Page 34 - Train to Pakistan

refugees from Pakistan or with Muslims from India. People perched on the roofs

with their legs dangling, or on bedsteads wedged in between the bogies. Some of
them rode precariously on the buffers.
The train this morning was only an hour late—almost like pre-War days.

When it steamed in, the crying of hawkers on the platform and the passengers
rushing about and shouting to each other gave the impression that many people
would be getting off. But when the guard blew his whistle for departure, most of

them were back on the train. Only a solitary Sikh peasant carrying an ironshod
bamboo staff and followed by his wife with an infant resting on her hip remained

with the hawkers on the platform. The man hoisted their rolled bedding onto his
head and held it there with one hand. In the other he carried a large tin of
clarified butter. The bamboo staff he held in his armpit, with one end trailing on
the ground. Two green tickets stuck out beneath his moustache, which billowed

from his upper lip onto his beard. The woman saw the line of faces peering
through the iron railing of the station and drew her veil across her face. She

followed her husband, her slippers sloshing on the gravel and her silver
ornaments all ajingle. The stationmaster plucked the tickets from the peasant’s
mouth and let the couple out of the gate, where they were lost in a tumult of
greetings and embraces.

The guard blew his whistle a second time and waved the green flag. Then,
from the compartment just behind the engine, armed policemen emerged. There

were twelve of them, and a subinspector. They carried rifles and their Sam
Browne belts were charged with bullets. Two carried chains and handcuffs.
From the other end of the train, near the guard’s van, a young man stepped
down. He wore a long white shirt, a brown waistcoat of coarse cotton, and loose

pyjamas, and he carried a holdall. He stepped gingerly off the train, pressing his
tousled hair and looking all round. He was a small slight man, somewhat

effeminate in appearance. The sight of the policemen emboldened him. He
hoisted the holdall onto his left shoulder and moved jauntily towards the exit.
The villagers watched the young man and the police party move from opposite

directions towards the stationmaster who stood beside the gate. He had opened it
wide for the police and was bowing obsequiously to the subinspector. The young
man reached the gate first and stopped between the stationmaster and the police.

The stationmaster quickly took the ticket from him, but the young man did not
move on or make way for the subinspector.
‘Can you tell me, Stationmaster Sahib, if there is a place I can stay in this