Page 31 of A Shimla Affair
‘I didn’t assume,’ he replied, ‘I was offered. And I am taking you up on the offer, asking for your help in the killing of the Viceroy.’
Noor looked at Afreen before answering. ‘Offers can be withdrawn.’
‘Only if it’s in your power to withdraw.’ He took a step closer to her. ‘May I call you by your name? Look, Noor, you are like my sister, and you are an intelligent woman. You have done well after your father’s death to pick up what was left of your family and build a life like this one, especially when you don’t even have your husband to look after you. But a decision of yours could set in motion the wheels of history, benefitting generations to come. Very few hold such power in their hands.’
‘That’s all very eloquent and tempting,’ Noor said, obviously moved, ‘but it’s too much. How can we be expected to free a nation?’
‘But you aren’t! Just helpusfree the nation of this one man and the rest will follow. Isn’t Europe regretting now that theydidn’t stop Hitler when they still had the chance? What if one of his soldiers had, at the right moment, put a bullet through him? History would have been different—look at them now, embroiled in war! One man, and we are free!’
‘But why can’t you get to him on your own?’
‘You think we haven’t tried? You’re talking about one of the most protected men in the country! So protected that he has hundreds of soldiers at his disposal at every second of every day. He is absolutely inaccessible to us. When Sood told me that you have an annual Summer Jubilee Ball to end the season, and that the Viceroy attends, I was amazed! In that atmosphere of merrymaking and dancing, there will be minimum security, the Viceroy will be vulnerable. It is our best chance to get him. Give us access to the Viceroy at the ball, let us enter that evening and take him away.’
It was logical yet outrageous, unbearably dangerous yet wildly seductive at the same time. Noor paced the room, before sitting down and receding into a world of her own. Her face betrayed a struggle. I had spent so much of my life forming opinions based on what Noor thought that I waited to hear what she had to say, even as my mind raced wild with the possibilities of what was being discussed.
‘There’s another reason,’ Guruji continued. ‘The British aren’t saying it openly, but they will accept the Muslim League’s demands; in fact, they are feeding it. They will divide more and more of our land between Hindus and Mussalmans. We will be used against each other so that they can strengthen themselves.
‘Even if the British leave, they will leave us with a huge wound to make sure we are not capable of standing up to them, or anybody else, ever again. To get our independence on our own terms also means avoiding the division—of our land, our people, our very hearts. If what you decide today can prevent theseparation of brother from brother, you should not doubt what you ought to do.’
‘It’s not so easy,’ Noor said.
‘The right path is never easy. But I am sure we can make this happen.’
‘And how are you so confident about that?’
Now Guruji paced up and down the salon in excitement. ‘Years ago, the Shimla Circle created its army, the Bhagat Fauj. Its men, in scores and hundreds, in different parts of the country, have trained for the day when the country will fall. Now this army bides its time. Once we can bring the body of the Viceroy to the Bhagat Fauj, at the borders of Kalka, they will march into town, and the revolution will spread—in Delhi, Bombay, Lahore—it is our job to form the secret resistance that will topple the government, it is the Bhagat Fauj’s job to defend it.
‘Lines of communication will be destroyed, telegram and telephone offices will be seized. With the Viceroy dead, the Indians in the service would have to follow our commands. Our people in Delhi will pressure the British administration to decide—either the British leave India ‘voluntarily’, portraying the Viceroy’s death as an accident; or we send the news of the British government in India having fallen to the international press, and Britain is humiliated in the midst of war.
‘Then, they will either try to tighten their hold here and risk being seen as fascists—the very people they are trying to fight—or they will try to reach out to us with a compromise and agree to leave. If they make a wrong move, the Germans will do all they can to milk the situation.’
‘And that will prevent India from being divided?’
‘There will be no time for the British to pander to the Muslim League,’ Guruji said, ‘they will have to draw up a quick exit plan, and, once they have left, we can renegotiate the Muslim League’sdemands within the country. We can take the vote of the people, see what they want.’
‘Ratan Babu has lost his mother today,’ Guruji said, walking up to him. ‘Think how many mothers will lose their sons, how many families will be ripped apart, if the country is divided between Hindus and Muslims. If we act now, there will be a new government of a free India, a beautiful India where everybody is equal and respected. A government formed by us, its own people. Where the land is for everyone—Hindus, Mussalmans, Parsis.
‘Centuries ago, your ancestors found refuge in this land. What would have happened if this land was not there for you? Think of your father, think of what he did, all those years ago. Think of how your home was taken away from you.’
Noor had a faraway look in her eyes. I know that, in the end, all she thought about was us. She had taken the curses of her in-laws when she had left them to take care of us. She had given up her life so that we could live ours. But perhaps Guruji’s idea was too powerful to ignore.
Guruji came and stood in front of her, bending, to look eye to eye. ‘This is what history is made of, girl. It’s how revolutions are started, from an idea that turns into a tide that sweeps the land. But one must think beyond oneself, beyond the immediate. Let us lead the Viceroy away and kill him. We will protect you, help you escape and hide for as long as it takes.’
Guruji sat down, and we continued with our tea, none of us talking. What he had suggested was so bold and preposterous that it was hard to consider it as a possibility. If we gave Guruji the Viceroy at the Summer Jubilee Ball, we would have to run, escape, give up our life as we knew it and hide until the freedom he promised finally arrived.
I was sure that Noor wanted this freedom as much as Afreen and I did; she, too, wanted to continue our father’s work andfulfil his unfinished purpose. So, when Afreen nodded, standing next to Ratan Babu, and I, in my innocence, held her hand in affirmation, Noor finally nodded.
‘We knew this day would come,’ Ratan Babu said, ‘this is what we all set on, the unfortunate path that leads to freedom.’
I dared not say a word. I knew that this moment was significant, for it was then that I realized it was time: to act, to speak out, to grow up. It was time to leave behind childhood dreams and take my life in my own hands.
Guruji smiled, ‘We will plan together.’ He turned to me, ‘Sood told me that you are friendly with Mr Nayler.’
I nodded uncertainly.
He smiled triumphantly. ‘Excellent. He’s in the Viceroy’s office, isn’t he? You must get the information we need through him. If we want to live, we need to be successful. The more information we have, the more foolproof we will be.’
My heart turned to stone. I realized that this is what it takes.
