Almost every ruler in history sooner or later begins to harbour an edifice complex. Despotic monarch, proletarian dictator, military overlord or elected democrat, architectural exhibitionism is akin to all. What would the sights of the world be without the Red Fort and Red Square, Versailles and Tiananmen — each a commemorative monument to their rule and Taj Mahal-sized egos.
Mayawati’s 82-acre Dalit Prerna Sthal at the entrance to Noida, just over the flyway from Delhi, is a sight to behold. It has taken years to complete and cost nearly Rs 700 crores. Battalions of architects, civil engineers and planners, not to speak of armies of stone cutters and artisans from Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh and far-off Orissa — many of them Dalits —have laboured night and day to sculpt its gigantic formations. To those who scoff at this colossal waste of public money which could have been better employed in improving the lives of the poor, it could be argued that, like NREGA, the scheme over a period guaranteed a decent wage for artisans. But who remembers the millions who toiled or were crushed in building the Pyramids when their sole purpose was the future aggrandisement of pharaohs?
That, however, is not the only political point of the Dalit Prerna Sthal. I took a walk along the periphery as its lushly-planted “Green Garden” is not yet open to the public. (Over 200 members of the Special Range Security Battalion, specially raised to protect Mayawati’s parks, memorials and monuments, came from Lucknow for its inaugural this month.) From its high stupa-like stone enclosure the symbolic hybrid of styles — Ashokan pillars with elephant capitals, Buddhist gateways, Lutyenesque domes and rotundas — give the impression of a suburban Rashtrapati Bhavan on the banks of the Yamuna. That may have been the idea. Mayawati’s opulent “Green Garden” may be a vague pastiche of the presidential palace on Raisina Hill, but, located at the gateway to Delhi, this monument to Dalit pride has traversed the distance from provincial Lucknow (where the original is located) to be strategically plonked where half of the new New Delhi now lives and works.
For the real trappings of power, however, look at the Prerna Sthal’s grand interiors that are copiously displayed on websites with a translation of the hortatory inscriptions. Here are soaring bronze friezes and statues of the “great men” (and one woman) “whose contributions to the cause of social transformation had for long been ignored, due to the prevailing casteist mindset in the country.” Basically the four “great souls” that wrought the social transformation of Dalit triumph are the Buddha, B R Ambedkar — and to quote verbatim — “Bahujan Nayak Manyawar Sri Kanshi Ram ji (and in accordance with his will) the statue of his sole political successor Ms Mayawati Ji.”
Joining the dots to create lineage and succession — by pulling together a pantheon of leaders from the past — is a textbook case of establishing supremacy. Historians call it the process of legitimisation; they give the example of why the original edicts on Ashoka’s pillars, dating from the 3rd century BCE, are often inscribed by kings of succeeding dynasties, including Emperor Jahangir. It’s a way of saying, “Watch me. I’m in charge now.”
At Noida’s Prerna Sthal, the body language (in bronze) of the UP chief minister and “sole successor” of Dalit leadership carries an unambiguous message. One hand held straight by the side of her tubby figure, firmly clutching a handbag, denotes money power; the other is upraised in a Stalin-style exhortation to lead her brethren across the flyover. “Chalo Dilli,” the gesture screams.
The morning I was there Akhilesh Yadav, scion of the Samajwadi Party, was leading a “bicycle rally” in the vicinity. He looked as ill-at-ease and unconvincing as Rahul Gandhi does on his sleepovers in Dalit huts in UP’s villages. By contrast, the timing, speedy completion and grandiose promise of Mayawati’s “Green Garden” proclaims her readiness for the main electoral test of 2012.
