‘Government, she knows nothing about drink. She is hardly sixteen and completely innocent. She has never been near a man before. I have reared her for your honour’s pleasure.’

‘Then she will eat something even if she does not drink,’ said Hukum Chand. He preferred to ignore the rest of the woman’s speech. He picked up a meatball from a plate and tried to put it in the girl’s mouth. She took it from him and ate it.

Hukum Chand pulled her onto his lap and began to play with her hair. It was heavily oiled and fixed in waves by gaudy celluloid hair-clips. He took out a couple of hairpins and loosened the bun at the back. The hair fell about her shoulders. The musicians and the old woman got up.

‘Have we permission to leave?’

‘Yes, go. The driver will take you home.’

The old woman again set up a loud singsong: ‘May your fame and honour increase. May your pen write figures of thousands—nay, hundreds of thousands.’

Hukum Chand produced a wad of notes and put it on the table for her. Then the party went to the car, leaving the magistrate with the girl in his lap and the bearer waiting for orders.

‘Shall I serve dinner, sir?’

‘No, just leave the food on the table. We will serve ourselves. You can go.’ The bearer laid out the dinner and retired to his quarters.

Hukum Chand stretched out his hand and put out the paraffin lamp. It went out with a loud hiss, leaving the two in utter darkness save for a pale yellow light that flickered from the bedroom. Hukum Chand decided to stay out of doors.

The goods train had dropped the Mano Majra wagons and was leaving the station for the bridge. It came up noisily, its progress marked by the embers which flew out of the funnel of the engine. They were stoking coal in the firebox. A bright red-and-yellow light travelled through the spans of the bridge and was lost behind the jungle on the other side. The tram’s rumble got fainter and fainter. Its passing brought a feeling of privacy.

Hukum Chand helped himself to another whisky. The girl in his lap sat stiff and frigid.

‘Are you angry with me? You don’t want to talk to me?’ asked Hukum Chand, pressing her closer to him. The girl did not answer or look back at him.

The magistrate was not particularly concerned with her reactions. He had paid for all that. He brought the girl’s face nearer his own and began kissing her on the back of her neck and on her ears. He could not hear the goods train any more. It had left the countryside in utter solitude. Hukum Chand could hear his breathing quicken. He undid the strap of the girl’s bodice.

The sound of a shot shattered the stillness of the night. The girl broke loose and stood up.

‘Did you hear a shot?’