The Easy Day Was Yesterday Read Online Free Page B

the 500 rupees and then kick myself in the arse later.
    We waited a little while longer and the local came back again and told Ujwal not to make the payment as they were talking about taking us to the police station. The angry man came back into the room and had a photographer with him. He tried to take my photo, but I kept turning my head. The angry man yelled at me to turn and face the camera and, as I turned to refuse, the flash went off and they both retreated outside again. Excellent. Now the prick has a photo of me.
    They came back after a few minutes and told us we were going to the police station. When we left the immigration office I again thought of running, but there were a couple of police too close to be certain of success and if they caught me I’d really be in trouble. We were both placed in separate rickshaws and travelled about two kilometres further into India to the police station. They made Ujwal pay for the rickshaws. I noted that the angry man hadn’t come with us. The short, sheepish man had come and had been joined by another, stern-looking man who wore an expression of someone who had been insulted and was preparing for revenge.
    We pulled up outside an old, dilapidated building. The only thing suggesting its role as a police station was the ancient World War II jeep parked out the front with a blue light bolted to the roof. We were ushered into the Police Station Commander’s office where Sub-Inspector Jai Shankar was sitting behind his desk. He looked at me with some amusement as though he couldn’t wait to hear the serious crime I’d committed. He was a well-presented man, immaculately dressed as if awaiting a uniform inspection. He had short, well-trimmed hair and a pencil-thin moustache. The sheepish immigration officer outlined very quietly what we’d done and then Ujwal told our side of the story. As Ujwal spoke, the Sub-Inspector glanced at me from time and then, when he was almost finished, the Sub-Inspector’s face assumed an expression of disgust. His pencil-thin moustache started to curl with the shape of his upper lip and a light sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead. He turned to the sheepish immigration guy and the other guy with the pissed-off look on his face and let them have it with both barrels. He stood and screamed at them while poking his finger in their chests. They both shrank and, for a minute, I thought the Sub-Inspector was going to start beating them. The look on the face of the pissed-off guy quickly changed into one of pleading: ‘Oh God, please don’t hit me, master!’ I reeled back and nearly fell off my chair wondering what the hell had just happened. ‘Ujwal, what’s going on?’
    ‘He’s yelling at them for bringing you here because now he must follow due process. He’s saying that they should have just pushed you back over the border, but now they have caused you too many problems.’ They both looked like scolded children as they agreed to their mistake. Bit bloody late, you pair of arseholes, I thought.
    The Sub-Inspector picked up his vintage desktop dial phone and spoke to the Superintendant of Police (SP) Siddiqui and explained the situation. He told the SP that we were not carrying any illegal substances and had strayed by accident across the border into India. The SP insisted on due process being followed. At the same time, the angry man tried to enter the police station to speak to me, but was told by the local police to bugger off. I later learnt that he wasn’t an immigration official after all, but an informer for the SP. Had this bastard not been around, the immigration officer would’ve taken the 500 rupees and I’d be back in my hotel room by now. Apparently the angry man wanted to see me to ask for money to get me out of this situation. So the prick got me in the shit and then was denied access to get me out of it. In hindsight I should have attempted to control things better and slowed the situation down so I could determine