The two drivers Girija had brought with him had both spent some years on army vehicles, and knew the type of chassis well. When everything had been checked, the new battery installed, the temporary registration plates fitted, and the tank filled, the engine was started. It had a leisurely, powerful sound that was very satisfying.
One driver got up into the cab, the other sat behind him on one of the passenger benches.
The driver at the wheel grinned down at Girija.
"Can we drive the tuan to his hotel?"
Girija smiled and shook his head. "I'll be waiting for you in Kuala Pangkalan," he said.
He did not ride in buses; he operated them.
But he stood there, listening and watching, as the big gears grated, the big tyres began to turn and the bus rumbled away towards the dock gates and the journey north. He wished that his father, the subahdar, could have been there.
The End