Page 38 - Train to Pakistan

so many of us are,’ answered Iqbal.
He got out his tin opener and opened the tin of sardines. He spread the fish on

a biscuit and continued to talk while he ate.
‘Morality, Meet Singhji, is a matter of money. Poor people cannot afford to
have morals. So they have religion. Our first problem is to get people more food,

clothing, comfort. That can only be done by stopping exploitation by the rich,
and abolishing landlords. And that can only be done by changing the
government.’

Meet Singh, with disgusted fascination, watched the young man eating fish
complete with head, eyes and tail. He did not pay much attention to the lecture
on rural indebtedness, the average national income, and capitalist exploitation

which the other poured forth with flakes of dry biscuits. When Iqbal had finished
eating Meet Singh got up and brought him a tumbler of water from his pitcher.
Iqbal did not stop talking. He only raised his voice when the bhai went out.

Iqbal produced a little packet of cellophane paper from his pocket, took a
white pill from it and dropped it in the tumbler. He had seen Meet Singh’s
thumb, with its black crescent of dirt under the nail, dipping into the water. In

any case it was out of a well which could never have been chlorinated.
‘Are you ill?’ asked the old man, seeing the other wait for the pill to dissolve.
‘No, it helps me to digest my food. We city-dwellers need this sort of thing

after meals.’
Iqbal resumed his speech. ‘To add to it all,’ he continued, ‘there is the police
system which, instead of safeguarding the citizen, maltreats him and lives on

corruption and bribery. You know all about that, I am sure.’
The old man nodded his head in agreement. Before he could comment, the
young man spoke again. ‘A party of policemen with an inspector came over on

the same train with me. They will no doubt eat up all the chickens, the inspector
will make a little money in bribes, and they will move on to the next village. One
would think they had nothing else to do but fleece people.’

Reference to the police awakened the old man from his absent-minded
listening. ‘So the police have come after all. I must go and see what they are

doing. They must be at the moneylender’s house. He was murdered last night,
just across from the gurdwara. The dacoits took a lot of cash and they say over
five thousand rupees in silver and gold ornaments from his women.’
Meet Singh realized the interest he had created and slowly got up, repeating,