Mirza Abdullah was a bird fancier. On the roof of his house he had a loft where he kept his champion birds. He used to fly them round every afternoon directing them with a scarf and a whistle. He also owned partridges and fighting quails. Like other princes of royal blood, the Mirza had never grown up to be a man. Although he was in his thirties, he had never done a stroke of work. He lived on the allowance he received from the king. He was always in debt to the local Banias; his womenfolk were forever pawning their jewellery. None of this prevented him from taking more wives and going to brothels. He spent his afternoons challenging his neighbours at kite-flying or enticing their pigeons. In the evenings he took out his quails and partridges to fight other nawabs’ quails and partridges. And if there was anything going on in the city, Mirza Abdullah was sure to be there.

Mirza Abdullah came home after dark. He was talking at the top of his voice. I could tell from his tone that he was boasting. He suddenly quietened down as someone told him of my presence in his house. He came into the zenana and greeted me with a familiarity he had never dared to assume before. ‘Good-evening, memsahib,’ he said in English, ‘or rather, seeing the way Madam and her children are dressed, I should say As-Salaam-Valai-kum.’

The natives have a saying: a poor man’s wife is everyone’s sister-in-law. They think nothing of sleeping with their brothers’ wives. I was certainly a poor sister-in-law to them. I accepted the pleasantry and replied very polite-like: ‘Valai-kum-As-Salaam. Nawab Sahib, it is very noble of you to allow us the shelter of your home for a few days. Allah will reward you for your kindness.’

‘It is a great honour to have you here,’ he continued in his bantering tone, scratching his privates. ‘But I would advise you to be in some place safer than Urdu Bazaar which is entirely Mohammedan,’ he said. ‘You know how Muslims feel about the firangi and the nasara!’

I could hardly believe he would use the word firangi for us and nasara for Indian Christians! There was no telling with these fellows.

‘But now you look a true Mussalmanni,’ he went on. ‘For your own safety all of you should learn the creed of Islam. I will send a maulvi to teach you. He will also escort you to my other house in Nai Sarak. You can leave your valuables here for safekeeping. Your slave will present himself tomorrow to see that you are comfortable.’

I decided to fall in with anything by which I could save my children’s lives. When the maulvi came, I told him that my mother was a Kashmiri Mussalmanni and that though I had been given away in marriage to a sahib, I had remained a Muslim. He had us repeat: ‘La Illaha Lillillah, Mohammed Rasool Illah—there is one God and Mohammed is His Messenger.’ He gave us Muslim names. From Alice I became Ayesha. The elder, Mary, became Maryam. The second, Fiona, became Fatima. Georgina became Jahanara. The maulvi was very pleased at having made three converts.