Back in Haridwar, walking on the bridge over the Ganga. White-capped mountains rose in the distance. The river was a gigantic being flowing beneath. Anushri walked a few steps behind me. 

Things wriggled in the river. I clutched the thick jute ropes and stuck my head out through the loose-knit loops for a closer look. Snakes and crocodiles slithered entwined below the surface. I wondered how they survived in pure, flowing water. 

The splash that came then was like a whiplash. 

My head snapped around. The bridge was empty and for one moment, I froze. 

Anushri was gone! 

Frantic, I scanned the bridge and the water on both sides. 

My little sister was gone. 

“Oh God! Help!” I screamed.

Falling down on my knees, I squeezed into a ball and burst into loud, crying hiccups. 

Of a sudden, a voice called out. “Didi! Look Didi! Look!” 

I couldn’t trust my ears. I looked up and there she was. Anushri, smiling and holding a stranger’s arm. A man in his 40s, radiating calm and assurance. 

The phone rang again. I didn’t wait for mom to speak. 

“Who was he?” I asked. 

“God,” she said. “Appeared out of thin air and vanished into one. As if someone had called out to him from the heart, and he came.” 

Mere coincidence? Did I call him? Was he God? Does God exist? Was it my prayer? How could I have called a God I didn’t believe in! 

After hearing the details from mom, I walked out lost in thought and found myself at the chapel. Night had fallen. A candle moved in the darkness, lighting a small path. It was the chapel sister. 

She ran her soft palm over my head. “A power cut, child,” she said.

“The chapel has called you though. Take this candle and walk right in.” 

My newfound faith in the almighty found the certainty it didn’t find in books and logic.