‘I’ve carried this with me every day of my life,’ he said. ‘I call it my rock of hope. Do you recognize this pebble from our game of pithoo, Toshi di?’

Toshi sat still as if she were frozen in time, hearing her name being spoken again by her brother, whom she believed to have been dead all these years. She felt something warm and bright rekindle deep within her, though its flames were tentative and tenuous.

‘But . . . but your name is Habib . . . ’

Habib nodded.

‘Today, I am Habib Haider. It’s a long story . . . ’

Toshi felt a dam breaking deep within her. Her grief, held back for a lifetime, finally found its release.

‘I’m listening, Loki,’ she said through her tears.

Habib came over and sat down beside her.

‘I owe my life to some farishtas, two guardian angels, who came into my world—after I lost all of you. One of them was called Rahmat Bibi and the other, Rukhsana . . . ’

Rukhsana

17 August 1947
New Delhi, India

It was Sunday, the day that Rukhsana Haider would visit the orphanage near their home. Three young children crowded around Rukhsana’s knee, almost on her lap, listening wide-eyed as she told them the story of Sabu, the naughty cat. Mrs Rao, the manager of the orphanage came over, smiling at the sight of their rapt little faces.

‘I hate to tear them away from their favourite person, but it’s dinner time,’ she said. ‘Come on, children, give Rukhsana Aapa a hug and go wash your hands.’

The children hugged Rukhsana and skipped off to eat.

‘Thank you so much for bringing in these sweets and presents for the children. You don’t know just how much it means to them,’ said Mrs Rao.

Rukhsana smiled. ‘It means far more to me, Jayaji. Children are such a joy.’

Quite subconsciously, she tenderly patted her expectant belly.

‘When is the baby due, Rukhsana?’

‘Just one month to go, Jayaji,’ she smiled. ‘I had better head home now. Javed and Ammi will be waiting for me. I’ll see you next Sunday.’

Rukhsana emerged from the orphanage building and had barely taken ten steps when she was caught up in a turbulent wave of angry rioters, charging down the street, armed with axes, swords and staffs.

‘Har har Mahadev! Har har Mahadev!’ they roared. As they rushed past her, one of them roughly shoved her aside.

‘Ya Allah!’ cried Rukhsana, instinctively, as she tried to regain her balance.

A member of the mob overheard her and walked towards her menacingly. ‘She’s one of them!’ he roared, his bloodshot eyes spewing hatred.

He grabbed her arm and viciously pushed her, face down, into the gutter by the side of the road. As she fell, she felt something wet and warm seeping out. A dull ache throbbed in her heart. A yearning for something that should have been hers to hold and love but which she now knew was not to be. All she felt was an emptiness. A clawing, hollow emptiness. And then, everything went dark.