Forty years had flown since that fateful morning in October when life came to a standstill and the most powerful woman in the world was slain by her own bodyguards in the security of her own garden. For thousands like me, our world crumbled that day. She was our leader, our Prime Minister; we admired her, we looked up to her, with great love, and we had welcomed her to Bangalore to inaugurate the Congress Women’s Convention.

It was a vibrant gathering at the Palace Grounds with over 50,000 women gathered from all over India and from abroad. On October 15, Indiraji joined us to inaugurate the Congress Women’s Convention. Over-enthusiastic delegates were clamouring to get onto the stage and it was chaotic. I decided not to make my welcome speech and requested Indiraji to address the gathering. But she insisted, “You will speak, and they must listen,” and stood by my side while I spoke.

The Rally at Kanteerava Stadium that evening was massive and Indiraji addressed it, with pride. She also joined us for a cultural programme, and delegates' dinner that night after shopping at the exhibition we had arranged. She enjoyed herself, patted my back and said, "Well done." Rajivji, as General Secretary joined us the next day. The Constitution of the organisation and its new name were adopted, and the women departed and so did we.

The last time I met Indiraji was on the evening of October 22, 1984, when I was summoned to her No.1, Akbar Road residence late in the evening. She was in a blue house coat, her hair rolled in a towel after her bath. Before getting into the details of the assignment she would give me, she told me how happy she was with the way the national convention was conducted in Bengaluru. I thanked her and told her, her presence had brought joy to our women.

After that, she shifted to a more serious tone as she expressed concern about President Giani Zail Singh’s trip to Mauritius and the UAE, with the inclusion of family and friends along with MPs and business persons on the official flight, which she felt could lead to a "diplomatic disaster." She asked me to lead a group of MPs and join the President’s delegation to add intellectual content to the events in Mauritius. Her trust in me for this delicate task was a profound honour, and I set off the next day to fulfill her request.

As I prepared to leave, she gave me another assignment. Once I returned from Mauritius, she wanted me to sort out a room full of gifts she had received and to organise a sale to fund Mahila Congress. I suggested that we do it on November 19, her birthday. She told me it could be held at 1 Akbar Road. I told her I would soon bring her the album of the Convention and file of newspaper clippings of the event, she said, "Get going with the delegation immediately." Those were her parting words to me.

My assignment in Mauritius was over, I landed in Bombay on October 31st morning en route to Delhi. As I was walking to the duty-free shop where I had booked a colour TV for me while leaving for Mauritius, a grave-looking customs officer walked up to me saying, "Ma'am, news has just been flashed. The Prime Minister has been shot”."What, Where, Who?” I shouted but there was no answer.

The shock and disbelief were all-consuming. I found a chair, sat, and paid for the TV but left it behind. We rushed back to Delhi, on a special flight that was arranged. I was dazed, clinging to the fragile hope that she would somehow survive, as the flag was still flying at full mast.

I arrived home, only to be told by my daughter Manira that the BBC had announced that Indiraji was dead. Her Sikh bodyguards, Satwant Singh and Beant Singh, had shot her in her own compound. I could not believe it - she had been killed by the very men who were posted to guard her and whom she had retained out of a strong commitment to secularism.

I sank into my pillow and sobbed. Memories of my last meeting with her, and especially of her face, flashed before my eyes. How much we had experienced together - the many years I had grown up in her shadow, the battles fought under her leadership; her humiliation in 1977, her subsequent return to power; her jail days, the joy of her victory in Chikmagalur, our parting and my return to her... I fell asleep, emotionally drained, physically exhausted, Manira clinging to me.

When I woke up, it was evening. Her body was still in AiiMS with her family. The President had returned and sworn in Rajivji as Prime Minister. But Delhi was burning. The anger against the Sikhs spilt onto the streets and violence was spreading. I managed to get to No.1 Safdarjung Road (P.M’s House) to receive Indiraji’s bullet-ridden body and then left as the family wanted to be left alone with her. The gates were locked but the young grieving son in a police jeep went round the city trying to restore peace and confidence. The Lieutenant Governor was sacked, the paramilitary was out, as Indiraji lay peacefully in her home.

The following days were hectic, with Indiraji lying in State at Teen Murthi House, V.i.P’s from all over the world arriving to pay their tributes and the people of India in unending lines to shower their dead leader with flowers. I sat day and night assisting where I could, staring at her lifeless body eyes turned dry and dreary.

And then came the final farewell when she went up in flames, her family standing as silhouettes, against the setting sun, the nation weeping and the slogan “Indira Gandhi Amar Rahe” rending the air. Heartbroken and speechless, I watched as the woman who had picked me up and nurtured me, was reduced to ashes to mingle with the snows of the mountains she loved.

If she had survived
There are some memories in life, which cannot be erased, which cannot be forgotten. The tragedy of October 31,1984 is one of them. Indiraji had been re-elected after the trauma of the post-emergency defeat of 1977; she had lost her son who had been her main support and advisor. She was a mellowed and physically weakened woman. Yet her commitment to her Party and her people stayed. But for Operation Blue Star which was forced on her, she would have lived her full tenure as Prime Minister with authority and maturity, reinforcing her secular, socialist, non-aligned vision with a focus on the poor and the marginalised. She was a towering leader respected and feared the world over. With her passing away the nation and the world at large were poorer.

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