She goes down on her knees, presses her forehead on the ground a few times. Then she sits back on her heels and holds the palms of her hands in front of her as if she is reading a book. Her face glows. We stop making jokes about her. Her eyes fill with tears; they run down her cheeks and on to her muslin shirt. We stop talking. Her lips stop moving. She runs the palms of her hands across her tear-stained face. She turns her face first to the right and then to the left. I know Mussalmans do this to bless people on either side; we are on her right side. She takes out a rosary from her shirt-pocket and tells the beads. By now it is almost dark. She puts the rosary round her neck and stands up. ‘Sardar Sahib, I am ready.’

No one answers. No one even looks up at her. After a while I say, ‘Come inside.’ She walks into the tent. I throw down the flap of the tent behind me. ‘Sit down.’ I thrust three chappaties and the lentils into her hands. ‘Eat.’

‘Sardarji, why do you take this trouble if you are going to shoot me?’ she asks casually.

‘Eat! We will talk afterwards.’

She eats a few morsels. I give her my water bottle. She drinks a lot of water. It is quite dark now. I pick up my carbine and order her to get out of the other end of the tent; the nozzle of my gun almost touches her spine.

Sentries challenge me. I give the pass word and explain, ‘A prisoner to be shot.’ We pass the dump heap; the stench is horrible. The woman covers her nostrils with her dupatta. We come within musket shot of Sabzi Mandi where we captured her. ‘Can you find your way from here?’

She turns round and faces me.’ May Allah keep you . . . May Allah give you and your children long life . .. May Allah . . . .’

I put my carbine on the ground and touch her feet. ‘Forgive us for the way we treated you . . . forgive us for the hard words we used . . . you are like our mother.’

‘Allah is the forgiver of all sins. If Allah can forgive mine, He will surely forgive yours.’

She is lost in the dark. I hear the shap, shap on her slippers in the mud. Then nothing. I hear a rebel sentry challenge someone.

I raise my carbine to the sky and fire a shot.

Bahadur Shah Zafar

Bakht Khan was as big and as black as a rain-cloud. His eyes flashed like lightning; his speech was coarse like thunder. He came to Delhi just about the time everyone was praying for rain. Bakht Khan knew nothing of court etiquette. But as soon as he made his obeisance and thrust a couple of rupees into our hands we knew that Allah had answered our prayer. We presented him with a robe of honour. When he reappeared we addressed him as General Bakht Khan.