RAM KNEW COTTON WAS NOT LIKE CANTALOUPE. IT DID NOT HAVE TO be shipped off at a certain time, at a certain temperature. It was not delicate. If market prices were low, a farmer could hold until prices went up; hard work, labor, aching muscles, and scorched afternoons need not dissolve in a puddle of rotted produce by the roadside.

Karak and Ram’s land was perfect for cotton. The papers reported the big ranches—Timken, McPherrin, the C. M. ranch across the border—were growing cotton despite the falling price, banking on the future needs of Europe’s war that, through its colonies, had become the world’s war.

At Fredonia Park on Sunday afternoons, sitting in the shade of planted trees, lying on benches with hats covering their faces, twenty-five or thirty Hindus discussed the blockade of the European ports. Cotton was needed to manufacture the wings of warplanes, to stitch uniforms. But how could its price rise if it could not reach the markets in Europe?

“We have decided to plant anyway,” one of the Khan brothers said.

“Another ten test acres,” Gugar Singh said. “Just last like year. No harm.”

“Foolish,” Harnam Singh insisted.

In the wagon going home, Ram thought of his promise to Padma. He had given her his word that he would return soon. But the sacrifice of his absence must prove worthwhile. Something tugged inside him. Longing for her? Ambition? Many men who had left behind their wives did not need justification, but he did.

“We are still planting cotton,” he said to Karak. “All one hundred sixty acres to cotton.” His voice—the tone, the confidence—did not sound familiar to himself. Karak looked at him with surprise, as if he thought so too.

“Of course,” Karak said. “Who said we are not?”

JIVAN TOOK THEM to the Fredonia Bank to meet the young vice president, Jasper Davis, a nephew of the mayor, and nephew of a local magistrate judge too. Jivan knew him through Stephen Eggenberger and his early days in the Valley. Karak and Ram filled out forms, shook hands with him, and left with money for seed, a newly invented seeder, another team of mules.

Next morning, Karak woke Ram before he wanted to be woken. “It’s time, Ram, the time has come!” Ram found the mules already harnessed to the wagon in the morning dark.

At the field, Karak jumped down and hitched up the seeder. “The crop will not grow any faster if you plant quickly,” Ram said, irritated.