The Night Watchman's Whistle

In the lanes of the old town, everyone knew the sound. Two notes on a whistle, one high and one low. Phee-phoo. It meant that Bahadur, the night watchman, was on his rounds, and that all was well.

Bahadur began his walk at ten o'clock, when the shops had closed. He wore a woollen cap and carried a stick and a torch. He was not looking for trouble. In all his years he had found very little. He was looking after the night.

He walked past the sweet shop. The trays were empty and covered with cloth. A smell of warm milk still hung in the air. Phee-phoo.

He walked past the tailor's. Through the shutter he could see the sewing machine under its cover, like a small sleeping animal. Phee-phoo.

He stopped at the handpump and pushed the handle down, so that it would not drip. He picked up a child's sandal from the middle of the lane and set it on a doorstep, where its owner would find it in the morning.

At the corner house, a window was still lit. Old Mrs Kapoor could not sleep easily these days. When she heard the whistle, she smiled in the dark. Someone was awake. Someone was walking by. She turned over, and a few minutes later her lamp went out.

In the house next door, a boy named Arjun lay listening too. He liked to follow the whistle in his mind. Now Bahadur was at the sweet shop. Now at the temple. Now at the big peepal tree, where the lane turned.

Phee-phoo. Fainter.

Arjun tried to stay awake for the next one. He never could.

Phee-phoo. Fainter still.

By the time the whistle came round again, the whole lane was asleep, and only the watchman and the moon were left to hear it.