‘Just one thing more,’ added the subinspector, getting up from the table. ‘Get a constable to take a letter from me to the commander of the Muslim refugee camp. Also, remind me to send some constables to Mano Majra tomorrow when the Pakistan army chaps come to evacuate Muslim villagers.’

The head constable realized that this was meant to help him understand the plan. He made a mental note of it, saluted a second time and clicked his heels. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and went out.

The subinspector put on his turban. He stood by the door looking into the courtyard of the station. The railway creeper on the wall facing him had been washed by the rain. Its leaves glistened in the sun. Policemen’s dormitories on the left side had rows of charpoys with bedding neatly rolled on them. Opposite the dormitories were the station’s two cells—in reality just ordinary rooms with iron bars instead of bricks for the front wall. One could see everything inside them from anywhere in the courtyard. In the nearer cell, Iqbal sat in a chair with his feet on the charpoy, reading a magazine. Several newspapers lay scattered on the floor. Juggut Singh was sitting, holding the bars with his hands, idly staring at the policemen’s quarters. In the other cell, Malli and his companions lay sprawled on the floor talking to each other. They got up as the head constable and three policemen with rifles entered carrying handcuffs. Juggut Singh took no notice of the policemen going into the adjoining cell. He thought that Malli was probably being taken to court for a hearing.

Malli had been shaken by Juggut Singh’s outburst. He was frightened of Juggut Singh and would sooner have made peace on the other’s terms than go about in fear of violence—for Jugga was the most violent man in the district. Juggut Singh’s abuse had made that impossible. Malli was the leader of his own band and felt that after Jugga’s insults he had to say something to regain his prestige in the eyes of his companions. He thought of several nasty things he could have said, if he had known that Juggut Singh was going to return his offer of friendship with abuse. He felt hurt and angry. If he got another chance he would give it back to Jugga, abuse for abuse. Iron bars separated them and in any case there were armed policemen about.

The policemen handcuffed Malli and his companions and linked all the handcuffs to one long chain attached to a constable’s belt. The head constable led them away. Two men armed with rifles kept the rear. As they emerged from their cell, Jugga looked up at Malli and then looked away.

‘You forget old friends,’ said Malli with mock friendliness. ‘You don’t even look at us and we pine away for you.’

His companions laughed. ‘Let him be. Let him be.’

Jugga sat still with his eyes fixed on the ground.