Page 75 - Train to Pakistan

camp next morning for the money. The trucks rumbled off towards the station.
Banta Singh was surrounded by eager villagers. He felt that he was somehow
responsible for the insult to Imam Baksh. The villagers were impatient with him.
‘O Lambardara, why don’t you tell us something? What is all this big secret

you are carrying about? You seem to think you have become someone very
important and don’t need to talk to us any more,’ said Meet Singh angrily.

‘No, Bhai, no. If I knew, why would I not tell you? You talk like children.
How can I argue with soldiers and policemen? They told me nothing. And didn’t
you see how that pig’s penis spoke to Chacha? One’s self-respect is in one’s own
hands. Why should I have myself insulted by having my turban taken off?’

Imam Baksh acknowledged the gesture gracefully. ‘Lambardar is right. If
somebody barks when you speak to him, it is best to keep quiet. Let us all go to

our homes. You can see what they are doing from the tops of your roofs.’
The villagers dispersed to their rooftops. From there the trucks could be seen
at the camp near the station. They started off again and went east along the

railway track till they were beyond the signal. Then they turned sharp left and
bumped across the rails. They turned left again, came back along the line
towards the station, and disappeared behind the train.

All afternoon, the villagers stood on their roofs shouting to each other, asking
whether anyone had seen anything. In their excitement they had forgotten to
prepare the midday meal. Mothers fed their children on stale leftovers from the

day before. They did not have time to light their hearths. The men did not give
fodder to their cattle nor remember to milk them as evening drew near. When the
sun was already under the arches of the bridge everyone became conscious of

having overlooked the daily chores. It would be dark soon and the children
would clamour for food, but still the women watched, their eyes glued to the
station. The cows and buffaloes lowed in the barns, but still the men stayed on

the roofs looking towards the station. Everyone expected something to happen.
The sun sank behind the bridge, lighting the white clouds which had appeared
in the sky with hues of russet, copper, and orange. Then shades of grey blended

with the glow as evening gave way to twilight and twilight sank into darkness.
The station became a black wall. Wearily, the men and women went down to
their courtyards, beckoning the others to do the same. They did not want to be

alone in missing anything.
The northern horizon, which had turned a bluish grey, showed orange again.
The orange turned into copper and then into a luminous russet. Red tongues of