It was Mundoo who brought the steaming tray of pershad. He had changed his shirt and covered his head with a kitchen duster for the occasion. He also felt entitled to stay on in the room instead of being outside with the dog and the urchins of the locality.

As soon as the final prayer had been said and the pershad distributed, Buta Singh asked the question which was in everyone’s mind: ‘Where is Shunno?’

‘She says she is not feeling well,’ piped up Mundoo, beaming. ‘She looks all right.’

‘She came in the morning to light the fire; she put the pershad on the hearth and then went back. I will go and see what is wrong with her. She has never been ill before,’ said Sabhrai, very concerned.

‘It must be the heat,’ added Buta singh. ‘Yesterday the temperature touched 115 in the shade! The courtroom was like an oven.’ He made a grimace and went on: ‘I was hearing a murder case; the place was packed with Sikh villagers. They obviously do not bathe every day. The smell of sweat and clarified butter was terrible.’

Sabhrai did not like derogatory references to Sikhs and changed the subject abruptly. ‘A lot of things are going to happen this month,’ she said. ‘Beena is going to take her examination; Sher, you’ve got something on too, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, the election of the University Union.’

‘We ought to have a complete reading of the Granth Sahib. All of you must help.’

‘You better get a professional reader. Most of us will be busy and will not be able to do much reading,’ pleaded Buta Singh.

‘I don’t like hiring outsiders to do our prayers; it hasn’t the same effect. If none of you can spare the time, I will do it all on my own,’ said Sabhrai with determination. They knew they would have to come to her rescue. This was one of the ways she imposed religion on them and although they said nothing, they did not like it. Before they could pursue the matter further, Mundoo came and announced that some people were waiting to see Buta Singh. They had an appointment.

‘What are the orders for me?’

This was Buta Singh’s way of getting down to business straightaway; it also had the note of humility which, coming from a man of his status, created a favourable impression.

The deputation of Hindu merchants had been sitting cross-legged on the chairs in the verandah talking to the policeman on duty. As Buta Singh came out the policeman sprang to attention, brought his rifle to his shoulder, and slapped the butt in salute. The visitors got up quickly, slipped their feet into their shoes, and greeted him: ‘We touch your feet. Sat Sri Akal. . . Orders? You order and we obey. You are the emperor, we are your subjects.’