The word “mind” is used ever so casually, almost mindlessly. As in “mind your step”, “mind your head”, “mind your own business”. Sometimes a little more mindfully, as in “mind your language”, “change your mind” and “make up your mind”. But if one is to see and reflect on its equivalents in Sanskrit — manas and chitta — one would catch its real significance at once. Both those words work for mind and for conscience, and they work admirably, but with differences in nuance, in shades of meaning.
The Sanskrit sloka Manas ekam, vachas ekam, karmanyekam mahatmanam (Those whose mind, words, and deeds are in complete accord are high-souled beings) is perhaps the oldest example of the use of manas. Chitta has been used most tellingly by Rabindranath Tagore in his great composition, translated by himself, beginning with the line: “Where the mind is without fear…”. That poem, the 35th in his Gitanjali, as lofty as it sounds in English is altogether matchless in its original Bangla, opening with the words: “Chitta jaetha bhoy-shunno”.
What would be the nuanced difference between the two?
I cannot answer that question lexically, but can attempt an impressionistic interpretation. Manas is about the brain without which there can be no mind. Chitta is about the reflective mind without which the brain would be an empty shell. The first has intelligence as its signature attribute, the second has conscience as its defining character. The first requires quick reflexes, the second calls for measured responses.
Reflecting on them made me think of our Parliament and its two Houses — the Lok Sabha (LS) and the Rajya Sabha (RS) also known as the House of the People and the Council of States or, in common parlance, the Lower House and the Upper House. These two are, without doubt, the mind of India’s democracy. The first is about initiative, innovation and interventionist action. It is primarily — though not solely — about legislation, with these three ‘I’s piloting the process. The second is about cogitation, circumspection and corrective reaction. It is also, though not solely, about reflection on the three ‘I’s of the first.
This is not to say that the LS does not recognise conscience or the RS does not know what intelligence is about. Both have conscience and intelligence actuating their proceedings. But, quintessentially, the manobala (morale) of the LS requires its brain to be sharp, the chittasvarupa (universal consciousness) of the RS requires its conscience to be alert. It is through manas and chitta working together that niti acquires nyaya, kanoon reflects insaf.
The Constituent Assembly (December 1946 to January 1950) in its intelligent wisdom or wise intelligence, gave us a bicameral Parliament. It is a thousand pities that it did not choose to make bicameralism mandatory in the states as well. So, while six states — Andhra Pradesh, Telangana, Karnataka, Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, Odisha — have two Houses, the rest now have only one, the legislative assembly. But Parliament, having both Houses, reflects the chitta aspect of the mind for all the states.
The vice-president (VP) is essential to the architecture of our Republic. But it is as chairman of the RS that the VP finds himself playing his busiest role. And so, from Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, our first VP and first chairman of the RS (1952-1962) to Jagdeep Dhankhar, our present VP and chairman, the presiding officers of the RS have been — and are — the guiding and guarding spirit of our Parliament’s and, therefore. our democracy’s chitta.
When Chairman Dhankhar said, not long ago, that members of the RS (and by extension, of Parliament) while making any statement or any allegation on the floor of the House should ground those in fact, in accuracy or, in other words, in truth, he was, to my mind, reflecting the role of chitta. Can that be objected to? He also had in mind, one may recall, that Members of Parliment (MPs) speaking under the high domes of Parliament enjoy immunity and protection — requiring them to be that much more sure of their facts.
This reminded me of the first major financial scandal that rocked India, the Mundhra-Life Insurance Corporation (LIC) case. It was brought to the notice of Parliament by the then Lok Sabha MP Feroze Gandhi. Feroze Gandhi was a Congressman, the Congress was in office. He was Jawaharlal Nehru’s son-in-law, Nehru was then the prime minister. The allegations were not hot air.
Feroze Gandhi prefaced his speech in the LS on the Mundhra matter on December 16, 1957, with the words: “Parliament must exercise vigilance and control over the biggest and most powerful financial institution it has created, the Life Insurance Corporation of India, whose misapplication of public funds we shall scrutinise today.” The keyword there was scrutiny. The MP had done his homework. We know how successful the work of the manas there was, leading to the chitta of the State, including the judiciary being activated.
In allegation-levelling, MPs being sure of their facts as anyone can be, lies the strength, real and potential, of the Opposition. In treasury benches being aware that the Opposition will not level charges recklessly lies the guarantee of objective investigation. It should, of course, not be that the Opposition benches have to be responsible and accountable always and the treasury benches free to judge their accountability. Of course not. Probity would have suffered if Feroze Gandhi’s scrutiny had been found to be tendentious or flawed. Equally, if Nehru had dodged the issue.
In the decades since Mundhra, allegations of scams have burgeoned exponentially. Have these been as rigorously scrutinised as Feroze Gandhi’s was? Have all governments acted with the honest, if dismayed, objectivity of Nehru in the Mundhra case?
If the Opposition’s chitta is to be bhoy-shunno — without fear — its facts have to be satya-purno, truth-saturated (this phrase being mine, not Tagore’s). And if they are that, then probity can be sure to have, in Tagore’s words uchcha jaetha shir, its head held high. So high that no government will dream of defending the indefensible.
And what if its bhoy-shunno and satya-purno voice remains unheeded?
There is what Tagore has called Bharat Bhagya Vidhata. The Vidhata is watching everything. And the people of India are watching also, aided by the tele relays of proceedings in the House. They know the lines of the 1966 song from Teesri Kasam:
Sajan re jhooth mat bolo
Khuda ke paas jaanaa hai
Na haathi hai na ghora hai
Vahaan paidal hi jaanaa hai.
(Bluff not, dear friend, bluff me not
To God’s court you have to report.
On no grand elephant will you go there
Nor on horseback either.
You will go there on your own two feet,
To render unto Him your account, bitter or sweet.)
That caution is for real — both for the allegation-leveller and the allegation-receiver. Take Feroze Gandhi’s word for it.
Gopalkrishna Gandhi is a former administrator, diplomat and governor
The views expressed are personal
