that until a few days ago we hadn't heard of him either.  'Is he really a priest?' the old man said, addressing George.  'A Catholic priest,' said George.  The old man coughed and spat on the ground, scowled at me and mumbled 'You had better come in then'.
We followed him into the compound, which was surprisingly tidy but shoddy and very primitive.  A group of four or five mud houses stood in a semi-circle.  In the centre was a stand pipe dribbling water, surrounded by a dozen or more scruffy, unkempt, grubby, children.  I cought a glimpse of a couple of women as they vanished indoors.  
We were shown into a small cube-like house.  It was clean and furnished only with one charpoi, a string bed.  The walls were decorated with pictures of a religious nature,  some Hindu, some Muslim, and a few Christian.  A bright red cross was painted over the lintel of the door.  There were streamers of coloured paper hanging from the rafters.  Evidently this was a special place.
When I had sat myself at the head of the bed in the customary way, I asked the old man if they were really Catholic Christians here.  He grunted something I missed, and turned to Master George.  'Is he really a Catholic Priest?' he asked again.  'Ask him yourself,' George merely said.  'I don't speak English!' the old man said.  He was deliberately insulting me.  Even though he was a Punjabi, and had only used his own language, I knew that I spoke Urdu well enough for him to understand.  I forced a smile and said that I could understand enough of his Punjabi, if he would try to understand my Urdu.
I spoke slowly and carefully, explaining where I came from and why I was there.  I said that we had heard that there were Catholics in the town and so we had come to visit.  
The old man hunkered down in a corner, though for a while, and then turned to me. 'Do you know the meaning of the fifteen stations?' he asked.  I was a little taken back by his question.  I answered that there are fourteen stations of the cross.  They relate to the last journey of Our Lord Jesus as he went to be crucified, and then I named them.  As I finished I realized that we do use a fifteenth.  'The Fifteenth,' I said, 'is the altar of the Mass, where we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus.'
'Hmm.' Scratching his stubbly chin, he fixed his eye on me and asked,  'What are the Fifteen Tens?'  This was a phrase I had not heard before.  Sensing victory, he added, 'If you are a Catholic you should know.'  I thought for a moment, then understood.  'Yes. They are the fifteen decades of the Rosary.'  'Good', he said.  'Tell me, who is Our Lady?'  'Mary,' I answered, 'the Mother Of Jesus.'  'Who else is she mother of?'  'She is the Mother of God and our Mother.'  'Who is the Head of the Church?'  'The pope, John Paul II.'  There were a few more questions of that kind, then finally he stood up slowly.  He took my hand and said 'Perhaps you really are a priest.'  That was the most difficult and intense examination I had ever undergone.  Even in the seminary, nothing was quite so hard, or as I was to realize quite so important.
He called for someone to bring tea.  Then he introduced himself to me as Emmanuel Bhatti.  He and his family had run away from the Punjab more that ten years earlier.  He had been in terrible debt and was in danger of being sold with his family to pay it off.  They had eventually arrived at Mirpur Bathoro, thinking it was just about as far away as they could get from their old landlord.  They lost contact with their relations at home, and they were afraid of letting anyone know where they were.  
The tea came, and I was introduced to some of the other men and women who processed in and out of the tiny room.  The men shook my hand, while the women bowed their heads for a blessing.  Then the children filed in for a similar blessing.  
Emmanuel took up his story again.  'We are always afraid of being found and taken back to the north.  That is why I was not very polite with you.  I wanted to know for sure you were genuine and that we could trust you.'  He explained that they had not seen a priest or been to Mass for more than ten years.  'Several people have been to see us, claiming to be pastors of various religions, but they were imposters, they could not, or would not answer my questions.  So we threw them out.  You

are the first real priest we have ever seen here, and now we welcome you.'  
We talked together for a while about how we would like them to be part of the parish.  explaining that there were many others in the parish who shared their situation, and we would do everything we could to help them.  At one stage I invited Emmanuel and the other families there to come to Matli for the Easter celebrations which were coming up shortly.  'Easter?' he said.  'We have just celebrated it here a few days ago.'  He showed me an old calendar, years out of date.  They had kept it for the picture of Christ on it.  
The sound of a commotion outside stopped all conversation.  Two large armed men suddenly appeared in the doorway.  They came in and stood with their weapons at the ready and said something in Sindhi.  A third man appeared.  He was dressed all in white, and was obviously an aristocrat, or thought he was, by the way he projected authority.
The stranger looked around the room for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light.  He saw me, smiled, and asked very politely in English, 'Are you the Catholic Father?'  For a second I was stunned, then got to my feet and said that I was.  'Who are you?' I asked.  'Forgive me, Father,' he said.  'My name is Quaresh, and I am the City Manager.  These people,' he indicated the Christians, 'are employed by me.  When I heard that the Catholic Father had come to visit them, I thought that I too must pay my respects to you.'
I asked him to sit.  As he did so he waved to his guards to go outside.  They moved silently and swiftly.  More tea was ordered, but Mr. Quaresh declined.  I started to ask him how he knew we had come to Mirpur Bathoro.  He waved a hand and said 'I know everything in the city, and besides your man had asked questions at the main store which is owned by my relation.  First we must discuss something important.  Did you bring any other men with you today, other Engrazi?'  'No, Master George and I came alone from Matli,' I replied.  'Ah. So you know nothing of two young men who also came today?' he said.  'No,' I repeated.  Mr. Quaresh explained that a couple of youths had just been arrested, in order to save their lives.  They were preaching in the market and handing out leaflets.  No one could really understand what they were saying, but people believed that they were condemning Islam and the Qurran.  Some of the Molvis had found leaflets with Qurranic verses lying in the dust.  They became very angry and started a riot.
'The police have taken the two young men into safekeeping,' Mr. Quaresh continued.  'Father, if you have any influence with those men, please explain to them how dangerous it is for them to try and evangelise here.'  I said that I would go and try.  Mr. Quaresh would not come with me but said he would stay in the compound with his guards in case the riot came to attack the Christians.  
It was with a heavily thumping heart that I arrived at the police station accompanied by Master George and one of the Christian sweepers.  A police major greeted me rather coldly.  He explained that the riot was over and that the people understood that the two puggle, two idiots, had nothing to do with the local Christians.  'The two nadaan, stupid young men, have been sent back to Karachi, with an armed escort, where they will be immediately deported back to America,' he said.  I sympathised with him for the trouble and thanked the Major for his understanding and help.