by Irene Black
For a moment, Duncan wondered whether to tell the police about Felicity. Would it be worth the humiliation? He quickly convinced himself that it would not. Better they spread the net too wide than too narrow. And who’s to say that Salers won’t flee to the US?
He took a deep breath. “Yes, yes, I do know. Hannah Petersen’s in Bangalore, India. And she’s convinced she’s been followed.”
“Why were you keeping this information back, Sir? I have to tell you that it could land you in serious trouble. Hampering our inquiries. Endangering Miss Petersen.”
“I’m sorry. I only just found out myself.” He felt wretched and stupid. The policeman was right. He should have told them earlier. He’d panicked.
The policeman sighed. “All right, Sir. We’ll get onto Delhi right away.”
“Delhi? That’s miles away from Bangalore, isn’t it?”
“Couldn’t say, Sir, but we have to go through Delhi. They’ll take it from there.”
“Well, let’s hope they get a move on then. I’ve come to tell you that, in view of Salers’ release, I’m leaving for Bangalore tonight.”
“Oh, very good, Sir. Miss Petersen will be most relieved. Please do assure her that we’re doing everything possible to catch this man.”
“Here. I’ve written down an email address where she can be contacted in Bangalore. Please let her know at once of any further developments.”
* * * *
“Did you know,” Srinivasa said between mouthfuls of breakfast idli, “it is Christmas Eve today?”
“I had forgotten,” Ashok said. “There were other matters on my mind.” Like the Fiat. As soon as it turned up, he was planning to head off to Bandipur. But where the hell was it? It was already nine o’clock and still no sign of it.
“Your friends. You are concerned naturally.”
“Of course. I tried to telephone Hannah again some hours ago, but telephone line is down.”
“That does not surprise me. Situation is apparently deteriorating rapidly. There is talk of curfew. No buses are running. But not to worry. At least they are safe in park.”
“It would appear so.” Let him be right, Ashok prayed.
“Of course, this whole dispute is the fault of British.”
“Oh?” Ashok glanced at his watch.
“You see, it was British rulers who apportioned Cauvery River water between Mysore and Madras.” Srinivasa shook his finger emphatically. “Divide and rule, Ashok, divide and rule.”
Ashok struggled to show interest, as he willed the Fiat to appear.
“Such policies,” his father continued, “were uppermost in Britain’s dealings with its colonies. Madras received greater share of water.”
“But surely this was reasonable? Madras was bigger.”
“That is as maybe. But even with construction of Mettur Dam in Tamil Nadu, that state was apportioned water from Mysore.”
Ashok was at the window, staring vainly out onto the lane.
“Take, take.” Girija placed another plate of idlis on the table before saying, “I remember well in fifties when Mysore became what is now Karnataka. Those were exciting times. So progressive. But very nervous, also.”
“Ah, yes,” her husband continued, “this is point I am making. With this transformation of Mysore, the size of the state expanded—from nine to sixteen districts.”
“And Tamil Nadu on the other hand has very less districts than the original state of Madras,” Ashok said.
“Correct,” Srinivasa said.
“And now?”
“Ah! And now is a question of politics, as always.”
“Only instead of British, they are now blaming Central Government.”
“And why not? Again this year Cauvery Waters Dispute Tribunal has awarded lion’s share of Karnataka water to Tamil Nadu. There is widespread feeling in Karnataka press that Central Government is perpetuating British policy of divide and rule.”
Ashok looked at his watch again. “So why has this blown up now?”
“Our Chief Minister called a state bandh. There was rioting here even, in Bangalore, some days before you came.”
“And the future?”
Srinivasa shook his head. “Who knows? In the words of the Mahatma, ‘Violent means will give violent freedom. That would be a menace to the world and to India herself.’”
Ashok got up. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, he decided.
“I’m just going out for a while,” he said.
At the car repair shop, Ashok stared in dismay at his father’s Fiat. The steering wheel had been dismantled.
“This repair was supposed to be completed by today morning,” he told the mechanic angrily.
“Very sorry, Sir. The part we are needing is coming from Mysore. Delivery has not been able to get through.”
“Well, find one. Make one if you have to. But get that car repaired. I’ll come back in an hour.”
* * * *
The bus stop at Bandipur was situated some one hundred meters from the park reception center.
Hannah and Willi set off along the dusty road, fringed by scattered dindalu trees and small shrubs. The morning was hotting up, and even the air smelled dry. They reached the bus stop. Here confusion reigned. They found themselves in the midst of half a dozen excited policemen and a family from Ootacamund who had also been staying at the park. One policeman spoke English.
“No bus today, ladies. There is bandh. Public transport is at standstill.”
The family from Ooty—parents and two teenage children—who had been deliberating on what to do, picked up their suitcases and set off on foot for the Tamil Nadu border several miles to the south.
As they disappeared down the road, three blond boys, weighed down with heavy rucksacks, approached from that direction. They nodded at Hannah and Willi.
“Ja, guten Tag. Are you also trying to get to Mysore?” one of them said.
“Yes. There seem to be no buses.”
“We know this. We have been given a lift in a jeep to the state border, but the driver would go no further and fled back into Tamil Nadu as soon as he had dropped us. From there we have walked.”
The police, whose excitement had not abated, were arguing loudly with one another. Although none of the Europeans could understand a word of what was being said, it was clear that the five of them were the subject of the debate.
Hannah addressed the young English-speaking officer.
“Can you help us find a way to get to Mysore?”
“Just wait here, Madam.”
Not very elucidating, Hannah thought, but he seemed quite positive.
Suddenly, a large brown and yellow truck came thundering along from the direction of Ootacamund. The young officer waved it down and spoke to the driver and his mate in an urgent tone that suggested more of an order than a request. Then he turned to Hannah.
“These people are trying to get through to Mysore. They will take you. But you will have to travel on back of truck.”
Hannah, who seemed to have been catapulted into the position of group spokesperson, looked at the three youngsters. They looked at one another and nodded.
One by one, they made the ascent onto the back of the truck. To the young men, this was evidently no more of a challenge than a pleasant afternoon stroll. With a single, elegantly executed bound, they were on the truck. By the time the two women had been ignominiously pummeled and hoisted on board, the boys were already comfortably established on the tarpaulin, alongside several Indians.
The truck roared off at breakneck speed down the hillside. Hannah tried to blot out of her mind the photograph she had once seen of just such trucks lying crippled and crumpled one after another on the Grand Trunk Road.
Thirty minutes later, they rolled into Gundlupet, a dusty little town with seemingly little to commend it. An air of tension hung over the place. Several men stood around expectantly, but, other than that, few people were on the streets. It was as if most of the population was hiding
.
“Well, no road blocks there,” Willi said as they left the town behind.
“No, but somehow I didn’t like the atmosphere,” Hannah said, “and neither did they.” She nodded towards their Indian companions, who had grown rigid and silent.
The wind in their faces softened the ferocity of the midday sun. They hung onto the ropes that held the tarpaulin and started to relax. Hannah learned from one of the Indians that the truck was going on to Bangalore.
“Shall we stay on it, instead of switching to a bus in Mysore? What do you think, Willi?”
“It’s a long time to be in full sun.”
“True. It’s easy to forget how hot it is while we’re moving.” She turned to one of the boys. “Where are you heading?”
“Not really bothered,” the second boy said.
“Oh!” Hannah was surprised at his perfect English. “You’re not German!”
“They are. I’m from Norwich.”
“I thought you were brothers.”
The English boy shook his head and lapsed back into the state of disquiet that had seemed to characterize all three young men from the start. Hannah felt sorry for them. They couldn’t have been more than nineteen.
“About the truck…” She turned to Willi. “Let’s wait until we get to Mysore before we decide.”
They bounced along in silence for a while before Willi spoke again.
“What are we actually sitting on, do you suppose?”
They pulled back the tarpaulin and stared at their revelation.
“Propane gas cylinders!” Willi gasped.
“Yes.” Hannah said. “A whole truckload sizzling in the noonday heat!”
“There is no need to worry,” one of the German boys said. “It would require a much higher temperature to make them explode.”
The truck sped along the highway, the gas cylinders bouncing with the motion. A car overtook them then slowed in front of the truck.
“Willi,” Hannah said, frowning. “I think that’s Salers in that car.”
“Are you sure?”
“I saw him when he passed. Weedy, sick looking. Dark glasses.”
The car was now traveling so slowly that the truck, hooting angrily, overtook it.
“Well, the description fits,” Willi said, “What shall we do?”
“I don’t know.”
Strange, Hannah reflected. A few days ago, I’d have been beside myself. Now? He’s only a man, and a sick one at that, not some unknown terror in the night. She could deal with him. But how to convince the Indian police? They hadn’t had much luck so far. Would the break in at the park bungalow interest them enough to distract them from the bandh? There were plenty of them around, patrolling the road. Maybe no need to wait for Ashok. If the opportunity arose.
The car overtook them again and slowed up in front of them. By now they could feel the fury of the truck driver, resonating in the movement of the truck. He overtook once more and put his foot down hard, with the intention of outrunning the car. He had not reckoned with the tenacity of the car driver. Suddenly, the car pulled alongside the truck again, and for some heart-stopping moments the two vehicles raced side by side.
Hannah scrambled to the front of the truck and pulled herself round the cab so that she could call into the driver’s window.
“That car,” she shouted, pointing. “Can you force him off the road?”
The driver, intent on keeping his truck on the road, was already uttering a long string of incomprehensible abuse at the car. Now he turned his fury onto Hannah, leaning across to try and push her back onto the gas cylinders, which meant controlling the speeding truck with one hand. Undaunted, Hannah clung on and tried again.
“The man in the back of that car is bad, wicked. We have to stop him,” she shouted. “Please try!”
But the truck driver spoke no English and got increasingly enraged, until Hannah had to concede that she was doing more harm than good by distracting him. She fought her way back over the load to Willi.
The three boys were sitting bolt upright, wide-eyed in terror.
“Was stellst du dir vor?” one of the Germans stammered. “Du willst uns wohl alle umbringen!”
“Yea, what the hell d’you think you’re playing at?” The English boy found his voice, high-pitched and hysterical.
Hannah didn’t answer. She was too intent on watching the car. Suddenly it accelerated and shot ahead. This time, it did not slow down but roared off, disappearing in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes.
The relief on the truck was palpable. It was not only Willi and Hannah who had been unnerved by the antics of the car. It was only they, however, who understood its implications. He was letting Hannah know that he was still on her trail. He’d said he’d find her. Now he’d unwrapped another layer of the parcel. He’d let her catch a glimpse of him. How many more layers were there?
The countryside was rich in wheat and paddy, coconut and mulberry groves. In the distance, across the fields, they noticed patches of billowing smoke, which they took at first to be routine stubble burning. They passed a burnt-out truck. With a jolt, Hannah remembered the one she had seen yesterday. Had there been two accidents? Or was something sinister going on? By the time they neared the temple town of Nanjangud, fifteen miles from Mysore, the mood on the truck had grown somber. An uneasy silence reigned. Is it possible, Hannah wondered, that the distant fires were not as innocent as at first they had seemed?
Shortly, outside Nanjangud, they once more overtook the car. It was parked by the side of the road, at a stall selling bottled drinks. The driver was negotiating with the stallholder. A police car had also pulled up. Two policemen were sitting on the bonnet with bottles of cola in their hands.
“Stop!” Hannah called out and in desperation turned to one of their Indian traveling companions. “Please tell the driver to stop. I’ve got to get that man arrested.”
The Indian shrugged his shoulders in a gesture that meant, Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about, as the truck roared on.
“Are you mad?” Willi said. “What on earth would you have done if he had stopped?”
“Jetzt fängt die wieder an!”
“Willi, didn’t you see the police car? The police are everywhere at the moment.”
“Get real, Hannah. They aren’t going to pick the guy up on your say-so. We found that out last night. Not with this strike going on. I vote we steer clear until your guardian angel catches up with us.”
Hannah glared at her. “You think I can’t manage that worm on my own? I could squash him with my little finger.”
“Well, all I can say is I’m glad you weren’t given the chance to try.”
“Don’t think we’ve got much choice in the matter at the moment.” Hannah reflected that Willi’s brush with the monkey, coupled with Salers’ threatening note, had toppled her bravado.
They crossed the bridge in Nanjangud. At this time of year, the Kapila river was depleted, but the length of the bridge and the expanse of dried out riverbed spoke of a raging, swollen torrent in the time of the monsoon.
At the far side, near a huddle of small dwellings, they drew to a halt. The road in front was completely blocked by an overturned truck, its load of cereal scattered across the highway. The truck had been set alight and was blazing fiercely. Flames leapt several meters into the air. The hot blast from the fire hit the faces of the travelers perched on top of the propane gas. An acrid smell of burning rubber seeped into their nostrils and invaded their lungs. From nowhere, a mass of villagers descended on them and surrounded them. They were shouting, simultaneously and hysterically, at the driver. Hannah, Willi, and the boys sat rigidly, unable to understand.
“Are they going to burn our truck, too?” Willi whispered.
“Just stay cool,” Hannah said through clenched teeth.
They started to move again, under instructions from the villagers. Slowly, they pulled off the road onto a sandy, unmade track to the right. A hundred meters farther
on, the truck was again ordered to halt. More people, mainly men, surrounded it. Frenzied and animated arguments were taking place. The crowd grew thicker. A jeep pulled up. A man in a khaki uniform got out. He surveyed the frightened bunch on top of the truck and pointed at the boy from Norwich.
“You! Speak English?” The English boy had lost his voice and shook his head in terror.
“You English?” The uniformed man was pointing to Hannah.
She nodded.
“Come down here, please!”
“Don’t go, Hannah!” Willi hissed. “Make one of them do it.” She gestured at the boys, who sat like statues, staring resolutely down at their knees.
“Don’t be silly. I’ve got to.” Hannah jumped down from the truck, slipped as she landed, and sat down on her bottom. The crowd roared. Hannah cursed. Not the way she would have chosen to defuse the tension.
The uniformed man took her gently by the arm, as the crowd closed in. More curious than threatening, Hannah surmised.
“Are you all right? I hope you are not hurt,” the man said.
“I’m all right.”
“I am Law Enforcement Officer,” the man explained. “Please tell your friends that is not possible to get through to Mysore. There are fourteen burning trucks other side of village. Rioting is widespread.”
“And is this truck also in danger?”
“Not from rioters. They are attacking trucks with Tamil Nadu plates only. This one is having Karnataka plates. But there is great danger from heat of burning vehicles. This truck is carrying propane gas.”
“I know that. What shall we do?”
“You must get off road. Even if you were able to get past rioters, it would be too dangerous. You do not speak local language, and your motives might be misconstrued. Situation is highly volatile. There is old, deserted house some way back. You must wait there until road is clear and it is safe for truck to pass.”
“How long?”
The officer shrugged. “Maybe hours. Maybe days. Who can say?”