‘Silence! I warn you, the convoy will move in ten minutes; whether you are on it or not will be no concern of mine.’

Sikh peasants who had stood apart heard the order and went up to the Sikh officer for advice. The officer took no notice of them; he continued staring contemptuously over the upturned collar of his raincoat at the men, cattle, carts and trucks steaming in the slush and rain.

‘Why, Sardar Sahib,’ asked Meet Singh nervously, ‘is not the lambardar right? One should not touch another’s property. There is always danger of misunderstanding.’

The officer looked Meet Singh up and down.

‘You are quite right, Bhaiji, there is some danger of being misunderstood. One should never touch another’s property; one should never look at another’s woman. One should just let others take one’s goods and sleep with one’s sisters. The only way people like you will understand anything is by being sent over to Pakistan: have your sisters and mothers raped in front of you, have your clothes taken off, and be sent back with a kick and spit on your behinds.’

The officer’s speech was a slap in the face to all the peasants. But someone sniggered. Everyone turned around to look. It was Malli with his five companions. With them were a few young refugees who were staying at the Sikh temple. None of them belonged to Mano Majra.

‘Sir, the people of this village are famous for their charity,’ said Malli smiling. ‘They cannot look after themselves, how can they look after other people? But do not bother, Sardar Sahib, we will take care of Muslim property.’ You can tell the other officer to leave it with us. It will be quite sate if you can detail some of your soldiers to prevent looting by these people.’

There was complete confusion. People ran hither and thither shouting at the tops of their voices. Despite the Muslim officer’s tone of finality, villagers clamoured around him protesting and full of suggestions. He came up to his Sikh colleague surrounded by his bewildered co-religionists.

‘Can you make arrangements for taking over what is left behind?’

Before the Sikh could answer, a babel of protests burst from all sides. The Sikh remained tight-lipped and aloof.

The Muslim officer turned around sharply. ‘Shut up!’ he yelled.

The murmuring died down. He spoke again, punctuating each word with a stab of his forefinger.

‘I give you five minutes to get into the trucks with just as much luggage as you can carry in your hands. Those who are not in will be left behind. And this is the last time I will say it.’

‘It is all settled,’ said the Sikh officer, speaking softly in Punjabi. ‘I have arranged that these people from the next village will look after the cattle, carts, and houses till it is over. I will have a list made and sent over to you.’