It was a morning show, and I was on my way home, looking forward to the Irish stew, when I noticed a large crowd assembled on the parade ground. Someone was making a speech and every now and then there were cries of ‘Hindustan Zindabad!’ and other slogans. The country was in the middle of the Quit India movement and such demonstrations were quite frequent, even in a sleepy town like Dehra.

Granny had always told me to avoid large crowds. An English-looking boy, sandy-haired, blue-eyed, wearing khaki shorts and a school cap might well run into trouble. I was used to street boys calling out ‘Lal bandar!’ (red monkey) whenever I was out on the roads. When I told Dhuki about these taunts he said I shouldn’t feel offended as monkeys were held sacred by many. So, I resigned myself to being a sacred monkey. But I thought it better to avoid the crowd on the parade ground, and took the long way around to the canal road and our bungalow. I did not care to be identified with those who ruled the country.

I did not mention the incident to Granny for fear that she would prevent me from going out on my own. She had grown up hearing horrendous stories of the ‘mutiny’ of 1857, and was convinced that we would all be murdered in our beds one day.

And a couple of days later, when a ‘Quit India’ procession came down the road, she became very agitated and told me to stay indoors.

But the people of the procession did not attempt to enter any of the houses on the road, although they did stop now and then in order to make their voices and demands heard.

Dhuki and I stood in the garden, half concealed behind a hibiscus hedge, watching the procession go by. Someone was beating a drum, and someone was blowing a conch, and some were singing a patriotic song. It did not seem at all threatening.

But then they stopped outside our gate, and when some of them saw me, the shouts and slogans intensified. Several small boys grew very excited and one of them picked up a stone and threw it at me.

‘Come inside at once!’ shouted Granny from the kitchen window. Miss Kellner’s ayah was also beckoning me to come in. Another stone whizzed past me. But I stood my ground, even though I was trembling all over.

‘They won’t go away,’ I said. ‘But it’s our garden, why won’t they leave?’

Dhuki broke a hibiscus flower from the hedge, it was a beautiful scarlet flower in full bloom.

‘Give it to them, baba,’ he said. ‘Give them the flower.’

Still trembling, I took it by the stem and walked unsteadily to the gate.

The leader of the procession, a tall gaunt bearded man looked down at me with a severe expression. I was afraid he would strike me.

I held out the flower.

He looked at it suspiciously. Then he smiled, took the flower, and patted me on my head.

‘Good boy,’ he said, and held up the flower for all to see.

There was a cheer from the crowd. The drum beat was renewed, the conch sounded, the small boys ran ahead, and the procession passed on.

Dhuki returned to his weeding, the hoopoe returned to the lawn.

I felt quite grown-up, and went indoors to tell Granny not to worry.