they have to be differentiated on the basis of inanities like the direction of the idol and the curve of their trunk.

Sample my favourite: Current Balaji, Hanuman idol mounted on an electric pole.) The same evening, the Khans of Ramganj, who the terrorists believed would be among those to be lynched by the Hindus after the attacks on temples, queued up outside a
local hospital to donate blood for the Khandakas of Johari Bazaar.

Four days later, the city’s journalists, famous for everything other than bravado, marched up to the SMS stadium to enjoy Lalit Modi’s generous cocktail of free drinks, cheer girls and some slam-bang, all on the cricket field. In short, nobody was scared.
Watching the people of Jaipur get back to life, I was reminded of a question Adolf Hitler famously asked General Dietrich von Choltitz, the German commander assigned the duty of destroying the French capital: Is Paris Burning?

Is Jaipur burning? The terrorist must have asked himself and the co-conspirators. The answer must have bombed their collective morale. But 15 days after the blasts, I find a sudden change in the mood of the city. Almost everybody I meet these days is irritable and sombre.  My neighbours, after taking the blessings of Dakshinmukhi Hanumanji, had planned a vacation to a hill station. Now they are stuck at home. “These Gurjars, this government…,” I heard them gnash their teeth in disgust the other day.

The anger is justified. The highways are blocked, trains are not running, life has come to a standstill. Everyone has become a prisoner of the Pink City.  Tourists want to take the first flight out of the city.

Only the soothsayers are happy. Everybody and every neta seems to be consulting them. The other day I heard this funny  rumour that chief minister Vasundhara Raje discussed Gurjar leader Kirori Singh Bhainsla’s chart with an astrologer. ‘The CM was told Bhainsla’s bad time starts in June,” my sources tell me.

In short, people are scared. I’m tempted to call up the mastermind of the blasts and tell him: Sir, finally, Rajasthan is burning. What the terrorists failed to achieve, our politicians have fabulously pulled off.