I would then tell her that, though not impossible, it was highly
improbable. But this was not enough and her fear persisted.
However, it did not seem right to forbid the man from entering
the house; and the intimacy between him and Mini went on
unchecked.
Once a year in the middle of January Abdur Rahman, the
Kabuliwallah, was in the habit of returning to his country, and as
the time approached he would get very busy, going from house
to house collecting his debts. This year, however, he always found
some spare time to come and see Mini. To an outsider, this
relationship might have seemed to a conspiracy between the two,
because when he could not come in the morning, he would
appear in the evening to see Mini.
Even I felt startled at times when I came upon and surprised this
tall, loose-garmented man in the corner of a dark room; but when
Mini would run in smiling, with her, "O! Kabuliwallah!
Kabuliwallah!" cries and the two friends, so far apart in age,
would lose themselves in their laughter and their old jokes, I
would feel quite reassured.
One morning, a few days before
he had made up his mind to go to
Kabul, I was sitting in my study,
correcting my proof sheets. The
weather was chilly. Through the
window, the rays of the sun
touched my feet, and the slight
warmth was very welcome. It was
almost eight o'clock, and the
early pedestrians were returning
home, with their heads covered.
Suddenly, I heard an uproar in
the street, and looking out, saw
the Kabuliwalah being led away bound between two policemen,
followed closely by a crowd of curious boys. There were bloodstains on his clothes and one of the policemen carried a knife.
Hurrying out, I stopped them, and enquired what it all meant.
From various onlookers, I gathered that a certain neighbour had
owed Abdur Rahman some money for a Rampuri shawl, but had
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