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“Liberation is what we call it, Sir. They had the cheek to called it invasion!” Manoj Kumar, the guide said.
He broke into his characteristic loud guffaw that reverberated in the empty surroundings. I watched him shake his head in disbelief as if he had lived the history.
“A small request for help turned out to be such a big mistake. It took more than 400 years after that to drive them out of here,” Manoj continued. He watched the Arabian Sea as if in nostalgia and regret.
Nikhil and I were in Diu fort. It was an impressive fort in the small town steeped in Portuguese history on the western tip of India. Our guide Manoj was a dishevelled man, in his late fifties, with a weeklong stubble and a wrinkled shirt. He dragged his slippers around the monument with us. With a carefree laughter and happy-go-lucky demeanour, he made the history come alive.
“You mean, the Portuguese ruled Diu for 400 years?” I asked.
“Yes, Sir.. five or six generations of them, over a 100 governors and viceroys. More years than the Mughals or the British ruled India. This Nuno was a very dangerous man,” Manoj Kumar explained.
“Nuno?” Nikhil asked.
“Nuno Da Cunha. He was in charge of Portuguese territory in India then.. In 1535,” Manoj said, with a reminiscent look in his eyes. He looked like he had a clear vision of that year from a past life.
Nikhil and I waited for him to continue.
“Nuno had attacked Diu twice before…umm.. in 1531, he tried.. Before him also, they had attacked.. and failed. You know, they wanted this port for their spice trade,” he explained.
“Hmm.. But then what happened in 1535?” I asked.
“1535.. Yes, It was a bad year for Diu,” Manoj said, shaking his head. “See, Sir – what happened was that.. Humayun – you must have heard of him?” he said, twisting his neck from the fort towards us.
“The Mughal Emperor?” Nikhil asked.
“Yes, Sir.. See – he decided to attack Diu.. and our Sultan.. Bahadur Shah..”
“Bahadur Shah..?”
“Yes. Sir.. not the Mughal.. he was a local king. Sultan Bahadur Shah. He panicked. After all, Diu is so small. Only 50 or 100 square kilometre at that time.. I don’t blame him for it..”
Manoj sounded like a historian in guide garb.
“Anyone would have panicked..” Nikhil added, spicing things up a bit.
“Yes. Sir.. But he made the mistake of asking Nuno for help,” Manoj said. He referred to the Portuguese general like an old enemy of his family. “And Nuno screwed him.. very badly.. money and power drives the world crazy, isn’t it? Today.. and Even at that time.. what else to expect? Humayun on one side, Nuno on the other.. our Sultan signed Diu up.. only to save us.. his own people of Diu,” Manoj explained.
I sensed a touch of melancholy in his voice.
“I see.. what did he sign up for?” I asked this time.
“Sir.. I don’t know if he even read what he was signing!” Manoj Kumar broke out into his loud laugh out of the blue. “He let them build a fort for their trade and save Diu in return.. But over time, this Nuno and his people…,” Manoj came back to his bête noire again. “..they made the fort so strong.. that when Sultan realised their intentions, it was too late. He attacked them to reclaim Diu, and they killed him too….” Manoj said.
He enacted a dreary silence that made us feel the treachery and the pain in his heart. For a moment, Nikhil and I wondered if we should put a consoling hand on his shoulder. But after the brief silence, he restarted his act.
“And then.. then they ruled this place for 400 years.. and they didn’t leave even after 1947! Can you believe it? Even after 1947! What cheek!” Manoj Kumar said, again breaking into another big laugh. He switched between silent pain and garrulous laughter with ease. He was as good as a seasoned actor in a three-act play.
“Really? They didn’t leave in 1947?” both Nikhil and I asked in unison.
“Yes, Sir.. India had to send their army and air force.. some ten years or.. umm.. was it thirteen years.. after independence..,“ he said, with a questioning eye staring into blank space. The guide who remembered 1535 like it was yesterday forgot the year of Diu’s annexation to India.
“And you know what?” Manoj said with a twitching eye and a tough face, now swelling in pride.
“What?” I asked.
“In two days.. only two days,” he said, with two fingers on his right hand raised above. “In two days, our defence forces drove them out.. Finally after 400 years, we avenged Nuno’s betrayal, and Diu became part of India,” he said. He walked in front of us with a sudden spring in his step.
With history lessons over, he then went on to explain the various artefacts in the fort.
We walked with him past the cannons, the mortars, the moat, and the bastions. We passed them as if they were not remains from the past but witnesses of history. He acted out how the soldiers loaded the guns on the bastions. He made a big sound to show how the cannons blasted off shells. He explained how the fort saw off many attacks in the 1600s, including a very close one from the Turks.
It was a pleasure to see a guide who brought history alive. In a place like Diu, not on the tourist map, it was a surprise. For a man who hadn’t seen tourists for a long time, it was amazing. And for someone old and in penury, it was astonishing.
He stopped at important points and ordered us to click photographs as if it was our duty. He clicked our photos by telling us where to pose and how.
When he came closer to show me the photos on the phone, I stepped back a bit. He reeked of alcohol. His teeth had brown stains. Up close, his crumpled cheeks made him look older than he was.
While walking on the steep horseways, he acted like a soldier with tick tock of the animals’ foot. We reached the topmost point of the fort which had lighthouse which was still intact. He told us how ships looked for it from sea for direction. He snapped pictures of us, in the fading sunlight, with the fort and the sea in the background from the top.
When we climbed down, he showed us some old prisons that India had built in the fort. “Sir, but due to pandemic, they moved the prisoners to other jails in India,” he said, and we nodded.
On the way back, he took a turn before the gate. He took us to the small jetty from where the expanse of the Arabian Sea and the setting sun made beautiful viewing.
After we finished clicking a few more snaps, I asked Manoj, “What else do we do here now?”
He listed out some temples and some beaches but said there is nothing as significant as the fort. For a moment, I wondered if we should take him along as a guide but decided against it.
“So, how long was the fort closed for tourists due to the pandemic?” I asked him as we walked outside the gate and towards the parking lot.
“More than one year, Sir..,” he replied. He grinned without reason.
“So what did you do then?” I enquired.
“Nothing Sir.. Only enjoy!!” he said. He broke into a booming laugh again. “Eat, sleep, be merry. What else?”
His laugh surprised me. I looked at Nikhil. It confounded him too. We expected a sober, even a miserable reaction from him. With no income, we expected him to complain about the situation. Nothing like that happened.
“How long have you been here?” Nikhil asked him.
“Thirty years, Sir.. At Diu fort,” he said. “Ten years ago, they posted me at the churches. But I told my boss that I love the fort, it is best for me and came back in three years,” he said. He broke into a loud laugh again for no obvious reason.
We asked him to take a couple of pictures for us with the fort in the background. When he came closer to show us the snaps, again I sensed the smell of alcohol. Nikhil stole a glance at me. At first, we had decided to tip him well, due to his dramatic narration. No doubt he made our hour worthwhile. But we thought it might be best to avoid it. He would splurge it anyway on drink, we felt.
“How much are your charges?” I asked him, before getting ready to leave.
“319 Rupees,” he said. The odd number surprised me. But before a frown settled on my forehead, Manoj Kumar got a card out of his pocket. It had his ID and a list of numbers.
“Rates fixed by the government, Sir,” he said, and showed us the card.
When I handed him a crisp 500 rupees note, he said he didn’t have change.
“No tourists Sir. You are the first after one year,” he said with another laugh.
Nikhil and I checked our wallets for change but didn’t find any.
“Sir, you can transfer to this number.. 7509..43..54..21,” he said.
I asked him to repeat it and completed the transfer. At the last moment, I added another fifty to his 319 rupees.
“Check if you got it,” I told him.
“I don’t have the phone, Sir. I will check when I go home,” he said, with his uncanny smile again.
“Why? What’s the point of not carrying your phone?” I asked him, teasing him for what I thought was his drunken forgetfulness.
“Sir, I sold my phone off, because of pandemic.. Now I got one at home – which I gave to my son, so he can attend college.. Everything online, nowadays,” he said. I stayed silent but he broke out into his loud belly laugh again.
“But don’t worry, Sir.. I will call you in the evening, and confirm,” he added.
I stopped short in my step while walking to the car. Nikhil opened the door and got in to the driver’s seat.
“Do you live nearby?” he asked. “We can drop you if you want.”
“Sir, I used to.. but it got washed away after the cyclone this year.. umm.. government gave a makeshift place a bit away.., what to do?” he said, pointing in the direction behind us. “Don’t worry Sir, everything is close by in Diu. I will walk,” the old man said. Then he cackled aloud again.
Nikhil didn’t pursue him any further. He sat in the car with a heavy heart. I put on maps for directions to our beach hotel without a word.
In the rear-view mirror, I saw the guide remove a bottle from his pocket. He turned back in the direction of the fort taking a few tottering steps.
***