‘Nobody is firing any guns. Just your imagination,’ answered Juggut Singh wearily, without looking at her.

Faint cries of wailing wafted across to the riverside. The couple sat up to listen. Two shots rang out in quick succession. The crows flew out of the keekars, cawing furiously.

The girl began to cry.

‘Something is happening in the village. My father will wake up and know I have gone out. He will kill me.’

Juggut Singh was not listening to her. He did not know what to do. If his absence from the village was discovered, he would be in trouble with the police. That did not bother him as much as the trouble the girl would be in. She might not come again. She was saying so: ‘I will never come to see you again. If Allah forgives me this time, I will never do it again.’

‘Will you shut up or do I have to smack your face?’

The girl began to sob. She found it hard to believe this was the same man who had been making love to her a moment ago.

‘Quiet! There is someone coming,’ whispered Juggut Singh, putting his heavy hand on her mouth.

The couple lay still, peering into the dark. The five men carrying guns and spears passed within a few yards of them. They had uncovered their faces and were talking.

‘Dakoo! Do you know them?’ the girl asked in a whisper.

‘Yes,’ Juggut said, ‘The one with the torch is Malli.’ His face went tight. ‘That incestuous lover of his sister! I’ve told him a thousand times this was no time for dacoities. And now he has brought his gang to my village! I will settle this with him.’

The dacoits went up to the river and then downstream toward the ford a couple of miles to the south. A pair of lapwings pierced the still night with startled cries: Teet-tittee-tittee-whoot, tee-tee-whoot, tee-tee-whoot, tit-tit-tee-whoot.

‘Will you report them to the police?’

Juggut Singh sniggered. ‘Let us get back before they miss me in the village.’

The pair walked back toward Mano Majra, the man in front, the girl a few paces behind him. They could hear the sound of wailing and the barking of dogs. Women were shouting to each other across the roofs. The whole village seemed to be awake. Juggut Singh stopped near the pond and turned round to speak to the girl.

‘Nooro, will you come tomorrow?’ he asked, pleading.

‘You think of tomorrow and I am bothered about my life. You have your good time even if I am murdered.’

‘No one can harm you while I live. No one in Mano Majra can raise his eyebrows at you and get away from Jugga. I am not a budmash for nothing,’ said he haughtily. ‘You tell me tomorrow what happens or the day after tomorrow when all this—whatever it is—is over. After the goods train?’