Collector & DM Kutch (21)

21. My Days as Collector and District Magistrate, Kutch

“In winter Sorath is best, in summer Gujarat, in monsoon Vagad —but Kachchh is good all twelve months.”

In Gujarat’s long history, Kachchh has always held a special place. Officers posted here often say — they cry twice: once when they arrive, and again when they leave. When they come, they lament being sent to this dry desert land; but when they go, they are so deeply moved by the warmth and affection of its people that they leave with tears in their eyes.

The Kachchhi people say fondly, “Māṇḍu Bhagwān jeḍā āy” (people of kutch are like God) — a phrase that carries deep sincerity. When they say “Achho” (come), it feels welcoming; when they say “Achhijao” (come again), their affection pulls you back to them.

Wherever a Kachchhi may live — in Mumbai, Karachi, Africa, or Europe — they never forget their homeland. The news of the first rainfall in Kachchh travels fast, and greetings are exchanged with joy. Distinct from the rest of Gujarat, Kachchhis celebrate their New Year on Āshāḍhī Bīj with mutual visits and blessings.

The cold of winter and heat of summer are both extreme here. Before Narmada waters arrived, many villages drank salty tea, much like in Kashmir. While Valsad drowns in unending monsoon rain, Kachchh rejoices even at a few scattered showers.

In summer evenings, the gentle western breeze brings delight to both body and soul — that soothing coolness makes you wish the evening would never end.

A Grand and Royal District

Kachchh District is so vast that it is larger than many Indian states and twice the size of Israel, covering 45,674 square kilometers. It borders Pakistan’s international frontier, and hosts major ports like Kandla and Mundra, with Jakhau also well-known.

On clear nights from Jakhau coast, one can see the lights of Karachi port. Kachchh is home to the Indus Valley Civilization site of Dholavira, the mesmerizing White Rann of Kutch, and its unique Dhordo cuisine. Sacred places like Koteshwar and Narayan Sarovar attract pilgrims.

When the Sindhu River’s Nara branch once flowed here, rice was cultivated, and Lakhpat thrived as a trading port dealing in lac and shells. Guru Nanak Devji had passed through here en route to Mecca. Among Jain tirthas, Bhadreshwar is particularly famous.

The Mandvi beach is refreshing and scenic. Mandvi’s wheat is known for strength-giving quality, and Khadir-Rapar’s millet rotlas are unmatched. Once you taste Kachchhi dates, you’ll crave no other. The Kesar mango of Kachchh rivals those of Junagadh and Valsad. Fruits like dragon fruit and pomegranates taste sweeter when grown here. The Aina Mahal (Mirror Palace) still reflects the grandeur of royal life.

A Land of Kings and Legends

During British rule, Kachchh was a princely state. The region, shaped like a tortoise, connects its ancient roots to the Indus Valley Civilization through Dholavira.

When Mahmud of Ghazni invaded Somnath in 1025–26 CE, Gujarat’s ruler Bhimdev I is said to have fled and taken refuge at Kanthkot in Kachchh.

The Jadeja dynasty of Kachchh was established in 1147 CE by Lakhaji Jadani, who defeated the Chavdas. The capital was at Lakhiyarvir (Nakhatrana), named after his twin brother.

Disputes between descendants of the elder and younger sons led to tragedy — Lakhaji’s younger son, Jam Rawal’s father, was murdered, allegedly by Rao Hamirji of Lakhiyarvir. In revenge, Jam Rawal killed Hamirji in 1537 CE, ruled for two decades, but was later overthrown by Hamirji’s descendant Rao Khengarji I in 1557 CE, who established his rule over Kachchh with Bhuj as the capital.

Jam Rawal migrated to Saurashtra and founded Nawanagar (Jamnagar), with his descendants spreading across Rajkot, Gondal, Dhrol, and Virpur. The Jadejas of Kachchh worship Ashapura Mata as their Kuldevi (family goddess).

Meeting the Royal Descendants

When I took charge as Collector of Kachchh, the titular ruler was Rao Pragmalji III. When I met him at his palace, he came across as courteous and humble. He had no sons, and hence was exploring ways to commercially develop his vast estates. He often discussed such projects at length.

His uncle Himatsinhji visited me at the Collector’s residence regularly — once a fortnight or monthly — and we shared cordial conversations.

Another member of the royal family, Shikaribhai, would often bring royal-style pickles as gifts and always met me with warmth and respect.

And when speaking of Kachchh, one cannot forget Ramsingh Rathod, who was equally an embodiment of Kachchhi loyalty, culture, and charm.

Border Forces

Since Kachchh is a border district, it hosts key installations of the Army, Air Force, BSF (Border Security Force), IB (Intelligence Bureau), and other important central security agencies.

Because of this, I maintained cordial and cooperative relations with many senior officers — Army Brigadier J.P. Pathak, Air Commodore Jain of the Bhuj Air Command, Air Commodore Tyagi of Naliya Air Base, BSF Chief Menon, and his Deputy Rathore, among others.

Whether it was a get-together at their mess or a dinner at my residence, there was regular friendly interaction between us. Whenever I was invited to dine with them, I would politely request in advance:

“Please serve dinner early, then you all can enjoy yourselves as late as you wish!”

Perhaps my warm ties with these agencies were helped by the fact that my predecessor had a few unpleasant encounters with the Army.

The BSF Deputy Commandant Rathore once gave me some valuable driving tips, which proved useful to me throughout my service.

The Madhapar Road Incident

Near Bhuj, by Madhapar village, lies an Army Cantonment. The road passing through it had long been used by civilians as a daily route.

During my predecessor’s tenure, the Army suddenly sealed the road permanently, denying access to the public. The Collector had tried to reason with them, but when the Army officers ignored him, he famously mounted a tractor himself and led the effort to reopen the road — a story that locals still recounted with admiration.

He had a passion for travel and photography, and spent nearly three long years in Kachchh, leaving behind a strong and fond memory among the people.

He had a cook named Kasam. The Collector frequently suffered from recurrent typhoid, and for a long time the cause remained a mystery — until finally Kasam himself was diagnosed with typhoid, revealing the source of the infection.

The Collector’s Residence

When I arrived, my predecessor had already completed his CTC (charge transfer certificate) and perhaps returned to his hometown. However, his wife was still living alone in the house.

We had already vacated our Valsad residence, and staying indefinitely in the Circuit House was not practical — especially since Ujjval and Dhaval’s schools were about to reopen.

Luckily, the outgoing Collector had partitioned the bungalow into two sections — one side retained for his household goods, and the other made available for us.

The Collector’s Bungalow dated back to princely times — it was once the British Political Agent’s residence. The layout had two rooms on each side, with a kitchen, dining area, and drawing room in the center.

The right-wing section of the house became available to us only six months later, but by then, we had grown so accustomed to the left wing that moving into the other side felt almost alien.

The compound was adorned with mango, tamarind (goras ambli), and neem trees. In the garden grew a creeper with chandelier-like flowers that I became so fond of that I planted one at my father’s house in Ahmedabad, and even today, the same vine thrives at my residence in Gandhinagar.

Just outside the southern gate of the compound stood a Shiv temple, adjoining the road. Every Shravan month and on Mondays, we would visit for darshan and inquire about the priest’s well-being.

Etiquette and Protocol

From my very first day at the Collector’s Office, I was aware that I was serving in the former princely territory — where the Collector’s role carried an aura of royal authority.

My personal orderly was Naik Jogibhai — short, elderly, and modest in appearance. One day he asked me,

“Sir, since I’m a Naik, may I wear the red sash (patto) of my rank?”

I smiled and replied,

“Of course, but one sash alone would look incomplete — add a turban on your head and polished black boots on your feet.”

The old man’s face lit up with joy. From that day till my very last in Kachchh, he faithfully maintained that uniform, taking immense pride in it.

He was assisted by another orderly, Satu Bhai Jadeja — both men representing the old world’s dignity and devotion.

The Supporting Team

When Bhattibhai was present in the office, the Collector had nothing to worry about. He was efficient, calm, and ever-reliable — a man who ensured that every file moved in time.

At his side, Vaishnav, equally disciplined and respectful, assisted with devotion.

The Resident Deputy Collector (RDC) post was first held by Jagdish Pandya, followed by Shankarbhai Patel, both of whom managed the office with remarkable competence.

Officers of Class I and II performed to the best of their individual capacities — some exceptional, some average — but the administrative machinery ran smoothly.

As District Development Officer (DDO), Vasantbhai Gadhvi, and later Sanjay Nandan, ran the District Panchayat efficiently, maintaining excellent coordination with the Collectorate.

Among the Prant Officers, I had —

• C.R. Kharsan in Nakhatrana,

• A.B. Parmar, later replaced by Nalin Upadhyay in Bhuj, and

• Dushyant Dave in Anjar.

All three were dynamic and effective, ensuring that sub-divisional and taluka-level work moved briskly.

The Mamlatdars, as always, were a mixed bag — some outstanding, some mediocre, some weak — yet the district administration as a whole functioned well.

The Household Staff

At the Collector’s Bungalow, the small, loyal team became an extended family:

• Kasam, the cook, ruled the kitchen.

• Abdul, a short and slim man, handled ironing and minor stitching with quiet efficiency.

• Husenbhai, the gardener, tended to the lawns and flowers.

• Mahmud, the night watchman, patrolled the compound after dusk.

• Two security guards were stationed at the bungalow, and a gunman, Ashok Vaja, accompanied me to office and on tours. When the shifts grew long, a second guard took over.

All were disciplined, punctual, and deeply respectful of the Collector’s dignity.

As drivers, I had Damji Makwana and Kishor — both skilled and steady.

Gone were the days of nervous journeys; unlike in Junagadh, I no longer feared accidents.

During trips to Gandhinagar for meetings, the long, monotonous drive often left us exhausted.

But the moment we began the return journey to Bhuj, a sense of joy — almost like going home — would arise within.

Drought Relief Operations

When I took charge of Kachchh, the district was facing a severe drought.

Having earlier handled over a lakh labourers on relief works in Dahod Subdivision, the Kachchh operations seemed moderate in scale — but their challenges were unique.

The main concern here wasn’t human labour but fodder for livestock. The vast Banni grasslands were home to thousands of cattle, buffaloes, sheep, and goats.

In normal years, Kachchh supplied fodder to other drought-hit districts — but when Kachchh itself suffered, we had to source fodder from Junagadh, Bhavnagar, and even as far as Panchmahal.

The second major challenge was drinking water.

Many villages were accustomed to receiving piped or tanker water only two or three times a week — but when tankers were delayed even for a day, panic spread like wildfire.

So, I made a firm rule:

“If there’s a serious complaint or agitation in any village, my vehicle must be parked at that village the next morning.”

This direct and personal approach reassured people. Throughout my tenure, I ensured that no village in Kachchh suffered severely for work, fodder, or water.

Visit of Shri Atal Bihari Vajpayee

That year, Shri Atal Bihari Vajpayee, the Leader of the Opposition, visited Kachchh to review the drought relief efforts.

Dressed simply in a dhoti, kurta, and bundī, he radiated quiet dignity and charm.

I had first seen him from a distance in 1977, during the Emergency elections, at a public meeting in Khanpur, Ahmedabad.

Now, destiny had brought me the privilege of meeting him in person and spending an entire day in conversation.

He listened carefully to the district’s situation, appreciated the efficiency of our relief measures, and appeared deeply satisfied.

I shared with him my vision for Kachchh’s development, comparing it to Israel — a land that had turned its arid terrain into a flourishing hub through water conservation, irrigation, agriculture, and industry.

Atalji was visibly moved.

He said warmly:

“परमारजी, आपकी कच्छ विकास की सोच उत्तम है।

अपने को कच्छ देश का प्रमुख मानकर काम करो।”

(“Parmarji, your vision for Kachchh’s development is excellent. Work as if you are the head of the Kachchh state itself.”)

Later, we travelled together to Gandhidham, where a Sindhi community leader, known to Vajpayeeji, came to meet him. He brought a portrait of Vajpayeeji and requested an autograph.

Atalji smiled, took the pen, and wrote two lines that have remained etched in my memory:

“ढलती उम्र, बढ़ती परछाई —

वो एक दौर था, आज नया दौर है।”

(Fading age, lengthening shadows — that was one era; now begins another.)

As he signed, it felt as if he was gently reflecting on his own journey — a poet and statesman summing up a life of struggle, grace, and renewal.

Hamirsar Lake Rejuvenation

In Bhuj, rainfall was always scarce, and the town constantly faced water shortages.

To ensure that every drop of rainwater was stored and utilized, the rulers of Kutch had, in earlier times, designed an intricate network of lakes, inlets, and outlets — an outstanding example of traditional water management.

Among them, Hamirsar Lake was the pride and ornament of Bhuj.

It was believed to be sanctified because Sahajanand Swami Maharaj had lived in Bhuj and used to bathe in this very lake. Hence, it was revered as a ‘prasadi’ (blessed) lake.

When I became Collector, I thought, “Why not enhance its storage capacity?” I convened a meeting of local leaders, the MLA, and the saints of the Swaminarayan Temple.

I shared my vision and personally pledged to contribute one month’s salary toward the desilting of Hamirsar.

My proposal ignited enthusiasm.

MLA Pushyadan Gadhvi immediately sanctioned ₹1 lakh from his MLA grant. Donations began to pour in rapidly — and within an hour, we had collected ₹10 lakh!

The Swaminarayan saints took charge of the supervision.

Their devotees offered tractors at cost, covering only diesel expenses.

Volunteers and labourers lined up to work, and soon the desilting operation began.

The excavated soil was spread along city roads and in nearby low-lying areas.

By the time the work was completed, Hamirsar Lake’s storage capacity had increased by nearly one crore litres.

Faith, Effort, and Divine Reward

I always believed that positive collective resolve brings positive results. So, I proposed conducting a Vishnuyag (Vedic ritual) on the lakebed before the monsoon.

Our family priest, Harikrishna Khera of the Rajpurohit family, officiated as the yajman (chief priest).Local couples volunteered to bear the expenses and participated in the rituals.

The atmosphere all around was filled with faith and optimism.

I instructed the Deputy Conservator of Forests (DCF) to keep one lakh saplings ready for plantation.

Then came the miracle —

That very year, 1994, Kutch received the heaviest rainfall of the century!

Rivers, streams, and reservoirs overflowed with abundance.

A region that normally recorded only 15–25 rainy days received over 75.

In Bhuj, Nakhatrana, and Mandvi, the water tables rose dramatically, and the long-parched land turned fertile once again.

The day Hamirsar overflowed, the entire town rushed to the lakeside in celebration.

According to tradition, the next day was declared a public holiday, and the Mayor, as the city’s first citizen, would perform the ritual welcome of the overflowing lake by letting a few drops of blood from the little finger of his right hand fall into the water — a symbolic gesture of gratitude.

That year, the municipality had no mayor but a deputy collector as administrator. Some people felt that the Collector deserved the honour — for his initiative had revived the lake.

But, some murmurs started about the caste-based opposition, and if somebody raises it in public, could create awkward position. Sensing my subordinate’s dilemma, I chose to stay away from the event. The ceremony was instead performed by the Deputy Collector, B.K. Thakkar, who was in charge administrator of the municipality.

Greening Bhuj

Soon after, we launched a mass tree-planting campaign across Bhuj.

Saplings were planted along both sides of every major road and around Hamirsar Lake.

Residents living nearby were entrusted with the care and watering of the trees after the monsoon.

No one can say how many of those trees survived but even today, the green avenues of Bhuj and the trees around Hamirsar stand tall, bearing silent testimony to our collective karma and vision. 

Surat Plague (1994)

That year (August–October 1994), Surat was struck by the devastating plague outbreak.

Municipal Commissioner S.R. Rao had transformed Surat’s sanitation system, yet, due to the panic, a large exodus of people began from the city — many of whom started arriving in our district.

This raised the need for immediate vigilance.

My close friend and Civil Hospital Bhuj physician Dr. Kashyap Buch, along with the district’s doctors and health officers, swung into action.

We prepared radio talks and audio-visual cassettes explaining the nature of the disease, its symptoms, treatment, and preventive measures, and began broadcasting them through cable TV.

Fortunately, our district remained unaffected by the plague.

Malaria During Navratri

During the Sharadiya Navratri, a grand fair is held at Ashapura Mata’s shrine, where thousands of devotees, much like those visiting Ambaji, walk long distances on foot for darshan.

I too drove there by car — and, unfortunately, fell prey to mosquito bites.

Within a couple of weeks, I developed a high fever.

Blood samples were taken, but the malaria test came back negative, so the doctors prescribed other medicines.

The fever persisted, and my condition weakened severely — food intake stopped, and I became frail.

At one point, when my temperature rose to 104–105°F, and a fever spike hit, I felt as if death was near — everything went dark, and only faint voices of visitors reached me.

Dr. Buch ordered another blood test — this time it confirmed falciparum malaria.

Injections were started immediately, and with timely anti-malarial treatment, I survived.

Elections and Voter ID Cards

In December 1994, elections were announced for District, Taluka, and Village Panchayats.

As District Election Officer, I was fortunate to have a capable team, and we conducted the elections smoothly.

Soon after, the newly elected Panchayati Raj institutions began working in coordination with us.

That was the era of T.N. Seshan, the formidable Chief Election Commissioner, known for strict reforms.

The introduction of voter identity cards had just begun. Teams visited every village and ward, taking photographs of voters and updating the electoral rolls.

Printing of these cards for the state was centralized by the Chief Electoral Officer of the State, and each district was assigned a designated printing press. Kutch was allotted the Jamnagar press, which already had a backlog, as the local collector gave priority to his own district’s work.

As a result, we fell behind schedule.

At a review meeting in Gandhinagar, I had a brief argument with Deputy Chief Electoral Officer Kailasanathan, requesting either a separate press or to pause Jamnagar’s work to clear our pending cards.

Whenever I visited Jamnagar, I stayed with Collector Sanjay Prasad. His home was like a community kitchen (sadavrat) — large bowls of palak paneer were placed on the dining table, and everyone could help themselves.

My wife saw love of Sangita for palak paneer loved dish, and from then on, palak paneer became a fond memory for her. Even today, whenever it’s cooked at home, she fondly recalls those Jamnagar days.

Chief Minister Visits and Political Events

Chief Minister Chhabildas Mehta frequently visited Kutch.

He often arranged spiritual camps by a Thakor from Sabarmati, Ahmedabad, who claimed to cure women’s back pain by pressing specific vertebrae apart with his hands.

Around that time, a group lobbied hard for DSP Pramod Kumar’s transfer, but, on my recommendation, the Chief Minister refused to transfer him.

That year, due to the election code of conduct, the Republic Day (26 January) I as Collector of the District unfurled the flag. Everything parade and salute went smoothly. The ceremonial protocol duty of the event was attended by the District Home Guard Commandant.

1995 Legislative Assembly Elections

Then came the 9th Gujarat Legislative Assembly elections in February–March 1995.

The sitting MLAs of the 8th Assembly from our district were: Pushpdan Gadhvi (Bhuj), Sureshbhai Mehta (Mandvi), Tarachand Cheda (Abdasa), Navinbhai Shastri (Anjar, Law Minister), Harilal Patel (Rapar). Parbat Sodha (Mundra). 

As District Election Officer, I was responsible for six constituencies, handling electoral rolls, logistics, vehicles, staff training, law and order, polling, counting, and results — all within schedule.

Kutch’s vast geography made it challenging — it’s as large as three or four districts combined. In remote desert areas without roads, we even used camels for transport.

Despite the odds, the elections went off successfully.

In the new Assembly, Nimaben Acharya (Abdasa), Mukeshbhai Zaveri (Bhuj), Vasan Ahir (Anjar), Babubhai Meghji Shah (Rapar) were newly elected MLAs, while Suresh Mehta and Parbat Sodha were re-elected. 

Later, Pushpdan Gadhvi went on to become a Member of Parliament in 1996.

New Government formed

The ruling Congress (45 seats) suffered a major defeat, and Chhabildas Mehta resigned.

Keshubhai Patel of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) formed the government with a majority of 121 seats. From Kutch, Suresh Mehta became Industries Minister and ranked second in the Cabinet.

Whenever a new government takes office, transfers of officers usually follow. 

Fortunately, Keshubhai Patel’s first official tour was to the Kutch border areas, where I accompanied him.

During the journey, he spoke warmly about his early career — how he began as a coal weigher in Rajkot, and through dedication and service, rose to leadership. He narrated stories of driving the jeep himself whenever Atal Bihari Vajpayee or L.K. Advani visited.

At that time, the government’s focus was on industrial development in Kutch. The region had abundant limestone reserves, enough for a century of cement production.

The Sanghi Cement proposal, which had been under review by the previous government, involved granting large tracts of land on long-term lease.

Finding it detrimental to public interest, I advised the Chief Minister to consider a joint public-private venture instead.

However, since the Industries Minister himself was from Kutch, his opinion prevailed, and Sanghi Cement project survived.

Despite these differences, the Chief Minister appreciated my work and received no major complaints from local legislators.

While many other collectors were transferred, DSP Pramod Kumar and I were retained in Kutch.

However, as Suresh Mehta’s recommendation was not accepted, he became displeased — both with us and with the Chief Minister.

Pingleshwar Party and Ujjwal’s Rescue

At that time, the presence of the Army, Air Force, and BSF units in the district brought a unique vibrancy to local life.

After the Legislative Assembly elections, Air Commodore Tyagi of the Naliya Airbase (Abdasa Taluka) hosted a dinner party one evening at Pingleshwar Beach, famous for its golden sands, to help everyone unwind. 

SP Pramod Kumar and I attended with our families.

Since the gathering involved a drinks party, I stayed a little away with Ujjwal, while Laxmi joined the women’s group with Dhawal.

The sea tide was slowly rising, and as dusk settled, I held Ujjwal’s fingers tightly in mine, and we both walked toward the water, letting the gentle waves touch our feet.

Suddenly, the waves grew larger.

Before we could react, two massive waves surged toward us, engulfing both of us in their force.

My feet were anchored in the sand, but Ujjwal was lifted off the ground, being dragged into the sea.

His small fingers were still locked within mine — a grip that meant life itself.

Had the sea pulled with just a little more force, he would have been gone.

I was submerged too — all I could see was water everywhere.

In that instant, a spark of clarity came over me. With my free hand, I reached out, grabbed Ujjwal’s arm, and pulled him tightly against my chest, securing him before we both could be swept away.

Then, silently, I prayed to Lord Daryalal (Sea God):

“O Lord, I will not offer you my son.

If you must take someone, take us both.”

No sooner had I said this in my heart than the sea suddenly receded, the waters calming.

From a distance, Pramod Kumar, sensing something was wrong, came running.

We made it back safely to the shore.

That day, Ujjwal had been wearing a small gold ring (3–4 ratti) — a gift from his grandfather.

When we looked at his hand afterward, the ring was gone — claimed by the sea.

It felt as if the sea had taken the ring in exchange for sparing his life.

A Tragic Incident

In 1995, during the auspicious month of Vaishakh, a horrific tragedy struck a Patel village Baladiya near Bhuj.

A devout Swaminarayan follower, Devji Karsan Patel, known for reading the Vachanamrut, lived there.

His daughter was married in the same village.

When his son-in-law’s brother’s wedding was arranged, Devji was not invited, due to a quarrel between the two brothers-in-law.

The day before the wedding procession (jān), the decorated bullock cart carrying the groom, his brother, sister-in-law, and relatives passed through Devji’s street, accompanied by drums and music.

Humiliated by being excluded, Devji, in a fit of religiously twisted vengeance, misinterpreted a line from the Vachanamrut, underlined it in red ink, and attached it to a note expressing his anger.

He closed the door of his courtyard, filled a large kerosene can, and kept it near the entrance.

As the wedding procession reached his lane at dusk, when everyone was dancing joyfully to the music, Devji climbed to his rooftop, poured the kerosene over the bullock cart where the groom, women, and relatives were seated, and set it ablaze.

In seconds, a festive celebration turned into a scene of horror.

The groom and 23 others were burnt to death; several others sustained severe burns.

Devji’s own son-in-law perished, and his daughter was critically injured.

The wedding songs turned into funeral laments.

The injured and dead were rushed to Bhuj General Hospital, while the severely burned victims were transferred to Ahmedabad for advanced treatment.

Meanwhile, Devji escaped into the night on a bicycle.

The police searched the entire region, and by morning, they found his body in a well — he had committed suicide.

At his home lay an open Vachanamrut, the underlined verse, and his note explaining his act —an expression of wounded pride and religious delusion.

Even today, that incident raises a haunting question in my mind — how blind faith and ego, when combined, can turn into unimaginable destruction.

The sight of burnt bodies and the stench of human flesh at Bhuj General Hospital that day shook me to the core.

Even now, whenever I recall that scene, a deep sense of sorrow and revulsion fills my heart.

Ujjwal’s Hostel Admission

By then, the constant workload had begun to exhaust me.

The tragic Baldia incident had shaken me deeply from within.

I often asked myself — “Why does such suffering exist?”

Moreover, dealing with Sureshbhai Mehta’s temperament was becoming increasingly difficult for me.

I would always tell Laxmi,

“My job is my first wife — so please, never let household matters interfere with it. Take care of the family on your own.”

Both our sons were now growing up.

Because of my frequent transfers from one district to another, Ujjwal and Dhawal’s schooling was constantly disrupted, and their education suffered.

Fortunately, Dhawal found a good tuition teacher Dipti Soni, who helped him get back on track. But Ujjwal, though he passed Class 8, was not performing as I expected. I grew increasingly worried about his future.

After his near-death experience at Pingleshwar Beach, my attention toward him intensified.

On friends’ advice, I decided that he should repeat Class 8 and study at G.D. Birla Memorial School, Ranikhet — a reputed residential school.

He was 13 years old then.

Given the heavy responsibilities of a Collector, taking leave was almost impossible.

So, we made a bold plan — I would take him to Ahmedabad Railway Station, and from there, he would travel alone to Ranikhet.

I wrote down important phone numbers for him on a small sheet of paper and explained how to use them.

I gave him some travel money and spoke to Principal Rajeev of the school to inform him about the travel schedule.

We packed his bag, luggage, and tiffin, bought his train ticket, and went to drop him off at the station.

Before departure, I carefully instructed him:

“When you reach Delhi Railway Station, come out through the bus terminal gate.

From there, take an Uttarakhand Transport Corporation bus to Ranikhet.

Get off only at Ranikhet, then immediately call me from a public phone booth (PCO) to confirm your arrival.

After that, take local transport to the G.D. Birla Memorial School, report there, settle in your hostel room, and then call me again.”

To my immense relief and pride, Ujjwal proved his maturity and courage.

He reached Delhi safely, caught the bus to Ranikhet, and when the phone rang with his call from Ranikhet, I felt a wave of happiness — and pride as a father.

He studied there for two years (Class 8 and 9).

However, the strict hostel life did not suit him well, so after Class 10, we brought him back to Gandhinagar.

Astrological Prediction

It was July, after Ujjwal had gone to Ranikhet.

One evening, during a public function at Kutch Town Hall, Sureshbhai Mehta and I happened to be seated next to each other.

Despite the majority in Gandhinagar, there were growing internal differences within the BJP, and rumors of instability in Keshubhai Patel’s government were circulating.

In my private circle, it was known that I had knowledge of astrology.

During a light moment, Sureshbhai asked me,

“What do you foresee in the current political atmosphere?”

I asked him for his date, place, and time of birth.

Using my training, I drew up a rough horoscope mentally, analyzed the planetary transits, and compared them with his natal chart.

I noticed signs of sudden gain and elevation, and told him,

“Since you are a Number 2 person, prepare yourself — by October, you may be taking oath as Chief Minister.”

My prediction drifted into the air that evening but a few months later, it manifested exactly as foretold.

Disturbing the Beehive

My popularity kept rising, and the newly elected MLA Nimaben Acharya, full of enthusiasm, even declared publicly that “If Parmar Saheb contests Loksabha elections from Kutch, he will easily win.”

But just when everything seemed to be going well my hand fell into a beehive.

Two separate issues brought me into conflict with political figures.

First, I had to take strict action against our District Supply Officer, Bhaskar Bhatt.

There was widespread adulteration in petrol and diesel across the district.

When complaints of fuel adulteration came in, instead of investigating them properly, he would make excuses.

I had seen such manipulation earlier in Panchmahal District, so I was alert.

Despite repeated warnings, when his attitude did not change, I transferred all supply inspectors under him to work directly under the supervision of the three Prant Officers, and began thorough investigations into the complaints and irregularities.

Bhaskar, however, used his political connections — he reached out to Rajya Sabha MP Anant Dave.

Meanwhile, during an inspection at a petrol pump in Lakhpat, a major case of fuel adulteration was caught. The petrol pump owner was associated with MP Harilal Patel, who naturally stepped in to defend him.

Around the same time, another issue emerged a land case in Bhuj.

A piece of land originally allotted to a Dalit beneficiary in Santhani had been illegally sold to another person.

The matter was pending for conversion and non-agricultural (NA) approval, after fixing a premium.

Apparently, someone close to the MP had a vested interest in that land.

When they couldn’t get their way, they played their final card — to demand my transfer.

But I knew that as long as Chief Minister Keshubhai Patel was on my side, there was no need to worry, unless Sureshbhai Mehta himself decided otherwise.

Soon after, the District Planning Board meeting was scheduled, chaired by Sureshbhai.

He arrived and, at the Circuit House, I explained the entire matter in detail. He assured me that he was satisfied and that there would be no further opposition.

Accordingly, I restored the Supply Inspectors under the control of the District Supply Officer.

That day, the Planning Board meeting went extremely well — full of energy and enthusiasm.

MP Anant Dave, surprised to see my upbeat mood, commented with sarcasm,

“Parmar Saheb, you seem to be in great form today — even though you’re about to be transferred!”

Sureshbhai said nothing.

As Independence Day (15 August) approached, he returned to Gandhinagar and soon after, my transfer order arrived.

Former MLA Pushpdan Gadhvi held deep affection for me, but he was no longer in office. His son had benefited from a mining lease. But when it comes among the trio — Sureshbhai, Anantbhai, and Pushpdan — he remained silent.

Later, my friend and MLA Tarachand Cheda told me that when he objected to my transfer, asking,

“Why remove such an efficient officer?”

the reply was, “He is not that Parmar”

As proverb says — “We can stay till we have quota of food and water assigned by the destiny.”

I handed over charge to my successor and departed for Gandhinagar, where I took charge as Deputy Secretary (Public Health) in the Health and Family Welfare Department, succeeding Rajesh Kishore, and joined Ashok Bhatia Saheb’s health administration team.

Khajuriyas and Hajuriyas

During the Gujarat Assembly elections, Shankarsinh Vaghela was the State BJP President and had strong aspirations to become the Chief Minister.

However, when that did not happen, and when his opinion was either not sought or not given due weight in the formation of the Cabinet, he grew displeased.

Matters worsened when appointments to Boards and Corporations were made without his consultation adding fuel to the fire.

The spark of dissatisfaction quickly became a blaze.

Around that time, while Chief Minister Keshubhai Patel led a ministerial delegation abroad to attract foreign investment for Gujarat’s development,

Shankarsinh Vaghela, along with 48 of his loyal supporters, went off to Khajuraho.

Soon, the Gujarat BJP split into two factions —those loyal to Keshubhai became known as “Hajuriyas” (loyalists), and those aligned with Shankarsinh were called “Khajuriyas.” Those who stayed neutral were jokingly called “Majuriyas” (workers).

In the delegation abroad, State Minister Vipul Chaudhary acted as the information link, keeping track of both sides sending updates from abroad and receiving news from Gandhinagar.

The political game continued until a truce was brokered by senior leaders L.K. Advani and Atal Bihari Vajpayee.

Ultimately, Keshubhai Patel resigned, but instead of making Shankarsinh Vaghela the Chief Minister, a consensus candidate acceptable to both factions — Suresh Mehta — was chosen.

He took oath as Chief Minister in October 1995.

Back to Astrology

I had believed that my transfer from Kutch as Collector had been done due to the words of Sureshbhai Mehta, and hence I bore some resentment toward him.

Yet, I also knew that in politics, wisdom lies in humility before power. So, when Sureshbhai was announced as the new Chief Minister, I set aside my feelings and went to his residence to congratulate him.

Present there were Vipul Chaudhary and several MLAs. Vipul, with a teasing smile, said,

“This is the same Parmar Saheb — an amazing astrologer! Whatever he predicted has come true for me!”

Sureshbhai looked at me and smiled knowingly —our earlier discussion at the Bhuj Town Hall was still fresh in both our minds.

He asked me to find an auspicious time (muhurat) for the swearing-in ceremony.

After studying the planetary positions, I advised him to complete the oath-taking within a specific time window, and also suggested the ideal number of ministers to include initially.

He accepted both recommendations and implemented them.

However, on the day of the oath ceremony, due to delays in the Governor’s arrival and last-minute debates over which MLAs to include, only some ministers could take the oath within the muhurat, while others were sworn in after the auspicious period had passed.

That evening, I visited his house again.

All those who were present earlier were there once more, including Arvindbhai Patel from Mehsana, who asked,

“Parmar Saheb, how long will this government last?”

I tried to avoid answering, but when they insisted, I finally said,

“Barely a year. Those who took oath after the muhurat will be the cause of its fall.”

And indeed, it happened exactly so.

Shankarsinh Vaghela struck again — this time splitting the party to form a new faction.

For a brief period, President’s Rule was imposed in Gujarat.

Soon after, with the support of the Congress, Vaghela became Chief Minister.

But as always, power gained through rebellion is short-lived.

Shankarsinh’s reactive temperament worked against him, and within a year, he too had to step down — proving once again that political fortunes rise and fall like the planets themselves.

Artisans of Kutch

How could one ever forget the craftsmen of Kutch masters of exquisite handicraft!

Their embroidery work alone could win international awards.

Looking at the intricate stitches of Soof, Jat, and Ahir embroidery, one can only marvel.

In Soof embroidery, the artist counts each thread of the fabric before the needle pierces through creating stunning geometric designs with nothing but patience, precision, and imagination.

Through the efforts of Kantilal Shroff and Chandaben Shroff of “Shrujan”, the traditional artistry of Kutch’s women artisans gained international recognition.

The weavers of Bhujodi are equally unmatched. Their shawls, stoles, and blankets (dhabla, shawl, saadi) are so beautiful that one feels compelled to buy them instantly.

The locks of Suthari are so skillfully made that only an expert can open them.

One seldom visits Khavda, but its Mysore (Maishuk) sweets leave an unforgettable taste once tasted, one becomes a lifelong fan.

The ice cream candy of Mankuva’s Patel makes one exclaim, “Oh! What a taste!”

The food at the IFFCO guesthouse in Gandhidham is so delicious that it calls you back again.

A visit to Vighakot border and the surrounding vast desert feels like stepping into another world altogether.

In the Banni region, the mud houses (bhungas) and the simplicity of the people offer a glimpse of a unique way of life. Even today, I have preserved the quilt gifted by Gulam Hussain, a treasured memory.

The lacquer work of Nirona could easily surpass even Sankheda’s craftsmanship, but due to lack of marketing and proper guidance, it could not reach its true potential. Yet, the wood-carved furniture they make tables, stools, and more lasts many years without losing its charm.

When I became Commissioner of Cottage Industries and simultaneously Chairman of Gujarat State Handlooms and Handicrafts Corporation, I took steps to promote the art and livelihood of these artisans.

We developed artisan clusters, improved their designs and materials to match modern markets, and established a Craft Bazaar in Bhuj to sell their creations.

We also expanded state-level fairs and exhibitions, giving them more opportunities to sell their work a humble attempt to repay their love and artistry.

Friends

During my time in Kutch, beyond my circle of officers, I built a close-knit group of friends.

The small Officers’ Club often became the venue for musical evenings or poetry sessions.

Two of my dear friends were Dr. Rohit Shyam Chaturvedi, District Panchayat Medical Officer, and Dr. Kashyap Buch, an excellent physician.

Dr. Chaturvedi would recite poetry, while his son Akshatvishal entertained us with mimicry, especially imitating Mithun Chakraborty. Dr. Chaturvedi had even performed my sacred thread (yajnopavit) ceremony.

Dr. Buch’s knowledge of anatomy and physiology was remarkable — he could recite medical details effortlessly, and his list of medicines was endless. His wife Stella made wonderful uttapams and lovingly insisted everyone eat. Their little daughter, Meemansa, who once played in the cradle, is today Kutch’s youngest cardiologist.

Who could forget Dr. (Mrs.) Rajaram — Japanese by birth but Indian at heart, a radiant personality and a gracious host. Dining and conversing with her was always a pleasure.

Sharad Bhatt and a few young men of the town ran a local orchestra, helping organize musical events at the Collector’s bungalow or Town Hall.

A local girls’ education trust ran a wonderful institution, and even today, I remember Maneklal Gandhi’s laddus — their taste still lingers on the tongue.

Dipti Soni deserves special mention for putting our son Dhawal back on track in his studies.

I befriended Pandit Dinanath, a Kashmiri Pandit married to a Kutchhi Thakkar woman, through whom I learned much about Kashmir’s geography and history. His daughters Archana and Beena were close to my wife Laxmi. Archana worked at Shrujan, teaching her about Kutchhi embroidery, its styles, motifs, and beauty. Later, Archana joined the district court, and Beena became a teacher.

Kirtibhai Bhansali and his wife were a loving couple — his wife has since passed, but Kirtibhai still calls fondly saying, “Saheb, you must come visit.”

I once helped Dr. Kamal in saving her inter-caste marriage, and her family continues to hold deep respect for me.

The South Indian dishes at Jatthum’s restaurant were delightful. 

Though Prince Hotel’s paneer tikka couldn’t match Daras of Valsad, it was tasty enough to keep the children asking for more.

How could I forget the Kutchhi Jain merchants?From Mumbai, Ravibhai Senghvi stayed in touch as long as he lived. Others like Shantibhai Mekoni, Damjibhai Ankarwala, and Sumatibhai of VIP Bags remain fondly remembered.

My friendship with Devendrasinh Zala, General Manager of Balarpur Industries, continues warmly even today — he now runs a major salt enterprise, “Dev Salt.”

Whenever I visit Mumbai, friends like Dharam Patel and Bhachhubhai receive me with the same affection and hospitality as ever.

Among the Bhanushali, Pithubhai and his family, Asubhai, and Ashokbhai Bhanushali of Valsad, as well as Harshadbhai Kataria, still maintain close ties.

Rameshbhai Shah of Gandhidham never fails to send festive greetings.

My college friend, Kamlesh Brahmakshatriya, now a chartered accountant from Nakhatrana, and his family treat me like one of their own — his mother loves me as her son, and his brothers like their own sibling.

In Rapar, friends like Jayeshbhai, Hemendra, Nitin Thakkar, and Mukesh are ever ready to help whenever called.

Only Kanak Mehta has drifted away with time but now does receive call.

When I returned to serve Kutch again during the 2001 earthquake, many of these bonds were rekindled — but that story deserves its own telling.

One thing, however, is certain:

Whoever drinks the water of Kutch can never forget Kutch.

Kutch stays in the heart — all twelve months of the year.

– 27 September 2025