For the next three days Sabhrai shut herself away from the world. Her sanctuary was not the Gurudwara but her own bedroom. She sat in her armchair with her legs tucked beneath her and murmured her prayers. Her only companion was Dyer. She had never taken much notice of the dog but since her son’s arrest she had tried to give him the affection Sher Singh had given. Dyer sat in front of his mistress with his chin stretched on the floor and his eyes dolefully fixed on her. After each prayer she would speak to him: ‘Dyer, son, will you come with me to see Sher?’ Dyer would prick up his ears at his master’s name and cock his head inquiringly from side to side. ‘Nobody takes you out for walks these days?’ Like all dogs, Dyer knew the word ‘walk.’ He would get up with a whine and come to his mistress wagging his big tail. ‘That’s all right, son. Mama will take you out when you are well. And when my Moon comes home, we will all go for walks together, won’t we?’ And Dyer would again be full of questions cocking his head from left to right, right to left. Sometimes he would get too excited, put his paws in his mistress’ lap, and lick her face. She would push him away gently, for this she did not like. She would wipe her face with her headpiece, wash her hands in the bathroom, and start praying again. An hour later the whole thing would be repeated: ‘Dyer, son, will you come with me to see my Shera?’

The evening before the interview, she had her dinner with her husband and daughter and told them she was going to spend the night at the temple in the city. They did not ask her any questions. She wrapped herself in her Kashmir shawl, for it had become bitterly cold, and went away on a tonga.

When Sabhrai took off her slippers outside the main gate, the man in charge of shoes was already packing up. ‘Brother, keep my shoes for the might; I will take them, in the morning.’ He gave her a ticket, put out his hurricane lantern, and locked the shoe-shed.

Not many people stay in the temple after the evening service is over. Visitors from other towns retire to the quarters provided for them; beggars are driven away by armed guards who patrol the sacred premises. Only those stricken with sorrow spend the midnight hours in different corners crying and praying for peace. These no one disturbs.