Allah was our only witness. No mortal dared to open his mouth in our favour. They pronounced us guilty on all charges levelled against us. We were sentenced to be exiled from the land our ancestors had conquered and ruled for three hundred years. We would rather they had sentenced us to die and let our bones mingle in the sacred dust of Delhi.

Fourteen begums and our son Jawan Bakht agreed to share the misfortune of our exile. Later many of them changed their minds and on one pretext or another deserted us before we crossed the boundaries of Hindustan. Our beloved Zeenat Mahal stayed by our side. She remained our companion in the camel-litter of misery and our comrade in the closet of affection. We were reminded of the words our Holy Prophet used for his wife Khadijah: ‘When I was poor she enriched me; when all the world abandoned me, she comforted me; when I was called a liar, she believed in me.’

On our journey we composed the following lines:

My beloved tormented me so much

We were forced to leave our native land;

As drops wax from the burning taper

So as we quit the circle of life

Fell tears from our eyes.

The gardener forbade us sporting in his garden,

With laughter we came,

With wailing we parted.

Bhagmati

Bhagmati is very disappointed with me. ‘All these Punjabis came to Delhi without a penny in their pockets. And look at them now! They own the whole city. They have made palaces for themselves. They live on tandoori chicken and drink whisky. They take their fat wives out to eat the Delhi air in imported motor cars. And look at you! The same little flat, the same rhat-khatee old motor, every part of which makes a noise except its horn. Why, even those fellows who came from your village only a few years ago own half of New Delhi and live like crorepatis. What do you get out of killing flies on paper all day long? You haven’t bought me a sari or a bangle for many years.’

When Bhagmati is in this nagging mood, it is best to say nothing. But sometimes even my silence provokes her to go on and on. ‘Why don’t you say something? Why dont’t you do something? You are just getting old sitting and farting in your armchair all day long.’

That stings. I explode. ‘Shut up! You get your fucking and get paid for it. What more do you want?’