Chapter 16

The Golden Jubilee Of The Indian National Uprising

Harnam read the invitation once more as the train clattered toward London. Even though he’d memorized the details, something about the calligraphy — the gleaming blue ink, the decisive sweep of the letters — made it impossible not to stare.

"Such beautiful writing," said his friend Rafiq, tilting the paper under the sunlight. "They must have paid a lot for it."

"Tatyarao did it himself. He makes very beautiful things," Harnam replied, not without pride.

Rafiq had joined in the Winter term, on the same scholarship as Harnam. Though they had both come to England from Nabha, and both came from farming families, it was only at the Royal Agricultural College that they'd become close. Their room was filled with the smell of cardamom chai, the sounds of shared jokes, and, lately, talk of the India House revolutionaries Harnam had grown fascinated by. This event would be Rafiq’s first visit. Harnam hoped it would stir him, too.

India House was buzzing when they arrived just past noon. It was a fe…