It was then that she noticed the crimson crater in the side of his stomach, which left his insides hanging out.

Toshi’s heart seemed to stop beating. Instinctively, she reached for the tablecloth to stem the blood flow. And it was that movement that attracted the attention of the gunman.

As best as she could, Toshi wrapped the tablecloth around her brother’s wound. Which was when the first bullet hit her leg. She reached for Tarlok’s hand and that was when the second bullet hit her chest.

Toshi feebly took her brother’s hand and touched it to her eyes.

Just as their father would do.

Holding on to Tarlok’s hand, Toshi’s mind drifted far away to a leafy gully in Rawalpindi. Only this time, she didn’t leave his side.

Unseen

Humaira didn’t shed a single tear. All she did was pray. And when she finally spoke, all she said was that she wanted Habib to be buried not in Rawalpindi, but near the Ajmer Sharif Dargah. Irfan looked at his mother in shock. But her jaw was set firm.

‘It’s what Habib would have wanted,’ she said with quiet resolve.

As the family prepared to leave for Ajmer, Inaya picked up her grandfather’s coat and held it close. She sat there in silence, like one would with an old, familiar friend, where no conversation was necessary. She dug her hands into the large pockets, trying to feel the warmth and safety of her grandfather’s embrace, one last time. Her fingers came across something hard in one of the pockets. She took the object out—it was the oval, olive-coloured pebble that her grandfather always carried with him.

‘Why do you carry this around with you, Daada?’ Inaya had once asked him.

Habib had smiled at Inaya and sat her down, holding the quartz pebble out for her in his palm.

‘Do you know how long this pebble has been around, Inaya?’

‘Since the time you were a little boy?’

‘Even longer. A few hundred million years perhaps. Inside it is folded a story of survival that we cannot even imagine. It’s my rock of hope,’ he had said.

If only she could hear his voice again. Just one more time. Just to say goodbye even. Inaya’s cheeks were wet with the tears that quietly rolled down.

She slipped the pebble into her own pocket. His rock of hope would be hers now. For always.

Wrapped in centuries of wondrous reverence, the Ajmer Sharif Dargah of Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti came into view.

Holding the urn of his grandmother’s ashes close to his heart, Jai followed the slow shuffle of hundreds of feet, as they made their way towards the Sufi saint’s final resting place. His attention was drawn by a heady fragrance and he turned to see the bathing ritual of the tomb being carried out by its custodians, the khadims, as they doused the mazaar with rosewater infused with saffron and sandalwood. Lamps with ghee were lit in the four corner niches, peacock feathers were used to sweep the floor. Fresh flowers and exquisitely embroidered covers were laid on the tomb. It was the strangest combination of Hindu and Muslim customs, and yet, somehow, it seemed just right. Jai felt a stirring in the stillness; a cool breeze that caressed his moist forehead. Almost like Badi Ma would. He blinked back his tears and held the urn closer.