Jassi looked at the paper and carefully placed it in his wallet. His eyes were moist. He sat on his motorbike and drove away, leaving behind a hopeful Amrit. She looked up at the sky and said, ‘Thank you, Lord. I am sure with your help he will be successful in his search.’ She slung her bag across her right shoulder and adjusted the chiffon dupatta over her head. She then turned to thank the shopkeepers and bystanders who had gathered around her and were watching the unfolding of God’s miracles with amazement. Almost all of them had folded their hands. Their expressions had changed too. Their heads were now bowed and the sarcasm had given way to admiration. But Bibi was detached from all this and did not pay them much attention. She bowed with humility and went back into the gurdwara to pray for the young man’s success.

Jassi drove straight to his brother Manjit and narrated the entire incident. ‘Six decades is a long time,’ replied Manjit. ‘How are we going to trace them? We don’t even know where to start. I understand her desperation, but you should have thought a little before agreeing to such a request. Do you even understand the meaning of making such a promise?’

Jassi didn’t respond, knowing well that his elder brother would come up with a solution in the end. Later that evening, after finishing his work, Manjit made a few phone calls, asking friends and acquaintances about Bibi’s husband and sons. Replacing the receiver on the cradle after over two dozen phone calls, he looked at Jassi and said, ‘Someone has advised that we should meet Baba Syed Zaid. He knows almost everyone from the Zaid community and also maintains a record of their addresses. You should meet him. This seems to be the only way forward.’

Jassi nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, brother,’ he said and headed towards his room. Bibi’s tearful face continued to haunt him. He went towards the photo frame on the wall and prayed quietly. ‘Please help me, Guru Nanak. Let me earn good karma by helping this mother meet her lost family after decades of separation.’ He removed his locket and placed it on the study table. The word ‘Muzaffarabad’ etched on the copper plate shone under the light. He ran his fingers over it and sat down on the chair. A few minutes later, he looked up the telephone directory and dialled a number. ‘Assalam walekum, can I talk to Baba Zaid, please?’