In the meeting hall, Liang stood gravely. He was wearing a pointed paper hat. From his neck hung a paper denouncing him. In the last few days, Liang had become weaker and thinner. His eyes had sunken in. He looked extremely tired. One could tell that he was going through a whirlwind of torture.

Mei Fung went and sat among the people. She looked at Liang and started weeping. Liang looked at her, his eyes extremely grave, his face stiff.

The farm manager and the local CPC leaders walked in. First came the roll call. After that, one of the officials of the CPC asked, ‘Why are there less people today?’

‘Pramila Gogoi has died. Some have gone for her cremation.’

‘When did they take her?’

‘About two hours back.’

‘If so, the cremation should have been over by now. Why have they not come back? It is alright that her family members have not come. What about the others? Call them.’

With a dull face, the farm manager went to call the boys. After some time, Lee Chang and the others came in with him angrily.

No one had the will to attend the meeting today. The ruthlessness of this life had affected them to their core. They were not prepared to listen to talk of social revolution, Mao’s sayings and The People’s Daily editorial.

They could not show their disinterest. If they did, a black mark declaring them ‘anti-revolutionary’ would be stamped on their personal record. The people were looking blankly at the leaders, pretending to listen.

In the beginning, a few things related to the farm were discussed. After that the editorial of The People’s Daily and other news items read. Then they opened the Red Book. Then finally came the phase of denouncing Liang. That done, and after a long lecture on reactionary forces, anti-revolutionary activities and the Cultural Revolution, the leaders of the local CPC sat down. After him stood another local leader.

It was now Hong’s turn. Hearing his name, he stood up.

‘We have received a complaint that yesterday you quarrelled once again in the market. True or not?’

Hong’s face turned red instantly. After a while he said slowly, ‘They ridiculed us as refugees and foreign devils. That’s why –’

The leader looked at him for some time and asked, ‘Are you all not refugees?’

Everyone in the hall looked at Hong. Controlling himself with all his strength, he looked up at the leader.

‘Sir, this country gave us shelter at a difficult time. When we left India forever, we did not come here to live as refugees. We feel hurt when we are insulted as refugees and foreign devils.’ Can’t we expect a little respect even as refugees from the people of this country? We work here like everyone else. We never object to anything.’

‘What do you mean to say? Were you more comfortable in India?’