Page 210 - Leadership in the Indian Army

She sat on the chair instead, hands limp in her lap, eyes staring at

nothing, and let her mind fly on. She let it fly on until it found the place,
the good and safe place, where the barley fields were green, where the

water ran clear and the cottonwood seeds danced by the thousands in the

air; where Babi was reading a book beneath an acacia and Tariq was

napping with his hands laced across his chest, and where she could dip
her feet in the stream and dream good dreams beneath the watchful

gaze of gods of ancient, sun-bleached rock.

29.

Madam
I'm so sorry," Rasheed said to the girl, taking his bowl of masiawa and

meatballs from Mariam without looking at her. "I know you were very

close… .friends...the two of you. Always together, since you were kids.
It's a terrible thing, what's happened. Too many young Afghan men are

dying this way."

He motioned impatiently with his hand, still looking at the girl, and
Mariam passed him a napkin.

For years, Mariam had looked on as he ate, the muscles of his temples

churning, one hand making compact little rice balls, the back of the other

wiping grease, swiping stray grains, from the corners of his mouth. For
years, he had eaten without looking up, without speaking, his silence

condemning, as though some judgment were being passed, then broken

only by an accusatory grunt, a disapproving cluck of his tongue, a

one-word command for more bread, more water.
Now he ate with a spoon. Used a napkin. Said lot/an when asking for

water. And talked. Spiritedly and incessantly.

"If you ask me, the Americans armed the wrong man in Hekmatyar. All