The Sikhs believe that the spirit of Nanak passed from one Guru to the other. The words Guru or the great guru are used to refer to them collectively as well as for God. Their sacred book, the ADI GRANTH, is read and worshipped in temples called Gurudwaras. In well-to-do homes, a room is set apart for the Granth and all members read a hymn or two every day. On the birthdays of the Gurus and on the first of every month the whole family foregathers for a ceremonial when specially chosen passages are read and pershad—a syrupy batter made of flour, sugar and clarified butter—is distributed. There are frequent references to the ceremony of the first of the month in this novel.

Sikhs wear their hair and beards unshorn. They also add the suffix Singh to their names. They have two modes of greeting. One is to say ‘Sat Sri Akal’, which means ‘God is Truth’. In the other mode one person says, ‘Wah guru ji ka khalsa’—‘the Sikhs are the chosen of God’—and the other replies, ‘Wah guru ji ki Fateh’—‘and victory be to our God’.

There are some other Indian words which appear in this story. The word Sahib is used when addressing anyone with respect. It is not only used for a white man or a white woman (memsahib) but also for all Sikhs (Sardar Sahib). The suffix ji also serves somewhat the same purpose as in Bibiji (mistress) or Bhraji (brother).

The word bus means enough and achha all right. Namaste is the Hindu form of greeting.

Characters in the Story

Characters in the Story

Buta Singh—Senior Magistrate

Sabhrai—Buta Singh’s wife

Sher Singh—Buta Singh’s son

Champak—Sher Singh’s wife

Beena—Buta Singh’s daughter

Madan Lal—Wazir Chand’s son and famous cricketer

Sita—Wazir Chand’s daughter and friend of Beena

Shunno—Maid servant

Mundoo—Thirteen-year-old boy servant

Dyer—Alsatian dog

John Taylor—Deputy Commissioner of the District Joyce Taylor—Wife of the Deputy Commissioner

Jhimma Singh—Lambardar (village headman) and police informer

Time : April 1942 to April 1943

Chapter I

‘There should be a baptism in blood. We have had enough of target practice.’

The trunk of a tree thirty yards away bore imprints of their marksmanship. Its bark was torn; in its centre was a deep, yellow gash oozing a mixture of gum and sap. From one branch dangled a row of metal heads of electric bulbs; their glass was strewn on the ground and shone like a bed of mica. Littered about the tree were tin cans and tattered pieces of cardboard sieved with holes.

‘What about it, leader?’ asked the smallest boy in the party slapping the butt of his rifle. ‘We should sprinkle blood on our guns and say a short prayer to baptize them. Then they will never miss their mark and we can kill as many Englishmen as we like.’