‘They don’t carry rifles at the docks. They carry batons.’

‘My uncle used a rifle during his training.’

‘You don’t know me, but I run an employment agency. We recruit able-bodied men straight off the train and tell them “Here, this is your baton. This is your place. This is your motto: No permission, no entry.” That is our training, nothing more, nothing less. I’ve never heard of this training with rifles that you’re talking about.’

‘No wonder riots are so frequent, with guards like that.’

‘Everyone knows me at the docks. Sir Wilkie invited me for tea once. My agency—’

‘Are you calling me a liar?’

‘Silence. Silence,’ some voices called out from the crowd.

‘Have you ever seen a rifle? The cartridge has to be forced open with one’s teeth. If the cartridges are greased with cow and pig fat, they’re considered polluted; it has nothing to do with gunpowder.’

‘This is what the government of beef-eaters wants us to believe. My uncle knows what’s beneath all this. Dal mein kuch kala nahin, poori daal hi kali hai (The whole affair smells fishy). People like you, government stooges, will say anything to be in their good books.’

‘But—’

A small crowd had gathered around the two men.

‘What if everyone discovers the truth? Will your men with batons protect you? They’ll be the first to beat you up.’

‘How dare you?’ the employment agent responded.

‘Not me, you. How dare you insult our cow?’

‘Throw him out. He is a stooge of that beef-eating government and that beef-eating Victoria,’ a new voice called out from the crowd.

‘This is no country for beef-eaters.’

The new voice from the crowd reached out for the man’s collar and pulled him to the floor. Ten or twelve men made use of their arms and legs, although not too aggressively—lunch was yet to be served. Some relied on accessories. One removed a leather chappal, another a leather belt. The blows continued. There was some circulation. The old made way for the new, the new for the young. The man who was bearing the brunt of the blows called out to his companion, who was burly like a wrestler. He effortlessly barrelled through the crowd scattering men about.

‘Stop! I want no commotion here,’ Panditji shouted. The ruckus had distracted many in the back rows. The men tried to drag the fight out to the street.

‘What’s going on? Will someone stop them?’ Panditji persisted.

Some men from the front rows ran to the back to break up the fight.

‘Throw them out.’