Pranab Mukherjee, the 13th President of India, passed away on August 31. Thirteen, it is said, was his lucky number. For years he lived in a modest bungalow, 13 Talkatora Road, much below his entitlement. When allotted to him, he was warned of the unlucky number.
“In Hindu shastra, the number 13 is actually lucky because it means Trayodashi. If you do anything on that day, it will give good, positive results,” he reportedly said on 16 June 2012. And then moved straight into one of the largest residences in the world, the 500-room Rashtrapati Bhavan. If you invert the date of his death, it is also 13.
The unassuming leader who would be Prime Minister but became President instead was also known as the man who knew too much. Each night, for decades on end, he recorded everything meticulously in his secret journals. Half of Lutyens Delhi and the remaining half of the rest of political India was quite afraid of how revealing and explosive these fabled diaries would be. But after he became President, there was no more mention of them. Some said he ordered them burned. When asked, he quipped that they were literally “washed away” during the flooding of his Greater Kailash home.
His presidency was unmarked by major controversies, but few remember that he dismissed more mercy petitions than most, 30 out of 34 to be precise. It was his visit to the RSS headquarters on 7 June 2018, a little less a year after he demitted office, that caused a greater furore. His own daughter Sharmistha lashed out against him on Twitter the day before: “Hope @CitiznMukherjee now realises from today’s incident, how BJP dirty tricks dept operates. Even RSS wouldn’t believe that u r going 2 endorse its views in ur speech. But the speech will be forgotten, visuals will remain & those will be circulated with fake statements.” She was wrong; she had not foreseen how shrewdly her father would handle the situation.
Though he paid respects to Sangh founder Dr Keshav Baliram Hedgewar, he did not quite endorse Hindutva. Instead, invoking Bal Gangadhar Tilak, M K Gandhi, Jawaharlal Nehru, Vallabhbhai Patel and others, he said, “The soul of India resides in pluralism and tolerance. … Secularism and inclusion are a matter of faith for us. It is our composite culture which makes us into one nation. India’s Nationhood is not one language, one religion, one enemy.” Early next year he was awarded the Bharat Ratna, India’s highest civilian honour. “Prime Minister Modi called to ask for my acceptance at 6 pm on 25 January,” he said with a smile in an interview, “‘The President is waiting for my call with your approval. ...’ So, I gave my consent.” Modi’s respect for him is well known.
The photo of his touching Pranab-da’s feet has circulated quite a bit. Modi paying his last respects to the departed former president was also nationally televised. Here we come to the interesting paradox of Indian political leadership. There are two opposing types of leaders that Indians most respect. To the first category belong the charismatic and visionary. In recent times, Mahatma Gandhi and Narendra Modi best exemplify it. But equally important is the quiet, steady, self-effacing and dignified leader, who achieves much without flamboyance or flashiness.
Pranab-da represents the latter type. More than almost any other contemporary, he held the most important Cabinet portfolios of Finance, External Affairs and Defence, besides being leader of the Rajya Sabha, before occupying the highest office of the land. Except for a five-year limbo from 1984 to 1989, he was at the heart of India’s political life for an astonishing half-a-century, way back from 1969, when the then Prime Minister Indira Gandhi gave him a Rajya Sabha ticket, to his death. His seeming ordinariness made him non-threatening and innocuous to his superiors as well as colleagues. But Pranab-da was far from mediocre.
His nine books, especially the trilogy, The Dramatic Decade: The Indira Gandhi Years (2015), The Turbulent Years: 1980–1996 (2016), The Coalition Years: 1996–2012 (2017), attest to his superior skills of observation, analysis and above all, ability to get along with both friends and adversaries. He was a great consensus builder. Apart from a couple of lacklustre functions at the Rashtrapati Bhavan, I had the privilege of personally meeting Citizen Pranab on 10 October 2019. He had agreed to Chair the Radhakrishnan Memorial Lecture of the Indian Institute of Advanced Study with H.H.
The Dalai Lama as the speaker. But he pulled out citing ill health. When my wife and I called on him, he looked really indisposed, hardly smiling or making any conversation. He said he couldn’t travel to Shimla. I clarified that the lecture was to be in Delhi. He repeated, somewhat testily, “Can’t you see, I am not well.” I presented him a copy of my book, Swami Vivekananda: Hinduism and India’s Road to Modernity. For a moment, his face lit up as he leafed through the volume. Then he became glassy-eyed and dull again. Now reading the dozens of tributes and obits dedicated to him, what I find remarkable is that no one has a bad word to say about him. His career was as blemishless as it was long, unmarred by any personal, financial or political scandal. He left behind a good name and sterling legacy of public service.
Makarand R Paranjape
Director, Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Shimla. Views are personal
(Tweets @MakrandParanspe)