Imam Baksh came in. Two others followed him. They also were Muslims.

‘Salaam, Chacha Imam Baksh. Salaam, Khair Dina. Salaam, salaam.’

‘Sat Sri Akal, Lambardara. Sat Sri Akal,’ answered the Muslims.

People made room for them and waited for Imam Baksh to begin.

Imam Baksh combed his beard with his fingers.

‘Well, brothers, what is your decision about us?’ he asked quietly.

There was an awkward silence. Everyone looked at the lambardar.

‘Why ask us?’ answered the lambardar. ‘This is your village as much as ours.’

‘You have heard what is being said! All the neighbouring villages have been evacuated. Only we are left. If you want us to go too, we will go.’

Meet Singh began to sniff. He felt it was not for him to speak. He had said his bit. Besides, he was only a priest who lived on what the villagers gave him. One of the younger men spoke.

‘It is like this, Uncle Imam Baksh. As long as we are here nobody will dare to touch you. We die first and then you can look after yourselves.’

‘Yes,’ added another warmly, ‘we first, then you. If anyone raises his eyebrows at you we will rape his mother.’

‘Mother, sister and daughter,’ added the others.

Imam Baksh wiped a tear from his eyes and blew his nose in the hem of his shirt.

‘What have we to do with Pakistan? We were born here. So were our ancestors. We have lived amongst you as brothers.’ Imam Baksh broke down. Meet Singh clasped him in his arms and began to sob. Several of the people started crying quietly and blowing their noses.

The lambardar spoke: ‘Yes, you are our brothers. As far as we are concerned, you and your children and your grandchildren can live here as long as you like. If anyone speaks rudely to you, your wives or your children, it will be us first and our wives and children before a single hair of your heads is touched. But Chacha, we are so few and the strangers coming from Pakistan are coming in thousands. Who will be responsible for what they do?’

‘Yes,’ agreed the others, ‘as far as we are concerned you are all right, but what about these refugees?’

‘I have heard that some villages were surrounded by mobs many thousands strong, all armed with guns and spears. There was no question of resistance.’

‘We are not afraid of mobs,’ replied another quickly. ‘Let them come! We will give them such a beating they will not dare to look at Mano Majra again.’

Nobody took notice of the challenger; the boast sounded too hollow to be taken seriously. Imam Baksh blew his nose again, ‘What do you advice us to do then, brothers?’ he asked, choking with emotion.