This incident took place a couple of decades ago on an Independence Day while I was working as a consultant for a multinational company. My work was mostly outside India but once I had the good fortune to be in Rajasthan. The people were palpably patriotic. Work in the company for the local labourers was from 6am to 6pm. The supervisors were either British or Europeans.
On August 14 the workers went to see the general manager, a British man, and told him that on August 15, India’s Independence Day, they wanted to hoist the national flag. They said that they would do this at 8am, salute the flag and commence work only after that. The sahib was not amused. He refused permission outright. The workers stood their ground and told him bluntly that they would hoist the flag come what may, take the salute, and work only after 8am. The manager still did not agree.
Come August 15th, a Dutchman was in direct charge of mobilising the workers in the morning. Oblivious to the importance of the day, he wondered why the labourers were not ready as usual. Then he saw the scene that put him off altogether. A few guys were trying to hoist a tricolour flag in a nearby place and all the workers were slowly gathering around it.
He ran towards them and tried to prevent them from hoisting the flag. The workers insisted that they would go ahead with the ceremony even if they were all summarily dismissed from their jobs. He lost his cool and pulled on the pole. There was plenty of shouts.
A real tug of war went on and finally the sahib managed to get hold of the flag for one moment. And then it happened. The pole along with the flag slipped from his hand and fell on the ground. The silence that followed was deafening. Stunned by the silence, the white man froze in terror. The labourers, without uttering another word, marched to the manager’s office.
“Twenty-four hours,” their camp boss, a Rajput, said in clear English. “Within twenty-four hours this man should be out of this country. Otherwise, he will be slaughtered,” he said. Again, without uttering another word, they all turned back, hoisted the flag, took the salute and went for work. The manager did not pause for a moment to ask them what had happened. He knew that the Rajputs meant business.
The word “slaughter” still ringing in his mind, he ran to the Dutchman’s room and started putting his clothes into whatever bags he could lay his hands on. He threw them all into a station wagon. Meanwhile, all the other sahibs got together and pushed the terrified man into the front seat. And there was no need to tell the driver that the trip was directly to the nearest airport and that there were no stops and no speed limits.