Hukum Chand did not seem to be interested. He had his eyes fixed somewhere far away.

‘We were wrong about both Jugga and the other fellow.’ The Inspector went on: ‘I told you about Jugga’s liaison with a Muslim weaver’s girl. That kept him busy most nights. Malli threw bangles into Jugga’s courtyard after the dacoity.’

Hukum Chand still seemed far away.

‘If your honour agrees, we might release Jugga and Iqbal after we have got Malli and his companions.’

‘Who are Malli and his companions, Sikh or Muslim?’ asked Hukum Chand abruptly.

‘All Sikhs.’

The magistrate relapsed into his thoughts once more. After some time he began to talk to himself. ‘It would have been more convenient if they had been Mussulman. The knowledge of that and the agitator fellow being a Leaguer would have persuaded Mano Majra Sikhs to let their Muslims go.’

There was another long pause. The plan slowly pieced itself together in the subinspector’s mind. He got up without making any comment. Hukum Chand did not want to take any chances.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Let Malli and his gang off without making any entry anywhere. But keep an eye on their movements. We will arrest them when we want to . . . And do not release the budmash or the other chap yet. We may need them.’

The subinspector saluted.

‘Wait. I haven’t finished.’ Hukum Chand raised his hand. ‘After you have done the needful, send word to the commander of the Muslim refugee camp asking for trucks to evacuate Mano Majra Muslims.’

The subinspector saluted once more. He was conscious of the honour Hukum Chand had conferred by trusting him with the execution of a delicate and complicated plan. He put on his raincoat.

‘I should not let you go in this rain, but the matter is so vital that you should not lose any time,’ said Hukum Chand, still looking down at the ground.

‘I know, sir.’ The subinspector saluted again. ‘I shall take action at once.’ He mounted his bicycle and rode away from the rest house onto the muddy road.

Hukum Chand sat on the verandah staring vacantly at the rain falling in sheets. The right and wrong of his instructions did not weigh too heavily on him. He was a magistrate, not a missionary. It was the day-to-day problems to which he had to find answers. He had no need to equate them to some unknown absolute standard. There were not many ‘oughts’ in his life. There were just the ‘is’ s. He took life as it was. He did not want to recast it or rebel against it. There were processes of history to which human beings contributed willy-nilly. He believed that an individual’s conscious effort should be directed to immediate ends like saving life when endangered, preserving the social structure and honouring its conventions. His immediate problem was to save Muslim lives. He would do that in any way he could. Two men who had been arrested on the strength of warrants signed by him should have been arrested in any case. One was an agitator, the other a bad character. In troubled times, it would be necessary to detain them. If he could make a minor error into a major investment, it would really be a mistake to call it a mistake. Hukum Chand felt elated. If his plan could be carried out efficiently! If only he could himself direct the details, there would be no slips! His subordinates frequently did not understand his mind and landed him in complicated situations.