Shikasta (53 page)

No one disagreed.

And in that case, she shouted, the meal would be served at
nine, for this one evening, and not at twelve, as it would on future nights. She then outlined the plan for sessions, asked for tolerance, since food had not been obtained easily and would be limited, asked for everyone to be vigilant against looters, and to treat the local people with respect, and emphasized that they would have to ‘call on reserves of good will and comradely understanding during the coming month which would tax their endurance and patience to the limit'.

That this girl was an ordinary delegate, not one of the ‘stars', and that most people did not know who she was, made a good impression.

The tiers emptied fast, as the delegates found their way in a half-dark. The camp was minimally lit, with hurricane lamps in the mess tents and at their entrances, and outside the latrines, which were tents over pits.

Somehow these people got themselves fed in the crammed mess tents.

That was the first day of the ‘Trial'. I consider it a marvel of crowd handling.

After that first evening meal, most people slept, exhausted. Many slept where they were in the mess tents, while the servers stepped over them with their trays. Some slept anyhow outside their tents – inside was too hot. It was a scene of apparent disorder. But even so, the whites removed themselves to their self-created ghetto, and posted guards.

Next morning, at four, when the two contending groups stood in the arena under the newly lit torches with their yawning attendant children, the tiers were half-filled, and during that session remained half-full, for many of the delegates were too tired to rouse themselves.

So that dramatic early morning session was at half pressure, and when at eight o'clock the laggards staggered up to meet those who had been for four hours on the stone seats, with the dawn coming up red, dusty, and very warm, again to repair to the mess tents for their bread and fruit, it was to hear at secondhand a report of the proceedings. There had been two ‘witnesses', both much looked forward to, and of prime emotional importance. First, the representative of the Indian
tribes of North America, and then the witness from India.

A young man from the Hopi tribe of the Southwest of the United States stood alone in the centre of the arena calling up into the half-empty tiers, turning around slowly so that all could hear and see, holding out his palms in front of him as if ‘he was offering himself and his case to us in his outstretched hands, poor fellow.' (Benjamin Sherban). When he started it was full night with thick stars. They dimmed as he, went on.

Europe had been crammed with miserable starving people because of the greed of its ruling classes. When these downtrodden ones protested, they were persecuted, hanged for stealing even an egg or a piece of bread, flogged, thrown into prison … they were encouraged to leave and go to North America, where they systematically stole everything from the Indian tribes who lived there in harmony with the earth and with nature. There was no trick, or cruelty or brutality these white thieves did not practise. When they had filled the land from coast to coast, and killed off the animals and destroyed trees and the soil, they confined the Indians in prison areas and mistreated them. These people, whose very existence in this great land of the Indians was because of the greed and cruelty of their own kind, now forgot their recent history and became the same themselves. Very soon, the white thieves had divided themselves into rich and poor, and the rich were as cruel and oppressive and uncaring of their fellow humans as any in history. Due to the exploitation of the labour of the poor, the new rulers became very powerful, and exploited not only North America but other parts of the world. They imported slaves from Africa, again in the most cruel and brutal way, to do their work and be their servants. This great country, which once was inhabited by peoples who did not know the words for rich, poor, owning, possessing, who lived their lives through in communion with, and obedience to, the Great Spirit who rules the world (I am of course quoting from the agents' reports), this rich and beautiful country was despoiled, poisoned, made an arsenal of weapons. And from coast to coast, from North to South, every person in it was made to worship not the Great Spirit
who was the soul of every person of mankind, but the accumulation of wealth. Money. Goods. Objects. Eating. Power. The poorest of the whites was rich compared with the subject Indians. The most deprived and exploited of the poor were privileged in law compared with the people whose real home this was. This United States – a term which he used with contempt, spitting it out – was a place of shame, wickedness, corruption, evil. And all these crimes had been committed in the name of ‘progress' – spitting it out. All, in a spirit of self-congratulation and self-approval.

And then, the summing up, the indictment:

‘At the root of this criminal behaviour was contempt, the despising of others not like yourself, an arrogance that prevented you from ever even enquiring into the real nature of the peoples you dispossessed and treated as inferiors, a lack of humility and the curiosity that is based on humility. The indictment against you is arrogance, ignorance, stupidity. And God will punish you. The Great Spirit is punishing you, and soon you will be no more than a memory, and a shameful ugly memory.'

These words were called up, or half shouted, phrase by phrase, very slowly, and the young man had his face to the sky, and his hands always held open and out – by the time he had ended, the sky was paling. The old white man sat there unmoving, and silent.

Complete silence. No one moved.

The torches were smoking and the children, aided by George Sherban, put them out. The cicadas had begun.

Throughout this contribution, a few laggards were making their way down to seat themselves. The great amphitheatre remained half-empty as a young woman from North India, the leader of the Youth Armies, Sharma Patel, George Sherban's reputed mistress, walked forward to the centre.

She is beautiful, and made an impression at once. Agent Tsi Kwang described her as ‘striking, and with many personal advantages'.

‘Europe, mostly Britain, but other countries too, had seen India, as Europe always did, as a place to be conquered,
exploited, used. For two and a half centuries India had been drained of its wealth.' Here followed twenty minutes of statistics. This was not altogether successful: material and delivery appropriate to a seminar were used in this vast setting where it was necessary to strain the ears to hear anything. Before this part of her contribution was done, her audience was restless, if sympathetic. ‘India had been occupied “for her own good”, of course, in the usual hypocritical mode of Europe, by armies and by police, and the continent's inhabitants, with their intricate ancient history, their many complementary religions, their diverse cultures, were treated by the white invaders as inferior. The rule of Britain over India had been accomplished and maintained by arms, and by the whip. The people who did this were the barbarians. They were …' and here came the familiar indictment: ‘They were arrogant. Their exploitation of India was done in the name of progress and of their own superiority. Superior! Those ugly clumsy people with their thick minds and bodies! Yet these superior people were incapable of learning even the languages of the people they subjugated. They were ignorant of our customs, our history, our ways of thought. They were never anything but stupid people, stupid, ignorant, and self-satisfied.'

These two contributions took until eight.

The late sleepers had to hear about the first two ‘indictments' from those returning to look for their breakfast. ‘Well, yes, but we know all that' was the frequent comment. As if they were expecting more, or something different. But what? For this was a consistent emotion from the beginning of the ‘Trial' to its end. It is something I have pondered on, and still find an enigma.

Throughout that day, until five and the evening session, it was hot, uncomfortable, and difficult in the camp. Everyone understood that this indeed was going to be no easy time. There were too many of them. There was not enough water. Already sorties were being made in search of new supplies of food and water. The dust was on everything. This was the time they should be sleeping, but where? And the local
people had already arrived, were arriving more and more, and stood about, watching the thousands of young people who milled around looking for more food, a little shade, places to sleep. What they did, in a resigned enough spirit, was to settle down in groups, perhaps playing instruments and singing, or talking, or discussing conditions in their respective countries. Such meeting times of the youth have always been – I have consistently maintained – not far-off legislative sessions! In effect, at least. And George Sherban and his brother and the other ‘stars' were everywhere, taking part in discussions and music making. The old white was there, too, received well enough by everyone, and indeed often finding himself the centre of interested groups.

The generality of the white delegates – about seven hundred of them, stayed in their enclave of tents that day, and when they emerged for a meal or other purposes, behaved quietly, avoiding eye confrontation, and if challenged, smiled, and were bland and polite. They behaved, in fact, as so many of their subject peoples have always had to do: they were trying to be invisible.

This day, and after that night's session, and next day, the whites were in real danger, but after that, the emotions lost force.

Our agents were assiduous. It is clear that all were misled to some extent by their very proper enthusiasm for justice. They talked of ‘a total victory' over the white races. But what could they mean? They seemed to imagine not only a ‘verdict in their favour', but even summary justice of some kind. But to be carried out how, and on whom? The person of John Brent-Oxford? On their fellow delegates? I can only conclude from these fevered (but of course entirely understandable) reports, that the atmosphere and feelings in the camp must have been running very high, and beyond any reason.

I was struck then, and am struck again, by the difference in tone between the early reports of our agents and the later ones. Because of what can only be judged by us as their wrong assessment of situations, must we now assume that their
assessment of other matters is sometimes faulty?

For the second evening session, guards escorted the whites, in a body, to the amphitheatre. The guards were appointed by the organizers, and included both Snerbane, Sharma Patel, and other ‘stars'. The white delegates sat together, during that session, and were positioned opposite to the place reserved for our people, the Chinese. This gave the impression of a confrontation, for as I said, no other delegates sat according to national or racial origin.

It is clear that the confrontation, whites vs. Chinese (which is how it
looked)
was disapproved of by our delegates, who had felt that an honour (a proper, justified, and appreciated honour offered to our Beneficial Rule) was being denigrated and even mocked, because the hated and despised whites were now being similarly set apart, and immediately opposite themselves. Even if for very different reasons.

Once again there was the opposition between the ‘accusers' led by the – silent – George Sherban, and his group, and the ‘accused', the old white, and his group.

Once again, the late afternoon fading into dusk, the lighting of the torches, the attractive children, the constant coming and going between floor of arena and tiers and between camp and amphitheatre, which was crammed, packed, jammed with people.

All of the second night's session was taken up by representatives from South America, young men and women from the Indian tribes. Thirty of them. Several were wasted with disease. It is hard to imagine how some made the journey at all.

I will not go into detail.

This indictment was even more powerful than that of the Indian from the United States, because the events described were more recent. Some of the victims stood before us …

The incursion of Europe into South America. The conquest of brilliant civilizations through rapacity, greed, guile, trickery. The savagery of Christianity. The subjection of the Indians. The introduction of black people from Africa, the slave trade.

The devastation of the continent, its resources, its beauty, its wealth.

The casual, or deliberate, murder of the Indian tribes for their land, by introduced diseases, by starvation, by depredation – crimes that have not even now been completed, since there are still pockets of exploitable forest left – and everyone knows that where there is something that is capable of giving profit, then exploited it will be. The destruction of the animals, the forests, the waters, the soil.

One after another, the Indians stood forward and spoke – or, rather, shouted, or called up their accusing phrases, so that all the intent and listening thousands could hear. The white people, particularly the Spaniards, in their place on the tiers, surrounded by their guards, sat directly accused, culpable, guilty – reaping the hatred of those massed young people, representatives in more than one sense, for now they
were,
for that time, the murdering destroyers whom – as themselves and as individuals – they certainly had never done anything but condemn. But now they might very easily be lynched … and the old white man was forgotten, for all eyes were elsewhere.

As the Indians ended their plea, or accusation, two of the Spaniards broke from their guards, and ran down into the arena, and stood just in front of the old white man in his chair, stretching their arms up and out, in a gesture reminiscent of the crucified Christ, submitting themselves to their peers.

And again there sounded the deep, hissing, blood-chilling groan.

Immediately opposite the Spaniards stood the small crowd of Indians, some of them being held up, because of their weakness and disease – these groups stood there with the lights of the flaring torches on them, while the thousands kept up their hissing groan. And then, at a signal from the prosecuting side, the children began to extinguish their torches. Soon the great amphitheatre was dark, shined on by the stars and the strengthening moon. And the crowd began heaving itself up and clattering away.