Juggut Singh woke up from his reverie. He pushed his mother back rudely.

‘Why are you crying?’ he said. ‘You know I had nothing to do with the dacoity.’

She began to wail. ‘He did not do it. He did nothing. In the name of God, I swear he did nothing.’

‘Then where was he on the night of the murder?’ the head constable said.

‘He was out in his fields. He was not with the dacoits. I swear he was not.’

‘He is a budmash under orders not to go out of the village after sunset. We have to arrest him for that in any case.’ He motioned to his men. ‘Search the rooms and the barn.’ The head constable had his doubts about Juggut Singh partaking in a dacoity in his own village. It was most unusual.

Four constables busied themselves looking around the house, emptying steel trunks and tin cans. The haystack was pulled down and the hay scattered in the yard. The spear was found without difficulty.

‘I suppose this has been put here by your uncle?’ said the head constable addressing the mother sourly. ‘Wrap the blade in a piece of cloth, it may have blood stains on it.’

‘There is nothing on it,’ cried the mother, ‘nothing. He keeps it to kill wild pigs that come to destroy the crops. I swear he is innocent.’

‘We will see. We will see,’ the head constable dismissed her. ‘You better get proof of his innocence ready for the magistrate.’

The old woman stopped moaning. She did have proof—the packet of broken bangles. She had not told Jugga about it. If she had, he would certainly have gone mad at the insult and been violent to someone. Now he was in fetters and handcuffs, he could only lose his temper.

‘Wait, brother policemen. I have the evidence.’

The policemen watched the woman go in and bring out a packet from the bottom of her steel trunk. She unwrapped the brown paper. There were broken pieces of blue and red glass bangles with tiny gold spots. Two of them were intact. The head constable took them.

‘What sort of proofs are these?’

‘The dacoits threw them in the courtyard after the murder. They wanted to insult Jugga for not coming with them. Look!’ She held out her hands. ‘I am too old to wear glass bangles and they are too small for my wrists.’

‘Then Jugga must know who the dacoits were. What did they say when they threw them?’ asked the head constable.

‘Nothing, they said nothing. They abused Jugga . . .’

‘Can’t you keep your mouth shut?’ interrupted Jugga angrily. ‘I do not know who the dacoits were. All I know is that I was not with them.’

‘Who leaves you bangles?’ asked the head constable. He smiled and held up the bits of glass in his hands.

Jugga lost his temper. He raised his manacled fists and brought them heavily down on the head constable’s palms. ‘What seducer of his mother can throw bangles at me? What . . .’