The Great Indian Novel (28 page)

‘Can’t make out a word!’ – ‘Is it a new song?’
‘An announcement from Washington DC?’
‘No, I think it’s a girl, and she’s speaking Bong! –
Let’s get back to good old BBC.’

So Pandu’s prating received a low rating –
His oration could hardly be heard;
And the long months of waiting led him to start hating
His exile – so futile, absurd.

Then came the break! Hitler’s Nippy allies –
The Japanese in their Far Eastern sphere –
Hacking through jungles, raining death from the skies
Defeated Blimps quaking with fear.

So much, my friends, for the imperial myth –
Of ruling invincibly;
The claim that Britannia’s kin and kith
Were supreme militarily.

(In fact, Ganapathi, if truth be told
The bloody ‘white man’s burden’
Was what our coolies – cudgelled, cajoled –
Bore on their heads and cursed in.)

But when the Japs, those sturdy chaps
Gave the pinkskins their come-uppance,
Hope dawned in Indian hearts and laps
That we too could win Independence.

For the supremacist claims of colonial toasts
Stood revealed as shabby deceits:
Vainglorious boasts from undefended posts
Mocking disgraceful retreats.

‘Hooray!’ said Chakravarti, ‘Let’s fight! Let’s go!
Let’s salute the rising sun!
With the help of Japan and the noble OO
Our battle will be won.’

In due course (‘after uneventful trip’)
He arrived at the scene of his war
The ex-British playground, now out of their grip –
The island of Singapore.

‘Welcome, Chaklavalti,’ a young Chinese said,
‘I’m your intehpleteh tonight;’
A Japanese general then bowed deep his head:
‘Hurro, have you had a good fright?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir!’ Pandu replied
(As the Chinese had translated the greeting)
‘I’m extremely glad to be on your side –
Together we’ll give them a beating.’

‘Together?’ harrumphed his little host.
‘I’m not sure I quite understand.
The Brits here have arready given up the ghost –
And we noticed no Indians at hand.

‘In fact,’ he went on, warming to his theme,
‘The onry Indians we saw
Were fighting on their side – that’s not a dream:
Our prison camps have Indians garore.’

‘Of course,’ Pandu hastened, ‘but what could we do?
Our boys were enslaved in their ranks.
Now they’re certainly chastened, like bears in a zoo
And dissension flows in their flanks.

‘Just let me at them, just give me some time,
And I’ll deliver an army to you;
The best Indian soldiers, fighters sublime
Lined up for Tojo to view.

‘I’ll fire them with freedom and nationalist pride
Urge them to enlist in our cause;
Tell them it’s more easy with Japan on our side
To kick the oppressor outdoors.’

‘Orright,’ said the Jap, (‘All light,’ said the chap),
‘We’ll give you the access you want;
An ID card, cap, a jeep and a map,
And permission to embark on this jaunt.’

So Pandu set out, in full battledress,
His topee at a jaunty angle;
From exercise ground to officers’ mess
The spurs on his booties would jangle.

Namaskar!
Sieg
Heil!
Now harken to me –
All you wretched P-O double-yous:
I offer the chance to save your
janmabhoomi
And pay Bharatmata her dues.

‘What kind of life is this? Just sitting around
And waiting for your next dish of gruel –
When you could instead be out of this ground
And fighting the nationalist duel.

‘Or would you much rather sit and break rocks for the Japs
Doing prisoners’ won’t till you die?
Dig trenches, latrines, look for landmines and traps,
Build a bridge on the nice River Kwai?’

‘But our oaths? Our careers? We must be true to our salt,’
Ventured one or two men in doubt.
‘If the Brits couldn’t save you, it’s hardly your fault,’
Said my son: ‘What’s an oath in a rout?’

Ah, he struck a chord there, my pale son Pandu!
He knew what would appeal to the men;
If you’ve any doubt of what a golden tongue can do,
Consider his triumph again.

They flocked to him in the proverbial droves,
Proclaiming their desire to enlist;
Attracted, perhaps, by the fishes and loaves
But also by Pandu’s raised fist.

His message to them was loud, it was clear,
To soldiers in prison immersed:
‘If you fight for the freedom of your nation so dear
You’ll get your own freedom first.’

Platoons, companies, divisions were raised
Of the OO’s Swatantra Sena;
In their political harangues Hirohito was praised
But Chakravarti was the overall gainer.

How he strutted, my son, how proud he became!
You’d think he’d just won a battle.
When in fact (as the Brits would snidely claim)
His men just hung around like cattle.

Oh, they trained, and they drilled, and they marched in parade,
Their uniforms were ironed every day,
But the ex-POWs of Pandu’s brigade
On the war-front, made little headway.

The Japanese were pleased as the numbers increased
– It made very good propaganda –
But when it came to the crunch, politeness ceased,
And they spoke with ruthless candour:

‘Trust traitors? Oh, we know what you’ll say,
“They’re not traitors, but patriots and heroes” –
‘But if the oath they had sworn can be broken today,
Can’t they just as easiry break tomorrow’s?

‘We don’t blame them at all, for swallowing their pride –
Our prison camps aren’t much fun;
They make good P R, but we must set them aside
When there’s serious soldiering to be done.’

‘So I’ll wait,’ swore Pandu, ‘what the hell!
My forces will just bide their time;
And though the Japs are now doing well
Soon they’ll need us, as reason needs rhyme.’

But while waiting, my son was determined
Not to suffer the grim solitude
That in Berlin (with door locked, and food tinned)
He had borne with such fortitude.

So he smuggled a message to Madri
Through a Japanese network of spies:
‘Your husband needs you very badry —
Could you come? Discretion’d be wise.’

Excited and anxious, our princess
Wipes a tear of farewell from her eye;
‘Take care of my thonth’ (Kunti winces)
‘I mutht join my
patideva
– goodbye.’

After a journey both risky and torrid
Full of dangers (too many to relate)
Madri arrived – ‘Oh dahling, ‘twath horrid!’ –
In Singapore, to seal Pandu’s fate.

‘Overwhelmed’ would be an understatement
To describe my son’s attitude;
He beamed and glowed
sans
abatement
In marital beatitude.

‘Now all’s well,’ he proclaimed to his helpmeet,
‘I can bear any weight, any wait;
My companion is here to help beat
All ennui, all frustration, all hate.’

But to ease Japanese suspicions
About his commitment to the cause.
And to reaffirm his ambitions,
Pandu enrolled her in the wars.

‘Captain Madri! How you’ll impress the Japs
In your battledress of khaki!
A little tight around the chest, perhaps –
But you’ll shine in the General’s marquee!’

And indeed she looked a sight to behold
In the fatigues of the Swatantra Sena;
The cut of her shirt was not itself bold
But when she moved, no cloth could restrain her.

For years, the thought of sexual functions
Pandu had instantly banished;
As he rigorously heeded the doctor’s injunctions
All fleshly temptation had vanished.

But the iron restraint of
satyagrahi
life
Had grown flaccid in his forced exile
And the new proximity of his bosomy wife
Woke passions dormant the while.

For weeks Pandu continued to resist
As Madri stirred life in his loins;
But despite meditation, he could not desist
From contemplating a union of groins.

‘Oh fatal flaw! I can’t commit such a sin –
What is happening to my concentration?
The British offensive is about to begin –
And I think of the wrong kind of penetration!’

For yes, Ganapathi, the fortunes of war
Had turned; now the Japs bore the brunt:
Instead of ‘Attack India’, ‘Defend Singapore’
Became Japan’s battle-cry at the front.

At last Pandu’s man were given the chance
To fight – but the going got rough,
And his war-weary
sainiks,
unable to advance.
Found Pandu’s slogans no longer enough.

Oh, when it came to fighting the Brits
Or traversing the jungle terrain
Some
sainiks
were valiant, at least in bits
With many heroes who battled in vain.

But few soldiers can shoot at their brothers-in-arms
And Pandu’s were also thus hindered;
Under fire, forgetting his eloquent charms
They fled, or simply surrendered.

Disgraced, with defeat looming real and large,
The Japs ordered Pandu to withdraw;
In a rickety plane (he was offered that or a barge)
He left the island of Singapore.

As the aircraft rose with a shudder
Into the darkened tropical sky
And the pilot pushed the rudder
On a course for safe Shanghai –

Pandu looked down into the failure
Of the plans he’d left behind;
‘I couldn’t have been sillier,’
Pandu sighed. His face was lined;

There were crow’s-feet at the corners
Of his tired and bloodshot eyes,
And his pale face was like a mourner’s
(Sagging with grief, you realize).

‘I had such hopes, my dearest one
Of rising to the fore;
With the swastika, and the rising sun
I thought we’d win the war.

‘I’d hoped then to have proved my point
To the Brits and Kauravas too;
To Gangaji, who might then anoint
Me his heir and Number Two.

‘But had he not, it wouldn’t have mattered
What the non-violent ones thought;
For the people, once the Brits were battered
Would have crowned me, like as not.

‘Instead, Madri, my hopes lie shattered
In the dust under British boots;
The man who fought as the Kauravas nattered
Now flees – and who cares two hoots?

‘As I look at you, my heart fills with sorrow
At the fate that awaits you too:
There is no hope of a bright tomorrow
For the wife of brave Pandu.

‘If the Brits win, as now seems probable,
There’ll be nowhere for us to hide:
Their cops are smart, their judges not bribable,
I’ll be arrested and summarily tried.

‘There’s not much hope of escaping the rope
For inciting the men to mutiny;
I wish I believed you’d be able to cope
With the shame – and the ignominy.’

‘Don’t talk like that!’ A teardrop shone
On Madri’s glistening cheek;
‘Oh, thweetheart, I love you, the thought of you gone
Maketh me feel empty and weak.

‘My darlingeth Pandu, let me thay to you
– I thwear thith upon Vithnu and Thiv –
If anything happenth to my deareth Pandu
I thimply don’t want to live.

‘My husband, you gave me thuch wonderful joy
By calling
me
to your thide in your need;
Do you think I’m some thameleth Helen of Troy
To trot off on another man’th thteed?

‘No! Pandu my lord, by your thide I’ll thtay
Through thick and thin, better and worthe;
We’ll fathe the Raj, fight on night and day –
And I’ll help you, for whatever that’th worth.

‘Oh Madri!’ and here our Pandu was moved
By the sincerity of her love,
If anything, her declarations proved
She was a gift from the heavens above.