‘That’s settled then,’ said Madan triumphantly. ‘I will book a table. We will steal some of the sandwiches and small cakes and bring them home for Beena.’ He laughed at his own joke.

After lunch they left Beena at home and went out for tea. The sun had come out after two days and people came out of their homes as ants emerge out of their holes after rain. The Mall, on which the big stores and restaurants were, was crowded. The Viceroy sped past in his Rolls Royce. The Muslim Chief Minister of the Punjab strode down the slope like an elephant at a ceremonial prade; he wore a white turban whose stiffly starched plumes waved in the air. He was surrounded by a horde of bowing and scraping ministers and civil servants. Behind him followed a train of liveried coolies, bearing his crest on their blue turbans, pulling brightly polished rickshaws. Fashionable women, both English and Indian, strolled about showing off their clothes and exuding expensive French perfumes. Batches of college students went up and down the three hundred yard stretch of road displaying their college badges and eyeing girls. It was like a fashion parade where everyone was both the mannequin and the audience. Madan had his admirers all along the route. He stopped every few yards to greet them and exchange the three stock questions which people ask each other at holiday resorts: ‘When did you come up? Where are you staying? How long will you stay?’ And then rejoined Sabhrai and the girls.

Davicos Restaurant was jammed. The air was thick with cigar smoke, perfume, and the smell of whiskey. Sabhrai drew one end of her shawl across her face.

The steward conducted them to their table at the farther end of the hall close to the orchestra. Madan surveyed the room, waved to the people he knew, and sat down. ‘Auntie, you would hardly believe there is a war on and these English chaps are getting the beating of their lives,’ he said to Sabhrai.

Champak answered, ‘When they work, they work hard. When they have a good time, they have a really good time. So my Sardarji says.’

‘You don’t know what the Germans and the Japanese are doing to them! And so far they have had the Indians to go to the front to receive the enemies’ bullets. That won’t last for long. When it starts here, they will forget about having a good time; then they will think of their maternal grandmothers.’

Sabhrai looked up sharply. Before she could speak, the bearer came with the tray of teacups and started laying them out on the table. A soon as he left, Madan started again, ‘Auntie, you think we Indians can do nothing! Wait and see what happens; you just wait and see. We will give them a shoe-beating such as they have never had before.’