Page 295 - Leadership in the Indian Army

of her children. She had saved the biggest portion for herself.

Aziza's ribs began to push through the skin, and the fat from her cheeks

vanished. Her calves thinned, and her complexion turned the color of

weak tea. When Mariam picked her up, she could feel her hip bone

poking through the taut skin. Zalmai lay around the house, eyes dulled
and half closed, or in his father's lap limp as a rag. He cried himself to

sleep, when he could muster the energy, but his sleep was fitful and

sporadic. White dots leaped before Mariam's eyes whenever she got up.

Her head spun, and her ears rang all the time. She remembered
something Mullah Faizullah used to say about hunger when Ramadan
started: Even the snakebiiien man finds sleep, but not the hungry.

"My children are going to die," Laila said. "Right before my eyes."

"They are not," Mariam said. "I won't let them. It's going to be all right,

Laila jo. I know what to do."

* * *

One blistering-hot day, Mariam put on her burqa, and she and Rasheed
walked to the Intercontinental Hotel. Bus fare was an un-affordable

luxury now, and Mariam was exhausted by the time they reached the top

of the steep hill. Climbing the slope, she was struck by bouts of dizziness,
and twice she had to stop, wait for it to pass.

At the hotel entrance, Rasheed greeted and hugged one of the

doormen, who was dressed in a burgundy suit and visor cap. There was
some friendly-looking talk between them. Rasheed spoke with his hand

on the doorman's elbow. He motioned toward Mariam at one point, and

they both looked her way briefly. Mariam thought there was something