The man took off Manjit’s turban and cut his long hair to disguise that he was Sikh. He said that was the only way Manjit’s life could be saved.
Manjit returned home to find his neighborhood had changed; no noise of children playing in the streets. Burnt houses and cars bearing proof of what had happened in the last three days. Every house had women who witnessed their virile members killed in front of their eyes, some missing without any trace. Manjit’s house was ransacked and looted.
His parents and sister now home, survived because they were in Amritsar attending a family function. His elder brother was still missing and would never be found. Manjit’s father decided it was unsafe to stay in Delhi and within a few months they left for Canada in search of a new life and promised never to return to Delhi again.
On the day of Yashpal’s wedding the groomsmen and women reached the venue in a colorful procession. His Uncle introduced Manjit to the bride’s father, Ramkumar, “My nephew from Canada, Manjit.”
Both greeted each other with folded hands.
Manjit asked, “Did we meet in Canada? Your face looks so familiar!”
Ramkumar laughed, “I have never gone out of India. We originate from Meerut, and I lived in Delhi before moving to Chandigarh.”
“Was it Chanakyapuri in Delhi?”
“I lived near Chanakyapuri in a ghetto during my struggling days in Delhi!”
Manjit’s voice trembled, “Do you remember a nine year old Sikh boy you saved?”
Ramkumar thought for a while, “Oh yes! I remember. I attempted to save an innocent boy from barbaric murderers! I never saw him again. You know him?”
“He stands in front of you.” Manjit eyes blurred with tears.
Ramkumar spoke with joy, “I am so glad to meet you again!”
Manjit held Ramkumar’s hand in gratitude, “You saved my life.”
“Destiny planned our meeting! You were to live and we were destined to be a family. ” Ramkumar hugged Manjit, like a father embracing his lost child.