There's someone constantly reassuring Jayalalithaa that she is so damn invulnerable and that ours is something of a banana republic. Her vindictive and malicious action against five senior journalists of 'The Hindu' has showed her up for what she is – a petty dictator who enjoys trampling upon basic Democratic norms and making a mockery of all notions of propriety, with an undying penchant for crushing her (perceived) opponents under the elephantine foot of State powers; an unsavoury heap of authoritarianism tailor-made for the political conditions of our neighbouring country, but who unfortunately found herself landed in the Indian Democracy.

Her act was worthy of censure in the strongest possible terms and the media had every right to cry foul, and feel outraged. However, it would do well to engage in some serious introspection as to whether it had, in any way, helped shape the way things rolled out. If they could just remove the cloak of self- righteousness they wear, climb a step down from the high moral ground they assume, and take a good hard look at themselves, chances are, their cries of protests would be in a less feverish pitch.

Flashback: On March 13, 2001, one Tarun Tejpal and his portal tehelka.com committed the gravest, most unthinkable of crimes – they exposed the squalor and rot that inhabited the system.

Many thought, if nothing else, the sheer embarrassment brought about by the stunning expose would force the Government to wake up from its slumber, or shed its indifference, and swing into action, for, the expose had so shocked the nation and rocked the Ministry at the Centre.

It did. Within a year and a half, the Government returned the favour and rocked Tehelka back - out of existence. The slumbering giant that was the Government of India woke up with purpose, got down to work with astonishing speed and never-before alacrity, very business-like, and pulled out all stops to ensure that things reached their logical conclusion.

And so, George Fernandes was back as the honourable Defence Minister after a brief, eye-washing lull, Jaya Jaitly eased back into public domain with all the noise in the world, like someone who was unpardonably sinned against (only old Bangaru paid a price, if you can call it that), while Tehelka lay sprawling on the ground, throttled, gasping furiously for one last breath that would never come.

But more than what the Government and its henchmen did, it's what the national media didn't that was singularly shocking. Here was a young, vibrant portal that took it upon itself what some of the bigger names never had the temerity to, and exposed the breathtaking filth the system was so immersed in. And when the spiteful assailants ran all over Tehelka, instead of taking the aggressors head-on, the watchdog just about managed to let out a squeak.

The media had, by and large, remained an eerily silent spectator to the undeclared but spectacularly successful war the Government and its hackers launched against Tehelka and its backers. They spend endless reams of newsprint on vital issues that threaten the very survival of mankind – say, Shah Rukh Khan's favourite dish or Jennifer Lopez's bra size – but when it came to the "petty" issue of the lynching of Tehelka, they just about managed to scribble a couple of lines before jumping on to something less demanding on courage and conscience. Then all of a sudden, even the ritualistic, periodic tears dried. Tehelka is dead? Fine, let's quickly bury it and get on with the pressing issues on hand.

The Tehelka saga was unique for two reasons – one, the "crime" for which they were went after; and two, the manner in which they were taken apart. Tehelka, an exciting, flourishing portal that employed some 130 people, was reduced to 15, then 5, and then to ashes.

Their chief promoters were terrorised, were served over 200 summons, and their lives ultimately destroyed, for the unspeakable felony that they had dared to invest in Tehelka. Their reporters were hounded out, and into prisons, on flimsy and trumped-up charges.

The Tehelka crew was forced to spend their time, energy and money - for months on end - trying to defend themselves for crimes others committed and they exposed. Tejpal ran up debts worth a few crores. He and his men were made to look like hardened criminals who have no business still roaming this land when they long belonged to the gallows (all this, by people for whom the gallows would have been so made-for-each-other). Tehelka was killed. And it was killed so beautifully that nobody ever knew it, or seemed to care.

The message the Government sent out was loud and clear – don't mess with us. Say what you would, but don't overstep your limits. Blast us to pieces in your edit pages (not applicable to one particularly stout Chief Minister from the South), but don't pull the rug from under our feet. Don't expose us naked wherein we are rendered helpless and indefensible, doing which, this is what you get – you'll be knocked out of existence.

One would have thought the media would fight this threat tooth and nail, unrelentingly. To drive home the point that they don't, at the first strains of pressure, run spine in hand to the political overlords to lay it at their doors. That the heady, reassuring whiff of power that blows through their heads day in and day out, doesn't qualify these neo-autocrats to cut the throat that sings a tune different to theirs, and get away with it. That the press says what it has to say, and not what the Government of the day wants to hear. Alas, their idea of tackling this threat was to mumble, meekly, "Yes sir, we understand."

It may have suited the narrow, individual interests of the media to look the other way when one of their own was being raped over and over again. But one day, it could all come up and bite them on the butt, big time.

That it didn't in 'The Hindu' case is due to a combination of factors – the loud and patently vindictive manner in which the Tamil Nadu CM went about her business (surely, subtlety is not one of her strong points) as against the deft, step-by-step method employed in the dismantling of Tehelka; the fact that she was up against a 125-year old, hugely influential national daily as opposed to a nascent, infinitely more vulnerable Web portal (would the protests have been on the same scale if it was instead a lesser- known, middle-rung daily, a vernacular at that?); and the intervention of the apex court as well as the Centre.

Jayalalithaa's action might have had less to do with the successful pulling down of Tehelka and more with her own inherent authoritarianism. But it's unlikely that the issue hadn't influenced her in any way. Surely, it's hard to believe the stupendous success of Operation Tehelka hadn't at all swayed her before she embarked on this ill-conceived move.

Through all this, there is one entity that has been splitting its sides laughing, sneering at the amateurish way Jaya handled the whole affair – the Government at the Centre.

"He gave us our freedom," Jack Nicholson said of Marlon Brando, meaning his (Brando's) example allowed actors to go beyond merely well-made characterizations, to dig deep into the soul of the part given.

That, precisely, is this Government's gift to the future ones – their freedom. Freedom to deal with the media as they want, and – unlike Indira Gandhi – not having to pay for it. Only, in a Democracy (oops!), there's a certain way it must be done to ensure a smooth sail.