Page 264 - Leadership in the Indian Army

again to Rasheed's heavy footsteps in the hallway. She dragged herself

to the door, slapped her palms against it.
"Just one glass, Rasheed. Not for me. Do it for her. You don't want her

blood on your hands." He walked past-She began to plead with him. She

begged for forgiveness, made promises. She cursed him. His door closed.

The radio came on.
The muezzin called azan a third time. Again the heat. Aziza became

even more listless. She stopped crying, stopped moving altogether.

Laila put her ear over Aziza's mouth, dreading each time that she would

not hear the shallow whooshing of breath. Even this simple act of lifting
herself made her head swim. She fell asleep, had dreams she could not

remember. When she woke up, she checked on Aziza, felt the parched

cracks of her lips, the faint pulse at her neck, lay down again. They
would die here, of that Laila was sure now, but what she really dreaded

was that she would outlast Aziza, who was young and brittle. How much

more could Aziza take? Aziza would die in this heat, and Laila would have
to lie beside her stiffening little body and wait for her own death. Again

she fell asleep. Woke up. Fell asleep. The line between dream and

wakefulness blurred.

It wasn't roosters or azan that woke her up again but the sound of

something heavy being dragged. She heard a rattling- Suddenly, the

room was flooded with light. Her eyes screamed in protest. Laila raised

her head, winced, and shielded her eyes. Through the cracks between
her fingers, she saw a big, blurry silhouette standing in a rectangle of

light. The silhouette moved. Now there was a shape crouching beside

her, looming over her, and a voice by her ear.
"You try this again and I will find you. I swear on the Prophet's name

that I will find you. And, when I do, there isn't a court in this godforsaken