Excerpts from the Books:
The Incredibly Real Adventures of Shankar Singh
I jumped out of my seat and stumbled towards Erika’s assassin,
but I was blocked and held by a handful of guards who’d been
sitting among the spectators. To my horror, no one laid a hand
on the murderer.
How I managed to break loose from the guards I couldn’t say, but
I headed for Erika’s severed head and picked it up. As night
follows the day, I saw her eyelids blink as her tongue, teeth,
and lips slowly formed the words, “I love you.” Brief seconds
later, her eyes closed. My mind went blank for what could have
been minutes, at the end of which I saw Angphang’s upper body
swaying. Then he lost his balance and had to be supported by his
son.
“You masquerade as a warrior!” Angphang shouted, steadying
himself. “You have killed, far away from the battlefield, an
innocent, unarmed woman with child, one whom I had spared.”
The delicate, sweet smell of lavender, burning incense, and
myrrh floated in the air. It convinced me that Erika’s untimely
death was real and that it was all over for her—and our baby. I
uttered a high-pitched scream like an animal in distress, a
cathartic cry that took me back millions of years to Africa, to
the early evolution of primitive man.
----------------------
A Dip at the Sangam
Things had just quietened down when the storm broke out again.
It slammed the deck with curtains of rain that washed over the
boat. Sailors rushed with tarpaulins to seal the hatch. Just as
suddenly, the rain let up, and a blast from the ship’s horn came
through as the hatch was swung open once again. The voice of the
captain followed: “Departure of the SS Arcot from Calcutta to
British Guiana on this the first day of March, 1869. Three
hundred and thirty-eight coolies on board.
Raja clenched his jaws and ground his teeth. Ha! So Demerara is
British Guiana.
In his mind’s eye, he pictured the Calcutta shoreline
disappearing from view, perhaps taking with it all hope that he
would ever see his wife, parents, and little brother again.
...Here he was, bound for a foreign land, all because he’d gone
to purchase egg plums for his little brother.
...A red and white lighthouse came into view. Seagulls screamed,
and bluish-black cormorants dived into the shallow, silty water.
Th ey surfaced with fish held fast in their yellow beaks. Raja
recalled that Sen had pointed out close relatives of those birds
that had dotted the Calcutta shore. Violet balloon-like floats,
like early tulip blossoms, danced on the waves. They must be the
Portuguese man-of-wars Sen had warned him about.
A sharp blast from the ship’s horn flushed a large flock of
scarlet ibises. Even the captain took time to watch them in
their brilliant hue as they rose from the seashore in unison and
flew off to alight on clumps of black mangrove trees.
Still in his element at the bow, with his long telescope of
polished wood and brass, the captain moved his arms around as
though he were doing his morning exercises.
“A quarter-mile from the river mouth is as close as we can get,”
he shouted. “We’ll drop anchor here a safe distance from those
two cargo ships.
The long-awaited announcement through the megaphone
followed:
“Arrival of the SS Arcot in Georgetown, British Guiana, this
twentieth
day of June, 1869.”
That day would be etched forever in Raja’s memory.
------------------------
Road to Belwasa
As the summer vacation drew to a close, out of desperation, I
decided to try my luck on the tobacco farms in the
Tillsonburg/Delhi (Ontario. Canada) area, thumbing rides around
the rural roads. Four young men from Quebec picked me up. They
were in their late twenties, unshaven with disheveled hair,
their stained shirts untucked, save for one who, throughout the
ride, never said a word, and seemed to have taken better care of
himself.
“Smell these,” one of them said, pushing his dirty socks into my
face, “they haven’t been washed for three weeks!” Fearing for my
life, I asked to be let off at the town of Delhi. “Turn over all
your money!” another with tobacco-stained teeth growled. His
breath almost made me throw up in his face. I looked into his
eyes to see if he meant what he’d said. He did, and in the end,
I reached for my wallet, allowing the vehicle time to come to a
stop. Although, I was 100 percent sure I could have made a dash
for it into a store, like stealing one of those thirty-nine
consecutive single runs as I’d done before in cricket, I played
it safe. Money I can part with, and so I emptied my wallet, no
more than ten dollars, except for a small coin.
“Please, sir, can I keep this dime for a sandwich?” I asked with
the voice of poor Oliver Twist when he’d begged for more soup
for himself and the other starving orphans.
“Non!” he grunted. And the others didn’t even offer an
objection, save for the quiet one who gave a slight shake of the
head. They were prepared to go after a sitting duck and follow
the precept of each man for himself. That’s what hunger does to
people and I forgave them for they looked like they could do
with a meal.