He could hear his mother sobbing. Arif came on the line and said, ‘We will be in Amritsar. Bibi has already given her passport and contact details to the Sikh baba at the gurdwara. Please get her another visa so that she can come back to Pakistan to meet you as soon as possible.’ Standing next to Karim, Qasim too heard Arif speak but before he could respond, the line got disconnected.

He was dejected that he could not hear his mother’s voice and tried dialling her number a few times but couldn’t get through. Handing over the phone to the shopkeeper, he pulled out a bunch of hundred-rupee notes and gave it to him. ‘Here, Sir, please accept this as a small token.’ The onlookers looked surprised to see so much money being paid for just one phone call.

But their eyes widened with shock on hearing the shopkeeper’s response. ‘How can I charge for helping a son talk to his mother for the first time in sixty years! I feel blessed. Thank you. May you have a happy reunion very soon.’

During the homebound journey, Qasim was unnaturally quiet. Seeing his elder brother in this state made Karim restless and he decided to break the ice. ‘Bhaijaan, let’s approach Mushtaq David. He’s the minority minister. He will help us.’

Karim’s words did the trick. Qasim looked at his younger brother and smiled. ‘Yes, Chotte, let’s meet everyone who can help us. Let’s go!’ And the car suddenly picked up speed.

But things were not going to be that straightforward.

For the next three months they kept knocking at the minority minister’s door. ‘Nothing works here without cash,’ they were repeatedly told. But the brothers camped outside till the minister’s staff relented and gave them an appointment. Mushtaq David finally called them in and said, ‘She’s Sikh, this lady you both want to meet so desperately. And you both are, mashallah, good Muslims. You still want to invite her to Pakistan and take her home?’