“I was tutored along with Kat,” Amala went on, “and we were together practically from infancy. Kat also spent time in my home; she liked it there. And there were times when social events were taking place at the Hepworth home, and it was better if the children were out of the house, so Kat would spend the night at my home, and we’d have great fun together.”

As Henry sensed where this was leading, he put a hand over his mouth as an added measure to keep himself from uttering some inappropriate expletive. He tightened his hold once again on Amala’s hand and waited for her to go on.

“Kat was there when it happened. When Mata and Pita realized soldiers were coming into the house, they told me and Kat to hide and remain very quiet. And so we did. We clung to each other while we heard the shouting: the soldiers were yelling accusations and threats; Pita was demanding justice, declaring their innocence; Mata was crying, begging for mercy. I had to put my hand over Kat’s mouth when we heard the shots.” She let out a weighted sigh. “The absence of Mata and Pita protesting made it clear what had happened. I could hear the soldiers rummaging around the house, searching for who knows what and talking among themselves as if executing Indian people was a normal part of their expected routine. After they finally left and the house became quiet, we still didn’t come out of hiding; I think we were too afraid of what we would find, even though neither of us said a word—even to each other. It seemed hours before I knew Kat was asleep, and in spite of my horror—and my fear that the soldiers might come back—eventually I feel asleep as well. I woke up to the sound of Oliver calling our names, his voice frantic, terrified.”