Deepa thought about Faseelah, about the taunting boys who followed her and her mother home. In Deepa’s mind, their faces resembled Hari’s. They weren’t always bad people. But their rage and mob mentality now flowed through the streets like the monsoon rains.

“John, Kavita and I can manage the clinic by ourselves for the next few weeks,” Papa-ji said. “You and Nora should go away until things settle down. I worry about your safety more than ours. These hellions consider Eurasians allies to the British Raj. They think your heritage betrays India.”

Deepa hopped up from her chair. John and Nora were her family. And they were just as Indian as anyone else. She couldn’t bear to see them go, even if it was only temporary. “Please, no, Papa-ji. We can’t send Aunty and Uncle away.”

“Don’t be daft, Manoj,” Nora said. “Where would we go?” She draped her arms around Deepa’s shoulders. “India is our home. You are our family. You’re stuck with us, I’m afraid.”

“Nora, we want you here,” Mama-ji said. “But please, give it some thought. Even though we’re not devout, this community still sees us as Hindus. We’re more protected. People like Hari just want to threaten us. But they might harm you. Other Eurasian families we know, the Lloyds, the Bernards, they’ve already left.”

“What about Deepa?” Nora said. “It’s not safe for her, either.

Her mother sighed. “Nora Aunty is right, Deepa. You should go straight home after school, just until things settle down. Bala will be there with you.”

“Oh, but Mummy-ji, I love coming to the clinic.” She looked at John and her father, pleaded with her eyes, hoped they would intervene. What on earth would she do at home all afternoon by herself? Watch Bala chop vegetables for dinner? Follow Poonam around as she swept the floors? “Besides, you need me here.”

Her father cleared his throat. “Your mother’s right. Stay home until things settle down.”

“If it’s not safe for me here, it’s certainly not safe for you or Mummy-ji,” Deepa said. “Maybe we should just close the clinic until after Independence.”

“We can’t,” Her mother said. She rubbed her forehead. “We have too many sick patients. But if riots start up in this area of Delhi, we’ll all go south, far away from the new border.”

“I’d certainly agree to that,” Nora said.

Her father glanced through a short stack of files. “Kavita, the afternoon looks light. Why don’t you and Deepa head home? Take the rest of the afternoon off.”

Mummy-ji rose, adjusted the pleats of her sari skirt. “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” she said. “Come, Deepa.”

Deepa restacked her now empty tiffin cans, wiped her mouth. Her satchel fell open. The old newspaper article about the Bihar riot tumbled out. She picked it up quickly and tossed it into the wastebasket.