The policemen handcuffed Malli and his companions and linked all the handcuffs to one long chain attached to a constable’s belt. The head constable led them away. Two men armed with rifles kept the rear. As they emerged from their cell, Jugga looked up at Malli and then looked away.

‘You forget old friends,’ said Malli with mock friendliness. ‘You don’t even look at us and we pine away for you.’

His companions laughed. ‘Let him be. Let him be.’

Jugga sat still with his eyes fixed on the ground.

‘Why are you so angry, my dear? Why so sad? Is it somebody’s love that torments your soul?’

‘Come along, keep moving,’ said the policemen reluctantly. They were enjoying the scene.

‘Why can’t we say Sat Sri Akal to our old friend? Sat Sri Akal, Sardar Juggut Singhji. Is there any message we can convey for you? A love message maybe? To the weaver’s daughter?’

Jugga kept staring through the bars as if he had not heard. He turned pale with anger. All the blood drained from his face. His hands tightened around the iron bars.

Malli turned round to his smiling companions. ‘Sardar Juggut Singh seems a little upset today. He will not answer our Sat Sri Akal. We do not mind. We will say Sat Sri Akal to him again.’

Malli joined his manacled hands and bent low near Juggut Singh’s iron bar door and started loudly, ‘Sat Sri.. .’

Jugga’s hands shot through the bars and gripped Malli by the hair protruding from the back of his turban. Malli’s turban fell off. Jugga yelled murderously and with a jerk brought Malli’s head crashing against the bars. He shook Malli as a terrier shakes a piece of rag from side to side, forward and backward, smashing his head repeatedly against the bars. Each jerk was accompanied by abuse: ‘This to rape your mother. This your sister. This your daughter. This for your mother again. And this . . . and this.’

Iqbal, who had been watching the earlier proceedings from his chair, stood up in a corner and started shouting to the policemen: ‘Why don’t you do something? Don’t you see he will kill the man?’

The policemen began to shout. One of them tried to push the butt end of his rifle in Jugga’s face, but Jugga dodged. Malli’s head was spattered with blood. His skull and forehead were bruised all over. He began to wail. The subinspector ran up to the cell and hit Jugga violently on the hand with his swagger stick several times. Jugga would not let go. The subinspector drew his revolver and pointed it at Jugga. ‘Let go, you swine, or I will shoot.’