“THIS IS WHERE IT STARTS—the boundary,” Karak said, pointing to a small flag set in the dirt. He had not seemed to notice Ram’s frailness. “That land belongs to Eggenberger but was just leased to Roubillard, who came out from Louisiana. Eggenberger tells me that Roubillard wants to try cotton too.”

Karak was disturbed by something; Ram could sense that. Karak pointed to figures in the distance, a team of mules pulling an implement, a cluster of men around them. “The water delivery ditch is being dug there. This land will be in great demand very soon.” Karak shaded the sun from his eyes. “The most important thing is land, bhai,” he said. “There is no other way to have wealth or to be settled. In Ludhiana, my father had good land. Very good land.”

“Then why did you leave Punjab?” Ram had known the man for almost a year and a half, and he did not know the answer to this question.

“The rains failed for two years in a row, but still the British government was taxing us. My father took a mortgage, but it did not go well. We lost everything. Only choice for me was joining the army.” Karak spoke lightly, as if that did not matter. “But this land can make us rich, Ram. The ditch will come right here, you see, right on the border. The soil has tested to be good for cotton. We must only level the land and plant it.”

Ram knew it was more complicated than that. “Karak-ji? You have seen this land before?” Karak looked at him. They both realized that Ram had caught him in a lie.

“I wanted you to come and see.” Karak held up his hand. “With an open mind.” In response to Ram’s silence he said, “It’s true. I came here for a short time about one month back.” He avoided meeting Ram’s eye.

Ram felt a small bubble of anger, then it burst and fizzled away. He allowed himself to feel flattered. After all, Karak had only wanted to show him something.

Karak pointed to a small structure a quarter mile away. “That’s the shack that Eggenberger built to prove the homestead to the government. So much land is still open, but we are foreigners. We cannot do the same.”

“Eggenberger isn’t a foreigner?” Ram asked.

“He is from Switzerland, bhai. That is different.”

Ram looked at him.

“Oye!” Karak sucked his teeth to show he did not really mind. “That is the law. In Punjab, we keep the city families away from the farming districts. It is the same, isn’t it? One can understand, of course. And what does it matter? We can farm and make a profit and grow rich. What do you say, Ram?”

Ram did not understand what he was asking. His heart began to thump inside his chest. “Bhai-ji?” he said.