Ever since Mahatmaji began his evening prayer meetings at Birla House on Delhi’s Albuquerque Road (now Tees January Marg), my mother, two sisters and my 3-year-old daughter used to attend them every day. Mahatmaji would appear punctually at 5 pm from his room there, his arms around granddaughters, Abha and Manu.

On the evening of Friday, January 30, 1948, I was sitting in the garden of my home at 23 Prithviraj Road, busy sewing for my expected baby. Mother came around half past four and told me it was getting late for Mahatmaji’s prayer meeting. I told her to go ahead. Soon after my mother left, I heard loud shouts. Puzzled, I prepared to leave for Birla House, when mother came running, breathless, ‘Zalimaan nae goli nal mar ditta.’ (The cruel murderers have shot Mahatmaji.) I shook her, “What are you saying?” Ma mumbled, “Just as Mahatmaji was walking down the pathway, a man stepped out in front of him and shot him.” The whole family ran to Albuquerque Road where a huge crowd had already surrounded Birla House, which had been cordoned off. Shouts rent the air, “Bapu, what has happened to our Bapu?” The IG of police told me to come at night when the body would be laid out for public darshan. At night we first went to the adjoining house: 12 Aurangzeb Road (now Claridges Hotel), and climbed to its roof. Seven months pregnant, I tried to hop on to the parapet to get a better view.

... contd.