The dacoits were asked to stay out of the Mewad Mahasabha. What remained to be seen was whether the idealism of the princely state of Ranakpour would hold true in the multiple realities of free India.

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Although he was trained in Sufiana Kalam, Kashimiri classical music, there was nothing classical about Sahil Malik. For one, his instrument of choice was the harmonium rather than the hundred-stringed santoor. Furthermore, and quite contrary to Sufi mysticism, Sahil was a blatant realist who hustled his way to getting whatever he desired. With not an ounce of fat in his body, he stood ramrod straight at all times, resembling a war-ravaged soldier rather than a musician. When his hometown, Bilari, was co-opted into India, he packed his harmonium and a sack full of his belongings to make his way into Pakistan. He would tell Meera, and whoever else ready to lend an ear, about the untold atrocities he witnessed while crossing the border – morbid and outlandish stories about cannibalism and necrophilia; ugly stories that were in stark contrast to his musical surroundings. No one really believed him. Worse, other musicians would tell Meera that Sahil was, in fact, a secret Pakistani agent sent across the border to subvert Indian art and its soul. These rumours would gain ground when he would command his singers and musicians to alter their art – to ‘think outside the box’ and come up with new sounds and hybrid ragas. But whatever it was that he saw in Pakistan, he did not like, for merely months later, he took another treacherous journey to Dhaka. This time, it was to follow a girl he was madly in love with. The girl ditched him when he reached Dhaka. Disillusioned, he crossed the border again and headed to Calcutta.

Whether anyone believed his grotesque border stories or not, one thing was certain – he had a story fit for the big screen; one he had written, inspired by his days of living on the edge of mayhem.