CHAPTER 5   Ju Daniels the namesake, rushed home hugging the bundle of certificates. “Here at last, is a break,” she thought, chuckling to herself wickedly.  She ran the last few yards of the road, slipped into a side street, and clambered up the creaky wooden stairs that rattled under her feet.  All around her was a musty stench, which came from bad ventilation and overflowing garbage bins.  She fumbled in her bag for her keys, and let herself into the room.  It was a tiny room, and a cheap wooden cot filled most of it.  In one corner, was a table supporting a tin stove. There were a couple of chairs as well.   Ju carefully made her way through the clutter.  She threw herself on her bed, and purred happily to herself, caressing the bundle she held in her hand.  Then she emptied the contents, and carefully scrutinized each paper. “I wish Johnny comes soon. He’ll know what to do with these certificates,” she thought.  “I’m quite sure that my career as a sales girl is over.”   Ju was a girl of questionable reputation.  At the age of sixteen, she had run away with the butcher, who was old enough to be her father.  They made their way to Bombay, where they were swallowed up into a life of obscurity amidst the milling crowds.  Her irate parents had washed their hands off her, and within a few months, the butcher had moved on to greener pastures.  Ju had no formal education, but like most Anglo-Indians, she could speak English fluently, and had a pleasing personality.  After days of hunger and roaming the streets, and constant threats of eviction from the landlady, Ju found a job as a salesgirl, in a stuffy antique shop.  The salary was a pittance, and to make both ends meet, Ju had to take up other work.  She chose the easiest job which brought in the best returns, and hoped that some day, when she had gathered enough money, and opportunity knocked on her door, she would start living a clean and respectable life. With this ambition in mind Ju taught herself to read and write,during the long dreary hours of waiting for customers in the antique shop.   One rainy night, Ju stood huddled against a wall, under the awnings of a building.  She was wrapped up in a plastic raincoat, and the massive hood hid her face from sight. Soon, she was joined by a young man. “Hey you,” he said, “You ought to be in bed at this time of night. “Why are you wandering about in the rain?” Ju didn’t answer.  The man was muffled up in a khaki raincoat, and she wasn’t sure if he was a policeman. “Where do you live?” he asked. “A few blocks away,” she said timidly. “Come on.  I’ll see you home.” He took her by her arm, and dragged her along, until she reached the block where she lived. “If I catch you on the road again, you little twerp, I’ll hand you over to the Police,” he threatened. Ju hurried to her room, sufficiently intimidated.   The next night, the stranger who called himself Johnny Martis, visited her. “Just to see you aren’t gadding about at night,” he said, and settled down in one of her rickety chairs.  Are you living all by yourself? No parents or husband?” “No one.  I live by myself and work in the old antique shop on Penny Street.” “Oh I see.  You work in the antique shop by day, and open your own shop at night?  You’re not very far from becoming an antique yourself.” The girl winced, and looked down at her fingertips.  Why was this fellow bothering her?  Who was he anyway? To whom could she turn for help? “How old are you?” he asked. “Twenty five,” she lied. “You’re not a day over seventeen. I could easily turn you over to the Police, you know.  But I’ll give you one more chance to make an honest woman of yourself.” He extricated himself slowly from the rickety chair. “Good night.  I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” She heard him go down the steps two at a time, and out on to the streets. “The devil take him,” she grumbled,  “Poking his long nose into my affairs, as if he owns me.” But she was scared and shaken, and stuck to her room for the next few evenings. One night, when he called on her, she was standing by her window and looking anxiously down at the street below. “Well, well, so you’re still hankering after that life, are you?” “No,” she denied. “I can see it in your face.  If it’s male company that you crave for, I’ll move in tomorrow, and don’t you dare refuse such a good offer.  After all, a bird in the hand is worth twenty on the streets.”   So Johnny came home to stay.  There was no one she could turn to, in this city bursting at its seems, none she could call a friend.  Besides, the man could be menacing. “Who knows what he will do to me if I refuse?” Ju hated him bitterly, and resented his interference in her life.  But Johnny was the sort of guy one couldn’t hate for long.  Having established himself as her guardian, he set out to captivate her.  He would regale her with jokes, and bring her little gifts.  He made a generous allowance towards house keeping, and proved an amiable companion.  There even came a time when Ju was grateful that he had rescued her from the streets. However, he kept odd hours, going out at night and coming back in the wee hours of the morning.  Ju believed he was some kind of detective belonging to the C.I.D, but she never summoned enough courage to question him. One day, a week after Johnny had moved in, the land lady paid a visit to Ju’s room. “Miss. Daniels, I thought you were a good girl.  I’ve heard that you’ve brought in a man to live with you.  Either the man leaves, or you vacate my house.”   She hadn’t seen Johnny sprawled on the bed.  He jumped up and moved towards the door. “So you’re the land lady?  I’ve been waiting to have a word with you.  I’ve heard what you said, and if you don’t want trouble, I’d thank you to mind your own business, and not interfere in Ju’s life.  You call this dump accommodation?  I’ve a good mind to turn you over to the civic authorities, and have the place razed to the ground.  And you’re charging such an exorbitant rent at that!”   Johnny spoke like he meant business, and the old lady started to tremble all over.  Apart from renting out her poky little rooms at such high rates, she had a fine distillery in her kitchen, where she brewed hooch.  The man must be a goon of the underworld.  It would be wiser to cultivate him. “Oh Sir, I don’t want any trouble.  There are some decent folk living in these rooms.  Besides, if two are sharing accommodation, the least you can do is to pay more rent.” Johnny advanced threateningly. “Beat it, Old lady.  You’ll not get a nickel extra, and don’t let me hear Ju complain that you’re bothering her.”                             To be continued…..