Use of English PRO

Just at that turning between Market Road and the lane leading to the chemist's shop he had his 'establishment'. At eight in the evening you would not see him, and again at ten you would see nothing, but between those times he arrived, sold his goods and departed. Those who saw him remarked thus, 'Lucky fellow! He has hardly an hour's work a day and he pockets ten rupees - even graduates are unable to earn that! Three hundred rupees a month!' He felt irritated when he heard such glib remarks and said, 'What these folks do not see is that I sit before the oven practically all day frying all this ...'
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At about 8.15 in the evening he arrived with a load of stuff. He looked as if he had four arms, so many things he carried about him. His equipment was the big tray balanced on his head with its assortment of edibles, a stool stuck in the crook of his arm, a lamp in another hand and a couple of portable legs for mounting his tray. He lit the lamp, a lantern which consumed six pies' worth of kerosene every day, and kept it near at hand, since he had to guard a lot of loose cash and a variety of miscellaneous articles.
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He always arrived in time to catch the cinema crowd coming out after the evening show. A pretender to the throne, a young scraggy fellow, sat on his spot until he arrived and did business, but he did not let that bother him unduly. In fact, he felt generous enough to say, 'Let the poor rat do his business when I am not there.' This sentiment was amply respected, and the pretender moved off a minute before the arrival of the prince among caterers.
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Though so much probing was going on, he knew exactly who was taking what. He knew by an extraordinary sense which of the jukta drivers was picking up chappatis at a given moment - he could even mention the license number. He knew that the stained hand nervously coming up was that of a youngster who polished the shoes of passers-by. And he knew exactly at what hour he would see the wrestler's arm searching for the perfect duck's egg. His custom was drawn from the population swarming the pavement: the boot polish boys, for instance, who wandered to and fro with brush and polish in a bag, endlessly soliciting 'Polish, sir, polish!' Rama had a soft spot for them.
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It rent his heart to see their hungry hollow eyes. It pained him to see the rags they wore. And it made him very unhappy to see the tremendous eagerness with which they came to him. But what could he do? He could not run a charity show, that was impossible. He measured out their half-glass of coffee correct to a fraction of an inch, but they could cling to the glass for as long as they liked.
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He lived in the second lane behind the market. His wife opened the door, throwing into the night air the scent of burnt oil which perpetually hung about their home. She snatched from his hand all the encumbrances and counted the cash immediately.
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After dinner, he tucked a betel leaf and tobacco in his cheek and slept. He had dreams of traffic constables bullying him to move on and health inspectors saying he was spreading all kinds of disease and depopulating the city. But fortunately in actual life no one bothered him very seriously. The health officer no doubt came and said, 'You must put all this under a glass lid, otherwise I shall destroy it some day... Take care!'
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Rama no doubt violated all the well-accepted canons of cleanliness and sanitation, but still his customers not only survived his fare but seemed actually to flourish on it, having consumed it for years without showing signs of being any the worse for it.