Page 51 - Train to Pakistan

‘Would you like some tea or something? Some buttermilk?’
‘We are waiting for the Babu Sahib,’ the policemen said. ‘If you can give us

something while he is getting ready, it will be very kind.’
Meet Singh maintained a casual indifference. It was not up to him to argue
with the police or be nosy about their business. Iqbal Singh was probably a

‘comrade’. He certainly talked like one.
‘I will make some tea for him, too,’ replied Meet Singh. He looked at Iqbal.
‘Or will you have your own out of the big bottle?’

‘Thank you very much,’ answered Iqbal through the tooth paste froth in his
mouth. He spat it out. ‘The tea in the bottle must be cold by now. I would be
grateful for a hot cup. And would you mind looking after my things while I am

away? They are arresting me for something. They do not know themselves for
what.’
Meet Singh pretended he had not heard. The policemen looked a little

sheepish.
‘It is not our fault, Babu Sahib,’ one of them said. ‘Why are you getting angry

with us? Get angry with the magistrate.’
Iqbal ignored their protest by more brushing of his teeth. He washed his face
and came back to the room rubbing himself with a towel. He let the air out of the
mattress and the pillow and rolled them up. He emptied the holdall of its

contents: books, clothes, torch, a large silver hip flask. He made a list of his
things and put them back. When Meet Singh brought tea, Iqbal handed him the

holdall.
‘Bhaiji, I have put all my things in the holdall. I hope it will not be too much
trouble looking after them. I would rather trust you than the police in this free
country of ours.’

The policemen looked away. Meet Singh was embarrassed.
‘Certainly, Babu Sahib,’ he said meekly. ‘I am your servant as well as that of

the police. Here everyone is welcome. You like tea in your own cup?’
Iqbal got out his celluloid teacup and spoon. The constables took brass
tumblers from Meet Singh. They wrapped the loose ends of their turbans round

the tumblers to protect their hands from the hot brass. To reassure themselves
they sipped noisily. But Iqbal was in complete possession of the situation. He sat
on the string cot while they sat on the threshold and Meet Singh on the floor

outside. They did not dare to speak to him for fear of rudeness. The constable
with the handcuffs had quietly taken them off his belt and thrust them in his