The next two days were no less demanding. It became difficult for Syed to keep Bibi’s presence in his home a secret. His indifference towards the death of his sons had set tongues wagging. Many people in the neighbourhood, especially the youth, began gossiping. They wanted to know why the old man had not attended the burials of his own sons. Syed never left Bibi alone and made sure that the front door of his house always remained bolted from inside. Even if he had to step out for a few minutes, he made sure he pulled the old latch and secured it with a big lock. Though the bloodbath in the neighbourhood had ended, he could still hear battle cries from the burning houses in other villages. His peaceful Valley was bleeding profusely but he couldn’t do anything. Sitting like a helpless, lame duck, he waited impatiently for Bibi to recover—enough to undertake the long journey. The frequent application of the turmeric concoction on her wounds had turned his fingertips yellow. His white shirt too bore innumerable stains. But the old man knew that it was a do-or-die situation. His body was weak, but his spirit was strong enough to fight the brutes.

Bibi had lost a lot of blood. As a result, she kept slipping in and out of consciousness but miraculously didn’t sink into a coma—it was probably Syed’s prayers and efforts that kept her alive. After two days of extensive care, Bibi finally began showing signs of recovery. But her moans grew louder. The neighbourhood was aware that he did not have a daughter, only two sons who had been killed in the riots. His wife had also passed away several years ago. It therefore became difficult for Syed to keep Bibi’s identity a secret.

His immediate neighbour, Iqbal, even questioned him about the cries but Syed said nothing, which made his neighbour even more suspicious. They were not the best of friends, but out of sheer respect for his aged neighbour, Iqbal decided to keep his eyes and ears shut. He, however, was aware that there were others who weren’t as tolerant. As Bibi’s painful moaning grew louder, more people began to wonder. Iqbal couldn’t take it any more and decided to talk to Syed.

One evening, he went to Syed’s house and said, ‘Bhaijaan, there could be an attack on you after the first azan in the wee hours. I advise you to shift the patient to my house. Give her an extra dosage so that she sleeps well. I will organize a bullock cart. You should move out of Tadali as soon as possible.’

Left with no other choice, Syed nodded and did as he was told.