‘Sir,’ stuttered Mussadi Lal, ‘there is no time now. I will ask the guard to let you sit in his compartment. He may find you a place at the next station.’

The tommies began to shout. ‘We are fighting for the King and country. Our f . . . King and your f . . . country and you can’t find a charpoy on this ‘ere trayn?’

Many shutters were let down and genteel ears heard the inebriated tommies blaspheme and curse on the deserted platform. The shutters were quickly put up. The train began to gather speed.

‘Where’s the f . . . guard’s van?’

Mussadi Lal and the two soldiers ran to the tail end of the train. The guard stood in the open door of his van. Mussadi Lal breathlessly explained to him in Hindustani, ‘Let these whites who sleep with their sisters get in till they can find a place. They are drunk and may let off their guns. One never knows with these people!’

The soldiers leapt into the guard’s van hurling insults to the King and country. Mussadi Lal waved them a goodbye and then shook his arm from the elbows to make an obscene gesture. ‘Ride on my pony if there is no room on the train,’ he roared.

The occupants of the soldiers’ berths did not hear the abuse. The musical hum of the fan and the tipity, tipity, tap of the wheels beating time drowned all unpleasant noise. A cool breeze came through the shutters smelling of the green rain-washed forest. Champak went into the bathroom and took a shower. She came back wearing her transparent kimono. She went to the window and let down the shutter. A gust of wind blew the kimono on either side, baring her from her feet to her waist. Her hair flew wildly like the snakes on Medusa’s head. Madan got up, switched off the lights, and came towards her.

‘Can’t you bear to see me as I am? Why do you want it dark?’

Madan pressed the switch. Champak took off her kimono, tossed it on the rack and lay down on the berth.

‘Now you can switch off the lights if you want to.’

Madan stared at the girl stretched out on the white bedsheet. He had never seen a woman like that—not even his own wife.

‘Don’t look at me like that; it makes me ashamed of my nakedness,’ said Champak turning her back and hiding her face. ‘You look as if you had never seen a woman.’

Madan switched off the light and came to her. ‘No, I have never seen one with absolutely nothing on—never,’ he said hoarsely.

‘I still have my wrist watch.’

Chapter VII

Sher Singh saw the morning paper before his father. He read the news of the arrests of the Indian leaders and of the strikes and demonstrations taking place all over the country—except in the Punjab. At the breakfast table he read out the headlines to his father. They were discussing the consequences of the action taken by the Government when an orderly came with a message asking Buta Singh to come to Taylor’s bungalow at once.