When all the bullets stopped and relative quiet reigned in Amritsar, we joined many others in gaping at Akal Takht, or rather what was left of it. It is even possible the three of us are in some picture from those days, although I haven't seen us. We would be two men of about the same height with saffron turbans accompanied by a woman with a saffron chunni, all in white clothing. If anyone comes across such a picture, PLEASE e-mail it me; I'd love to have it.
The most vivid memory of this time to me is the overwhelming putrid smell of the sacred pool of nectar. I have not read anyone else's comment on this; I wonder why.
Twice in my life I have seen Mani cry: once when he was first presented with Sandeep and on this occasion. After a while, though, he picked up the end of my chunni, dried off his face and said, quite loudly, 'We are Sikhs. We have never been defeated and this won't be the first time. This isn't over. Khalistan Zindabad!' Eyebrows were raised and I observed a few hard smiles around us. I thought he was acting in an insane manner. Who knows? But no cops molested us.