Forty years have passed since that fateful October morning when life came to a standstill and the most powerful woman in the world was murdered by her own bodyguards in the safety of her own garden. For thousands of people like me, our world collapsed that day. He was our leader, our Prime Minister; We admired her, looked at her with great affection and invited her to Bangalore to inaugurate the Congress Women’s Congress.

It was a lively gathering at the Palace Grounds where more than 50,000 women from all over India and abroad gathered. On October 15, Indiraji joined us to inaugurate the Congress Women’s Congress. Over-enthusiastic delegates were screaming to get on stage and it was chaotic. I decided not to give my welcome speech and asked Indiraji to address the meeting. But he insisted, “You will talk, and they should listen,” and stood next to me while I spoke.

The rally at Kanteerava Stadium that evening was huge and Indiraji described it with pride. He also joined us for a cultural program and dinner for the delegates after shopping at the exhibition we organized. He was very amused, patted me on the back and said, “Well done.” Rajivji joined us the next day as General Secretary. The organization’s charter and new name were accepted, the women went, and so did we.

I last met Indiraji on the evening of October 22, 1984, when I was called to her house No. 1 in Akbar Road late in the evening. She was wearing a blue dressing gown and her hair was wrapped in a towel after her bath. Before going into the details of the task he would give me, he told me how pleased he was that the national convention was being held in Bengaluru. I thanked him and told him that his presence brought happiness to our women.

After this, he switched to a more serious tone, expressing concern over President Giani Zail Singh’s trip to Mauritius and the UAE; He thought that the inclusion of family and friends, as well as members of parliament and businessmen, in the official flight could have negative consequences. a “diplomatic disaster”. He asked me to lead a group of MPs and join the President’s delegation to add intellectual content to events in Mauritius. His trust in me for this delicate mission was a great honor, and I set out the next day to fulfill his request.

As we were getting ready to leave, he gave me another task. When I returned from Mauritius, he asked me to organize a room full of gifts he had received and organize a sale to fund the Mahila Congress. I suggested we do it on his birthday, November 19th. He told me it could be done at 1 Akbar Road. I told him that I would soon bring him the Congress album and the file of newspaper clippings about the event. He said, “Depart immediately with the delegation.” These were his farewell words to me.

My duty in Mauritius was over, I landed in Bombay on the morning of October 31st, on my way to Delhi. As I was walking towards the duty-free shop where I had booked a color television set for my trip to Mauritius, a serious-looking customs officer approached me and said: “Ma’am, the news has just arrived. The Prime Minister has been shot.” “What, Where, Who?” I shouted but there was no answer.

Shock and disbelief were all-consuming. I found a chair, sat down and paid for the television, but left it behind. We flew back to Delhi on a private flight arranged. I remained dazed, my flag still fully flown, clinging to the fragile hope that he would somehow survive.

When I came home, my daughter Manira told me that BBC had announced Indiraji’s death. His Sikh bodyguards Satwant Singh and Beant Singh had shot him in his own compound. I couldn’t believe it; He was killed by the men who were assigned to protect him and whom he kept with him due to his strong commitment to secularism.

I sank into the pillow and sobbed. Memories of our last encounter with him flashed before my eyes, especially those of his face. We had been through so much together; The years I grew up in his shadow, the wars fought under his leadership; his humiliation in 1977 and his subsequent return to power; The prison days, the joy of his victory at Chikmagalur, our separation and our return to him… I fell asleep, emotionally exhausted, physically exhausted, Manira clinging to me.

When I woke up it was evening. His body was still at AiiMS with his family. The President had returned and sworn in Rajivji as Prime Minister. But Delhi was burning. Anger against Sikhs spilled into the streets and violence was spreading. I managed to go to No. 1 Safdarjung Road (P.M’s House) to collect Indiraji’s bullet riddled body and then left as the family wanted to be alone with her. The doors were locked, but the grieving teenage son traveled around the city in a police jeep and tried to restore peace and trust. While Indiraji was resting peacefully at her home, the Lieutenant Governor was dismissed and the paramilitary forces were dismissed.

The following days were busy, with Indiraji lying in state at Teen Murthi House, ViPs from all over the world arriving to pay their tributes, and the people of India in endless queues to shower flowers on their dead leaders. Day and night I sat and helped as much as I could, looking at his lifeless body, his eyes dry and gloomy.

And then came the final farewell as he rose in flames, his family standing in silhouette against the setting sun, the nation weeping and the slogan “Indira Gandhi Amar Rahe” tearing through the air. Heartbroken and speechless, I watched the woman who held and fed me turn to ashes to mix with the snow of the mountains she loved.

If he had survived
There are some memories in life that cannot be erased or forgotten. The tragedy of October 31, 1984 is one of them. Indiraji had been re-elected following the trauma of post-emergency defeat in 1977; He had lost his son, his main support and advisor. She was a soft and physically emaciated woman. Yet his commitment to his Party and his people continued. But for the Operation Blue Star imposed on him, he could have spent his entire term as Prime Minister with authority and maturity, strengthening his secular, socialist, non-aligned vision focusing on the poor and the marginalized. He was a supreme leader who was respected and feared all over the world. With his death, the nation and the world in general became poorer.