Buta Singh went over the ‘Five Beloved Ones’ one by one. First in importance was to thank Taylor for the honour done him in the New Year’s Honours list; he had given up hope of it altogether after his son’s arrest. Two, was to thank Mrs Taylor—if he saw her—or tell Mr Taylor to convey to his wife his thanks for all the kindnesses shown to the family over the terrible months they had gone through. Third, was the business of his son, which he had not understood clearly. If his son had revealed the truth—as he must have for Buta Singh to get his title—why had there been no other arrests? And why had he been released in such a dramatic manner? He had not asked his son because that was not the sort of thing one talked about—particularly when the son was being made so much of for his heroic stand against police torture. Taylor might drop a hint as to what had really happened. Fourth in order of importance was Sher Singh’s future. Couldn’t Taylor help him to get a job in the Government of India and save the boy from the vagaries of a political life? He was bound to know people in Delhi and an Englishman’s recommendation was so much more effective than any Indian’s. Indian V.I.P.s were always recommending people for jobs in the strongest terms and therefore no one took them seriously. A mildly worded letter from a junior English official could do miracles. That was four. Five! What was the fifth? Oh yes, the memorial to Sabhrai. He couldn’t afford very much, but he would donate 4,000 to 5,000 rupees and perhaps Mr Taylor could suggest a charity and later on open or inaugurate it. Sabhrai had been such a good wife. Illiterate, but with some sort of charm that attracted sophisticated Europeans like Mrs Taylor. The thought brought tears to Buta Singh’s eyes. He adjusted his black tie—he had bought one especially for his first call on the Deputy Commissioner after Sabhrai’s death—and left the house going rapidly over ‘The Five Beloved Ones.’

Taylor was friendlier than ever before. He came out into the verandah to receive Buta Singh and took him inside. There was his wife, too, with the appropriate expression on her face. ‘I was so sorry to hear about the Sardarini; I really was. I couldn’t have felt the loss of any relation of my own more keenly. She had that something about her which makes people think of their own mothers. She reminded me of mine.’