Page 27 - Train to Pakistan

‘Is it possible for me to have overlooked that? If she does not please you, you
can have me dismissed from service. I will tell the driver where to go and collect

the party.’
The subinspector saluted and left. The magistrate stretched himself on the bed
for a late afternoon siesta.

The sound of the car leaving the bungalow woke Hukum Chand from his
sleep. Pampas-stalk chicks which hung on the veranda had been folded into large
Swiss rolls and tied between the columns. The stark white of the veranda was

mellowed in the soft amber of the setting sun. The sweeper boy lay curled on the
brick floor clutching the punkah rope in his hand. His father was sprinkling
water all around the rest house. The damp smell of earth mixed with the sweet

odour of jasmines came through the wire-gauze door. In front of the house, the
servants had spread a large coir mat with a carpet on it. At one end of the carpet
was a big cane chair, a table with a bottle of whisky, a couple of tumblers and

plates of savouries. Several bottles of soda water stood in a row beneath the
table.
Hukum Chand shouted for his servant to get his bath ready and bring in hot

water for shaving. He lit a cigarette and lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Just
above his head two geckos were getting ready for a fight. They crawled towards
each other emitting little rasping noises. They paused with half an inch between

them and moved their tails with slow, menacing deliberation, then came to a
head-on collision. Before Hukum Chand could move away they fell with a loud
plop just beside his pillow. A cold clammy feeling came over him. He jumped

out of bed and stared at the geckos. The geckos stared back at him, still holding
onto each other by the teeth as if they were kissing. The bearer’s footsteps broke
the hypnotic stare with which the magistrate and the geckos had been regarding

each other. The geckos ran down the bed and up the wall back to the ceiling.
Hukum Chand felt as if he had touched the lizards and they had made his hands
dirty. He rubbed his hands on the hem of his shirt. It was not the sort of dirt

which could be wiped off or washed clean.
The bearer brought a mug of hot water and laid out the shaving gear on the

dressing table. He put on a chair his master’s clothes—a thin muslin shirt, a pair
of baggy trousers strung with a peacock-blue silken cord interwoven with silver
thread. He brushed the magistrate’s black pumps till they shone and put them
beside the chair.