Meet Singh, not meaning to be outdone in the invocation to God, added, ‘Wah Guru, wah Guru.’

They sat on in silence punctuated by yawns and murmurs of ‘Ya Allah’ and ‘Hey wah Guru.’ Several people, on the outer fringe of the assembly, stretched themselves on the floor and went to sleep.

Suddenly a policeman appeared in the doorway of the gurudwara. The lambardar and three or four villagers stood up People who were asleep were prodded into getting up. Those who had been dozing sat up in a daze, exclaiming, ‘What is it? What’s up?’, then hurriedly wrapped their turbans round their heads.

‘Who is the lambardar of the village?’

Banta Singh walked up to the door. The policeman took him aside and whispered something. Then as Banta Singh turned back, he said loudly: ‘Quickly, within half an hour. There are two military trucks waiting on the station side. I will be there.’

The policeman walked away briskly.

The villagers crowded round Banta Singh. The possession of a secret had lent him an air of importance. His voice had a tone of authority.

‘Everyone get all the wood there is in his house and all the kerosene oil he can spare and bring these to the motor trucks on the station side. You will be paid.’

The villagers waited for him to tell them why. He ordered them off brusquely. ‘Are you deaf? Haven’t you heard? Or do you want the police to whip your buttocks before you move? Come along quickly.’

People dispersed into the village lanes whispering to each other. The lambardar went to his own house.

A few minutes later, villagers with bundles of wood and bottles of oil started assembling outside the village on the station side. Two large mud-green army trucks were parked alongside each other. A row of empty petrol cans stood against a mud wall. A Sikh soldier with a sten gun stood on guard. Another Sikh, an officer with his beard neatly rolled in a hair net, sat on the back of one of the trucks with his feet dangling. He watched the wood being stacked in the other truck and nodded his head in reply to the villagers’ greetings. The lambardar stood beside him, taking down the names of the villagers and the quantities they brought. After dumping their bundles of wood on the truck and emptying bottles of kerosene into the petrol cans, the villagers collected in a little group at a respectful distance from the officer.

Imam Baksh put down on the truck the wood he had carried on his head and handed his bottle of oil to the lambardar. He re-tied his turban, then greeted the officer loudly, ‘Salaam, Sardar Sahib.’

The officer looked away.

Iman Baksh started again, ‘Everything is all right, isn’t it, Sardar Sahib?’

The officer turned around abruptly and snapped, ‘Get along. Don’t you see I am busy?’

Imam Baksh, still adjusting his turban, meekly joined the villagers.