Page 121 - Leadership in the Indian Army

understand it-couldn't quite picture the logistics of it-but the words

packed a fierce potency, and she unleashed them now.

"Your mother eats cock!"
"At least she's not a loony like yours," Khadim shot back, unruffled "At

least my father's not a sissy! And, by the way, why don't you smell your

hands?"

The other boys took up the chant. "Smell your hands! Smell your
hands!"

Laila did, but she knew even before she did, what he'd meant about it

not showing in her hair. She let out a high-pitched yelp. At this, the boys
hooted even harder.

Laila turned around and, howling, ran home.

* * *

She drew water from the well, and, in the bathroom, filled a basin, tore

off her clothes. She soaped her hair, frantically digging fingers into her

scalp, whimpering with disgust. She rinsed with a bowl and soaped her
hair again. Several times, she thought she might throw up. She kept

mewling and shivering, as she rubbed and rubbed the soapy washcloth

against her face and neck until they reddened.

This would have never happened if Tariq had been with her, she
thought as she put on a clean shirt and fresh trousers. Khadim wouldn't

have dared. Of course, it wouldn't have happened if Mammy had shown

up like she was supposed to either. Sometimes Laila wondered why
Mammy had even bothered having her. People, she believed now,

shouldn't be allowed to have new children if they'd already given away