How strange to receive your letter written not in Punjabi but in English. And here I am writing in foreign. Our reader and writer is a kind Brahmin in town who charges little. I have to tell you, it is true, as you must have heard from the other soldiers, the plague has come like a scythe to corn and is spreading from village to village for its grim crop! We remain safe and have turned to the snake priest who sprinkles the houses with fire to ward off evil; we make daily puja at his shrine. Dear husband, remember God is everywhere, his will is in the drinking water which becomes holy when you drink it with a prayer.

The rains have come so do not worry for the crops. The cow is giving milk and we have a good store of corn. I hope you are being treated well, that you are given our food and that foreign is green with mountain water as we have it here. The name of the German is breathed like that of the demon Harankash. There are rumours he is coming to Punjab but we know the King will send him packing.

How soon married, how soon we have been parted. I must not forget your smile and your always kind words. My husband, fight like a man and come home a hero with the shadow of God in your stride. What more can I say.

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