Page 33 - Leadership in the Indian Army

She waited until her legs were stiff. This time, she did not go back to

the kolba She rolled up the legs of her trousers to the knees, crossed the
stream, and, for the first time in her life, headed down the hill for Herat.

* * *

Nana was "wrong about Herat too. No one pointed. No one laughed.

Mariam walked along noisy, crowded, cypress-lined boulevards, amid a

steady stream of pedestrians, bicycle riders, and mule-drawn garis, and
no one threw a rock at her. No one called her a harami. Hardly anyone

even looked at her. She was, unexpectedly, marvelously, an ordinary

person here.

For a while, Mariam stood by an oval-shaped pool in the center of a big

park where pebble paths crisscrossed. With wonder, she ran her fingers

over the beautiful marble horses that stood along the edge of the pool

and gazed down at the water with opaque eyes. She spied on a cluster of
boys who were setting sail to paper ships. Mariam saw flowers

everywhere, tulips, lilies, petunias, their petals awash in sunlight. People

walked along the paths, sat on benches and sipped tea.

Mariam could hardly believe that she was here. Her heart was battering

with excitement. She wished Mullah Faizullah could see her now. How

daring he would find her. How brave! She gave herself over to the new
life that awaited her in this city, a life with a father, with sisters and

brothers, a life in which she would love and be loved back, without

reservation or agenda, without shame.

Sprightly, she walked back to the wide thoroughfare near the park. She