"No one ran for office."
Chapekar laughed. "India has been a democracy for hundreds of years. People run for office. People vote."
"Not when Virlomi asks them not to serve in any office until the Muslim overlords leave India."
Now Chapekar understood everything. She was a charismatic, like Gandhi, centuries ago. Rather a sad one, since she was imitating a primitive Indian lifestyle that hadn't been the rule through most of India in many lifetimes. Still, there was magic in the old icons, and with so many disasters befalling India, the people would look for someone to capture their imagination.
Gandhi never became ruler of India, however. That job was for more practical people. If he could just get the word out that he was back. Surely the Caliph would want a legitimate Indian government restored to help keep order.
After a suitable wait, he was ushered into a building. After another wait, he was brought to the anteroom of the Caliph's office. And finally he was brought into the Presence.
Except that the person he met with was not the Caliph at all, but his old adversary, Ghaffar Wahabi, who had been prime minister of Pakistan.
"I thought to see the Caliph," said Chapekar, "but I'm glad to see you first, my old friend."
Wahabi smiled and nodded, but he did not rise and when Chapekar made as if to approach him, hands restrained him. Still, they did not stop him from sitting in an armless chair, which was good, because Chapekar tired easily these days.
"I am glad to sec that the Chinese have come to their senses and set their prisoners free. This new emperor they have is weak, a mere boy, but a weak China is better for all of us, don't you think?"
Chapekar shook his head. "The Chinese people love him."
"Islam has ground the face of China into the dust," said Wahabi.
"Has Islam ground the face of India into the dust as well?" asked Chapekar.
"There were excesses, under the previous military leadership. But Caliph Alai, may God preserve him, put a stop to that some time ago. Now the leader of the Indian rebels sits outside our gate, and we are untroubled, and she and her followers are unmolested."
"So now Muslim rule is benign," said Chapekar. "And yet when the Indian Prime Minister returns, there is not a word on television, not an interview. No car waiting for him. No office."
Wahabi shook his head. "My old friend," he said. "Don't you remember? As the Chinese surrounded and swallowed up your armies, as they swept across India, you made a great public pronouncement. You said, if I remember rightly, that there would be no government in exile. That the ruler of India from then on would be ... and I say this with all modesty ... me."
"I meant, of course, only until I returned."
"No you were very clear," said Wahabi. "I'm sure we can get someone to play you the vid. I can send for someone if you—"
"You are going to hold India without a government because—"
"India has a government. From the mouth of the Indus to the mouth of the Ganges, from the Himalayas to the waves that lap the shores of Sri Lanka, the flag of Pakistan flies over a united India. Under the divinely inspired leadership of Caliph Alai, may Allah be thanked for him."
"Now I understand why you suppress news of my coming," said Chapekar, rising to his feet. "You are afraid of losing what you have."
"What I have?" Wahabi laughed. "We are the government, but Virlomi rules India. You think we blacked out the news about you? Virlomi asked the Indian people not to look at television as long as the Muslim invaders retained their unwelcome presence in Mother India."
"And they obey her?"
"The drop in national power consumption is noticeable. No one interviewed you, old friend, because there are no reporters. And even if there were, why would they care about you? You don't rule India, and I don't rule India, and if you want to have anything to do with India, you'll take off your shoes and get in that line in front of the hut outside the gate."
"Yes," said Chapekar. "I'll do that."
"Come back and tell me what she says," said Wahabi. "I've been contemplating doing the same thing myself."
So Chapekar walked back out of the military compound and joined the line. When the sun set and the sky began to darken, Virlomi came out of the hut and wept with grief that she could not hear and speak to everyone personally. "Go home," she said. "I pray for you, all of you. Whatever is the desire of your heart, let the Gods grant it, if it would bring no harm to another. If you need food or work or shelter, go back to your city or your village and tell them that Virlomi is praying for that city, that village. Tell them that my prayer is this: Let the gods bless the people to exactly the degree that they help the hungry and jobless and homeless. Then help them make this prayer a blessing upon them instead of curse. You try to find someone less fortunate than you, and help him. In helping him, you will also rise."
Then she went back inside the hut.
The crowd dispersed. Chapekar sat down to wait until the morning.
One of the others who had been in the line said, "Don't bother. She never sees anyone who spends the night. She says that if she lets people gain an advantage by doing that, soon the plain will be covered with snoring Indians and she will never get any sleep!"
He and several others laughed, but Chapekar did not laugh. Now that he had seen his adversary, he was worried. She was beautiful and gentle-seeming, and moved with unspeakable grace. She had mastered it all—the perfect demagogue for India. Politicians had always shouted to whip an audience into a frenzy. But this woman spoke quietly, and made them hunger for her words, so she hardly had to say anything, and they felt blessed to hear her.
Still, she was only a lone woman. Chapekar knew how to command armies. More important, he knew how to get legislation through Congress and keep party members in line. All he needed to do was attach himself to this girl and soon he would be the real ruler of her party.
Now all he needed was to find a place to spend the night and come back in the morning to see her.
He was leaving when one of Virlomi's aides touched his shoulder. "Sir," said the young man, "the Lady has asked to see you."
"Me?"
"Aren't you Tikal Chapekar?"
"I am."
"Then you're the one she asked for." The young man eyed him up and down, then knelt, scooped up some dirt, and flung it at Chapekar's suit and began to rub it in.
"What are you doing! How dare you!"
"If I don't make you look like your suit is old and you have seen much suffering, then—"
"You idiot! My suit is old, and I have suffered in exile!"
"The Lady will not care, sir. But do as you wish. It's this or the loincloth. She keeps several in her hut, so she can humble proud men."
Chapekar glared at the young man, then squatted, scooped up dirt, and began rubbing it into his own clothing.
A few minutes later, he was inside the hut. It was lighted by three small flickering oil lamps. Shadows danced on the dried-mud walls.
She greeted him with a smile that seemed warm and friendly. Maybe this would go better than he had feared.
"Tikal Chapekar," she said. "I'm glad that our people are returning from captivity."
"The new emperor is weak," said Chapekar. "He thinks that he'll appease world opinion by letting his prisoners go."
She said nothing.
"You've done an excellent job of annoying the Muslims," he said.
She said nothing.
"I want to help you."
"Excellent," she said. "What weapons are you trained to use?"