KARAK SINGH EMBRACED HIM, slapped him affectionately on the back, sending a dart of pain along Ram’s side. The men laughed for no reason. “You are so anxious to see me?” Karak said in Punjabi. “Did you think I would not come?” Karak grinned broadly at him. Both knew that Karak had intended to keep Ram waiting. Both knew what the other knew: that Ram had minded this, had felt fear. Ram felt the humiliation sweep through him, then he pushed the feeling away. Karak put his hands on Ram’s shoulders and turned him toward his companions, presenting him to the older man. “Ram Singh,” he said, “originally from Shahpur village in Jullundur; now his family is settled at Chenab Canal Colony near Lyallpur. Father is Sikh. Expert in irrigation farming. They helped the British clear the jungle there.”

“The British cleared it before we arrived, bhai-ji,” Ram said modestly, smiling, then looked up to see the older man’s face: hazel eyes, a still gaze, the indigo cloth of his dastar cast against a dusty sky. His beard was flecked with gray, twisted and neatly tucked. For a fleeting moment, Ram felt ashamed of his clipped hair, his Hindu childhood. Karak had written about Jivan Singh: Almost every Punjabi in the Valley deferred to him. He had found them work, loaned mules and implements, given seed for free. Ram did not know that the man would be so dignified, taller than most other men in this desert settlement, whether Anglo or Hindustani or something else.

Ram put his palms together and whispered, “Sat Sri Akal, bhai-ji.” After all, his father had been Sikh, and he was among his own people, no matter how they prayed. Jivan Singh grasped both Ram’s hands in his own. “So happy you have come. Karak has told us much about you. You are like family to us; we are from branches of the same tree.” His Punjabi was familiar; only a word or two different from the language of Ram’s Jullundur home. Ram felt a surge of longing. He looked away out of respect, stared at the torn leather at the tip of his boot. It was an old phrase, used by old people. Only a year ago Ram would have smiled at it, but now, after the train journey, after the pain in his side, after Hambelton, the words made his throat constrict with emotion.