“We’ll leave the trunk with Dinabai, just for tonight,” said Ishvar. “But we won’t say our house is destroyed. People are scared of the homeless.”
“I’ll give you anything if she lets us leave it there.”
They spent two more hours on the platform, smoking, watching the early-morning commuters who were mainly vendors waiting with baskets of pumpkin, onions, pomfret, salt, eggs, flowers balanced on their heads. An umbrella repairer was preparing for work, anatomizing broken umbrellas, salvaging the good ribs and handles. A contractor with his band of painters and masons, armed with ladders, pails, brushes, trowels, and hods, went by smelling like a freshly painted house.
The tailors got on a train at six-thirty. They were at Dina’s flat by seven. She flung a dustercoat over her nightgown and opened the door.
“So early?” Trust them to be inconsiderate, she thought — the sun barely up, the washing to do, Maneck’s breakfast still to make, and here they were, expecting attention.
“The trains are at last running on time. Because of the Emergency,” said Om, feeling rather clever.
She concluded that the brazen excuse was designed to infuriate her. Then Ishvar added placatingly, “Longer day means more dresses, hahn, Dinabai?”
True enough. “But what’s all this big fat luggage?”
“We have to take it to a friend in the evening. Oh, Maneck. Before I forget. You must forgive us, dinner is not possible today. Something very urgent has come up.”
“That’s okay,” said Maneck. “Another time.”
She made them leave the trunk and bedding by the door. It could be crawling with bugs, for all she knew. And their behaviour was very suspicious. If it was urgent, they could have gone to their friend now. Especially since they were so early. But at least Maneck’s dinner invitation was cancelled, which was a relief.
All that day, Ishvar was not his usual steady self, and once, he almost joined a skirt and bodice back to front. “Stop!” she cried as the needle drove in the first line of stitches. “You, Ishvar? If Omprakash did this it would be no surprise. But you?” Smiling sheepishly, he severed the delinquent stitches with a safety razor blade.
At four o’clock they wanted to leave, two hours earlier than usual. So much for the extra dresses they were going to sew, she thought, but was glad to see them go, taking with them the weight that hung in the air.
Before she realized the trunk was left behind, they had shut the door and hurried away to the station.
Heavy rain had fallen during the day, submerging much of last night’s debris in muddy little ponds. Pieces of plywood or metal rose through the water like sails and shipwrecks. Seagulls screeched over the transfigured slum. Some former residents were wandering outside, gazing at the land, but Rajaram was nowhere to be seen.
“Maybe he found out there is no chance of building here again,” said Ishvar.
The portly Sergeant Kesar was not in evidence at the moment. Six constables from his new enforcement squad were guarding the field. They approached the tailors and the others hanging around, and warned them, “If you try to put up any new jhopdis, we’ll have to take you straight to jail.”
“Why?”
“It’s our assignment — slum prevention and city beautification.” The constables returned to their post at the corner.
“I think we should go back and tell Dinabai the truth,” said Ishvar.
“Why?”
“She might help us.”
“In your dreams,” said Om.
A work crew was erecting two new hoardings, one on each side of the road. They pasted the Prime Minister’s face over the boards, then debated about the accompanying message. There was a variety to choose from. They unrolled the banners and spread them out over the pavement for consideration, using stones to hold down the corners.
The workers were unanimous concerning the first slogan: THE CITY BELONGS TO YOU! KEEP IT BEAUTIFUL! The second was posing some difficulty. The supervisor wanted to use FOOD FOR THE HUNGRY! HOMES FOR THE HOMELESS! His subordinates advised him that something else would be more appropriate; they recommended THE NATION IS ON THE MOVE!
The tailors waited around till the displays were completed. The crowd clapped as the huge frames were raised. The posts were embedded in holes, buttressed with diagonal braces, and the earth tamped down. Someone asked Om if he could please read what the two boards were saying. Om translated for him. The man contemplated the meaning for a moment, then went away shaking his head, muttering that this time the government had gone completely mad.
“I knew you would come back,” said Dina. “You forgot your trunk.” They shook their heads, and she saw how scared and exhausted they were. “What’s wrong?”
“A terrible misfortune has fallen on our heads,” said Ishvar.
“Come inside. Would you like some water?”
“Hahnji, please.” Maneck fetched it in their segregated glass. They drank and wiped their lips.
“Dinabai, we’ve had very bad luck. We need your help.”
“Times are such, I don’t know how much help 1 can be to anyone. But tell me anyway.”
“Our home… it’s gone,” said Ishvar timidly.
“You mean your landlord kicked you out?” She sympathized. “Landlords are such rascals.”
He shook his head. “I mean… gone completely,” and he swept his palm through the air. “It has been destroyed by big-big machines. All the houses in the field.”
“They said it was illegal to live there,” added Om.
“Are you serious?” said Maneck. “How can they do that?”
“They are the government,” said Ishvar. “They can do anything they want. Police said it’s a new law.”
Dina nodded, remembering that as recently as last week, there had been ringing praise from Mrs. Gupta for the proposed slum clearance programme. How unfortunate for the tailors, though. Poor people. And she was right about one thing — they did live in an unhygienic place. Thank goodness Maneck was spared from eating with them. “It’s terrible,” she said. “Government makes laws without thinking.”
“Now you know why we had to cancel dinner,” said Om to Maneck. “We felt bad to tell you in the morning.”
“You shouldn’t have,” said Maneck. “It would have given us more time to think of some way to help and — ” He broke off, silenced by Dina knitting her brow fiercely in his direction.
“Rent was already paid for this month,” said Ishvar. “Now we have no house or money. Can we sleep on your verandah … for a few nights?”
Maneck turned, appealing to Dina as she weighed her response. “Myself, I have no objection,” she said. “But if the rent-collector sees, there will be trouble. He will use it as an excuse to say I have made this an illegal guest house. Then you and Maneck and me, and your sewing-machines — everything will land on the street, roofless.”
“I understand,” said Ishvar. His pride would not let him push against the rejection. “We’ll try elsewhere.”
“Don’t forget to take your trunk,” said Dina.
“Can we leave it for tonight?”
“Leave it where? There’s no room to even move in this flat.”
Disgusted by her answer, Om passed the bedding to his uncle and picked up the trunk. They nodded and left.
Dina followed them to the door, locked it, and walked back into the glare of Maneck’s reproach. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I had no choice.”