Something other than his injuries, other than his pain, did not allow him to go. He stayed in the pantry while they thundered on the stairs above him, walls shaking, footsteps bold and threatening on the thin wood floor. He breathed shallow breaths and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, willing his breath to be silent. He closed his eyes, though it was dark. Glass crashed. The ceiling shook. Men spoke in a strange language. English words were barked out: You dirty. You garbage. You raghead. There were sounds he could not recognize. Were they throwing things? Bags, lamps? He heard the tremor of tumbi strings. Take your blankets and get out of our mills. Voices shouted back in Punjabi. He heard the fierce beating of the dholki, then the crash of axe against wood and the drum was silent. A man yelped in pain. He heard Pala shouting, a bang against the wall. Twelve people lived upstairs; who was hurt? How many? Ram’s heart hammered against his fragile ribs. He swallowed again and again, lying on his side, frozen.

Heavy boots clattered down the steps and it seemed all the men followed, some of them stumbling, sliding, trailing out the front door. There were more shouts outside. Other Hindustani houses must have been violated too. Men gathered in the yard where the Punjabis had just danced and talked. Above the fray, Ram heard a man shout, “That’s the one from the movie house! Lookin’ at my girl today!” Ram gasped. Had Ram brought this cruelty upon all of them? Which of the Punjabis had they mistaken for him? Perhaps Mohamed Khan, who also did not wear a dastar? The thought horrified him. Then he heard a club hit muscle and skin and something more. A man screamed an animal sound of pain. A voice full of rage, “What was—” Pala’s yelling high-pitched, childlike, in Punjabi, pleading with someone, then a jump into loud broken English, pierced by sobs, “Don’t hurt, don’t hurt,” as if he had forgotten the language in his shock. “Please!”

“I told you, not their legs. Fool!”

Ram’s mind snapped into focus. He opened his eyes. Moonlight shone through the small window above him, illuminating the pantry. He uncurled his body slowly, coaxing himself to keep going. Pain shot through his left side. He continued anyway. He stepped onto the shelf and put his weight on the leg; his shin burned. But he clenched his teeth, leaned against the wall, and peered through the window. He was hidden in shadow and he could see out on the yard.