Page 141 - Train to Pakistan

Mano Majra. The subinspector spread out another piece of paper and read: ‘Mr
Iqbal Singh, social worker.’

Iqbal looked at the paper cynically.
‘Not Mohammed Iqbal, member of the Muslim League? You seem to
fabricate facts and documents as it pleases you.’

The subinspector grinned. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. To err is human, to
forgive divine,’ he added in English. ‘I admit my mistake.’
‘That is very generous of you,’ answered Iqbal. ‘I had always believed that the

Indian Police were infallible.’
‘You can make fun of me if you like; you do not realize that if you had been
going about lecturing as you intended and had fallen into the hands of a Sikh

mob, they would not have listened to your arguments. They would have stripped
you to find out whether or not you were circumcised. That is the only test they
have these days for a person who has not got long hair and a beard. Then they

kill. You should be grateful to me.’
Iqbal was in no mood to talk. Besides, the subject was not one he wanted to

discuss with anyone. He resented the way the subinspector took the liberty of
mentioning it.
‘You will find big changes in Mano Majra!’ warned the subinspector for the
third time; neither Jugga nor Iqbal showed any response. Iqbal laid down on the

table the book he had been holding and turned away without a word of thanks or
farewell. Jugga felt the floor with his feet for his shoes.

‘All Mussulmans have gone from Mano Majra,’ said the subinspector
dramatically.
Jugga stopped shuffling his feet. ‘Where have they gone?’
‘Yesterday they were taken to the refugee camp. Tonight they will go by train

to Pakistan.’
‘Was there any trouble in the village, Inspector Sahib? Why did they have to

go?’
‘There would have been if they had not gone. There are lots of outsiders going
about with guns killing Muslims; Malli and his men have joined them. If the

Muslims had not left Mano Majra, Malli would have finished them off by now.
He has taken all their things—cows, buffaloes, oxen, mares, chicken, utensils.
Malli has done well.’

Jugga’s temper shot up at once. ‘That penis of a pig who sleeps with his
mother, pimps for his sister and daughter, if he puts his foot in Mano Majra I