There were no rickshaws available to take them out to the picnic. Madan had looked for them at the stands and on the roads and drawn a blank: all had been reserved by the English folk the day before. ‘They give bigger tips than we do,’ he explained.

‘We can’t walk all the way to Mashobra and back,’ complained his sister. ‘It is more than seven miles from here. And now we have the lunch things ready.’

‘The best I could do was to reserve bicycles in the Carpenters’ Bazaar,’ said Madan. ‘He had only three left. One of us could take the other on the back.’

After all the preparations, the girls were in no mood to spend the day at home. They set out with their lunch packed in a basket and their raincoats slung across their shoulders. In Simla, most people carried raincoats as a matter of style; news of the advancing monsoon had provided the habit an additional excuse. They came to the shop owned by the Sikh who combined making furniture, toys, and walking sticks, with hiring out cycles. Of the three bicycles, two were ladies’: these were taken over by Sita and Beena. Madan took the man’s.

For the first mile the road climbed steeply, so there was no question of anyone cycling. When they came to the flat stretch they noticed that there were no carriers on any of the cycles. The only possible way Champak, who could not cycle, could get a lift was by riding on the handlebar of Madan’s. Nothing was said on the subject. But, instead of mounting their cycles, they went on walking. Madan was in great form. He made funny remarks about the people they passed—in Punjabi about the English and in English about the Punjabis.

Mashobra bazaar and hotel was crowded with holiday makers so they went a little farther to an old rest house in the midst of pine trees. Madan found an isolated spot above the roads. They hauled their cycles up the hillside and flung themselves on the bed of the pine needles.

They ate their lunch and again spread themselves on the ground for an afternoon. It was pleasant lying in the sun, breathing the warm, resiny odour of the pines and listening to the breeze soughing through the trees. There were a few white clouds. Lammergeyers circled lazily, high above in the deep blue of the sky. In the valley below a barbet started calling in its agitated, breathless way. Then a woman started to sing in a plaintive voice which seemed to fill the valley to the brim. Beena sat up to listen. She looked at her companions; they seemed to be fast asleep. She got up and quietly walked away in the direction from where the song was coming.