‘They call it injustice. A man kills a cow, the crowd kills the man. They’re wrong. It’s not one cow for one man. It is one man for thousands of cows—who will count the cows we have saved.’

‘How long will we suffer these Brahmin injunctions?’

‘They say the Hindus eat cows too. Why should we suffer due to the Brahmins? I say, you’re right. We should wrest Hinduism from Brahmin hands and return it to the peasant. The Brahmins introduced cow sacrifice in the Vedas, now we shall fight to remove it.’

‘The poor men are Hindus and Muslims, the rich are all the same.’

‘You’re right. It is for the peasant that we fight. They eat our cows; they destroy our way of life. When the cow is productive, she gives milk. When she’s not, she tills our land. When she cannot till, her excretions are used as cooking fuel. When she leaves us, alas, she still has value. Gaay bachao, aay bachao (Save the cow, save your income).’

‘Gaay bachao, aay bachao,’ the crowd shouted.

‘It’s against the wicked moneylender that we fight. Our cow is our subsistence. We protect her, we protect ourselves from his vicious clutches. What interest does he charge? Two hundred per cent. Then we lose our land. To whom? To these big fat moneylenders in the cities with their large houses and buggies, while the countryside suffers from famine and drought. They have no attachment to land or life. They extract so they can make merry; so they can join the English in their Sunday roast. They are the real villains. Unlike the village zamindar who has to keep his eyes open and see misery all around him, this city zamindar is blind to misery, blind to his own avarice. It is this famine, this man-made famine that we fight against. Gaay bachao, hai bachao (Save the cow, save yourself from destitution.)’

‘Gaay bachao, hai bachao,’ the crowd shouted.

‘I ask you to unite in protecting the cow, unite across castes, unite across religions. Protect the cow, protect your welfare, protect your family, protect your mother. Gaay bachao, mai bachao (Save the cow, save your mother).’

‘Gaay bachao, mai bachao,’ the crowd roared.

‘Gaay bachao, hai bachao . . . Gaay bachao, aay bachao . . . Gaay bachao, mai bachao.’

The next day, a newspaper reported: ‘Cow in Chewing Gum: British Company Insults Hindoos.’

30

The guard at Metro House saw four young men scale the school’s wall. Two of them hung on the hoarding until it buckled under their weight. They ripped through the hoarding like it was paper and it splintered into its constituents—iron, wood, canvas. The men walked towards Wellington Circle with determination. The guard ran upstairs not caring that he had left behind his baton on the chair. He stopped when he found himself in the middle of Thompson’s room.

‘They’re coming, they’re coming for us,’ he gasped.