This story is part of the Himal Fiction Fest 2025, a showcase of original Southasian speculative fiction.
“Sing my name when afraid. O sing my name before the start of a journey. Sing my name with love and a pure heart. I was Radha. I was Meera. I was Fathima. I was Ashan Bibi too. I come to you now, my brothers and sisters, I the blind yet all-seeing Mehrunisa. Lose not hope nor live in dread. The door will open sooner than you know.”
Sulu knows this part of the long verse by heart. So she recites it with Mai, who kneels with her head covered and, in the dim light of the lamp, reads from the book, which is forbidden. The book is a slim volume, almost a pamphlet. It is old and brittle. Its words have been transferred from mouth to ear for generations. It was first chanted by the great Saint Mehrunisa herself, as she sat in a trance three centuries ago outside the rubble of her home. Since then it has been passed down, orally at first, and then in slim, clandestine books like the one Ammi is reading from.