Page 24 of A Shimla Affair
He nodded. ‘And so? Why do you disobey your sister? Why don’t you stay home and look after yourselves?’
Afreen spoke with so much conviction, it made me feel guilty. ‘Our father told us to always do our duty. This is our duty, to finish our father’s work and help our people be free of foreign rule.’
He turned his back to us. ‘Freedom is not so easily won. It needs many sacrifices and has to be snatched from the arms of tyranny. All of us have left our old lives behind, we were not born into this. I was born in a small village in the Madras Presidency, Mallipuram, and you would not have seen a place like it. There were lush green fields and winding rivers, and no matter how far I ran, the call of my mother always reached me. My father was a schoolmaster and well respected in the village. But those who worked on the land were poor, giving away most of what they earned every year in taxes to the British. In the particularly harsh years, the yield shrank but the taxes remained the same. I saw my father, frail but sure, confront the tax collectors, passionately pleading for the people of our village. That one lone figure, in front of these officers who held guns and sticks, eventually pushing him aside and ruthlessly extracting their taxes still. I saw his eyes, full of rage.
‘Many years later, when I stepped off the train at Howrah station in Calcutta, with big dreams of going to college and changing the world, a new world unfolded in front of my eyes with all its possibilities. But I never forgot how my father stoodstrong that day. I met intellectuals and activists in the pulse of the movement, but that act of one man in a small village standing up to an empire—that was the real meaning of a revolution to me. You have to be willing to earn that freedom, and so it should be the driving force of your life. It is not a job you do once and forget about. It’s a lifelong battle, a dharma. Are you willing to give it your everything?’
‘Yes, Guruji. Give us a chance,’ Afreen answered without hesitation.
He paced around the room for some time. ‘When the men are rescued from the train, they will head down to the nearest village, Palka. From Shimla, there are three routes through which Palka can be reached, and all three of them require a certain knowledge of the terrain. I am certain that once the news of the train stoppage arrives at the police station, the first of the sepoys will be sent out immediately. They will arrive sooner or later, but knowing which route they take is important.
‘Our men, including you, Ratan, will attack the train. A woman cannot fight out there but she can be our ears and eyes. You must find an excuse to be at the police station for a few hours. See how they deal with the news, learn the route they will take and let us know immediately. We will direct our energies accordingly.’
Our father used to say if we can see it, we can be it. In my mind’s eye, I was a revolutionary, a common peasant woman risking it all for the greater good, a woman who was kind and strong and brave. I saw myself as a woman greater than what her circumstances made her out to be.
‘Palka is a Muslim village,’ Ratan Babu said, ‘If we get the Muslims on our side, Guruji, the villagers could help some of the men who take off from the train. If the men could be safely hidden in the village, there would be a much higher chance—’
‘We cannot ask for help from the Muslims at the moment, son.’
‘But why not? The Imam seeks cooperation, I’m sure he would be willing to talk to—’
Guruji put up his hand. ‘The situation is too volatile right now. If we attempt to take Muslims in the fold, you don’t know which way it will fire.’
‘But all of us, Hindu, Muslim, Parsi, whoever, we all need to unite, and only then we will be able—’
‘Ratan Babu, believe in the cause, and believe in your Guru. You know my hair did not turn grey simply by sitting out in the sun, right? Have faith in our experience and wisdom. Do you believe in us?’
Ratan Babu bent his head. ‘Absolutely, Guruji.’
Guruji patted him on the back, bringing smiles all over.
I wished Noor was with us to see all that was going on, to give her view on what we had set out to do. It was bad enough that we were hiding it all from her. While she worked hard to try and save our home—writing letters to several lawyers, none of whom were interested in taking up arms against the British—we were out here, bringing more trouble on ourselves.
On the way out, we met Sood, who gave me another one of his enigmatic looks.
‘So, Miss Mistry, you have found merit in going forth with the Shimla Circle. These are things one never regrets, for it is the stuff of life and death.’
I smiled. ‘What makes you go forth?’
‘Just that I would like to be the master of my own destiny. And to be that, you cannot let things happen to you. You have to make things happen.’
At the time, the significance of what he said was lost on me. But it wouldn’t be long before fate drew me closer to the truth and I would come to see with searing clarity just how much my understanding of reality had been coloured by my own ignorance.
When the day of the Kalka–Shimla Rail Sabotage arrived, I crossed Christ Church and the shops around the Mall, thinking back on the time I had spent here with Charles, how joyous and hopeful I had felt with him. I was struck by the way he seemed to exist in a world of his own, and yet how this world of his wanted to embrace me in the most loving ways.
I walked through the houses, their facades a chaotic jumble of colours and styles. Ramshackle stalls and storefronts spilled out onto the narrow lanes, their wares on display for all to see. The air was thick with the scent of spices, incense and food, the clamour of haggling merchants and chattering customers playing in the background.
I felt exposed and vulnerable, as if at any moment I would be arrested and hanged on the spot for treason. Yet, I was filled with an undeniable thrill, a sense of adventure and excitement that came from venturing outside the safe confines of my sheltered world. Suddenly, the secrets and mysteries that lay hidden within the chaotic, labyrinthine streets of the Lower Bazaar held all the promise of the world.
I entered the dreary, utilitarian police station, its faded brick walls standing starkly against the surrounding hills. Inside, the atmosphere was equally grim, with bare concrete floors, dim lighting and a pervasive air of bureaucracy and authority. It was quieter today, and the only sounds were the clanging of metal doors and the occasional muttered curse or groan of pain from within. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and silence. I approached Singhji’s desk.
He was surprised to see me and offered me a sweetmeat from the box sitting on his desk and asked if I would like some chai. I nodded gladly, reciting detailed instructions for its preparation.
It looked like they hadn’t yet been informed of the escape. I could imagine Ratan Babu, along with Sood and other faceless men of the Shimla Circle, all dressed in blazers and khaki dhotis, sporting turbans and hats, carrying in their hands Gandhi Guns and Lee–Enfield rifles, hiding out in the hills, waiting for the whistling train to approach. I wondered how it would all play out once the tunnel was blocked, and the men opened the train doors to help the men scape. How would the train guards react? Would there be gunfire? Would Ratan Babu’s life be in danger? I willed myself to not think such thoughts. The better the job I did here, the more chances the Shimla Circle men had of success.
‘How have you been, Singhji?’ I started leisurely.
Singhji raised an eyebrow, confused by my interest. ‘Yes, Madam, I am good. How are you?’
