Not so Kusum. His heart and his mind had never left those blackened ruins in the hills outside Bharangpur. There was no life for him outside India. And even in his homeland, his rigid Hindu fundamentalism made him something of a stranger. He worshipped India’s past. That was the India in which he wished to live, not the land India was striving to become.
With the belowdecks port shut and sealed behind them, Kolabati relaxed, reveling in the outside air. Whoever would have thought muggy New York City air could smell so sweet? Kusum led her to a steel door in the forward wall of the superstructure. He opened the padlock that secured it. Inside was a short hallway and a single furnished cabin.
Kolabati sat on the cot while Kusum stood and looked at her. She kept her head down, unable to meet his eyes. Neither had said a word since leaving the hold. Kusum’s air of disapproval rankled her, made her feel like an errant child, yet she could not fight it. He had a right to feel the way he did.
“I brought you here hoping to share the rest of my plans with you,” he said at last. “I see now that was a mistake. You have lost all touch with your heritage. You would become like the millions of soulless others in this place.”
“Tell me your plans, Kusum,” she said, feeling his hurt. “I want to hear them.”
“You’ll hear. But will you listen?” He answered his own question without waiting for her. “I don’t think so. I was going to tell you how the rakoshi could be used to aid me back home. They could help eliminate those who are determined to change India into something she was never intended to be, who are bent on leading our people away from the true concerns of life in a mad drive to make India another America.”
“Your political ambitions.”
“Not ambitions! A mission!”
Kolabati had seen that feverish light shining in her brother’s eyes before. It frightened her almost as much as the rakoshi. But she kept her voice calm.
“You want to use the rakoshi for political ends.”
“I do not! But the only way to bring India back onto the True Path is through political power. It came to me that I have not been allowed to start this nest of rakoshi for the mere purpose of fulfilling a vow. There is a grander scheme here, and I am part of it.”
With a sinking feeling, Kolabati realized where all this was leading. A single word said it alclass="underline"
“Hindutvu.”
“Yes—Hindutvu! A reunified India under Hindu rule. We will undo what the British did in 1947 when they made the Punjab into Pakistan and vivisected Bengal. If only I had had the rakoshi then—Lord Mountbatten would never have left India alive! But he was out of my reach, so I had to settle for the life of his collaborator, the revered Hindu traitor who legitimized the partition of our India by persuading the people to accept it without violence.”
Kolabati was aghast. “Gandhi? It couldn’t have been you!”
“Poor Bati.” He smiled maliciously at the shock that must have shown on her face. “I’m truly disappointed that you never guessed. Did you actually think I would sit idly by after the part he played in the partition?”
“But Savarkar was behind—!”
“Yes. Savarkar was behind Godse and Apte, the actual assassins. He was tried and executed for his part. But who do you think was behind Savarkar?”
No! It couldn’t be true! Not her brother—the man behind what some called “the Crime of the Century”!
But he was still talking. She forced herself to listen:
“… the return of East Bengal—it belongs with West Bengal. Bengal shall be whole again!”
“But East Bengal is Bangladesh now. You can’t possibly think—”
“I’ll find a way. I have the time. I have the rakoshi. I’ll find away, believe me.”
The room spun about Kolabati. Kusum, her brother, her surrogate parent for all these years, the steady, rational cornerstone of her life, was slipping further and further from the real world, indulging himself in the revenge and power fantasies of a maladjusted adolescent.
Kusum was mad. The realization sickened her. Kolabati had fought against the admission all night but the truth could no longer be denied. She had to get away from him.
“If anyone can find a way, I’m sure you will,” she told him, rising and turning towards the door. “And I’ll be glad to help in any way I can. But I’m tired now and I’d like to go back to the—”
Kusum stepped in front of the door, blocking her way.
“No, my sister. You will stay here until we sail away together.”
“Sail?” Panic clutched at her throat. She had to get off this ship! “I don’t want to sail anywhere!”
“I realize that. And that’s why I had this room, the pilot’s cabin, sealed off.” There was no malice in his voice or his expression. He was more like an understanding parent talking to a child. “I’m bringing you back to India with me.”
“No!”
“It’s for your own good. During the voyage back home, I’m sure you’ll see the error of the life you’ve chosen to lead. We have a chance to do something for India, an unprecedented chance to cleanse our karmas. I do this for you as much as for myself.” He looked at her knowingly. “For your karma is as polluted as mine.”
“You have no right!”
“I’ve more than a right. I’ve a duty.”
He darted out of the room and shut the door behind him. Kolabati lunged forward but heard the lock click before she reached the handle. She pounded on its sturdy oak panels.
“Kusum, let me out! Please let me out!”
“When we’re at sea,” he said from the far side of the door.
She heard him walk down the hall to the steel hatch that led to the deck and felt a sense of doom settle over her. Her life was no longer her own. Trapped on this ship… weeks at sea with a madman, even if it was her brother. She had to get out of here! She became desperate.
“Jack will be looking for me!” she said on impulse, regretting it immediately. She hadn’t wanted to involve Jack in this.
“Why would he be looking for you?” Kusum said slowly, his voice faint.
“Because…” She couldn’t let him know that Jack had found the ship and knew about the rakoshi. “Because we’ve been together every day. Tomorrow he’ll want to know where lam.”
“I see.” There was a lengthy pause. “I believe I will have to talk to Jack.”
“Don’t you harm him, Kusum!” The thought of Jack falling victim to Kusum’s wrath was more than she could bear. Jack was certainly capable of taking care of himself, but she was sure he had never run up against someone like Kusum… or a rakosh.
She heard the steel door clang shut.
“Kusum?”
There was no reply. Kusum had left her alone on the ship.
No… not alone.
There were rakoshi below.
9
“SAHNKchewedday! SAHNKchewedday!”
Jack had run out of James Whale films—he had been searching unsuccessfully for a tape of Whale’s The Old Dark House for years—so he had put on the 1939 version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Charles Laughton, playing the part of the ignorant, deformed Parisian, had just saved Maureen O’Hara and was shouting in an upper class British accent from the walls of the church. Ridiculous. But Jack loved the film and had watched it nearly a hundred times. It was like an old friend, and he needed an old friend here with him now. The apartment seemed especially empty tonight.
So with the six-foot projection tv providing a sort of visual musak, he sat and pondered his next move. Gia and Vicky were all right for the time being, so he didn’t have to worry about them. He had called the Sutton Square house as soon as he had arrived home. It had been late and Gia had obviously been awakened by the phone. She had grouchily told him that no word had been received from either Grace or Nellie and assured him that everyone was fine and had been sleeping peacefully until his call.