each other. Jaswant blinked. He was still groggy from the effects of the drug he had taken. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. Now, leave the boy here with me, while you start rounding up the cattle.’
‘Okay. But I’ll take Bal with me. He has to learn.’
‘You heard what I said.’
Asif stood where he was and the look on his face was one of uneasy desperation. ‘You touch the boy and I’ll tell the whole village.’ Asif warned, wagging a finger. ‘You know I will.’
‘ Arrey, g o, go!’ shouted Jaswant. ‘All right, let the boy choose. Does he want to stay with me or…Bal? Come on, choose.’
The little boy was tearful. ‘Asif,’ he said. ‘I go with Asif.’
Jaswant smiled at the boy. ‘Stay here, and I’ll give you some fresh milk to drink.’
Asif saw Bal hesitate. ‘Here, take my stick,’ he said, and taking hold of Bal’s arm, led the boy away. As they left, Jaswant gave Asif a swift kick on his backside, and as the boy turned to face him, slapped the back of his head. ‘Why?’ Asif screamed. ‘I won’t work for you anymore. I’m going to Bombay. Just you see. Yes.’
Jaswant laughed. ‘Idiot! The guard will catch you. You’ll go to prison. I told you before. You need ticket. Ticket means money. Where will you get six rupees?’
Asif shrugged. ‘Come, Bal.’ When they were out of hearing, he said, ‘don’t you worry, the guard won’t catch us. If he does, he can’t get money out of us. What can he do? A slap or two? Make us get off at the next stop? Yosef told me how he got on and off, changing trains and hiding every time he saw the guard. Easy. He said that Third Class is so full of people, there’s no room to move. Guards, ticket collectors… they give up, or wait till people get off. But they can’t run as fast as we can.’
‘Why didn’t you let me stay with Jaswant? He was smiling at me.’
‘Fool!’ Asif looked over his shoulder. Jaswant was adjusting his turban. ‘A pretty boy needs to be smart. When men smile like that, that’s when to keep away from them. Don’t worry about Bombay. We’ll get there, soon.’ Again Asif glanced back. Jaswant, now with staff in hand, began making a series of calls and cattle noises. ‘Hush! C hup ! Listen!’ And as they watched, the countryside was filled with mooing, bleating and the dull sound of hooves pounding the dusty scrub land. Jaswant’s calls orchestrated the animal responses till they grew increasingly musical and prolonged.
‘What do we do, now?’
‘I can make sounds too. I’ll teach you how to click your tongue and to whistle. But now we must go right up to the railway bank and shoo the cattle that have wandered away from the herd. Come. Just remember that Jaswant baba’s okay, but learn when to fear him and when to defy him. He can’t run and he soon forgets. As for Bombay, we’ll pick the right time, when no one suspects. I’m making plans with Yosef. He’ll come too.’
‘But now you’ve told Baba! They will know we have gone to Bombay!’
‘Bombay is very big. They’ll never find us. Oh! Look. See, that moving cloud? There, up in the sky. It’s Abdul’s pigeons. Abdul, the butcher, keeps pigeons.’
Chapter Three
B oman Irani’s grandfather had left Persia to find his fortune in Bombay. He set up a stall selling hot sweet tea, spiced with cardamon, mint and lemon grass, and, for an extra paisa, a hard rusk for dunking. The rusks, and later, teacakes, shortbread and biscuits, were supplied by a local bakery. In less than ten years he bought the bakery and when he died, left a small fortune, enabling his son to buy a Queensway corner shop in Bombay’s Churchgate area. Boman’s father simply called it Irani Restaurant, but in 1942, when Boman took over the business, he renamed it The Light of Asia , extended the kitchen, employed two cooks, and served full meals. Boman himself stood behind a long, highly polished teak wood counter on which were a line of large transparent
‘Okay. But I’ll take Bal with me. He has to learn.’
‘You heard what I said.’
Asif stood where he was and the look on his face was one of uneasy desperation. ‘You touch the boy and I’ll tell the whole village.’ Asif warned, wagging a finger. ‘You know I will.’
‘ Arrey, g o, go!’ shouted Jaswant. ‘All right, let the boy choose. Does he want to stay with me or…Bal? Come on, choose.’
The little boy was tearful. ‘Asif,’ he said. ‘I go with Asif.’
Jaswant smiled at the boy. ‘Stay here, and I’ll give you some fresh milk to drink.’
Asif saw Bal hesitate. ‘Here, take my stick,’ he said, and taking hold of Bal’s arm, led the boy away. As they left, Jaswant gave Asif a swift kick on his backside, and as the boy turned to face him, slapped the back of his head. ‘Why?’ Asif screamed. ‘I won’t work for you anymore. I’m going to Bombay. Just you see. Yes.’
Jaswant laughed. ‘Idiot! The guard will catch you. You’ll go to prison. I told you before. You need ticket. Ticket means money. Where will you get six rupees?’
Asif shrugged. ‘Come, Bal.’ When they were out of hearing, he said, ‘don’t you worry, the guard won’t catch us. If he does, he can’t get money out of us. What can he do? A slap or two? Make us get off at the next stop? Yosef told me how he got on and off, changing trains and hiding every time he saw the guard. Easy. He said that Third Class is so full of people, there’s no room to move. Guards, ticket collectors… they give up, or wait till people get off. But they can’t run as fast as we can.’
‘Why didn’t you let me stay with Jaswant? He was smiling at me.’
‘Fool!’ Asif looked over his shoulder. Jaswant was adjusting his turban. ‘A pretty boy needs to be smart. When men smile like that, that’s when to keep away from them. Don’t worry about Bombay. We’ll get there, soon.’ Again Asif glanced back. Jaswant, now with staff in hand, began making a series of calls and cattle noises. ‘Hush! C hup ! Listen!’ And as they watched, the countryside was filled with mooing, bleating and the dull sound of hooves pounding the dusty scrub land. Jaswant’s calls orchestrated the animal responses till they grew increasingly musical and prolonged.
‘What do we do, now?’
‘I can make sounds too. I’ll teach you how to click your tongue and to whistle. But now we must go right up to the railway bank and shoo the cattle that have wandered away from the herd. Come. Just remember that Jaswant baba’s okay, but learn when to fear him and when to defy him. He can’t run and he soon forgets. As for Bombay, we’ll pick the right time, when no one suspects. I’m making plans with Yosef. He’ll come too.’
‘But now you’ve told Baba! They will know we have gone to Bombay!’
‘Bombay is very big. They’ll never find us. Oh! Look. See, that moving cloud? There, up in the sky. It’s Abdul’s pigeons. Abdul, the butcher, keeps pigeons.’
Chapter Three
B oman Irani’s grandfather had left Persia to find his fortune in Bombay. He set up a stall selling hot sweet tea, spiced with cardamon, mint and lemon grass, and, for an extra paisa, a hard rusk for dunking. The rusks, and later, teacakes, shortbread and biscuits, were supplied by a local bakery. In less than ten years he bought the bakery and when he died, left a small fortune, enabling his son to buy a Queensway corner shop in Bombay’s Churchgate area. Boman’s father simply called it Irani Restaurant, but in 1942, when Boman took over the business, he renamed it The Light of Asia , extended the kitchen, employed two cooks, and served full meals. Boman himself stood behind a long, highly polished teak wood counter on which were a line of large transparent
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