‘I will get her,’ volunteered Beena and rushed away to Sita’s room. Wazir Chand put on a soiled shirt and conducted his guests to the sitting-room. Servants brought in trays of dried fruit and soda. Despite Buta Singh’s protests that they had just had breakfast, that this was like their own home, that they would ask for anything they wanted, they were talked into sampling the nuts and drinks placed before them.

The conversation started with the terrible heat and plans to escape to the hills. Then the women made a group of their own and got into a huddle on one side. Buta Singh and Wazir Chand dropped their voices to a conspiratorial whisper to discuss office gossip and politics. ‘They are getting a hell of a beating these English, aren’t they? Four of their aircraft carriers have been sunk, the Germans have swallowed most of Europe and Russia, the Japanese have them on the run in the East. How long do you think they can hold out?’

‘One can never tell,’ answered Wazir Chand cautiously. ‘So far they seem to be getting the worst of it. But their broadcasts always talk of victories.’

‘Don’t believe a word! You think they would be willing to talk of a settlement with us if all were going well?’

‘You maintain that the English always win in the end,’ said Wazir Chand with a mischievous smile. ‘Have you begun to change your views?’

Buta Singh felt cornered. ‘You will agree that so far they have always won the decisive battles. One never knows how things will turn out, they may still turn defeat into victory.’ Buta Singh realized that Wazir Chand had made him contradict himself. He tried to retrieve the situation. ‘What is more important than the fate of the English or the Germans or the Japanese is the future of this country. How can our leaders persuade the English to give us freedom if the Muslims do not side with us?’

Buta Singh’s zeal in collecting war funds was a popular subject of discussion in magisterial circles. Words like ‘freedom’, ‘our leaders’, were new in his vocabulary. Wazir Chand decided to keep Buta Singh on the defensive. ‘What does Taylor have to say about it? You see more of him than anyone else.’

‘Sends for me morning and evening,’ complained Buta Singh. ‘You can see he is worried. He is always asking me about British proposals and my views on the Muslim demand for Pakistan. I tell him quite frankly what I think.’

‘Your position is different,’ conceded Wazir Chand. ‘You are the only one he really confides in.’