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Last week I was driving through Mehrauli to a friend’s farm off Sultanpur in Delhi. The stretch from Qutub Minar to M.G. Road brought back interesting thoughts. The first being of a gutsy IAS officer who dared take on the marble mafia, the second of the much frequented Chattarpur Temple and the last of Mrs Indira Gandhi’s farmhouse a little ahead.

Let me begin with the last first. When Mrs Gandhi lost power in 1977, she went into hiding, literally, It was common knowledge that her rout came as a shock to her. Given that the press was muzzled, her minions led her to believe that she would be voted back to power. When she was not, she could not handle it. It took a while for her to come to terms with this fact and till she did, she refused to meet people. It was this phase that she spent at her farm.

A file photo of Indira Gandhi

I visited it when she was, I think, in power. Not visited but sneaked in. Visiting it without her permission was out of question and asking her to allow would be foolishness. For even though Mrs Gandhi knew and was in a sense fond of me, she was not the kind of person one could take liberties with. It worked very well for her to treat you as a young, perky and somewhat aggressive (I think I was all three) person at work. Every time I tried to push my way through a crowd to hear what she was telling the people waiting to meet her, she would smile benevolently: as if saying I understand. We all go through that phase. Ofcourse in her case, the pushing and jostling for space never happened. Despite Mrs Gandhi’s tolerance (I think it was more fondness) she never forgot that I was a journalist and never let me forget that she the Prime Minister. Easy for me because I am not the kind of person who gets familiar anyway.

The farmhouse was a good story and I figured that people would be interested in reading what her farmhouse was like. The concept of farmhouses was not a popular one in the seventies and there were very few people who actually owned them, leave alone living there.

Those were also days of scant security so the issue of actually entering the farmhouse did not deter me. We will manage I thought. So my photographer and I set off for Chattarpur, then considered a God forsaken place on the outskirts of Delhi. It was a summer afternoon: a good time because Delhi heat makes it prohibitive for people to venture outdoors. And chances were that the guard would also be sleeping. I was

partially right.

When we reached the farmhouse there was a five feet rickety gate: unlocked. We sneaked in and found no one around. To the left stood a tractor and a few acres of barren land. In the middle stood a hut shaped structure in concrete: nothing fancy but quite large. No dogs, no guards. The photographer had a field day: took several pictures of the tractor and whatever little there was to click. I was disappointed because there was very little to write about. So I dared and headed straight for the house. My photographer cautioned me but the temptation of getting a story was too much. We tiptoed in and had barely reached the foyer when a burly man confronted us. On seeing the camera he went red with rage. In trying to pull it, he nearly strangled my photographer.

Chattarpur Temple

But we were quick on our feet. We charged for the gate. Before he knew what hit him, we were out of the house. His weight failed him. He continued blowing his whistle we don’t know for whom because there was no one else in sight. Panting we reached the gate but could not open it. We were locked in. My only hope: if we were arrested and there were good chances that we would be, I could bank on Mrs Gandhi recognizing me and letting us off. By then my photographer pulled my arm and reached for a broken stool placed against the wall. Thankfully there was no barbed wire and we were able to scale the wall, which was not very high. There was a commotion and by the time we got into the car, villagers surrounded it. We pleaded, identified ourselves and told them we were at work. Those days the magic of the word “patrakar” and “akhbar” (journalist and newspaper) was phenomenal. For us also it worked wonders and they let us off before Mrs Gandhi’s guard could reach us.

At the end of the day we had some sort of a story and ofcourse excellent pictures.

Like her farm, the Chattarpur temple was also little known till Mrs Indira Gandhi started visiting it. It was then not even one-fourth the several acres of land it now has. Baba as Godman Sant Nagpal was known to those who worshipped him, was a short stature man with long tresses like a sadhu. He had multiple medical problems but was extremely energetic for his age. People touched his feet and literally worshipped him like they would the Gods. My introduction to the temple, as I had once written, was through my friend Mrs Yasho Karan Singh. What I did not relate to was the enigma and powers that people associated with Sant Nagpal.

When she was in power Mrs Gandhi, I am told, saw Sant Nagpal as an adversary. This was because she believed or was told that he was close to Jagjivan Ram. There were reports that Sant Nagpal had conducted a yagna for Jagjivan Ram because he was desperate to be Prime Minister. This could never be confirmed. However after Mrs Gandhi lost, she turned extremely, extremely religious. She visited temples, gurudwaras and every possible holy place. So also Chattarpur temple. She perhaps visited it more than she did the other places given its proximity to her farmhouse where she had started spending a lot of time. Her faith in this temple grew. Sant Nagpal had told her that she would soon be back as Prime Minister. After the Janata Government fell and Mrs Gandhi was back as Prime Minister she was a regular visitor to the temple. Sant Nagpal also became famous and sought after. As did the temple. For believers Sant Nagpal was a kind of a demi god who could, if he willed and wished, make things work in their favour. For others it became a place for hobnobbing with politicians. Particularly the ministers. Once it was known that Mrs Gandhi had faith in “Baba”, her entire Cabinet made a beeline for him. MPs followed and then businessmen. Later Rajiv Gandhi was a regular.

At one time there was a controversy when Balraj Chopra, I think that was his name, hit headlines. An unsavory report appeared about the lavish parties he threw at his farmhouse in Chattarpur. A businessman a maybe a small time Congressman, Chopra hosted lavish all night parties with a free flow of liquor. His guest list was a virtual who’s who of Delhi. After the midnight bash made news, several heads rolled. Chopra’s credentials also came under a scanner, as did everyone else’s present that night. That Chopra was a regular at the Chattarpur temple was also mentioned: something Sant Nagpal could have done without. It brought the temple’s activities under a scanner and for quite sometime politicians and ministers stopped going there. Sant Nagpal I recall was a pained man those days.

Film actor turned politician Sunil Dutt liked visting the temple. He would often call me and together we would drive to the temple. Enroute he would talk about the Congress and on way back about religion. Given that Sunil Dutt loved to hear his own voice, the long drive was never a problem.

The favoured often used Sant Nagpal’s good offices to connect with the influential. But that was not something one could push him into. He did when he wanted to, felt like or thought it was worth it. He preferred to use his influence for expansion of the temple. Consequently devotees, mostly senior government officers were pressed into service to do the needful. If the temple is today a sprawling complex on both sides of the road from its original rather ordinary structure it is thanks to Sant Nagpal. Add to that the discipline, which he had instilled in the pujaris-always a suspect species when it comes to money— and no one dared to accept any money from devotees. That was a rule he ensured was followed till he lived.

I recall his last days when he was a worried man. The temple he told me was slipping into wrong hands, something that he was desperate to stop. He had mentioned that he would like to form a Trust with the President of India as its trustee. It is ironic that his fears have come true because today the temple which Sant Nagpal built with his sweat and blood has lost much of its following and also gone into litigation.

Today, the queues are missing, as is Sant Nagpal. He died some years ago and left memories for those who worshipped him. The temple is ofcourse not what he would have liked to leave it as. I recall during navratras how queues extended till Qutub Minar and people waited hours, sometimes the entire night to reach the temple by foot. Those were its high points. As was the fact that Sant Nagpal never allowed any VIP to declare open the festivities. He always used school children.

I knew Sant Nagpal well. Never worshipped him but held him in high regard for many of the things he said and did: The first for instance was: Don’t waste your time coming to the temple to pray; I will do that for you. At your age and with your abilities go and work and do something for the country. He also had a special place for the soldiers who fought for the country. He never allowed any marble slab to be put there I the memory of the dead. His logic: This is a fad of the rich to show off their wealth. Allow it and you alienate the poor.

Sant Nagpal had the reputation of being a tantrik. By the time I met him, to the best of my knowledge it was a past he had buried. I have known him as a man whose sole aim was to build a grand temple and for that if he had to use political influence or businessmen’s money he had no qualms. The parts of the temple, which he personally supervised when he was physically fit, still remain very beautiful. Some others, in contrast, are rather shoddily done.

After the Gandhis the temple lost its prominence. Strangely, the BJP did not identify with it. The only leader I saw there was Sushma Swaraj who came to place a wreath on Sant Nagpal’s body. Even if the others went, they did so sparingly. I think the BJP’s crop of leaders saw him as a Congress Baba.

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Posted by Kumkum Chadha on Tuesday, August 18, 2009 at 6:58 pm 
Filed under India · Tagged Chattarpur, Chattarpur Temple, delhi, IAS officer, Mehrauli, Mrs Gandhi, Mrs Indira Gandhi's farmhouse, Prime Minister, Sultanpur

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