Jivan need not have worried. RamChandra was a sophisticated man. He did not approach Amarjeet again. On the ride into town, he filled the time with questions about how the Valley towns had been formed, how Jivan had come to settle on the farm. He asked Ram about the development of the Canal Colonies in western Punjab.

At the depot, the men waited on the platform in the farthest corner. Few locals could see them. “Khair nal jao,” Jivan said, determined to maintain propriety. RamChandra nodded. The man expressed no gratitude and Jivan felt his resentment rise.

In the wagon on the way home, Jivan’s mood sat heavy upon both Ram and himself. “Tell me,” Jivan finally said. “Did you give him any money?” RamChandra had walked among the men himself, holding a wooden collection box. In the throng, Jivan could not see who had donated.

“No, bhai-ji.”

“Why not?” He did not meet Ram’s eye.

“I send all my money home. My uncle is in need of all of it.”

The answer mollified him, but at the farm, he asked Karak too.

“I gave,” Karak said.

“How much?”

“Forty dollars.”

Silence. Forty dollars could have bought a new buggy or a harness for the mules, which was sorely needed. Jivan was shocked. Even more, it bothered him that Karak did not defer to him by hiding the truth.

“You are angry about Amarjeet,” Karak said. “But a boy wants adventure. I was no different. Perhaps you were not either.”

“What do you know of me, Karak?” Jivan said, feeling betrayed.

EVERY EVENING Amarjeet read to the family a stream of news stories happening in other places: from the Los Angeles Times, or the Fredonia News, or the Ghadar—filling the darkness with his clear English, or with Punjabi, translating between them for Kishen and Ram—tales of a world gone mad. Jivan could feel the boy’s resentment. He read without looking at him, as if every word were an accusation against his uncle.

By September’s end he read to them of the French and British fighting the Germans at the River Aisne, trenches that stretched for miles. The thousands of dead.

He read about Britain’s army recruiters desperately traveling to the same Punjabi villages that they had visited in June. They assured the villagers that dastars could be worn in service and promised regular wages. They reminded the Punjabis to show their loyalty to Government, of how much the British had done for them.