Meet Singh inspired no such affection and respect. He was only a peasant who had taken to religion as an escape from work. He had a little land of his own which he had leased out, and this, with the offerings at the temple, gave him a comfortable living. He had no wife or children. He was not learned in the scriptures, nor had he any faculty for conversation. Even his appearance was against him. He was short, fat, and hairy. He was the same age as Imam Baksh, but his beard had none of the serenity of the other’s. It was black, with streaks of gray. And he was untidy. He wore his turban only when reading the scripture. Otherwise, he went about with his long hair tied in a loose knot held by a little wooden comb. Almost half of the hair was scattered on the nape of his neck. He seldom wore a shirt and his only garment—a pair of shorts—was always greasy with dirt. But Meet Singh was a man of peace. Envy had never poisoned his affection for Imam Baksh. He only felt that he owed it to his own community to say something when Imam Baksh made any suggestions. Their conversation always had an undercurrent of friendly rivalry.

The meeting in the gurudwara had a melancholic atmosphere. People had little to say, and those who did spoke slowly, like prophets.

Imam Baksh opened the discussion. ‘May Allah be merciful. We are living in bad times.’

A few people sighed solemnly, ‘Yes, bad days.’

Meet Singh added, ‘Yes, Chacha—this is Kalyug, the dark age.’

There was a long silence and people shuffled uneasily on their haunches. Some yawned, closing their mouths with loud invocations to God: ‘Ya Allah. Wah Guru, wah Guru’

‘Lambaradara,’ started Imam Baksh again, ‘you should know what is happening. Why has not the Deputy Sahib sent for you?’

‘How am I to know, Chacha? When he sends for me I will go. He is also at the station and no one is allowed near it.’

A young villager interjected in a loud cheery voice: ‘We are not going to die just yet. We will soon know what is going on. It is a train after all. It may be carrying government treasures or arms. So they guard it. Haven’t you heard, many have been looted?’

‘Shut up,’ rebuked his bearded father angrily. ‘Where there are elders, what need have you to talk?’

‘I only . . .’

‘That is all,’ said the father sternly. No one spoke for some time.

‘I have heard,’ said Imam Baksh, slowly combing his beard with his fingers, ‘that there have been many incidents with trains.’

The word ‘incident’ aroused an uneasy feeling in the audience. ‘Yes, lots of incidents have been heard of,’ Meet Singh agreed after a while.

‘We only ask for Allah’s mercy,’ said Imam Baksh, closing the subject he had himself opened.