Madan never smoked in front of Sabhrai. That morning he did not throw away the cigarette he was smoking nor get up from his chair. ‘Listen to the rumblings before the earthquake, auntie,’ said he, and proceeded to tell her of the breakdown in the negotiations between the British and Indian leaders. He told her that the Nationalists had called a meeting at Mahatma Gandhi’s hermitage to decide on the next step. Meanwhile the police had begun arresting demonstrators; in Dacca alone over 700 had been arrested in one day. There had been riots in many towns.

He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. ‘These bloody English won’t learn till they get a real shoe-beating,’ he said angrily.

‘Is there any trouble in the Punjab,’ asked Sabhrai.

‘There have been a few arrests including some in Simla yesterday. But no rioting or violence—not so far.’

‘Not by the people perhaps, but by the police,’ added Sita. ‘Last evening I saw a boy volunteer—he couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen—come up the steps of the lower bazaar to picket an English store on the Mall. A European sergeant hit him full in the face. He fell and must have rolled down at least a dozen of those horribly steep steps when one of the crowd-came to his help. The sergeant went down and arrested the picket as well as the man who had helped him. I saw them taken to the police station. The boy must have had some of his teeth knocked out; he was bleeding profusely. There was an uproar on the Mall and many shops closed in protest.’ Sita seldom spoke this way. Her cheeks were flushed.

‘Bastards,’ muttered Madan in great anger.

After a pause Champak said: ‘I suppose this will go on and on.’

‘This sort of thing never stops,’ replied Madan.

‘Then I must get back to my husband. He mixes with such queer types and gets excited very quickly. Bibiji, don’t you think I should go back? I will do exactly as you tell me.’

Sabhrai did not say anything. Champak sensed that her mother-in-law would not object. ‘If you give me permission, I will leave tomorrow.’

‘You have never travelled alone,’ interrupted Sita. ‘These are dangerous times; Madan Bhraji can go with you. We can look after ourselves for a few days.’

‘No, no!’ protested Champak. ‘He can put me in a taxi. I am bound to meet somebody at the Kalka railway station who can see me home.’

‘That is out of the question,’ started Madan in a tone of authority. ‘Of course, I will go with you. You are not the only one who wants to see Sherji; I also want to see my brother. He is doing all the work amongst the students and I am having a good time in Simla. I will send him up for a few days’ rest.’