The intricate politics of a maternity ward

When the future is being born: An heir being enthroned in the presence of a patriarch

The British metaphor for a political party is a broad church. It must have substantial space for an elastic congregation, continually tempted by wayward choices in the absence of hard doctrine. There is God, of course; but as an idea rather than an ideology. And in any case God created the conditions for democracy when He blessed, or cursed, the human being with free will.

The magic potion of democracy is options. There lies the problem, for this potion is not the glue for discipline, with its attendant terrors. The parson’s primary responsibility is to keep any sermon lucid but limp to cover a multiplicity of views, and ensure order inside and outside the church. But, since power breeds politics more often than politics leads to power, passions climb sharply whenever the bells of public opinion announce that the time has come for change.

An Indian political party, being Indian, is more akin to a joint family locked in a church. Anyone who thinks this is good news has lost touch with family. A joint family is patriarchal in structure, which provides a veneer of stability, but, in the subterranean world of undertones, authority is constantly measured by utility. Loyalty is a variable virtue qualified by beehive ambitions. Kinship is no guarantee of peace. The Mahabharata was a family quarrel run through intense politics.

The high point of tension is palpable in the excitement of a maternity ward, when the future is being born. The BJP’s inner struggles were accentuated by the fact that a shift was taking place at a pregnant rather than passive moment in national affairs. Every previous transition, including the one which carried Atal Behari Vajpayee and Lal Krishna Advani to pre-eminence, happened when the prospect of power was at best theoretical for the party. For the first time, the BJP is nominating a leader who is not only a potential prime minister, but also perceived as one who can energise the leap to office. An heir is being enthroned in the presence of a patriarch.

All prime ministers are potential until they have uttered that hallowed oath of office: mundane words to us, but almost mystical to politicians. Delhi has a thick log book of PM-claimants who stumbled on the stairs of the president’s palace where the anointment takes place. That final climb demands reservoirs of energy and clarity which you barely knew you possessed.

There are two critical requirements if you want the keys to this hallowed kingdom. You need ability. Alas, this is a negotiable asset. There have been prime ministers and presidents, in India as often as elsewhere, whose skills did not extend beyond finding the right corner for a postage stamp. The second component is more relevant. You have to have luck. Ability is important; luck is compulsory.

Narendra Modi has shown definite ability in Gujarat. We shall know soon enough if he can convert that into enough votes to carry him to national office. But what is indisputable is that he has the required quota of luck. One of the startling facts of the past year’s politics is the manner in which each one of his vocal or silent opponents has bled away credibility through self-inflicted wounds. Fortune has helped in minor ways as well. On the eve of BJP’s crucial Goa session, for instance, thanks to an electoral calendar that no one could have preordained, Modi overwhelmed Congress in Gujarat by-elections. This generated unstoppable momentum in Goa.

Modi owes a deep debt of gratitude to two politicians for his rise: Dr Manmohan Singh and his nominated successor Rahul Gandhi. In public perception he represents everything that Dr Singh lacks. He is articulate. Right or wrong, you know where he stands. He promises strong governance, rather than a waffle approach to policy and partners. Voters hope he will control corruption and ensure accountability because he is tough. Dr Singh’s weakness has become Narendra Modi’s strength. The electorate yearns for a leader who is both right and forthright. For five years, Dr Singh has been neither.

Rahul Gandhi could have filled the vacuum left by Dr Singh’s retreat. He had time, opportunity and goodwill, but never the answers to crises manufactured by his own government. Inane statements – ‘I will crush my dreams to fulfil yours’ – only highlight the urgent need for a better speechwriter. Perhaps Rahul Gandhi lost his way after the shattering defeat in the UP Assembly elections 18 months ago, but he represents nothing at the moment except a lapse, perhaps temporary, of genetic luck.

No battle is lost until it is fought. The camps are finally in place, commanders named. Both God-fearing parson and indulgent patriarch will surely offer a blessing for the good of the country: May the best man win. They needn’t worry. The best man will.

The writer is a senior Indian journalist.