It is 1948. A newly-independent India is trying to persuade Hyderabad to join the Indian Union. Negotiations are difficult for both sides. The State Congress, now operating from Indian territory, has launched a campaign of violent raids, designed to cripple civil administration in the border areas, and provoke an annexation. The leading Islamic party inside Hyderabad, in an equally rash move, has created a para-military body, the Razakars, to counter the threat to Hyderabad’s borders.

For Mohammed Hyder of the Hyderabad Civil Service, the newly-appointed Collector of Osmanabad District (situated on the Hyderabad-Bombay border), both the wayward State Congress and the ragtag Razakar outfit are a threat to law and order. This first-person account conveys a vivid picture of Hyderabad under pressure, through the eyes of a senior district administrator.

He complains to his Indian counterpart about the activities of the border camps. “What border camps?” replies the ICS officer, blandly.

In September 1948, its patience at an end, India invades Hyderabad (brushing aside the Standstill Agreement), and sets up a military government. Many senior officials are suspended, Hyder included. The police chief advises Hyder to leave for Pakistan, as criminal charges are being prepared against him. Hyder refuses to run away, and is arrested in due course.

The police officer preparing the cases admits he is not satisfied with the evidence against him, but does not see this as an obstacle. “Sir”, he says bluntly, “It is government policy to prosecute you. You will remain in jail until that policy changes.”

Twenty-three cases are filed against the Collector of Osmanabad, including fourteen murders, arson and loot.

He is brought before a Special Judge, whose first remarks in open court are: “I see you are wearing a suit, Mr. Hyder. Soon you will be in prison garb.”

The government refuses to share the results of the preliminary investigation, stating that the information is confidential. The judge supports the decision of the government to withhold evidence in a criminal case.

Unbelievable? So little is known about the former Hyderabad State that even fair comment does not convince. But with grace and wit, this memoir gently assails our preconceptions – while supporting its claims with telling evidence from government and court records.