No Man's Land Read Online Free Page B

the faces by the cafes, the dock gates, the huge sheds and warehouses with tear-dimmed eyes. An irrational impulse was persuading him to believe that the dirty, squalid outskirts of this town were a replica of the outer fringes of Karachi Harbour. The presence of trams, motors, ships, moorings and masts encouraged the illusion. And, as he peered into the narrow, filthy lanes where women and children stood crowded in the windows and on the doorsteps, under lines of dirty washing, as he saw the small, languid unkempt Frenchmen in straw hats and with flourishing moustachios, it all seemed so like the indolent, slow-moving world of an Indian city that he felt an immediate affinity with this country.
    â€˜ Vivleshindou ! Vivongleshindu ! Vivelesallies !…’ the cries of the crowd became more complex as the sepoys entered a square beyond the small fort which stood on top of a hill where the warehouses ended, and where the greenish sea made an estuary, congested by hundreds of small boats painted in all the colours of the rainbow. And Lalu almost stumbled and fell out of step through the wandering of his eyes among the faces of the women who shrieked and waved their hands at the pageant of the Indian Army.
    â€˜Look out, heart squanderer,’ called Subah.
    â€˜Can the blind man see the splendour of the tulip?’ Lalu repeated his phrase.
    As the troops turned left, and marched up the hill along the Canebiere, the throngs multiplied on the broad pavements outside the dainty fronts of the shops, and of the beautiful high buildings decked with flowers. They were mostly women, and children, and lo and behold, as is the custom in India, they threw flowers at the sepoys while they cried: ‘ Vivongleshindoos ! Vivangleterre ! Vivelesallies ! Vive …’
    Lalu could not keep his eyes off the smiling, pretty-frocked girls with breasts half showing, bright and gleaming with a happiness that he wanted to think was all for him. Such a contrast to the sedate Indian women who seemed to grow old before they were young, flabby and tired, except for a cowherd woman with breasts like pyramidal rocks!… Why even the matrons here were dressed up and not content to remain unadorned like Indian wives, who thought that there was a greater dignity in neglecting themselves after they had had a child or two!
    â€˜Vivonleshindou !’ a thousand throats let loose a tide that flowed down the hill from the mouths of the throngs on both sides.
    â€˜What are the rape-daughters saying?’ asked Kirpu, playing on the last word affectionately to take away the sting of abuse latent in the classical curse of India.
    â€˜What knows a monkey of a mirror’s beauty!’ said Lalu, adapting his phrase to the current description of the hillmen as monkeys.
    â€˜You don’t know either,’ said Kirpu.
    â€˜They are saying something about the Hindus,’ said Lalu.
    â€˜What knows a peasant of the rate at which cloves are sold; he spreads a length of cloth as though he were buying two maunds of grain,’ said Subah to Lalu. ‘They are saying, “Long live the Indians”. I can understand, because I know Francisi .’
    â€˜All guesswork and no certainty,’ said Kirpu sceptically.
    â€˜ Vivongleshindous ! Vivelangleterre ! Vivonlesallies !…’ the cries throbbed dithyrambically.
    â€˜You don’t know the meaning of that, do you?’ said Lalu to Subah.
    â€˜Ohe , leave this talk of meanings, you learned owls,’ said Kirpu. ‘Any fool can see that they are greeting us with warmth and hospitality. Come give a shout after me, “Long live the Francisis!”’
    â€˜Long live the Francisis! ’ the boys shouted, and the calls were taken up, followed by roars of laughter.
    Now the enthusiasm of the women in the crowd knew no bounds.
    â€˜Vivonleshindous !’ they shouted and laughed.
    â€˜Bolo Sri Ram Chander ki jai !’ one of the Hindu N. C. O.s