On the 11th of May we were a little late in our ablutions and prayers—nevertheless we beheld the dawn come over the Jamna. We saw the fires lit by the melon-growers across the river grow pale under the light of the rising sun and our soldiers change guard on the boat-bridge. We had a light meal of partridge pilaf, followed by a couple of Tsamar Bahisht (paradise) mangoes which had just come in season. We also drank a tumbler full of ice-cooled milk spiked with saffron. This was followed by the usual betel-leaf and a few pulls at the hookah. After fajar prayer we returned to the Diwan-i-Khas. The royal physician, Hakeem Ahsanullah Khan, was ushered into our presence and permitted to feel our pulse. By the grace of the Almighty who alone determines the humours of the mortal frame, he pronounced us in good health. Then our slaves, the eunuch Basant Ali Khan and Vakil Ghulam Abbas, presented the accounts of the royal household. Our expenses were, as always, more than our income. We refused to look into them and waved the men away. We turned our back on the crowd of petitioners that had assembled and began to gaze at the scene along the Jamna.

The sun had risen. Dhobis were pounding their washing on slabs of stone while their women were spreading out washed garments on the sandbank to dry. Their children played in the sand. A line of labourers carrying baskets of melons was crossing the boat-bridge. It was like any other summer morning.

Suddenly there was tumult. We saw horsemen galloping across the boat-bridge firing their carbines in the air. The sentries on the bridge did not arrest their progress. The men galloped across the sand towards us and drew rein beneath the palace walls. ‘Dohai! Dohai!’ they screamed. ‘Listen to our faryad!’ Some shouted slogans- ‘Badshah Salamat zindabad!’ We looked down over the parapet. The men wore uniforms of the East India Company. As soon as they saw us, they saluted and repeated: ‘Long live the Emperor of Hindustan!’ One shouted at the top of his voice: ‘We have murdered the firangis in Meerut. The nasara (Christians) want to destroy our faith. We will rid the country of these vile infidels. We will make you Emperor of Hindustan!’ Then they all shouted together: ‘Long live the dynasty of the Mughals!’

‘La haul valla quwwat illah bi-illah hil ali yul aleem! No fear, no power save Allah who is powerful and mighty!’ we exclaimed. ‘Who are these men?’ we demanded of the eunuch Basant Ali Khan. He did not reply. He had a smirk on his black, bloated face. ‘Inform Captain Douglas at once and see that they are not let inside the city,’ we ordered.

Basant Ali Khan bowed and withdrew. Something in his manner told us that he was in no haste to carry out our command. We sent another messenger to the Captain. The soldiers from Meerut moved along the wall towards the harem apartments and began to yell: ‘Long live the Malika-i-Hind!’ More horsemen came galloping across the boat-bridge.