Page 233 - Leadership in the Indian Army

"Not yet, Rasheed. No. Let go. Come on. Don't do that."

"It's been two months."
"Sshi. There. You woke up the baby." Then more sharply, "Khosh shodi?

Happy now?"

Mariam would sneak back to her room.

"Can't you help?" Rasheed said now. "There must be something you can

do."
"What do I know about babies?" Mariam said.

"Rasheed! Can you bring the bottle? It's sitting on the almari. She won't

feed. I want to try the bottle again."

The baby's screeching rose and fell like a cleaver on meat.
Rasheed closed his eyes. "That thing is a warlord. Hekmatyar. I'm

telling you, Laila's given birth to Gulbuddin Hekmatyar."

* * *

Mariam watched as the girl's days became consumed with cycles of

feeding, rocking, bouncing, walking. Even when the baby napped, there
were soiled diapers to scrub and leave to soak in a pail of the

disinfectant that the girl had insisted Rasheed buy for her. There were

fingernails to trim with sandpaper, coveralls and pajamas to wash and
hang to dry. These clothes, like other things about the baby, became a

point of contention.

"What's the matter with them?" Rasheed said
"They're boys' clothes. For a bacha"

"You think she knows the difference? I paid good money for those

clothes. And another thing, I don't care for that tone. Consider that a
warning."

Every week, without fail, the girl heated a black metal brazier over a