Sharif Milan: "I wish I did, though. Own some land, that is. My family owned it once when I was a young man. It's all gone now." Sharif Milan's eyes had a faraway look in them, as if he could still see the land. Avi: "Where did it go?" Sharif Milan: "We lost it during Partition. My family owned many farms in Punjab---the one in Pakistan." Avi: "But land does not go anywhere, does it?" Sharif Milan: "You are right. Land does not. It's not the people who go away. I know where my land is in Punjab. I can see it. Furthermore, I can walk on it. But it is not mine. Isn't that terrible? I can never forget the day when those land grabbers held my family at gunpoint and told me to leave. I didn't think I would have to leave the country.

— Rohit Gore

The real reason for Father Organza's laughter was the history of Arthur. It was a quaint town, nestled amidst barren mountains. The Hindus and Muslims living there were perpetually warring with each other, reacting violently at the slightest provocation. It had started a long time ago, this squabble, and had escalated into a terrible war. Some people say it started centuries ago, but many believe it started when the country gave one final, fierce shrug to rid itself of British rule. The shrug quickly became a relentless shuddering, and countless people were uprooted and flung into the air. Many didn't survive. Perhaps the mountains of Arthur absorbed the deaminating wave. People weren't cruelly plucked from the town. They remained there, festering, becoming irate and harboring murderous desires. And while the country was desperately trying to heal its near-mortal wounds and move on, Arthur's dormant volcano erupted. Momentary and overlooked, but devastating. Leaders emerged on both sides and, driven by greed, they fed off the town's ignored bloodshed. They created ravines out of cracks, fostered hatred and grew richer. The White family, the erstwhile rulers of the ancient town, adopted the legacy of their British rulers---divide and conquer.

— Rohit Gore