Saleem narrated the history of the Gateway of India and bought them ice creams. After that, he said there was a surprise in store for them that day. All of them asked in unison, ‘What, what, what?’

Saleem smiled and repeated in Arabic, ‘Innalllah ma’as sabreen [God is with those who keep patience].’

‘To hell with patience, please tell us!’ Qasim snapped impatiently.

‘Aslam Bhai might invite us for dinner,’ Dhamaskar said.

‘We can make food at the room itself,’ said Saleem.

‘Are you taking us to the movies?’ Suleiman asked.

‘These kids are coming to Mumbai for the first time, tell them quickly,’ Mohammad Ali said to Suleiman before Aslam could react.

‘Come with me, all of you,’ instructed Saleem.

They followed him to the back of the Gateway of India where the concrete stairs descended into the sea.

Saleem’s friend had four ferryboats that took tourists for a ride. Saleem had arranged this ride on the sea for all of them. They climbed into the boat, and when it was fully packed, the journey started. They were now enjoying the city, brightly lit by the sun, from the water. Mumbai was retreating from their vision. To see the city from the coast as one goes further into the sea was an experience. To piece together the facades and domes of the Taj hotel into one’s vision was a novelty. The breeze from the sea carried with it salt and coolness. The sea gave rise to grief in Asrar’s heart.

That grief turned the water into a whirlpool in front of his eyes. It was small, but the water that fed the whirlpool was blood red in color. In fact, it wasn’t water—it was blood. This blood was not just whirling but gave rise to thousands of smaller whirlpools of blood within. He could see his father’s face in each one of them. For more than four minutes, these whirlpools kept dancing in front of his eyes. He wanted to drill his retina so that the blood in his eyes spewed out like fountains. At times, the wish to be covered in his own blood filled his heart. Though Jamila Miss may have helped in making this wish fade away, it would sometimes come back. He smiled. He could now see Jamila Miss in his eyes. The short journey with her on the sea was treasured in the casket of his heart. It was fresh again.