Blood rushed into my face. I again sprang to attention, saluted and said, ‘Number 840 is ready to lay—ready for any sacrifice.’

The chief had a paper in front of him. he read out some numbers. ‘These boys will be with you. When you are ready for action, you will report to me. I shall see that the police do not come in your way.’

I saluted and left the room.

The real problem was to find out who was Muslim and who was not. As soon as the Mussalmans of Delhi heard what had happened in Karnal and Ambala and Amritsar and jalandhar, they burnt their red fez caps and furry Jinnah topees and started wearing Gandhi caps instead. They shaved off their beards, gave up wearing sherwani coats, loose pyjamas and learnt to tie dhotis round their waists. Their woman stopped wearing burqas when they went out and started to put red dots on their foreheads and say namaste. The only way we could tell if the fellow was a Mussalman was to see if his penis was circumcised. How could we stop everyone and say, ‘Show me your cock?’ We could not go into action without careful planning and preparation. We began by marking Muslim homes and shops with swastikas. Muslim goondas got to know of this and put swastika marks on Hindu shops and homes. We changed our plans and decided to attack a few well-known stores owned by Muslims and watch the results. There was a big one in Connaught Circus in the centre of New Delhi. The chief approved of the plan and suggested a date for its execution.

As the day came closer I began to get nervous. I wanted all the Mussalmans to be dead but I was frightened of killing one. I wanted to run away from Delhi. There was no one I could talk to about the things going on in my mind. If I confided in my mother she was sure to kick up a fuss and tell my father or the Sikh lady.

The evening before we were to go into action I went home early. My mother was in the garage shelling peas for the Sikh’s kitchen and talking to the dog which was often with her. I lay down on my mattress. ‘Vey Shambia!’ (his name was Simba), you have not seen my Lachmi, have you? Well, if these evil Mussalmans had not taken her, she would have been here with us. You would have seen her married. You would have seen the fireworks and heard the bands. But her kismet!’ She slapped her forehead with both her hands and began to cry: ‘Hai Lachmi! Hai beti! Where are you! May the accursed Mussalmans who took you go to hell.’ The dog came to her, sniffed in her ears and began to whine. My mother put her arms round its neck and hugged it. This was too much for me. ‘Why do you cry mother?’ I asked her. ‘I will teach these Mussalmans a lesson for what they have done to our Lachmi.’ After that I could not back out, could I?