Page 153 - Train to Pakistan

There was Hukum Chand’s colleague Prem Singh who went back to fetch his
wife’s jewellery from Lahore. He made his tryst at Feletti’s Hotel where
European sahibs used to flirt with each other’s wives. It is next door to the
Punjab Assembly building where Pakistani parliamentarians talked democracy

and made laws. Prem Singh whiled away time drinking beer and offering it to
the Englishmen staying in the hotel. Over the privet hedge a dozen heads with

fez caps and Pathan turbans waited for him. He drank more beer and forced it on
his English friends and on the orchestra. His dates across the hedge waited
patiently. The Englishmen drank a lot of beer and whisky and said Prem Singh
was a grand chap. But it was late for dinner so they said, ‘Good night Mr … Did

not catch your name. Yes, of course, Mr Singh. Thank you very much, Mr
Singh. See you again.’ … ‘Nice old Wog. Can hold his drink too,’ they said in

the dining room. Even the orchestra had more beer than ever before. ‘What
would you like us to play, sir?’ asked Mendoza the Goan bandleader. ‘It is rather
late and we must close down now.’ Prem Singh did not know the name of any

European piece of music. He thought hard. He remembered one of the
Englishmen had asked for something which sounded like ‘bananas’. ‘Bananas,’
said Prem Singh. ‘“We’ll Have No Bananas Today.”’ ‘Yes, sir.’ Mendoza,

McMello, DeSilva, DeSaram and Gomes strummed ‘Bananas’. Prem Singh
walked across the lawn to the gate. His dates also moved along to the hedge
gate. The band saw Prem Singh leave so they switched onto ‘God Save the

King’.
There was Sundari, the daughter of Hukum Chand’s orderly. She had made
her tryst with destiny on the road to Gujranwala. She had been married four days

and both her arms were covered with red lacquer bangles and the henna on her
palms was still a deep vermilion. She had not yet slept with Mansa Ram. Their
relatives had not left them alone for a minute. She had hardly seen his face

through her veil. Now he was taking her to Gujranwala where he worked as a
peon and had a little room of his own in the Sessions Court compound. There
would be no relatives and he would certainly try it. He did not seem particularly

keen, sitting in the bus talking loudly to all the other passengers. Men often
pretended indifference. No one would really believe that she wanted him either
—what with the veil across her face and not a word! ‘Do not take any of the

lacquer bangles off. It brings bad luck,’ her girl friends had said to her. ‘Let him