Page 64 of A Shimla Affair
We cheered and the next time he yelled Hindustan, we finished the rest. This went on until we were sure that the Indians amongst the soldiers out there knew that there should be no confusion: this was a war, and that the shots had already been fired.
We waited with bated breath for their reaction, backing away from the windows just in case. A moment passed and then a few. Although the hostages were all tied up and gagged, we could sense their impatience. I looked around the flickering lamps, the high ceiling, our home of so many years that we had now wagered away. I drew my hand in a fist, and we heard the incipient sounds of a horn speaker being readied to make announcements.
‘Put down your arms,’ announced a blaring voice, ‘put down your arms. You have been warned to put down your arms. Walkout with your hands above your head. The Viceroy must be released immediately, this is our one and only warning. This is the first and last chance you are being offered to be arrested and provided the same rights as other political prisoners, following which we will release a shoot-on-sight order for the kidnapping of the Viceroy and other British officials, firing at the police and creating terror.
‘I repeat, this is our one and only warning for you to declare yourselves and retain the same rights as any other political prisoner, following which a shoot-on-sight order will be issued. Put down your arms and walk out with your arms above your head.’
In response, we sangSaare Jahan se Achhaagain. We heard Lord Ripon’s command for his soldiers to get into position. Ratan Babu signalled for us to get down.
I crawled towards the huge sofa and moved the table to form a small shelter. Ratan Babu, Noor and Khushilalji hid behind the podium, and Afreen crawled besides me. We held each other tightly by the hand and closed our eyes. In my mind, we played and danced together in the garden in front of our house. We jumped and danced in freedom, wearing little frocks, our hair blowing in the wind. The looming figure of our father was in the background. I shut my eyes even tighter.
There was a loud bang. Bullets rained upon us.
It was as if hell itself had broken down and come to consume us all. The noise of the firing was deafening, even when I had my hands pressed against my ears. The glass of the windows shattered, as the bullets ricocheted off in every direction, devastating our building that had stood here for years.
All the hostages were on the floor as well, terrified out of their minds. I wanted to yell at them,‘See! Your life is not greater than their anger at our defiance, do you see?!’
Suddenly, the firing stopped, and aside from the hostage’s whimpers and the glass that still cracked and the floorboards that creaked, there was a deathly silence. I sought to rise, when I heard Ratan Babu shout ‘Nobody move yet! Don’t get up, they may shoot again!’
We remained on the floor for some more time, absolutely still.
‘We need to shoot as well. Now,’ Afreen said.
Ratan Babu nodded, giving others the signal. And then, on a count, we fired shots in the direction of Ripon and his men. We were fast and relentless, and I could hear orders to get down being yelled. After a minute, we stopped. It was just a warning, to show them that their show of bullets wouldn’t stop us. Nothing in the world would.
Noor quickly untied the Viceroy and we made him walk to the window, his hands in the air, still gagged. He walked, shaking, almost stumbling and collapsing on the way. I had to pull him up. His eyes were hollow and his face ragged. I might have felt bad for him: his hair was almost completely grey, his face besieged by wrinkles. I thought of him and his life. He must have studied hard to get to this post, made some difficult decisions along the way, given up living in his home country.
He sought to take out his gag, but I thrust my gun a little harder into his side. He stood at the window, silently, for more than a minute, looking the very picture of despair. Ratan Babu moved to stand next to the Viceroy, and pointed his machine gun at him. A silence followed, and we waited for their next move.
Lord Ripon gave the order to stand down, and we pulled the Viceroy back to his former position.
It was our time to speak, and Noor took our megaphone.
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‘Lord Commander Ripon, I beg you to listen to me now. We hold the Viceroy and several British hostages in this building. Let me tell you, before you attempt other futile shootings, you will not be able to penetrate this. We have explosives in places you cannot even imagine and we are happy to trigger them. You enter this building or attempt to get any of your men in and we will blast the Viceroy’s head off. This is not an empty warning: the Viceroy is in our hands now, and the news will likely be going back to the Crown very soon. The only way to get the Viceroy out of here alive is to fulfil our demands. We are happy to state them when you are ready to hear us.’
There was no answer from the Lord Commander, and Noor waited. A few more moments passed in silence as I started to walk around and survey the room. I turned several times past the hostages, the gun in my hands. I noticed Lord Biggs shaking in the corner, and I bent down to look him in the eyes. ‘There’s no need to be so afraid, Lord Biggs,’ I said and he backed away from me, as far as he could, and looked at me in anger and disgust. His look hurt me at first, but then I realized I didn’t care.
‘Nothing will happen to you,’ I said, getting up, just as he made a threatening face at me, perhaps thinking that as a woman, I would cower.
As if he could harm a hair on my head.
A booming voice rang out from outside, ‘State your demands.’
I looked at Noor to begin, and she smiled before she started speaking.
‘Lord Commander Ripon, this message is for you, the Crown and the highest sovereign currently in the British government. His Excellency, the Viceroy is our hostage here at Royal Hotel Shimla, along with eight other British men. Let me tell you their names, as we are not engineers of genocide nor terrorists, the people we threaten are not a faceless mass to us. They are living, breathing human beings with a life and family and people who love them, as were the hundreds of thousands slain under the British rule in India.
‘The hostages with us are: Lord Fraser, the Governor of Punjab; the Baron of Cheshire, Lord James Harris; Naval Captain, Sir Philip Ramsden; Lord Richard Gaunt; Lord John Biggs; the Deputy Commissioner, Mr John Brown; the Viceroy’s guard, Wagner; and— this may come as a bit of a blow—your aide, Lord Beeson.’
We could see the troops positioned outside the hotel, and the Commander-in-Chief standing at the centre of it all. Under the cover of darkness, it was hard to tell how they perceived this attack, what their next actions would be, and how the night would unfold. We had only three allies— trust in the gamble we had made, wits we would have about ourselves to pull it off, and luck that would come and go as it pleases.
‘Lord Commander Ripon, this is our first demand: five years ago, a man was murdered when the SSNapier, a ship sailing from Bombay to Karachi, sank. He had been leading the revolutionary movement in Bombay, and for that he wasultimately murdered in cold blood. That man was our father, Jamshedji Mistry. But we, his daughters, never knew the truth about how he died! He was murdered! We want an admission from the British administration that his death was not an accident, that it had been orchestrated by the British government. This is revenge.’
Now Afreen came forward and, when she spoke, her voice boomed, powerful, across the hotel grounds. ‘Lord Commander Ripon, it’s very nice of you to ask us what we want. After centuries, it’s time we were heard. So, this is our second demand: with mutual discussion with the Viceroy, and whoever else you may need to consult, of course, a statement must be released on the radio. A statement declaring that India will be granted full independence. All British rulings and governance will leave India within twelve months. Indian soldiers serving in the War will be given the option to return. The handover of power must begin immediately. Lord Commander Ripon, we are not fools; we know that a hundred-year-old injury won’t go away so easily. We merely wish to rip off the bandage, set the wheels in motion, and begin the process of healing and recovery. The rest will happen on its own. This is justice.’
It was my turn, and I felt the energy that surrounded us. I was ready to step forward and make the myth that we tried to create bigger. I clutched the megaphone, closed my eyes to take a breath, and began speaking.
