Read Online The Gandhian Adventures of Raj & Iqbal: A Novel by Zubin J. Shroff - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Zubin J. Shroff
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was hiding. See, he said, I actually supply my hydroponic onions directly to Pakistani and Chinese groups.
We were still quiet, but in stunned state.
After some time I spoke.
But Netaji, I said.
Netaji shook his head. See, he said, my hydroponics do not produce sufficient output to affect Indian national supply enough that we can maintain exports during local onion crisis.
Okay, I said.
So, said Netaji, I am left with two choices—one is to supply only the Bombay region with onions, and the other is to supply only certain groups in Pakistan and China with onions.
What groups, asked Iqbal.
In Pakistan it is mainly the big groups like Taliban and Lakshar-e-Taibba, said Netaji, and in China it is the Maoist rebel groups.
It is hard now to describe our feelings of confusion. The bright lights were creating havoc with my sense of balance and sanity, and if I was not so round, I would surely have gotten up to run away from this madman.
Do not be afraid, said Netaji, it is not what it seems.
Then what is it? said Iqbal.
Netaji laughed. Did I not say I was a patriot?
Actually I said it, I said.
No, I said it, said Iqbal.
Does not matter who said it, said Netaji.
Okay, I said.
Iqbal was quiet, and I could tell he was thinking of a way to escape from this madman, but was conflicted by our pledge to pursue the truth. Although, to be honest, I did not think that such danger to our own lives should be necessary for pursuit of truth. At least not on the first day of pursuing truth. Again I thought of my wife, and I felt sad that since this madman was undoubtedly going to murder us, I would not see her again. My dear, sweet wife. So much love for her I felt in that moment under the bright lights.
Then I felt hungry again, and so I paid attention to the madman.
He was still laughing, but not so much like a madman. More like someone who was playing a trick on us.
See, said Netaji, I will give you an example of the problem and my solution.
Okay, I said.
Yes, said Iqbal.
Now imagine there is an onion problem and exports to Pakistan have been cut, said Netaji.
Okay, said Iqbal.
Wait one minute, I said.
They both looked at me.
Okay, I said, I am ready.
Now, said Netaji, low exports means onion problem in Pakistan, which increases chances for revolution because people are getting angry because their food does not taste so good without onions.
Yes, I said, that Pakistani food is very much dependent on onions.
Okay, said Netaji, so the rulers get some of these angry groups like Taliban and Lakshar to recruit some angry Pakistani villagers to launch attacks along the border with India and Kashmir, and then all the local Pakistanis become occupied with all that militant nonsense.
Ah, said Iqbal, and so the locals are not so worried about their food being less tasty.
Ah, I said, and therefore they are less interested in starting internal revolutions. It is simple misdirection of aggression.
Yes, said Netaji, yes.
And so logically, said Iqbal, if you supply onions directly to angry groups like Taliban and Lakshar, perhaps they will become less angry, and maybe they will be less motivated to recruit angry villagers to launch attacks.
Yes, said Netaji, and hence I am a patriot.
I thought about this for some time. It seemed logical, but still something was off.
But Netaji, I said, by depriving Indian locals of your onions, are you not creating angry conditions in the homeland?
Iqbal looked at me and nodded.
And so, I said, are you not increasing chances for revolution here as well?
Iqbal nodded again.
Now with Iqbal’s support, I gained confidence in my logic. So, I said, would our rulers also not start to launch border nonsense to create distractions for the angry people who have no onions? Would our rulers also not be afraid of revolution?
Netaji laughed. No, he said, we have a democracy in India. Here when there is revolution, some politicians temporarily give up their jobs to their cousins and in-laws, and
We were still quiet, but in stunned state.
After some time I spoke.
But Netaji, I said.
Netaji shook his head. See, he said, my hydroponics do not produce sufficient output to affect Indian national supply enough that we can maintain exports during local onion crisis.
Okay, I said.
So, said Netaji, I am left with two choices—one is to supply only the Bombay region with onions, and the other is to supply only certain groups in Pakistan and China with onions.
What groups, asked Iqbal.
In Pakistan it is mainly the big groups like Taliban and Lakshar-e-Taibba, said Netaji, and in China it is the Maoist rebel groups.
It is hard now to describe our feelings of confusion. The bright lights were creating havoc with my sense of balance and sanity, and if I was not so round, I would surely have gotten up to run away from this madman.
Do not be afraid, said Netaji, it is not what it seems.
Then what is it? said Iqbal.
Netaji laughed. Did I not say I was a patriot?
Actually I said it, I said.
No, I said it, said Iqbal.
Does not matter who said it, said Netaji.
Okay, I said.
Iqbal was quiet, and I could tell he was thinking of a way to escape from this madman, but was conflicted by our pledge to pursue the truth. Although, to be honest, I did not think that such danger to our own lives should be necessary for pursuit of truth. At least not on the first day of pursuing truth. Again I thought of my wife, and I felt sad that since this madman was undoubtedly going to murder us, I would not see her again. My dear, sweet wife. So much love for her I felt in that moment under the bright lights.
Then I felt hungry again, and so I paid attention to the madman.
He was still laughing, but not so much like a madman. More like someone who was playing a trick on us.
See, said Netaji, I will give you an example of the problem and my solution.
Okay, I said.
Yes, said Iqbal.
Now imagine there is an onion problem and exports to Pakistan have been cut, said Netaji.
Okay, said Iqbal.
Wait one minute, I said.
They both looked at me.
Okay, I said, I am ready.
Now, said Netaji, low exports means onion problem in Pakistan, which increases chances for revolution because people are getting angry because their food does not taste so good without onions.
Yes, I said, that Pakistani food is very much dependent on onions.
Okay, said Netaji, so the rulers get some of these angry groups like Taliban and Lakshar to recruit some angry Pakistani villagers to launch attacks along the border with India and Kashmir, and then all the local Pakistanis become occupied with all that militant nonsense.
Ah, said Iqbal, and so the locals are not so worried about their food being less tasty.
Ah, I said, and therefore they are less interested in starting internal revolutions. It is simple misdirection of aggression.
Yes, said Netaji, yes.
And so logically, said Iqbal, if you supply onions directly to angry groups like Taliban and Lakshar, perhaps they will become less angry, and maybe they will be less motivated to recruit angry villagers to launch attacks.
Yes, said Netaji, and hence I am a patriot.
I thought about this for some time. It seemed logical, but still something was off.
But Netaji, I said, by depriving Indian locals of your onions, are you not creating angry conditions in the homeland?
Iqbal looked at me and nodded.
And so, I said, are you not increasing chances for revolution here as well?
Iqbal nodded again.
Now with Iqbal’s support, I gained confidence in my logic. So, I said, would our rulers also not start to launch border nonsense to create distractions for the angry people who have no onions? Would our rulers also not be afraid of revolution?
Netaji laughed. No, he said, we have a democracy in India. Here when there is revolution, some politicians temporarily give up their jobs to their cousins and in-laws, and
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