The Gandhian Adventures of Raj & Iqbal: A Novel (14 page)

H
ow my wife must have found Netaji I do not know, but this way at least she would unleash some anger and beatings upon that man first, which would hopefully reduce my own quota of beatings. And also I was happy that at least Netaji could inform her of my safety, and I would not need to call her just now. I was too weak and full of eggplant and roti to endure even verbal abuse just now, and I happily sat in the restaurant and took a nap as the Pakistanis along with Iqbal and Bhatkoo and Shamoo went out to the town to find some place to sleep for the night.

Bhatkoo and Shamoo returned to fetch me in a few hours, and we all went to a small Gujarati guest house owned by a very sweet old man and woman. These owners did not ask us many questions, and the little bit of money we had asked from the restaurant owner as part of the onion exchange was sufficient for three big sleeping rooms and with inclusive dinner and then breakfast the next morning.

Iqbal had gone with the Pakistanis to ask about some lorries or bullock carts to transport the onions. I did not worry about it because Iqbal is a good negotiator, and I felt it would be quite easy for him to arrange for someone to drive the Pakistanis to the border in exchange for one or two bags of onions.

I laughed at how funny it was that the onion problem was actually to our benefit now because the shortage had made our bags very useful as currency after our sea emergency. Of course, at that point, perhaps because we were in Bapu’s hometown, I did not think this would cause any problems. So when Iqbal came running into our guest room covered with dirt and sweat from running, I was shocked.

They have been taken, he shouted.

Who has been taken, I shouted.

The onions, he shouted, and the Pakistanis.

Means what, I said in terror.

Means we found some people who said they will drive trucks with our supplies, said Iqbal, and when they found out we would pay them in onions, they were fine with it.

And then? I asked.

And then we took them back to where the boats were tied up and began to load the onions, said Iqbal, and once the onions were loaded they grabbed hold of us and laughed and said they are seizing all the onions.

How did you run away? I asked.

With my feet you silly bugger, shouted Iqbal. How does it matter?

My brother in life appeared almost mad with anger and worry, and I too was worried about what would happen to our Pakistani brothers at the hands of some onion-crazed Gujarati mob. Death could easily result from mobbing activities, and especially if mobbing is being done against Pakistanis. In Gujarat there has been lots of anti-Muslim propaganda over the past few years, and sometimes these poor villagers who do not have schooling and do not have any Pakistani friends may react with extremist tendencies.

We must save them, I shouted, Bhatkoo-Shamoo come here you two.

Bhatkoo and Shamoo were in the next room, and they came running when I called. I explained the situation while Iqbal washed his face and did some actions which I think were Muslim prayer techniques that I had never seen him use previously.

Quickly we hurried away, but at that point we had no plan for rescue. In fact, we did not even know where to go in search of our Pakistani brothers, but now Bhatkoo and Shamoo came to the forefront and we were glad to have them with us.

Shamoo will use his tracking mechanism, said Bhatkoo, so let us first go to the sea shore where the abduction of onions and Pakistanis occurred.

I wondered if Shamoo had affixed yet another tracking device to the onion bags or something, but it was nothing to do with electronics or any such artificial mechanisms.

I was once a tracker of tigers in West Bengal, he said proudly.

You used to hunt tigers? I asked in surprise.

No of course not, he said in anger, Bengal tiger is not for hunting but for appreciation only.

Yes of course, I said, that is why I asked.

Anyway, said Shamoo, I used to work for Bengal Tourism Board and do tracking for tours and such things.

I see, said Iqbal, and so you will track these monkeys that have stolen our Pakistanis and the onions.

Yes no problem, said Shamoo, I will do it with great precision.

We got to the sea shore and noted that the boats had been cleaned out of onions and there was no sign of anything at that place. Shamoo immediately began to look for the truck tracks in the ground, and they were quite easily visible due to the wet sand of the beach. In fact even I could have done the tracking based on those muddy tire tracks.

No, said Bhatkoo, the real tracking magic will be shown once the tracks are on the road and the mud has dried and fallen off.

Now I saw his point, and as we followed the mud tracks, soon they disappeared from sight, and once we got to an intersection in the road, I was lost for which way to go.

This way, said Shamoo with confidence.

How do you know? I questioned.

Shamoo appeared to be offended by my questioning. Still, he had betrayed us before, and now I did not want to worry about hurting feelings when the lives of our new brothers were at risk.

Sir, said Shamoo, I would not betray again.

I know, I said, and so let us go the way you said.

We started to run down the road, and soon I was tired and thirsty. Even though it was becoming evening time, it was still hot, and the sweat was making me feel very uncomfortable and sticky.

You stay here, said Bhatkoo, and me and Shamoo and Iqbal will run fast.

I did not argue because my feelings were not important when the lives of our Pakistani brothers were at stake. Of course I am not as fit as these skinny men, and so I am not as capable of chasing trucks down the road in the sun. I sat down on a piece of a dead tree near the road and contemplated the situation of how we had been victims of Gandhi’s own Gujarati people, but then I remembered that Gandhiji himself would have been upset at my lack of understanding. These are just poor people, and the sight of so many onions which are now so rare and expensive is enough to make anyone do silly things. After all, not everyone can be a Gandhian. It takes time and practice and self-discipline.

As I contemplated all this, the sound of engines became known. I looked to see two trucks driving towards me. They were coming from the same direction that Shamoo and Bhatkoo and Iqbal had run off in, and I expected that either Shamoo and Bhatkoo and Iqbal had been themselves captured, or the trucks had passed them and now my three friends were chasing the trucks still.

I had to think fast, and I did so as per situation requirements. By now I had faced imagined death at the hands of so many different militaries and gods that I was not concerned about it. My job was to stop the trucks, and so I did so by using the god-given advantage of my bulbous body.

I lay down on the road in the direct pathway of the trucks. As Gandhiji had said, I put my faith in the belief that these people, although they may have robbed the onions, are still not bad and so will not simply run over a fallen man. They will stop and check me, or at least they will move me off to the side of the road. This little delay might be enough time for all of us to gather and somehow save the situation.

I closed my eyes as I felt the ground vibrate from the onion-filled trucks. At first the rumbles were so loud that I was certain that I had been wrong and they would simply run my bulbous body over, but at the last minute the first truck stopped, and this forced the second truck to stop.

The driver got out and looked at me but did not approach.

Hello, he said.

I did not budge.

Are you alive, he said.

I did not answer.

Then the driver from the second truck came up and started yelling at the driver of the first truck.

Are you mad or what, he said, why did you brake so suddenly?

The first driver pointed at my bulbous body, and the second driver made a sound of shock and dismay, and I realized that these people might be robbers but are not yet murderers.

Let us load him into the truck and drop him at the hospital, said the second driver.

Okay come, said the first driver.

They both came up and one driver grabbed my hands and the other driver grabbed my legs. I remained still with my eyes closed, and I must say my acting job was first class. They tried to lift me up, but now the beauty of my bulbousness came into effect. Of course the two of them could barely even drag me, and they certainly could not lift me up and put me into the truck. And so they shouted to their friends who were still in the truck.

But who will watch these buggers, one of the friends shouted back.

Yes, said another friend, what if they escape and tell the police we have stolen their onions?

They are tied up, shouted the driver, and so they will be okay for five minutes alone.

Fine, said the friend, we are coming.

Then I felt many hands take hold of me in different parts of my body, and soon I was being lifted up and carried. These robbers were complaining about my weight, and I had never been so happy about my bulbousness. It took at least ten or fifteen minutes before they carried me to the truck and managed to dump me into the cargo area with the onions. As I dropped into the truck, I heard one of the robbers shout.

Ay they are gone, he shouted, those buggers have somehow been untied and have disappeared.

How can that be, shouted the driver, the knots must have been loose.

Impossible, shouted the friend, someone must have rescued them.

There was some more commotion as the robbers ran around a little bit as if to see if Yoosuf and Veeru and the other Pakistani were hiding, but I do not think they found them. I felt happy and heroic because I knew that Bhatkoo and Shamoo and Iqbal must have come from behind and untied the Pakistanis. And so in the end it was my plan and action that saved the Pakistanis from certain death here in the homeground of Gandhiji.

Of course, now the only problem was that I myself had been caught by these robber buggers.

A
t first I thought maybe my acting job is so good that they will simply deposit me at the hospital and not realize that it was my brainwave that enabled the rescue. But this was not the case, as I found out when two of the robbers got into the truck with me and slapped me to wake me up. I tried to ignore the slaps, but it is hard to be quiet when your face is being slapped. And so I jumped up and tried to dive from the truck.

This was the mistake, I think. Perhaps if I had simply opened my eyes and tried to pretend to be hurt they may have believed me, but my instinctive attempt to escape proved beyond a doubt that I was the mastermind behind the escape plan.

Ay fatso, said one of the robbers, where will you run to?

Yes, laughed the other robber, your friends have left you and run off.

Now what will you do fatso, laughed the first robber.

And then they started slapping me again, and when I tried to cover my face with my hands, they slapped my hands so hard that my own hands began to hit my face and so it was like I was slapping myself, which is a double insult. So finally I put my hands down and let them slap away. Now I was a true Gandhian, and it hurt a lot.

Eventually the truck began to move quite fast on the bumpy road and the men stopped slapping me so they could hold on to the sides and keep balance. I was not sure where they were taking me, but that was not really my concern. I was still thinking about how I had saved my friends, and for some reason at that point it seemed that if I die now I will be remembered as a martyr as well as an escape mastermind.

But then some thoughts of reality and the prospect of my death resurfaced when the truck stopped. By now it was night, and I was not sure how Shamoo would be able to follow the truck tracks in the dark. And besides, how much could those poor skinny friends of mine be expected to run in one day? Plus, we had been driving on the roads for quite some time now, and even if Shamoo was able to follow, it would take them a long time to reach me due to discrepancy between speed of foot and speed of truck.

The robbers told me to get out of the truck and I did so. We were in some kind of big garage or godown, and by godown I mean warehouse. There were some other trucks in this place, but no other people. I examined my kidnappers and was surprised to see that they were quite young. In fact, they appeared extremely young, younger than my oldest son who is just finishing college at age twenty-one.

You children have no shame, I shouted, to be kidnapping and torturing an old man like me?

Ay shut up you fat old man, shouted one of the boys, or we will continue the slapping and now we will not stop.

At this threat I shut up, but I was staring at each of them intently in the hope of making them feel like a father-type figure is scolding them. But again this was a mistake, because I think they must have not liked their fathers. One of them came up to me with a stick, and now I became very worried for my safety. Slapping is one thing, but to be hit by a stick is quite different. I stood there in preparation, hoping that I would be able to move my head away so that my other body parts could absorb the blow, but just as he was about to strike, another boy shouted.

Stop it Kailash, the boy said, he is already hurt and is not any danger to us now.

The boy Kailash put down his stick immediately, and I looked at the boy who had spoken. He must be the leader, I thought, and so I must try and deal directly with him to secure my freedom.

Thank you young fellow, I said to him.

Shut up, said the leader fellow, or I will let him hit you next time.

Sorry, I said quietly and just sat down in a corner.

The boys all gathered and looked at the onion loads, and I noticed that the load seemed much less than what we had on the boats. I wondered if they had hidden some of the onions at another location, but in listening to their conversation I realized that they had already sold some of them.

What to do with the rest of these, said Kailash.

When nobody answered, he turned to the leader and asked again.

Ay Nitin-bhai, said Kailash, answer me, no?

Quiet, said Nitin, I am thinking.

But Kailash did not seem to want to stay quiet.

There is no one else in Porbandar with capacity to buy so many onions now, said Kailash, and so what to do then? The onions will spoil here and all our trouble will be for nothing.

Of course, I knew that onions take very long to spoil, but I did not want to say this. Better if these robbers become desperate and so try to go out again to sell the onions and perhaps give me a chance for escape.

Onions will not go bad so quickly, said Nitin, and so we can hide them here for many days and even weeks if necessary.

But that will increase the chances of police finding us with stolen goods, said Kailash, and if my father finds out I am arrested he will beat me very badly.

And I will beat you myself if you don’t shut up, said Nitin.

This went on for some time and soon I tuned out and began to search for brainwaves in my bulbous head. But the day’s action seemed to have drained my intelligence, and I suddenly realized that I was very hungry and thirsty.

May I have some water, I asked politely.

Shut up, said Kailash.

But the boy Nitin stood up and came over to me with a tumbler of water and allowed me to drink.

We will give you some food later when we eat, he said to me.

Now that I saw him from close I could tell he was basically an honest boy but possibly just mischievous. And sometimes without proper education and upbringing, mischievous children can easily turn into criminals without realizing it.

This is the first time you have done something illegal, I told him softly so that others could not hear me.

He did not say anything, but I could tell that he was affected by my statement. Just then I felt some energy due to the water ingestion, and so I pushed forward with the conversation.

Will you kill me, I said.

At this statement the boy jerked his head as if in shock, and I knew that if I pushed him some more, he will feel very guilty and perhaps let me go. But since my instincts were feeling at peak level just then, I sensed it was best not to push too much in front of that Kailash boy. Sometimes when boys are with their friends they feel the need to act tough, and if Nitin shows some weakness in front of his cronies, then perhaps things will get out of hand. I had seen this dynamic many times with my own son, and so I let things be for the time being and just sat back quietly. Nitin went back to the other boys, but I could tell he was thinking about what to do with me, and I knew he was worried. Stealing onions is one thing, but stealing human beings is a different level of crime entirely.

What if those people who escaped go to the police, asked Kailash.

They will not, said Nitin, because I think they spoke in Urdu and since they wanted to hire the trucks to take them near the border, I think they are Pakistanis.

Oh, said Kailash, I never thought of that. They must be terrorists.

Not all Pakistanis are terrorists, said Nitin.

Correct, said Kailash, but all Pakistanis that come to India are terrorists.

At this all the boys laughed, and even though the joke was a bad joke, it provided some break in the atmosphere. Soon they brought out some food to eat, and once they had finished, Nitin came up to me with some leftover food and one more tumbler of water. But this time he did not stay next to me long enough for me to say anything, and so I ate in silence.

The boys seemed to be doing some secretive talking away from me. I tried to make out what they were saying, but they were speaking too softly. Still, I could tell that Kailash was very angry, and Nitin was trying to explain something to him. After some more argument, Kailash got up and walked off as if in anger. And then Nitin came back to me.

Finish your food, he said, and then I will take you and drop you back in the village.

I did not say anything, because what is the purpose of questioning a plan that benefits me perfectly? But as I finished my food, I found myself questioning the plan after all. Since I was sure that Bhatkoo and Iqbal and Yoosuf and the others would be searching for me, I worried about what would happen if they arrived at the warehouse before I found them in the village. If Nitin is not back here by then and the Kailash boy is in charge, then things could easily get violent. And not only did I fear for my friends, but actually I also feared for these young boys. After all, I knew that Yoosuf and Veeru had talked about having mutton-choppers, and if provoked, who knows what could happen?

And so I made one more foolish but brave decision.

I will not leave without my onions, I told Nitin when he returned to take my food plate away.

Are you mad, said Nitin, you know that my friend Kailash wants to hit you on the head and throw you into the sea to drown?

If that is what you all end up doing with me then let it be so, I said, but I am not leaving without my onions.

Now this Nitin boy looked truly worried, and I almost felt sorry for him, but then I remembered that this situation was caused by him and his friends, and so let him get worried and scared a little. It will teach him a lesson.

And also, I said, starting from now I am on a hunger strike.