They asked me what I did. I told them I did nothing. ‘Then come and join the Sangha,’ said their leader. ‘You can work in the office and eat in our canteen.’ I did not know anything about this Sangha but I went along with them. I signed a piece of paper and was given a number (only the leader knew the names of the boys, the rest of us were known by numbers). I was to dust the office furniture and sit outside the door to see that no one who did not know the password for the day came in. I was given a uniform and five rupees as an advance against my salary.

This Sangha which I joined had a long Sankrit name. Every time I said Rashtureeya, the boys laughed. Every time I said Savayam, they laughed. So I simply called the Sangha by its English initials—RSS.

I gave the five rupee note to my mother. She was very happy. She made some halva, gave some to the Sikh and his lady and their servants. She even gave a palmful to the dog. My father stopped taunting me.

I used to leave home early in the morning and dust the furniture. Then I got into my uniform and lined up with the boys. Our leader hoisted the saffron flag of the Sangha. We saluted it by holding our hands across our chests. This was followed by an hour of drill and wrestling. We were taught how to fight with sticks. They told us we would soon have guns and be taught to shoot. In the afternoon we had lectures on Hindu dharma and history. They told us of the greatness of Aryavrata, the land of the Aryans. They told us how the Mussalmans had come and destroyed our temples and massacred millions of innocent Hindus, abducted and raped Hindu women; how thousands of these noble Hindu women had burnt themselves on funeral pyres rather than be dishonoured by the Mussalmans. They exhorted us to fight for our dharma, cleanse Bharat of the unclean maleechas, Mussalmans as well as Christians, who were also foreigners and ate our sacred cow-mother.

What right had the Mussalmans to be in Delhi or anywhere else in India when they had driven us, Hindus and Sikhs, out of their Pakistan? Why could we not take away their women and property as they had taken ours and send them packing to Pakistan or gehennum? Such questions were put to us every day.

One day the chief sent for me. ‘Are you number 840?’ I came to attention and saluted. ‘Is it correct that your sister was abducted in Pakisan?’ I replied, ‘Jee haan.’ ‘Are you going to do nothing about it? How long will you keep sitting with one hand on the other?’ I did not know what he wanted me to do. I replied, ‘Sir, 840 can make a present of his life. He has nothing else to offer.’ The chief smiled. ‘We Hindus only know how to give our lives, not how to take the lives of others! It must change. Are you prepared to lead an attack on the Muslims of Delhi? Remember what they have done to your sister!’