Page 77 of A Shimla Affair

Noor tried again, ‘No, it’s more like, you can do whatever you want. That is called being free.’

Afi scratched his head, on which lay a beautiful nest of brown curls. ‘So, I can throw mithai at someone because I am free?’

Unable to bear this conversation, Khushilalji took Afi in his arms, looking straight into his eyes, serious. ‘Free is what you are, young man. Today, more than ever. Free is what you are thanks to your Amma, your Noor Amma, your father and, most of all, your namesakes, Afreen Amma and Ratan Baba.’

I looked at Khushilalji, tearful again. ‘Thanks to Khushilalji.’

Afi seemed satisfied for now, repeating, ‘Free is what I am! Free is what I am!’

At home, another surprise awaited us. A man stood outside our home, wearing a smart kurta pajama, a new turban, spectacles with golden rims and a file in his arms. He folded his hands at us in greeting, and asked if he could come in. He looked so different from when we had last seen him two years ago: shiny and polished, with the promise of new India. Noor kept the door open.

‘What do you want, Wadiaji?’

‘But, of course, I wanted to remind you that we haven’t forgotten you in the turning of the clocks, in the new day. I have come back to fulfil our promise.’

Noor raised her eyebrows. ‘You turned us away when we came begging to you for help, you let us forage on the streets—’

‘I got you this house!’ he retorted.

‘Too little, too late! We asked you to protect us—we who had given up on our lives, everything—for the country in which you now so proudly stand!’

‘Be grateful we didn’t report you! A prize money of twenty thousand rupees for each of your heads was up for grabs! You were walking, talking chests of treasure! That you still have a roof over your head is the biggest miracle of all.’

‘Oh Wadiaji, we have survived much more than your neglect, and will continue to, don’t worry about that.’

He lost his patience and threw the file on the table. ‘Accept it with grace, or not. Here are the papers to Royal Hotel Shimla. You got what you wanted, and you’re safe and sound. You can go back to living at the hotel, use your real names again. What more can you want?!’

What more can we want?I wonder what more could we want.

‘Jai Hind!’ he said and left.

Noor picked up the file and held it close to her chest. There would be a day when we would go back. But it was not today. Noor collapsed with a sob, and I went to hug her, whispering into her ears what I knew she needed to hear, again and every day. ‘It was not your fault … you couldn’t have protected them. They are happy now, raising hell wherever they may be.’

Once her sobs subsided, my eyes fell on a letter at the door. I went to pick it up, tearing it open when I saw that it was addressed to me.

‘Dorothy,’it said. My heart went all kinds of mad, and I clutched the paper tighter, ‘We are not in Kansas any more. Andthere is no place like home. I am alive and safe and well, and through my many wonderful skills, I know you are, too. It’s time. I am coming home.’

I broke into tears, and Noor rushed to me. We cried and we cried for all that we had loved and lost and won. We cried until the sky too burst in joy, and drops of rain began pelting the earth, also joyous to touch a new ground that had emerged from sorrows and sacrifices.

Afi ran out, and jumped and rejoiced in the rain, tasting it’s refreshing waters, breathing in its invigorating smell. ‘I am freeeee!’ he squealed, thrilled at the fact, absolutely unaware of what it meant.

When he came back inside and after I dried him and put him to bed, he held my wrist and asked me, ‘Khushilalji said freedom was because of all of you. Why? What did you do?’

I smiled at his curious face. ‘Let me tell you a story …’