I began to lose faith in the Guru. The Mussalmans in the sarai made fun of him. ‘Who is this robber you worship?’ one fellow asked me. The mullah of the mosque (may his mouth be filled with dung!) said: ‘The badshah will soon bring this Guru of yours to the path of obedience and teach him that the only way of approaching Allah is through His only Messenger, Mohammed—upon whom be peace.’ Although I knew nothing about this Guru I did not like Mussalmans talking like that about him. When the Guru was captured at Agra and brought to Dilli in chains, the Mussalmans mocked: ‘We told you this Guru of yours is a robber! The entire gang will be hanged.

I saw the Guru and three Sikhs who had been arrested with him. I said to myself: ‘If he is an avatar he will save himself and destroy the zalims.’ I prayed that he would fly out of his cell or perform some other miracle so that I could show my face to the Mussalmans of Rikabganj.

But who cares for the prayers of poor untouchables? There was this judge Qazi Abdul Wahab. His Allah had made him so deaf that everyone called him behra qazi. He sentenced the Guru and his three followers to death. He ordered their bodies to be displayed in front of the kotwali for everyone to see. For the first time even the timid Lakhi Rai became brave. ‘This must not happen,’ he said to me. ‘The Guru has refused to save his life, but we must not allow them to dishonour his body.’ The rich contractor addressed me as Jaitaji. Before this he had always called me ‘Jaitoo’ or worse ‘O, choorha (sweeper).’ How was I to know Lakhi Rai was not a spy? I kept quiet. Silence is the best friend of the poor.