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roads, we waited to let a patrol pass. They were leading two handcuffed men, the sort of thugs we’d just left behind.
    Once the road was clear, we crossed and I found an alleyway that led behind a clothing shop I knew. A man called Gulbaru Singh owned it. He was a nasty piece of work.
    I found the rear entrance, and I tried the door. It was locked but rattled in its frame. I pulled three or four times and the tiny lock broke.
    â€˜What are you doing?’ asked Shanti. ‘We aren’t thieves.’
    I led her inside and found a shawl. Next to it was a box of firecrackers. I pocketed a handful. They might be useful later, if we needed a distraction.
    â€˜You’re cold,’ I told her. ‘Besides the man that owns this place is horrible. He beats homeless children and cheats his customers.’
    Shanti took the shawl without any more argument and wrapped it around herself. As we left, I was reminded of Heera. I wondered what had happened to her and the teenage boy she’d taken from the police cells.
    We crossed another, smaller junction, and walked on to where the road ended at a barrier. Beyond was the track, and to the left, the railway station. The homeless people I’d mentioned in the shop were huddled together along the sides of the tracks. Here and there, one of them stirred and watched us pass. Would this be where my family would end up, I wondered, now that my father was gone?
    We passed a few small railway buildings, offices where they kept records and counted the ticket money. After these were bigger warehouses, some of them open and full of more homeless. Finally, we reached the stationmaster’s house and, close by, the main entrance to the station. It was always open, even though the trains didn’t run all night. We stepped between sleeping families, and on into the ticket hall.
    A poster had been tacked to the wall. A meeting would take place on a piece of common land called Jallianwalla Bagh. It was set for April 13 th – the Sikh festival of Vaisakhi – just a few days away. The city would be filled with people from surrounding villages, coming to celebrate the holy day at the Golden Temple. Underneath was another poster.This one said that all gatherings were banned until further notice. It was from the British.
    Shanti asked me what we were doing and I shook my head.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ I told her. ‘I was on my way here to find my father when the bandits got me.’
    She looked around the shadowy hall.
    â€˜Is this where they brought him?’ she asked.
    â€˜Yes, the train to Lahore came through here some time ago. I failed him.’
    I sat down and felt tears begin to pour down my cheeks. I’d been so caught up with escaping that I hadn’t had time to react. Now, I felt great waves of sadness coursing through my body. Shanti held out her hand.
    â€˜We can’t stay here,’ she told me. ‘We’ll get caught. We must keep moving, Arjan. Once my master realises what I’ve done, he will send men to kill us.’
    I knew she was right, but the pain in my chest wouldn’t stop. I wanted my dad. I was just a boy. How could I look after my family without him?
    â€˜Come on!’ Shanti urged.
    We left slowly, mostly because I held us up. Once outside, though, my determination returned.
    â€˜We should follow the tracks,’ I told Shanti. ‘It will take longer but they work around towards my district. It will be safer than taking the back streets and alleys again.’
    Shanti nodded. ‘That is where my master will send his thugs.’
    I took her hand and smiled. ‘Don’t call him that any more. If something good has come from this terrible night, it’s your freedom. He doesn’t own you now.’
    Her smile was wide and beaming.
    â€˜You are a good friend, Arjan, ‘she replied. ‘The only one I’ve ever had.’
    I hugged her and then we continued on our way.
    * *