By the time their late-night show ends, it is midnight. It has been a tense two and a half hours watching two men engaged in a fight to the finish. A quiet, cultured, utterly bewildered, world-renowned music conductor on one side and on the other an American army major appointed to grill Germans suspected of having supported the Nazis. The major is rude, aggressive, and sees the world in black and white. He has only two questions for the man of music. If you were opposed to Hitler as you claim, why did you not leave the country as other artists did? And if you stayed back, why did you not do anything against the gassing of thousands of Jews?

Sharada is shaken. It is an enormous and ancient question that the artist has had to face time and again. How is an answer to be found within the framework of the major’s two-plus-two-makes-four scheme of things? How can you even begin to talk to a man who holds music and musicians in total contempt? How can the conductor answer the question why he conducted a concert held to celebrate Hitler’s birthday? The conductor says Hitler was all-powerful. He invited him. He had to go. But he didn’t bow to him. That was the only sign of opposition in his power to show. Was such a subtle sign of opposition visible under a flag bloody with genocide? The major hates music but he is a good man. Hitler loved music, had an excellent understanding of it, but he was a monster. How is this to be comprehended? Hitler planned to annihilate an entire race of people while listening to music. How can one believe then that music has the power to elevate one to a spiritual level? Forget spirituality. To the level of humanity? If as a singer I can’t do even that, then why do I sing? For my pleasure alone?

Sharada’s mind is in turmoil and Shekhar is livid with the American major. That afternoon his boss had snapped his fingers and told him, ‘You have to change, my man. The world is changing. Take this as a challenge, Shekhar, and let’s see results today, not tomorrow.’ When he left for America, he thumped Shekhar’s back in a friendly man-toman gesture.

‘America needs somebody else to rule over them for a while,’ Shekhar says coldly. ‘We’ll see how they respond to a cultural takeover. Let’s hear them snap their fingers then.’

Sharada looks at him with a grin. Snapping her fingers, she says, ‘Get up, Shekhar. No sitting around on your arse, man. Working day tomorrow.’

Shekhar laughs. Pulling Sharada to him, he says, ‘Let me finish some pending work here.’

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