We had ridden twenty miles through a very hot and still night. The men were tired and fell asleep without taking off their cummerbunds or boots. I was excited and could not shut my eyes. There were twelve men snoring and farting in the tent. So I came out, washed myself and found a flat stone to lie on. I loosened my long hair and let the breeze cool me while I gazed at the sky full of bright stars. I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes the stars were less bright and the sky had turned grey. My heart grew bigger and bigger till it was as big as the world I beheld. I recalled the words Guru Nanak spoke to his disciple: ‘Look, bother Mardana, the miracle of the Lord!’

‘Wah! Bhai Wah!’ I exclaimed to myself. ‘The great Guru has certainly raised a wonderful city.’ On my left from where the sun was coming up there was a river as broad as the Sutlej. It went behind the grey wall of the city. This wall was very high and very long. It ran from the river bank right across to the sunset side as far as I could see and was lost behind clusters of trees. It had many bastions and many gates. Behind this grey wall I could see another red wall of a big fort. And domes and minarets and tops of houses. I could not see any signs of battle; not even a sign of anyone living.

As the red rim of the sun comes over the river, a cannon fires—badham. Thousands of pigeons fly and crows kan kan. I see hundreds of vultures sitting on tree-tops and clustered on carrion like bees on a beehive. Then I notice half-eaten corpses dangling from the branches. Vomit comes to my throat. I go inside my tent and stretch myself besides my companions. I am very tired.

The bugle calls. We are up. I get myself a mug of tea and look round to see how our camp is laid. We are on a high ridge of red rocks. On top of the Ridge is a big house which the cook says belongs to a Maratha named Hindu Rao. It is beyond the reach of enemy guns so the sahib officers occupy this house. Gora Paltans are encamped on the higher parts of the ridge which are also beyond range. We blacks are closer to the city wall. There are Pathans, Biloches and Punjabi Mussalmans. ‘What are these Mussalmans doing here?’ I ask the cook. ‘They will fight the Hindus on the rebel side,’ he says. ‘And these Gorkhas?’ I ask him. ‘They will fight anyone the sahib tells them to fight,’ he replies. ‘A Gorkha’s skull is made of iron and its inside is stuffed with cowdung. If the sahib says shoot your father, he will shoot his father and mother.’ It is wonderful how the sahibs keep us natives separated from each other. The Guru has given them great wisdom. Also courage. As Hodson Sahib says, ‘One white man is as good as ten blacks.’