The door flew open and a large man tumbled into the room. His shirt was half unbuttoned, his eyes red and raging. His long, wavy hair flopped over his face. He reeked of alcohol. It took Deepa a moment to recognize the intruder. It was Hari. She had known him her whole life. He had once been like a big brother to her.

When her parents worked late at the clinic, she and Hari used to play kho kho with all the neighborhood children, chasing one another through the streets. Hari would pretend he couldn’t catch up to tag Deepa, letting her barely escape his arm’s reach. He had given her her first taste of coffee when she was nine, taught her how to ride a bike when she was ten.

But Hari had become a stranger over the past few years. Papa-ji said he had joined the RSS, an organization whose members believed that being Indian was synonymous with being Hindu. Hari had helped organize a rally in Delhi recently, and in his speech he argued for the immediate expulsion of Muslims.

Papa-ji kept his calm. He stepped forward, held one hand up. “Hari, beta, please don’t cause any trouble today. Your father is ill. He needs his eldest son home taking care of him. Stop making trouble.”

“Uncle,” Hari laughed. “You must stop treating Muslims at the clinic. It’s against God’s will. They are filthy swine! There will be serious consequences if you continue to do so. This is your final warning. And you,” he pointed to John and Nora, “you two suck the cock of the British Raj! You should be executed!”

Deepa gasped sharply and gripped her mother’s arm tighter.

Her father stepped within inches of Hari’s face.

“Hari, I don’t want to see you or your band of RSS ingrates here again, do you understand me?” he said. “I know it was you who threw that bag of shit against our doorstep last week. It would break your father’s heart if he heard you speak so horribly about our Muslim and Eurasian friends. Next time, I’ll call the constable. Get out and don’t ever return!”

Hari’s eyes widened, his jaw tightened. He didn’t budge. His fingers formed into fists.

Deepa bolted up from the chair. “Hari, what are you doing? Hari, bhai, look at me. Look at me!”

The sound of Hari’s panting filled the room. He slowly turned to face her, blinked several times. His fingers gradually unclenched. For a moment, it was as if he suddenly remembered who she was, who he was from the old days. But then he closed his eyes. A grimace returned to his face. “This is a house of whores!” he spat as he ran out the door.

Papa-ji exhaled, shook his head. He carefully set the bat down.

“Beta, that was very brave of you,” Mama-ji said. “Are you okay?”