The Gandhian Adventures of Raj & Iqbal: A Novel (16 page)

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s predicted, the pao-bhaji-walla was able to help us. He did not personally know about the raid, but he had some contacts that he said would tell him anything under threat of being black-listed and not allowed to eat special bhaji from him. By noon the next day we had the required information, and in addition the pao-bhaji-walla put us in touch with the brother of a contact of one of his contacts, and this third-degree contact would let us into this secret government holding area where they hold people based on the feelings of politicians and not on the principles of law.

The secret place was not far, but we had to take a bus there. I had taken Bhatkoo to my home and forced him to take bath and then my wife had fed him and given him clean kurta-pajama to wear, so he looked much better. And now that we would be going to at least talk to his master, he was in high spirits.

We will fight to the death to free him, said Bhatkoo.

There will be no fighting, I said.

No, said Iqbal, we are only here to talk.

Correct, I said, or else we will all get locked up and that will be the end of the matter.

Bhatkoo understood and kept quiet, and soon our bus stop arrived and we jumped from the bus. The secret place was actually a single-storey square building in the middle of a very busy marketplace, and I thought it was very artistic of the government to place it right there in between the sellers of spinach and eggplant and papaya. That way if the prisoner shouts for help, no one will hear because all the vegetable-sellers are shouting all the time in order to sell vegetables.

We gave the special agreed-upon coded knock on the door, and the door was opened quickly and we were brought in fast so that the door could be shut again. The inside of the place was very big and open, and there were no separate rooms or cells or anything like that. Immediately we saw Netaji sitting on a bench at the back of the room, and behind him were Shamoo and some of the other attendants and members of Netaji’s Hydroponic Institute for Foreign Policy.

Netaji was surprised and happy to see us, and we hugged each other and then sat down to talk. He looked to be in fine health, and not so worried at all, but then I remembered Iqbal’s reminder that Netaji was not someone who got worried easily, and this is evidenced by his wrinkle-free skin.

Not to worry, he said to Bhatkoo and us, I will be free soon and things will be back to normal.

But the hydroponics are all destroyed, I said, and the courtyard is dirty.

Remember, he said, if there is no dirt then there is no need for the sweeper and certainly no need for the broom.

This was an inspirational statement worthy of a great wrinkle-free leader like Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, and I stood up instinctively and saluted.

We are at your service Netaji, I said, and I no longer think you are a madman.

Or maybe now you are equally a madman, he said.

At this we all laughed, like how you laugh at something that may be true but should not be considered as a serious possibility.

But actually, said Netaji as he stood up and looked at me, it is more true to say that we will soon be at your service.

Means what, I said.

It is complicated, said Netaji, and you are just a simple bugger and so it will take time to explain.

Then better to start the explanation quickly, I said, because we only have fifteen more minutes before we will be thrown out of this place.

Now is not the time for such detailed explanations, said Netaji, but soon I will be home and we can talk in peace and privacy.

You will be freed from this place? said Bhatkoo in disbelief.

Even I was little bit doubtful. After all, it was a secret government facility, and since Netaji himself was a secret, this situation of captivity could go on indefinitely.

My friends, said Netaji, I have negotiated my way from Taiwan to Japan to North Korea to China to Kashmir to Delhi to Kanpur to Calcutta and finally to Mumbai, which is now my home. My network of secret contacts stretches through all these places and even into some countries that you simple people have never heard of. You think I cannot negotiate my way out of this silly situation?

I had forgotten that our man Netaji was in fact a foreign relations and policy expert, and what is a foreign policy expert if not a masterful negotiator? In fact, the double and triple deals that took us on our Gandhian adventures should be enough proof, and I did not even know why I was worried.

Soon the politician whom I had arranged the arms deal with will be thrown out of his party, said Netaji, and his cousin will take his seat.

And you know his cousin, I said excitedly, and this cousin is your contact.

I know his cousin, said Netaji, but his cousin is actually quite a terrible bugger and I hate him and in fact he also hates me.

That does not sound good, I said, so how can that be to your benefit?

Netaji sighed and looked around.

Okay, he said, since you are forcing me to explain the whole situation I will do so.

Good, I said.

See, said Netaji, this cousin is actually such a terrible bugger that I have made contact with some other members of his party that hate this cousin. And in foreign policy they say that my enemy’s enemy is my friend, and so I have automatically become friendly with these other members.

And they will release you, I said in delight.

Yes but not for free, said Netaji, because after all, a negotiation ends with some compromise and both sides must provide some item.

Of course, I said, and you will be providing what?

You, said Netaji, I will be providing you.

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t first I assumed this was some agreement like that of master and servant for life or hopefully just for some short period of time. Perhaps I would have to do some cleaning or dusting or cooking or what-not for some politicians. Of course, none of these menial tasks were below my dignity. After all, Gandhiji himself once cleaned the dirty bathrooms of some politicians in order to make a point about something. And similarly I would clean things for these politicians in order to make my point and secure Netaji his freedom. But then a brainwave hit me and I knew there would have to be some limit.

But I cannot do any pornographic service, I said quietly.

At this Netaji laughed so loudly that the guard looked at us and made a sign for us to keep quiet or else he would throw out the visitors. I made a sign to the guard that we only needed a few more minutes and then we would be off, and he turned away from us and left us alone.

You are a silly funny bugger, he said, and this will come in handy during the campaign.

What campaign, I said.

RK-sahib, said Netaji, you will be put forth as a challenger in the upcoming elections. You will be contesting this terrible cousin for his seat, and I must see to it that you win. All my resources and skills will be put into use, and along with your brother in life Iqbal as an advisor, I have no doubt that the seat will be secured.

I do not think I fully understood what this Netaji was saying, and so I simply nodded and sat there in silence.

But I will have to go to office still, I said, and so all this must happen only in the evenings and on Sunday.

Netaji laughed again.

Forget your office now, he said, because you will be entering a new career.

What career is that? I said in confusion.

And at this point I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up to see Iqbal, my brother in life, looking at me as if to say: Do not worry. I am there, no?

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nd so, my friends, this is the story of our Gandhian adventures. I cannot reveal many details about the campaign and what-not, because it is all classified information. Suffice it to say that my new career is very much in the Gandhian spirit, and my brother in life is now at my side in our new office in the government building in Mumbai.

Perhaps you people who are reading will now wonder and say that this does not seem like the end of the Gandhian adventures, and how can the Gandhian adventures end at this moment when surely it is like a beginning. And this is true in the sense that the pursuit is never complete, and the Gandhian, although passive, must never rest and wait for the truth to come. The Gandhian must go out and pursue the truth, wherever it may lie and whatever form it may take.

But this is also an ending because in some way we have completed one iteration of the eternally-repeating Gandhian cycle: first they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then they give up.

And then you win.

∞