“Okay. Let it be.” Jivan nodded, closing his eyes. “Don’t let him dominate you, Ram.”

Ram stood humbly, his arms in front of him, his left hand holding the right wrist, staring at the ground, unseeing. He was not saying goodbye to Jivan. He was requesting permission to leave.

Jivan must have realized this too. “If you are taking a good decision, then I should not put obstacles in your way. At least let me accompany you to the depot. I will be finished with my work in just two hours.”

“Bhai-ji, do not trouble yourself. The train leaves very soon. I will ask Amarjeet.”

Jivan looked pained. Ram did not yet know the pride Jivan felt in helping new settlers to the Valley. He had given the Khan brothers their first season’s seed, lent them his Fresno scraper and mule. He had helped Harnam Singh raise his tent house and referred him to the loan officer at the Imperial Bank. Gugar Singh had stayed at the Eggenberger farm for three months before finding work in Holtville. Now Jivan put his hand on Ram’s shoulder. “You can return at any time,” he finally said. “What did I say when you first came? We are branches of the same tree.”

Their eyes met, but Ram looked away. An emptiness swept over him, an intensity of emotion he did not know he possessed. He put his palms together. “Sat Sri Akal, bhai-ji.”

He was rude to leave so abruptly. He was sorry that he would not see Jivan Singh again. He hoped the man would not think less of him.

AT THE HOUSE, Kishen was serving Amarjeet breakfast. Awkwardly, after he finished the meal, Ram told them he was leaving. “I have to go quickly,” he said, “they need me back.” He looked from one to the other. Leela sat on the floor, talking to her doll, but even she was silent at Ram’s words.

“Amarjeet, will you send me off at the train?” he asked.

“What about Karak Chacha?”

“I told him last night. I cannot find him today.”

He could feel the weight of Kishen Kaur’s gaze. “Thank you, bhabhi-ji,” he said quickly, palms together, not sure what was expected of his manners. “Please excuse my haste.” She made a slight gesture of acknowledgment. “Goodbye, Leela,” he said, bending down to the girl. She tolerated his hand tousling her hair, and smiled, as sweet as a sparrow.

DURING THE RIDE IN THE WAGON he told Amarjeet the same lie that he had told Jivan: that he had heard from his friend Pala and been called back to the mill. The lie sounded more believable this time. Even so, when Amarjeet asked innocently, “Did a telegram come?” he mumbled a response and commented instead on the strength of the wind.