Over the last decade, if there has been one thing that has occupied centre stage in Indian politics, it’s this question: If not him, then who? This, however, is not a question of capability but of a personality cult – it’s not a person but a larger-than-life image that one is contemplating a replacement for.
Reality may limit the possibilities, but fiction offers fertile ground for the imagination. Such as this one: What will happen if the Great Leader dies? In these circumstance, the question of “who” no longer challenges or opposes authority, it becomes an attempt to investigate a worthy successor: someone equally or similarly charismatic. That’s the urgency that drives Aakar Patel’s novel After Messiah.
What happens next?
It begins with a politician’s everyday task – attend the inauguration ceremony of a hospital far from being functional, get photographed, give a meaningless speech, and reiterate their commitment to the public. A megalomaniac and a narcissist political leader, however, isn’t interested in anything but optics and drama. For them, it’s an adrenaline rush: to witness a crowd all but incapacitated by their presence, to be elevated and looked upon as a godlike figure, to be seen as an invincible person who is to remain in power forever. All these things can be deduced from the opening chapter of the book. From the Big Man’s characteristic traits to the troop of people involved in staging things in conformity with the leader’s liking, everything invites comparison to real-life figures.
Sample the following. First: “Two large screens played out visuals of the Big Man’s contributions to the nation, in the fields of medicine and health, including some fictionalised material from his past.” Second: “The Big Man’s content sounded, to some, banal, but his delivery was energetic and often emotional. Certainly, he appeared to be moved by his own words.” But it’s worth noting that the novel is not about the Big Man, though his presence and, soon, his death – which, of course, being a mortal being he couldn’t control – lead to everyday matters small and large concerning a nation.
In the subsequent chapters, the reader meets PMO staff-members Joshi, Ayesha, and her deputy Prabhu. Their discussions reflect the panic resulting from being faced with a question: What happens next? But it’s worth noting for a moment how effectively Patel draws you into someone’s personal life without providing character descriptions. What he writes about Ayesha is a case in point: “There was little about her personal life or family to be learnt from the belongings on the desk or elsewhere.”
As for Joshi, his professional life has revolved around assessing people for their political worth and acting accordingly. It’s he who knows that after the Big Man, it will be a fight between Jayeshbhai and Swamiji. In fact, it’s how well he knows what makes these two men hungry for power that makes him a crucial character in the first few chapters, as he – along with the media, which awaits instructions from the state to broadcast the news – and the country, wait to find out who it will be, Jayeshbhai or Swamiji.
The outsider
The void left by the patriarch, however, is filled by an outsider. A reluctant one at that. Mira.
Raised by her mother and schooled abroad, Mira is a mother of one, Joy – a daughter, and is a rights activist, particularly related to labour law and land acquisition. She’s empathetic – which is emphasised through several conversations between her and Du Bois, a former colleague – and principled, which is seen in her interactions before and after she assumes the new responsibility. While Mira finds Ayesha’s presence comforting, she also finds a guide in the PMO staff member. A personal connection is revealed later, humanising spaces that normally appear cold.
But as soon as Mira becomes the PM, a string of dramatic comparisons follow. The Big Man’s masculine qualities are invoked, his hallucinatory effect on the public is recalled, and his ability to manoeuvre everything in his favour despite the odds is mentioned over and over again. Mira’s past is brought out in public in an ugly confrontation – a strategy to signal how difficult and vulnerable it becomes for women leaders in a place so clearly and convincingly designed for men.
But Mira faces these situations with grace and also without paying much heed, for she’s really amused by the importance of these matters. Like a corporate project manager, she sees things through to their natural end. The novel then builds towards events that hold the reader in thrall: for instance, an incident involving process as a punishment to teach someone a lesson.
Most important, Patel’s narration forces us to realise and acknowledge our own hypocrisy. He seems to be asking: ‘What will you do if you become powerful?’ The story, in fact, underlines the fact that power does not always bring out the best in anyone, nor is it wielded in the interest of the people.
After Messiah, Aakar Patel, Penguin India.
