Page 348 - Leadership in the Indian Army

Laila found him in the dark, curled up on Rasheed's side of the

mattress. She slipped beneath the covers beside him and pulled the

blanket over them.

"Are you asleep?"

Without turning around to face her, he said, "Can't sleep yet. Baba jan
hasn't said the Babaloo prayers with me."

"Maybe I can say them with you tonight."

"You can't say them like he can."

She squeezed his little shoulder. Kissed the nape of his neck. "I can
try."
"Where is Baba jan?"

"Baba jan has gone away," Laila said, her throat closing up again.

And there it was, spoken for the first time, the great, damning lie. How

many more times would this lie have to be told? Laila wondered

miserably. How many more times would Zalmai have to be deceived?

She pictured Zalmai, his jubilant, running welcomes when Rasheed came
home and Rasheed picking him up by the elbows and swinging him round

and round until Zalmai's legs flew straight out, the two of them giggling

afterward when Zalmai stumbled around like a drunk. She thought of
their disorderly games and their boisterous laughs, their secretive

glances.

A pall of shame and grief for her son fell over Laila.

"Where did he go?"