Post by Radrook Admin on Nov 11, 2022 11:22:47 GMT -5
The Grateful Immigrant
by Radrook
by Radrook
Salman Bahotrah, an Indian storekeeper and recent immigrant to America, had done well in the United States, and felt a great need to bestow upon the country of his dreams, some gift as a recompense for his happiness.
"America is the greatest country in the world!" he'd say out of the proverbial blue, even when the conversation was about such mundane things as how many dozen eggs he had to reorder, or who could he hire to work part-time as a minimum-wage cashier.
He'd wax melodic about America's virtues, especially when an Anglo customer was present. Then, he would turn off the throbbing Indian music on the store radio, nonchalantly approach his clerk, usually a recently-arrived family member whom he knew was a captive audience, and would boisterously wax melodic about the benefits of USA democracy. The animated harangue would continue until the now-nervous customer was at the checkout counter. Then Bahatrah would triumphantly conclude with:
"And you know why we are doing so well my friend? Because we are in America! That is why."
After which he'd smilingly thank the customer for his patronage, and wait anxiously for the approval he sought like a small puppy does after performing some trick, an unflattering comparison used by his wife in an effort to bring him to his senses, and make him stop.
Some customers were self-consciously embarrassed, and hurriedly took their groceries and left. These he would tag as communists, or fifth-wheels who were probably in the service of some anti-American spy agency.
But most customers would courteously oblige by an approving nod, or else would display a conciliatory smile. Others seemed oblivious to his nationalistic antics, and would leave him feeling forlorn with a downcast expression on his full-bearded brown face.
"You are trying too hard Salman!" his wife would say in exasperation, as he'd lie in bed sleepless at night feeling guilty about not contributing enough. Sometimes it would even interfere with his libido to his wife's chagrin.
Well, unbeknown to himself, Bahatra would get his chance in a way that he’d never dreamed to prove just how blue blooded true apple-pie American he really was. It happened like this. One dreary rainy fog-cast day as Salman Bahatra was sitting behind the counter lamenting the slowdown in business, two men came in.
Now, Salman wasn't a suspicious fellow, but these two men seemed a bit strange. First, they both wore sunglasses on a foggy, rainy day. Also, both carried mysterious-looking black, leather briefcases, wore black fedora hats, identical black trench coats buttoned up to the neck, and both had that silent gravitas look typical of those ancient Roman statues of the Caesars. After fifteen minutes of the same, Salman had finally had enough.
"Can I help you please my friends,” he uttered nervously with one finger poised next to the hidden alarm-button under the counter which would bring the police to his address in less than ten minutes.
"We are seeking to speak with a certain Salman Bahotrah” the taller of the two responded in what sounded to Salman as mix of Russian Irish accent. Salman couldn’t help but notice how pale they were. After all, this was Florida, and even the whitest of the whites went around with a red lobster-like tinge on the back of their necks.
But these two were paler than an unripe mango, protruding cheekbones and sunken face sides contributed to their ghoulish impression.
"I am Salman Bahatrah, the owner of this store. How can I help you?" he repeated nervously.
"We have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you Salman Bahatra” the taller of the two men said.
"Yes go ahead. I am listening my friend."
"But it must be in private. You must provide us with a few minutes of your time? It is urgent Mr. Bahatra. More urgent than you can ever begin to imagine."
"What is this about? Are you from IRS? I have all my documents in order. I’m a good American. I pay my taxes!
"Yes ! Yes! Mr.’ Bahatra. We are well-aware of your admirable honesty. In fact, it is because of your admirable honesty and your patriotic dedication that you have been selected from among many others."
"Selected?"
"Yes, chosen Mr. Bahatra. Chosen for a great privilege which is to be bestowed only on a few."
At that moment a customer came in.
"But we must speak in privacy," the shorter of the two whispered.
"Alright, store is closed my friend!“ Salman said to the customer, ushering him out over his protests.
Then he led the two men to his small office in the back.
"Have a seat please." he gestured toward the cardboard boxes of canned goods against the wall.
"You must forgive the mess, but we have been very busy and soon we will fix the office-"
"That is perfectly alright Mr. Bahatra. Soon such mundane matters will be of little concern."
They both sat ramrod-straight placing two black leather briefcases on the floor beside themselves, and both folding their hands simultaneously as if of one mind.
Salman kept his finger poised on the hidden silent alarm button beneath his small desk, and the other ready to grab the revolver that was readily available in the half opened desk drawer. He was a foreigner, but he wasn’t ignorant about the violence running rampant in his beloved America, and he’d be damned if he was going to be deprived of his honestly earned income by two well dressed hooligans. Who knew? Maybe they were operating like Al Capone, asking for protection money or else. Until he knew he would keep his options open.
"We are here, Mr. Bahatrah, to offer you a grand opportunity to contribute to a far-reaching cause."
They both removed their black Fedora hats, revealing thick, white, curly, hair.
"What is the opportunity?” Bahatrah said while trying not to stare at their hair as it shimmered unnaturally. After all, there were people in India who had similar strange anomalies, and staring was done only out of pity.
"Well Mr. Bahatrah, there will be a great change before tomorrow.”
“A change?”
“Yes Mr. Bahatrah, a very far-reaching worldwide change to human society, and we want your assistance by performing your duties as our organization’s representative."
"Organization? What organization? You have to be specific my friend, otherwise..."
"The Intergalactic League of Planets Mr. Bahatrah!" the shorter of the two entoned.
"The what?"
"The intergalactic league of planets Mr. Bahatrah." they both chimed.
"You are making a joke, my friend, correct?"
"No Mr. Bahatrah we aren’t. You are familiar with the Bhagavata-Purana, Mahabharata and Ramayana Scriptures, are you not??"
"Yes! Yes ! I have read them, my friend."
"Well, we are the Devas from other star systems your sacred writings speak about. Our spaceships - or as your sacred writings call them, Vimanas, are in orbit awaiting our return.
"You are Devas?" Bakhtaran asked in an awed tone of voice.
"Yes Mr. Bahatrah we are Devas." They both slowly rose to their feet and walked stiffly to the door.
"You see Mr. Bahatrah, tomorrow, Earth will become a member of the League of Planets, and you have been chosen as a delegate to represent your region - the United States of America - before the Galactic Council.
"Me? A Store owner?"
"Ah Mr. Bahatrah, don’t underestimate yourself. There are many with far greater intellectual capabilities than you. Of this we are aware. But none with the drive and the dedication to improve this region you call America as you are Mr. Bahatrah.
"But I have only a second-year high school education my friends."
"The knowledge and skills you speak of are a trifle. Those can easily be instilled chemically. But not the sincerity and drive that you posses. You see Mr. Bahatrah, we have been closely observing you now for ten of your years, and know full-well how deeply you cherish this Earthian region.
In fact Mr. Bahatrah, we consider you more USAian than Earthian. Are we not correct?
"Well, I am a loyal American citizen-"
"Then show your loyalty by coming with us to our ship for basic orientation in preparation for your glorious mission, Mr. Bahatrah."
"Right now?'
"No, first go home and tell your wife. We do not want to cause her unnecessary distress."
"In four hours earth time we will arrive at your domicile. Please have your belongings ready."
"Belongings?"
"Yes, things such as clothing, Mr. Bahatrah, tooth brushes, soap, underwear, etcetera. We will be seeing you then Mr. Bahatrah. "
Then after adjusting their sunglasses, the two men hurriedly disappeared into the cold, misty, night outside.
Salman Bahatrah stood blinking rapidly with heart pounding and in a daze. Then, after nervously securing his store, he got in his car, put pedal to the metal, and got a ticket for violating a traffic stop sign and almost killing two pedestrians in the process. He parked his car with a screaming of wheels on asphalt, bolted for his front door, pounded on it, but no one answered, broke the key in the keyhole and had to shimmy up the drainage pipe to get in through his daughter’s second-floor bedroom window.
Then he furiously packed a few necessary belongings. His wife had left him a note on the refrigerator door. She would be late tonight because of having to take care of her ill sister who had come down with the flu it read. So he would have to leave her a brief note explaining his absence. But how would he tell her? She would think it was a prank. That he was really out with another woman or out with the boys at some party. Several times he started writing the note, but had to discard it and try again. He was in the middle of writing the fifth version when there was a knock on the door.
Standing there were the exact two men he'd spoken to an hour before.
"Everything ready Mr. Bahatra?"
"But you said you would come in four hours!"
"There have been unforeseen complications, and we must hurry Mr. Bahatrah. Is everything set? They asked in unison entering Bahatrahs house without being invited in.
"Yes!" Bahatrah said, "Everything is set my friends."
"There is only one final formality that is required "
"What is that my friend?"
"Your signature." the taller of the two thrust his pale bony hand into his briefcase, and presented Salman with a pile of documents that he couldn’t make heads or tails of. Seeing his hesitation to sign, the shorter of the two spoke in a comforting tone:
"Just a formality Mr. Bahatrah. For the good of the United States!’’ he smiled persuasively.
"For the good of the United States anything." Salman began enthusiastically scribbling his name on the designated line, and finished it with a proud flourish.
"There!" he proclaimed proudly and began wiping perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief.
"Very Good Mr. Bahatrah,” the shorter of the two men uttered as he meticulously tucked the signed document away in his trench-coat pocket.
“Now you are officially a member of the Intergalactic Empire. Welcome to The Imperial Brotherhood!" the tall suddenly announced
"The what?" Salman felt as if the alien had just kicked him in the teeth with a pair of steel-toed-reinforced, hob-nailed boots.
"The Intergalactic Empire Brotherhood.” Both men chimed as they leaned forward and scowled.
"But you said nothing about empire brotherhood before, my friends."
"We thought you had understood Mr. Bahatrah, that you would represent your region of Earth, what do you call it?"
"The United States of America" Salman interjected gruffly.
"...as part of the Galactic Empire. But Earth itself will be colonized. We made that very clear!"
"But no my friends. No No! No! my friends! You did not!” Salman was shaking his head negatively, his hands were trembling, and his brown face was glistening with perspiration under the light of the living room’s large expensive pink Murano glass lotus-shaped chandelier that his wife Marabella had forced him to purchase, and for which he was still paying for via weekly installments.
“We did!” the two men intoned simultaneously. But since you are now refusing, you are forcing us to take drastic measures, Mr. Bahatrah!"
Salman deduced by the tone, that this was meant to be an implied threat. His large dark brown eyes began to swivel back and forth like that of a cornered animal ready to bolt. In fact, that’s exactly what he was intending to do "bolt - as he had done once when cornered in an alley by an enraged Brahma bull back in Bombay during his childhood. That time he got away with some gore and bite marks on one leg, and a spanking for having provoked the sacred beast by pelting him with rocks. But this could be much worse. If he ran now, he thought, they will cut me down before I could get halfway across the living room. "Reasoning is no good because I know too much now. But worse yet, if I died without warning anyone, America will become a colony." he thought.
“And what would Krishna say about all this my friends?” he asked trying to buy himself more time.
“Krishna ? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!.” they emotionlessly responded.
Then becoming even more serious-faced both said in unison:
"The lord Krishna is aware and approves!"
"Ahiiii!" Salman screamed as he leapt up in the air, grabbed the chandelier with both hands, and brought its brass base down on the head of taller one of the two men, who immediately doubled over at the waist, and crumpled to the floor. The shorter man, taken aback, yelled: "Wait! This...!" but before he could finish, Salman was on him. Pummeling with his fists, kneeing to the groin and biting to the neck as the man yelled for help. The other man had gotten to his feet holding the top of his bleeding head with one hand and trying to say something. In the din of the turmoil, and emotional heat of the moment, Salman kept hearing him shouting something that sounded like, "Urscaractics! Uuuurscaractics!"
He figured it was an alien tongue of some kind which meant “Kill the Earthman bastard!” But then as his head began to clear, he heard it clearly!
"You’re on Scare Tactics! Damit! Scare Tactics you maniac. OK? Your wife set you up!"