These words have a sobering impact and we all become absolutely still. A lump of fear forms in my throat and my hands become cold. I listen to everyone's laboured breathing. Meenakshi sobs quietly. Her mother drops her bangles and her purse into the sack, her father puts in his watch and his wallet with shaky fingers, Akshay asks whether he should put in the Archie comic. This infuriates the dacoit. 'You think this is a joke?' he hisses and slaps the boy. Akshay yelps in pain and begins nursing his cheek. For some reason I find the exchange rather funny, like a comic interlude in a horror film. The dacoit berates me. 'What are you grinning at? And what have you got?' he snaps. I take out the remaining notes and change from my front pocket and drop them in the sack, leaving only my lucky one-rupee coin. I begin to unfasten my wristwatch, but the dacoit looks at it and says, 'That is a fake. I don't want it.' He appears to be satisfied with the haul from our cabin and is about to move on when Akshay calls out, 'Wait, you have forgotten something.'
I watch the scene unfold as if in slow motion. The dacoit whirls around. Akshay points at me and says, 'This boy has got fifty thousand rupees!' He says it softly, but it seems to me the entire train has heard it.
The dacoit looks menacingly at Akshay. 'Is this another joke?'
'N-no,' says Akshay. 'I swear.'
The dacoit looks underneath my berth. 'Is it in this brown suitcase?' 'No, he has hidden it in his underwear, in a packet,' Akshay replies, smirking.
'Ah ha!' the dacoit exhales.
I am trembling – I don't know whether from fear or anger. The dacoit approaches me. 'Will you give me the money quietly or should I make you strip in front of all these people?' he asks.
'No! This is my money!' I cry, and instinctively protect my crotch like a footballer blocking a free kick. 'I have earned it. I will not give it to you. I don't even know your name.'
The dacoit gives a raucous laugh. 'Don't you know what dacoits do? We take money which doesn't belong to us, from people who don't even know our name. Now are you giving me the packet or should I pull down your pants and take it out myself?' He waves the pistol in my face.
Like a defeated warrior, I surrender before the might of the gun. I slowly insert my fingers into the waistband of my pants and pull out the manila envelope, sticky with sweat and smelling of humiliation. The dacoit grabs it from my hand and opens it. He whistles when he sees the crisp new thousand-rupee notes. 'Where the fuck did you get all this money from?' he asks me. 'You must have stolen it from somewhere. Anyway, I don't care.' He drops it in the gunny sack. 'Now none of you move while I meet the other folks in your compartment.'
I just stare dumbly and watch fifty million dreams being snatched away from me, dumped into a brown gunny sack where they jostle with middle-class bangles and wallets.
The dacoit has moved on to the next section of the compartment, but none of us dares to pull the emergency cord. We remain rooted to our seats, like mourners at a funeral. He returns after ten minutes with the sack on his back, its mouth tied, the gun in his right hand. 'Good,' he says, hefting the sack to show us it is full and heavy. He looks at me and grins, like a bully who has just snatched someone's toy. Then he looks at Meenakshi. She has covered her front with her chunni, but through the gauzy fabric the white cloth of her bra is visible. He smacks his lips.
The dacoit's partner shouts, 'I am ready. Are you ready?'
'Yes,' calls our dacoit in reply. The train suddenly begins to slow down.
'Hurry!' The other dacoit jumps down from the train.
'I am coming in a second. Here, take the sack.' Our dacoit sends the sack – and fifty million dreams – spinning out of the door. He is about to jump down, but changes his mind at the last second. He comes back to our cabin. 'Quick, give me a goodbye kiss,' he tells Meenakshi, waving the gun at her. Meenakshi is terrified. She cowers in her seat.
'You don't want to give me a kiss? OK, then take off your chunni. Let me see your breasts,' he orders. He holds the gun with both hands and snarls at Meenakshi. 'Last warning. Quick, show me some skin or I'll blow your head off before I leave.' Meenakshi's father closes his eyes. Her mother faints.
Sobbing and weeping, Meenakshi begins to unfurl her chunni. Underneath will only be a piece of white fabric. With two straps and two cups.
But I am not seeing this happening. I am seeing a tall woman with flowing hair. The wind is howling behind her, making her jet-black hair fly across her face, obscuring it. She is wearing a white sari whose thin fabric flutters and vibrates like a kite. She holds a baby in her arms. A man with long hair and a thick moustache, wearing black trousers and a white shirt approaches her.
