Before I knew what was happening, the police surrounded us. I was pushed along and forced to get into a van along with the other boys. They continued to shout ‘Bharat Mata ki jai,’ till there was no one to hear them.

The officer-in-charge who was sitting with the driver turned back and said, ‘Mahatma Buddhoo (stupid) ki jai!’ The young men laughed. The constables and the van-driver also laughed. ‘Sub-inspector sahib, don’t take us too far,’ said one of the young men.

‘Wherever you like! But please do not go back to Birla House,’ he said joining the palms of his hands, ‘otherwise they will slit my throat.’

‘Just let us off near the Birla temple; we have no more programmes for the day,’ the young man assured him.

We were dropped at the Birla temple. It was then that one of the boys noticed me ‘Arre! Who are you? What troop are you?’ he asked. ‘I know no troop-shoop,’ I replied and explained that I was a refugee and had been arrested by mistake. They had a big laugh. ‘Why don’t you join us?’ another boy asked, ‘Or are you one of the Old Man’s Mussalman-loving disciples?’ I told them that my sister had been abducted in Pakistan; how could I be a Mussalman-lover? ‘You are a big, strong Punjabi,’ said a fellow who appeared to be their leader. ‘You should be like a true Kshatriya fighting for the Hindu dharma.’ He patted me on my back and felt my muscles. No one had ever called me big and strong before.

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.