D P Yadav, the ill-famed Ghaziabad politician, whose brush with prose has largely been via his history sheet, now says he would like to bring in the ‘‘revolution,’’ not by bullets and bombs—but through verse and prose. And the pages are flying in fast and furious. Yadav will release his two books, one a collection of poems, the other of ‘‘musings,’’ at a public rally in the Talkatora Stadium on Thursday. The backdrop: a political rally to mobilise backward castes. The books, Salakhon Ke Par Se (From the Other Side of the Bars) and Shabdh Nahin Rukte (Words Do Not Stop), were written, he says, when he was thrown into prison under the National Security Act (NSA) during the Lok Sabha elections, by UP CM Mulayam Singh Yadav. Speaking to The Indian Express here today, Yadav has clearly banished the politician and embraced the poet. When asked about his muse, he reads out from his own foreword: ‘‘Poetry comes to soothe me.to caress me, to console me, when I see the wretchedness of life all around me.’’ Then, he slips into prose more matter-of-fact: ‘‘It is time to awaken the people through education, literacy, knowledge. The time has come to fight the slumber of our political class.’’ On paper, at least, political rectitude is a value he cherishes—and demands. In a poem ‘Don’t Reject Humanity,’ Yadav writes: ‘‘You who are drunk with power/Do not reject humanity/ You who have turned your back on history/Do not reject humanity.’’ and so on it goes. On democracy, Yadav is even more feverish. Titled baldly, ‘Governments Can Do As They Please,’ he writes: ‘‘This is the strange story of my democratic country/That the wounded heart screams and eyes brim with tears.’’ But while his ‘‘emotions are now laden in ink,’’ the writer minces few words when asked—politely, of course—about his criminal record. All charges of extortion, murder, kidnapping are all ‘‘trumped up,’’ he says, they hark back to a distant era, ‘‘my potent student days of protest and strike.’’ The criminal cases of murder against his son Vikas Yadav are ‘‘false and motivated by his political rivals.’’ And then, the King of UP’s Badlands changes gears. Yes, the pen may be mightier than the sword, he says, but the sword does have its uses. ‘‘There is no place for violence in society,’’ he says, ‘‘but if violence is necessary in self-defence or for your rights, then there is nothing wrong.’’ It has been a long way for Yadav, from alleged bootlegging to potential nation building—from a string of criminal charges to a string of political alliances, from blind allegiance to VP Singh’s Janata Dal, Mulayam Singh Yadav’s Samajwadi Party, Mayawati’s BSP to even Atal Behari Vajpayee’s BJP to his present solitude. Yadav says his musings are straightforward, honest, a revealing tale of the ‘‘atrocities of Dictator Mulayam Yadav.’’ If there is one false word in this book, he says, ‘‘I will take full responsibilty.’’ As the words trip from despair to dejection and rise with hope, Yadav’s musings chronicle the 70 days he spent in prison, for ‘‘daring to take on Mulayam’s brother,’’ as he explains, to his final release. He writes about his routine in jail, the incompetent judicial system, the misuse of power and authority by officials, betrayal of friends. Who are his readers? He says his words will comfort and motivate the youth and the deprived, lift them from their wretchedness. ‘‘These books are not for sale,’’ he says, ‘‘they are for schools and libraries. I will donate them freely.’’
