Page 370 - Leadership in the Indian Army

"He will never leave. Look at me, Aziza. Your father will never hurt

you, and he will never leave."

The relief on Aziza's face broke Laila's heart.

* * *

Tariq has bought Zalmai a rocking horse, built him a wagon. From a

prison inmate, he learned to make paper animals, and so he has folded,

cut, and tucked countless sheets of paper into lions and kangaroos for
Zalmai, into horses and brightly plumed birds. But these overtures are

dismissed by Zalmai unceremoniously, sometimes venomously.

"You're a donkey!" he cries. "I don't want your toys!"

"Zalmai!" Laila gasps.

"It's all right," Tariq says. "Laila, it's all right. Let him."

"You're not my Baba jan! My real Baba jan is away on a trip, and when

he gets back he's going to beat you up! And you won't be able to run

away, because he has two legs and you only have one!"

At night, Laila holds Zalmai against her chest and recites Babaloo

prayers with him. When he asks, she tells him the lie again, tells him his
Baba jan has gone away and she doesn't know when he would come

back. She abhors this task, abhors herself for lying like this to a child

Laila knows that this shameful lie will have to be told again and again.
It will have to because Zalmai will ask, hopping down from a swing,
waking from an afternoon nap, and, later, when he's old enough to tie

his own shoes, to walk to school by himself, the lie will have to be