Chapter 20-

TO FOLD A LEAF

SHAFI USMAN lay stretched on a charpoy put out in the courtyard of a house in the second lane in Anarkali. He was wearing knitted cotton underpants and nothing else. Mumtaz, one of the girls from the house, was rubbing sandalwood oil on his arms, and legs and back. Shafi lay sprawled with his eyes closed, surren- dering himself to the heat, the soft fingers kneading into his back.

The courtyard itself was in shade now, but the walls were throwing out the accumulated heat of the day. From outside came the noises of a city beginning to stir after the torpor of the summer afternoon. Doors shut against the heat were being thrown open to let out the used-up air; the streets were being sprinkled to keep the dust down; the famous halwai shops of Anarkali were removing the moistened cloth covers from the man-high mounds of sweets, yellow, white, pink, green and brown, overlaid with gold and silver foil and dripping with grease; the Sikh food-shops were getting ready for the evening rush; the fruit vendors were assembling the baskets of mangoes and custard apples and Lucknow melons under little awnings. The smell of the summer day was everywhere, unmistakable, heady-a mixture of khas, mango-blossom, spices, frying food, sweating humanity, horse manure, rotting vegetables and open drains.

Outside the house, a three-storied burnt brick structure with pigeonhole windows, there was a red and yellow board notifying that it was 'Out of Bounds' to all troops. That was the way all the city brothels were marked out, as some said, to make it easier for the soldiers to find them. From street level, half a dozen stone steps led up to a heavy wooden door. When the bell rang, a peephole in the door was opened to establish the visitor's identity before the door was opened. 

He was now fully relaxed, almost asleep under the pressure of the kneading fingers, enveloped by the scent of sandalwood oil. He was at peace with himself, aware of a sense of purpose and direction. He had changed, almost inevitably, as the whole of India had changed. The fervour of youth had been tempered, its follies rectified. The Ram-Rahim club, the partaking of a beef- and-pork dish, belonged to an uneasy past. As far as Shafi was concerned, it was almost a lucky coincidence that the police had caught up with them, for he had now become convinced there was no possibility of the Hindus and Muslims living together. The days of religious unity, trying to organize the Hindus and Muslims and the Sikhs and the others to snatch power from the rulers, was gone. The Hindus had shown their hand.

The talk with Hafiz had opened his eyes. Hafiz was his friend, and now they were working in the closest collaboration. He had. begun to see things for himself, subordinating emotion to logic, countering anger with cold facts. The facts were there, unassail- able. The Hindus and the Muslims were traditional enemies. They would never be able to live together. That was what the trial spell of provincial government had demonstrated. Now the Muslims must fend for themselves. They were unquestionably the superior race. They had conquered the whole of India, ruled it for centuries before the British came. It was unthinkable that they should now allow themselves to be relegated to a position of inferiority, crushed by sheer weight of numbers.

He had been saved just in time, Shafi told himself; even if he had arranged the whole thing himself, he could not have done it better. Neatly, at one stroke, all the Hindus in the Ram-Rahim Club had been arrested and put into jail. That had been the recompense for the police atrocities in Bombay that Hafiz had told him about. But after that, it had been necessary for him to lie low. Those whom he had betrayed knew too much about him. He had shaved off his beard and discarded his turban, and with it had gone the kada, the kirpan and the kangi of the Sikh religion. How absurd it had been, he kept telling himself, going about as a Sikh, when one detested them even more than one did the Hindus. But now the danger had passed. Once again he was as active as ever, building up his groups, patiently biding his time. Until it came, it was necessary to lie low. The warrant for his arrest was still pending. Besides, it was all the more important now, not to expose himself to danger when everything was working out so. neatly. It was clear that the British were ready to pull out of the country. Only the terms of the transfer of power were to be agreed upon. The Cripps mission had made it clear to the Hindus that they would not have it all their own way. The Congress had been desperate to grab power and create an India ruled only by the Hindus so that they could ride roughshod over the Muslims who once ruled them. It was the vengeance of sheep. The Muslims would never agree. To them independence was worth nothing unless it also ensured freedom from the domination of the Hindus. They would never live in an India where they were only a tolerated minority.

For Shafi and millions of other Muslims, the resolution of the Muslim League in which Jinnah had demanded the creation of a separate state carved out of India, had crystallized the issues. When Hafiz had talked about it, six years earlier, it had seemed an absurd conception; now it was the bedrock of their political faith. The British were going away. Now the fight was no longer against the British, but against the Hindus who were aspiring to rule over them. It was Jehad, a war sanctioned by religion; a sacred duty of every true believer.

Jinnah had given direction to their struggle. But Shafi, Hafiz and the others were not the men to abide by Jinnah's discipline. To strive to achieve their goal by constitutional means was one thing; it was the politician's way, slow and tortuous, like a legal battle in the courts. Unless it was backed by terrorism, the Hindus would never concede their demands with grace. It was essential to draw blood, to shed blood, confront their adversaries with fire and steel, the prick of the spear.

They were already operating in Rawalpindi and Multan and Bhawalpur. The Hindus had already begun to leave the districts. The task had just begun. They had to ensure that not a single Hindu remained in the part of India that was going to be theirs. But with the British still firmly in the saddle, it was necessary to work in secrecy. The moment the British left, they could come out into the open and make an all-out effort to purify the land. The organization was ready for its tasks.

When would that time come? Shafi asked himself. It was already the beginning of 1946. How long would it take for the British to clear out? A year? Two years? Then they would plunge into their war, as he had no doubt the Hindus too were planning to do. But the Hindus were pacifists at heart, their leaders fond of extolling secularism. They were soft and shrank from bloodshed. They would never be a match for the Muslims in civil war-not even the Mahasabhaites, Shafi told himself, with all their talk of a pure India which was nothing but a retort to their own demand for a pure Pakistan. Even their militancy was a pale imitation of the creed of the League.

In the meantime, there was work to do. Money was the most urgent need, but the Hindus seemed to have it all. People like Dewan-bahadur Tekchand. He was worth millions, and growing richer every day, with all his contracts.

But this was no time to think of money, he reminded himself, or of work. This was an interlude of relaxation, in this pleasant establishment with its garish 'Out of Bounds' board at the door. Some said it had been in existence in the days of the Mughals, and even in those days out of bounds to troops because it was a training ground for the concubines of grandees. Those were the days, Shafi ruminated, when the Muslims ruled the entire country, and were not struggling for just a portion of it. But he was sure that even in those days, the girls in this place could not have been more desirable. And there could hardly have been anyone as beautiful as Mumtaz.

Shafi smiled as he thought of Mumtaz. He rolled over on his back and screwed up his eyes against the harsh glare of the afternoon sky and closed them again. For a moment, he thought of himself as a Mughal nobleman, lying on a divan, with the harem favourite rubbing sandalwood oil into his body. He opened his eyes again. Mumtaz was bending over him, her breasts straining against the white cups of her choli. Her upper lip was beaded with sweat, wisps of copper hair stuck against her fore- head, her hands were smeared to the wrists in oil.

She was something like one of those paintings in the Anarkali shops, he thought; fair and small-boned and slim. Who could have sold her into prostitution, he wondered, to be trained in the To Fold a Leaf art of making herself agreeable to men? His glance travelled round the courtyard. The door leading to the back of the house was closed. There was no one on the outdoor staircase leading to the first floor entrance which was a sort of emergency exit. He reached out and made a quick grab for Mumtaz, but she must have guessed what he was up to, and nimbly jumped out of his reach. She stood back, leaning against the wall, laughing and frowning at the same time. 'Come here,' Shafi ordered.

Mumtaz shook her head. 'I have finished,' she said.

He found himself resenting her aloofness. Was it just a part of the training, to show reluctance to such advances in order to make herself even more desirable to her customers, or was it a genuine aversion to himself? He had noticed it before. "What's wrong with you? Come on,' he said irritably. 'Or do you want me to get up and drag you here?" 'Have some shame, Mumtaz admonished. In broad daylight, here, in the open-like fowls!"

"In the evenings you get involved with-with the routine of the house, he complained. 'I hardly ever get to see you." There is a living to earn,' she said. 'I have to entertain anyone

Akkaji tells me to." You tell them to go to hell. You just keep yourself free, see?'

'I can't help it if I am the most sought after girl in this place. you have to settle it with Akkaji. Your money is as good as anyone else's.'

You are not really the most sought after,' he taunted. "What about Azurie? Yes, and Nisha?"

She made a face, as if to register disgust. 'Everyone to their own taste. Anyway, Azurie's gone. Already sold. That Marwari from Jaipur. Eight thousand rupees. Fancy anyone paying eight thousand for Azurie. she has already had two babies.

"You're just jealous because the Marwari bought Azurie when he could easily have bought you."

"There is no accounting for tastes,' she said, 'if a fair-complexion is all you want in a woman.' She shrugged her shoulders. "They're all like that, the Marwaris. He was such a nice man too, almost sixty. And rich! Oh, he was rich! Lucky for Azurie.' 

'You should have been paraded without clothes, as they do in Paris. Then he might have chosen you."

Disgusting! she commented. "This is a respectable house. Who will take off one's palla, just to be looked over... thul

It had always amused him, this pretence of respectability in a whorehouse. You might as well not be wearing anything, the way the old woman makes you dress in the evenings...all that gauze."

"That is the traditional costume, designed by the Emperor Shah-Alam, so they say. The older women, like Azurie and Nisha, are thankful for the gauze,' she taunted. "A girl's best friend, they say. hai, the sun has already gone down. I'll have to go and bathe and get dressed.'

As she was passing him, he made a grab for her and pulled her on the bed against him. She struggled, panting, beating her hands against his chest, pushing herself away. "You keep yourself free this evening, seel he warned. Then he let her go.

Why don't you settle that with Akkaji?" she protested. She was breathing heavily and her clothes had become dishevelled. "What is the point of pestering me, when...

'Akkaji's after money, the bloodsucking old hag!" he snapped.

'Shush!" she warned. She has the ears of a donkey. What do you think she runs a business for? She has to charge for what she gives...

'Money! Money! Money!' he said in sudden anger. "It's only these Hindus who have money. The Banias and the Marwaris, fat lecherous swines, sit respectably in their shops all day and then come here, slobbering at the mouth, making offers to buy up girls as if they were sheep or cattle!'

What do you think we are here for?" Mumtaz retorted. 'Not to spend the rest of our lives in this house! Who will look at us when we are old? We have to find a man who will keep us to look after him and make him happy.

'One of these days, I'll come here myself, loaded with money, and make an offer for you,' he told her.

"Youl' she laughed. You are not the type who buys. You come and go, paying for an occasional malish. What will you do with a woman of your own? I don't even know how Akkaji lets you live here whenever you come, free.'

'Money!' Shafi spat in disgust. "Damn all money and damn all women who run after it!"

Money was one thing he lacked. But not for long, he consoled himself, not for long.

Just as they turned into Anarkali, Basu clutched his sleeve. Remember what you promised,' he entreated. 'Please."

Yes, yes,' Debi-dayal said. He looked strangely relaxed. Basu did not like it.

"You know how dangerous he can be.'

"Of course I shall be careful.'

And if there is any trouble, a scuffle or anything, clear out. We will meet in Dabbi-bazaar, in front of Lachhi Ram's shop. Oh, I know you can lick three men like Shafi, if it comes to a scrap. But we have to keep out of trouble."

"There won't be any trouble,' Debi-dayal assured him. 'Not at this meeting anyway. Remember Shafi's a wanted man, too. He'll think twice before starting a row. We'll just tell him we know everything and see what he has to say. It's something I have promised myself. Then I shall plan how to play it."

"It goes against the grain not to pick a row with him right away, Basu said ruefully. "But we must wait; the time to come into the open is when the British leave."

Debi-dayal nodded, almost absent-mindedly, but did not say anything.

There it is,' Basu pointed to the 'Out of Bounds' sign. 'I will knock. I am known at least they used to know me.'

Shafi heard Akkaji's tortuous breathing as she came up the stairs. She entered his room without knocking. "Two men out there say they want to see you,' she announced. What sort of men?" he asked, suddenly alert.

No, no, they're not from the police. She gave a toothless grin. There's no one at the back entrance. When it's the police, they always have a man at the back entrance first, before they come in."

'Did they give any names ?"

'Don't be ridiculous! It's a rule of this house that no one is ever asked his name. Who would give his real name here? They
gave made up names. One said he was Ram, the other said he was Rahim."

'Oh!' Shafi gasped. 'Oh my God!' He shot a quick glance at the door beyond the courtyard, at the outside staircase that ran down to the street, wondering if he could slip away without anyone knowing. 'Didn't you try to put them off and say you knew nothing about me? They don't even know my name; I mean, my real name."

'I don't know your real name either,' she commented. 'But why are you so nervous? They may not know your name, but they described you. They say they're old friends. If I'd had them thrown out, they might quite easily have gone to the authorities. And then where would I be a respectable house like this?"

"That type does not go to the authorities,' Shafi pronounced bitterly.

Yes, but they can always make a telephone call, or send a letter without signing it." "What do they look like?"

Very respectable, and one of them has a lot of money. He took out a bundle from his pocket-all hundred rupee notes. They said they'd come to help you.'

Shafi glanced nervously at the staircase once again. 'Is the courtyard door locked?' he asked.

Akkaji gave another grin. They're not from the police, and they look quite harmless. Why don't you take a look, from behind the screen where the clients sit to look at the girls. Who knows, they may really have come to help you, to give you money. All right, Shafi agreed. 'I'll take a look, from behind the screen.' He rose to his feet.

The terrace where they sat was straight out of a Sher-Gill painting. The seamy side of a city lay exposed beneath them; cows, dustbins, nursing mothers, clothes-lines, outdoor privies and the walls of houses plastered with cow-dung cakes, all rendered romantic by the perspective and the pink and blue effects of the summer evening. A hundred yards beyond the huddle of houses at the end of the Khan market, they could see the narrow, one-man staircase leading up to the third-floor room of Sehgal Lodge, the red brick structure with pigeon-hole rooms opening off the passages on each floor. That was where they had been staying till an hour earlier.

I really don't think Shafi would go as far as that,' Debi-dayal pointed out. After the first few minutes, he seemed quite eager to be friendly, wanting us to have a meal..

"How could anyone be so brazen as to think we'd sit down to a meal with him, after what he did?' Basu shook his head in disgust.

Even if they do come after us I doubt if it will be tonight,' Debi-dayal said.

Basu shrugged his shoulders. "We'll just have to wait and see. Luckily, we can see everything that's happening the way the street light falls on the staircase."

Personally, I no longer feel any real hatred for the man," Debi-dayal remarked. 'He's just like everyone else in India now, in one camp or the other. I thought he seemed genuinely repentant."

And cagey as hell, too, wanting to know what we were doing and exactly where we're staying. Too eager, I thought." *Somehow even that does not strike me as odd, Debi-dayal said. 'We'd traced him, so in a way he had a right to know where we were living. Fancy holing up in a place like that! In a house of ill repute!"

Basu laughed. How squeamish Debi-dayal was, in spite of becoming a terrorist and going to jail. I thought it was very sensible. Obviously he knows the old woman well; maybe she's some sort of relative. Evidently he's never here for more than a few days at a time, and what you call a house of ill repute is often the safest place for anyone wanting to lie low. It's always under police protection; if their hapta is paid regularly, they guarantee not to interfere. What better hiding place could you wish for ?"

No wonder he resented being discovered. But otherwise I didn't object to his behaviour."

'But surely when he insisted on coming all the way back with us to where we were staying, didn't you feel he wanted to check for himself? Then he could make an anonymous call to the police and tell them that a runaway convict and a paroled terrorist are living in Sehgal Lodge." 

I really can't imagine he could bring himself to do that. He said he was sorry, explained why he had to give away only the Hindus, because the police already had our names on their list...

"You don't know how things have changed in this country in the last six years,' Basu said, shaking his head. 'It's as though, as far as you were concerned, the clocks had stopped; as though the Hindus and Muslims were still united instead of nursing hatred for each other... only waiting for the signal...

"The clocks had stopped for me,' Debi-dayal said, 'but the Japanese started them again. It gives me an extraordinary feeling that we should be nursing so much hate against someone we used to venerate; he was like a dedicated prophet, and the fervour with which he talked was spellbinding.

'He is still everything we thought him to be, make no mistake,' Basu cautioned. 'Only, he has changed his targets. He is still the dedicated visionary who lets nothing come between him and his mission. But his mission is different. That's all.'

'He certainly seems to have fallen for that girl."

'Mumtaz? I must say I can't altogether blame him. He's dying to take her out of that place."

"I don't know how he is going to manage that,' said Debi-dayal. 'He doesn't look as though he has money, yet he was saying it will cost about eight thousand. Who on earth do you think would want to buy a girl from a place like that?"

Banias, mostly, Basu explained. "They are what you might call the principal props of the system. It used to be Mughal noblemen; now they are all impoverished, and the Hindus have taken over. They have all the money; and poor things, they themselves are married off terribly early, to girls even younger than themselves, children, almost. They prize these girls highly and take them as concubines. Even their wives are said to approve.

"Debi-dayal made a face. Fancy falling for a prostitute. How could one ever fall in love with someone who'd been brought up in a house like that? And the girls too? How can they go off and live with anyone who pays the price?

"That sort of girl does not understand love as you and I do.

The men are happy enough to take them because they are trained to sing and dance; trained in what they call the art of making  love. The girls are content to go with whoever pays the price. The house, for them, is only a sort of finishing school. It works out well in the end. Many of them find places in the harems of one or the other of the princes; some, no doubt, get tied up with dirty old men; some, when they lose their charms, are driven into the streets, but the large majority become the mistresses of rich merchants and live in comfort, almost as members of the household. It's all in the game." So all Shafi need do is to find the money?"

'Oh, yes, that's his only worry. It doesn't matter whether she wants to go with him or not."

An hour had passed. The clamour of Anarkali had died down.

The city was preparing to sleep. Debi-dayal was dozing, but Basu remained watchful, like a sniper waiting for his target to appear, At times, even he experienced a flatness, as though he were playing some children's game and waiting for make-believe robbers to show up. The Sher-gill street scene had submerged into a blanket of hot darkness and dust. The street lights had come on, making long, uneven lines in the darkness, hiding the ugliness and the dirt and the squalor of the bazaar. In the distance, one of the lights shone clearly on the open staircase of Sehgal Lodge showing it up as a pattern of black and white rectangles.

Basu stifled a yawn and cupped his hands to his eyes. "Oh my God!' he cursed. He nudged Debi-dayal. 'Look! The swine! The bloody, double-crossing crook!"

As Debi-dayal sat up and looked where Basu was pointing, his face, even in the half-darkness, was deathly pale.

A man in white Punjabi clothes was climbing up the stairs, slowly, pausing at each step to listen, before taking the next. Even at that distance, he was recognizably a Punjab policeman in plain clothes; they could see he was still wearing normal uniform chaplis. His shadow broke the even black-and-white pattern of the staircase.

When the man was half-way up, another figure, this time a uniformed policeman, appeared and stationed himself at the foot of the stairs. They saw the first man go up to the room they had occupied and knock on the door.

After that, things happened quickly. Whistles blew; black police cars came screeching and blocked both entrances to the lane; squads of policemen jumped out and stood in groups on each side of Sehgal Lodge.

Basu turned to Debi-dayal. He was startled by the pallor on his face. 'I told you this would happen.'

Yes, you certainly did. And my God, you were right!" I'm sorry I turned out to be right."

I'm sorry; I mean, I'm sorry too. Yes, this explains a lot."

It did indeed. This was not something that had just happened to them, it had happened to the whole of India, multiplied hundreds of thousands of times, wherever Hindus and Muslims lived. For a long time, they lay there in the darkness without a word. It reminded Debi-dayal of the time when he and Shafi had crouched behind the tree, looking at the burning aeroplane. Ar last he stood up. 'Come on, let's go,' he said to Basu. "You mean leave Lahore? Now?"

'No, there's something that must be done. I am going back- to the house of ill repute."

Basu put a hand on his shoulder and shook it. 'Are you crazy?" he hissed. His voice trembled. "We'll pay him back, but there's an easier way. A letter to the police, telling them where he's hiding. Then wait for a chance to leave the city." Debi-dayal shook his head. That's not my way of paying people back. Besides, just now, he is bound to be there. Later, when he knows this has misfired, he won't-you can bet on that. He's too clever to stay put when he realizes someone's gunning for him and that his whereabouts are known...just as we were, in clearing out of Sehgal Lodge.' But he's bound to go back there-for that girl. You know how crazy he is about her.' Basu thought he saw a smile cross

Debi-dayal's face. 'But what do you mean to do?" he asked. 'Kill him?'

Debi-dayal shook his head. The smile still lingered on his face. 'No, I don't even mean to see him,' he said. "Not unless he comes butting in."

Then why go back? What do you mean to do? It's dangerous!" Just now, it's as safe as it will ever be for us. Tomorrow might be dangerous. He'll certainly clear out, but the next thing whoever tipped off the police, his accomplice, will do is to make the police keep watch at the brothel for when we come back. Just now you can be sure they've been careful not to mention the place at all. You know how the police work. So does Shafi; if they'd realized that the tip had come from the brothel, the first thing they'd have done was to keep it under surveillance.

That, neither Shafi nor the old woman would want." 'I still think it is a great risk,' said Basu. "Why go looking for trouble?

'Of course, you needn't come with me,' Debi-dayal told him. Basu turned on him angrily. "You don't think I am like Shafi, do you?"

Don't be silly. But this is my business-almost private business. Why should you risk your neck? You're a free man. You don't want to risk jail for something like this. It's different for me.'

'Don't insult me, Debi. I want to come, whatever the risk, if you're going. And for me there is no risk. They wouldn't send me back to jail just for going into a brothel.' He paused. Then he added. "Unless you mean to kill him."

Debi-dayal gave an audible sigh and patted his shoulder. 'No, no; of course I don't mean to kill him-I'm just indulging a whim, really."

"You're not planning to break his neck or anything, are you?" Basu asked anxiously. One of your Japanese tricks."

'Not unless it becomes absolutely necessary. No, there'll be no rough stuff, I can promise you. But I really wouldn't like you to get involved. I can manage this on my own."

Don't be absurd! Damn it, I want to come! I wouldn't miss this for anything. Not after coming all the way here from Calcutta.'

Debi-dayal gave him a quick smile. 'All right, then,' he said. You guard the outside. If there's any danger, anyone suspicious approaching, just give me the warning. You remember our old drill, don't you?-just say "Jai Ramji-ki!" as though you were greeting the man, loud enough for me to hear. Then I can make my own way out and we meet here. All right?"

*If you insist. But I'd have liked to be with you and see

Shafi's face. How long do you expect to remain inside?'

'Not more than ten minutes or so, I hope. But we'll have to hurry; particularly if what I propose to do is not to take more than a few minutes. And remember: after I have left the place, keep waiting for a few minutes to see that Shafi doesn't follow. Then make your way here and wait.'

They circled the house twice before Debi-dayal went up the steps. The watchman at the door let him in with a smile, and salaamed when he was given a rupee. In the sitting-room, done up in Mughal style, with velvet curtains draped on the doors and large, brocade-covered bolsters placed neatly against the walls, were the girls, now dressed in voluminous gauze pyjamas and silk scarves covering their breasts. The light was dim. A sitar player was tuning the strings, repeating a note over and over. It was still a little early for customers.

Akkaji rose to greet him, bowing and touching her forehead, giving him a smile reserved for a client who was known to carry money. So it wasn't she, Debi-dayal reflected, who had passed on the message to the police. Shafi must have found someone else to do his dirty work.

He gave a quick glance around the room. The girls sat de- murely, eyes cast down, self-consciously prim. Then he nodded to Akkaji. She led the way to her own room at the back, and they squatted down on the carpet. The preliminaries were over. The business of the evening could now begin. The queen of the house was in her counting house.

"Well, who do you wish to fold your paans for you this evening?" she asked politely. You have seen the girls."" The initial move in this sordid business had been made. The

girl you took up for the evening was only supposed to fold the betel leaf for you to eat; the price you discussed was not the price of an evening's debauch, but of the paan, the folded betel- leaf a girl made for you with her hands in the reception room, in the presence of the others. You paid the price then and there, in advance, before proceeding to one of the cubicles at the back of the house.

I am not eating paan here,' Debi-dayal said. "I am taking someone home to fold my paans for me for the rest of her life. "Oh!' The woman was silent for a while. She gave him a long 

look, her head trembling slightly. "You realize, don't you, that a girl from a house like this is a lifelong responsibility, it is almost like taking a wife. Once they step out of here, there is no coming back.'

Debi-dayal nodded. Like crows, he said to himself. Once a crow went out of the circle, it could not go back; the other crows pecked it to death.

Older men can perhaps arrange it better,' she was saying, her voice still serious. They have wives and children. They provide handsomely for the girls they take out. Are you a shikari-a hunter?" Was this some kind of euphemism, he wondered, like the folding of a paan? He shook his head. 'No, I am not a hunter." The woman grimaced and wiped the saliva from her chin with the end of her head scarf. "The hunters have a saying: "Save a life and make yourself responsible for its welfare". When they kill a tigress, if there are cubs, they have to kill the cubs too. If they take pity and save them, they have to provide for the cubs-keep them as pets, bring them up.'

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the faded, red velvet bolster. What had all this to do with him?

The woman smiled again and wiped her lips. "This is what I have to explain to everyone who comes to take one of the girls away. It is the rule. Sometimes a young man with money takes a fancy to a girl, and takes her out. In no time at all, he's fed up; his people threaten to stop his money. Then she is on the streets, destitute. It is always kinder to kill a tiger cub than to leave it in the jungle to fend for itself."

He frowned with impatience and looked pointedly at his watch. "You are certainly a man in a hurry,' she chided. In this kind of transaction, no one should hurry. Even the men from Calcutta

and Bombay, they take several days..." I am in a hurry-I have a train to catch."

"And who is the lucky girl?"

'Mumtaz."

He thought he saw her flinch. "Mumtaz, yes; a very well- behaved girl; sings well, dances well: But I have another-you saw her outside-whose paans, experts say, are more delectable 

He was getting irritated by her palaver. 'Look, I have come for Mumtaz. I want to take her away now, this minute.'

'I must congratulate you on your taste,' the old woman re- marked, her face composed again. 'It's just that... would not tomorrow do?"

He shook his head in annoyance. "Tomorrow certainly won't do-even another ten minutes won't do!' He glanced at his watch again.

'It is just that she is now with your friend, engaged. Only for the evening, of course."

"Then you'd better go and bring her out; tell her she's wanted for a few minutes, anything. It's up to you.' He took out a roll of notes.

The woman eyed the money avidly, but after a moment, turned her eyes away. How can I?' she said uncertainly. 'It would look so uncivil.

What a pity!' He put away his money. 'I understand you would have agreed to give her her freedom for eight thousand rupees. I was going to offer you ten.' He rose to his feet.

Please wait. I never said it could not be managed. Ten thousand, you said.

That is what I said, but I can't wait much longer."

Please sit down, only a few minutes.' She rose, pushing herself up from the carpet, and shuffled out of the room. Outside, in the reception room with the silk screen equipped with eyeholes, the beat of the tabla had joined the sitar notes, and the rhythm was taken up by the tinkle of the tiny bells around the dancers" ankles. He looked at his watch again. His ten minutes were already up.

Akkaji came back, holding Mumtaz by the hand. 'Do your kurnisat to this gentleman; he is your master now,' she ordered. Mumtaz did a Mughal bow, bending low and touching her forehead with her right hand. Then she raised her head to look at her master. It was odd how the etiquette of this place had been influenced by the Mughals, Debi-dayal reflected, as he watched her face. Her eyes were flooded with tears.

Akkaji was still counting the notes when the door of the room was flung open. Shafi came up, his face contorted with anger. "What's the meaning of this!' he demanded of Akkaji. Then, as his eyes fell on Debi-dayal, he drew back. 'You!" he said. The blood drained away from his face, his fists clenched. Jai-Ram,' Debi-dayal greeted him. 'Surprised?" Very much so."

Debi-dayal grinned. Put something on over those ridiculous clothes,' he told Mumtaz. "We are going out."

What do you mean?" Shafi expostulated, 'She's with me, tonight. No one can take her away."

I'm taking her away."

I'll see you damned first,' Shafi came closer to him, panting, his eyes red with anger.

None of that!' the old woman said in a screeching voice. 'Not in my house, you don't... I'll have to call the watchman, the police."

Shafi grabbed Mumtaz by the arm and pushed her towards the door.

'Don't touch the girl,' Debi-dayal said very evenly. "Let her go, at once!' Then he brought the edge of his right hand sharply against the other's elbow.

Shafi's hand fell limply by his side. The skin on his face looked yellow-white, like the belly of a snake.

Ah, that's much better,' Debi told him. 'No need to call your watchman,' he said to Akkaji, 'or the police. Just bring a shawl or something for the girl.'

The old woman gave him a look almost of awe. Her toothless mouth trembled, and there was a dribble of saliva on her chin. She went out of the room, stooping, resting her hands against her knees. Shafi gave a queer little cry and made as if to hold the girl again.

I shouldn't,' Debi warned. "That one was almost a gentle tap, something one does in practice. When administered correctly,

it's supposed to break the bone." I'll kill you for this! I shall pay you back for everything!"

Debi-dayal gave a contemptuous snort. 'Not you,' he said. "You can only work through others."

The old woman came back, carrying a woollen Kashmir-work shawl, and wrapped it round Mumtaz's shoulders. The girl bent down and touched her feet. The ritual of leaving home was over. 'He seems a nice man, my child,' Akkaji said, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. 'He has promised to look after you. Bless you!

They went past Shafi and out of the door. Debi-dayal turned back. Basu and two others are watching the house,' he said to Shafi. People from the old crowd. Don't try anything. They have instructions to shoot you at sight, indeed they're eager to do it. Don't forget that if they find you dead in the street, even the police will be happy. Remember there's a reward-even for your dead body."

They walked in silence. At the corner of Dabbi-bazaar, they stopped.

Have you anywhere to go?' Debi-dayal asked.

She stared blankly at his face and shook her head.

"Where are your people?"

Karimganj, in Bhawalpur; that is where I come from."

Is there someone who will look after you if you go back there?"

She shook her head, looking as if she was ready to burst into tears. 'Well, you'll just have to learn to look after yourself from now on. Don't get involved with anything like this. Find yourself a husband; some villager, an honest man. Live a normal life.'

'But don't you... don't you want me for yourself?"

No,' he shook his head.

Then why, why did you take me out if you did not mean to look after me? There was disbelief in her voice, pain too, he thought. Oh, God, was she going to come out with all that nonsense about the tiger cub spared by the hunter? 'I just wanted to buy you your freedom,' he explained. 'Here's some money. Take this for yourself..

You mean, you took me out just for a whim? To leave me destitute on the streets!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you can go back if you wish...

'How can I go back? With what face? What will all those others say? You don't know how bad it can be...she began to sob.

He remembered about the crows, a crow that had left the circle could never be taken back. 'Don't cry,' he said. 'Nothing can be as bad as that place. You can always he turned with a start. There was a sound of footsteps behind them. And then there was Shafi's voice yelling:

'So you want her for yourself, do you? Take her! Take her!' Even as he braced himself, the thing came hurtling out of the darkness, a glassy object, swirling, aimed with force and accuracy from hardly ten yards away, straight at Mumtaz's face.

Instinctively, he put out a hand to ward it off. His hand was shot through with pain as the glass bulb burst against it and the acid spurted out, wet and hot on his palm and forearm.

"Take that, you slut!' Shafi cried again, that will make you more beautiful than ever! And again there was the broken electric bulb filled with sulphuric acid that had become the favourite missile in the race war, aimed at the head and body of the girl who stood white-faced in the night, and again Debi-dayal put out his hand, this time catching it in mid air. He hurled it back into the shadows where Shafi had stood.

The bulb dropped harmlessly a few feet away exploding with a crash. Only then the pain came over him with a full rush; at first it was like thousands of ants crawling on his hand, still clinging to it, stinging, and then it was as though he had thrust his hand into a roaring fire. 'I'll make up for this, Shafi!' Debi- dayal shouted into the night. "You have brought it on yourself!"

It may have been his imagination, or some trick sensation conjured by the pain in his body, but he thought he heard the other man's defiant, mocking laughter in the distance though it may have been merely one of the ordinary night-time sounds of a city stirring in its sleep.

'Look what you've done!' the girl was saying. Just to save me... Oh, that I had died in trying to save you... my lord..

'Oh, shut up!' he snapped at her in anger. "Come on, let's get away from here."

Look at your beautiful, beautiful hand!" she moaned. He felt irritated by her concern. He had not done it to save her. It had been almost instinctive. He looked at his hand. The scars were already showing red, and the hand had begun to

swell. His body was covered with perspiration. 

They hurried through Dabbi-bazaar. 'Buy some coconut oil,' she told him when they came to a shop that still showed a light.

"Say it is for my hair.""

He bought the oil and she poured it over his hand, dabbing it with a piece of cloth torn from her scarf. Then they began to walk again, without saying a word. A quarter of an hour later, they were in the room overlooking Anarkali, Basu was already there.

"Oh, my God! The bastard l' he said, when Debi-dayal told him what had happened. 'He must have sneaked out of the back door."

The hand had swollen grotesquely now. "He is going to pay for this,' Debi-dayal said. 'But meanwhile, you'd better do something about this girl."

First we'll do something about your hand," Basu said, avoiding looking at the girl.

He did that to save me; it would have exploded in my face,' Mumtaz said.

They poured more coconut-oil on the hand, and she tied the scarf loosely around it. 'We will need some ointment, something for a burn, she said to Basu. 'Shall I go and get some?"

No, I will go,' Basu said eagerly. "There must be an all-night chemist in Anarkali.'

Debi-dayal heard him go. The pain seemed a little less, unless he was just becoming used to it. He leaned back, closed his eyes and for a minute or two, he must have dozed off. When he opened them again, she was fanning him with a folded newspaper.

He saw that her eyes were moist. 'Have you nowhere to go?' he asked.

She shook her head. "Nowhere."

"Your village?"

'Only an uncle there. He sold me I was an orphan-when I was eleven years old. Now I am nineteen. Where can I go? Where can someone like me go-except with those who have the money to buy us?"

'But there is nowhere I can take you, either,' he pointed out. I have no home."

' 'I shall live where you live,' she pleaded. 'On the streets, if necessary. I shall not be a burden." 

A tiger cub he had saved, he reminded himself. Now it was up to him to protect and provide for it; unless of course, he was willing to leave it in the jungle to fend for itself.

"You paid the price,' she said. "You must have liked me. Now, why do you want to cast me away? I never wanted you for myself,' he told her. 'I did it just to

hurt Shafi.'

She hung her head and did not say anything for a long time. Then she said, 'I know I am nothing to you, and that I have to go where you tell me to go...

'I am feeling sleepy,' Debi-dayal said. 'I must sleep. All this can wait till the morning."

And what is wrong with me?' Mumtaz continued very humbly. "I am not asking to be your wife. You don't have to love me-nor even sleep with me unless you want to. I can sing to you, cook food for you, dance for you. I can press your limbs when you are tired, amuse you with stories. I can be a servant in your house... I have no house, no servants."

"Whatever you want me to do, I shall do. I will even go away, if you want me to... but where to, dear God?"

He had already dozed off. He was still asleep, when Basu came back with tubes of burn ointment and lint and bandages an hour or so later.