‘Today we have Simla here,’ said Buta Singh. He made the remark in the hope that his son would start some conversation. When Sher Singh said nothing. Buta Singh made another attempt. ‘What wonderful weather we are having,’ he repeated looking out of the door of the temple room. The chicks had been rolled up. The rain pock-marked the puddles as it fell.

‘Yes,’ answered Sher Singh without looking up; he held his father chiefly responsible for what he had suffered at Taylor’s hands, and had avoided meeting him for some days. Buta Singh had sensed that the meeting had not been a success and wanted to know what had happened. ‘How did your interview go?’

‘It was on the morning meant for visitors; there were many others there.’ The tone of resentment was unmistakable.

‘Did you have to wait long?’

‘No! He sent for me before any of the others.’Now father and son were on the same ground. Sher Singh mellowed at the thought that Taylor had sent for him first.

‘He is specially kind to me,’ added Buta Singh glowing with pride. ‘One should take full advantage of his friendship. You should not bother about what people say. After all you are the President of the Students Union and may be seeing him in connection with the students’ demands.’

Sher Singh recalled Taylor playing with the empty cartridge and the two lying on his table.

Sabhrai interrupted their conversation. ‘You have plenty of time to talk about these things later on; why start on them in the Gurudwara?’ she said crossly. She opened the Granth and, without scanning it silently before reading as she was wont to do, began to recite:

O, Black Buck, why lovest thou

The pasture of fenced-in fields?

Forbidden fruit is sweet but for a few days

It entices and ensnares

Then leaves one sorrowing . . . .

Sabhrai had brought a pen and paper to take down the passage to send to her daughter and daughter-in-law who were away in Simla. The verse made her a little uneasy but it was the Guru’s word and she copied it down as it had come. Shunno distributed the pershad to her husband and son and the children outside.

It was obvious that Sher Singh was not in a mood to talk; Buta Singh made no further attempt to make him do so. Sabhrai broke the silence at the breakfast table. ‘I wonder what the girls are doing today?’ she asked.

‘The monsoon couldn’t have got to the hills yet,’ answered her husband. ‘They must be having a good time strolling about on the Mall looking at the shop windows or meeting friends.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of that. I was wondering if they’d know it was the first of the month and go to a temple or at least say their prayers.’