Consciousness of the bad is an essential prerequisite to the promotion of the good. It is no use trying to build a second storey on a house whose walls are rotten. It is best to demolish it. It is both cowardly and foolhardy to kowtow to social standards when one believes neither in the society nor in its standards. Their courage is your cowardice, their cowardice your courage. It is all a matter of nomenclature. One could say it needs courage to be a coward. A conundrum, but a quotable one. Make a note of it.

And have another whisky. The whisky was like water. It had no taste. Iqbal shook the flask. He heard a faint splashing. It wasn’t empty. Thank God, it wasn’t empty.

If you look at things as they are,he told himself, there does not seem to be a code either of man or of God on which one can pattern one’s conduct. Wrong triumphs over right as much as right over wrong. Sometimes its triumphs are greater. What happens ultimately, you do not know. In such circumstances what can you do but cultivate an utter indifference to all values? Nothing matters. Nothing whatever . . .

Iqbal fell asleep, with the celluloid glass in his hand and the lamp burning on the stool beside him.

In the courtyard of the gurudwara, the fires on the hearths had burned to ashes. A gust of wind occasionally fanned a glowing ember. Lamps had been dimmed. Men, women and children lay sprawled about on the floor of the main room. Meet Singh was awake. He was sweeping the floor and tidying up the mess.

Somebody started banging at the door with his fists. Meet Singh stopped sweeping and went across the courtyard muttering, ‘Who is it?’

He undid the latch. Jugga stepped inside. In the dark he looked larger than ever. His figure filled the doorway.

‘Why, Juggut Singhji, what business have you here at this hour?’ asked Meet Singh.

‘Bhai,’ he whispered, ‘I want the Guru’s word. Will you read me a verse?’

‘I have laid the Granth Sahib to rest for the night,’ Meet Singh said. ‘What is it that you want to do?’

‘It does not matter about that,’ said Jugga impatiently. He put a heavy hand on Meet Singh’s shoulder. ‘Will you just read me a few lines quickly?’

Meet Singh led the way, grumbling. ‘You never came to the gurudwara any other time. Now when the scripture is resting and people are asleep, you want me to read the Guru’s word. It is not proper. I will read you a piece from the Morning Prayer.’

‘It does not matter what you read. Just read it.’