Though bahoo’s brother had understood everything his sister said, somehow, his heart was unwilling to accept it. Then suddenly, he felt a strange tremor convulse through him, as though his perfectly healthy body was on the verge of collapse. In a bid to divert her attention, he said, ‘Doesn’t matter. Why give up all hope? So long as we are around, why should you worry about anything? You are really a simpleton. Aren’t your brothers of some use? Are they meant to be rubbed on the carbuncle, then?’

  Seeing her brother lavish so much affection on her, spontaneous tears pooled in her eyes and started streaming down her face. A lump formed in her throat. With great difficulty, she managed to say this: ‘Shabaashe, brother! Who else is there for me, apart from you?’

  ‘Now you tell me, do I need to go and get something from the market?’ Her brother spoke reassuringly, ‘If you need money, take another five–ten rupees from me. Henh? Or I’ll return to the village now. Why wait until dark?’

  ‘Today, you stay back, henh!’ Wiping her tears, she spoke with the same confidence her brother had instilled in her, ‘Why come and leave in such a hurry? You haven’t even had a glass of water in my house.’

  ‘Look at you, you crazy one! Am I a stranger here? I would have stayed back, but bapu will worry unnecessarily if I don’t go. Moreover, what will I do if I stay back today? Why waste a whole day?’

  Though the fact that her brother had come only a little while ago and would leave very soon had pierced her heart like a thorn, all that Melu’s bahoo said was, ‘All right, then,’ and fell silent. (As it is, she was scared that were he to stay overnight, several other secrets of her household might also tumble out of her heart.) When he pulled out a two-rupee note from his pocket to hand it over to his nephew, now playing out in the street, she held his hand firmly, and said, ‘No, bire, don’t do this. As it is, we have given you enough trouble.’

  ‘I’m not giving it to you. I’m giving it to my nephews.’ And with this, he forced the note down his nephew’s pocket.

  Her eyes turned moist all over again. Wiping her tears with a corner of her chunni, and caressing her brother’s head, she said, ‘You should have stayed back for a day, at least…’

  But before she could conclude her sentence, her brother responded, ‘Don’t worry, it’s nothing, really. It’s not a hundred miles away. I had no idea about your problems. You never shared them with us. Or else, I’d have come here off and on. Now, I promise, I won’t be lax; I’ll come after every five or ten days.’

  Both the boys walked with him to the street corner. He bought them sweets for twenty-five paisa from a makeshift shop owned by a lame labourer, who had set it up right behind the mill, and they ran back home, shouting and screaming in joy.

  When he was passing the district courts on his way to the bus stand, he saw the procession lurching towards the court. He, too, began to walk behind it. As he came closer to the procession, a policeman, who was standing by the roadside, shouted to him, asking him to stop. When he tried to turn towards the bus stand, another policeman sent him back. Turning back, he went and joined a group of people, standing outside a shop, built on a raised platform.

  ‘All around the district courts, within the periphery of one kilometre, all processions and gatherings have been banned until the third of next month. That is why we appeal to the members of the rickshaw and tonga unions that they must not go beyond the chowk. They should end the procession here and disperse. If they fail to do so, the entire responsibility for violating the law and order shall rest on their shoulders.’

  These words were being blared out by a loudspeaker fixed atop a jeep parked near the district courts. But as the procession of rickshaw pullers wended its way towards the courts, they began to shout slogans even more lustily. Their sloganeering and the blaring announcements were threatening to devolve into pandemonium. The rickshaw pullers leading the procession had now reached the iron gates of the district courts. The man wearing a pair of thick glasses, sitting in a rickshaw on the left, was now standing up, punching his fist into the air, and shouting slogans in his throaty voice, at the top of his bent.

  Suddenly, the gates of the district courts clanged shut. Some policemen, armed with lathis, who were standing in front of the gate decided to stop the procession from moving forward. At the back, the rickshaw pullers suddenly massed into a big crowd. In front of the gates, the rickshaws had piled up just the way ants start swarming over the ground in the rainy season once they slither out of an anthill. One could see a sea of rickshaws surging forward. Now the men had got off their vehicles and untying the flags from the handlebars started waving them, shouting slogans with renewed gusto. Holding the flags in one hand, and dragging their rickshaws with the other, they had now pulled up right outside the gate. The tongas coming up behind had split into two groups, with one half moving towards one side of the road and the other half moving towards the other side. These tongas, too, were now slowly inching towards the gate.

  ‘Go back, or there will be a lathi charge.’

  As soon as this fresh statement was heard, suddenly countless policemen materialized on the scene, as if from nowhere. They hit out blindly, their lathis landing on everyone around. Some of them came charging towards the tonga wallahs, who were standing a little way off. Every horse received two blows. The moment they heard the sounds of the raining blows and the screeching of the wheels, the horses simply took off in different directions. All this commotion made it seem as though the earth was convulsing. An emaciated horse, pulling one of the tongas, collapsed in a heap, right outside that shop, where bahoo’s brother was standing. Shocked, and flying over the horse’s neck, the tonga wallah came crashing down a few metres away, near the road’s edge. Hamstrung by the frame, still half-bent and kneeling, a hind leg of the horse was crushed under the tonga’s wheel, and its saddle fell to the right side of the frame. Exactly at that moment, a ferocious-looking policeman who was running alongside, landed a sharp blow on the horse’s back. As if this too had not satisfied him, he turned towards the tonga wallah, and hurling abuses, brought his lathi down heavily on the man’s shins.

  The people who stood watching on the raised platform outside the shop were so scared that they immediately ran away. But in a spontaneous gesture, bahoo’s brother ran towards the tonga wallah, and raising him to his feet, said, ‘Bhai, are you hurt very badly?’

  The tonga wallah first gave him a very strange look, appraising him, and then cast an indifferent gaze at the horse, and said, ‘Even if I’m badly hurt, what can you do? Can you fetch sanjeevani booti and make me drink it?’

  This twisted response left bahoo’s brother perplexed, but unmindful of his presence, the tonga wallah began to saddle the horse again, securely. His turban lay in the middle of the road, and his dishevelled, unwashed, grimy hair was now spattered with dust. As his wrap-around, with its patterned design, fell open, his emaciated legs stared out of his grimy underwear, somewhat strangely. His trimmed beard and moustache on his dark, rugged and taut face looked as if they had been painted on.

  Bahoo’s brother found him extremely repulsive. For a while, standing aside, he stared at him. While adjusting the saddle, the tonga wallah cracked a whip, and the horse tried in vain to get on to its feet. It wasn’t clear whether he was muttering expletives to the horse or to someone else, but the moment the tonga wallah cracked his whip again, the horse was instantly back on its feet. Then muttering in the same vein, he continued to adjust the saddle. It was as though he had forgotten all about his wrap-around and his turban.

  The fall had taken the skin off the horse’s forelegs and blood oozed from its right knee. Unmindful of all this, the tonga wallah secured the saddle firmly on the horse’s back. When he turned to retrieve his turban and his wrap-around, he looked at bahoo’s brother who was still standing there, and said, ‘Don’t bother, oye brother of mine! Every day, we have to go through this. What can a harried man give you, except offensive words? You seem to be a wise man. If lathis are all we get, day in and day out, how do you expect us to do the paath of Shabad Hazaara?’

  Talking to himself in this vein, he first secured the wraparound on his waist, then loosely tied his turban, examined the wheels of his tonga from every corner, and then started spouting expletives at someone, whose name was difficult to understand. Bahoo’s brother couldn’t make up his mind as to what kind of tonga wallah he was. Until now, he was completely oblivious of the fact that Melu could be among those protesting rickshaw wallahs, and that he, too, could have been beaten up in this merciless manner, resulting in some unexpected tragedy.

  The moment this thought hit him, he felt a strange dread run through him. When he looked ahead, he saw a bizarre spectacle before his eyes… All the rickshaws, scattered all around, were lying upside down in a heap. Three or four tongas were also turned on their heads. On the other side of the iron gates, all he could see were policemen milling about. The rickshaw and tonga wallahs, stuffed into two police trucks, were still shouting slogans. Though he looked very hard, he couldn’t spot Melu among them. Somewhat confused, he walked across to the same tonga wallah he had just left, who was busy rubbing his knees, and asked, ‘Why, Bhai Singha, you’d know whether Melu Singh was also in this procession?’

  ‘Oye, brother of mine, I haven’t cracked Melu’s knuckles that I should know. There are twenty such Melus going about, feeling exasperated.’ The tonga wallah, once again, spoke in the same coarse manner. Then tightening the surcingle over the horse, he asked, ‘If I’m not wrong, are you asking about that Melu who lives in the basti opposite the mill?’

  ‘Hanh, hanh, he is my brother-in-law. My elder sister is married to him.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you find someone else? Did you go all the twelve miles with a lantern to look for someone like him?’ Unmindful of the charged atmosphere all around, the tonga wallah spoke with dripping sarcasm, ‘It’d have been much better had you pushed your sister into a well.’ When bahoo’s brother maintained a studied silence, refusing to respond to him, the tonga wallah changed his tune. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Don’t be angry with me, oye brother of mine! God has given us such twisted tongues. What can we do? Why talk of your brother-in-law alone? Everyone is like that. All of them take drugs, even opium. They give themselves injections, too. Let them be. Except a good deed, they do everything they shouldn’t. Your Melu is not so pious that he won’t follow the footsteps of these elephantine monsters… It’s not that he is to be blamed in any way… It’s vagabonds like me who have given him false notions about himself… I told him several times over, Bhai, if you want to save yourself, then go back to your village. Why are you wasting away, here? Life in these towns is like a well. If you don’t try and find out about a man buried underneath, he won’t even stink. Weh, both the worlds have abandoned us, we have no past, and no future. We are like the lame tail of the camel. What can any bloody fool take away from us? Beyond this, there is no other pit into which we may fall. Our people always looked down upon this profession of tonga driving. But this is what we are condemned to do, now. You are a wise man, Bhai Singha; it’s such a useless profession that it can easily make an addict out of you. Otherwise, why would anyone waste his hard-earned money on dissolving his bones? Moreover, if we weren’t hooked to one kind of drug or the other, how would we cope with such a ruthless battering of our limbs? What do we do, bhai, we just can’t manage without it. Earlier, mothers used to feed their newborn babies whenever they cried, but now they switch over to the bottle in the second month itself. If a child wails a little too much, they give him a spoonful of “medicine”. Now, this new “mother” of ours, the sarkaar, has nothing to offer except lathis. Haven’t you seen for yourself? Unless we unite, there is really nothing for us…and if we unite and make a noise, you have already seen what can happen… So tell me, whose “mother” do we address as our “our massi”?’

  Talking interminably in this vein, and oblivious to the presence of bahoo’s brother, he grasped the reins of the horse and started off towards the district courts. Who knows how his ‘gossip’ had affected bahoo’s brother causing him to forget the commotion he had witnessed close up. Melu was quite far from his mind.

  ‘Oye, why are you standing here, looking so lost? Do you also want to be thrashed like them?’ Waving his lathi, a policeman came charging towards him.

  Looking somewhat angrily towards the policeman, he, too, turned in the same direction in which the tonga wallah had proceeded earlier.

  When he reached the bus stand, he discovered that the people gathered there were also discussing the procession. Holding his counsel, he kept turning back to look over his shoulder, and finally went off towards the mill-basti. On seeing him returning, with a long face, when bahoo asked, ‘Bira, what is the matter?’ he replied anxiously, ‘Nothing really, sister. I think the police have taken Melu and his companions into custody.’

  ‘Police has arrested them? From the procession?’

  ‘Aho. I thought why not find out how he is? I didn’t feel like going, leaving you alone in this state.’

  Even after hearing a description of what had happened, Melu’s bahoo hadn’t become as anxious as her brother. Suddenly, as he was reminded of what the tonga wallah had told him, he asked, ‘Do they take out these processions as a routine?’

  ‘I don’t know. Every day, it’s the same thing. Ever since these engine-driven autos arrived, they’ve started making more noise. It never used to be so bad before.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They say if the number of autos goes up, no one will ride the rickshaws. They make five–six passengers sit, not just two, and carry their luggage as well. That way, even if you pay a little more, most people think, it’s less.’

  Bahoo’s brother was listening to all this very intently, as though he were listening to the stories of hell and heaven. He could not really understand how people could think of launching an agitation, or be beaten or hauled up by the police over such a minor matter. He reacted spontaneously, ‘Why don’t they stop these engine autos, if they are cutting into other people’s livelihood?’

  ‘You’re really naive. Why would anyone bother? The officers are there to give licences and collect the taxes. Why would they care about what you drive, be it an auto or an aeroplane?’

  ‘But then this is really too much. At this rate, everyone will be squabbling with everyone else.’

  ‘Do you think it’s not happening already? Every day, it’s the same sad story.’

  ‘What if Melu were to buy a rickshaw with an engine? Wouldn’t that be much better?’

  ‘It costs eight–ten thousand rupees. You talk as if it’s just a question of buying a rattle!’

  ‘Eight…ten…thou…sand?’

  For bahoo’s brother, all these things were rather strange. Then suddenly without warning, he asked, ‘All right, tell me, do you want me to fetch anything from the bazaar?’

  For a while, Melu’s bahoo fell silent. Then she spoke in a weak voice, ‘Well, everything has to be bought. There’s nothing at home. There was about a kilo of flour, but that had weevil in it. But let him come back, he’ll bring it himself. Why would you, unnecessarily…?’

  ‘He won’t come back so early. Who knows when they will be released.’

  ‘You think, they are going to ask them to plough the land there? They’ll be released in another two hours or so.’

  Bahoo’s brother hadn’t quite understood anything of the matter at all. But rising to his feet, he said, ‘We’ll see when he comes. You tell me, what all do you need? We can’t just keep waiting for him and let the children go hungry.’

  Untying the corner of her chunni, she took out a five-rupee note and handed it over to him and said, ‘All right then, take this. Get two kilos of flour. And with the rest, you may get 250 grams of daal, a packet of salt, and some besan.’

  But looking at her five-rupee note, bahoo’s brother simply said, ‘You keep this with you. I’ve got money.’

  Despite all her efforts to stop him, he left. Melu’s elder son also went with him. Holding his finger, he said, ‘Mamaji, I’ll tell you where to buy this stuff from.’

  ‘Why, do you get a discount from this shop?’

  ‘We buy all our stuff from that shop, next to the petrol pump.’

  ‘You don’t buy it from any other shop?’

  ‘Hanh, he gives us on credit, which others don’t.’

  Thus talking to each other, the moment they turned the next corner and hit the road leading to the school, they saw a rickshaw puller go by, his face and head wrapped in a blanket. Releasing his mamaji’s finger, the boy ran after him, shouting, ‘Oye, papa, oye!’

  The rickshaw puller glanced over his shoulder, and then speeding up his rickshaw, turned towards the hospital. Bahoo’s brother also suspected that it was Melu. As his face and head were completely covered, like a honey harvester, it was difficult to recognize him. Calling out to the boy, he said, ‘Oye, it must be someone else. How could he have come back so soon?’

  ‘No, it’s him only. Just look, he’s gone towards the hospital.’

  ‘All right, if it’s him, then he’ll be back in a while. He won’t go away to Africa.’

  By the time they reached the school, and turned onto the road leading to the petrol pump, Melu had already negotiated the street corner and arrived at the hospital, but before that he cast a hasty look over his shoulder. Parking his rickshaw next to the wall, and constantly looking back as if he was a thief, he walked through the verandah of the general ward, and headed for the operation theatre. Going past Dheesa, who was sitting on the stool outside the room, he first signalled to him, and then walked out to wait for him outside. From there, he couldn’t see the outer road.