Sher Singh took that sort of remark personally. ‘The crisis produces the man,’ he said pompously. ‘India can only be ruled by strong men. This democratic business of votes for everyone, elections, assemblies, committees, is nonsense. I don’t believe in it.’ After Sher Singh’s short detention his pronouncements on politics had acquired sanctity.

Buta Singh swallowed a mouthful of curry. A stringy bit of vegetable stuck to his walrus moustache and began to dance up and down as he poured out platitudes with great earnestness. ‘Absolutely right! What does a vote mean to illiterate semi-savage people! It may be all right in England, but not in India. What is the point of creating a jungle of committees and rules so that no one can see the way out? In our own administration they do the same. It doesn’t take me in. I don’t take any notice of committees. No red tape for me,’ he said sitting back. The stringy piece of curry also sat back on his moustache. It looked funny but Buta Singh was talking so seriously that no one could draw his attention to it. ‘If I had allowed myself to be fooled by files and rules of procedure I wouldn’t have got where I have. It takes a shrewd man to see through them.’

A faint smile came on Sabhrai’s pale face. She raised her hand with her rosary dangling between her fingers. Shunno got up and put her ear close to her mistress’s mouth; then put her hands on her mouth and went into an irrepressible giggle. The family looked round. After two months of sighing, sorrowing, and sickness, Sabhrai had cracked a joke.

‘What is it?’ asked Beena.

Shunno could not speak; she was convulsed with laughter. The smile still played on Sabhrai’s pallid face. Beena came close to her and she whispered the same words into her daughter’s ear. Beena also burst out laughing.

‘Tell us the joke too,’ said Buta Singh, smiling eagerly. Beena held her laughter. ‘Mama says there is a bulbul on the bough.’

Everyone including Buta Singh began to laugh. He brushed his moustache with his napkin and asked: ‘Has it flown?’

Sabhrai nodded her head slowly still smiling.

‘Thank god you are smiling today,’ said Beena. She put her arms round her mother and kissed her on her cheeks and forehead.

Serious political discussion was over and everyone was happy. The joke was repeated to the doctor and other visitors who came. They dispersed to go to their work—to the law courts and the college.

More people die between nine and eleven in the morning than at any other time of the day or night. Body temperature falls to its lowest degree in the early hours and after a short struggle the heart gives in.