Hello! I am Mr Oliver. I am an Anglo-Indian teacher at a prestigious school that had been run on English public school lines before Kipling's time. I have been teaching in the school for several years
The students of our school were from wealthy Indian families, who wore blazers, caps and ties. Life Magazine in a feature on India called it the 'Eton of the East'
Simla Bazaar, with its cinema and restaurants, was about three miles from the school. I usually stroll into the town in the evening. I return via a short cut through the pine forest when it is dark
Ramu the Dosawala
Whenever there was a strong wind, the pine trees made sad, eerie sounds that kept most people to the main road. Fortunately, I was neither a nervous nor imaginative man. The torch I had was moving fitfully as it's batteries were running down.
The flickering light of my torch fell in the figure of a boy. He was sitting alone on a rock. I stopped. Boys were not supposed to be out after dark
I moved a little closer to recognize the miscreant. As I approached him, i sensed that something was wrong. It was a strange, soundless weeping. I felt distinctly uneasy