A Page from a Prison Diary

2^nd October 2023

In the next few days, the judgement will be delivered and the police have ample proof against me and my co-conspirators. The lawyer representing us tried hard to convince us to stay quiet and deny all allegations but we refused to take his advice. We knew the consequences before we set out on the mission and we did achieve it! So why not reveal the truth to all…speak nothing but the truth. Do not know if in the next prison I will get any pen and paper to write my story so, in the remaining days here, let me put the pen to the paper and tell everyone that we are not thieves and common criminals… we love our nation and are willing to go to the gallows to face the consequences of what we did for which we have no regrets.

It all began last year when the four of us had gone to UK to celebrate the golden jubilee of our friendship…we had been together for more than a lifetime and would soon be reaching the magical age of sixty when we would be categorised as senior citizens. This holiday was just us… no wives, no kids…just us alone. One night, sitting in a pub in Edinburgh, we had had a drink too many and were enjoying the local food like haggis-neeps-tatties, fish-n-chips, black pudding, white pudding and so much more. Before I go on with the story, I must tell you a little about haggis but mind it, this food is not for the weak hearted. Haggis is a Scottish delicacy made of sheep’s heart, lung and liver, minced with onion, oatmeal, salt and spices and cooked encased in the animal’s stomach. The Scots are fun guys and Robert Burns has even written a poem in praise of Haggis. We had been to a party just yesterday where the host raised a toast to haggis.

Salim, who was otherwise the quiet one, spoke…Guys, we will soon be retiring from work and who knows how long each of us will survive. One question has been bothering me now that all this while we have lived our lives for our families and friends. When we die, apart from a handful of people, will anyone remember us? We have done precious little in these sixty years other than being selfish about our own needs and ambitions. Should we not do something beyond this… something for which many more will love and remember us?

The others dropped their knives and forks and looked at Salim with amazement…Jeetu started laughing and said… You are completely sloshed and talking bullshit.

No Jeetu, I am dead serious and I have been thinking of options that I could do alone or we could do together.

I now spoke in serious tone…Chal karte hain… let’s do the most difficult of all the possible options you have thought of.

Tony, wiped his mouth with the napkin and nodded his head in agreement…Tell us what we can do for which not just our family will remember us but maybe our whole school… no the whole country and even beyond. Will be nice to see our photos everywhere even without having an Insta account. As Shubhankar said, let us do something really big…bada matlab ekdum bada.

Ok, now that you are with me, I will show you my dairy and possibly the best and the biggest work we can do together but not a word about this should be shared with anybody. You all need to swear by your parents and children that you will not a speak a word about this with anyone, whether we do it or not.

We did not put our hands over a burning candle as they would have done it a hundred years ago but we all made an eye contact with each other and said a ‘Yes’, the sound of which echoed deep inside our souls.

Salim pulled out a small diary which had tags of different shades. He then went on to open it on the page with the red tag and a star painted on it.  He opened the diary completely and flattened it and put it on the table before him for all to read.

Jaws dropped…there was complete silence… we quickly paid for the food and drinks and started walking back to our hotel. It was raining outside and we did not have our umbrellas but no one complained. We just kept walking in brisk pace ignoring the strip bar we had planned to go that night after the dinner. We reached the hotel and went straight to our rooms and within ten minutes the three of us landed at Salim’s door…banging it loudly. He quickly opened the door and we pushed him to the bed and then boxed him a couple of times but never to hurt. He kept laughing while this friendly torture was going on.

Couldn’t you have thought of something simpler? We would have happily contributed money to start a foundation for children’s education or constructed toilets in the villages. Can we not change the plan?

No. Let us do this and each one of us will be immortalised.

Bhai, what inspired you to even think of this dangerous path?

By now all had settled down on the chairs and opened a new bottle of Glenmorangie. Salim sat on the bed and started speaking… Remember when we went to the Edinburgh Castle last evening for the party and we went to see the Scottish Crown Jewels there. Over there with the jewels lay a piece of stone with a metal piece in between holding two blocks. That was the Stone of Destiny, also called the Stone of Scone.

Coronation Chair and Scone beneath: Courtesy Britannica

The Stone of Scone, the ancient Stone upon which Scottish monarchs had been crowned, was taken from Scone near Perth, Scotland, by King Edward 1 of England in 1296 during the Scottish Wars of Independence as a spoil of war, kept in Westminster Abbey in London and fitted into King Edward's Chair. Subsequently the English and then the British monarchs had been crowned sitting upon the chair and the Stone. At the time, the Stone was viewed as a symbol of Scottish nationhood; by moving the Stone to London, Edward I was declaring himself as the King of the Scots too.

Edinburgh Castle

In 1950, Ian Hamilton, a student at the University of Glasgow, along with his friends Gavin Vernon, Stuart and Kay Matheson planned to steal the Stone of Scone from Westminster Abbey in London and return it to Scotland.  In December 1950, on Christmas eve, after one failed attempt a day ago, the friends entered the Abbey and gained entrance into the Poet’s Corner. From there they went to the Chapel containing the tomb of Edward 1 and King Edward's Chair. While removing the Stone from under the Chair, it crashed to the floor and broke into two pieces. The three men, using Hamilton's coat, dragged the larger piece down the high altar steps, then Hamilton took the smaller piece to one of the cars waiting outside. The stone was so heavy, and fearing the alarms that had been raised, Hamilton and his friends hid the large piece of stone in a field and made their way back to Scotland.

On discovering that the Stone was missing, the authorities closed the border between Scotland and England for the first time in four hundred years. A fortnight later, Hamilton and some friends recovered the two pieces and brought them to Glasgow. In April 1951, the police came to know that the Stone was there at the High Altar at Arbroath Abbey. The Stone was returned to Westminster Abbey in February 1952. In 1996, the British Government returned the Scone to Edinburgh to be kept there except when coronations happened in London.

I jumped up and said aloud….Matlab ki them four and now us four….all for one and one for all! This inspiration of yours is fine but what about the part you want us to perform…..how is that linked?

Salim’s eyes sparkled as he spoke softly…Remember in London, we had gone to the Tower of London. There we stood in a serpentine queue to see the Crown Jewels. While everything there was good, the thing that caught all our attention was the shining diamond on the crown last worn by the Queen Mother…the Kohinoor or the Mountain of Light. How many times we kept going up and down wanting to admire the diamond that truly belongs to our country but lies so far away? The English subjugated the Scots and took away their Scone and same was with India and the Kohinoor. It belongs to us Indians.

Picture courtesy National Geographic

There are various controversies regarding the origin but most widely accepted one says that it came originally from the Kollur mine of the Krishna River and was presented to the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in 1656. It was part of the Peacock Throne before being looted by Nadir Shah of Iran when he ransacked Delhi in 1739. After his death it fell into the hands of his general, Ahmed Shah, founder of the Durrani dynasty of Afghans. His descendant, Shah Shuja, then a fugitive in India, was forced to surrender the stone to Maharaja Ranjit Singh. On the annexation of the Punjab in 1849, the Kohinoor was acquired by the British and was placed among the crown jewels of Queen Victoria. The diamond originally weighed 191 carats, but it was re-cut to 106 carats to enhance its fire and brilliance in 1852 by the royal jeweller.

Guys, do you understand how the two stories are similar and yet one has found its way back to its rightful home while the other stays imprisoned here in this land of the colonists.

Tower of London

Dost, your thought is most noble but do you remember how many security people were there guarding the Kohinoor? Plus, the electronic surveillance and other security measures kept for its protection and safety are something that will make us look like complete idiots and it would be nothing short of attempting hara-kiri. London Tower Castle of 2023 is very different from Westminster Abbey of 1950. The two hundred odd residents of the castle are all military men and women, trained to protect everything inside.

The Beefeater: Guardians of the Tower

I take your point Shubhankar. If security has improved and is now much more vigilant, technology and rightful application of mind can be of help to us as well. If we put our hearts and souls into this venture, there is no way we will not succeed. We will have to make some plans, get more help including finance and manpower but no one should know of the real motive.

We were convinced with the Pied Piper’s music and agreed to follow him. For the next three days, we sat in the same room and did not leave the place even for a minute for we were planning the biggest and the most daring heist in history. Later we went back home and started work on our respective areas. Six months later the tabloids and the news channels were on fire…

The Metropolitan Police of London have confirmed that the Kohinoor diamond is missing from the Queen’s crown. As per sources they have solid leads and the culprits will be caught soon.

SS

Scottish Tales

“Half a capital and half a country town, the whole city leads a double existence; it has long trances of the one and flashes of the other; like the king of the Black Isles, it is half alive and half a monumental marble.”-Robert Louis Stevenson- Edinburgh: Picturesque Notes

My first impression of Edinburgh was – Am I turning the pages of a story book? Or am I going through paintings made by children? Everything is so picturesque- beautiful undulating roads, rows of picture perfect houses complete with chimneys and fences, flower pots, gardens, little steps leading on to the front doors, perfectly cobbled sidewalks, ornate street lamps, and even rainbows in the sky. As my eyes scan the cityscape, they rest on a perfect castle, complete and not in ruins, atop an old volcanic hill. Edinburgh Castle dominates the whole city whose main road, running from its base to the Royal Palace of Holyroodhouse, is called the Royal Mile. All other roads, alleys (wynds) or thoroughfares (close), each with its unique name, eventually lead to this one road. What else do you find in every turn and square? A gigantic monument erected in memory of their greatest writer Sir Walter Scott, a stained glass window in the Cathedral of St. Giles dedicated to their national poet Robert Burns, statues in honour of Kings, Queens, poets, men of science, illustrious citizens who left their mark in the annals of history, churches, museums and even a memorial in honour of a loyal, little dog named Bobby who was and is loved by all to this day.

It is a pleasure to walk on the streets of Edinburgh- no dirt, no crowd, no grime, no pollution, no jostling, no rubbing of shoulders. In case you feel you do not wish to walk anymore, there are small bus-stops with bus numbers, routes, timings all clearly enumerated, where colourful double-decker buses come and stop every few minutes and a tap of your travel card on boarding will take you to your destination. Smart, sleek trams, too, are there. And if you want to go a little away from the city, you can always take a bus or train. The Edinburgh Bus Station at St Andrew’s Square and the Waverley Railway Station are complete with their elevators, escalators, waiting halls, ticket counters, ticket vending machines, gates and lounges and in no way less than any good airport. Unless, of course, you choose to drive your way through the Scottish Highlands right up to the Isle of Skye which is, undoubtedly, the best option.

Pubs and cafes adorn every nook and corner. As you stroll down the Grassmarket and Lawnmarket you come across interesting names of pubs like The World’s End, The Last Drop, Beehive Inn, The White Hart, Auld Hundred and some story to narrate about their original owners or their famous patrons. The pubs and taverns are where they gather to enjoy their drinks, talk, laugh or watch the day’s match together.

Colourful shops, selling Harry Potter and Game of Thrones merchandise, adorn Victoria Street and as you go uphill, turn around and see the curve of the road you realize where the inspiration of Diagon Alley came from. The Elephant House Café, re-christened ‘the birthplace of Harry Potter’, still stands though shut for the time being due to a recent fire. Where else did Rowling seek inspiration? No better place than the graveyard of Greyfriars Kirk which is dotted with tombstones of Thomas Riddel, Anne Potter and McGonnagal. Do the names ring a bell?

Charlotte Bronte after a visit to Edinburgh, writes in a letter to a friend in 1850 comparing the city with London and even alluding to Scott’s “mine own romantic town”:“My dear Sir, do not think that I blaspheme when I tell you that your great London, as compared to Dun-Edin, ‘mine own romantic town’, is as prose compared to poetry, or as a great rumbling, rambling, heavy Epic compared to a Lyric, brief, bright, clear, and vital as flash of lightning.”

In this fairy tale city, you come across the most interesting story-tellers. They are the smart young tourist guides who walk or drive you around and regale you with history, folklores and anecdotes all peppered with a dash of the brilliant Scottish humour. They truly love their country and can also laugh at themselves! Stories are there all around- you just have to stop, stand, listen or read them. You may find them outside the church walls or even on the walls of the Scottish Parliament or Waverley Station.

For instance, there is Deacon’s Cafe and Deacon’s Tavern on either side of the road at a very important crossing on the Royal Mile. The Cafe sells the most amazing scones to go with their special Brodie’s Cocoa (hot chocolate with a shot of whisky). In the evenings it’s the turn of the Tavern, which is so popular that if you are unable to seat yourself before the clock strikes six, you can come back another day. Now, who was Deacon Brodie? William Brodie was a wealthy cabinet-maker in the late 18^th century, a member of the Town Council, and Head or Deacon of the Incorporation of Wrights and Masons. An upright citizen by day, he had a secret life of his own. At night, his life was more colourful. He was the leader of a gang of burglars and, with his associates, broke the very locks he had fixed on cabinets and doors during the day. However, his last crime was the raid on His Majesty’s excise office and that proved to be his undoing. He was hanged and, despite him bribing the hangman to ignore the steel collar on his neck and removing his body immediately, fate did not support him. His life proved to be a source of inspiration for another famous Scottish writer, R.L.Stevenson and his protagonist with a split personality in The Strange Case of Dr.Jekyll and Mr.Hyde.

Outside the Greyfrairs Kirk is another pub called Greyfriars Bobby. Its walls tell the tale of Bobby, a Skye Terrier, who has statues erected in his memory both inside the church compound on his grave and also on the road opposite the church entrance atop a granite fountain. His master John Gray was a night watchman for the Edinburgh police. They were always together for two years. On his death, John Gray was buried in the Greyfriars KIrkyard. Bobby spent the remaining 14 years of his life sitting on his master’s grave. The people in the church tried to evict him many times but to no avail. At last, they took pity on him and began to give him shelter and food. Bobby never left his master’s grave, not even in the worst of weather conditions. In 1867 the Lord Provost of Edinburgh paid for Bobby’s dog licence, making him the responsibility of the City Council. Bobby died in 1872, aged 16 years. He could not be buried in the cemetery as it was consecrated ground, so he was buried in the church premises, not far from his master’s grave. Just as you enter through the gates of Greyfriars Kirk you find the grave of Bobby surrounded by beautiful flowers with a headstone reading- “Let his loyalty and devotion be a lesson to us all.”

Our guide for the walking tour of Edinburgh Castle was a young Polish-Ukranian girl who came from her homeland as a student at the Edinburgh University but later, like most immigrants living in Scotland, and much to the chagrin of her parents, decided to make it her home and earn her living as a tour guide. With her inimitable ability to tell a tale, she narrated the story of how a group of thirty Scotsmen take it upon themselves to win back the Castle from the English forces in the early 14^th Century. The castle is truly impregnable as it stands on Castle Rock surrounded by the cliff rocks and its own high walls with only one entrance. It has been the scene of countless sieges but only once was it breached. Since 1296 the Anglo-Scottish wars were on. In 1310 Robert the Bruce emerged victorious over the other Scottish clans and decided to regain the castles under the control of the English. Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, and one of Robert’s key lieutenants as well as his nephew, took it upon himself to recapture the Castle from the English garrisons of Edward II. On 14^th March, 1314, on a dark winter’s night, Thomas Randolph with the help of his friend William Francis, the son of a former Governor of the castle who had lived inside the castle and had often gone down a secret path from the castle to meet his girlfriend in the dead of the night, decided to do the impossible. Francis showed the path to Thomas and his group of thirty men. While a part of Randolph’s garrison was used to distract the guards at the main entrance to the castle, Randolph, Francis and his men climbed the rock cliffs and scaled the castle’s walls to enter the castle and take on the English forces in the middle of the night. As our guide narrated a highly embellished story, she added with a wink, that they could have done it as they were Scots, young and   and completely drunk! On winning back the castle, the Scots burnt it down completely so that the English could never recapture it. The original castle, at that time, was made of wood except for the Chapel of St Margaret’s which was built of stone. This chapel still stands and the colour of its stone walls, which withstood the fire, is indeed different from the rest.

No story about Scotland is complete without the mention of the horrific murder of thirty- eight members of the MacDonald clan in Glencoe in the Highlands. The valley or glen gets its name from the river Coe which flows through it. It is known for its unparalleled beauty and its haunting past. Glencoe was the home to the Scottish clan MacDonald. In the Glorious Revolution of 1688 William of Orange (later William III) and Queen Mary II had taken the crown from James VII of Scotland and II of England. A counter revolution had taken place in Scotland by the Royalist supporters of James, the exiled King, which came to be known as the Jacobite uprisings. There was a long standing feud between the clans MacDonalds of Glencoe and the Campbells of Argyll and in the Scottish Wars of the Covenant the two clans found themselves on opposite sides. The MacDonalds were Royalists while the Campbells were on the side of the ruling government. In 1692, in the aftermath of the Jacobite uprisings, garrisons had been stationed in the Highlands to prevent further uprisings by the Highlanders. All the clans of the Scottish Highlands had been given a deadline, 1^st of January 1692, to sign the Oath of Allegiance to William and Mary. The chief of Clan MacDonald, Alastair MacIain, also went to Inverlochy (renamed Fort William) to sign it but as there was no Magistrate there, he had to then go to Inveraray (near Oban) to do it, thereby missing the deadline by a few days. He returned home thinking his clan was safe but he was wrong. Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyons was in charge of the regiment that took the hospitality of the MacDonalds. For a fortnight the MacDonalds gave the troops bed and board. On receiving orders from the higher authorities, the soldiers attacked their hosts in the wee hours of the morning of 13^th February 1692 when they were still in bed. They killed thirty- eight members of the MacDonald clan including their chief. After the massacre, many of them tried to escape and later died on exposure to the elements. Till date the massacre of Glencoe is one of the most horrific and heartbreaking events in the history of Scotland. Though the myth of the clan feud between the Campbells and the MacDonalds is perpetrated through songs and poems, the orders for the massacre had come from the higher-ups in the government and had the approval of King William III himself.

Hospitality was the cornerstone of the Highlanders’ way of life and it was therefore a ‘murder under trust’. No matter which time of the day you reach Glencoe, the strong, icy winds that chill you to the spine, and the waterfalls which stream down the mountain slopes like the tears of Glencoe are a constant reminder to a story of betrayal and murder. The chorus of the old song will reverberate through the stark desolation as the three peaks -Faith, Hope and Charity- will stand witness to this gruesome murder through eternity:

Oh, cruel is the snow that sweeps Glencoe
And covers the grave o’ Donald;
And cruel was the foe the raped Glencoe
And murdered the house o’ MacDonald.

DS 

The English Umbrella

Two tourists in their late fifties were walking towards the British Museum when they saw before them a huge building with ‘Umbrellas’ written vertically in bold, in red. The lady got very excited and said that the Mummies of Egypt, the Amravati Stupa and the Roman Emperor Septimius Severus can all wait for she must visit this shop before all.

The man just could not fathom the priorities when it came to women but did not have the heart to deny the woman a chance to visit what looked like the most imposing shop for sticks and umbrellas that you will ever find anywhere on the face of the earth. Incidentally, the shop also looked like a piece of history with its structure, the inside layout and the people working there… all looked from the times of Charles Dickens and the like.

James Smith and Sons (Umbrellas) was founded in 1830 by, as the name suggests, Mr. James Smith off the Reagent Street. The umbrellas were made in a workshop at the back of the shop and then sold to customers in the front. In 1851, Samuel Fox invented the lightweight steel frame which James Smith II used for his umbrellas whose popularity grew far and wide. The shop at New Oxford Street is a perfect example of a Victorian shop and is a landmark of Central London and referred to as ‘The Umbrella Shop’ by the black cab drivers and locals.

Sticks by James Smith

The lady, despite having already walked over fifteen thousand steps since morning, found a new spring in her gait as she moved inside the shop with the obedient hubby in tow. She went first to the section where the big umbrellas were kept and soon realised how expensive the same were. The man walked towards the section where the walking sticks were kept. These were sticks  had intricate craftsmanship done on the top which ranged from simple rounded heads to the heads of Mozart and Sherlock Holmes. Then there were the prized ones with metals and silverware both at the head and the bottom, each was a piece of art. The man was reminded of his friend from college days in India who is now a senior official in the government police force. At work he used sticks to good use against those on the wrong side of the law but in his leisure hours he would carve out decorative heads on walking sticks, many of which adorned his living room.

Sticks by Sanjay Prakash

By now the lady had moved into the area which had the smaller folding umbrellas. For once the man moved towards her and took the courage to ask…Why do we need another umbrella? We have enough at home.

She turned around and calmly said for once…The ones that are big are also old. The smaller ones are all ladies’ umbrellas with flowery motifs. I want to buy an umbrella for you, one that you can keep in your office bag. This is the best place for umbrellas and I want to select one for you. Last time when you came to London in 2005, you had got me an umbrella which still works perfectly and turns peoples’ heads whenever I take it out. So, don’t say no, please.

The man looked back in time when he had last visited London almost two decades ago and he had bought an umbrella which was very unique in many ways. The cover on top was made of tough transparent material and when the umbrella opened, it took a perfect U-shape under which only one person could stand. There was no possibility of asking anyone else to share it with you. The brown frame, handle and black-brown-mustard lines went all around it. It was a special and, possibly, an expensive gift he had bought then for his wife. And today, she wanted to reciprocate so all he could do was smile and join her in the search in a room full of umbrellas of different sizes, shapes, colours and designs.

The couple were aided by an old English gentleman who would tell them about each of the umbrellas they picked and opened. The moment the visitors opened the next umbrella, the Pucca Englishman would immediately fold the earlier ones with every crease neatly in place and put them back on the shelf not waiting for the sale to conclude. This put pressure on the two buyers who now started admiring and shortlisting the umbrellas without opening all of them.

The lady must have seen over fifty different umbrellas and opened about twenty of them but still could not decide which one to buy. The man was not being helpful at all in the selection process and was finding one excuse after another just to deter the lady from buying one. But then he knew her for over three decades and had to, at all times, concede that man is smart but the woman is smarter and much more determined than all his excuses. She finally zeroed in on two smart looking umbrellas with plaid prints that a man could carry with pride. While the man was doing the final eeni meeni minie mo…the English salesman in full tie and suit handed them an umbrella… You should consider buying this one here. This one is far better than the ones you have shortlisted. This has ten spokes in the frame instead of the usual eight and has a nice curved wooden handle.

The man thought, this was most reminiscent of Ollivander helping young Harry Potter find his perfect wand. The tourists, like Harry, took the umbrella in their hands, opened it up and, truly, it was a better choice than what they had selected. Once again, the words of Ollivander rung in in the man’s ears, loud and clear, “Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember…”

Even though the piece was exceeding their budget but then in matters of heart a ten pound here and there never did matter. The decision was made and the sale done. Before leaving the store the gentleman salesman in the store asked if they would like him to put the prized buy in a carry bag and then went on to bring out a slim, yellow plastic bag with little tiny brown umbrellas printed all over. The moment the two oldies saw the packet, the lady shouted in exuberance … This was the same packet in which you had brought the umbrella for me. I had kept the umbrella in the same plastic packet for many years and it was only recently that I threw it away as it had started to tear.

Yes…yes… you are right. Does this mean, I had also bought your umbrella from this very store?

Surely Sir, you would have bought the umbrella from this shop only for we have no branches anywhere. This packet of ours has remained unchanged in style and look for over fifty years now.

What a coincidence for who knew history would repeat itself in life as well!

When I was buying this umbrella for you, I was unaware that Mumbai was facing the biggest deluge in its history on 26^th day of July, 2005 and you were stuck in the fury the whole night. Thank you for buying this one for me today and when it rains next at Mumbai, we shall both walk down the streets flaunting our umbrellas from James Smith & Sons singing like Raj Kapoor and Nargis…pyaar hua, ikraar hua…

The Rosetta Stone at the British Museum

The Rosetta Stone is the Egyptian stone bearing inscriptions in three languages and scripts- hieroglyphs, Demotic and Greek- whose decipherment led to the understanding of the hieroglyphic writing. The yellow umbrella packet with its umbrella motifs turned out to be like the Rosetta Stone for the tourists as they now walked hand-in-hand into the famed British Museum to see the original stone and the other priceless treasures on display.

SS