‘We are known as the Inseparable Three Js.’
‘Hello, Raavi.’ The Two Js knew my name, not surprisingly. Then Jane flung herself at me, and her friends twittered away to leave us alone together.
‘You gave me the shock of my life,’ she said. ‘I thought I was seeing things. You took the night train to tell me you worship me?’
‘Yep. And more. In India a real worshipper climbs snowy peaks in the far-off Himalayas and travels through tigerinfested jungles to worship his goddess.’
‘But is there anything wrong? We are getting married tomorrow, aren’t we? Have you made the arrangements with the temple?’
‘Baby, we have some talking to do before this train leaves for London. You have to make an important decision.’
‘I already have. Even wrote to Mum about it.’
We had half an hour before the train left Dover for London. There was a tea stall on the London platform. We bought two teas and sat on a bench.
‘Do you still want to marry me?’ I asked her.
‘Of course, baby. What a question?’
‘How would you like to get married in India?’
‘You are kidding. You mean marry you in India? But how?’
‘It’s the end of your last college term. Fancy a few weeks there?’
‘You are joking.’
‘I am not.’
‘You are out of your mind.’
‘I am not.’
‘Are you serious? Go to India when?’
‘Later today.’ I pulled out two Air India tickets from my inner pocket and placed them in her hand. ‘Will you come?’
She thought for a long moment. My heart stopped beating. Then she leaned over and sucked my lips.
‘Yes. Of course. I said I would any day.’
‘Honest Injun?
‘Honest Injun. What a lovely idea! But I haven’t got any clothes to take. What would your mum and dad say if they were to see me in what I am wearing now?’
‘There isn’t much time, and we have many things to do. You have to write a letter to your mum and ask your friends to give it to her at Victoria.’
‘What shall I write?’
‘That I was here to meet you, that you are going back to France with me, that we are flying off to Delhi tonight from Paris Orly and that you will write to her from India after we’ve got married.’
‘But why lie? The tickets say Heathrow.’
‘You don’t want your Dad to turn up at Heathrow to blow my arse off, do you?’
Jane quickly wrote the letter. Then we searched the train for Jill and Janet. I stood back while Jane talked to her shocked friends. Minutes later they were gone, the two Js with Jane’s letter. An hour later, we were on the next London train. Bish, Tariq and Walia were waiting at Victoria with my suitcase.
Time was running out, but we had a plan. We dashed to the Indian High Commission’s Visa Section in South Audley Street near the American Chancery. Bish had a friend working there. Within half an hour, Jane had a visa. Then it was Heathrow at breakneck speed, a feeling of foreboding rising in me. Something told me that somehow Jane’s father would be there, not with Dalton and Co, but with the police – I was abducting his daughter. My gamble was about to fail.
Our Terminal was awash with quaint police hats. Every male of about fifty had the face of the man I so dreaded. At the Departures Gate, grateful me hugged my friends in farewell. When they had left, a hand tapped me on my shoulder.
OH, NO! I was done for. Finished.
‘Raavi!’ said an airport official in uniform.
‘Mr Sethu!’
‘Well, well, well. So you are going to India but not with Miss Swami?’ Mr Sethu said in Hindi.
‘As you can see, I am not.’
‘Best thing you are doing, Raavi. Sly Gokul had chosen you at first sight without telling you. Best thing you are doing.’
‘How, Mr Sethu?’
‘We all knew that you did not know.’
‘You all knew what, Mr Sethu?’
‘About Gokul’s plans and particularly about his daughter.’
‘What about her?’
‘Oh, never mind. Goodbye and good luck to you both.’
I embraced the man in gratitude. ‘Phew!’ I breathed inside the inner sanctum – no one could touch us now.
‘What did the man say, Raavi?’
‘He said what a lucky fellow I was, and that you are going to be such a hit in India.’
‘He better be right.’
‘Now let’s buy you some clothes from Duty Free, Baby.’ I had taken out all my savings and I wanted to buy some presents to take home to Simla. There was plenty of time.
‘Raavi, I have never been on an aeroplane before,’ Jane said when our flight was announced. She was as excited as she had been on the night when I first worshipped her. Seeing a euphoric look on my face she smiled and asked, ‘What are you thinking?’
‘About your parents.’
‘I have made my choice. I am English. And so are my parents. They have to respect it.’
At last, we were inside the plane, a Boeing 707. I handed her a little bijou packet from the pawnshop in Finchley Road. Jane started crying as she put on her Gran’s ear rings.
‘You!’ We tucked our things in the closet above our heads.
‘Baby,’ we said in one voice as we sat down. ‘Bite my hand.’
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Balraj Khanna was born in the Punjab, India, and came to London in the Swinging Sixties to study English. Instead, he took to art – eventually becoming ‘one of the most distinguished painters working in England’ (Bryan Robertson). His enduring love of literature culminated in three works of fiction, of which award-winning Nation of Fools was adjudged ‘one of the 200 best novels in English since 1950’. He has also written extensively about Indian art.
Balraj Khanna still lives in London, next door to Lords Cricket Ground – which he describes as ‘his spiritual home.’
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Fiction
The Mists of Simla
Nation of Fools
Sweet Chillies
Non-fiction
Kalighat Paintings 1820–1920
The Art of Modern India
Krishna the Divine Lover
Human and Divine
Children
Rajah King of the Jungle
COPYRIGHT
First published as an e-book in 2014
by HopeRoad Publishing
P O Box 55544
Exhibition Road
London SW7 2DB
www.hoperoadpublishing.com
http://twitter.com/hoperoadpublish
http://hoperoadpublishing.wordpress.com
All rights reserved
© Balraj Khanna 2014
The right of Balraj Khanna to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 This e-book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978-1-908446-24-4
Indian Magic Page 24