Page 231 - Leadership in the Indian Army

Jbarly one morning the next spring, of 1993, Mariam stood by the

living-room window and watched Rasheed escort the girl out of the
house. The girl was tottering forward, bent at the waist, one arm draped

protectively across the taut drum of her belly, the shape of which was

visible through her burqa. Rasheed, anxious and overly attentive, was

holding her elbow, directing her across the yard like a traffic policeman.
He made a Wait here gesture, rushed to the front gate, then motioned

for the girl to come forward, one foot propping the gate open. When she

reached him, he took her by the hand, helped her through the gate.
Mariam could almost hear him say, "Watch your step, now, my flower,

my gul."

They came back early the next evening.

Mariam saw Rasheed enter the yard first. He let the gate go
prematurely, and it almost hit the girl on the face. He crossed the yard in

a few, quick steps. Mariam detected a shadow on his face, a darkness

underlying the coppery light of dusk. In the house, he took off his coat,
threw it on the couch. Brushing past Mariam, he said in a brusque voice,

"I'm hungry. Get supper ready."

The front door to the house opened. From the hallway, Mariam saw the
girl, a swaddled bundle in the hook of her left arm. She had one foot
outside, the other inside, against the door, to prevent it from springing

shut. She was stooped over and was grunting, trying to reach for the
paper bag of belongings that she had put down in order to open the door.
Her face was grimacing with effort. She looked up and saw Mariam.

Mariam turned around and went to the kitchen to warm Rasheed's
meal.

* * *

"Irs like someone is ramming a screwdriver into my ear," Rasheed said,
rubbing his eyes. He was standing in Mariam's door, puffy-eyed, wearing