Making way through the gathered crowd, the Granthi stepped forward and separated them. ‘I spent some time with Bibi while she was here. I don’t know how, but she was sure you’ll come searching for her. She hasn’t gone too far. She is just an hour away from the border in India. Here are her contact details. Please talk to her, tell her that her sons are equally eager and desperate to meet her. She will feel relieved,’ saying this, the aged Sikh handed them a piece of paper. ‘For me, it’s a miracle that she managed to find her children after so many years of separation. What has surprised me the most is that she was sure of meeting you both! She is a very rare, pious soul. Go talk to her. She’s waiting for her sons.’

Karim Zaid grabbed the paper and read it carefully. A shopkeeper standing nearby intervened and said, ‘I have a phone in my shop. It has international calling. Why don’t you call her right away? Your mother will feel so happy.’ Qasim nodded, thanked the stranger and followed him into the shop with Karim and Jassi in tow.

Qasim dialled the number a few times but the call didn’t go through. He looked helplessly at the shopkeeper who took the receiver from his hand. ‘Sometimes, it’s easier to dial Honolulu than connect with India,’ he said and began dialling the number but got the same result.

Karim stepped in and said, ‘Let me try, please.’ At the third attempt, the call went through. ‘Hello!’ he screamed, loud enough to shatter the windowpanes of the shop.

‘Hello,’ came the response from the other side. ‘I am Arif this side. Are you Jassi?’

Karim’s face lit up. ‘No, no, I am Bibi Ma’s son, Karim. May I please talk to my mother?’ Qasim snatched the receiver from his hand and said, ‘I am Qasim, Bibi Ma’s elder son. We both want to talk to her, please. Where is Bibi Ma?’

Listening to their loud voices, a lot of spectators gathered outside the shop, including those who had ignored her requests and said she was senile.

Many put both their hands up in air and said, ‘Allah has his own ways. What a sight this is. No less a blessing!’

A feeble but clear voice soon came through the receiver. ‘Hh . . . hh . . . hello. I am Bibi Amrit Kaur. Are you my son?’

‘Ammi,’ Qasim managed to say before bursting into tears.

Karim grabbed the receiver and said, ‘I am Karim, Ammi, I am Karim, your younger son. I was only nine months old when you left, but there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t remembered you. I miss you, Ammi, want to meet you. Please come back.’

He’d barely finished the sentence when Qasim took back the receiver, but couldn’t speak.