Page 88 - Train to Pakistan
P. 88

on: ‘I told you about Jugga’s liaison with a Muslim weaver’s girl. That kept him
               busy most nights. Malli threw bangles into Jugga’s courtyard after the dacoity.’

                  Hukum Chand still seemed far away.
                  ‘If your honour agrees, we might release Jugga and Iqbal after we have got
               Malli and his companions.’

                  ‘Who are Malli and his companions, Sikh or Muslim?’ asked Hukum Chand
               abruptly.
                  ‘All Sikhs.’

                  The magistrate relapsed into his thoughts once more. After some time he
               began to talk to himself. ‘It would have been more convenient if they had been
               Mussulman. The knowledge of that and the agitator fellow being a Leaguer

               would have persuaded Mano Majra Sikhs to let their Muslims go.’
                  There was another long pause. The plan slowly pieced itself together in the
               subinspector’s mind. He got up without making any comment. Hukum Chand

               did not want to take any chances.
                  ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Let Malli and his gang off without making any entry

               anywhere. But keep an eye on their movements. We will arrest them when we
               want to … And do not release the badmash or the other chap yet. We may need
               them.’
                  The subinspector saluted.

                  ‘Wait. I haven’t finished.’ Hukum Chand raised his hand. ‘After you have
               done the needful, send word to the commander of the Muslim refugee camp

               asking for trucks to evacuate Mano Majra Muslims.’
                  The subinspector saluted once more. He was conscious of the honour Hukum
               Chand had conferred by trusting him with the execution of a delicate and
               complicated plan. He put on his raincoat.

                  ‘I should not let you go in this rain, but the matter is so vital that you should
               not lose any time,’ said Hukum Chand, still looking down at the ground.

                  ‘I know, sir.’ The subinspector saluted again. ‘I shall take action at once.’ He
               mounted his bicycle and rode away from the rest house onto the muddy road.


               Hukum Chand sat on the veranda staring vacantly at the rain falling in sheets.
               The right and wrong of his instructions did not weigh too heavily on him. He

               was a magistrate, not a missionary. It was the day-to-day problems to which he
               had to find answers. He had no need to equate them to some unknown absolute
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