“Why?”

“Sometimes when I see you, I think, what is there for you here?”

“There is the farm,” Amarjeet said bitterly.

“Yes, there is the farm,” Ram repeated, as if to say, For some men, that is enough.

“We will never be a part of them,” Amarjeet said, “but maybe if I fight, they will accept us.”

He saw confusion on Ram’s face. Perhaps he did not know what Amarjeet meant.

“You must tell Karak Chacha first,” Ram said. “Only after that, tell your uncle. Karak Chacha can speak for you as an intermediary.” This was the proper way to do things. It was out of respect to the older man—the concession that the younger had been fearful of telling him.

“I am already part of the army now,” Amarjeet said. Did Ram not understand? “Even if he insists that I remain, I cannot stay.”

“I know,” Ram said.

THEY RETURNED HOME after the heat of the afternoon. Jivan stepped out to the porch immediately, as if he had been watching for them. “You took long,” he said.

Amarjeet felt a surge of resentment, but said nothing.

They found Karak alone in the barn, adjusting the plow. When Amarjeet told him, he laid his head against the steel of the implement and said darkly, “Are you mad? How will we manage?” He threw his hammer to the dirt. “How will your uncle manage?”

“What you say is true, Karak Chacha.” Amarjeet’s heart raced. He had always been intimidated by Karak. “I was not thinking of him.”

Ram leaned against the wall, watching. Amarjeet had hoped for his help, but perhaps he felt it was not his place to say anything.

“My service will bring some income,” Amarjeet said.

“Your damn service will bring your death!”

Amarjeet stepped back.

“Look—when your uncle and I went to war, it was because the money was needed. Here, the cotton and cantaloupe are doing well.” Karak rubbed his forehead. “There is so much money to make, Amarjeet.”

“I will come back soon, Chacha-ji, and—”

“Not if you are dead.”

“Hear what—” Ram said.

“This is not your concern,” Karak said sharply.

Amarjeet swallowed. “I will be back to help here again. In the meantime, the wages will come. Please, will you talk to him for me?”

As soon as he said it, Amarjeet knew it was a mistake.

“I won’t.”

Amarjeet felt a pit in his stomach.

“Are you more concerned with Amarjeet’s death,” Ram said, “or with his labor around the farm?”

“What do you know about it?” Karak snapped. “You never went to war.”