In the train my father talked of the days when he and this Sikh had played together on the sand dunes around Hadali. The closer we got to Delhi, the more my father’s childhood memories came back to him. I was sure that as soon as they met, my father and the Sikh would fall into each other’s arms.

We had to walk six miles from the railway station carrying our utensils and quilts on our heads. With great difficulty we found the Sikh’s house. My father asked us to wait at the gate while he went in to find out. He had hardly gone ten paces when an enormous dog charged at him. My father ran back. The dog ripped off a piece of his shirt before he was able to get back to us. A man in khaki uniform came out of the house and demanded angrily what we wanted. My father asked very humbly whether this was the house of so-and-so. ‘Yes,’ growled the man, ‘state your business.’ My father showed him the Sikh’s letter. ‘Wait here,’ ordered the man in khaki. The dog stood baring its teeth at us.

The man came back, shooed away the dog and beckoned us to follow him. We picked up our belongings and followed the man. It was a large, two-storeyed house with a big garden. The Sikh and his wife were in the verandah having tea.

‘So you’ve come, Sain Ditta’ said the Sikh sipping his tea. My father put down the load on his head and touched the Sikh’s feet. My mother slumped on the floor, laid her head on the Sikh lady’s knees and began to wail. ‘What will you make by wailing? What’s happened has happened,’ said the lady and told the man in uniform to take us to the kitchen and give us something to eat.

We were told to make ourselves comfortable in a garage. Half of the garage was used to store trunks and crates. The other half was to be our home. We slept on the floor like people who have had a death in the family.

This is how we began our new life in New Delhi.

My parents were quicker in getting used to the new surroundings than I. My father was given the job of night-watchman. He had to walk round the house all night with a hurricane lantern in one hand, a stave in the other and yell ‘Khabardar ho’ at every corner. He made friends with the big dog which had torn his shirt. The dog kept him company. My father learnt to answer to ‘Oi’ and say ‘jee’ to the Sikh who had once been his best friend. My mother swept the floors and pressed the feet of the Sikh’s wife.