The Hindu Business Line : Lawrence of Iraq

SO there was Saddam Hussein having a quiet sappad with his sons and buddies in a downtown Baghdad restaurant when the Americans dropped three 200-tonne bombs on his lamb kebabs.

I guess it is one way of re-arranging the décor, and getting rid of rude waiters. Probably, the Americans did not like the restaurant's food either and thought it was the ideal location for a McDonald's.

However, according to the US President, they do not know whether Saddam became a kebab or not.

As he could be alive and kicking, I figured I had better get over to Baghdad and have a meeting with him before the Americans tried again. I had his mobile number and called him when I landed at the airport.

It is a confusing airport, as no one knows who is running it now. There are no immigration or Customs desks, only machine gun posts. Not even a luggage trolley.

Saddam had very kindly sent his personal tank to meet me. I thought it safer to walk, as the Americans do not like Iraqi tanks. The driver had once driven cabs in New York before returning to fight for his country.

Naturally, he got lost trying to find the entrance to Saddam's underground bunker. I gathered that there were any number of disguised entrances to it.

They are like subway entrances, except they are hidden. This allows Saddam to pop up anywhere, any time. My guide tried the cigarette kiosk first but a tank had hit it.

After three or four others, we went into the public toilet on Saddam Hussein Avenue and when my guide flushed the third toilet, a door swung open.

We were in. Not quite in, but into the maze of tunnels Saddam has burrowed under his city.

After trekking for miles, we finally reached the foyer entrance to his bunker. The elevator had two buttons, up and down and down we went for a thousand feet.

I had read about this bunker, designed and constructed by a German company (they have long experience in bunkers).

Even a thermo-nuclear device would not dent it. When the steel elevator door opened, we stepped into a palace, like his one in Basra, all inlaid marble and gold fittings.

The bunker had the usual palace design — reception rooms, dinning rooms, bedrooms with attached baths, gym, movie theatre, riding stable, five-car garage, air conditioning and, my guide told me, enough water and food for a 100-year siege.

Saddam was in his movie theatre, watching Lawrence of Arabia, the re-issued version. Saddam wore his casual military fatigues and his cute French beret.

He had a bucket of popcorn and was sipping lassi. He loved the bit when the Arabs attacked the train and captured it.

However, I did notice that Peter O'Toole's face had been digitised out and Saddam's face digitised in. The new face looked a bit heavy for the frail O'Toole physique.

"Sir, how are you?" I began.

"Shhh, this is the bit I like best," he snapped and when dictator's snap, it is best to shut up and watch as Omar Shariff, after shooting the man stealing his water, rides across the desert towards the camera. Except, Omar had been digitised out too, and Saddam digitised in."

"That was a great shot," Saddam said. "I mean my accuracy. Now, what can I do for you?"

"How is the war going?"

"We are winning. Can't you see?" he pointed to the film.

"I mean the war above us."

"Oh that! We are winning that one even more easily. I have reports that the Americans are running away."

He rose reluctantly and led me into the next room that had a bank of 30 monitors. "See."

Every monitor showed a pristine, undamaged Baghdad. There was not a ruin in sight and no sign of any American tanks or American soldiers.

His citizens were laughing and clapping and singing. Saddam smiled at every monitor benignly. Quite suddenly, he appeared on one monitor, being greeted by his citizens.

"Isn't that you? It could be," he said, peering at the screen. "No that is my double number three."

He laughed. "How could I be up there when I am down here with you?" What about the bombed out restaurant where you were eating kebabs?"

"Bomb? What bomb? The gas cylinders in the kitchen exploded and damaged the kitchen. You have gas cylinders exploding in India, don't you? I was lucky that I had a table by the window as I like looking out at the people who love me so much. If I did not have that influence the maitre would have given me a table by the kitchen entrance."

"So you think you will win the war."

"Will? We're winning. Don't you listen to my information minister at all? He tells me we are winning everywhere." He shook hands, dismissing me imperiously. "I have to get back to my movie."

"Where are your sons?"

"Doing the usual, I suppose. Raping and torturing someone. You know how it is, boys will be boys."

He strolled away. "And please close the doors when you leave."

(Contact the writer at: tnmurari@hotmail.com)

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