Ankush was looking out for the train window at the bustling platform. He refused to took anywhere else. He was not going to talk to Mummy or Papa or anybody. And he was not going to cry， he was not. Mummy was on the seat next to him， trying to make him talk， just the way he tried to make her talk sometimes. It was as if they had changed places for once. And there was Papa saying， “Do you want a bat， Anku？ Or a water pistol？”

　　A toy-seller appeared near the window and suddenly there were lots of colors around Ankush's face. Pink， green and blue toys were all bobbing away together on the toy-seller's cart. Ankush looked away again.

　　“What about a cricket set？” said Papa anxiously. “You can play with it after you get there. Look， Anku， it has a picture of Sachin on it！”

　　And it really did. There was first-class picture of Sachin， right on top pf the plastic cover. It was a huge ser， the sort of thing that Mummy and Papa might give him on his birthday. Papa had never before bought such a big present on an ordinary day. （But today everything was different.） Ankush shook his head， but the toy-seller quickly took down the set and fortunately Papa bought it. He placed it carefully on the seat， next to Ankush's water bottle， and patted it two or three times.

　　A bell clanged somewhere on the platform. Mummy sat up with a jerk and Papa stiffened. Everyone on the platform suddenly began to hurry.

　　Now Mummy was clasping him tight， and over his head she spoke to Hari Singh who was at the door of the carriage. “Hari Singh， just make sure his doesn't want water or anything.”

　　“Certainly， Bibiji. He is like my own child， have no fear.”

　　“And . . .” Mummy's voice sounded more and more wobbly . . . “remember he's frightened of tunnels.”

　　“Shoo-oo-ooo！” There was a piercing whistle which went through their bones. Now Mummy and Papa were both looking at him as if they were waiting to be punished. How funny it was， this feeling of having changed places with them！

　　One after the other they both gave him a tight long hug. He wanted to turn his face away and show them how angry he was， but instead of turning away he found himself waving bravery， first to one， then to the other. Now the train began to move as it always did in the beginning - very， very slowly， as if it was hardly moving at all. At once a huge pillar hid them from sight and they were gone.

　　They were gone， and that was it. Now there was only Hari Singh. “Baba，” he said， “don't worry about anything. Soon Mummy's operation will be over and we will be back. Look out of the window now， how nice it is.”

　　Hari Singh stroked Ankush's head with his big rough hands. “I'll be back in a few minutes，” he said， taking a bidi out of his pocket. Then he was gone too. Ankush was all alone in the huge empty carriage. He had never been so alone before. The large green seat was empty except for his small lunch-box. In one corner somebody had left a pile of luggage covered with an old black cloth. Nothing else. That about-to-cry feeling began， as if ants were crawling about inside his mouth.

　　He looked up to make the feeling go away. He saw that even the “upstairs” was empty. When Mummy and Papa were there he loved to go up. Papa would swing him up. Then Mummy would stretch her legs out on the lower seat and read her magazine.

　　He would wait till Papa gave him a signal， and then he would lean over punch her magazine right in the middle. She never failed to shriek in fright. Never.

　　And then that tunnel business. Of course he was not baby. But it was so nice to feel frightened， when a huge whistle below and everything went dark， and you were in Mummy's lap all the time. Now . . .

　　Ankush bit his lip bravely， because Papa had told him that he， Papa， knew Ankush would be brave. Look out of the window and you'll forget everything， Papa had said. Ankush turned to the window which was half-open. He pushed against it with one shoulder， as he had seen Papa do. It rose a little and then - WHAM！ - it thundered as it slid down and dropped on his hand.

　　Oh， the pain was terrible. Ankush couldn't stop himself from crying out. He turned his face to the wall and his shoulders shook. And just then - Shree-ee-ee-eek！ A whistle blew， so loudly that it seemed to hit him. And there was a noise like thunder， and everything went black.

　　It seemed the darkness and noise went on for hours， and Ankush's sobs turned into screams of terror. Just when he couldn't stand it for a minute longer， the dark began to slowly lift. And then Ankush saw a kind of magic happening.

　　The luggage in the corner was moving. It had got up and was coming towards him. A hand came out from under the black cloth and pushed aside the top part. And behind that part of the black cloth Ankush saw： MUMMY！

　　Mummy？ Was it？ Wasn't it？ Had Mummy hidden in the train to give him a surprise？ She loved giving him surprises. But no， this face seemed a little different. It had paan-stained lips and big gold earrings. This face looked like Mummy because it talked like Mummy.

　　“Oh， my little child， my little bird. So frightened？ But it was only a tunnel. Why didn't you come to me？ To my lap？”

　　The hand came out again and undid the whole cloth， and from underneath came out a complete auntie， rather plump， wearing a salwar-kameez and a very long dupatta around her head. She looked like Mummy did when she put her sari over her head in the sun. The auntie picked him up and sat down. He was on her lap. It felt nice， burying his face into the soft silky material， even though it was all a little different. It felt like the times when Mummy went out and Maasi came to stay with him. And now the new auntie was looking into his face and laughing.

　　“Goodness！ Don't you ever talk？ Or has Mummy told you to keep quiet all the way to Calcutta？”

　　Ankush began to giggle.

　　“There， at least you can laugh！ Don't be frightened， my little one. Your auntie is here. Now， how about something nice to eat？”

　　She opened a plastic box and held up some delicious-looking round things like gulab jamuns.

　　Ankush nodded his head vigorously. “I also want those triangle things，” he said. Somehow he didn't feel at all shy.

　　“No， I don't think you should have those. They are made of meat and your parents may not like it. You can have as many of these others as you want. But first you must clean your hands.”

　　And Ankush knew exactly what she was going to do. She was going to take out a little towel and pour some water on it （only she poured it from a glass bottle and Mummy from a thermos）， then she would wipe his face and hands. The auntie spread a napkin on his lap and gave him a little thali full of the round things. They were very， very good.

　　While eating， Ankush looked at the auntie， a little shy. “I thought you were luggage，” he said.

　　“What！”

　　“Because you were covered with that cloth.”

　　And then the auntie began to shake with laughter. She laughed till the tears down her cheeks and finally she gave him a pretend-slap. “You little rascal， you！ How dare you！”

　　Ankush began to jump up and down， as he always did when he had been up to some mischief.

　　“You are luggage， you are luggage！ That's what you are！”

　　“No， I am not. I am your Saeeda auntie. That's what I am.”

　　“Luggage！” shouted Ankush， leaping into her lap.

　　Ankush tugged at her black covering. “That's what you cover luggage with.”

　　“Maybe. But it's also what I cover myself with. And it's called a burqa.”

　　Just then Hari Singh came hurrying into the compartment. He looked at the two of them， a little puzzled， and then he said， “Baba！ I almost forgot. Were you frightened when we went through the tunnel？”

　　Sitting up in Saeeda auntie's lap， Ankush looked Hari Singh straight in the eye.

　　“Frightened？ Who， me？ OF COURSE NOT！” he said.

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