Page 23 - Train to Pakistan

and began to rub his feet. Hukum Chand opened the cigarette tin and held it out
to the subinspector. The subinspector lit the magistrate’s cigarette and then his
own. Hukum Chand’s style of smoking betrayed his lower-middle-class origin.

He sucked noisily, his mouth glued to his clenched fist. He dropped cigarette ash
by snapping his fingers with a flourish. The subinspector, who was a younger
man, had a more sophisticated manner.

‘Well, Inspector Sahib, how are things?’
The subinspector joined his hands. ‘God is merciful. We only pray for your

kindness.’
‘No communal trouble in this area?’
‘We have escaped it so far, sir. Convoys of Sikh and Hindu refugees from
Pakistan have come through and some Muslims have gone out, but we have had

no incidents.’
‘You haven’t had convoys of dead Sikhs this side of the frontier. They have

been coming through at Amritsar. Not one person living! There has been killing
over there.’ Hukum Chand held up both his hands and let them drop heavily on
his thighs in a gesture of resignation. Sparks flew off his cigarette and fell on his
trousers. The subinspector slapped them to extinction with obsequious haste.

‘Do you know,’ continued the magistrate, ‘the Sikhs retaliated by attacking a
Muslim refugee train and sending it across the border with over a thousand

corpses? They wrote on the engine “Gift to Pakistan!”’
The subinspector looked down thoughtfully and answered: ‘They say that is
the only way to stop killings on the other side. Man for man, woman for woman,

child for child. But we Hindus are not like that. We cannot really play this
stabbing game. When it comes to an open fight, we can be a match for any
people. I believe our RSS boys beat up Muslim gangs in all the cities. The Sikhs

are not doing their share. They have lost their manliness. They just talk big. Here
we are on the border with Muslims living in Sikh villages as if nothing had
happened. Every morning and evening the muezzin calls for prayer in the heart

of a village like Mano Majra. You ask the Sikhs why they allow it and they
answer that the Muslims are their brothers. I am sure they are getting money
from them.’

Hukum Chand ran his fingers across his receding forehead into his hair.
‘Any of the Muslims in this area well-to-do?’
‘Not many, sir. Most of them are weavers or potters.’