As the clock struck eight last evening, Shaheen Bagh let out a collective gasp.

Chandrashekhar Azad, the 33-year-old chief of the Bhim Army, had been expected to arrive at the protest site at 6 pm. “Has he left Jamia yet?” impatient journalists asked each other as they assembled around the stage. As the hours passed, the crowd swelled manifold. Women and children sat patiently across the stage, as fidgety men lined up beyond the bamboo barricades.

Suddenly, there were rumblings on the stage. More than a dozen young men with blue scarves appeared out of nowhere. They collectively swung to and fro, trying to not fall off, and struggled to help one man ascend the elevated, rickety platform. After a few moments of loud commotion, Chandrashekhar Azad came into full view.

For the next 15 minutes, Azad did not utter a single word. For one thing, the mic stopped working. But more than that, his arrival had caused a frenzy. Resounding cries of “Jai Bhim” echoed from all directions. Mediapersons, keen to capture every moment with their cameras, stood around the stage like trained cattle. The audience, especially the men, shouted at them to sit down so that they could see Azad for themselves. They whipped up new chants: “Media waale beth jao, beth jao, beth jao.”

Azad, who had now gained his balance, brandished a red pen towards the crowd of young men on his left. “This is mightier than a sword,” he shouted. The men cheered and clapped. He was talking to them — and them only.

The mic came back to life soon after. Azad twirled his moustache and spoke his first words, with strategic pauses: “Your hard work and dedication has ensured that there are a thousand Shaheen Baghs around the country. And I request my media friends present here today to use this headline tomorrow: ‘Chandrashekhar said that a thousand Shaheen Baghs will not be enough, we need a lakh Shaheen Baghs across the country to wake up this dumb and deaf government.’”

The reception from the crowd was overwhelming.

“We made the white Englishmen flee. In the coming time, we will make the black Englishmen flee as well,” Azad continued, as the crowd whistled and cheered. He had earlier used this term — “kaale angrez” — to describe the Uttar Pradesh government. Now, he turned around and pointed to the portrait of Ambedkar hanging a few feet above.

“Do you know him?” he asked. “Babasaheb Ambedkar, our inspiration, our God. A man who gives strength to weak people like us. In 1947, Babasaheb brought the Hindu Code Bills. These bills were meant to give equal rights to women, especially in family assets. He wanted an era where women lead this country. And look at Shaheen Bagh, that time has come.”

The women’s faces lit up. They grinned. Children cried, “Jai Bhim.”

Azad then addressed Prime Minister Narendra Modi. “You live in Delhi. You have your Mann ki Baat with the whole world. But why can’t you hear Mann ki Baat of my sisters here? Does the prime minister not wish to listen?” he asked. “No matter how great evil is, it’s the good that wins the day. Those who want to split the nation will fail, and our resolve will win.”

Azad said the “soil of this country is fragrant because it has the blood of all our ancestors”. This was the overall flavour of his appeal: to evoke a common link between protesters by drawing upon belonging and struggle. At the helm of it, he placed the women and the constitution.

Mahmood Pracha, Azad’s lawyer and aide, has a key role in piecing this together. In the short pauses that the Bhim Army chief took while speaking, Pracha would whisper into his ear. Once, one could hear Pracha tell Azad that “everyone is equal before the law”. Azad then brought this up in his speech.

The activist also acknowledged the adulation that the Shaheen Bagh protesters showered on him. “If I had known I was so loved, I would’ve sacrificed myself a thousand times over,” he exclaimed, inviting loud applause.

Azad, who hails from Saharanpur, brought up police brutality in Uttar Pradesh after the citizenship law protests in the state in December last year. “I had sent Mahmood bhai to UP. I told him, ‘We don’t need you in Delhi, you should go to UP. Twenty two of our brothers have been killed there, you should fight for them.’ We have filed a petition in court and we will send the culprits to jail. Remember, everyone is equal before the law.”

He continued: “Why is the government lying, that only those led by Muslims are protesting here? Who isn’t here? People from all backgrounds are protesting. This tiranga is a witness.” He then turned towards an old man holding a red Bible, “This Bible is a witness. This constitution in my hand is a witness. Those who are not here are the ones who have no loyalty towards this nation.”

Then the mic went off again. “Can you hear me?” he asked. “Noooo,” the audience cried in unison. The grievance was promptly addressed.

Azad then spoke to the media. “All sorts of people will come here and talk about all sorts of things. But the media has to also do its job. If the media shows the truth, if it plays its role as the fourth pillar of democracy, our movement will not do any wrong to anyone.”

Azad was referring to the sting operations by TV news channels like Times Now and Republic that questioned the credibility of the Shaheen Bagh protests. The two channels had also reported on the “sting operation” posted online by the governing Bharatiya Janata Party without confirming its authenticity.

After these episodes, the protesters at Shaheen Bagh have become paranoid. They actively, often aggressively, discourage the media from reporting outside the main premises. Many are booed off with chants of “Godi media go back” — including well-meaning young YouTubers who wished to capture the protests.

Azad then switched his focus to demonetisation. “Those who say that the protests are causing a problem, is this problem greater than demonetisation?” he asked. Once again, the crowd returned an enthusiastic “no”. “The prime minister told us that black money would return. We trusted you. But you turned out to be a liar. Your government’s promises were also lies. Why don’t you listen to the people?”

Azad did not stop there. “The court asked me to respect Prime Minister Modi. I want to respect him and I do. But he should also respect the will of the people who made him the prime minister. He should respect the constitution that made him the prime minister.”

Then it was Home Minister Amit Shah’s turn. The Bhim Army chief was harsh: “These are a few different words: boastful, arrogant, dictatorial. But they all have one meaning. Friends in the media know who I’m talking about. It’s the respectable home minister. He says he won’t listen to the protesters. How can one say that in a democracy? We won’t sleep and we won’t let you sleep until the whole country is on the streets. That is how this government will understand.”

The protesters cheered loudly and clapped.

After a 25-minute address, Azad invited the crowd to chant an Ambedkarite slogan with him: “Babasaheb teri soch pe, pehra denge thok ke.” We’ll firmly guard Babasaheb’s thought.

Then, to loud cries of “Jai Bhim”, “Qaumi Ekta Zindabad” and “Bharatiya Samvidhan Zindabad”, Azad took his leave. Like his entry, his exit was also chaotic. Young men who accompanied him surrounded him as they would a cult hero. No one was allowed to touch him. Media persons called his name, expecting a soundbite or a picture, but Azad’s disappearance was swift.

Within minutes, Shaheen Bagh was back to normal.

Journalists emerged from their cameras and phones. Visitors began their sojourn to the metro station. Children frolicked amongst themselves and small pockets of college students sloganeered boisterously. Young men whipped out cigarettes and the older ones, once limited by barricades, called it a day.

As the spectacle of Chandrashekhar Azad wrapped up, it was only the women of Shaheen Bagh who remained.