Free The Night Run by Bali Rai Page A

mother’s face fell as she opened the door.
    â€˜Mr Khan?’ she asked. ‘What’s the matter? Where is my husband?’
    â€˜There’s been a mistake,’ Mr Khan told her. ‘The British have arrested Arjan’s father. They claim he is a rioter.’
    My mum, eight months pregnant, cried out and began to faint. Mr Khan grabbed her and held her steady. ‘Arjan, bring water – quickly!’
    As I ran to find the water urn, Mrs Khan appeared. ‘What’s all the noise about?’
    The Khans lived in the same yard as us, across the narrow court. They were kind and friendly, their own children now adults. As Mr Khan explained the problem to his wife, I held the cup to my mother’s lips. Her pale brown eyes were wide with fright.
    â€˜We have to help him,’ she whispered to me. ‘If we don’t, the British will kill him.’
    The thought made me shudder with fear. I could not imagine a world without my father. I did not want a world without him. Who would teach me how to be a man? Who would look after my mother and my new brother or sister? What would we eat?
    Mrs Khan came and sat by my side.
    â€˜Go and secure the gates to the yard,’ she told me. ‘I will look after her.’
    I handed the cup over and stood. My legs felt like jelly. Out in the yard, Mr Khan explained what he would do. From the streets, I heard the faint sound of soldiers shouting through loudhailers.
    â€˜The
Engrezi
have called a curfew,’ Mr Khan told me. ‘No one may leave their houses tonight. The penalty for disobeying will be arrest and jail. Perhaps even death.’
    â€˜
Engrezi
’ is the word for British in our language, Punjabi. They have ruled my country since long before my birth and they will never leave. At least that’s what I hear the adults say. I have never understood why they rule us. Surely Indians should rule India? It makes no sense – like a fox taking charge over chickens. It is unnatural. But it is the way things are.
    â€˜Tomorrow, at sunrise, I will go to my cousin,’ Mr Khan continued. ‘He will help us.’
    He took me in his arms and gave me a hug.
    â€˜Don’t worry, son,’ he said. ‘We will make things right in the morning. For tonight, you need to stay here and take care of your mother.’
    I nodded slowly but I couldn’t help thinking about my dad. I had never seen him cry before and it felt wrong. His face, as the soldiers took him, would never leave my memory.
    â€˜We are just across the way,’ my neighbour added. ‘Ask if you need anything at all.’
    As Mrs Khan continued to watch my mother, I sat on my mattress and cried.

Chapter Three

No-one To Help
    L ater, the other neighbours began to return. Six families lived around our rectangular paved courtyard, two on each side and two at the rear. A water pump sat in the middle, and a toilet and wash area near the entrance gate. It was crowded and noisy but it was my home. Now, without my dad, it felt like an entirely different place.
    My mum and Mrs Khan were talking and brewing tea, so I went outdoors. Darkness had begun to fall, and in the distance I heard gunshots and shouting. I wondered what was happening.
    I saw Lala Ram, another neighbour, whispering to Mr Khan. I sneaked past them and into the latrine, before hiding behind the door. Despite the smell, I stayed put, trying to hear their conversation. There was a crack in the door and I watched them through it. They were talking about my father.
    â€˜There are rumours, brother,’ Lala Ram said to Mr Khan.
    Lala had very dark skin and black eyes. He was middle-aged and very skinny, and always rode his bike everywhere. He was a farm hand, working in the fields that surrounded the city. His face was grimy with dust and heat.
    â€˜What rumours?’ Mr Khan asked him.
    Lala Ram shook his head, and leant closer.
    â€˜Mit Singh and the others will be taken away from