The group reassembled a few hours later and made for the canal. They wore coloured sports shirts and carried their hockey sticks. They passed many policemen on the way but no one took any notice of them. When they reached the bridge, there was still daylight. Some of the boys took off their clothes and jumped into the canal; others went with Sher Singh to examine the bridge. It was barely ten feet wide, made of red bricks. The thick layer of dried dung showed that it was mainly used by cattle. They came back and joined the bathers.

The sun set and the short twilight quickly darkened into night. There was no moon. It was silent except for the croaking of frogs. Sher Singh took out his flashlight and produced one of the grenades. ‘I suppose the first honour goes to me,’ he said gravely.

‘Sure, leader. But tell us how it is done,’ they said, closing round him.

They went down the canal embankment to take cover. Sher Singh stood up. He pulled out the pin of the grenade with his teeth, counted five, hurled it on the bridge, and sat down. The grenade bounced off the parapet and fell into the water with a loud splash and exploded. It sent a jet of water flying into the air. The next one, thrown by one of the other boys, exploded on the bridge and sent up the debris all round. So did the remaining four. The boys ran up through the dust and the smoke to see the damage they had caused. Sher Singh flashed his torch. There were big dents in the center of the bridge and the parapet had been knocked off at several places; but it was still serviceable. They mounted their bicycles and sped back as fast as they could.

Sher Singh went to the bazaar near the railway station where there was a row of eating places. He sat down on a steel chair on the pavement and ordered himself a plate of meat and raw onions; he ate onions to his heart’s content when his wife was away. The cook slapped a few chapatties and baked them in the oven. Sher Singh had his dinner on the pavement along with a motley crowd of peasants and labourers, and listened to the music coming over the radio. He heard the nine o’clock news. He heard about the Allied victories in the face of Fascist advances and the calm in the country despite thousands of arrests. It did not irritate him any more. He knew they were lying.

Sher Singh got home after 10 p.m., his mouth still on fire from the chillies and raw onions he had eaten. Finding his wife at home was not a pleasant surprise. She made it unpleasanter. ‘Hullo, hullo, when did you turn up? You did not send any word!’