‘Baba!’ Ko Fuk cried out. Outside the train, his father and two sisters were also crying bitterly. Holding out his arms he took Ko Fuk from Ameng and gently put him down on the platform.

Forgetting everything, Mei Fung went to the door and, looking at the armed guards on the platform, she cried out, ‘Is Ting San Kong here? Ting San Kong? Please check. His home is in Siliguri.’

‘Who?’ a curious guard asked.

‘Ting San Kong.’

‘How is he related to you?’

For a second, she didn’t know what to say. Then casting her shyness away, she said, ‘He is my husband.’

The guard looked at a list that a plainclothes officer was carrying, and shook his head.

‘His name is not in the list. He has not been arrested.’

‘He is Chinese. Why has he not been arrested? Please check again.’

The guard walked away. He had neither the time nor the inclination to listen to the wailing of the enemy.

‘San Kong! San Kong!’ Mei Fung called out frantically, thrusting her head out of the door.

Where was Mei Fung’s would-be groom? Why hadn’t they arrested him? How could she live without him? What was the point of living?

‘Hey girl, go inside,’ a guard shouted angrily at her.

‘Come along, Mei Fung. Get inside,’ Tung Chin placed his hand on her shoulder softly. Mei Fung looked back. She broke down crying.

‘What will I do now? O ako, what will I do?’

Suddenly they heard the crashing sound of stones being thrown at the train.

‘Close the doors. Close the windows,’ the guards shouted, hitting the train’s compartments with their batons.

‘There’s water in the taps,’ someone shouted.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the compartment changed and everyone stood up holding out their vessels. Just then Khagen Baishya climbed in carrying a big bundle.

‘There are some kids’ clothes here along with some medicines. I’ve brought food as well,’ he said.

‘Give me food. I am hungry. Give me,’ Ho Yin’s father cried out desperately.

The train began to gather speed.

Twenty-three

Twenty-three

Yunlin was in pain.

Everyone had lost track of time. It was pitch dark inside the coach. It was as if a group of voiceless shadows were sitting in an ancient cave. There had been no light since the day before. The air inside the coach had become thick with the stench of urine and excreta.

There was no water for washing either.

Ameng’s bucket, mug, two water containers, a few bottles of lemonade, glasses, bowls and a kettle were the only property on that coach that could be used to store water. This was nothing for a coach full of captives who became thirstier after eating half-cooked khichdi.