Each step was slow and steady there was no rush at dusk. The air was cool but the humidity of the afternoon could still be seen as the tropical trees in the landscape had a mist of vapour round the branches and the leaves. The atmosphere was calm and cultural the only people to be seen on the path were the men. Conversation between the men was bitter, the short stubby man wearing khaki clothes stood out, he was new to the place of beauty. The tall man stood out and had a lot more confidence and did not look around fascinated by the Mahal like the short man.
He wore a black thin suite with a creamy white shirt that could be seen. The short man was very talkative and the tall man spoke the queens English. “This invasion is a great achievement of Britain, here the people are very good workers and could bring wealth to Britain”, the tall man spoke. “I know the place is very beautiful too”, the short man replied but was more interested in the culture surrounded by him. Both men walked up the stairs on the main buildings of the Taj Mahal and were ready to walk through the main entrance which was big and full of beautiful carvings.
But from one of the white tall grand pillars a man sprung out from behind it. The man wore a robe and a turban white in colour he had distinctive green eyes and had native dark brown skin. He spoke, “TCHAI”, and in his hand he had a metal container that looked old and tacky he shook it at them he was offering them something. The short man looked around in amazement he looked confused. “It means tea, this man always annoying me one of these days I’m going to shoot him, I’ve never taken tea off him and he comes and still says tchai”, he was very annoyed.
“TCHAI! ” the Indian man wearing the turban didn’t give up. The short man was calm and didn’t think much of this, “um… No thanks chap” he answered. He waved his hands in the air at about chest height and shook his head. He screwed his face. “TCHAI?! ” the tea man wearing the turban still wanted to sell tea but he was refused again. “NO! ” both men said at the same time. “Nai Nai” the vagabond was refused again by the taller man that must have picked up a bit of the foreign language. Both the men were really getting annoyed.
The tea selling vagabond was blocking the men’s path and kept offering something that the conceited British men did not want. The tall man had hate in his eye and anger grew within him. He reached in to the inside of his suite and pulled out a loaded hang gun. Knowing he was a British man in a British ruled country he knew that he could most probably get a way with shooting an Indian man of very little authority. The gun slowly crept out of his pocket his hand was on the trigger straight away and he pointed the gun to the vagabonds head. The vagabond’s eyes were full of freight.