Page 24 - Train to Pakistan

‘Not many, sir. Most of them are weavers or potters.’

‘But Chundunnugger is said to be a good police station. There are so many
murders, so much illicit distilling, and the Sikh peasants are prosperous. Your
predecessors have built themselves houses in the city.’

‘Your honour is making fun of me.’
‘I don’t mind your taking whatever you do take, within reason of course—
everyone does that—only, be careful. This new government is talking very

loudly of stamping out all this. After a few months in office their enthusiasm
will cool and things will go on as before. It is no use trying to change things
overnight.’

‘They are not the ones to talk. Ask anyone coming from Delhi and he will tell
you that all these Gandhi disciples are minting money. They are as good saints
as the crane. They shut their eyes piously and stand on one leg like a yogi doing

penance; as soon as a fish comes near—hurrup.’
Hukum Chand ordered the servant rubbing his feet to get some beer. As soon
as they were alone, he put a friendly hand on the subinspector’s knee.

‘You talk rashly like a child. It will get you into trouble one day. Your
principle should be to see everything and say nothing. The world changes so
rapidly that if you want to get on you cannot afford to align yourself with any

person or point of view. Even if you feel strongly about something, learn to keep
silent.’
The subinspector’s heart warmed with gratitude. He wanted to provoke more

paternal advice by irresponsible criticism. He knew that Hukum Chand agreed
with him.

‘Sometimes, sir, one cannot restrain oneself. What do the Gandhi-caps in
Delhi know about the Punjab? What is happening on the other side in Pakistan
does not matter to them. They have not lost their homes and belongings; they
haven’t had their mothers, wives, sisters and daughters raped and murdered in

the streets. Did your honour hear what the Muslim mobs did to Hindu and Sikh
refugees in the marketplaces at Sheikhupura and Gujranwala? Pakistan police

and the army took part in the killings. Not a soul was left alive. Women killed
their own children and jumped into wells that filled to the brim with corpses.’
‘Harey Ram, Harey Ram,’ rejoined Hukum Chand with a deep sigh. ‘I know it
all. Our Hindu women are like that: so pure that they would rather commit

suicide than let a stranger touch them. We Hindus never raise our hands to strike