Author: Swapan Dasgupta
Publication: The Daily Pioneer
Date: April 9, 2006
Each time I am in Orissa, I make it a point
to update myself on the latest buzz on Chief Minister Naveen Patnaik. This
time, an official told me the tale of the Chief Minister's visit to R Udayagiri,
the district that was the scene of a Maoist attack on a police station.
It seems that the tiny helicopter that had
taken Patnaik to R-Udayagiri developed a mechanical fault after landing. This
meant that the VIP party had to undertake the return journey through the jungle
roads. The journey wasn't smooth since the convoy had to stop at various points
to clear the various road obstacles created by Maoists to impede movement
of security forces. At one of these unscheduled halts in a thick forest, when
officers were nervous and the accompanying policemen edgy, Patnaik coolly
got out of the car to have a look. When an officer warned him of the danger,
Patnaik smiled and lit a cigarette. "Before people faced the firing squad",
he told one of them, "they were normally granted a last wish. Most of
them wanted a final cigarette."
The story may well be a bit coloured but it
indicates the continuing bewilderment in Orissa at a leader who defies all
conventional definitions. That Patnaik is not a run-of-the-mill neta is only
too well known. Yet, after some nine years of stewardship of the Biju Patnaik
legacy, no one is any closer to a judgment on whether he is a politician at
all.
Patnaik's style is unique and inimitable.
His self-effacing humour puzzles those who are accustomed to dealing with
pompous politicians, full of themselves. His seemingly reclusive lifestyle
prompts fierce speculation over who advises him. And his cultivated quirkiness
makes colleagues quake in their chappals. I once saw him engage a MLA in an
innocuous discussion on constituency problems. Suddenly, Patnaik changed the
subject, pointed to the curtains and asked: "Do you like my curtains?"
It was possibly an innocent remark born out of boredom but the MLA became
a mass of jelly. He didn't for the life of him know whether the Chief Minister
was making small talk or conveying some profound message.
It's the same story as far as his knowledge
of Oriya is concerned. This week, one of the English newspapers carried a
report of a delegation that sat on dharna demanding that the Chief Minister
come to terms with the local language or resign.
The strange dharna did not set Orissa on fire
for the simple reason that Patnaik's halting Oriya - it has improved exponentially
over the years but he still lacks complete fluency - has ceased to be a political
issue.
People seem to accept the Chief Minister for
what he is, rather than what the rule book says politicians should be. This
is disconcerting to his fellow politicians but Patnaik is inclined to forever
bypass the political class and reach out directly to the voters.
The manner in which he goes about doing this
is interesting. The Chief Minister doesn't communicate very much through the
media. His relations with the local media have always been a little troubled.
His biggest asset is his deep integrity.
In his own way, Patnaik exudes sincerity and
a deep commitment to Orissa. With a profound sense of what constitutes right
and wrong, he has rarely allowed himself to be derailed by mundane political
considerations. It is this moral positioning that has stood him in good stead.
In the six years that Patnaik has been at
the helm in Orissa, the State has changed. The sense of hopelessness that
was once in evidence has yielded way to quiet optimism.
Orissa is suddenly beginning to look like
a happening State. Corruption has lessened dramatically and there is a climate
of tranquillity. If the trend persists and the promised mega investments start
pouring in, Patnaik will have proved an important point - that it doesn't
need politicians to conduct the affairs of the State.
What you need is decency and uprightness.
