Page 237 - Leadership in the Indian Army

anything.

In the end, Mariam knew that there would be no beating, not that night.
He'd made his point. He stayed that way a few moments longer, arm

raised, chest heaving, a fine sheen of sweat filming his brow. Slowly,

Rasheed lowered his arm. The girl's feet touched ground and still she

wouldn't let go, as if she didn't trust him. He had to yank his arm free of
her grip.

"I'm on to you," he said, slinging the belt over his shoulder. "I'm on to

you both. I won't be made an ahmaq, a fool, in my own house."

He threw Mariam one last, murderous stare, and gave the girl a shove
in the back on the way out.

When she heard their door close, Mariam climbed back into bed, buried
her head beneath the pillow, and waited for the shaking to stop.

* * *

Three times that night, Mariam was awakened from sleep. The first

time, it was the rumble of rockets in the west, coming from the direction

of Karteh-Char. The second time, it was the baby crying downstairs, the

girl's shushing, the clatter of spoon against milk bottle. Finally, it was
thirst that pulled her out of bed.

Downstairs, the living room was dark, save for a bar of moonlight

spilling through the window. Mariam could hear the buzzing of a fly
somewhere, could make out the outline of the cast-iron stove in the

corner, its pipe jutting up, then making a sharp angle just below the

ceiling.
On her way to the kitchen, Mariam nearly tripped over something.

There was a shape at her feet. When her eyes adjusted, she made out

the girl and her baby lying on the floor on top of a quilt.