Like fire, the word about Ismail’s death at Bibi’s hands spread far and wide. It all began with one set of lips whispering the secret, and by evening the entire Valley was aware of Bibi’s fight against the most dreaded criminal.

‘How did she do it?’ everyone wanted to know.

‘She has supernatural powers,’ said one of her immediate neighbours.

‘Oh, she is no less than a goddess herself,’ commented another.

The menfolk were especially taken aback. Ismail was a known criminal. Almost all the small makeshift shop owners had stories about how his gang would rob them. Now he was gone and they had only Bibi to thank. Even though nothing had been officially said, the inspector’s visit to her house had confirmed it.

Unaware of the celebration in the Valley, Bibi went about her daily chores. However, on her way to the market, she noticed that the attitude of the women had changed towards her. They stopped, smiled and bowed. The men too wished her aloud with folded hands. Their tone was respectful and their eyes reflected gratitude.

Deeply perplexed, Bibi stopped at the shop she frequented and gave her handwritten list of daily items to the shopkeeper. He immediately grabbed the paper and said, ‘Don’t worry, Bibi. My son, Ahmed, will deliver these items to your house. Thank you.’

Overwhelmed by his effusiveness, she pulled out money from her purse and asked, ‘That would be great, but please tell me, how much should I pay?’ She’d barely finished her sentence when Zaira, the shopkeeper’s wife, emerged from behind a curtain that separated the shop and the stockroom. She was not wearing her traditional burqa. Her beautiful face was radiant and her eyes were sparkling. ‘Welcome to our shop, Bibi. We’re grateful. Please don’t embarrass us by offering money. You’re a godsend. Allow us to do our bit. Please, I request you.’

Without getting into an argument, she left the shop and headed for home. Her mind was clouded. She didn’t understand why she was being given special treatment. As soon as she reached her house, she opened the front gate and rushed up the staircase. Her hands trembled as she unlocked the door. The sound of footsteps on the stairs startled her. It was Ahmed, the shopkeeper’s son. He was almost panting. ‘Amma sent this,’ he said as he handed her the bag of groceries. As soon as she took it, he turned back and rushed down the steps without asking for money.

Bibi entered her house, placed the bag on the table and stood in front of the photo frame on the wall with folded hands. ‘Babaji, what’s happening? Why are they behaving like this? What have I done? Please help me!’

Her prayers had barely left her lips, when Shahida walked in. Bibi ran and hugged her tightly. ‘Why are they treating me like this, Ma? What have I done?’