There are 120 of us now, living in ten houses on K Street, about four furlongs from the lumber mill. I am operating the machines to cut and chop the wood as it is brought in from the forest. The work is hard. But I am making $2.00 a day and am satisfied. The locals do not like us. There are so many strange people here from other lands, and their faces are not natural: men from Japan, or the children of the African slaves, and so many workers from China. I am suspicious of all these people. Still, it does not matter much. We keep to ourselves, and they keep to themselves, and in this way harmony is maintained.

Here our people cook and live together, so I do not miss home that much. A few days ago a meeting was held for all our countrymen, and leaders came from San Francisco City to give speeches on the topic of India’s status under British rule. You know I do not believe strongly about such things, bhai-ji, but I felt so so happy to be with that many of our people. They asked for money because a newspaper has been started under the name of Ghadar and printed in Urdu and Gurmukhi and distributed everywhere here in the U.S., so you see, we need not feel homesick at all.

At the meeting I met Asif Khan, who says he knows your younger brother and fought alongside him for the English king in Shanghai. Every Sunday at the mill we have a wrestling match. The top winner to date has been Bishan Singh Grewal, from Ganeshpur near your own village. He is not tall but he is very strong, and his skin is so fair I think he cannot be a farmer. Do you know him?

Bhai-ji, I thank God every day that I have the good fortune to know you. Even when I am an old man, lying on my deathbed, I will remember our three weeks together in Sri Guru Singh Sabha in Hong Kong. I am sending you a check for the amount of the medication that you bought for cousin Ishwar. Forgive my delay in getting the money to give you. He has recovered fully and instead of coming onward to America, he has gone back to Punjab. My uncle has stated that there is no doubt you saved him. When Ishwar returned, my uncle gave a celebration in your honor, Karak-ji. You will always be welcome there at my home.