Page 12 of A Shimla Affair
The others’ faces seemed to corroborate this story.
‘Forgive us, Behenji,’ one of the men said, folding his hands.
‘Forgive us? She should not be here, it is no place for a woman!’ the other man lashed out. ‘Afreen Bhabhi, you have to be more careful! Guruji will be furious! An unauthorized woman—’
‘She is my sister, she will not betray us,’ Afreen responded stiffly.
‘And who will guarantee that, huh? You? You didn’t even know you were being followed!’
‘Talk respectfully, brother,’ the third man intervened. A silence followed.
Their conversation left me more puzzled than before; who were the ‘us’ Afreen was talking about? When they stopped speaking, I had another chance to observe my sister closely, and saw what she was wearing around her neck. My heart dropped like a stone.
‘Are you … Afreen, did you get married!’
Her downcast gaze was all it took to confirm what I had asked. Oh dear Lord, what had my sister done? I quickly offered a littleprayer for her well-being, before surveying the men next to her, and could immediately spot the one she had married.
He was smartly dressed, with a thin moustache that looked menacing when he didn’t smile, and eyes that surveyed you as if they knew all your secrets. Yet, he had a kindly face that seemed to apologize to me, although he seemed to be trying not to look so unbearably happy. And there was something about him that was so familiar …
‘You! You’re a guest at the hotel!’ I burst out louder than intended, and again, their looks confirmed what I had just guessed. It was getting harder for me to understand what was going on. Why would Afreen marry a hotel guest? Feeling overwhelmed, I tried to get up from where I was sitting down, but Afreen held me back.
‘Wait, listen first. Listen!’
The man looked at Afreen and said: ‘She would have found out sooner or later, so we might as well …’
Then he turned to me again. ‘My name is Ratan Rajput, people just call me Ratan Babu; my family are traders living in Bombay. This is not strictly relevant but I feel you should know my story. I was betrothed when I was just three to a distant family’s infant daughter. I always had a rebellious streak and, as a teenager, I point-blank refused to honour that match. So, my parents sent me off to England to study law. They thought it would help minimize the scandal and blame modernity for my refusal to honour the betrothal.’
None of what he said explained what he was doing married to my sister. What was even more alarming was that he was a Hindu. Afreen, on seeing the impatient look on my face, signalled me to stay calm.
‘This is all just for context, I’m sorry, I will try not to meander. Four months ago, I first arrived at your hotel. I kept largely to myself, spending most of my time in the Lower Bazaar,attending meetings and rallies in Kali Bari, the Arya Samaj Mandir, even the masjid. That’s where I met Afreen, and, in fact, was surprised to learn that she was the one behind all the delicious meals at the hotel.’
So, that’s how they met! At least Afreen’s choice was involved and she had not been hoodwinked into this marriage.
‘And who are all these other people?’ I asked in a small voice, afraid to look at anyone but Afreen. She had her sari draped around her head, her face pleading.
Ratan Babu took charge of the situation. ‘Brothers,’ he declared, ‘I will make sure that Afreen’s sister will keep our secret. Now she is here. We cannot do much else. I ask you to trust me.’
There were disgruntled murmurs, but nobody said anything else. This sounded like something bigger than just a secret wedding.
‘This is Azad Bhai,’ Afreen said, pointing to the man with a thin moustache who smiled and folded his hands in greeting. ‘And this is Dr Bannerjee,’ she said turning to the other man.
I managed a small smile for them.
‘I thought you were being harassed or in some kind of trouble. I tried to follow you to save you. I found the gun.’
Afreen answered quickly, ‘No, I was not being harassed. They gave me the gun.’
‘They?’
‘We are all members of the Shimla Circle, Nalini, a fact that you will keep to yourself until your dying day. And they just helped us get married.’
I stared at her blankly. ‘Shimla Circle?’
‘A secret group, an organization with a long history, strong politics and tight roots.’
‘I don’t understand.’
She sighed before answering, but when she spoke, there was a hint of pride in her voice. ‘We fight for our independence. The Congress does what it must, but there are many people who are tired of waiting around for freedom, of not being able to do anything. Several of these leaders, intellectuals, underground workers, activists, civil servants … they all came together and created several such societies across India to fight a revolution. Many of these societies were busted by the British, many disbanded but several, like the Shimla Circle, still operate in secret.’
