There was an awkward pause. No one knew what to say to this sour-tempered babu. Jugga asked naïvely:

‘Babuji, don’t you believe that bad acts yield a bitter harvest? It is the law of karma. So the bhai is always saying. The Guru has also said the same in the Book.’

‘Yes, absolutely, sixteen annas in the rupee,’ sneered Iqbal.

‘Achhaji, have it your own way,’ said Jugga, still smiling. ‘You will never agree with ordinary people.’ He turned to the driver again.

‘Bholeya, I hear a lot of women are being abducted and sold cheap. You could find a wife for yourself.’

‘Why, Sardara, if you can find a Mussulmanni without paying for her, am I impotent that I should have to buy an abducted woman?’ replied Bhola.

Jugga was taken aback. His temper began to rise. The policemen, who had started to snigger, looked nervously at Juggut Singh. Bhola regretted his mistake.

‘Why, Juggia,’ he said, changing his tone. ‘You make fun of others, but get angry when someone retorts.’

‘If these handcuffs and fetters had not been on me, I would have broken every bone in your body,’ said Jugga fiercely. ‘You are lucky to have escaped today, but if I hear you repeat this thing again I will tear your tongue out of your mouth.’ Jugga spat loudly.

Bhola was thoroughly frightened. ‘Do not lose your temper. What have I . . . ’

‘Bastard.’

That was the end of the conversations. The uneasy silence in the tonga was broken only by Bhola swearing at his horse. Jugga was lost in angry thoughts. He was surprised that his clandestine meetings were public knowledge. Somebody had probably seen him and Nooran talking to each other. That must have started the gossip. If a tonga driver from Chundunnugger knew, everyone in Mano Majra would have been talking about if for some time. The last to learn of gossip are the parties concerned. Perhaps Imam Baksh and his daughter Nooran were the only ones in the village who knew nothing of what was being said.

The party reached Chundunnugger after noon. The tonga came to a halt outside the police station, which was a couple of furlongs distant from the town. The prisoners were escorted through an arched gateway which had WELCOME painted on it in large letters. They were first taken to the reporting room. The head constable opened a large register and made the entries of the day’s events on separate pages. Just above the table was an old framed picture of King George VI with a placard stating in Urdu, BRIBERY IS A CRIME. On another wall was pasted a coloured portrait of Gandhi torn from a calendar. Beneath it was a motto written in English, HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY. Other portraits in the room were those of absconders, bad characters, and missing persons.