"The summer of 1947 was not like other Indian summers."
Chap. 1, p. 1

"The only remaining oases of peace were a scatter of little villages lost in the remote reaches of the frontier. One of these villages was Mano Majra."
Chap. 1, p. 2

"You are in the same handcuffs and fetters which the English put on you. We have to get together and rise. We have nothing to lose but these chains!"
Chap. 1, p. 60

"It is our fate. It is written on our foreheads and on the lines of our hands. I am always wanting to do something. ... When there is no work, my hands still itch to do something. So I do something, and it is always wrong."
Chap. 1, p. 61

"The subinspector freed his feet from Jugga's hands and walked out. His visits had been a failure. He would have to change his tactics. It was frustrating to deal with...