His sister gently nudged Papa-ji. On the other side of him, Harjeet’s older brother Lacchman snored like a great beast, a monster, something out of the Panchatantra. His bhraji could lift Harjeet up with one arm, toss him effortlessly over his shoulder like a bag of rice. Before Harjeet knew it, he would be upside down, the blood rushing to his head, his feet kicking in the air. His bhraji had told him that on this trip he would need to be brave. Harjeet was brave. When a small black snake entered the house a few weeks ago, he picked it up, let it loop itself around his arm, freed it in the courtyard, all without calling anyone for help. He’d not let his fear control his actions. “That’s real bravery,” Lacchman had told him.

The train slowed. Harjeet peered out the window, and in the distance, he saw the dot of the station. Already bodies filled every centimenter of space inside of their car. They stacked the bench seats, packed the center aisle. He wondered how many additional passengers would try to board. When he looked up and outside the window, dozens of bare feet dangled over his head. He wondered whether his family should have sat on the roof so they could watch the clouds move across the sky and feel the full wind against their bodies.

“We’re at Attari,” Harjeet announced, bouncing on the seat. “But there’s still 28,000 meters after that.”

Lacchman groaned and opened his eyes. He leaned over and ruffled Harjeet’s hair. “Thank you, Einstein.”

When the train stopped, the passengers jerked forward. The crowd outside on the platform swelled and jostled. Arms extended to every opening. Ahead, Harjeet spotted several train agents walking the length of the cars, blowing whistles, waving their hands. There were shouts coming from inside of the train. Passengers began spilling out of the doorways.

“Something’s happening,” Harjeet said.

“What is it, Harju?” Simran said.

“Lots of people are disembarking here.”

“Some are probably staying here,” Papa-ji said, “now that we’ve crossed to India.”

An agent with a white curled mustache pushed the platform crowd back, and addressed the passengers in their car. “Train to Amritsar is canceled,” he shouted. “The next one leaves tomorrow morning. Everyone must get off.”

They erupted in protest. “We paid to go to Amritsar,” a man with dark long beard shouted. “We have no place to stay here.”

“I have no control over this decision, Sahib. But you must exit the train now. It needs maintenance. And there’s a camp a half kilometer south of here. You can stay there for the night.”

“What about tomorrow? When is the train?” Papa-ji asked.

“First one is at seven a.m. Get here early.”