So I said, yes, I will pray for you.
We paid for the coffee and left. In different directions. His to leave the place, mine towards the maze of Srinagar lanes to home.
What is the price of prayer?
On the day of Jumat-ul-Vidah, a few years ago the Imam was fervently praying after the congregational prayers. There were loud gasps as people broke down, saying Amen. Afterwards they chimed in loudly for a highly effected Kashmiri na'at. Even in the women's section teary eyed women raised their shawls and the hems of veils in prayer. The prayers then too had no names. They were universal for every body. For joy and happiness. For peace and justice. For life.
However, at night I tried to remember the name of the stranger. The little warrior far away from home, fighting his own brand of despair. And wished his freedom. I tied the wish to the wings of prayer for the stranger. That he may find rest from all that was hard on him.
I prayed that someone would do so much for me too.