Page 168 - Leadership in the Indian Army

she added, misguidedly. And she knew, even before a cloud passed over

Mammy's face and her features darkened, that she'd made a mistake.

"That he is not," Mammy said flatly. "You will not liken that one-legged

carpenter's boy to your brothers. There is no one like your brothers."

"I didn't say he…That's not how I meant it."

Mammy sighed through the nose and clenched her teeth.

"Anyway," she resumed, but without the coy lightheadedness of a few

moments ago, "what I'm trying to say is that if you're not careful, people

will talk."

Laila opened her mouth to say something. It wasn't that Mammy didn't

have a point. Laila knew that the days of innocent, unhindered frolicking

in the streets with Tariq had passed. For some time now, Laila had begun
to sense a new strangeness when the two of them were out in public. An

awareness of being looked at, scrutinized, whispered about, that Laila

had never felt before. And wouldn't have felt even now but for one

fundamental fact: She had fallen for Tariq. Hopelessly and desperately.
When he was near, she couldn't help but be consumed with the most

scandalous thoughts, of his lean, bare body entangled with hers. Lying in

bed at night, she pictured him kissing her belly, wondered at the softness
of his lips, at the feel of his hands on her neck, her chest, her back, and

lower still. When she thought of him this way, she was overtaken with

guilt, but also with a peculiar, warm sensation that spread upward from
her belly until it felt as if her face were glowing pink.

No. Mammy had a point. More than she knew, in fact. Laila suspected