Page 102 - Train to Pakistan

little upset today. He will not answer our Sat Sri Akal. We do not mind. We will
say Sat Sri Akal to him again.’
Malli joined his manacled hands and bent low near Juggut Singh’s iron bar
door and started loudly, ‘Sat Sri …’

Jugga’s hands shot through the bars and gripped Malli by the hair protruding
from the back of his turban. Malli’s turban fell off. Jugga yelled murderously

and with a jerk brought Malli’s head crashing against the bars. He shook Malli
as a terrier shakes a piece of rag from side to side, forward and backward,
smashing his head repeatedly against the bars. Each jerk was accompanied by
abuse: ‘This to rape your mother. This your sister. This your daughter. This for

your mother again. And this … and this.’
Iqbal, who had been watching the earlier proceedings from his chair, stood up

in a corner and started shouting to the policemen: ‘Why don’t you do
something? Don’t you see he will kill the man?’
The policemen began to shout. One of them tried to push the butt end of his

rifle in Jugga’s face, but Jugga dodged. Malli’s head was spattered with blood.
His skull and forehead were bruised all over. He began to wail. The subinspector
ran up to the cell and hit Jugga violently on the hand with his swagger stick

several times. Jugga would not let go. The subinspector drew his revolver and
pointed it at Jugga. ‘Let go, you swine, or I will shoot.’
Jugga held up Malli’s head with both his hands and spat in his face. He

pushed him away with more abuse. Malli fell in a heap with his hair all over his
face and shoulders. His companions helped him up and wiped the blood and spit
off his face with his turban. He cried like a child, swearing all the time, ‘May

your mother die … you son of a pig …I will settle this with you.’ Malli and his
men were led away. Malli could be heard crying till he was a long way from the
police station.

Jugga sank back into the stupor he had been in before he lost his temper. He
examined the marks the subinspector’s swagger stick had left on the back of his
hands. Iqbal continued shouting agitatedly. Jugga turned round angrily. ‘Shut up,

you babu! What have I done to you that you talk so much?’
Jugga had not spoken rudely to him before. That scared Iqbal all the more.
‘Inspector Sahib, now that the other cell is vacant, can’t you shift me there?’

he pleaded.
The subinspector smiled contemptuously. ‘Certainly, Mr Iqbal, we will do all
we can to make you comfortable. Tables, chairs—an electric fan maybe?’