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tomorrow?’
    â€˜Yes, I know that,’ he insisted. ‘There are only ten or twelve of them...the distance cannot be more than sixty miles. I’ll cover it within a few hours.’
    Did he mean it? I looked at him. His thick lips were like furrows in a freshly-ploughed field, and above them spread the bluish down of a moustache which merged into a sprouting beard. He had a long neck, a thin belly like that of a leopard and big knees, round like bronze shields. On his bulging calves there was no hair, only the tattooed figures of two peacocks. His eyes were dull. How on earth could he cover sixty miles in a few hours? Was it that he did not understand what we said?
    Inder Singh, an old peasant with a brown gnarled beard, rapped my shoulder with his metallic hand and said, ‘It is Boota Singh... from Bhagoo village. Don’t you know him? He can run a hundred miles at a stretch.’
    â€˜A hundred miles?’
    â€˜Yes. A hundred miles. When he runs he leaves the storm wind behind...’
    â€˜A hundred miles!’ I was puzzled.
    â€˜Have you never heard the name of Boota Singh?’ asked lnder Singh.
    â€˜Never.’
    â€˜Boota is the son of Rakho,’ began Inder Singh. ‘He comes from my village. Soon after he was bom, his mother put him in a basket in the field where she was harvesting and went on with her work. The family lived in one corner of the field under a tattered straw awning. Boota’s father guarded the crops from jackals, pheasants, rabbits and other animals. One frosty night he died of pneumonia. Rakho lived in the field with her little son. She got a small hill dog from a gypsy family. Soon the little puppy grew into a full-mouthed dog. Along with him grew Boota. He would twist his tail and the dog would yelp and howl and romp about mischievously, playing with Boota like an elder brother.
    â€˜Boota’s childhood was spent chasing camels, colts, jackals and squirrels. He would run after the rabbits jumping over hedges, his dog at his heels. He became so agile that he could chase a rabbit, catch it, let it go and catch it again. A rabbit can run four miles, a jackal about eight, a horse forty at the most and the fastest camel not more than fifty miles. But Boota can run a hundred...’
    â€˜How long does it take him to cover that distance?’ I asked.
    â€˜Twelve hours. A horse can run faster than Boota no doubt, but it cannot run a hundred miles at a stretch.’
    Inder Singh looked at me and said, ‘If you doubt my word you can test it. Give him the papers and he will deliver them by tomorrow.’ He turned to Boota and said, ‘Boota, my son! Take these messages and deliver them to all the villages. Go, my lion.’
    He handed Boota the letters, told him the names of the villages and gave him full instructions to deliver them to the proper persons.
    The following day, the secretaries of the peasants’ unions assembled at the appointed time for the meeting. I asked each one of them, individually, who had given them the message. Each one replied, ‘Boota brought it.’
    After the meeting was over, Kumar Sain, the lawyer, Jugal Kishore, the retired headmaster, Ajmer Singh, the judge, and a few others gathered around Boota and talked to him. We felt grieved that such a wonder was not known beyond his village.
    â€˜If Boota had a chance to go to London and run a cross-country race, he would make the name of the little village of Bhagoo shine on the map of the world,’ declared the headmaster.
    â€˜Our country is full of wonders,’ added Kumar Sain. ‘We have great divers, wrestlers and hunters but they waste their talent and die unknown.’
    â€˜If Boota can run a hundred miles, no power on earth can stop him from attaining world fame,’ concluded the judge.
    An aged military
havaldar
said, ‘His Highness the Maharaja of Patiala is very fond of games and sports. If somehow we can get this news to