The Lambardar’s hand went to his holster. Before he could draw his weapon two of the boys fell on him. He shook them off like a wounded wild boar shakes off pye-dogs at the end of a chase. Madan and Sher Singh covered him with their pistols.

‘Put your hands up or I’ll shoot you like the filthy dog you are.’

The headman extended his arms towards Sher Singh as if to embrace him. ‘Brother, you also have become angry!’ he said appealingly.

Sher Singh stepped back and fired. The headman bent over with a loud ‘Hai.’ His hand moved to his gun. The boys behind him saw and gave warning. Madan fired a second shot. The headman let out another loud ‘Hai,’ sagged down on his knees and slowly stretched himself on the path. Blood poured out of his wounds. His last words were not addressed to God or the Great Guru but to his killers. ‘I’ll sleep with your mothers . . . I’ll sleep with your sisters . . . I’ll . . . .’ It made it easier for them to finish him off. Each one of the boys fired a shot in the headman’s body so that the crime was shared. They unstrapped the holster and the cartridge belt and dragged the corpse down the slope towards the swamp. It was warm and twitching. An occasional gurgle came out of the dead man’s throat. They dumped it into a ditch and covered it with earth and stones. They dug up and relevelled the path where he had fallen and bled. They washed their hands in the canal and made for the city as fast as they could.

There was a brief farewell at parting. The boys were to leave the city immediately for different destinations. Madan was to return to Simla.

Sher Singh was left alone to face his amorous wife, his ill-tempered father—and himself.

Chapter IX