Dr. Who - BBC New Series 25

by Ghosts of India # Mark Morris

  Daker fired again. A second hole appeared a few inches to the right of the first. Once again the figure staggered, then straightened. It stood for a moment, as if contemplating its next move – and then Daker became aware of another strange silvery shimmer. For a moment he was blinded, as if he had walked out of a darkened room into the smeary glare of the sun. When he blinked

  the light from his eyes a moment later, the creature was gone.

  Adelaide stepped forward. ‘Mr Gandhi,’ she said, a tremor in her voice.

  The little man came to a halt and smiled. People were still crowding around him, but no one was pushing or shoving. They all seemed content to wait their turn to touch his sandalled feet, or his arm, or his simple homespun robe. Some even seemed happy merely to touch his footprints in the dust.

  Gandhi pressed his palms together in the traditional Hindu greeting and nodded first to Adelaide and then to the Doctor. They returned the greeting, the Doctor making no attempt to hide the soppy smile on his face.

  ‘It’s … a pleasure to meet you, sir,’ Adelaide stammered.

  ‘Oh, and quite definitely an honour,’ added the Doctor, stepping forward. ‘And I know you’re not into being idolised and all that, which, ironically, is one of the most brilliant things about you, but can I just say, for the record, cos this might be my only chance, that you, Mr Mohandas Gandhi, are one of the most amazing human beings who has ever lived, and who ever will live, and for my money you’re right up there with Will Shakespeare, Mother Teresa and Arthur Thorndike, the janitor from Basingstoke, who… oh, hang on, scratch that, he hasn’t been born yet.’ He opened his mouth to say more, but then caught Adelaide’s eye and grinned sheepishly. ‘Whoops, sorry. Babbling a bit. Always get like that when I’m

  overexcited. Ooh, still doing it. Sorry. OK, finished now.’

  He closed his mouth and pulled his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion.

  Gandhi bowed again and said, ‘Thank you for your greeting. Your words greatly honour me – but I’m afraid I don’t deserve them.’

  ‘Course you do,’ said the Doctor, ‘but let’s not bang on about it. I know what fans can be like. Except, can I just say, the Salt March in 1930… brilliant. Stroke of genius.’

  Gandhi smiled. ‘Actually, what I did was a very ordinary thing. I simply let the British know that they could not order me about in my own country.’

  ‘Yeah, but it was the way you did it,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Non-violent, non-confrontational, non-cooperation.

  Amazing.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Adelaide, ‘but what was the Salt March?’

  The Doctor boggled at her. ‘Where have you been living? On the moon?’

  Adelaide blushed. ‘Oh, I’m aware of Mr Gandhi, and of his ongoing campaign. But I was only five years old in 1930, Dr Smith. I’m afraid my knowledge of the details of Mr Gandhi’s early life are a little rusty.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said the Doctor, realising he had embarrassed Adelaide. ‘Didn’t mean to be rude. The British declared it illegal for Indians to possess salt from anywhere other than the government’s salt monopoly – which was grossly unfair. After all, salt’s an abundant, readily available mineral. Why should people who have barely got two grains of rice to rub together have to pay for it? So

  Mohandas and a few of his mates… oh, do you mind if I call you Mohandas?’

  Gandhi laughed delightedly. ‘Not at all. First names are an indicator of friendship, are they not?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Doctor, grinning. ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘In which case, we should tell you ours,’ said Adelaide.

  ‘This is Dr John Smith and I’m Adelaide Campbell.’

  ‘But all my best friends just call me Doctor,’ said the Doctor quickly, and went on without a pause, ‘so anyway Mohandas here walked across India, picking up followers along the way. He walked two hundred miles in twenty-four days, all the way from Sabarmati to the coast at Dandi. By the time he got there, he had thousands of people with him. He went down to the beach and picked up a handful of salt that had been left by the tide. It was a brilliantly simple act of defiance against a stupid rule, and it riveted the whole of India. Millions followed his example. Right across the country, people of all castes started to make and sell their own salt. A hundred thousand were arrested and imprisoned. The authorities couldn’t cope. Within a few weeks of Mohandas picking up those few grains of salt, the whole of India was in revolt.’

  The Doctor came to a breathless halt, his eyes shining.

  Gandhi regarded him like a kindly and indulgent uncle.

  Quietly he said, ‘I regret to say that my action caused the needless deaths of many people.’

  ‘But that wasn’t your fault,’ said the Doctor. ‘And their deaths weren’t needless surely? They died fighting for a cause, for something they believed in.’

  Gandhi shook his head slowly. ‘There is an important distinction to be made here, Doctor. I will happily die for what I believe is a just cause, but I will not die fighting for it. To die in anger and conflict makes a man no better than his opponent. It has always been my belief that if an opponent strikes you on your right cheek, you should offer him your left. This shows him that you are courageous enough to take a blow, but that you will not fight back.

  This in turn diminishes your attacker. It makes his hatred for you decrease and his respect increase.’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘But what happens when you come up against an opponent who is incapable of respect?

  What happens when your opponent can only hate? What happens if by killing the one you can save the many?’

  Gandhi seemed oddly pleased that this stranger was questioning his beliefs. He pondered a moment, taking his time to answer. ‘Then I suppose you must die in the knowledge that at least you have remained as merciful and pure as it is possible for a flesh-and-blood creature to be.

  And while your opponent may have triumphed physically, spiritually he will be empty, and that is something he will be forced to address in the fullness of time.’

  The Doctor’s face had become sombre. ‘I’ve spent a great deal of my life fighting for what I believe is a just cause too, Mohandas. I’ve seen so much injustice, so much bloodshed, that I sometimes think I’ll never wash the stain of it from my hands. I used to be so forgiving, but now…’ He shook his head and looked away.

  ‘And yet I sense that you always do what you think is right, Doctor, that you sail turbulent seas and try your

  utmost to maintain a consistent course?’

  The Doctor stared across the mass of faces in front of him, the people who were gathered patiently around the little man in the homespun robe. The sudden look of brooding intensity in his eyes drew a shudder from Adelaide. She got the impression that the Doctor was seeing and yet not seeing the people before him, that his horizons were more distant than hers would ever be.

  Suddenly he smiled. ‘It’s true what they say about you, Mohandas.’

  Gandhi raised his eyebrows good-humouredly. ‘Oh?’

  ‘They say a conversation with you is a voyage of discovery. They say you dare to go anywhere without a chart.’

  Gandhi chuckled. ‘As do you, I think, Doctor.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said the Doctor. ‘Why go somewhere you’ve already been when there’s a whole universe to explore?’

  The two men laughed, and the people around them dutifully laughed too. As the laughter faded, the Doctor and Adelaide heard a shout from behind them. ‘Bapu!

  Bapu!’

  They turned to see a small figure running through the camp from the direction of the medical tents. At first, in the darkness, it appeared the boy was wearing a turban, but as he drew closer, the Doctor realised that his head had been dressed and bandaged.

  ‘Hello, Ranjit,’ said Adelaide as the boy reached them, panting. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Hurt my head. Some soldiers found me and brought

  me here.’ Ranjit turned to Gandhi
. ‘Bapu, please. I must speak to you.’

  ‘Then speak,’ Gandhi said, patient as ever.

  Ranjit eyed the crowd uncertainly. ‘I must speak to you in private, Bapu.’

  Gandhi smiled. ‘But we are all friends here. Surely friends should have no secrets from one another?’

  Ranjit stepped closer to Gandhi, close enough to murmur into his ear.

  ‘Bapu, last week I saw a light fall from the sky. It fell into a temple not far from here. When I entered the temple…’ he shuddered ‘… I saw him, Bapu.’

  Before Gandhi could reply, the Doctor, who had been listening to Ranjit’s account, leaned forward.

  ‘Who did you see?’ he asked quietly.

  Ranjit glanced from Gandhi to the Doctor, fear on his face. ‘I saw Shiva,’ he whispered. ‘I saw him with my own eyes.’

  There was a moment of silence. The Doctor leaned back, looking thoughtful.

  ‘I think I’d like to see this temple,’ he murmured.

  By 5.20, there was still no sign of Ranjit. Cameron didn’t know whether to be annoyed or concerned that his friend hadn’t turned up. Maybe after yesterday he was too frightened to return to the house. Or maybe he had been so badly hurt that he was now lying in a coma somewhere, or wandering around, unable to remember who he was.

  At least he wasn’t still lying on the other side of the wall. Cameron had sneaked out of the house after dinner last night to check. He was still annoyed that he had missed all the excitement with the crocodile. He had come running from his bedroom when he had heard the gunshots, but Mother had refused to allow him to go outside. Ronny had taken him for a sneaky look later, though. The servants had moved the crocodile off the porch and into the shed, and had put a sheet over it to keep

  the flies off.

  Cameron could see straight away that there had been something wrong with it. It was the biggest crocodile he had ever seen, but it had been twisted and covered with weird black lumps. Cameron had asked Ronny what they were going to do with it.

  ‘Becharji says his cousin has a lorry. He’s promised to come by and pick the beast up tomorrow,’ Ronny had replied.

  ‘And what will Becharji’s cousin do with it?’ Cameron had asked.

  ‘He’ll probably chuck it in the river or burn it,’ Ronny told him. ‘Just as long as he takes it away, he can make it into handbags for all I care,’

  Cameron looked again at the big grandfather clock ticking away the minutes in the otherwise silent hallway.

  It was now 5.25 – still dark outside, but in half an hour the servants would be getting up to prepare breakfast for the family.

  All at once Cameron rose from his perch at the bottom of the stairs. It seemed that Ranjit wasn’t coming, which meant he had one of two choices: either he could abandon the expedition, or he could go on alone.

  The prospect of exploring the old temple on his own was a pretty scary one (as was the thought of the trouble he would find himself in when his parents found out), but Cameron knew there was no way he could go back to bed and forget about it. He hadn’t been outside in ages, and had been looking forward to this morning’s adventure so much that last night he had barely been able to sleep.

  Before his nerve could fail him, therefore, he padded to the kitchen and picked up his knapsack of provisions.

  There was food in there and water, plus his trusty catapult, which he’d spent hours practising with in the back garden, and which he would use to frighten the monkeys away if they turned nasty.

  With his knapsack on his back, he crept into the hallway and let himself out of the house. Now all he had to do was pick up his bicycle from the shed, where the dead crocodile lay waiting for collection, and his adventure could begin.

  ‘Five more minutes, Mum,’ Donna groaned as someone knocked on the door. Then she remembered where she was and snapped awake.

  India! She was in India! For a moment she felt a giddy sense of excitement, a sense of disbelief that this was actually her life. It was a feeling she often had nowadays, first thing in the morning, just after she woke up. She relished the fact that every day she spent with the Doctor was an incredible voyage of discovery.

  First things first, though. Out of bed, washed, dressed, breakfast. She looked at the clothes Mary Campbell had lent her, which apparently belonged to her daughter. Mary was all repressed and buttoned-up, but her daughter Adelaide had obviously made more of an effort to integrate with the locals. Ten minutes later Donna came downstairs in a silky plum-coloured dress, which wasn’t a bad fit, although a tiny bit tight in the hip area.

  The first person she saw was Ronny, suited and booted,

  about to enter the dining room for breakfast.

  ‘Oi, Ronny,’ she hissed to attract his attention.

  He turned and smiled. ‘Good morning, Donna.’

  ‘Hiya. Listen, Ronny, be honest,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Does my bum look big in this?’

  She gave him a twirl, and when she turned to face him again saw that he was blushing.

  ‘You… er… look quite delightful,’ he stammered.

  ‘Really? You’re not just saying that? Cos I want you to be honest. Well… honestish.’

  Ronny laughed. ‘I can honestly say, Donna, that I’ve never met a girl quite like you.’

  ‘Yeah? You wanna come down the Dog and Trumpet on a Saturday night. They’re all like me in there.’

  He tilted an elbow in her direction and said in his plummiest tones, ‘Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to breakfast, Miss Noble?’

  Donna slipped a hand into the crook of his elbow.

  ‘Don’t mind if I do, squire.’

  They entered the dining room. Bright sunlight was falling across the pristine white tablecloth, flashing off the white china plates and silver cutlery. A turbaned servant stepped forward and pulled out a chair for Donna to sit down, then he shook out a napkin and draped it across her lap.

  Sir Edgar and Mary Campbell were already seated at the table. Sir Edgar was reading The Times, having already polished off a large fried breakfast. When he lowered the paper to grunt good morning, Donna noticed that he had egg yolk in his moustache.

  ‘Morning, all,’ said Ronny, and glanced around.

  ‘Where’s Cameron this morning?’

  ‘Still in bed, I expect,’ said Sir Edgar. ‘Lazy blighter. If he doesn’t turn up soon, he’ll miss breakfast.’

  Ronny winked at Donna. ‘Leave him be, Father. It is Saturday. He’s probably exhausted after all the excitement last night.’

  ‘Did you sleep well, dear?’ Mary asked Donna. She was picking at a slice of buttered toast like a bird.

  ‘Yeah, lovely, thanks,’ Donna said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever slept in a four-poster before.’ Then she reconsidered.

  ‘No, I tell a lie. There was one in the hotel we stayed in after my cousin Janice’s hen night. Mind you, I was plastered, so I don’t remember much about it.’

  There was a shocked silence. Ronny said quickly, ‘Doesn’t Donna look beautiful in Adelaide’s dress, Mother?’

  ‘Very nice,’ said Mary in a tight voice.

  From the hallway came the sound of the front door opening and a woman’s voice called, ‘Yoo-hoo!’

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ said Ronny. ‘We’re in here, Addie.’

  The dining room door opened and a pretty girl with chestnut hair entered. She looked at Donna in surprise, but her smile was friendly enough.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Do you know, I’ve got a dress exactly like that.’

  ‘It is yours,’ said Donna with a grimace of apology. ‘I kind of borrowed it.’

  ‘Donna arrived last night in rather unusual

  circumstances,’ said Ronny. ‘Sit down and have a cup of tea, Addie, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  A servant stepped forward to pull out a spare chair for Adelaide. She dropped into it with a grateful groan.

  ‘Tough night?’ said Donna.

  Adelaide nodded. ‘But
an eventful one. We’ve had some rather amazing visitors at the refugee camp where I work. In fact, I’m still buzzing with excitement. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep.’ She leaned across and rubbed Ronny’s hand affectionately. ‘But I’m being rude. Tell me your news first, Ronny. I want to hear all about Donna.

  Pleased to meet you, Donna, by the way.’

  She held out a hand, which Donna shook. Donna decided that she liked Adelaide immediately. She was certainly much friendlier than her dried-up old sourpuss of a mother.

  Adelaide’s eyes sparkled as she listened to Ronny recount the tale of Donna’s arrival and the attack by the monstrous crocodile.

  ‘My goodness,’ she said. ‘So where is this friend of yours, Donna?’

  ‘Yes, we never got to the bottom of that, did we?’ said Sir Edgar, with a frown.

  Donna shrugged. ‘I dunno where he is, but I’ve got to find him. I mean, thanks for putting me up, but he’s my passport out of here.’

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Ronny. ‘With all of Father’s contacts, I’m sure somebody will know where he is.’

  Donna said awkwardly, ‘Well, he doesn’t really use a name. He calls himself the Doctor.’

  Adelaide jerked upright in her seat. ‘I don’t believe it!

  He’s one of the men I was going to tell you about. He turned up at the camp last night. He said his name was Dr John Smith.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the name he… I mean… yeah, that’s him,’

  said Donna, jumping to her feet.

  Ronny looked at her, perplexed. ‘Aren’t you having any breakfast?’

  ‘No time,’ Donna said, and turned back to Adelaide.

  ‘So how do I get to this camp of yours?’

  *

  ‘Hello, Mr Doctor.’

  The Doctor looked over his shoulder to see Ranjit standing at the entrance to the tent, grinning at him.

  ‘Hiya, Ranjit,’ he said. ‘How’s the old noggin?’

  Ranjit touched the bandage around his head. ‘The noggin is fine, Mr Doctor. How are you?’