“Are you talking about POJK?” asked Raghavan, “and the JAAC’s 38-point list of demands?”
A neighbour — I’m not going to offer any information that might enable him to find himself here — arrived at home in a celebratory mood one afternoon in July. “You seem to be having a good day,” I said.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “This is a happy day for all of us.”
I looked out of the window. It was sunny: we were preparing for drought. “Why?” I asked.
“Because Pakistan is breaking up!” he announced. “They will undergo what they wanted us to!”
Whatever trouble there is in Pakistan has a habit of spilling over into India. I kept quiet, thinking perhaps that this neighbour knew something I didn’t. I settled him down and brought him a drink. Prita refused to join us. “The man’s nuts,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to him.”
So I was shrinking at the thought of spending a drink with this man when I was saved by the bell: the doorbell. On the doorstep stood Murthy and Raghavan and a bottle of Scotch, and they couldn’t have come at a better time!
Prita emerged from her shell. “I want to see Murthy and Raghavan take this guy apart,” she whispered.
Soon we were all seated, with finger food and drink, and after the introductions I told Murthy and Raghavan that the neighbour was here to celebrate the breakup of Pakistan.
“They might be breaking up,” said Murthy, “but why are you celebrating?”
“Because Akhand Bharat is coming,” said the neighbour — let’s call him BB, the initials of my nickname for the man — “and we will see the return of our old glory.”
“Are you talking about POJK?” asked Raghavan, “and the JAAC’s 38-point list of demands?”
“Yes, yes,” said BB. “But there are other things. There is unrest in Balochistan, and in Khyber Paktunkhwa. These two will separate, and then even Sindh will go, and only Pakistani Punjab will be left of the old Pakistan!”
From the way he was dropping the names of parts of Pakistan he seemed to know what he was talking about. “How do you think that’s going to happen?” asked Murthy.
“I don’t know,” said BB, “but the stars say it will happen, and I believe them!”
“What stars?” asked Raghavan.
BB pointed at the sky. “All the ones that matter,” he said. “Jupiter and Saturn and Rahu and Ketu… We have the star positions of the Mahabharat repeating themselves. So there will be war soon, and we will win, and Akhand Bharat will once again be a dharmic nation!”
“Do you know how many people died during and just after the Mahabharata war?” asked Raghavan.
“A lot,” said BB, “but I don’t know exactly. It’s not mentioned.”
“It is,” said Raghavan. “Only 12 major figures survived the war, and, if we go by the text itself, nearly four million soldiers were killed, including the ones massacred the night after.”
“It was all for dharma,” replied BB. “It was worthwhile. After all, it cleansed the earth.”
Murthy sat up. “You said that the stars tell of another war,” he said. “Do you mean to say we’re going to see lots of people dying in the near future? Millions?”
“In the next six or seven years,” said BB. “There will be World War, not just European war like in the past! China will break up. They are hiding their problems from the rest of the world but the problems will only grow. Pakistan will break up. The Bangladeshis will be in big trouble because they irritate India!”
“So how do you think Akhand Bharat will form again?” asked Murthy.
“All those people who seceded will ask to come back again!” said BB. “The war will weaken them and they will do a ghar wapasi! They will want to be part of Bharat!”
“Do you know what happened in Kashmir after the Soviets left Afghanistan?” asked Raghavan.
“Yes,” replied BB. “The troubles in Kashmir started then.”
“Most of the people who caused the troubles in Kashmir were from POJK,” said Raghavan.
“So what?” asked BB.
“Those people are still there,” said Raghavan. “If we allow them to rejoin India, all those people, and the weapons they’ve stockpiled, will be part of India. It’s going to be like hugging a nest of wasps! Is that what you want?”
“I’m sure we’ll find a way to deal with all that,” said BB. “We dealt with Kashmir, didn’t we?”
“Right” said Murthy. “Have you heard of a place called Mirpur?”
“Of course!” said BB. “It’s only about a hundred kilometres from Islamabad, in the southern part of POJK.”
“Yes,” said Murthy, “and do you know its commonest nickname?”
“No,” replied BB.
“They call it ‘Little England’,” said Murthy. “And do you know why?”
“No,” replied BB, smiling. He didn’t know Murthy. We did, so we, too, were smiling.
“Because lots of Mirpuris settled in Britain, mostly doing simple jobs, like driving cabs,” said Murthy.
“Honest workers!” said BB, “Like all Indians.”
“Have you heard of the Rotherham grooming scandal?” asked Murthy.
“Of course!” said BB. “It demonstrates the bias of the West! The police didn’t investigate the crime because they were afraid of being called Islamophobic!”
“Well,” said Murthy, “All those cabbies in the Rotherham and related scandals are Mirpuris. So, we’ll have to call them ‘Indian grooming gangs’, not ‘Pakistani grooming gangs’.”
BB put his unfinished drink on the table with a bang and rose to go. “I don’t have to listen to your nonsense!” he said as he left.
Murthy took a long slow draught of his Scotch. “And we don’t have to listen to yours!” he said softly, but his prey had already departed.
