12.2 Viveka
They separated us.
I didn't see where they took Rikit but I felt a stab of terror when I couldn't see him anymore. For the few hours I had been trapped in this alternate world, he had been the only human being I had come close to. In a surprisingly short time, we had fought, insulted each other, escaped danger together, and even fought enemies side by side. He probably didn't care a damn about what happened to me, but I felt like a rock climber whose climbing partner had cut the rope that bound them together and was left dangling alone on a precipice.
I swallowed and forced myself to breathe: Stay cool, Viveka. You've got this far, you'll figure out a way to survive whatever they throw at you next.
The soldiers took me out of the thicket. We came out near the seashore again, and I saw that Rikit and I had ridden almost to the end of Bandra. Without the patch of reclaimed land named Bandra Reclamation in my world, the seafront here ended abruptly in a rock-and-sand strewn beach frothing with foamy waves. Across a narrow strait of water lay Mahim Island, ablaze with a hundred fires. Plumes of smoke rose up into the air, marking the massacre of Rikit's people.
I felt a stab of anger and pain strike me. If what he had said was true, and I had seen the ragged remains of the Southern Army with my own eyes, then those plumes of smoke masked terrible acts of brutality and reaving, only a a mile or so from where I stood. I suddenly shuddred and thanked the Devas that in my world at least, humankind no longer indulged in such brutal occupations as wars. And then I remembered the Gulf war, and Bosnia, and Rwanda, and suddenly I was depressed. Perhaps I was too quick to compare: perhaps this was the fate of all human worlds. Perhaps--but then again, perhaps not.
I forced myself to stand straighter, refusing to bow down to my own crushing sense of despair and loneliness. I focussed on the things that gave me strength: my love for my family, their love for me, my love for Steve, my passion for my work, the sheer joy of creating something that had not existed before, even if it was only pixels on a computer monitor. Slowly, by degrees, I found my center once again.
A man was silhouetted against the shore, staring across the strait. He was the same man I had seen earlier, the one in the shiny armour whom Rikit had called 'Khanna' with such contempt. He was obviously some high-ranking leader in the Northern army. He had clean-cut Punjabi looks and was a giant of a man, well over six feet tall and built like Sunil Shetty.
He looked at me with an expression that made me want to glance down to check that I was still fully clothed. All men tend to undress women with their eyes; this man made me feel like he was ripping my clothes to shreds and stripping me naked.
He gestured dismissively to the soldiers. They left us at once. This was a man who was used to being obeyed instantly.
He came up to me and looked closely at my face. "Interesting," he said. "Very interesting. You really do resemble the princess."
He spoke a far better type of Hindi than the 'Tapori' bhasha that Rikit had used. I guessed that this was the Northerner dialect. It wasn't very different from the 'shudh' Hindi my dadi had spoken, God bless her departed soul. And that we spoke around the house sometimes, when we were feeling more desi and in need of cleansing the American influence from our tongues.
My throat was parched dry. "I'd like some water, if it isn't too much trouble."
He looked amused when I spoke. "The same voice too. But your speech leaves much to be desired. Do you expect anyone to believe you if you cannot even imitate the princess' speech?"
"I'm not trying to imitate anyone. I just want a glass of water to drink."
"A glass? What is this thing, a glass?"
I flared up. "Water. Drink. Is that so hard to understand?"
He laughed. "Spirited too. Just like the princess. The Southerners have trained you badly. But you have a certain natural similarity to her former royal highness. Yes, I can see why my soldiers were so awed by you. You could easily pass for the late princess Anusuya, as long as you do not open your mouth."
He gestured to the soldiers standing a few metres behind us. They took me with them to a line of tents being pitched by dark-skinned muscled men. They looked at me hungrily as I passed by, pausing briefly in their work, and I glimpsed the chains on their legs. They were slaves!
The soldiers took me to a tent with a rich, purple and black facade. The inside was already laid out with carpets and baithak-style seating arrangements. It was probably Khanna's personal tent.
An ageing manservant poured water for me to drink in a long copper goblet. He then indicated a brass basin where I washed my hands and face in the faintly scented water, getting off some of the grime and grit of this uncivilized world.
Khanna came in while I was wiping my face with a soft handcloth. He gestured to the servant to leave the tent, and even the two soldiers standing guard went outside and dropped the overhang, enclosing us in a strangely luxurious island in the midst of the war.
Khanna was watching me with a casual lustfulness that made me uneasy.
"Look," I said to him. "I don't know anything about any princess. My name is Viveka Vatsal and I'm just an ordinary citizen. I'm neither Northern nor Southern. I'm not a part of this war."
He grinned. "On the contrary, young deceiver. You are very much a part. You and your accomplice killed my soldiers in an attempt to infilterate our lines. But even your ingenious disguise has not succeeded in duping me."
"You don't understand, I'm not--."
His voice cut harshly through my attempt to explain. "Enough! The penalty for spying is instant execution. But I will leave your fate to the king to decide."
He reached out and caught hold of my hair with a fist. "And until he arrives, we shall see if the rest of your body resembles the princess as closely as your face."
He grasped my kurta, feeling the unfamiliar texture between thumb and forefinger. "The princess Anusuya had a peculiar birthmark on her right hip, I'm told. It shall be interesting to see if your Southern accomplices have been able to replicate it too. Let us start by disrobing you and seeing if you indeed resemble her in that respect as well."
And with one savage yank, he ripped my kurta from my chest.
I didn't see where they took Rikit but I felt a stab of terror when I couldn't see him anymore. For the few hours I had been trapped in this alternate world, he had been the only human being I had come close to. In a surprisingly short time, we had fought, insulted each other, escaped danger together, and even fought enemies side by side. He probably didn't care a damn about what happened to me, but I felt like a rock climber whose climbing partner had cut the rope that bound them together and was left dangling alone on a precipice.
I swallowed and forced myself to breathe: Stay cool, Viveka. You've got this far, you'll figure out a way to survive whatever they throw at you next.
The soldiers took me out of the thicket. We came out near the seashore again, and I saw that Rikit and I had ridden almost to the end of Bandra. Without the patch of reclaimed land named Bandra Reclamation in my world, the seafront here ended abruptly in a rock-and-sand strewn beach frothing with foamy waves. Across a narrow strait of water lay Mahim Island, ablaze with a hundred fires. Plumes of smoke rose up into the air, marking the massacre of Rikit's people.
I felt a stab of anger and pain strike me. If what he had said was true, and I had seen the ragged remains of the Southern Army with my own eyes, then those plumes of smoke masked terrible acts of brutality and reaving, only a a mile or so from where I stood. I suddenly shuddred and thanked the Devas that in my world at least, humankind no longer indulged in such brutal occupations as wars. And then I remembered the Gulf war, and Bosnia, and Rwanda, and suddenly I was depressed. Perhaps I was too quick to compare: perhaps this was the fate of all human worlds. Perhaps--but then again, perhaps not.
I forced myself to stand straighter, refusing to bow down to my own crushing sense of despair and loneliness. I focussed on the things that gave me strength: my love for my family, their love for me, my love for Steve, my passion for my work, the sheer joy of creating something that had not existed before, even if it was only pixels on a computer monitor. Slowly, by degrees, I found my center once again.
A man was silhouetted against the shore, staring across the strait. He was the same man I had seen earlier, the one in the shiny armour whom Rikit had called 'Khanna' with such contempt. He was obviously some high-ranking leader in the Northern army. He had clean-cut Punjabi looks and was a giant of a man, well over six feet tall and built like Sunil Shetty.
He looked at me with an expression that made me want to glance down to check that I was still fully clothed. All men tend to undress women with their eyes; this man made me feel like he was ripping my clothes to shreds and stripping me naked.
He gestured dismissively to the soldiers. They left us at once. This was a man who was used to being obeyed instantly.
He came up to me and looked closely at my face. "Interesting," he said. "Very interesting. You really do resemble the princess."
He spoke a far better type of Hindi than the 'Tapori' bhasha that Rikit had used. I guessed that this was the Northerner dialect. It wasn't very different from the 'shudh' Hindi my dadi had spoken, God bless her departed soul. And that we spoke around the house sometimes, when we were feeling more desi and in need of cleansing the American influence from our tongues.
My throat was parched dry. "I'd like some water, if it isn't too much trouble."
He looked amused when I spoke. "The same voice too. But your speech leaves much to be desired. Do you expect anyone to believe you if you cannot even imitate the princess' speech?"
"I'm not trying to imitate anyone. I just want a glass of water to drink."
"A glass? What is this thing, a glass?"
I flared up. "Water. Drink. Is that so hard to understand?"
He laughed. "Spirited too. Just like the princess. The Southerners have trained you badly. But you have a certain natural similarity to her former royal highness. Yes, I can see why my soldiers were so awed by you. You could easily pass for the late princess Anusuya, as long as you do not open your mouth."
He gestured to the soldiers standing a few metres behind us. They took me with them to a line of tents being pitched by dark-skinned muscled men. They looked at me hungrily as I passed by, pausing briefly in their work, and I glimpsed the chains on their legs. They were slaves!
The soldiers took me to a tent with a rich, purple and black facade. The inside was already laid out with carpets and baithak-style seating arrangements. It was probably Khanna's personal tent.
An ageing manservant poured water for me to drink in a long copper goblet. He then indicated a brass basin where I washed my hands and face in the faintly scented water, getting off some of the grime and grit of this uncivilized world.
Khanna came in while I was wiping my face with a soft handcloth. He gestured to the servant to leave the tent, and even the two soldiers standing guard went outside and dropped the overhang, enclosing us in a strangely luxurious island in the midst of the war.
Khanna was watching me with a casual lustfulness that made me uneasy.
"Look," I said to him. "I don't know anything about any princess. My name is Viveka Vatsal and I'm just an ordinary citizen. I'm neither Northern nor Southern. I'm not a part of this war."
He grinned. "On the contrary, young deceiver. You are very much a part. You and your accomplice killed my soldiers in an attempt to infilterate our lines. But even your ingenious disguise has not succeeded in duping me."
"You don't understand, I'm not--."
His voice cut harshly through my attempt to explain. "Enough! The penalty for spying is instant execution. But I will leave your fate to the king to decide."
He reached out and caught hold of my hair with a fist. "And until he arrives, we shall see if the rest of your body resembles the princess as closely as your face."
He grasped my kurta, feeling the unfamiliar texture between thumb and forefinger. "The princess Anusuya had a peculiar birthmark on her right hip, I'm told. It shall be interesting to see if your Southern accomplices have been able to replicate it too. Let us start by disrobing you and seeing if you indeed resemble her in that respect as well."
And with one savage yank, he ripped my kurta from my chest.
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home