They waited in a line for what felt like hours. Finally, an older gentleman dressed in a white shirt and dark pants with a stack of papers approached them. “I’ll help you find a place to sleep tonight. We also have some rice for children but not enough for adults.”

“Thank you. But is it safe to stay here?” Papa-ji asked.

“Cholera and typhoid are the biggest risks. A few weeks ago, many fell sick.”

“But what do you hear of raids?” asked Papa-ji.

Raids. This was a new word for Harjeet. He would ask Papa-ji what it meant later.

“We’ve not been disturbed, though the raids are becoming worse in Punjab. Where are you trying to reach?”

“We’re boarding the early train tomorrow to Amritsar,” Papa-ji said.

“Very good,” he said. “It’s a quick journey.”

That evening, at dusk, Harjeet and Simran sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. A group of children had tried to tempt him in a game of tumbleweed kickball, but he waved them away. Simran squished together balls of rice between her fingertips, placed them in Harjeet’s mouth. “Just eat something, Harju,” she said. “I know you’re hungry.”

He opened his mouth. “Look, Simran, the stars! They’re starting to appear.”

On some hot nights, Harjeet, Papa-ji, Simran, and Lacchman slept on the roof of their home. Simran taught Harjeet how to read the sky, to identify the big dipper, the little dipper, Cassiopeia and Hercules, the Greek myths that inspired the constellations’ names, the distance from the earth to the moon, the earth to the sun, the order of the planets, their sizes, from largest to smallest, how the Vedic verses, thousands of years old, first introduced the concept that the sun was the center of the universe, the earth was the shape of a sphere.

He never met anyone as smart as his sister.

He tilted his head. The stars were specks like tiny particles of dust, flames just catching on a wick. It comforted him to know that the sky looked the same here, from this camp, as it did at home, where they were surrounded by friends they’d known and loved their whole lives. How small the earth was, a mere drop of water in an infinite ocean of universe.

He yawned, held up his hand when Simran tried to bring more food to his mouth. “I’m tired, bhenji. Can we go to sleep now?”

Simran set the food down, wiped her hand on a towel. “Yes, Harju, let’s get you to bed.” She picked up a lantern, lit it. He followed behind her to their tent.