Free Dahanu Road: A novel by Anosh Irani

camel shit.”
    Then he thumped Keki on the back. This was Aspi Irani’s let-me-enlighten-you thump.
    “The Muslims had started forcing the Zoroastrians to convert to Islam,” said Aspi Irani. “So in 716 AD, many of our ancestors—bless their persecuted souls—fled to India to seek asylum. Quite frankly, I wish they’d gone the other way, to Italy or Spain, but they chose this shithole of a country instead and so be it.”
    These early settlers were called Parsis because they came from the province of Pars in Persia. The Parsis first landed in Sanjan, in the coastal state of Gujarat: “The state next door to us, son, currently full of moneylenders and men who have black and white chessboard tiles in their living rooms.”
    The Hindu king of Sanjan, Jadi Rana, was not pleased with this unexpected arrival on his shores, as India was full even back then. So Jadi Rana asked his servant to bring him a jar of milk. Holding the jar of milk in his hand, Jadi Rana said to the head priest of the Parsis, “This jar of milk is filled to the brim.”
    The Parsi priest replied, “Mohan, I understand what you are saying.”
    “Why are you calling me Mohan?” asked Jadi Rana.
    “Because I had friend in Iran, a Hindu, whose name was also Mohan.”
    At this point, the Parsis worried that their head priest’s faux pas had ruined their chances of getting immigration, and, what’s worse, the look on Jadi Rana’s face implied that they would be tortured for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
    But then, with the suaveness of a magician, as though he were conjuring red roses out of thin air, the Parsi priest added sugar into the jar of milk.
    “This milk, on its own, tastes fine,” he said to Jadi Rana. “But add this sugar, and it becomes even sweeter. This is what we will do to your country. We will make it sweeter, and just as the sugar is invisible, you will not even notice our presence.”
    Jadi Rana was impressed by this quick thinking, and he felt that these people, although completely demented to travel with a burning fire—one they claimed had been kept burning for over three thousand years—would make valuable contributions to their adopted home.
    “That’s the story of the Parsis,” said Aspi Irani. “Did Camus know that?”
    “Camus had better things to worry about,” said Keki, blowing beedi smoke through the gritted cage bars of his teeth.
    “Like what—his accent?”
    “You are a philistine,” said Keki.
    “Ah,” said Aspi Irani. “That brings us to the Iranis. We came centuries later. We stayed on in Iran, got abused some more, a few Arab whippings here and there, we ate almonds, and that was it.”
    Zairos was disappointed. He wanted to hear more about the Iranis. But he was too young to have a voice at Anna’s. He was old enough only to listen, not to speak.
    Thankfully, Keki goaded Aspi Irani on.
    “Come on, Aspi. Tell it for poor, ignorant Camus.”
    “In that case,” said Aspi Irani, “I will oblige.”
    Centuries after the first group of Zoroastrians emigrated from Iran, another group landed on the shores of India. TheHindu king, who was the great-great-great-great-grandson of the one whose name was not Mohan, asked the Iranis the same question: “Why should I allow you to enter the country?” The Iranis did not know what to say. They were tired and hungry and horny. They started eyeing the king’s servants. “Bring me some milk!” said the Hindu king. The Iranis were even more confused. Why the hell were they being offered milk? Was this king a complete moron?
    When the jar of milk was brought, the Hindu king noticed that it had no effect whatsoever on the Iranis. Perhaps they needed a prod in the right direction. So he ordered, “Bring me some sugar as well!” When the sugar came, he offered the jar and the sugar to the Iranis. All they had to do was mix it, and they were in.
    Instead, the Iranis asked the Hindu king, “Boss, you got some whiskey?”
    “No,” replied the king. “We