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Phir Se Naina Mile: Chapter 3

Dhurandhar the Revenge Fix-It Fic

Chapter 2 Link

Chapter 1 Link

Preface: So sorry for the delay on this everyone! May was an incredibly busy month for me, I went on a 3 day weekend trip, worked my ass off for 2 weeks, then went for a 2 week long family trip.

At the base of the stairs, a long mirror ran down the length of the wall framed by colorful tassels. Yalina took a minute to survey her reflection in it. Her light pink salwar kameez had started to look creased, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now... Her curly hair had half fallen out of its braid, that she could do something about. She shook her hair free, tamed it with her fingers, and braided it again so it hung down neatly. Satisfied at the presentability of her reflection, she adjusted her dupatta and exited the building.

Outside, the sun continued to shine bright enough to make her eyes crinkle shut. She checked her watch, it read close to five thirty. The road was empty enough that it took her ten agonizing minutes before she managed to flag down an auto rickshaw. A green rickshaw finally slowed to a stop in front of her, and she haltingly recited the address, praying that her memory served her right.

Thankfully, the rickshaw driver was patient, coaxing details out of her until he filled in the blanks himself, “Wahi, Rangi parivar ka ghar na?”

Relief swept over her, “Haanji.” He nodded and quoted 200rs. Yalina, who would have agreed to even 1000rs at this point, nodded in assent and took a seat. Then, they were off.

Warm gusts of wind buffeted against her face, combed through her hair. Trepidation thudded hard in her chest. Here she was, alone in an unknown land, having left Hamza and Zayan behind. But strangely though, an odd sort of bravery was tingling in her nerves, outpacing the anxiety.

Wide fields of waving crops spread out before her, flat plains painted green preening under the open blue sky. Outcroppings of sheds and stray tractors dotted the view, with a few scattered buildings looming in the distance. Now and then, a scarecrow stood out amidst the fields, striking a rather lonely figure. For the first time, she gazed upon the land laid out in front of her and thought of it not as India, but as Jaskirat’s home.

Did you play in these fields as a child, Jaskirat? She wondered. Did you steal litchi off those branches and run when a farmer chased you? Did you rear cows and milk them? For so long, she’d pictured her husband’s childhood set in the high mountains of Quetta- that harsh but beautiful landscape had served as a fitting backdrop to her image of him. Now, it was a struggle to reassemble his image among these flat, green plains of plenty which seemed straight out of a storybook, so incongruent with the Hamza she’d known.

One way or another, the greater difficulty had always been to envision Hamza as a child, still innocent.

After a long while, they took a turn onto a muddy road. The rickshaw rumbled as it drove over bumps and potholes, jostling up and down. At last, they slowed to a stop at the end of a pathway leading to an aged, brown, two-storied house in the middle of the fields.

“Is this the one?” Yalina wanted to know.

“Haanji, yahi hai,” the driver assured her. Yalina thanked him, handed him the money, and disembarked from the vehicle.

This is it. Unsurely, her hands fiddled with her dupatta before finally drawing it atop her head as she’d seen enough women do here. Slowly, with her pulse beating hard in her throat, she made her way down the pathway.

As she drew closer, the distinct sounds of children shouting and playing became audible. There was no doorbell at the small gate. Yalina drew a fortifying breath, thought this is happening, this is really happening, and unlatched the gate, letting herself inside. With jerky footsteps, she approached the door nestled in the body of the house. From here, the children’s voices sounded louder, but underneath, there was a soft underflow of two women conversing.

There’s no going back.

She thought of Hamza whispering “I shouldn’t push my luck.” Well, dear, let me do it for you. Of their own will, her fingers reached up and rang the doorbell. Inside, the conversation abruptly ceased.

After a moment of mounting anticipation, the door opened inwards. Yalina blinked down at the small, round face of a sardar child peering up at her. “Ji?” The child probed.

“Ah- namaste. Kya ye Jasleenji ka ghar hai?” Apprehension made Yalina forget Jaskirat’s mother’s name.

The boy craned his head inside, “Mummy! Someone is here for you!”

Yalina licked her lips and cleared her throat. Soon, a beautiful woman, taller than her, filled the doorframe. Jaskirat’s sister, her mind supplied numbly.

“Ji? Mein Jasleen.” Jaskirat’s sister gave her a polite, questioning look. The descending sun caught her high cheekbones, their shape resembling her husband’s own.

Yalina struggled to speak. “Ji, mein Meghna. You don’t know me and I am sorry to come so suddenly, but I actually had something to discuss with you. Can I come in if that’s alright? It’s quite hot outside,” She offered a pleasant smile and hoped it didn’t come off as crazy as she felt.

Jasleen had a guarded look to her. She continued to stand in the doorway, appraising Yalina for a long moment, before stepping aside. Gratefully, Yalina toed off her sandals and entered their home. It was noticeably cooler and dimmer inside, with no lights beyond the sunlight slanting in through soft green curtains.

Jasleen led the way to their living room, where two small, wooden sofa sets straddled a TV and a round glass coffee table. On one corner of the sofa, an old woman was sitting, holding a knife to cut an apple. Her bowed head bore greyed hair and deep worry lines ran down the length of her face, visible even from her side profile. Upon noticing that Jasleen wasn’t alone, the woman glanced up and set aside the knife and apple. The arch of her brows was familiar, mirrored upon her husband’s dear face. Jaskirat’s mother, Yalina thought, awestruck.

The old woman folded her hands in greeting and Yalina responded in kind, awkwardly returning the gesture. Jasleen gestured her to the opposite sofa and Yalina obliged, making herself comfortable. At her mother’s questioning look, Jasleen informed her, “Mummy, this is Meghna. She has some work with me.” She then turned to the kid who’d followed them in, “Arjun, go bring a glass of water for the guest.” The kid dutifully scampered off to an adjoining door, and Jasleen joined her mother on the sofa facing Yalina.

“Thank you,” Yalina expressed honestly. “You have a very beautiful home.” Jasleen answered her with a small, polite smile. It was true; their home might be humble, but it was clearly minded with care. The walls were painted a soft cream, hand-painted flower pots lined the window sill, and children’s toys were scattered all about. This used to be Hamza’s home...

The child- Arjun- scurried back in with a glass of water, his speed causing some of the liquid to slosh out as he skidded to a halt in front of her. That made Yalina smile, she accepted the glass with a thanks and lifted it up to her lips. Arjun threw her a cheeky grin even as his mother admonished him for running indoors. The grin reminded her so much of Zayan’s that she could cry.

Sipping the water slowly, she cast her gaze about and drank in her surroundings. Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat: off in a room beyond, four large photo-frames adorned a wall, each the portrait of a single person, each garlanded. There was an elderly turbaned man regal in an army uniform, a young beautiful girl grinning at the camera, and an unmistakably familiar hollow-eyed man, the man who’d once died in the bathroom of Yalina’s house. Yet that wasn’t the frame that held her attention either, no, it was the photo in the middle: of a strapping light-eyed young man with short, cropped hair and a clean jaw. The young man was clad in a crisp blue shirt and a grey tie, his eyes innocent and face open in a way Yalina had never seen him. A boy who’d yet to have the world gnash its teeth into him.

“Jaskirat!” Jasleen called and Yalina started, fingers clenching around the steel glass. Belatedly, Yalina realized that she was addressing her other child who’d now put in an appearance, tiny face peering curiously at the gathering. The boy was small- shorter than her Zayan, but his eyes were a familiar shade of green-grey. “What are you doing here? Go back and finish your homework! Arjun, take your brother and make sure he does what he’s supposed to do.” The older boy scampered to his brother and took him by the hand, dragging him back inside while ignoring his protests.

“Sorry for that. Could I bring you some more water?” Jasleen addressed Yalina.

“No no, thank you.” Yalina set the glass down on the table with a clink.

“Sorry, you said you had some work with me? Are you from the bank, Meghnaji?” Jasleen jumped to the point.

And here it came, the moment of truth. Yalina corralled her courage.

“Ji nahi, I am not from the bank. Actually, I came here to speak to both of you.” Her gaze shifted from one to the other, mother and daughter. Jasleen had the countenance of a person made of steel, unmoved and unflappable, it juxtaposed her with her mother whose aged eyes brimmed with an undercurrent of permanent anguish that broke Yalina’s heart. It was like the woman had been put through hell and never managed to crawl out. And how could she? If one day, Zayan vanished leaving no trace, leaving no certainty of his fate, Yalina was sure it would kill her just the same. That strengthened Yalina’s resolve, this mother deserved the truth. Yalina directed her next words to her, “I am here about your son. Jaskirat.”

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, grew heavy. The agonized undertow surged to the surface in his mother’s eyes, and she drew a corner of her dupatta upto her trembling mouth. On the other hand, Jasleen stiffened, like a wall had come down inside her. She raised a hand to grasp her mother’s shoulder. “What about my brother?” she questioned.

Yalina licked her lips, and for a futile second, flailed about for a delicate way to answer her. Coming up empty, she resorted to the brute truth, “I know it’s been a very long time and a lot has happened, but well- your brother Jaskirat- he’s, he’s still alive.” The truth came out lower than she’d intended, almost a whisper.

Jaskirat’s mother let out a stifled whimper and looked to Jasleen. The steel of Jasleen’s face remained locked, guarded, “And who are you to know that? Are you from the government? Show us your ID.”

I am your sister-in-law, Yalina thought but didn’t say.

“Ah, no...” This wasn’t going quite the way Yalina had hoped. Internally, Yalina cursed her own indelicacy. “I am not from the government, sorry. I am-” She inhaled deeply, “I know this might be difficult to believe but well, I am Jaskirat’s wife.”

Quick as a tendril of lightning, Jasleen shot up to her feet, “Get out,” she ordered through gritted teeth. Yalina recoiled immediately, caught off-guard by the aggressive reaction. Jaskirat’s mother reached up to grab Jasleen, “Jasleen wai-” she started to say.

Jasleen turned to her mother, “Maa, you stay out of this. You,” she whirled back to Yalina again, finger outstretched, “Who sent you? Balwinder? Well you can crawl back to him and inform that he can expect another police visit. Try this kind of prank again and he’d find himself in more trouble than last time.”

“No one sent me,” Yalina protested, appalled. “And it’s no prank, who would joke about something like this?” Under Jasleen’s unabating glare, Yalina held up a placating hand, “Wait, one second, I can prove it.” She unclasped her handbag and reached into the side-pocket which held her new (fake) passport. Folded between the passport pages was a photo which she retrieved and held out to them. “Here, take a look at this if you don’t believe me.” Continuing to glare at her, Jasleen snatched the photo out of her hand.

The moment Jasleen's gaze dropped to the photo, everything changed. She froze, eyes widening and mouth falling open in a mute gasp. Her entire face slackened, unstiffened, and came alive with a thousand emotions. Incredulity, elation, wonder, disbelief, wariness, all warred for dominance on the battlefield of her face. Fingers gripped the photo tightly enough that her nails began to turn visibly white.

Yalina knew what she’d be seeing: Yalina’s family of three posing in front of their home. Jaskirat in his striking black Pathani with his long mane tumbling down his shoulders, yet his intimidating persona would be undercut by the small grin etched upon his face as he leaned his head against Yalina’s. Yalina, smiling, would be cradling Jaskirat’s jaw in one hand. They would have an arm each around Zayan’s neck as he stood in front of them, grinning gap-toothed at the camera.

“Jasleen?” Her mother grabbed her arm, trying to catch her attention. “What is it?” Struck dumb, Jasleen silently handed the photo to her mother and crumpled down to her side.

If Jasleen’s reaction had been intense, her mother’s was…. unbearable. With uncomprehending perplexity, the old woman stared at the photo in her hands for a long moment. As seconds ticked by, her hollow eyes began frothing with the agony of unhealed grief, of a pain that never wanes, of a futile hope that never dies, not truly. Withered, trembling fingertips traced the photo in a slow motion. When she finally lifted her gaze back up to Yalina, her face was half-mad with wonder and shock in equal parts.

“Ye- ye mera puttar, ye toh mera Jaskirat hai!!” As if unable to bear looking away for a moment longer, her hysteric gaze released Yalina and locked upon the photo once again. Tears now dripped freely down her face, running down the lines in her cheeks like rain down a ravine. Beside her, Jasleen remained rooted in place, staring down at the photo with the air of a person struck by lightning.

“Haanji. Aapka beta hi hai, aapka Jaskirat,” she assured them, feeling answering tears rising to her own eyes.

A helpless sob escaped his mother’s lips. Her dupatta had fallen back from her head, the slanted rays of sunset stole in and painted her grey hair golden. “Mera beta! Mera baccha… Kitna bada hogaya hai!!?... Mera... Aur-aur ye chota baccha?” The old woman glanced back up at Yalina, looking up to her as if she held all the answers to the universe.

“Our son. Your grandson. His name is Aryan.”

“Son.” She repeated, as if the word made no sense. “Jaskirat’s son. My grandson.” She stared into the picture as if it would eventually open up and allow her to crawl in and draw them out, into her reality. Her mouth trembled uncontrollably but stray sobs broke through anyway. She grasped her daughter’s hand, “Jasleen? Jasleen, tum dekh rahi ho?? Humara Jassi!”

Jasleen, who’d been gaping silently at the picture, jerked as if slapped awake. “I don’t understand,” she said. “How is this possible? How can this be? I…” Visibly, Jasleen reassembled her guard, forcing the mask of wariness back into place. Her sharp eyes pierced Yalina. “If it’s really him, where is he? Where has he been all these years? If he was alive, why did he never even call us?”

“Canada, he’s been in Canada. That’s where I met him over seventeen years ago,” Yalina lied the best she could. Hamza had briefed her on the cover story on the train journey here. “I don’t know all the details, but from what he’s told me.. he was captured by Sukhwinder’s men, but he somehow managed to escape them. He knew that if the officials caught him, he’d be hanged and if those men found him again, he’d be killed.. so he boarded a ship headed to Ecuador, and from there, over the years, he managed to make it to Canada. He did odd jobs, barely getting by.. With the police still looking for him, we were too scared to return here..”

“He could’ve called us!” Jasleen insisted. “No, I don’t believe this! No matter how bad things are, I can’t believe our brother wouldn’t call us. For twenty four years!” She shook her head, again and again. The “our” rolled off her tongue like her sister was alive and here, hidden away in some room, and not dead and cremated over twenty years ago. “What you are saying- I can’t believe you.”

“Jasleen!” Her mother protested, grabbing her by the shoulder. “The photo!”

“It could’ve been morphed! Come to think of it, this man has Jaskirat’s features yes but he looks so different as well, right? He’s so much bigger, his face itself is different, and all that beard and hair, who knows-” She babbled, sinking into denial. “You don’t know the technology these days, Maa, anything can be fabricated. That monster Balwinder, you know the kind of things he’s capable of! That time he’d sent a fake newspaper to our home with Jassi’s face edited onto some rapist? He’d gleefully brandished that shit in the market for days afterwards announcing that Jassi had been caught at last, in an act expected of him, that he’d be hanged for sure now. That time-”

“Jasleen!” Her mother begged, taking her daughter’s face into her hands. “Stop. Please stop. This isn’t like those times, and you know it.” Jasleen’s eyes were red, her breathing hard, her lips shivering. Her mother drew her into her arms, cradled her head into her shoulder and began hushing her gently.

Yalina glanced away, this was too personal, this wasn’t for her to witness.

A long time ago, in another life, she’d once taken a medical class where the professor had lectured them on something called Ketosis. It went like this- a starving person, when they’d gone long enough without eating, eventually stopped feeling hunger. Even with food placed in front of them, they’d deny, refuse, regard it with suspicion. And when they eventually buckled and ate, their own body would betray them and reject the food violently. They would begin retching immediately, unable to keep it down. The paradox of suffering, her professor had told them then, where you couldn’t ingest the very thing that could save you.

Jasleen’s reaction right now reminded Yalina of that lecture. A woman who’d suffered for so long, borne so much, now confronted with something she couldn’t deal with: hope.

Slowly, as moments trickled by, the shadows lengthened in the room and the dusk deepened, heralding night. Only after the sobs began to subside did Yalina speak again, “There is a large birthmark. On his right thigh,” She began quietly, her gaze still averted to allow them both privacy, “He likes to sleep without a blanket, no matter how cold it is. He tries to hide it, but he has a massive sweet tooth, especially for laddoos, he can eat them by the dozen in one sitting. He gets ridiculously excited about bikes, cars, the whole works. He says that his favorite color is black, but it’s actually yellow. He hates long fingernails with a burning passion, wouldn’t stop nagging me if I let them grow even a little beyond my fingertips. He can bear any injury silently, but cannot handle being sick at all, he becomes downright insufferable whenever he catches a fever.”

Finally, Yalina turned her head to the two women who were watching her, rapt, almost mesmerized. Against their better judgement, belief had begun to take root. Yalina leaned in, holding their gaze, and injected all the sincerity of her truth in her last appeal, “It is him. I promise. Believe me. Please.”

The mother leapt up, “I believe you!!” She rounded the glass table and joined Yalina on her sofa, joints creaking audibly. Her frail hands grabbed onto Yalina’s, and when she spoke, it was through a veil of tears, “Meghanji, I believe you. I fully do. Please, my Jassi, where is he? Is he alright?? Can we talk to him please? Humein uske paas lejaayiye, mein aapke saamne haath jodti hoon.”

Overwhelmed, Yalina clutched onto her wizened hands with equal feeling, “Aap please aise baatein naa karein. Ofcourse you can talk to him, ofcourse I will bring your son to you. He’s alright I swear, he misses you both so much, everyday. Trust me, I’m sure there hasn’t been a day where he hasn’t thought of you.”

“Where is he?” His mother sobbed, weeping freely. “Mera sher puttar… kaha hai woh?”

“Bohot nasdeeq. At a lodge not too far. Don’t worry, I will brin-”

“He’s here?? In Pathankot?!” Incredulity colored her words, she seemed ready to leap up right now and race to whatever lodge Yalina named.

“Jaskirat is in Pathankot?” Jasleen echoed from the other sofa, sounding like she couldn’t process the sentence.

“Yes. He’s right here,” Yalina confirmed.

“Where?? Take me to him, please please,” His mother was now holding onto Yalina with enough force to bruise.

“You don’t have to worry. I promise that I will bring him to you,” Yalina reassured her. “But not tonight… First thing tomorrow, I will bring him here, I swear.” For a moment, she’d considered the appeal, thought of taking them to the lodge right then and there. But no, she couldn’t blindside Jaskirat like that, he deserved better.

“Tomorrow,” the other woman repeated slowly, as if tomorrow was an year away, as if she was unsure whether it would even arrive.

“Tomorrow,” Yalina affirmed, gentle but firm.

Silence ensued, the woman slackened her grip and then released Yalina, retreating into herself. Jasleen and her mother exchanged a lengthy glance, one that spoke of disheartened skepticism. There was a learned helplessness to it, the kind that one mastered when they’d spent their whole life trying to stand up against the cruel tide of fate, only to be miserably beaten down each time. The two women knew that they were entirely at Yalina’s mercy, the mercy of a stranger who’d shown up on a random day and dangled this massive possibility in front of them. A stranger who could, right now, very well vanish off into the night, leaving behind nothing but a promise, just to never show up again.

Yalina couldn’t help but curse herself, she wished that she was better at this, that she had the words to lift that expression off their faces. But no matter how hard she tried, no such magical assurances came to her.

Suddenly, a shrill ring screamed from her bag. Yalina jumped and momentarily glanced in confusion at the unfamiliar tone before remembering her new burner phone. Hurriedly, she fetched the phone out of her bag; as expected, the call was coming from the only number saved in it.

She swallowed, very aware of the two sets of eyes upon her, but her decision was made. Lifting the call, she held the phone upto her ear, “Hello?”

“Yalina!” The voice at the other end was sharp, the way it became when he was worried. “Where are you?? I woke up and thought you were in the bathroom, but you aren’t here, you aren’t in the room, where are you?”

“It’s okay Jaskirat,” she replied purposefully, and instantly, both the women straightened and shifted towards her. She held Jasleen’s gaze as she conversed with him, “I’m sorry I left without saying anything, but don’t worry, I will be back soon.”

“Soon? It’s already 7, our train is at 8, we have to travel to the station too, where are you??” A frustrated edge had crept into his tone, he wasn’t used to unpredictability from her. Back in Karachi, she’d once ditched the bodyguards Hamza had appointed for her and gone for a night-out with her friends. His meltdown afterwards had been one of the few times she’d ever witnessed him fully lose his composure.

“I am not very far, it will take me 45 minutes to reach the lodge. I am starting right now, I will explain everything once I am back.”

“45 minutes?” he repeated. “Yalina… are you… did you go out of the main city?”

She clutched the phone tighter to her ear, “Yes.”

A long beat of silence before he spoke again, sounding raspier, “Stay where you are, I’m coming to get you. It’s dark outside and you don’t know this area- it’s dangerous for you to travel alone.”

“It’s not even completely night yet,” she disagreed. “And you’ll drag Aryan all this way? Don’t be silly, I’m coming right now, don’t move from where you are.”

“Yalina-”

“I am returning, don’t worry, I’m returning right now. I will see you in a few minutes,” she cut the call before he could argue further.

The air was heavy. “Was that…?” Jasleen trailed off.

“Yes,” Yalina affirmed. Jasleen’s mouth clenched.

“I could almost hear him,” His mother breathed from beside Yalina, her eyes big and bright, wondrous. “Through the phone. It was distant... but I could almost make it out. The voice. It sounded like him.” Shoulders shaking, the old lady folded her hands in front of Yalina. “Meghnaji, I’m begging you. Please bring him to us. Please.”

Yalina clasped her hands, “I promise you, I will. First thing tomorrow you will have your son with you. Rishte se aap bhi humare maa hi hai, please mujhe aise sharminda naa karein.” She drew the old woman’s hand up to her face and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. “Now, I must leave, I will see you both tomorrow morning.” Tugging her bag onto one shoulder, Yalina forced herself to her feet.

“Wait, one second,” the mother stood and picked up the sole apple placed upon the glass table, the one she’d been about to cut earlier. “Here, please take this. Daughter in-laws shoudn’t leave their sasural empty handed.”

Feeling choked up, Yalina accepted the apple. A hundred years ago, a thousand kilometers away, her Ammi used to say something similar to Hamza, refusing to let him leave their home empty-handed whenever he’d visited. “Thank you.”

“Come on, I will help you get a ride,” Jasleen was at her side, leading her out. As they turned to the threshold, Yalina cast one last glance at the elderly woman huddled alone on the sofa. The photo was back in her hands, her bent head bowed over it. Somehow, Yalina had a feeling she wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight.

Outside, it was surprisingly dark. In the middle of these fields, there wasn’t a lot of illumination, rendering a heavy blanket of blackness. Yalina was starting to see why Hamza was concerned.

“It’s too isolated here,” Jasleen voiced her thoughts aloud. “Let’s take my scooty, I will drop you to the nearest main road, we can get you an auto rickshaw from there.” Without waiting for Yalina to agree, Jasleen got onto her green TVS scooter. Gratefully, Yalina threw a leg over the seat and seated herself behind Jasleen. And then they were off, rumbling through the darkness. The roar of the engine was loud. There wasn’t much by the way of streetlights, but Jasleen navigated the road with confidence. Her driving was practiced, but the unpaved road still caused them to bounce up and down, Yalina clinging to the other woman’s shoulders for support. She couldn’t help but crack a private smile, remembering that very first bike ride with Hamza, all those years ago. Perhaps this was a rite of passage for her with the Rangi siblings.

Soon, they reached a broad paved road bathed in streetlights, and Jasleen pulled over to the side.

“Thank you, Jasleenji,” Yalina said as she disembarked from the scooty. “Main yaha se chali jaoongi.”

“I will stay with you until you get a rickshaw,” Jasleen replied simply. Together, they proceeded to wait for a rickshaw to hail. Five minutes of waiting only yielded a couple of cars speeding past them.

“Your phone…” Jasleen spoke abruptly, tone soft but questioning, like a thread of thought unlaced and given air. “It’s... a dabba phone. Nokia. No one uses phones like that anymore, why do you have it?”

She took a second to answer, trying to best toe the line between truth and lie, “We bought it after coming to India. Jaskirat is very paranoid about the police catching him.”

“Hmm... from everything you said, it sounds like you both went through a lot of trouble to come back to India.” You can’t even begin to imagine, Yalina thought, sadly. “There must have been some big reason for it... Tell me, what made you both finally decide to return to India? Why now, after so many years?” Her eyes were blank, revealing nothing, like the surface of a murky pond.

Yalina floundered, “I- he... well, we wanted to come home.”

“Yet he isn’t here, you are,” There was a twist to Jasleen’s mouth. Her probing was pointed, she still seemed to be walking a tightrope between belief and disbelief, unsure of which side to land on. The questions spilled out of her, “You say he wanted to come home, then why was it that you showed up at our door alone? Why do we have to wait until tomorrow to see him? If it’s really him and he’s here, in Pathankot, why didn’t he come home today?”

“He’ll be here tomorrow,” Yalina assured, side-stepping the questions, but the weight of Jasleen’s scrutiny was unfaltering. In the face of it, Yalina gave way, feeling oddly compelled to offer the truth to Jasleen, to whatever extent she could. Anything lesser felt wrong, irreverent. “But... to say the truth, Jasleen... I don’t really know either. If I’m being honest, he was supposed to be the one on your doorstep today, not me, but... he couldn’t do it, he has no idea I’m here either... And I think.. I think it’s because he’s scared. To face you.”

That seemed to catch Jasleen by surprise. “Scared?” Like that word didn’t belong in the same sentence as Jaskirat’s name.

“Yes, it’s hard to explain... But, well, it has been so many years... you and your mother have moved on, you’ve built a life of your own, a life without him in it. And... so many years in Canada, it hasn’t been all that easy for him, he’s had to do things he isn’t proud of. He’s changed as a person, just as I’m sure you have... With all that... I think he’s not sure if he has a place here anymore, in this world and in your lives.” Her words were quiet and honest, to the extent she was allowed to be.

“Jassi... having no place in our lives?” Jasleen repeated slowly, brows furrowed. Her voice was low, but gained a fervency, “That’s... he’s... there hasn’t been a day we haven’t thought of him. Every other day, we watch cassettes of his childhood, I can’t count the number of times I’ve caught Mummy hugging some old shirt of his, she wouldn’t let any of his clothes or things be thrown out, I named my child after him... Even my late husband used to-” She paused, sounding choked up. Forcefully, she averted her gaze and blinked rapidly.

She didn’t know what to say. Jasleen’s husband: the corpse in my bathroom, needle sunk into its eye. Yalina’s hand clenched into a fist; there were no easy answers, not for Jasleen, not for Jaskirat. Ya Khuda, why does it all have to be so darn horrible?

The two of them suddenly found themselves caught in a bright pool of light, as the headlamps of an auto rickshaw turned upon them. The driver had spotted her waiting by the road and made his way over. Once he drew to a stop in front of them, Yalina gave him the name of the lodge and the address, aware of Jasleen closely listening in. The driver gestured her in, flipping the meter on.

“Thank you, Jasleenji, for everything. See you tomorrow,” Yalina told her.

“We will be waiting,” Jasleen said blankly. As Yalina climbed in though, she spoke again, suddenly and with feeling, “Meghnaji” Yalina turned back to her, “I... hope and pray to Waheguru that you are truly who you say you are, that your promises are true. If not- I’m not sure we’d be able to survive it.”

Feeling the full weight of her words, Yalina rasped past the lump in her throat, “I am. They are. I won’t let you down.”

“Good,” Jasleen replied, and now, her gaze wasn’t blank anymore but overflowing with an intense longing, so compelling it was like the moon calling upon the tides. “Bring him home, Meghna. That’s all I ask, we’ve lost so much and- just please, bring my brother home.”

Wordlessly, Yalina nodded one last time. Then, she was off into the night, with the last image of Jasleen’s fierce face bathed in streetlights burned into her mind’s eye.

Soon, the tears came, and didn’t stop through the whole ride back.

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