It is high noon. Sun right above our heads. I am snoring peacefully under the shade of a neem tree when somebody shakes me violently. ‘Oi, Nihalia, haven’t you heard the bugle? Do you want to be murdered in your sleep?’ I jump up and wrap my turban round my head. Who do I see? Sahibs peering through their telescopes. I look the way they are looking. What do I see? From the extreme right end of the city called Sabzi Mandi enemy cavalry is riding out towards us. Behind the cavalry are troopers on foot. They are in uniforms of the Jan Company. While I am still looking they start letting off fireworks from the city wall as if somebody is getting married. Bhanh, bhanh says the cannon; shanh, shanh go cannon balls. They crash on the ridge knocking down our tents and killing our horses. You have to admit these villains have good aim. They also know lots of tricks. Just as we get into our saddles, their drums begin to beat and they charge into our flank yelling ‘Har Har Mahadev . . . Ali, Ali, Ali.’ Hodson Sahib draws his sword and yells ‘Hamla!’ We ride full gallop to meet them. As soon as we are within range they fire their muskets at us, wheel, and ride away. While we are counting our dead and wounded their snipers start shooting at our sahibs. One fellow yells at me: ‘O Sardarji, why are you selling your life to the firangi sooer? Come over to our side. You’ll get more rupees.’

They kill many of our men. We kill some of theirs too. But they do not get any of our boys alive; we capture about thirty of them.

We search their dead and find plenty of gold and silver coins in their belts. We hack off the ears and fingers of those who have rings.

Hodson Sahib lines up the captives under a tree. He orders them to go down on their knees. He loads his carbine and aims it at an old grey beard. ‘How long have you eaten the salt of the Company?’ he asks.

The grey beard clasps his hand and pleads: ‘Kasoor hua (I’ve been at fault). Forgive us!’

Others do the same, ‘Huzoor, forgive us,’ they whine. ‘Take all we have, but don’t kill us.’ They take off their belts and empty out coins, rings and other trinkets.

Hodson Sahib doesn’t even look at the things. ‘What regiment were you?’ he asks the grey beard,

‘The 26th. We served the sahib in many battles. We will fight for you again whenever you send us.’ He grabs Hodson Sahib’s foot. Hodson Sahib kicks him with the other foot. ‘Who is your commander?’

‘Mirza Mughal . . . Sahib, don’t kill us. We will tell you all we know.’

‘How many are you?’