Excerpt from Jamila

The morning bus service had just arrived in the village.   It was almost 8.00 a.m. and you’d been waiting since daybreak.  You’d left your sleeping household and broken into a silvery, silent mist to walk the short distance to the bus stop at the centre of the village.  The bus was unpredictable and you’d not wanted to miss him. 

Yours had been the only figure moving outside in that early hour – a slim shadow slinking through the enveloping haze.  As soon as you’d seen him, you’d realised you needn’t have worried about his going astray.  The entire village would have known instantly that he’d come for you. 

His crisp white trousers and shirt stood out in marked contrast to the grimy dhotis of the village men returning from the market.  His outfit, quite apart from the leather satchel swollen with papers and the small, round eyeglasses, clearly marked him out as a government official.