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One evening in January a well-groomed young man having walked up Davis Road to the Mall turned to Charing Cross. His hair was sleek and shining and he wore sideburns. His thin moustache seemed to have been drawn with a pencil. He had on a brown overcoat with a cream coloured half-opened rose in his button hole and a green felt hat which he wore at a rakish angle. A white silk scarf was knotted at his neck. One of his hands was slipped into a pocket of his overcoat while in the other he held a short polished cane which every now and then he twirled jauntily.

It was a Saturday evening in mid-winter. The sharp icy gusts of wind struck like steel, but the young man seemed to be immune to them. So, while others were walking briskly to keep warm, he was ambling along obviously enjoying his promenade in the bitter cold.

He looked such a dandy that tonga-wallas on catching sight of him, even from a distance, whipped up their horses and raced towards him. With a wave of his stick he turned them away. A taxi also drew near him and the driver looked at him enquiringly. He too was turned off. This time with a ‘No thank you.’

As he was approaching the more lively part of the Mall his spirits rose, and whistling up a ‘Tango’ he stepped it out as he went along. On a sudden impulse he ran a few steps and pretended to deliver a ball as if he were playing cricket.

At the turning which led to Lawrence Garden he paused for a moment as if to decide which way to go, but in the chill evening light the gardens looked sad and uninviting and so he walked straight on towards Charing Cross.

When he reached the statue of the queen he slowed down, pulled a handkerchief out of the sleeve of his overcoat where he kept it, and mopped his face.

On the lawn near the statue some English children were playing with a big rubber ball. He stopped to watch their game. At first the children did not notice him, but as he continued to stare at them they felt embarrassed and picking up their ball, laughing and shouting, chased off to the other side of the lawn. Seeing an empty cement bench by the side of the road, the young man flicked the dust off it and sat down.

As the evening advanced the cold became more intense. It was a cold that induced people to seek comfort in pleasure. At such times it was not only the profligate who ranged abroad, but even those who were usually content to live with their loneliness, emerged from their hide-outs to join in the gaiety of the streets, and to enjoy the warmth of body to body proximity. And so people converged on the Mall where they amused themselves among the variety of hotels, restaurants, cafes and snackbars, each according to his means. Those who could not afford the pleasures inside, were content to gaze at the coloured lights and brilliant advertisements outside. Up and down the main road there was an unending stream of cars, buses, tongas and bicycles while the pavements thronged with pedestrians.

The young man seated on the cement bench was watching with interest the people passing on the pavement before him. It was their clothes, rather than their faces that attracted his attention. These people belonged to all walks of life. There were traders, officials, public men, students, artists, tourists, reporters, clerks and others. Most of them were wearing overcoats which were of every kind from the astrakhan to the rough military khaki such as are found in large bundles at the second-hand clothes’ shops.

The overcoat the young man himself was wearing was old, but it was well cut and the material was of good quality. The lapels were stiff and the sleeves well creased. The buttons were of horn, big and shiny. The young man seemed to be very happy in it.

A boy selling pan and cigarettes with a tray of his wares passed by.

‘Pan Walla!’

‘Yes sir’

‘Have you change for a ten rupee note?’

‘No sir, but I’ll get it for you.’

‘And what if you don’t come back?’

‘If you don’t trust me sir, you can come with me. Anyway, what do you want to buy?’

‘Never mind . . . Here, I have found one anna. Now give me a good cigarette and be off with you.’

As he smoked he seemed to relish every puff.

A small lean white cat shivering with cold rubbed against his legs and mewed. He stroked it and it leapt up onto the bench. Smoothing its fur he muttered:

‘Poor little mite.’

After a few minutes he got up.

As he was crossing the Mall the bright lights of a cinema foyer lured him. The film had already started and so there were only a few people gazing idly at the stills of future attractions displayed on the boards.

Among these people were three young Anglo Indian girls who were giggling over a set of pictures. The young man drew towards them but as decency demanded he stood a step or two behind.

One of the girls looked back followed by nudgings and glances from the others. Suddenly she burst out laughing and the other two, trying to control themselves, pushed their companion out of the foyer. In a few seconds they were gone.

The young man seemed unconcerned at their departure and after loitering for a little while also left the cinema.

By now it was past seven. He started off again along the Mall. An orchestra could be heard playing in one of the restaurants. Many people had collected outside. Mostly they were passers-by, a few drivers of the waiting taxis and tongas, labourers and beggars. Some fruit vendors having sold their fruit were also standing around with their empty baskets. These people outside seemed to be enjoying the music more than those who sat inside, for they were listening in silence though the music was foreign.

The young man also stood and listened for a moment or so, then walked on.

A few minutes later he found himself outside a large Western music shop. Without hesitation he went in. There were musical instruments of different kinds arranged on shelves around the walls. On a long table, attractively displayed, were the latest hit songs. Their cover designs were vulgar but gay. The young man cast a glance at them and then moved away towards a Spanish guitar which was hanging on the wall. He examined it with the air of a connoisseur and studied the price label attached to it. Then a huge German Piano diverted his attention. Lifting the cover of the key-board he played a few notes and closed it again.

One of the salesmen came up.

‘Good evening, sir,’ he said courteously, ‘Gan I help you, sir?’

‘No thank you,’ the young man said with an air of indifference. Then suddenly as if remembering something he called out.

‘Oh yes . . . Could you let me have a list of this month’s gramophone records?’

He slipped the list into one of the pockets of his overcoat and resumed his promenade on the Mall.

He stopped next at a book stall. He picked up one or two magazines and after a hurried glance at the contents carefully replaced them. A few yards further on, a large Persian carpet, which was hanging outside a shop attracted his attention. The owner of the shop, wearing a long robe and a silk turban, greeted him warmly.

‘I just wanted to see this carpet,’ the young man said to the carpet dealer.

‘With pleasure, sir.’

‘Oh, don’t bother to take it down. I can see it quite well as it is. How much is it?’

‘Fourteen hundred and thirty two rupees, sir,’

The young man frowned as if to suggest, ‘Oh so much.’

‘You have only to select, sir,’ said the carpet dealer amiably, and we will reduce the price to the minimum.’

‘Thank you so much,’ the young man said approvingly. ‘A fine carpet indeed, I’ll come again some time,’ and he walked away.

The cream colour rose which adorned the lapel of his overcoat had slipped and was about to fall. He adjusted it with a peculiar smile of satisfaction.

He was now walking along the pavement near the High Courts. He had been roaming about for quite a long time, but his spirits were still high; he was neither tired nor bored.

At this part of the Mall the crowd of pedestrians had thinned down and there were quite long stretches of empty pavement between one group and another. The young man as he went along tried to spin his cane around one finger, but in the attempt he dropped it.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he exclaimed and bending down picked it up.

Meanwhile a young couple who had been walking behind him passed by and went ahead of him. The youth was tall and was wearing black corduroy trousers and a leather jacket with a zip. The girl wore a floppy shalwar of white satin and a green coat. She was short and bulky. Her long black pigtail bobbed about her fleshy buttocks as she walked.

The young man was delighted to watch this spectacle and kept on walking behind them. They were silent for a while, then the youth said something to the girl to which she answered vehemently:

‘No.’

‘But as I told you the doctor is a friend of mine and no one will ever hear about it.’

‘No. I said no.’

‘It will be painless, and soon over.’

The girl did not reply.

‘You know your parents will be terribly upset. You must think of their honour.’

‘Shut up or I’ll go mad.’

So far the young man had found little to interest him among the persons he had observed that evening. He had been, perhaps, too deeply engrossed in himself, but there was something that fascinated him about this young couple who seemed to have stepped out of the pages of a romantic novel.

He followed them closely hoping to get a glimpse of their faces and to hear more of their talk.

By now they had reached the big cross-roads near the General Post Office. The pair stopped for a moment, then after crossing the Mall headed toward McLeod Road. The young man paused, possibly thinking that if he went after them at once they might discover that they were being followed. It would be better, perhaps, if he waited for a few moments.

When the couple had walked some hundred yards ahead of him, he hurriedly started after them. Hardly had he reached half way across the road when a truck full of bricks came from behind like a gust of wind and crushing him down speeded off towards McLeod Road. The driver of the truck had heard a shriek and had actually for a moment slowed down, but realising that something serious had happened, had taken advantage of the darkness and had sped away into the night. Two or three passers-by who had witnessed the accident shouted: ‘Stop him . . . take the number,’ but the truck was no more to be seen.

In a short while quite a crowd had collected. A traffic inspector on his motor bike stopped. The young man was badly hurt. There was a lot of blood about and he was in a very precarious state. A car was stopped and he was loaded into it and taken to a nearby hospital. When they reached there he was just alive.

On duty that night in the casualty department were assistant surgeon Khan and two young nurses, Shehnaz and Gill. When he was being taken to the operating theatre on a stretcher he was still wearing his brown overcoat and the silk scarf. There were large stains of blood all over his clothes. Someone had, out of sympathy, placed the young man’s green felt hat on his chest so that it should not be lost.

‘Seems quite well-to-do,’ Nurse Shehnaz said to Nurse Gill, to which she replied in a lower tone:

‘All togged up for Saturday night, poor chap.’

‘Did they catch the driver?’

‘No he got away.’

‘What a pity!’

In the operating theatre the assistant surgeon and the two nurses with their faces concealed behind masks, were attending to the young man, only their eyes were visible. He was lying on a white marble table. His hair was still smoothed against his temples. The strong scented oil with which he had dressed it earlier that evening still gave out a faint odour.

His clothes were now being taken off. The first to be removed was the white silk scarf. Suddenly the two nurses exchanged glances. With masks on, how else could they communicate!

Beneath the scarf there was neither a tie nor a collar . . . not even a shirt. When the overcoat was removed it was found that the young man was wearing underneath only an old cotton sweater which was all in holes. Through these holes one could see the dirty vest which was in an even worse state than the sweater. The young man had wrapped the silk scarf in such a way that it hid most of his neck and chest. Layers of dirt covered his body. He could not have had a bath for at least two months. Only the upper part of his neck was clean and well powdered.

After the sweater and the vest it was the turn of the trousers to come off. Again the eyes of the two nurses met. The trousers were tightly bound at the hip with a strip of old cloth which perhaps had once been a tie. There were no buttons, no buckle. The cloth at the knees had given away, but as these parts remained under the overcoat no one could have seen them.

The shoes and the socks now came off. The shoes were old but brightly polished. As to the socks, in colour and pattern the one was quite different from the other. There were holes at the heels, and where the flesh showed through the holes it was grimed with dirt. He was by now dead and his lifeless body lay on the white marble slab.

Before his clothes were removed his face was towards the ceiling but in the process of removing his clothes it had turned towards the wall. Was it perhaps for the shame of this dual nakedness of body and soul that now he dared not face his fellow beings?

The following were the few things which were found in the various pockets of his overcoat:

A small black comb, a handkerchief, six annas and a few pies, a half smoked cigarette, a little diary in which the names and addresses of a few people were noted, a list of gramophone records and a few handbills which distributors had thrust upon him during his evening promenade.

Alas, his little cane, which was perhaps lost at the time of the accident, was not included in the list.