Manil Suri - The City of Devi

So far, the other diners have stared down impassively at their plates, but now Dr. Sethi breaks their silence by asking what I do. Obviously, I must be a scientist if picked up by the van, but with so many fields represented at the table, I have to answer carefully, to avoid being exposed. I finally settle on geologist, giving my institution as the University of Lucknow, which I hope will be obscure enough. “I didn’t think they even had a geology department,” Sethi says, frowning at me. Das quickly interjects to say he’s heard they just started one. I nod in vigorous agreement—who knew?

The large monitor suspended above the buffet table blinks on before Sethi can pepper me with more questions. “It’s Bhim,” Das whispers. “He likes to address us whenever he comes to the hotel.” The face that fills the screen looks nothing like the blood-spattered visage I remember from the grainy video of the Haji Ali massacre, or the one spouting rabid exhortations to violence on the nationwide rath yatra. Rather, it is calm and clean-cut, the eyebrows neatly trimmed, the hair carefully coiffed. Could he be tripping on his Emperor Ashoka persona again?

“My friends, I hope you’re having a nice afternoon.” His manner is congenial, his voice so soothing, it’s almost mellifluous. He announces that the refurbished gym has opened on the second floor, that more laptops will arrive shortly, though the internet remains down. “Don’t forget the roof garden—there’s no better way to start your morning than a walk there. And afterwards, you can come have a dosa—we’ll start serving them for breakfast as well since you like them so much.”

He continues in this hotel-manager vein for a while, as if explaining the guest facilities at a resort. Just when I’m expecting him to announce the Jacuzzi and shuffleboard hours, he starts describing the finishing touches being put on the “paradise” at the subterranean level. “Your own television, your own private bedroom, not to mention pantries bursting with delicious food and drink. We’ll finally open it up tomorrow, so you’ll be able to see for yourself.”

Surely he couldn’t be referring to the crumbling bunkers I stumbled upon in the basement? Apparently so, because he quickly mentions a “trial run” on the nineteenth, “just in case there’s any problem.” “It’s more for your own peace of mind—all these empty threats and rumors floating around. You’re the most brilliant intellects in all of Mumbai—my responsibility is to keep you happy and sound.”

He pledges to reunite the assembled diners with their loved ones. “Some we’ve already brought together, others will have to wait a bit. We’ve found many of your spouses, your children—gathered them up in special units. Be assured they’re getting five-star treatment—I promise we’ll keep them safe.”

Bhim concludes with a burst of declarations, claiming that he only believes in freedom, that he only asks for a commitment to the country, that despite what people may have heard, he doesn’t insist on any particular religion or philosophy. “One day this war will end, my friends, and we will begin to rebuild. Let’s all look together towards that day and in a united voice shout Jai Hind.”

“Jai Hind,” the crowd replies, and I can’t help sensing something forced in the response, even though it is accompanied by a ripple of applause.

Bhim’s soft-spoken manner leaves me a tad disoriented. Would it have been too much to expect at least a little fanaticism, a bit of anti-Muslim rhetoric? Perhaps my image of a betel-chewing heavy was over-the-top, but surely Bhim’s résumé of exploits warrants someone more flamboyantly unhinged?

“A true visionary,” Das declares. People nod in agreement around the table, and again, I get that Stepford Wife impression—perhaps they do drug the dosas after all. “Tell me, are you married, Dr. Pradhan? Do you have a family? If so, you can rest assured Bhim will do his best to arrange a reunification.”

Sethi snorts. “Perhaps Dr. Pradhan should look around and count the number of women and children he sees.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Sethi—are you trying to ask our new guest something?”

“Yes, I’m asking him to count the number of reunited families. It’s more a threat, isn’t it, this promise of reunification? To let us know he has them in his clutches, just like he has us.”

Das looks taken aback. “Dr. Sethi, what are you saying? You know Bhim is doing the best anyone could. Would you like to try yourself, find someone without his help?”

“That would hardly be possible, would it? I’m stuck here, like the rest of us, whether I like it or not. Whatever happens tomorrow or the day after, whether or not the bomb falls.”

“You know that’s not true. We all stay voluntarily.” Das turns to me. “Everyone here is free to leave. Bhim just requests you let him know in advance.”

“Yes, in advance. Like Moorthy, like Sinha. Is that what happened to them? They were complaining so much, so Bhim stamped their passports and set them free?”

“Surely you’re not suggesting that Bhim—?”

“What if I am? Will I be next? Is that what you’re going to threaten me with? Another knock in the middle of the night, and nobody will see me again?” Sethi gets up so abruptly that his chair topples over backwards. “Well I don’t care anymore. I’ve had it with this.” A waiter hastens to set the chair back upright as Sethi flings down his napkin and strides off.

The other scientists seem to freeze in their seats. Das smiles at me reassuringly. “Don’t mind our banter. Some of our colleagues haven’t been well lately, so they’re staying in their rooms. Like the ones Dr. Sethi mentioned. Others just come for the earlier shift, so we miss them. It’s really nothing. Now about your family members—are they still in Lucknow?”

I cook up suitable answers for the questions that follow, but something about Sethi’s words keeps looping through my mind. In a flash it comes to me—the name Moorthy. He was the scientist mentioned by the guesthouse keeper in Bandra, the one kidnapped along with Karun. “I’m sorry, but did I hear correctly that you have someone here by the name of Moorthy? Doesn’t he work at the Institute for Nuclear Physics?”

Das seems instantly wary. “Perhaps. Why? Do you know him?”

“Not him, but a colleague of his—Karun Anand—we’ve been friends for years. I was half expecting he might be here as well, but of course he’s not.”

“Dr. Anand?” Das adjusts his glasses to peer at me as if I’m a biological specimen, finally come into focus. “As a matter of fact—”

STANDING IN FRONT of Karun’s room, I’m struck by how doors have played such a pivotal role through our relationship. The ones Karun has closed in my face, or tried to escape through, or entered when he wasn’t expected. What will I discover behind this one? Where will it lead us? Das has assured me Karun simply prefers to eat in his room, but what if he’s been mistreated, lying inside hurt? I knock, standing aside from the peephole so he can’t see who it is. When there is no reply, I knock again. Then I remember my magic swipe card—it smoothly unlocks the door, and I step in.

The curtains are drawn, but I recognize Karun at once on the bed from his familiar sleeping position. One hand folded at his side, the other resting on his pillow, above his head. I stand over him, checking for bruises or trauma—he looks unharmed, angelic. A sheet drapes his waist, revealing the luxurious swathe of hair on his chest—a pillow on which I want to rest my head, a carpet on which I would fly anywhere. The corridor outside recedes, the war wages in another city somewhere. “Karun,” I whisper, and when he doesn’t awaken, bend down and kiss him lightly on the lips.