It was clear to Amarjeet that Ram did not want to stay. He wondered why his uncle needed an audience. Perhaps to prove something, perhaps to redeem himself. He could tell how much Jivan had grown to like Ram.

The three men looked out over the fields and were quiet. “Amarjeet,” Jivan finally said, “we will manage without you. Your father may be angry with me—he wanted you to continue with your education, and I have failed him—but we will manage here.”

Amarjeet wanted to interrupt, to defend Jivan’s own actions to himself, but the words would not come.

“I want to tell you some things,” Jivan said.

His uncle’s eyes were hazel gray, and when he wore his green dastar, they took on the green hue. Looking at them, Amarjeet felt guilty again.

“I served with our own people, even though it was within the British army,” Jivan said. “You will not have that advantage.”

“Harry is coming too,” Amarjeet said, thinking about how much bolder Harry was than himself. How much more comfortable.

“He is also different from the Anglos. He will have the same struggles. I am glad that he will be with you. Some men will treat you with respect and honesty. They exist even among the locals, see if you can recognize them. They will help you.”

Amarjeet forced himself to nod. He did not have the patience needed for this conversation.

“Do you remember Pandit RamChandra? When he came to visit?”

“You did not like him,” Amarjeet said, growing irate. “How can we even speak of him anymore? He conspired with Germans. . . . They will all go to jail.”

“But about one thing he was right. There is a global color line, all the world knows it. Look around us. In their speeches, in their ideas, the Americans pretend it doesn’t exist. Not only does it exist, Amarjeet, it is the basis of everything.

“I feel uneasy now not because you are going into war, but because you will not be in a unit with your own people. You and Harry will be two foreigners in your squad. You will be treated as expendable. That is my great fear. I know you will fight bravely. You are a Sikh, after all. But your commander must value your life too. Otherwise he will always choose you for the duty that is the worst, or the most dangerous, or the one in which you will gain no recognition.”

Amarjeet could not believe this was true. The army had told him there would be no race prejudice in its ranks. President Wilson had said that too. But out of regard for his uncle, he stayed quiet.