Page 46 - English Reader - 8

“But Grandfather, they...they...”

The old man pulled the girl’s face against his shoulder. “Tshhh,” he said gently, “Don’t worry. Maybe
they will pass us.”

With pounding heart, the girl listened into the night. She could hear the mob draw closer and closer;
they came advancing towards their house. It was a small, simple cement construction, sandwiched
between drab, identical buildings on either side. There was a tiny patch of grass between the

dilapidated wooden gate and the front door. A row of pink and
yellow gladioli, all neatly tied to sticks, stretched along the
boundary wall. Tutu, their neighbour’s eighteen-year-
old son, had given her the flower bulbs and
taught her about gardening and growing
flowers. The girl liked Tutu. She admired
him. How she wished he was here now. Tutu

would help them, he certainly would. He
would not let them die.

“Grandfather,” she whispered, “Let us call
Tutu. He...”
“Tshhh, bitia-rani, tshhh,” said the old man.

The girl fell silent. She buried her face in her
hands and in broken whispers she began to pray,

“Let them pass, dear God, let them pass. If you help me now, I promise never to lie, never to fight. I
will be good, I promise, I will. But please, help us now. Let them pass.”
But the mob did not pass. It stopped in front of the old man’s house. A man kicked, the gate open
and rushed towards the entrance. There were thirty of them, armed with lathis, axes, and iron bars.

They hammered at the door and bawled. “Open up, you dirty cowards. Open up or we will kick the
door in.”

The girl, crouching in the small, dark bedroom at the rear of the house, jumped up in fright.
“Grandfather, Grandfather,” she pleaded, “Please do something. They are coming. They are breaking
the door.”

“Hide, bitia-rani, hide,” urged the old man and hobbled to his feet painfully. “Hide somewhere,
anywhere...under the bed, behind the door. Oh God, oh God, where do we hide?” In panic and
desperation, he stared around the familiar room, not knowing which way to turn.

“Grandfather, Grandfather,” called out the girl softly, “Come here behind the almirah. Come quickly
or they will find us.”

“Bitia-rani,” cried the helpless old man as he blindly groped his way through the dark.
The girl was by his side in a flash. Taking him by the hand she guided him towards the almirah.

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