The ceremonial on this occasion was copied from that observed after the capture of the Maratha Sambhaji. Malice did its utmost to cover the vanquished with ridicule and shame. First came the heads of the executed Sikhs, stuffed with straw, and stuck on bamboos, their long hair streaming in the wind like a veil, and along with them to show that every living creature in Gurdaspore had perished, a dead cat on a pole.

The teacher himself dressed out of mockery in a turban of red cloth, embroidered with gold, and a heavy robe of brocade, flowered with pomegranates, sat in an iron cage, placed on the back: of an elephant. Behind him stood a mail-clad officer, with a drawn sword. After him came the other prisoners, seven hundred and forty in number, seated two and two upon camels without saddles. Each wore a high fool's cap of sheepskin and had one hand pinned to his neck, between two pieces of wood. Many were also dressed in sheep skins with wooly side turned outwards. At the end of the procession rode three great nobles, Muhammad Amin Khan, sent by the emperor to bring in the prisoners, (From Agharabad to the Lahori gate of the palace] Kamr-ud-Din, his son, and Zakariya Khan, his son-in-law, who being also the son of Abd-us-Samad Khan had been deputed to represent his father at the ceremony.

The road to the palace, for several miles, was lined with troops and filled with exultant crowds, who mocked at the teacher and laughed at the grotesque appearance of his followers. They wagged their heads and pointed the finger of scorn at the poor wretched as they passed. 'Hu! Hu!, infidel dog-worshippers, your day has come. Truly retribution follows on transgression, as wheat springs from wheat, and barley from barley.' Yet the triumph could not have seemed complete. Not all the insults that their enemies had invented could rob the teacher and his followers of their dignity. Without any sign of dejection or shame, they rode on, calm, cheerful, even anxious to die the death of martyrs.

Life was promised to any who would renounce their faith, but they would not prove false to their Guru, and at the place of suffering their constancy was wonderful to look at. 'Me, deliverer, kill me first' was the prayer which constantly rang in the ears of the executioner.

One there was, a young man, an only son, whose widow mother had made many applications to the Mughal officers, declaring that her son was a Sikh prisoner, and no follower of the Guru. A release was granted and she hastened to the prison-house to claim her son. But the boy turned from her to meet his doom crying, 'I know not this woman. What does she want with me? I am a true and loyal follower of the Guru.' For a whole week the sword of the executioner did its butcher's work. Every day a hundred brave men perished and at night the headless bodies were loaded into carts, taken out of the city, and hung upon trees. It was not till June 19 [Sunday, the 29th Jamadi-ul-Akhir, 1128 A.H., June 9, 1716 O.S.] that Banda himself was led out to execution, all efforts having failed to persuade him.

The authors of the despatch John Surman and Edward Stephenson (and the Secretary, Hugh Barker) were, evidently, eyewitnesses of the dreadful massacre of the Sikhs at Delhi in March recorded by them. The executions began on March 5, five days before the date of the despatch, March 10, when a few hundred Sikhs had yet to be executed. This paragraph of the despatch, therefore, is of great historical value to the students and scholars of history. The last sentence regarding the unflinching devotion of the Sikhs to their faith under the severest of trials is very significant. Except for the number of the Sikh prisoners, which Muhammad Hadi Kamwar Khan gives as 694 in his 'Tazkirat-us-Salatin', the despatch of the English ambassadors is in full agreement with the writings of the other eye-witnesses and contemporaries. The reader interested in futher study of the exploits and achievements of Banda Singh is referred to 'Life of Banda Singh Bahadur' published in 1935, and the bibliography appended to it.

Wilsons account of the entry of Bundha Bahadur into Delhi is a composite of a number of seperate accounts. The most significant account that he draws on is the entry of prisoners of the Mughals who were marched into Delhi on the backs of asses. However two Persian accounts also form the basis of Wilsons view of what happened, namely; "Iradat Khan, A translation of the memoirs of Eradut Khan, a nobleman of Hindostan : containing interesting anecdotes of the Emperor Aulumgeer Aurungzebe and of his successors Shaw Aulum and Jehaundar Shaw, in which are displayed the causes of the very precipitate decline of the Mogul empire in India, trans Jonathan Scott, (London: for John Stockdale, 1786). These accounts are drawn from a very Muslim perspective and contain heavy bias towards the state rather than historical accuracy. It should also be noted that neither writer was present at the time but was writing after the event. Having said that, there is little reason why the Muslim writers whould have embellished what would have been an excercise in humiliating Bundha and the sikhs - so these are not entirely unreliable sources.