The Gandhian Adventures of Raj & Iqbal: A Novel by Zubin J. Shroff Page A
Authors: Zubin J. Shroff
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wife.
And this moment was the first time I truly contemplated the danger and madness of what we would be attempting the following night in the Arabian Sea beyond the sacred island that contains the Haji Ali darga. And although by now I was confident that Netaji and his people were not of violent nature, this actually caused more worry, because what is the use of having nonviolent people with you if the opposing group is bent on inflicting violence on the high seas? The worry was showing on my face when I walked towards the spare room where Bhatkoo and Shamoo were preparing their bedrolls.
RK-sahib, said Bhatkoo in a compassionate tone that I had not heard before, you do not need to worry. We are there, no? Nothing bad will happen to you and your friend Iqbal-ji. We have been given strict instructions that the personal safety of you two is more important than the personal safety of us two, and the safety of us four is paramount compared to any thoughts of onions or guns or bombs or bullets or detonators. If the situation goes bad, we have a perfect exit plan that cannot fail under any circumstance.
Wonderful, I said with relief.
Bhatkoo and Shamoo looked at each other and smiled proudly, and I got the feeling that they had done similar operations before, and so perhaps they were correct and there would be no danger of lifelessness, although danger of wetness would certainly be there.
So what is the exit plan, I asked casually.
Ah no no no no, said Bhatkoo with that same old smirk once more.
Ay na na na na, said Shamoo with his own variation of that madman’s smirk.
What? I asked.
We cannot tell you the emergency exit plan, said Bhatkoo, because the plan is too good.
So good, said Shamoo, that if you learn of it you may decide to use it even if it is not an emergency situation.
Remember, said Bhatkoo, you are not fully trustworthy yet.
I nodded in agreement and took my leave of the two of them, but not before I invited them to join me and my wife for dinner at the table. With great gratefulness and huge humility they both declined and said they would eat their packed dinner in the room and sleep soon.
We are just servants, said Bhatkoo, and not fit to be eating at the table with your honorable wife.
Nonsense, I said, do not talk like that in the house of a Gandhian.
Why, said Shamoo, do your regular servants sit at the table and eat breakfast and drink tea with you and your wife?
No, I said with some discomfort, but those servants are employed by me and this is their workplace so I have a different relation with them.
Fine, said Bhatkoo, perhaps someday we will join you and your wife at the table.
But not today, said Shamoo.
Fine, I said as I took my leave, sleep well then and do not hesitate to wake me if there is an emergency.
Then as I walked away I remembered something and looked back at them.
But please knock on the bedroom door and wait for me to open it if such a situation arises, I said quickly as I thought about my wife and the TV.
21
T he TV was still on when I awoke the next morning, the morning of the second day of our Gandhian adventures. I sat up immediately and looked at the time because I was worried about being late for work. After all, I had already missed the previous day due to imagined bus problem, and I could not miss another day. Anyway, today was Saturday, and even though Saturday has always been a full working day in India, things are changing in the Indian office culture nowadays and so it is becoming less of a working day. Still, I had to at least show my bulbous face at the office for a few hours, and I also wanted to get out of the house and not have to face my wife and any more detailed questions about how come I have work colleagues staying with me but I am missing work for two days in a row.
I took bath and dressed myself and only then went to check and see if Bhatkoo and Shamoo were awake and ready. Their room was empty when I arrived, and for a second I hoped that the
And this moment was the first time I truly contemplated the danger and madness of what we would be attempting the following night in the Arabian Sea beyond the sacred island that contains the Haji Ali darga. And although by now I was confident that Netaji and his people were not of violent nature, this actually caused more worry, because what is the use of having nonviolent people with you if the opposing group is bent on inflicting violence on the high seas? The worry was showing on my face when I walked towards the spare room where Bhatkoo and Shamoo were preparing their bedrolls.
RK-sahib, said Bhatkoo in a compassionate tone that I had not heard before, you do not need to worry. We are there, no? Nothing bad will happen to you and your friend Iqbal-ji. We have been given strict instructions that the personal safety of you two is more important than the personal safety of us two, and the safety of us four is paramount compared to any thoughts of onions or guns or bombs or bullets or detonators. If the situation goes bad, we have a perfect exit plan that cannot fail under any circumstance.
Wonderful, I said with relief.
Bhatkoo and Shamoo looked at each other and smiled proudly, and I got the feeling that they had done similar operations before, and so perhaps they were correct and there would be no danger of lifelessness, although danger of wetness would certainly be there.
So what is the exit plan, I asked casually.
Ah no no no no, said Bhatkoo with that same old smirk once more.
Ay na na na na, said Shamoo with his own variation of that madman’s smirk.
What? I asked.
We cannot tell you the emergency exit plan, said Bhatkoo, because the plan is too good.
So good, said Shamoo, that if you learn of it you may decide to use it even if it is not an emergency situation.
Remember, said Bhatkoo, you are not fully trustworthy yet.
I nodded in agreement and took my leave of the two of them, but not before I invited them to join me and my wife for dinner at the table. With great gratefulness and huge humility they both declined and said they would eat their packed dinner in the room and sleep soon.
We are just servants, said Bhatkoo, and not fit to be eating at the table with your honorable wife.
Nonsense, I said, do not talk like that in the house of a Gandhian.
Why, said Shamoo, do your regular servants sit at the table and eat breakfast and drink tea with you and your wife?
No, I said with some discomfort, but those servants are employed by me and this is their workplace so I have a different relation with them.
Fine, said Bhatkoo, perhaps someday we will join you and your wife at the table.
But not today, said Shamoo.
Fine, I said as I took my leave, sleep well then and do not hesitate to wake me if there is an emergency.
Then as I walked away I remembered something and looked back at them.
But please knock on the bedroom door and wait for me to open it if such a situation arises, I said quickly as I thought about my wife and the TV.
21
T he TV was still on when I awoke the next morning, the morning of the second day of our Gandhian adventures. I sat up immediately and looked at the time because I was worried about being late for work. After all, I had already missed the previous day due to imagined bus problem, and I could not miss another day. Anyway, today was Saturday, and even though Saturday has always been a full working day in India, things are changing in the Indian office culture nowadays and so it is becoming less of a working day. Still, I had to at least show my bulbous face at the office for a few hours, and I also wanted to get out of the house and not have to face my wife and any more detailed questions about how come I have work colleagues staying with me but I am missing work for two days in a row.
I took bath and dressed myself and only then went to check and see if Bhatkoo and Shamoo were awake and ready. Their room was empty when I arrived, and for a second I hoped that the
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