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By:

Quaid Najmi

4 January 2025 at 3:26:24 pm

‘Now, political defections possible without losing seat’

The recent ‘experiments’ in Ambernath and Akot civic bodies have created a political storm. Renowned legal expert, Barrister Vinod Tiwari, President of Council for Protection of Rights (CPR), gives a perspective to the row while interacting with Quaid Najmi. Excerpts... What is the Anti-Defection Law under the Indian Constitution? The Anti-Defection Law is part of the Tenth Schedule of the Indian Constitution. It was introduced through the 52nd Constitutional Amendment in 1985. The main...

‘Now, political defections possible without losing seat’

The recent ‘experiments’ in Ambernath and Akot civic bodies have created a political storm. Renowned legal expert, Barrister Vinod Tiwari, President of Council for Protection of Rights (CPR), gives a perspective to the row while interacting with Quaid Najmi. Excerpts... What is the Anti-Defection Law under the Indian Constitution? The Anti-Defection Law is part of the Tenth Schedule of the Indian Constitution. It was introduced through the 52nd Constitutional Amendment in 1985. The main purpose is to stop elected representatives – MPs and MLAs - from switching political parties after elections for personal/political gain. It aims to ensure political stability, respect the mandate of voters, and prevent unethical political practices. Under this law, an elected representative can be disqualified if he/she voluntarily gives up the party membership or vote against their party’s official direction (whip). There are limited exceptions, like when two-thirds of a party’s members agree to merge with another party. The Speaker or Chairman decides disqualification cases, but their decisions can be reviewed by courts.   Is there a similar Anti-Defection law for local bodies in Maharashtra? Keeping in mind the spirit of the Tenth Schedule, Maharashtra enacted the Maharashtra Local Authority Members’ Disqualification Act, 1986 (enforced in 1987). It applies to Municipal Councils and other local bodies and was meant to stop the elected councillors from hopping across parties post-elections, and preserve the voters’ mandate at the local level.   Why is there so much unrest in the 2025-2026 civic bodies elections? The root cause lies in post-poll alliances, which have been made legally easier through amendments to Section 63 of the Maharashtra Municipal Councils Act, 1965. They allow political parties and/or councillors to form post-election fronts or groups. Over time, political parties have collectively and deliberately weakened the 1986 Disqualification Act, and it is now what I would call a “toothless tiger.” Hence, the strange and opportunistic post-elections alliances witnessed in Ambernath (Thane) and Akot (Akola), and some others after the December 20 municipal council elections.   How exactly was the Anti-Defection law diluted? It was through a quietly crafted amendment to Section 63 of the Municipal Councils Act, 1965, which was implemented after the 2016 local bodies elections, although the Disqualification Act remained on paper. It allows councillors and political parties - within one month of election results - to form a post-poll group or alliance, even if they contested elections separately. Once registered, this newly-formed group is treated as if it were a pre-poll alliance, and the Anti-Defection law applies only after that point. This effectively ‘legalised defections disguised as alliances’.   What were the repercussions? Another major blow came when the State Government amended the law to give itself appellate powers in Anti-Defection cases involving local bodies. Earlier, decisions were taken by Commissioners or Collectors. Now, any aggrieved councillor can appeal to the State Government, which becomes the final authority. This has given huge relief to defectors, especially when the ruling party controls the state government. Now elected representatives brazenly switch sides, aware they may not face serious consequences.   What is the long-term fallout of this trend? These amendments have made post-poll “marriages of convenience” the new political norm. The ruling party always has an unfair advantage, often forming governments without securing a clear electoral majority. This completely undermines democracy and voter trust, besides going contrary to the original purpose of the Anti-Defection Law.

Ghosts of the Andes

If Werner Herzog’s ‘Aguirre, the Wrath of God’ (1972) is justly recognised as a staple of world cinema, Irving Lerner’s ‘The Royal Hunt of the Sun’ (1969) is the other serious conquistador picture that has unfortunately languished in near-total obscurity. Adapted from Peter Shaffer’s acclaimed 1964 play, the film unfortunately never found the audience it deserved.

 

It remains one of the best depictions of the age of expansion under Habsburg Spain (the Catholic Monarchy) and a striking meditation on hollow piety, fanaticism and power, anchored by two magnetic performances from Robert Shaw and Christopher Plummer leading a stalwart British cast.

 

The story dramatizes the Spanish conquest of Peru in 1532 CE and the fall of the Incas, focusing less on military triumph than on the uneasy bond between Pizarro - the hardened, illiterate commander of the conquistadors played with weary ferocity by Shaw - and Atahualpa, the Inca king mesmerizingly essayed by Plummer.

 

Shaw’s Pizarro is one of the great actor’s most complex roles. Unlike the swashbuckling adventurers often seen in mid-century historical films, his Pizarro is not inflated by triumph but diminished by doubt. Shaw plays him as scarred, cynical and half-broken even before he sets foot in Peru. Yet he remains undaunted in his quest for the elusive City of Gold. Shaw gives Pizarro a brooding gravity, playing him as an adventurer suspicious of religion but still yearning for transcendence. The tone of the film is set right from the start as Pizarro vainly seeks funding for yet another expedition from Emperor Charles V (played with steely restraint by character actor James Donald) but is instead saddled with two priests to help convert the Indians in his expedition.

 

If Shaw’s Pizarro is heavy with disillusionment, Plummer’s Atahualpa is the counterpoint: radiant, enigmatic and deeply unsettling. Replete with a strange accent that only a master actor like him could conjure, Plummer makes Atahualpa seem at once otherworldly and fully human, an emperor who accepts his fate with equanimity but who also toys with his captors. His voice, his bearing, his stillness conveys a man who is worshiped as a god yet trapped in the body of a mortal. It is one of Plummer’s finest and least celebrated turns.

 

Lerner, better known for his editing, directs with an economy that belies the grandeur of the subject. Instead of revelling in spectacle, he prefers stark contrasts: the barren landscapes of the Andes against the claustrophobic spaces of the Spanish camp; the rigid formalities of Inca ritual against the Spaniards’ disorderly greed. The effect is almost Brechtian. Unlike the lush pageantry of 1960s epics like ‘El Cid’ (1961), ‘The Royal Hunt of the Sun’ finds its power in stillness and dialogue, forcing viewers to confront the moral tensions head-on.

 

The Conquistadors ‘officially’ march under the banner of the Cross, but are plainly motivated by their lust for gold. When Atahualpa offers to fill a room with treasure in exchange for his freedom, Lerner’s camera lingers on the grotesque spectacle of objects piled high, reducing sacred Inca art to mere bullion. The Spaniards’ subsequent decision to execute Atahualpa exposes the bankruptcy of their Catholic piety.

 

What makes ‘The Royal Hunt of the Sun’ outstanding is its refusal to give easy answers. There is no triumph, no clean division between good and evil. Instead, Lerner presents conquest as tragedy, not only for the Incas but also for the Spaniards who lose their souls in the act of winning. The relationship between Pizarro and Atahualpa - part rivalry, part friendship, part spiritual courtship - embodies this tragic tension. More than historical fidelity, the film dramatizes the eternal questions: What does it mean to believe? What price are we willing to pay for power? Can one man truly dominate another without being diminished in the process?

 

Its deliberate pacing, psychological focus, and moral ambiguity anticipate later treatments of Spanish and Portuguese conquest like Herzog’s ‘Aguirre’ and Roland Joffé’s ‘The Mission’ (1986). If Lerner’s film lacks Herzog’s feverish surrealism or Joffé’s lush romanticism, it compensates with clarity, offering us a tragedy in the classical sense: the destruction of men by forces they half-understand.

 

More than 55 years on, Lerner’s film cries out for reappraisal. It is one of the rare works to take the conquest of the New World seriously, reminding viewers that conquest is never merely about territory or treasure but the corrosive bargains struck between belief and power.

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