If there was a death in our family we did not light lamps at Diwali or squirt coloured water at Holi for at least one year. But the Mussalmans have strange csutoms. Three full moons after the death of the Badshah a fellow came from the city kotwali and began to beat his drum in front of the mosque. When everyone had collected he shouted: ‘All you people listen to the order of the new badshah.’ Then he gave his name which was as long as the road from Rikabganj to Paharganj—His Majesty Abul Muzaffar Shahabuddin Mohammed Sahib-i-Qiran Sani, Shadow of God on Earth, King of Kings, Monarch of the Universe, Emperor of Hindustan. He told us that we were to light our homes and pray for his long life.

We untouchables had no oil to light our homes and we had no temples to go and say our prayers in. So we decided to see how others lit their homes and prayed for the new badshah’s long life.

My mother gave me a clean shirt to wear. Everyone wore their best clothes. The sweepers and cobblers of Rikabganj formed a party. The men in front danced to the beat of the drum; women followed, singing as they went along. I took hold of Uncle Reloo’s hand. He was more fun to be with than Bapu. Aunt Bimbo was happy. ‘You stick to your chacha and don’t let him drink or get into mischief,’ she said.

We drank lots of sherbet, which was served free outside nawabs’ mansions and we ate lots of sweetmeats which were also given free by rich tradesmen. My Bapu did not give me any money but I got a handful of coins in the scramble when a nawab showered them from his elephant.

The new badshah who called himself Shah Jahan or King of the World was not as zalim as his father had been. Although he had killed his brothers’ families when he came on the throne, he did not hurt any one else. But Uncle Reloo who knew everything told me that like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather and others before them, this badshah also liked women. His favourite was a queen whom he kept pregnant from the day he married her. In the fourteen years they were married she had fourteen sons and daughters. She couldn’t take any more and died giving birth to her fourteenth child. The badshah was so sad that he decided to make the biggest and most beautiful grave over her body. This was very good news for the stonemasons of Paharganj. They moved to Agra. It took over twenty years to make. People who came from Agra said it was higher than our Qutub Minar and much more beautiful than the tomb of Badshah Humayun at Arab-ki-Sarai. One day Aunt Bimbo asked Uncle Reloo: ‘When I die, will you make a Taj Mahal for me?’ He replied: ‘You die first, we’ll talk about a Taj Mahal for you aferwards.’