Bibi looked at the house as if she were seeing it for the first time. She knew every inch, every corner, but today it all seemed different. She looked at the kitchen and could almost feel Shahida’s presence, walking towards her with a teapot, offering kehwa to the young Virk. ‘Please look after my daughter,’ she could hear her say. ‘Help her in erasing the past from her mind.’

Her lips broke into a smile. Her gaze shifted to the sofa and she remembered how Virk had sat gingerly on its edge, talking to Allah Rakha, making promises while seeking Bibi’s hand. Her cheeks turned crimson as she remembered the happy moments. Virk was a rare gem, her heart whispered to her ears, and her eyes closed in agreement. Abbas was looking at her, letting her relive old memories. He loved and respected her and felt her presence would bless the house.

Suddenly, screams from the children broke Bibi’s chain of thought. She sat down on the cot and saw Arif, the elder grandson, emerging from the adjoining room holding a mug filled with kehwa. Accepting it, she gestured to the younger one. The young boy, Altaf, came running and sat down next to her. Placing her hand over his head, Bibi said, ‘Here, this is for you. When you grow up, live with your family and look after them.’ Saying this, she pulled out a small, handmade, maroon velvet cloth pouch and placed it in his tiny hand.

‘What’s this, Dadi Ma?’

‘It’s a small gift for you,’ she replied with a big smile.

Altaf opened the pouch with great excitement and pulled out a key. Holding it in his hand, he looked at his father questioningly. Abbas intervened. ‘Bibi, please don’t do this. You’ll come back. You have to come back. We want you to come back. This is your home and it always will be. Arif will travel with you to Amritsar and wait till you return. Go and come back safely. We pray, have always been doing so, that you meet your children and hold them in your arms. May Allah grant what you have been looking for all your life . . .’ He then looked at his elder son and said in a polite but firm tone. ‘Go with her, Arif. Look after her. Remember, this trip is more important than any religious pilgrimage for her. And you cannot perform a better Hajj than ensuring that she returns home safely.’

‘Yes, Baba!’ he said as both men stood up and walked to the door to see Bibi off.