Page 14 - Train to Pakistan

The men put their shoulders to the door, pressed, pulled back and butted into it
like battering-rams. The wooden bolt on the other side cracked and the doors
flew open. One of the men with a gun waited at the door; the other four went in.
In one corner of the room two women sat crouching. A boy of seven with large

black eyes clung to the older of the two.
‘In the name of God, take what we have, all our jewellery, everything,’

implored the older woman. She held out a handful of gold and silver bracelets,
anklets and earrings.
One of the men snatched them from her hands.
‘Where is the Lala?’

‘I swear by the Guru he is out. You have taken all we have. Lalaji has nothing
more to give.’

In the courtyard four beds were laid out in a row.
The man with the carbine tore the little boy from his grandmother’s lap and
held the muzzle of the gun to the child’s face. The women fell at his feet

imploring.
‘Do not kill, brother. In the name of the Guru—don’t.’
The gunman kicked the women away.

‘Where is you father?’
The boy shook with fear and stuttered, ‘Upstairs.’
The gunman thrust the boy back into the woman’s lap, and the men went out

into the courtyard and climbed the staircase. There was only one room on the
roof. Without pausing they put their shoulders to the door and pushed it in,
tearing it off its hinges. The room was cluttered with steel trunks piled one on

top of the other. There were two charpais with several quilts rolled up on them.
The white beam of the torch searched the room and caught the moneylender
crouching under one of the charpais.

‘In the name of the Guru, the Lalaji is out,’ one of the men said, mimicking
the woman’s voice. He dragged Ram Lal out by his legs.
The leader slapped the moneylender with the back of his hand. ‘Is this the way

you treat your guests? We come and you hide under a charpai.’
Ram Lal covered his face with his arms and began to whimper.
‘Where are the keys of the safe?’ asked the leader, kicking him on the behind.

‘You can take all—jewellery, cash, account books. Don’t kill anyone,’
implored the moneylender, grasping the leader’s feet with both his hands.