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Farah looked at the girl’s face in awe. She was overwhelmed by the innocence and simplicity it bore. The girl was about a couple of years less than a decade old. She possessed a creamy white complexion and soft brown eyes which every time it blinked made her look prettier than before. She was dressed in a mauve-coloured pullover with black tights and her hair was neatly tied up in a pony. She hadn’t uttered a word ever since Rizwanur, Farah’s husband had brought her here. Only tears rolled down her cheeks while she seemed to look frightened and frenzy. Farah pulled the girl close to her and asked gently, “Honey, what’s your name?”

She refused to answer. Farah stroked her hair lovingly and asked again, “Tell me your name sweetheart. Don’t cry. We will get you back to your parents”. This time the girl opened her mouth. She replied meekly, “Anokhi…Anokhi Bharadwaj”. Farah’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. She said, “That’s a beautiful name dear. So, is this your first time in Kashmir?”

“Yes”, the girl replied.

“Who else have come with you?”

“Mama, Papa, uncle and aunty”

“Where’s your hometown?”

“Allahabad”

“Which standard are you in?”

“4th”

“Okay so now tell me how did you get lost?”

“Mama and aunty went for a horse-back ride and Papa asked me to wait near a tea-stall while he was busy clicking pictures. Uncle was also with him. I was feeling bored. I looked around and started walking towards the market. There were several shops selling so many colourful things. I was excited and kept on walking farther. There were mini lanes within big lanes and I lost track. I entered one of the shops. There were mini shikaras and numerous wooden objects painted with so many different colours. I was busy wandering round the shop and observing the colourful things when an old man with a turban and white beard approached me and said that they were called “papier machie” items and asked if I wanted one. I did. I wanted to bring my dad there so I came out of the shop but unfortunately couldn’t remember the way back. It was already past evening and was getting dark. I couldn’t find anything familiar. I was scared. I sat under a tree and started weeping when Uncle came towards me and brought me here.”

“It’s okay Anokhi. By the way do you remember your dad’s or mum’s phone number?”

She thought for a while and replied, “Yes I remember dad’s number. It’s 7778910…..”

“Great. Then take these clothes and change.”

“Okay.”

Farah wiped off the tears from Anokhi’s face and said “Meanwhile I will tell Rizwanur to call your dad. Is that fine? You shouldn’t cry anymore.”

Farah entered the room and she suddenly caught sight of a black stone tied around Anokhi’s neck. She touched it with her hand and asked, “Where did you get this from?”

“Mama said she had put this on me the very next day I was born. She said one of her friends had gifted it to her and that the stone would keep all the evil away from me”, Anokhi replied.

No, Farah couldn’t be wrong. She just knew the black stone too well. She waited for a few seconds before she asked slowly “What’s your mother’s name?”. Her heart had now almost started thumping against her chest. “Kiranmala”, Anokhi replied. Before Farah could heave a sigh of relief, Anokhi spoke again, “But dad calls her Roshni”.

Farah stood rooted to the spot. This had come to her as a complete shock. She had never imagined in all her life that this could ever happen. Her face beamed with joy as she hugged the little girl, kissed her forehead and said, “You can call me Ammi”.

*****

It had all started fifteen years back. Farah was eleven years old. She lived with her parents in Barmulla district of Kashmir, around 10 kilometres away from Gulmarg. Her father was raised by one of his uncles who treated him no more than a slave. Unable to endure further, one fine day, he ran away from his home. He was seventeen then. Soon he got a job at a small factory that produced various wooden handicrafts typical of Kashmir. It was there that he had met Farah’s mother and they got married within a month. A year later they were blessed with a beautiful baby daughter. They named her “Farah”.

Farah’s parents earned enough to make both ends meet but not enough to get a house built of their own. They stayed in what seemed as an outhouse rented out by one of the influential men of that area, Muhammad Shaeed Hassan. Farah attended the local village school run by Mr. Hassan. One day while returning from school she bought a plate of “tyil karre”, a local street snack. Putting the last fry in her mouth she was about to throw the paper cone when something in it caught her eye. It seemed to be an advertisement. The heading read, “Looking for a pen friend”. Below it there were numerous addresses given by those who wished to be written to. Farah went through all of them. The last one caught her attention. It was from an eleven-year-old girl, Roshni from Varanasi. “Roshni! What a lovely name!”, Farah exclaimed to herself. She wondered “Roshni”, meaning “light” could perhaps brighten up her life like never before. Farah had heard about pen-friends earlier. Shabana, her classmate had once mentioned it to her. The whole concept of making friendship through mere letters had been intriguing her since then. She decided to give it a try.

It had been almost a month since Farah posted a letter to Roshni. Farah had decided to adopt a pen-name. She had chosen “Anokhi” meaning unique. Farah had almost given up the hope of getting a reply when one morning the postman came calling out for Anokhi. Farah ran to get the letter. Taking advantage of the fact that both her parents were out for work she securely closed the door of the room and opened the envelope. Inside it lay a white paper written all over it with an exceptionally beautiful handwriting. Roshni had addressed her as “My dearest Anokhi” which touched her to the core. She suddenly felt she had just found a long-lost friend. Tears of joy rolled down her cheeks as she held the thin sheet of paper close to her chest.

Days and months went by as the bond of friendship deepened between them. Although they had never met in person and also did not really hold any hope of that happening ever yet they knew each other so well. They started growing up together like sisters who had never seen each other’s face and lived thousands of miles apart. Farah would write to her how beautiful Kashmir was. Roshni could see in her mind’s eye the exquisite greenery of the mountains and how the blue sky canopied over them. She could visualise how gradually the mountains turned snow-capped as winter approached. She could hear the stream gurgling as it made its way past the boulders. She could feel the chill when it snowed and the warmth when the sun peeped behind the clouds again. Roshni had already “seen” Kashmir a number of times before she actually visited years later.

To Roshni, Farah was someone she could share the darkest of her secrets with. Roshni would write to Farah about how she had a huge crush on her neighbour yet never dared to talk to him. She would write that as she grew up, she had gradually realised that her birth never brought happiness to the family; all they wanted was a son but unfortunately her mother couldn’t conceive after her birth due to ill health. This had left her father pass into a state of constant foul mood. Roshni would also write how she loved the malai kofta her mother made and also shared the recipe with her. She would write that she was beginning to learn different embroidery stitches from her mother. Farah on the other hand, wrote to her about how she was beginning to make papier machie boats and that she had recently learnt to cook kheer.

It was one such morning when the postman came looking for Farah. Instead of an envelope he had a small parcel in his hand. Farah was taken aback when she unwrapped it. Inside it, lay a red velvet box. She opened it and found a small metal ring bearing a motif of the sun and on it was engraved in bold and shining letters “ANOKHI”. Roshni had got it for her from a fair. The presence of Roshni’s letters had indeed enlivened the life of “Anokhi” in the same way as the bold alphabets shone on the metal piece. Farah was beyond words. She quickly took out the black stone that hung from her neck, put it inside a wooden box and decided to send it to her best friend the very next day. She accompanied it with a letter saying that she was giving away the most precious thing she possessed. The black stone was given to her by her grandmother while on her death-bed saying that it would keep all the evil away from her.

*****

Farah, flooded by a surge of memories, went into a state of trance when she was suddenly shaken awake by Anokhi. “Ammi did uncle call my Papa?”

“Ugh..er..Yes yes..actually it’s already dark so your parents won’t be able to find their way to us. Neither is it safe for us to take you out and go. So, he told your parents to come here tomorrow early morning. Don’t worry you will see them soon.”

“Ammi, why do you cover your face with that black cloth always?”

“It’s called a veil dear. We are Muslims.”

“But Mama doesn’t wear it.”

Farah smiled and said, “That’s because….”, she stopped amidst. She didn’t want to taint the little girl’s innocence. Instead, she hugged Anokhi while stroking her hair gently.

Farah appeared from the kitchen with a tray full of malai kofta and chapattis. Anokhi jumped in joy. Instantly she gulped a piece of chapatti with the vegetable curry and closed her eyes to relish its savour. “The malai kofta tastes exactly the same as Mama’s. Did she, by any chance, share the recipe with you?”, Anokhi asked jokingly.

“May be”, Farah replied.

After putting Anokhi to sleep, Farah turned off the lights and came out of the room with a small wooden casket in her hand. She sat in one corner of the hall room, lit a candle so as not to wake up Rizwanur who was sleeping on the couch and opened the box. Lay inside were numerous old letters neatly folded and placed inside separate envelopes. She took them out one by one, brought them near her nose to revel in the smell they carried. They were not mere letters but tiny pieces of her own heart that she had been treasuring for fifteen years. She still remembers how bitterly she had wept when Roshni had informed that she was going to get married within a month and that she would not be able to write to her any more. Farah had tried to contact her in the same address even after that but never received a reply. Now that she was only a few hours distant from meeting her long-lost friend in person she was simply on cloud nine. She closed her eyes, smiled within and began to take a sweet and content walk down the memory lane. Suddenly she arose, went up to the kitchen and started preparing kheer. She had recalled that Roshni had a sweet tooth and how she wished she could get a taste of the kheer that Farah had mentioned in her letter. She imagined how delighted Roshni would be to finally taste it for real. Farah could hardly contain her excitement of finally getting the chance to see the person who had been dwelling in her heart for so long. It all seemed so unreal. She remained awake the whole night out of sheer ecstasy.

Farah had just finished braiding Anokhi’s hair when a car honked outside. Anokhi ran towards the door to see her parents. Roshni looked exactly what Farah had imagined her to be in her mind’s eye. She was dressed in a blue silk saree and an off-white Pashmina shawl was wrapped around her. The parting in the middle of her head shone brightly with red vermillion powder and her hair was neatly tied into a bun. A big red bindi covered almost half of her forehead and her lips were smeared red with lip paint. As soon as she stepped down from the cab Anokhi jumped into her arms crying out “Mamma”. Both Farah and Rizwanur went forward to welcome them. Farah had intentionally left her face less covered than usual. She had imagined how she would take Roshni to her room while Rizwanur would be busy talking to Roshni’s husband and reveal to her everything. She had imagined that tears would roll down their cheeks as they would hold each other in a tight embrace. Farah would get back a sister and a friend that she thought had lost forever. Roshni would probably hold her hands and express how grateful she was towards both Farah and Rizwanur to get her daughter back. Instead, Farah would be thankful to her in return for having the little girl stay with her even for one night. She would say how the word “Ammi” from the child’s mouth had actually acted as a momentary solace to her persistent grief borne out of childlessness. However, destiny acted otherwise.

Roshni quickly put her daughter inside the car and without a word was about to close the door when Rizwanur said, “Please come inside once. We have arranged for your breakfast here.”

Roshni’s husband sounded irritated, “Did we ask for it?”

“Please come inside once. It won’t look good if you leave this way.”

“We are in a hurry. We can’t wait”

When Rizwanur continued his plea further, Roshni’s husband burst into a fury. “We Hindu Brahmins. How do you expect us to even step into your house, leave alone have food here? Anokhi is already impure now. She can enter our own house only after taking a dip in the holy waters of the Ganges. She….”

Roshni stopped her amidst and continued, “I fear if you have done anything to my daughter. It’s so difficult to trust a Muslim. Anokhi, sweetie, tell me, have they done anything cruel to you?”

Anokhi nodded her head and said, “No Mamma. They are very nice people.”

Roshni rebuked her and said, “How do you know? I wonder what they fed you last night. These people are anyway known to eat so many things that we can’t even imagine. Just the thought of you staying with a Muslim family terrified me so much. I couldn’t sleep the whole night sweetie. I never imagined I would see you again. I thought…….”, she didn’t complete the sentence. Then she closed her eyes and touched the black stone hung around her daughter’s neck in her head as a sign of gratitude to The Almighty for keeping her daughter safe. Farah noticed it and smiled in pain. The black stone had indeed kept all the evil away from the little girl!

Despite Rizwanur’s repeated plea they refused to listen and continued to insult them in every possible way they could. Farah looked horrified. She couldn’t believe her own ears. When she could take it no more, she spoke up, “It’s okay. You may leave but before that....” she turned to Anokhi and said, “Can you come with me for a minute?”

Roshni caught Anokhi’s arm tightly and said, “No, never” but Anokhi fought her way to jerk herself out of her mother’s grip and said, “I’m coming back in a minute Mama. Ammi wants to talk to me”.

Roshni went inside the house, opened her wooden casket and took out the ring from the red velvet box. She placed it in Anokhi’s hand and said, “It’s a gift for you.” Anokhi was beside herself with joy to see her own name engraved on a metal ring with bold letters. She said, “My name is written here. Wow! This is awesome. Thank you so much Ammi” Farah kissed her forehead and said, “Take care little one. I love you and tell your mother that I love her too.”

Anokhi looked puzzled, “How can you love my mother? Do you know her?”

“I used to know but not anymore”, Farah replied

“What are……..”

“Anokhi…. Anokhi...Where are you? Come soon. We have to leave. Anokhi….”, Roshni was calling out for her daughter. Anokhi quickly kissed Farah’s cheeks and said, “Bye Ammi. You take care. Love you.”

The car sped away leaving Farah's heart into pieces. Rizwanur placed an arm around his wife and consoled her, “Don’t get so upset Farah. They were so tensed because of their daughter. Moreover, they were in a hurry. It’s okay dear. Don’t cry”. Farah suddenly remembered there was

one little thing that she had never mentioned in all her letters to Roshni – the fact that she was a Muslim!