Page 130 - Leadership in the Indian Army

Another week passed.

Laila found herself caught in a net of terrible thoughts.

He would never come back. His parents had moved away for good; the

trip to Ghazni had been a ruse. An adult scheme to spare the two of them

an upsetting farewell.

A land mine had gotten to him again. The way it did in 1981, when he

was five, the last time his parents took him south to Ghazni. That was
shortly after Laila's third birthday. He'd been lucky that time, losing only

a leg; lucky that he'd survived at all.

Her head rang and rang with these thoughts.

Then one night Laila saw a tiny flashing light from down the street. A

sound, something between a squeak and a gasp, escaped her lips. She
quickly fished her own flashlight from under the bed, but it wouldn't

work. Laila banged it against her palm, cursed the dead batteries. But it

didn't matter. He was back. Laila sat on the edge of her bed, giddy with
relief, and watched that beautiful, yellow eye winking on and off.

* * *

On her way to Tariq's house the next day, Laila saw Khadim and a

group of his friends across the street. Khadim was squatting, drawing

something in the dirt with a stick. When he saw her, he dropped the stick

and wiggled his fingers. He said something and there was a round of
chuckles. Laila dropped her head and hurried past.