The Yorkshire Biryani

THE YORKSHIRE BIRYANI

VIKRAM VENKATARAGHAVAN

Copyright © Vikram Venkataraghavan 2016

The author asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

The Yorkshire Biryani is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 1530875188 

ISBN-13: 978-1530875184 

Vikram Venkataraghavan was born in Chennai, India, and moved to Tokyo, Japan in 2013. He graduated from the Bournemouth University, UK, and has pursued a career in animation. He specializes in creating digital characters that convey a story and deep meaning. His sculptures have been showcased in many art websites and festivals. With a keen analytical mind, Vikram takes interest in topics ranging from science, technology, current events, history, mythology, religion and entertainment. With "The Yorkshire Biryani, he is now experimenting with and experiencing another form of creative vigor, story-telling. Being imaginative by nature, he constructs his stories based on theory and research.

Connect with him on twitter @vikramvr

Or email him at vikram.vr@gmail.com

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https://www.facebook.com/Vikram-Venkataraghavan-1115678168526295/

Acknowledgements

First off, I wish to thank everyone who have purchased this book. I hope I can satisfy the reader in you by kindling your imagination, and take you on a fresh reading journey.

I dedicate this book to all the people who have helped me build my life – my parents, and especially to my wife Richa, who recognized this talent and pushed me to showcase my creativity through a written medium, and to my daughter Nethra, who has just learnt to press the home button on an Ipad.

CONTENTS

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

ONE: MAYFIELD CHARACTERS

TWO: STEVE

THREE: THE TOURNAMENT

FOUR: HARRY

FIVE: FAMILY BUSINESS

SIX: STEVE’S HISTORY

SEVEN: HARRY GOES TO BHARAT

EIGHT: GREG CLIMBS UP

NINE: HARRY FINDS A WAY

TEN: THE SEARCH CONTINUES

ELEVEN: IT ALL ENDS HERE

THE WORLD OF THE YORKSHIRE BIRYANI

ALTERNATE HISTORY TIMELINE

PREFACE

In India, people often debate the significance and impact of the British sovereignty. Sometimes, the debate wanders into the realm of fiction; focusing on an India sans British reign. The fact remains that Bharat was under seven hundred years of Muslim rule, and close to three hundred years of English rule. The English came to India for trade reasons but established their stronghold over the country, depriving the nation of its wealth and knowledge.

The premise of Yorkshire Biryani occurred to me in a dream. This particular dream, in all its pristine glory, beckoned this burning question in my mind – Instead of the British ruling India for a couple of centuries, how would it be if we lived in a contrasting world, where the opposite had happened?

The dream spanned like this:

I stood in a large lavish room, which resembled the interior of a south Indian temple. Sculptures and pillars festooned the brightly lit room, whilst crimson red, lemon yellow, peacock blue, harlequin and a swarm of other colors dominated the Sarees, the Salwars, the Kurta Pyjamas and the Dhotis worn by the room’s occupants.

I saw a couple bejeweled in gold and diamonds, looking more ornate than the rest- the bride and groom who were hosting their wedding reception party.

Other than the Indians present at the party, there were a few white skinned men dressed in white uniforms roaming around with plates and jugs in their hands. I suddenly realized they were the attendants for the night.

"How are you doing? I asked a white man. To my surprise, the white man spoke fluent Hindi. Arey aap Angrezi mein baath karthe hain, kahaan seekha aapne Angrezi?" (You speak English, where did you learn it?) I failed to realize the significance of this pep talk at that juncture.

In another part of the hall stood some men and women, visibly darker and stouter than the rest. Men with huge epigastrium stood leaning backwards with one hand on their hip, like a pregnant woman about to go into labor. Their white shirts were stretched across their bellies with great difficulty, with buttons that looked as though they were about to fly off at the slightest movement. These men stood biting on pieces of chicken leg, as the humble waiters stood holding their plates next to them. I stood there smirking at the scene, finding a sadistic pleasure at the sight of a white man in such anguish.

I woke up from my dream the next morning and started to put some deep thought in to this story. As I did so, these facts hit my mind’s eye:

We have been raised with a de rigueur to comply with British standards. English is our default language across the world and nearly everything, from the clothing we wear to the sports we play, can be connected or attributed to England in some way.

My dream was devoid of our daily attributes. In fact, it presented a very unique world that hadn’t been imagined yet. From that moment on, I took it as my personal goal to imagine this particular world; a world in which India is the crux of world culture, and its way of life has spread to every nook and cranny.

India is a chaotic place where religion is prolific. Being such a diverse country, many differences have existed throughout its course of history. The north and south have always had their clashes and no one emperor has managed to bring complete unity amidst the grand diversity. This book imagines a premise where an emperor actually managed to successfully unite India, restoring its lost glory from the Mughals, and slowly spreading its culture to the rest of the world.

I present to you The Yorkshire Biryani, a comical take on this particular alternate History. Set in an imaginary British village dubbed Mayfield, this book explores the lives of an ideal middle class British family, through all their happiness and heartbreaks.

INTRODUCTION

In this version of the world, Chatrapathi Shivaji and his Maratha warriors wage an epic war against the Mughals and succeed in driving them out of the nation. This war lasted many decades and not only wiped out the Mughals from Bharat, but also prevented the Europeans from entering the nation. Except for the period during the war, Bharat’s research and advancements in technology saw an unhindered growth. As a result of this, their technology was roughly one hundred years more advanced than the real world. The mathematical genius of India was unparalleled across the world, eventually leading to a beautiful union with physics which saw new inventions being created that were much ahead of the real world.

The first calculating machine was invented in the 1700's. Also, the invention of the first steam engine by Ibn-Al-Haitan in the 1550’s paved the way for quick advancements in engine technologies.

The industrial revolution started in India in 1660, and continued on to the 1780's to 1800's, and as a result

Computer technology uses the quaternary logic instead of the binary, and Sanskrit is used as a programming language.

The Bharathiya Chal Chitra or the Hindustani movie industry is the most dominant in the world, and so there is no separate music industry

Ayurveda is a mainstream medicine

Panchayat is the main mode of administration in Bharat.

Hinduism is the predominant religion in the world

World architecture is dominated by south Indian temple pyramid structures, and also Islamic motifs

Both airplanes and Zeppelins exist

Kusthi, Kabbadi, Polo and chess are hugely popular

Vedic education system is the predominant education type in the world.

Summary of the Alternate History: Hinduism has always been the strongest aspect of Bharat. This timeline denotes a split in history that occurred before the Mughals invaded India. However, although the Mughals did invade India, the Hindustani missionaries had already settled down throughout the world in an attempt to spread Vedic education. With education playing such a central role in this alternate history, the emperors of the middle ages took advantage of this and increasingly stressed religion in their studies. This eventually made a world that had predominantly Hindu beliefs.

The Mughals learnt to co-exist with the Hindus until Chhatrapati Shivaji managed to unite India under his rule, wiping them out and taking over their empires. As he wiped out the Mughals, he also sent his best troops across the globe in a quest of land acquisition. This resulted in the Shivaji’s ruling England for three generations. Some aspects of the Islamic origins remained in the Hindu culture and these aspects have been ported over to the rest of the world.

Bharat now includes real world Pakistan, Afghanistan, Burma, Thailand, Cambodia, Sri Lanka, Malaysia, Singapore, Brunei, Tibet, Philippines, Indonesia and parts of the Yunnan province in China.

For a more elaborate explanation of the alternate history timeline and the technologies existent in the story, please read about the same towards the end.

ONE: MAYFIELD CHARACTERS

Arey, Bollocks to you mate, shouted Muthu as he sat behind his friend Giridhar on a 1980’s Italian scooter. Everyone in England had Hindu names. It was considered fashionable. Their original names were Timothy and Gregor (or Tim and Greg, for short). Behind them was another guy with a goat in his arms.

I need to get this goat to Alibhai in one piece. He needs it for halal, so please drive safely and make sure that the goat and I don't die. said the third man. There was a huge speed breaker on the road and Greg hadn't seen it. They were riding at 12 kroshas per Muhurta (approximately 60 Km/h in the real world), as the trio, along with the goat and the scooter, jumped over it.

Indha speed breaker tholla thaanga Mudiyala, (I can’t tolerate these speed breakers), shouted an irate Tim.

Why the hell are you talking in Tamil now? This is Yorkshire mate; we speak Hindi here. So I appreciate you keep it that way, exclaimed Greg from the front.

Kadavule, this is a free country ain't it? exclaimed Tim in disgust. They were riding triples on a busy road. It was overcast and cold, and they wanted to finish the job at hand before the downpour came.

Over the next intersection was a signal. The traffic light was still showing ’Namaste’; a Hindustani welcome. The vehicles were moving fast, but Greg had quite a distance to cover, and Alistair doubted if they were going to make it. As they got close to it, the palm symbol came on, signaling for them to stop. However, Greg sped on.

As they were crossing the road, the Namaste symbol came back on for the traffic to their right, and vehicles started rushing in helter-skelter. Stranded in the middle of the road, the sound quelled their hearing, smoke annihilated their breaths, and an excessive display of vehicles conquered their vision. As the smog settled, Greg could make out the silhouette of a man walking towards him, wearing a blue robe and a mask. It was a traffic constable stationed at that particular signal. He wasn’t wearing his day-glow top, so they hadn’t noticed him before. Along with him was another man wearing the same costume. They signaled the trio to stop, but Greg raised his accelerator. Now the Namaste signal had flashed up for the traffic towards his left and a similar tirade of vehicles started to emerge. Greg was smart enough to avoid them though. They sped across before the cacophony emerged, leaving the Constables immobile for a few moments.

Oh, You Chuthiya Bastards. We are coming to get you, one of the policemen screamed.

They both got on a big bike; a Bejej. The Yorkshire police Department used Hindustani bikes because they were classier and held a sense of pride from the older times.

Shit. We cocked up, exclaimed Alistair from behind.

Did you have to do that mate? We’re dead! shouted Tim in Tamil.

Don’t be a wanker mate, we are fine, smirked Greg.

Stop, Stop, stopppppp, howled Alistair.

They had stolen the goat from Alistair’s neighbor. Sporting a Moustache and neatly combed hair, Alistair was two years shy of thirty. Since his dad was still his puppet master, Alistair was quite used to a bit of mockery from his friends for being his daddy’s sweet little boy. A policeman by profession, Alistair’s dad was a modern day tyrant.

If my dad comes to know about this, I’m dead, and you are all dead with me, Alistair said, freaking out.

Calm down mate. We’re not going to get caught. And even if we do, a few quid here and there will get us out, said Greg.

Bribing was the order of the day in England and the Police force were quite renowned for it.

Greg made ends meet by delivering vegetables from the shop owned by his mother, Margaret. They reared a few animals including a goat, but Greg thought that stealing his mother’s goat was not a wise undertaking.

Why Greg needed a goat was a completely different story. His passion was Indian wrestling, or Kusthi, and he aspired to becoming a national champion one day. He used to wrestle for his university team, but now he was older. His passion still lived on though, and through his numerous attempts, he had finally managed to get selected for Yorkshire’s preliminaries. To participate, he had to go to London along with his friends and needed money to cover their accommodation and food expenses. If there was any money left, it would be thrown into betting. Betting was infamous in Kusthi, even though it was something the government looked at as illegal, and was trying to root out.

Bharat invented the Malla-Yuddha, which later became Kusthi. The Hindustanis spread it across the world as a sport of honor. England was fascinated by it. In fact, the desire for winning in Kusthi became a national obsession. So Kusthi was a hot topic of discussion everywhere and the general yearning of society was to excel at the game and beat Bharat in it. Every match of Kusthi between the two nations was viewed as a matter of dignity, and every victory rejoiced.

They kept accelerating, passing through smaller lanes in the hope of losing the cops. However, they had an old scooter with limited potential, so cops were closing in on them.

Maaaaa, screamed the goat in bewilderment.

Amidst this excitement, Alistair lost his grip on the goat for a minute, and it jumped out of his hand and onto the road, causing an oncoming scooter to break and slide coercively.

Fuck, Greg shouted, as the scooter whirled out of control.

Sethome, (We are dead) shouted Tim.

Shite, shouted Alistair, as Greg got up and started to run away from the fallen scooter.

Alistair felt a surging pain in his right shin. Tim was the worst affected, as he was in the middle; the scooter had fallen on him, and he was desperately trying to wiggle out of its weight. Greg, on the other hand, didn’t even seem to be bruised as he ran in pursuit of the goat.

I will get you for this, you Piss-head, shouted Alistair.

The Bejej stopped next to them. From the angle they were at, the policemen looked even bigger and menacing. One of them was actually big, weighing over a hundred kilos and having the paunch of a seven-month expectant woman. The other man was well built and had a big moustache. Moustaches were looked at as a symbol of honor. Every Policeman sported one, as it made them look more intimidating. The fat cop’s tag read ‘Charles’.

Sir, it’s not our fault. The guy who brought us here ran away. Alistair muttered in despair.

The other policeman lifted the scooter up like it was a bicycle. Charles; along with his paunch, big moustache and intimidating looks; kneeled down over Alistair and Tim, and exclaimed,

Son, Do I look like a fool to you? Catching Tim by the collar, he lifted him like a paperweight.

Tears rolled down Tim’s face as he exclaimed, Sorry Sir, please let us go. Charles was about to open his mouth to say something, when Alistair interrupted.

My pater is a cop. We didn’t mean to do this. Here's some money to keep you guys happy, now please let us go. He pulled out a fifty pound note from his pocket, as both the Policemen stared on.

The other policeman, who seemed to be silent until now, suddenly got miffed and said, Use your dad’s name, eh? Well, your dad ain't gonna see what we’re about to do to you in the lock up, is he? He then drove the Bejej over to them and made Alistair sit behind him. Charles drove the scooter, while Tim sat behind him on that. They took them both to the police station, hoping they could use them as bait to lure the third man to them.

XXX

The market town of Mayfield lay in the north end of Yorkshire, and was known for its beautiful pastures and scenic panoramas. It was a small town hosting one large railway station, a post office, an old church, an old temple, two large grocery stores, one medium-sized hotel, and a few vegetable shops. The central street- Hara Teela, or Green hill- was a picture perfect English street that ran downhill, with houses and shops on either side. Streams trickled through the outskirts of the town, with horses and sheep grazing on the shore prairies. Hills bedecked the distant sights on every angle. The town however, suffered from an overabundance of people like other British towns, and the government was desperately trying to bring the population of the country under control. Recently, a sanction was made for the construction of a factory just outside the town. The town’s people were carrying out protests against it.

Gregor Wilson was born to Steve and Margaret Wilson. Mischievous and wayward by nature, Greg earned a bad reputation in the family, although he was sincere in his deeds. His younger sister Daphne had just finished her education, while his Brother Harrison was still studying.

Steve Wilson was a devout Christian and a bible literate. A cobbler by profession, he faced tough times in life when England became a free nation. He lost his dad to the rebellion that took place in London, and his mother ran away to Bharath. Having seen many heartbreaking events as a kid, Steve struggled to make ends meet during his youth, and so expected his sons to make up for all his lost glory.

His first son came very late in life. He had expected him to change his life, but Gregor turned out to be a scallywag. So Steve wanted to have a second son, but unfortunately, it turned out to be girl. After many years, he made a final attempt at reclaiming his lost glory. To his happiness, he made a smart boy. Third time is a charm, Steve always used to say. He diverted all his love and attention towards the third son, hoping that one day he would become a rich man and drive away his worries.

So all that mattered in Greg’s house was Harrison: aka Harry - the brat from hell.

XXX

Greg had not even taken a bruise from the accident. However, despite how street smart he was, he had not anticipated the goat to jerk so wildly and run away.

Alibhai, the deal is still on. I’m coming with your goat, Greg told himself.

This was his neighborhood, and he knew every inch of it. There was a hay farm nearby, and something told Greg that the goat would have headed there to graze. He knew that the owner of the farm was his sister’s yoga instructor.

Ab Dekhenge, saala, he exclaimed as he jumped over the wall of the Yoga instructor’s house. He had to hide, as pride took precedence over money. The house was quite big, with a lot of open space around it, and Greg made sure no one noticed him as he slowly moved forward using the trees as cover.

As Greg finally caught sight of the goat, he saw a woman feeding the animal. He knew exactly who she was, as he had been silently ogling over her for the past few months. She was Jennah, the Yoga instructor’s daughter. Jennah was beautiful, with hazel colored eyes a fair complexion, and golden hair that she had tied into a ponytail. She was wearing a red salwar-kameez, a contemporary Hindustani attire. She was modish; wearing gold rings on three of her fingers, a chain, a nose ring, and big earrings. Her salwar-kameez had shiny mango patterns on them, but her face glowed even brighter than her dress.

Plonker. Why didn’t you join the yoga class when you had the chance? Greg told himself.

He continued to watch as she fed some more hay to the goat.

Greg gave himself a quick slap when he noticed the goat. He knew he couldn’t steal the goat now, so he had to think of an alternative plan or return without it. He turned back to leave, but as he did so, he could see the Yoga master spreading his Yoga sheets and his students gathering around him. He finally gathered the courage to confront Jennah and walked in front of her,

Aren’t you Daphne’s brother?Jennah asked.

Kaise ho, Jennah, Greg replied, asking her how she was.

Oh I didn’t notice you. Mein achi hoon, tu? (I’m fine) she said.

I was passing by and saw you, so I dropped by to say hi. What goat is that? Did Mr. Joseph buy it? asked Greg, still speaking in Hindi.

Oh the Goat? Yes, my dad bought it for me,

Greg felt doomed as the reality slowly dawned upon him.

There goes my Kusthi match. There goes my 2000 pounds. There goes a trip to London. There go my dreams. Greg thought to himself, swallowing the sudden chunk he felt in his throat.

Nice goat. he said, I got to get going now.

XXX

Muted and grief struck, he noticed Tim and Alistair standing in front of his house. In a silent soliloquy, Alistair’s dad was clamoring at everyone. His phone rang often, and each time he picked it up, he would softly mutter something only the caller could hear before continuing his banter. The goat’s owner was also with them. He saw his Dad paying some money to him, as the gravity of the situation finally dawned upon Greg.

At least give Mr. Cromwell, his goat back, Alistair cried out on seeing him.

Answer the lad, what’s wrong with you? Steve shouted at a silent Greg.

I should have let you go on the day we had a fight about your wretched smoking habits, and you wanted to leave the house for good, his father called to him, You wouldn’t be here, if not for your mother. This is my fault. I have to pay for it, for raising my son as a thief.

Greg kept walking. If you needed money, you should have asked me. Why did you end up stealing a goat, and putting me to shame? his father