Shadow of the giant

choosing.
    Three visitors came to her in one week of her vigil.
     
     
    The first was Tikal Chapekar. Emperor Han had freed him,
along with many other Indian captives. If he had expected some kind of ceremony
when he returned to India, he was disappointed.
    He assumed at first that the silence from the media was
because the Muslim conquerors would not allow any mention of the return of the
imprisoned Prime Minister to India.
    So he went to Hyderabad to complain to the Caliph himself,
who now ruled over his vast Muslim empire from within the walls of the military
compound there. He was allowed to enter the compound, though while he waited in
line at the checkpoint, he was curious about the hut a few dozen meters away,
where a great many more Indians waited in line than waited to see the rulers of
the nation.
    "What is that hut?" he asked. "Do ordinary
citizens have to go there first before coming to this gate?"
    The gate guards laughed at his question. "You're an
Indian, and you don't know that's where Virlomi lives?"
    "Who is Virlomi?"
    Now the guards grew suspicious. "No Hindu would say
that. Who are you?"
    He explained that he had been in captivity until just a few
days ago, and was not aware of the news.
    "News?" said one guard. "Virlomi isn't on the
news. She makes her own news."
    "Wish they'd just let us shoot her," muttered
another.
    "And then who would protect you as they tore us all
limb from limb?" said another, quite cheerfully.
    "So ... who is she?" asked Chapekar.
    "The soul of India is a woman," said the one who
had wanted to shoot her. He said "woman" with all the contempt he
could put into a single word. Then he spat.
    "What office does she hold?" asked Chapekar.
    "Hindus don't hold offices anymore," said another
guard. "Not even you, former Prime Minister."
    Chapekar felt a wave of relief. Someone had recognized his
name.
    "Because you forbid the Indian people to elect their
own government?"
    "We allow it," said the guard. "The Caliph
declared an election but nobody came."
    "No one voted?"
    "No one ran for office."
    Chapekar laughed. "India has been a democracy for
hundreds of years. People run for office. People vote."
    "Not when Virlomi asks them not to serve in any office
until the Muslim overlords leave India."
    Now Chapekar understood everything. She was a charismatic,
like Gandhi, centuries ago. Rather a sad one, since she was imitating a
primitive Indian lifestyle that hadn't been the rule through most of India in
many lifetimes. Still, there was magic in the old icons, and with so many
disasters befalling India, the people would look for someone to capture their
imagination.
    Gandhi never became ruler of India, however. That job was
for more practical people. If he could just get the word out that he was back.
Surely the Caliph would want a legitimate Indian government restored to help
keep order.
    After a suitable wait, he was ushered into a building. After
another wait, he was brought to the anteroom of the Caliph's office. And
finally he was brought into the Presence.
    Except that the person he met with was not the Caliph at
all, but his old adversary, Ghaffar Wahabi, who had been prime minister of
Pakistan.
    "I thought to see the Caliph," said Chapekar,
"but I'm glad to see you first, my old friend."
    Wahabi smiled and nodded, but he did not rise and when
Chapekar made as if to approach him, hands restrained him. Still, they did not
stop him from sitting in an armless chair, which was good, because Chapekar
tired easily these days.
    "I am glad to sec that the Chinese have come to their
senses and set their prisoners free. This new emperor they have is weak, a mere
boy, but a weak China is better for all of us, don't you think?"
    Chapekar shook his head. "The Chinese people love
him."
    "Islam has ground the face of China into the
dust," said Wahabi.
    "Has Islam ground the face of India into the dust as
well?" asked Chapekar.
    "There were excesses, under the previous military
leadership. But Caliph Alai, may God preserve him, put a stop to that some time
ago. Now the leader of the Indian rebels sits outside our gate, and we are
untroubled, and she and her followers are unmolested."
    "So now Muslim rule is benign," said Chapekar.
"And yet when the Indian Prime Minister returns, there is not a word on
television, not an interview. No car waiting for him. No office."
    Wahabi shook his head. "My old friend," he said.
"Don't you remember? As the Chinese surrounded and swallowed up your
armies,