Read Online A Beautiful Lie by Irfan Master - Free Book Online Page B

and a lot slower and Manjeet promptly dispatched it high over our heads into an alleyway beyond our modest pitch. Chota flew in the direction of the ball, barging into the other boys, then disappeared into the alley. The game came to a standstill as at least ten people, including Mr Mukherjee, began to look for another ball.
    Knowing how long it would take to find one, I walked over to a shaded part of the maidan and sat on an upturned crate. Stretching my neck to look at our rooftop, I tried to spot Saleem but the sun was obscuring my sight and I turned back to the market. As my eyes re-adjusted to the sunlight, I saw a small group detach itself from the edge of the market and briskly walk towards another group near Anand’s stall. I stood up for a better view but there were too many people milling about and I couldn’t see what was happening. Skirting around the edge of the maidan, I moved towards the two groups. Just as I was about to approach the entrance of the market, a stick appeared from out of nowhere and stopped me in my tracks. Pulling up short, I took a step back in surprise. Mr Pondicherry sat on his weathered barrel looking at me curiously with his sightless eyes – or rather, not looking.
    ‘Pondicherry-ji, I didn’t see your stick there,’ I stammered as the stick held me steady.
    Shaking his head, Mr Pondicherry stood up gingerly.
    ‘That’s because it wasn’t there until you decided to go past, Bilal. Is this how you keep an eye out for trouble, by running towards it?’
    Craning my neck to look over the crowds, I turned back to Mr Pondicherry and sighed. It was no use lying to the old man – his magical sixth sense sniffed out a liar at ten paces.
    ‘I was just curious,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders.
    Mr Pondicherry leant heavily on my shoulder and sighed in return.
    ‘Just like your bapuji. What’s made you so jumpy?’
    I climbed on to the barrel and looked at where the two groups had now met and were exchanging what seemed to be heated words. Describing the scene to Mr Pondicherry, he nodded his head in under­standing.
    ‘Been happening a lot recently with those two groups. Young boys full of anger, working themselves up in dark alleys and then gathering here for a confrontation in full view. Your brother is with one of these groups, isn’t he?’
    Grimacing, I nodded my head and mumbled an incoherent reply. I could see Mr Pondicherry staring at me from the corner of my eye and I jumped down to stand in front of him. He faced me and prodded me with his finger.
    ‘I’m not judging, boy. These are strange times. Your brother always was a hothead, quick to temper.’ He shuffled back to his barrel and perched on it, laying his gnarled stick across his thighs. ‘It’s only words at the moment. Let’s all pray that’s where it stays – here in this place at least. How’s your bapuji holding up?’
    ‘Fine, he’s fine. I’ll tell him you asked after him.’
    Mr Pondicherry growled at me. ‘Ha! Can’t lie to old Pondicherry, boy. Go back to your game and come to see old Pondicherry soon.’
    Twisting my neck again to see what was happening in the market, I almost crashed into Mr Mukherjee, who had noticed me talking to old man Pondicherry and had come across to find out what I was up to.
    ‘Bilal, what are you doing?’
    ‘Nothing, Masterji, just fielding. Mr Pondicherry called me over, sir.’
    Mr Mukherjee folded his arms and raised his eyebrows.
    ‘Oh, and how did he know that it was you he was calling?’
    I cursed inwardly and made my face into a mask.
    ‘Well, he didn’t call me actually, he just heard some shuffling and called out. I thought he might have been in distress so I went over to see if he was OK.’
    Mr Mukherjee unfolded his arms and pursed his lips. Sighing, he put his arm around my shoulders and started walking me back to the maidan. A ball had been found and the match looked set to continue. Not surprisingly, Chota still hadn’t reappeared. It was