Page 142 - Train to Pakistan

mother, pimps for his sister and daughter, if he puts his foot in Mano Majra I
will stick my bamboo pole up his behind!’

The subinspector pursed his lips in a taunting smile. ‘You talk big, Sardara.
Just because you caught him unawares by his hair and beat him, you think you
are a lion. Malli is not a woman with henna on his palms or bangles on his

wrists. He has been in Mano Majra and taken all the things he wanted; he is still
there. You will see him when you get back.’
‘He will run like a jackal when he hears my name.’

‘Men of his gang are with him. So are many others, all armed with guns and
pistols. You had better behave sensibly if you hold your life dear.’
Jugga nodded his head. ‘Right, Inspector Sahib. We will meet again. Then ask

me about Malli.’ His temper got the better of him. ‘If I do not spit in his bottom,
my name is not Juggut Singh.’ He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘If I do not spit in Malli’s mouth, my name is not Juggut Singh.’ This time

Juggut Singh spat on his own hand and rubbed it on his thigh. His temper rose to
fever heat. ‘If it had not been for your policemen in their uniforms, I would like
to meet the father of a son who could dare to bat an eyelid before Juggut Singh,’

he added, throwing out his chest.
‘All right, all right, Sardar Juggut Singh, we agree you are a big brave man. At
least you think so,’ smiled the subinspector. ‘You had better get home before

dark. Take the Babu Sahib with you. Babu Sahib, you need have no fear. You
have the district’s bravest man to look after you.’
Before Juggut Singh could reply to the subinspector’s sarcasm, a constable

came in to announce that he had got a tonga.
‘Sat Sri Akal, Inspector Sahib. When Malli comes crying to lodge a report
against me, then you will believe that Juggut Singh is not a man of hollow

words.’
The subinspector laughed. ‘Sat Sri Akal, Juggut Singha. Sat Sri Akal, Iqbal
Singhji.’

Iqbal walked away without turning back.

The tonga left Chundunnugger in the afternoon. It was a long, uneventful
journey. This time Jugga sat on the front seat with the policeman and the driver,

leaving the rear seat all to Iqbal. No one was in a mood to talk. Bhola, the driver,
had been pressed into service by the police at a time when it was not safe to step
out of the house. He took it out on his skinny brown horse, whipping and