03.4 The Staging Post

The Defence Minister of Wizarat-Al-Aman-Am, or the Ministry of Public Security, Manan Rock, was twenty-nine years old. He sat behind the desk wearing a sarong and a long-sleeved grey shirt. An important person and a key handle of the national defence. He was a close associate to the prime minister currently in charge of running the state.

“Three boys under the age of twelve from Gandu went missing on 16^th August in 1952,” explained Rock, “six boys went missing on 11^th January in 1956. And five boys on 17^th February in 1957, last year. It causes alarm. A bunch of boys of that age cannot get drowned. Impossible! If you read the reports you’ll find from interviews and hearsays that six boys were seen on a boat heading to Gan. Some of them belonged to Hittadu thirteen kilometres away. In fifty-two, three boys were living in Gandu. By fifty-seven, situation changed.

“We raised dispute with the authorities in Addu but there is a more powerful man we have to deal with apart from the Atoll Chief. He is Adaran. A defector and puppet of the British Empire. We have raised our concerns with the British too, with the envoy stationed in Doonidoo, Mr Dirk Wyse Dwire,” explicated Rock, “We haven’t got a reply. And we will not have a reply because the boys drowned. We will not have a reply because they conceal the truth. We will not have a reply because they know and we don’t.

“We learned that Adaran investigated these cases, profiled reports, working with the British obviously, but he will not pass them to us or disclose to Addu public,” his voice had risen in anger, “Why?”

He sighed, “This is a mock-up. What we are trying to do here is to find a way to blame the English. Of course, I want to know what happened to the boys. I want to get hold of the documentation. But if we can prove the British behind these incidents, and I believe they are, then we can build a case to demand them out and seek ultimate freedom. As long as they are there, Addu people will not oblige to the laws and norms of this government. They will never come under the capital. Momentum is building in the south seeking separation and to wave the Union Jack. We are but one nation. Britain cannot split us apart. Elsewhere in the world, they are throwing the British out.” Rock hit the bell and a staffer appeared at the door, “Has he arrived?”

“Yes sir,” he replied.

“Send him in.”

A tall useless guy stepped in. He wore brown shirt and half-trousers of the national guards and of the lowest rank, a private, one without a stripe on his shirt sleeve and a green beret on his crown. His age in mid-twenties.

Rock introduced, “Footloose Habib. He is the sentinel in charge of the operation. Make sure that you are of best help to him. Mostly in translation of material in English.”

Shakir rose to his feet, “Sentinel!”

“How do you do?” he spoke in the caste tongue and it seemed Shakir was in a lead.

“Very well, thank you,” though Shakir returned in the second grade of polite speech in due respect.

Rock said, “Habib will join you in three to four months. While you are there, watch for any misstep.” He waved them off.

They stepped out of Doshi Màine and Habib suggested, “Shall we go to Hakra House to meet Saeed?”

They marched on Medu Ziyaraii Magu. “Tell me what I should know before going to Addu?” Shakir gave some thought.

“When in Addu, make sure you do not associate with outsiders, folks who come from other islands. Not even Maliens, not even me. If you are seen hanging with outsiders, they do not like it. Adduans are hot tempered. If you appear to be with Addu folks, they begin to respect you. If you walk alone, nobody will do anything. I use to hang on my own. Not quite, I am pretty addicted to play chess at a pub in Maradu.”

“When am I leaving?”

“As soon as you are packed ready. And you have to carry some very secret equipment in your luggage.”