Buta Singh knew that if the papers had concerned a Muslim supporter of Pakistan, the same magistrate would have argued with the police. In that case the police would undoubtedly have arranged to bring the papers to somebody like Wazir Chand or himself and they would have taken pleasure in locking up the Muslim for six months. That was the accepted method of dispensing justice from the lowest tribunal to the highest.

Four magistrates, including Wazir Chand, arrived together. The newcomers greeted the others very cordially and took their seats—the Muslims with the Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs with the Hindus and Sikhs. That sort of division took place automatically.

Wazir Chand embraced Buta Singh and the two sat down next to each other. Their families had brought them closer than they believed possible.

‘Did daughter Champak reach home safe and sound?’ asked Wazir Chand.

‘Champak! Is she back? I left home very early.’

‘Yes, Madan escorted her from Simla; that is why I am late. She wanted to come back to Sher. Youth, you know! How long can a young wife keep away from her husband?’ Wazir Chand smiled mischievously.

‘It is good she is back. Sher has been very lonely and working too hard with his student organizations. Everything else O.K.?’

Wazir Chand wagged his head contentedly and then asked in a whisper, ‘What is all this about?’

‘I suppose he wants us to do special duty. He’s expecting trouble after the arrests of the leaders.’

The chaprasi came out and asked the magistrates to come into the sitting room. He held the chick up for them and they filed in. Taylor got up and shook hands with them. He was smoking his pipe and looked completely unruffled: he was keeping up the tradition of the British Civil Service of appearing calm in times of crisis. He pretended that it was the sort of meeting he called on the eve of religious festivals.